n the morning following Burke’s arrival, Guillaume paced the breadth and width of his own hall anxiously. He knew he did not have sufficient charm to win a lady’s affections, but Lady Brigid’s attention the night before encouraged him. He kept one eye on the stairs and deliberately ignored his mother’s humming as she spread honey on her bread.
Indeed, he scowled at the floor, telling himself he was a fool even to hope for shy Brigid’s favor. She had simply been polite, nodding at her host’s tales and smiling at his jests. It had been so easy to talk with her, the wine loosening his tongue, but this morn he half feared it had been a dream.
Aye, ’twas all too readily in the morn’s harsh light that Guillaume recalled how many times he had presented a suit, his heart in his hand, and been mocked by the fine lady in question.
Perhaps this was a poor idea. Perhaps he should let Brigid proceed to Paris, perhaps he truly should live out his days alone.
Perhaps he should not be such a coward. ’Twas not a flattering realization, and it set Guillaume to more concerted pacing. He ran a prosperous estate, he could command an army when needs demanded, yet he worked himself to a frenzy over one damsel’s potential refusal.
“Ah!” his mother cried. “Ma petite!”
Guillaume spun and his heart skipped a beat when he spied Lady Brigid hesitating on the last stair. She smiled shyly to his mother, then glanced at him and flushed. Indeed, she bit her lip in the most fetching manner, as if she found him rather fearsome. Her blush made her freckles even more winsome, her tentative manner prompted Guillaume’s protectiveness.
Indeed, he was halfway across the floor, wanting only to reassure her, before he realized that he had taken a step. The lady did not move away, her gaze did not waver from him. She did not seek him out as she had done the night before, but neither did she flee.
Guillaume smiled and summoned every vestige of his charm as he came to a halt before her. “Did you sleep well?”
“Aye.” Brigid looked as if she could not decide what to do. She seemed to hover, like a young bird uncertain of what he might do.
Guillaume hastened to reassure her. “Was there anything of which you had need? You have only to ask to see your will done in this place.”
“Aye. I mean nay.” The lady’s cheeks turned crimson. “All was f-f-fine.” Then her expression turned pained. Guillaume did not imagine that she glanced at his mother as if seeking escape.
This was not proceeding well, to his thinking, and was a bit too reminiscent of his experiences at the king’s court to be encouraging. All the comments Guillaume had practiced in his chambers cruelly abandoned him as his confidence in his charm faded to naught.
But all the same, he felt compelled to say something.
When he spoke, his disquietude summoned an old plague, one that he had thought banished for good.
“Good, then. I suppose, I mean, I should suggest that, um, perhaps …” Guillaume gritted his teeth at his own idiocy when the lady looked at him in astonishment, then he swore softly under his breath. If only he had Burke’s way with flattery, just for this one moment! “I should like to invite you to um, to join us to um, break your fast, Lady Brigid.”
She said naught.
Guillaume knew he had made a muddle of this. Now she knew he was a fool! Indeed, he should do best to pretend this exchange had never occurred and spare his guest further embarrassment.
But he could not refuse himself one last glance at the lady.
Guillaume was surprised, for Brigid regarded him with undisguised delight. Indeed, she stared at him as if he were the most marvelous man in Christendom.
Knowing his own allure to women and the foolishness of what he had just uttered, Guillaume glanced over his shoulder. He fully expected to find Burke lingering behind, but no one was there.
The lady giggled, her hands landing on his forearm. Guillaume turned to find her leaning toward him, her eyes sparkling. “You almost stammered!”
Guillaume felt his ears heat to have his inadequacy pointed out to him. “Well, I cannot help it. Sometimes I just cannot, well, the words do not, um, when I want to make a good impression …” He heaved a sigh and shoved one hand through his hair, stared at his boots, and decided simply to state his case.
“This is the root of the matter. I want to ask you to remain at Crevy,” he declared flatly. “I do not want you to seek a husband in Paris, for I should like the chance to court you, and I know well enough that I cannot compete with the men in that fair city. I am sorry to be blunt, but I cannot think of the words to ask your favor more graciously.”
Now he had done it. Guillaume glanced at the lady carefully, certain she would turn and flee his boorish company. But she giggled and dimpled in a most charming way, her gaze dancing to his watchful mother and back to Guillaume.
“Oh, I like you too,” she breathed, to his astonishment. “And I should like to know you better.”
Guillaume stared at her in wonder. “Then stay,” he urged.
The lady bit her lip and nodded quickly.
Guillaume dared to take her hands within his, a thrill running through him when she did not pull away. “Will you spend this day with me? We can talk, I can show you Crevy.”
In truth, he did not want this fair flower to escape.
“Aye, I shall laugh at your jests.” The lady leaned toward him, her fingers tightening over his. “But I did not have to try.”
Try? Guillaume glanced to his mother. She hummed more loudly and spread honey with a determination wholly unnecessary.
He knew he had no reason to challenge what she had done. Indeed, it made Guillaume want to laugh.
In fact, he would not have put it past Burke to have …
“I am so hungry,” Brigid whispered.
“The board awaits your favor,” Guillaume declared gallantly.
His mother looked up with an approving smile and patted the bench beside herself. “Come here, ma petite. I have saved the comb of the honey for you. ’Twill build your strength anew.”
“Oh, I love honey,” the lady declared, eyeing the comb laid upon her bread as if ’twere a crown jewel. “We never have it at Kiltorren.”
“Non? Perhaps ’tis too cold there for the bees. Ma petite, at Crevy, you may break your fast on honeycomb each morn. ’Tis a fine holding my son commands, and all its treasures lie at your feet.”
“Oh, ’tis a fine holding indeed!” Lady Brigid granted the lord of Crevy-sur-Seine a smile that fairly curled his toes.
Ah, to think that Burke had plotted this and he had stepped into the scheme so unwittingly. Guillaume chuckled as he tore into his own bread.
“Maman, I believe we owe Burke a debt.” He recalled Brigid’s earlier confession and realized that his friend’s own ends would be served by this courtship. But Guillaume was more than willing to aid Burke, in gratitude for choosing Crevy to showcase Brigid’s charms. “And I know precisely the way to see it paid.”
Now that Alys’s hand was securely within his own, Burke could not help thinking about Montvieux. As pleasurable as Crevy could be, and as delightful as the companionship was in this place, he began to chafe under the weight of the last uncertainty before himself and Alys.
She must meet his mother.
Burke was not looking forward to the confrontation, for he knew his mother would find no woman an acceptable mate for him. He did not care for Margaux’s opinion, though he did not want Alys hurt by some cruel comment. And he did not want to leave Crevy before Alys’s concerns for Brigid were laid to rest.
Yet ’twas becoming cursedly awkward to be without coin. Burke had never been without anything to his name, and he found the experience more troubling than he had expected. He wanted Alys adorned in silks, he wanted a ring of gold upon her finger, he wanted to exchange vows before a priest—but all of these endeavors took the expense of hard coin.
And he had none.
’Twas ironic that he had spurned his legacy for the chance to win Alys’s hand, yet now Burke wished he held Montvieux, if only to see his lady garbed and pampered as she deserved. It chafed upon him to see her wear the same kirtle day after day. It troubled him even more to know that there was naught he could do about it.
Alys accepted whatever came to her hand, happy in small victories and shouldering burdens with ease. She had a strength that could not be shaken by worldly lack, and ’twas a trait that Burke greatly admired. Indeed, the fact that she chose to be with him, despite his having naught, was an endorsement of rare power. It meant Alys would be steadfast by his side, regardless of the state of his fortunes. Burke found that seductive indeed, even if the lady had yet to confess her feelings. ’Twould take time, Burke knew it well, and he would wait, secure that he had already claimed the prize of her trust.
’Twas Alys who had taught him the treasures that could come to him with patience.
’Twas indicative of his thinking that when Burke found an errant piece of silver in his saddlebags the day after their arrival, he had promptly spent it in Crevy’s village on a gift for Alys. He waited only for the perfect moment to present his gift.
At least part of her could be garbed like a queen.
But still there remained the sole disagreement that continued between them. Alys did not welcome the risk of the great tourneys, yet Burke knew that he could not face year upon year of mock warfare. He would make his victories quickly and withdraw from competition, for indeed, he grew no younger.
And ’twas only the great lords who could afford to offer the prize Burke coveted beyond all else—a manor, however humble, to call their own. For truly, a life unfettered by responsibilities lost its allure with Alys by his side.
There would be children soon enough, if they two continued in such merry fashion. They must be wed, the children must have the certainty of a happy home with a full larder.
Aye, the tourneys beckoned, though hurdles aplenty blocked Burke’s path.
First, Guillaume had to propose. Whenever possible, Burke urged Guillaume to greater boldness, for that man’s manner was cautious enough in matters of the heart to ensure a decade-long courtship.
Burke did not have a decade to ensure Brigid’s nuptials, and so he was more than pleased when—a mere five days after their arrival—Guillaume dropped to one knee before Alys at the midday board.
“Lady Alys, would you do me the honor of acting as representative of your family?”
Another piece moved into position, another obstacle crumbled in the path to his own nuptials! Burke barely restrained himself from hooting with glee.
“But Brigid is the daughter of the Lord of Kiltorren,” Alys protested. “I am merely my uncle’s ward.”
“But ’tis of Lady Brigid I would speak.”
“Oh!” Alys gasped in sudden understanding. Guillaume grinned and Brigid flushed mightily. Lady Crevy clicked her tongue in approval and cast a conspiratorial wink Burke’s way.
“I would ask your indulgence in permitting me to wed your cousin, Lady Brigid of Kiltorren.” Guillaume presented a nuptial contract to Alys with a bow, but she turned to her cousin.
“There is only one opinion of merit in this matter,” Alys insisted. “What do you say to this suit, Brigid?”
Brigid smiled, clasped her hands together, and gazed at Guillaume with adoration. “Oh, I say aye, Alys. I would like very much to wed Guillaume.”
“My son will treat you well, ma petite,” Lady Crevy assured her, “or I shall give him such a shake.”
Brigid smiled at Guillaume. “I know.” Guillaume grinned back at her, and Burke smiled to see his friend so happily smitten.
“My family can have no protest against your circumstance,” Alys continued, unfurling the document with a frown. She turned to Burke, a question in her lovely eyes as she offered him the deed. “You know more than I of such matters. Would you?”
“I should be honored,” Burke agreed smoothly, wondering whether his lady could read. He pledged to teach her, if she had the interest, and cursed the family of Kiltorren for denying her yet again.
Then he cast a mischievous glance at his friend, still kneeling before Alys. “Shall I negotiate on behalf of the bride?” he suggested wickedly, and Guillaume snorted.
“You shall see me beggared, no doubt!” he retorted. “Though ’twould be a small price to pay for such a lady’s favor.”
“Guillaume!” Brigid blushed, yet she still reached to kiss his cheek when that knight rose to take his place beside her.
Lady Crevy clapped her hands. “Then all is settled, and most favorably. There is but one deed we have to see done.”
Burke could not imagine what that might be, and he noted that Alys was similarly perplexed. The others, however, looked so smug that Burke knew they had been in league.
Lady Crevy gave a summons and a bevy of servants spilled into the hall. A minstrel plucked a lute for the procession and Burke quickly noted that they carried a small trunk between them. ’Twas a simple one, though he was surprised when ’twas laid before Alys.
Alys clearly did not know what to make of the presentation. Burke silently vowed that he would ensure that she did not find the receipt of gifts so startling.
Aye, his lady had lived too long with too little.
“This is for you, Alys,” Lady Crevy declared. “You may consider it an early wedding gift or, indeed, a gift of gratitude for introducing your cousin to my son. Either way, ’tis a gift I hope you enjoy.”
Alys glanced at Burke, but he knew his expression supplied no answer. Indeed, he was powerfully curious as to what Lady Crevy might have chosen.
“I thank you,” Alys said, but the older woman laughed.
“You do not even know what ’tis!”
“But, Lady Crevy, you offer us such hospitality already. ’Tis too much that you grant gifts as well.”
“Pshaw.” Lady Crevy flicked a hand, and the most senior maid in the group tipped back the lid of the trunk. The entire company leaned closer to look.
Burke saw only a vibrant shade of purple before two maids reached into the trunk. They lifted out a garment, indeed, ’twas a kirtle wrought of fine woven wool. Its hue was deep violet; its hem and cuffs were ornamented with gold and red embroidery, with the girdle woven of the same rich hues.
’Twas a kirtle of wondrous workmanship and one that would flatter his Alys’s coloring well. Burke sat back and watched her eyes widen. The only marring of this event was his own wish that he could have granted Alys such a gift sooner.
A chemise of snowy white linen was presented next, followed by artfully knitted stockings of the same undyed hue. Red garters were included, with a veil of palest mauve, and a plain golden circlet. Alys gasped when the servant reached into the bottom of the chest and shook out a cloak of the same hue as Burke’s own, though this one was lined in silver squirrel fur instead of his black.
There was a conspicuous absence of one item of garb and Burke’s smile broadened, for he had no doubt that Lady Crevy had heard of his own acquisition. Indeed, ’twas as if she ordered all to match his gift.
The time was ripe for him to present it.
“I cannot accept such richness,” Alys protested, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “ ’Tis far too much …”
Lady Crevy, as Burke might have anticipated, would not take nay for an answer. She grasped Alys’s hand. “I will not hear your protest, Alys, and I grant you no choice.”
“But ’tis too generous! Burke, you must aid me.”
“Nay, Alys. Lady Crevy does as she wishes alone.” He smiled at his lady. “And as I also believe the gift is well deserved, you will not win my protest.”
Alys shook her head at him. “You are no help at all!”
“ ’Tis what friends are for,” Guillaume argued.
Burke captured Alys’s hand in his. “Lady Crevy, I must add my own thanks to Alys’s own. Your taste, as always, is exquisite.”
“But I cannot …”
“Alys, this gift is one from the heart,” Lady Crevy insisted. “Indeed ’tis well earned by both the happiness you bring to Crevy with Brigid’s presence and the happiness you bring to a knight I have loved as my own son.” Lady Crevy smiled encouragement. “Take the gift, ma petite, for you shall need every advantage to face Margaux de Montvieux.”
Alys turned to Burke with alarm in her eyes and he could not halt his grimace. “ ’Tis true enough, Alys,” he admitted heavily. “ ’Tis true enough.”
Later that evening, in the chamber they had come to share, Alys noted Burke’s pensiveness.
They had talked of tourneys at length this week, comparing the merits of one against the other. Alys liked that Burke always spoke to her and took her readily into his confidence.
But on this matter they differed. Burke had an annoying inclination not to think of himself as mortal and so would choose the largest contests, which boasted both the fattest purses and drew the most experienced competition. Alys feared for his hide. But each time she voiced her objection, Burke was so pleased by her concern that the discussion seldom proceeded any further.
She wondered now whether he considered their path anew, since Brigid’s match was secured. He had been troubled ever since Lady Crevy’s comment about his mother.
She braced herself for another difference of opinion on the surety of his skills. “Is something amiss?”
“Aye, one could say as much.” Burke admitted. He pushed a hand through his hair and surveyed Alys as if he would divine her thoughts. “We must go to Montvieux, and I would rather ’twas sooner than later.”
Dread rose in Alys. “And I must meet your mother.”
Burke winced, his expression a perfect echo of Alys’s feelings on the matter. “Aye, ’twill not be a joyous occasion. The tourneys call, Alys, though we must visit my mother first. Now that Brigid is settled, would it trouble you if we rode out in the morn?”
Alys’s mouth went dry. What would she do if Burke’s mother scorned her? She had no dowry, no lineage, no talents that would make her a compelling choice of bride.
Indeed, ’twould be surprising if his mother did not disapprove.
“How far is Montvieux?”
Burke shrugged. “A long day’s ride. If we begin early, we can make Montvieux village and seek accommodation with the miller by tomorrow eve. Then with Sunday’s first light, I shall ride to the chateau. Perhaps if I find my mother on her way to Mass, she will be in a more charitable frame of mind.”
Alys blinked. “You do not intend to take me?”
“Alys!” Burke closed the distance between them and caught her in his arms. He smiled down at her, though the shadows in his eyes were far from encouraging. “One of the great benefits of being disinherited is that no one holds a sword over my head.”
“Burke, this is no jest. I thought you intended that I should meet her.”
“Nay, ’tis not a jest. But I must speak with my mother alone first.”
“Why? Are you so certain she will spurn me?”
“Nay, but she may spurn me!” Burke sighed, and when Alys looked up, his smile turned rueful. “Alys, I have not seen my mother since declining Montvieux. ’Tis an estate of which she is vigorously proud. I have no doubt that she has much to say on the matter, and I would spare you such a first encounter. ’Twill not be pleasant, that I guarantee.” He tipped her chin up with a gentle fingertip and brushed his lips across hers. “Though truly, I should welcome your strength beside me.”
“But, Burke, you cannot be so concerned!” Alys chided, certain he merely tried to make her smile. “She is your blood.”
The knight smiled crookedly and touched Alys’ cheek. “And you, of all people, should understand that blood who offer naught deserve naught in return.”
He bent then and captured her lips beneath his own. Alys leaned against him, savoring his strength and his tenderness. When Burke finally lifted his head, his eyes were gleaming, though a wicked sparkle soon appeared in their depths. “I almost forgot that you are owed another gift this night.”
“Another gift? Burke, you should not let them do this …”
“Alys, you shall have to become accustomed to receiving gifts.” He tapped her nose lightly with one fingertip. “You have been with naught for far too long.”
“But …”
“But naught. I have indulged myself in indulging you.”
“You? But you said yourself that you had no coin,” Alys argued. She knew it troubled him to be without coin. “Why would you waste any upon frivolities for me?”
“ ’Tis no frivolity, but a matter of serious import.” Burke’s manner was solemn, but that twinkle in his eyes remained.
Alys surveyed her knight skeptically. “I doubt that.”
He laughed and pointed to his saddlebags. “Look within it and mind your manners.”
Alys was curious despite herself. She crossed the room and opened the saddlebag, well aware of Burke watching her.
Within the depths of his bag lurked a pair of feminine slippers the like of which Alys had never seen. They were wrought of leather so soft that she could not believe ’twas real. The toes were embellished with an ornate design, the leather had been dyed to the color of garnets.
Alys picked them up with wonder and turned to face Burke. He stood with his arms folded across his chest, smiling indulgently.
“These are for me?”
Burke grinned. “They would not fit me.” He cast a glance over his own garb. “And I do not think ’tis a good hue for me.”
“But, Burke, they are so beautiful!” Alys studied the marvel of them. “I have never seen shoes so wondrous. Indeed, I did not guess that such workmanship was possible.” She looked at him again, the glimmer of his eyes reminding her of his jest. Alys bowed deeply, the shoes clasped to her chest. “I thank you, sir, for this marvelous gift.”
His lips quirked. “It seems you learn quickly in all matters.”
“All?”
Burke grinned outright. “All, indeed.”
Alys laughed, crossing the floor to his side once more. She reached up and granted him a kiss, then looked at the shoes in amazement once more. “But why shoes? I have this other pair, after all.” She held up one foot, the roughly sewn shoe nearly slipping from her foot for the hundredth time this day.
“Which fit you so poorly that they fairly fall off your feet,” Burke said with unexpected heat. “And do you know, Alys, what effect the sight of your bare feet has upon me?”
Alys could not understand his manner. “Nay.”
Burke held her gaze with resolve. “I believe, my lady fair, that you have the most exquisite feet in Christendom. These fleeting glimpses of them are torment!” He grinned suddenly. “Perhaps ’tis for the sake of my own hide that I grant you these.”
“What does that mean?”
“If you flashed those toes during a tourney, I might become so distracted that I could well be injured beyond repair.”
“Truly.” Burke’s single word was firm.
Alys playfully kicked off her old shoes and lifted the hem of her kirtle, deliberately wiggling her toes against the floor. Burke caught his breath in a most notable manner, and Alys knew enough of such matters in these days to watch the silhouette beneath his tabard.
When she saw results, she smiled up at him. “Perhaps, sir, you might aid me in ensuring the fit of these new slippers?”
“ ’Twould only be chivalrous.”
Alys laughed, then tapped her finger on his chest, taking great delight in leaning against his erection. “I shall make you a wager, Burke, since you find the unexpected sight of my feet so distracting. I, too, have interest in seeing you leave the tourneys whole.”
“Aye?”
“Aye. I shall never shed these slippers without your aid.” Her boldness was more than compensated by the passion that lit Burke’s eyes. “You can ease them from my feet each night and caress them back into place each morn.”
“I shall take your wager, temptress,” he said with a growl, and swept her into his arms. The shoes fell to the floor, momentarily forgotten. Burke rolled onto the bed, his kiss making her blood thunder, and Alys considered how she might torment him with her toes.
Fortunately, she was a lady possessed of creativity. And Burke did not complain at her efforts, for one could not count his moans of pleasure throughout that night as complaint.
Indeed, ’twas a long time before the slippers were fitted to her feet.
’Twas still dark when Edana heard Alys’s whisper in the stables, the unexpected sound feeding her curiosity. Edana pulled from the warmth of Kerwyn’s embrace and crept closer to listen. Alys stood with the Lord de Crevy as Burke de Montvieux saddled his steed.
But that was Kerwyn’s task! Edana poked her toe into her partner’s ribs and his eyes flew open. One glance at her expression and he crawled to her side, donning his chausses as he obviously tried to listen.
But the trio kept their voices low. Edana followed Kerwyn’s lead and donned her kirtle, fastening the lacings with hasty fingers. There was no time to concern herself over her hair.
Moonshadow tossed his head, setting his harness to jingling, then the two knights shook hands. They embraced, then Alys kissed the lord’s cheeks thrice in quick succession. Burke lifted her to his saddle and there could be no doubt remaining.
“They are leaving!” Kerwyn whispered.
“And without us.” The pair exchanged a glance, their thoughts as one in this, and stepped out into the stables hand in hand.
“Sir, I pledged to serve you,” Kerwyn declared. Though his voice was low, his words carried clearly through the quiet stable and halted the departing knight.
“Kerwyn, I am honored by your pledge, no less your intent to hold it. But ’twould be irresponsible to welcome your services when I cannot ensure that you will be housed and fed.”
“You need me,” Kerwyn argued. “As does your steed. And I am not the manner of man who does not keep his word.”
“And you need me!” Edana cried to Alys. “How can you be a fine lady without a maid?”
“But, Edana,” Alys shook her head, “Guillaume will assure your safety and your care. He has vowed it to us. Crevy welcomes you as free men.”
“If I am free, then I can choose to leave,” Edana argued. She eased closer to Kerwyn. “And we choose to come with you.”
“Indeed,” Kerwyn added, “we owe you no less loyalty than this.”
Edana nodded. “I owe you all for freeing me from Kiltorren.”
Silence reigned in the stable for a long moment and Edana knew they had surprised this pair with their determination. But she had not come this far to leave a debt unpaid, and she was not afraid to match her path to that of Burke and Alys. This knight would not be penniless for long, and Alys would always be a thoughtful mistress. Brigid would find another maid to braid her hair.
The knight shook his head, casting a smile at his lady. “I do not think we shall manage to leave without them.”
“Nay, they are most stubborn,” Alys agreed with affection. “Though I have a fondness for persistent souls.” The couple exchanged a meaningful glance that left the knight chuckling and the lady’s cheeks pink.
“Collect what you will, then,” Burke urged. “We must make haste to reach Montvieux by dusk.”
“The Templars’ palfreys must be returned,” Kerwyn observed. “Is Paris on the way?”
“Aye, more or less,” Burke agreed, then frowned as he evidently planned their course. “We shall part company en route, if you have no objections. You can deliver the horses and meet us in Montvieux, for I am anxious to arrive there on this day.”
“I shall ensure their delivery,” Kerwyn declared.
“Aye, I know it well.”
Edana felt her man straighten with pride at the knight’s trust in him. Aye, they would be a good master and mistress, these two. Edana would be proud to serve them.
Perhaps, when the knight won a holding, she could even persuade them to raise goats.
“Take one of my palfreys for your squire’s own,” the lord insisted. Burke might have argued, but the other man silenced him with one hand. “A wedding gift, early,” he insisted. “Take it and do not argue. After all, you leave me with a gifted cook.”
“ ’Twas the scallions that seduced Beauregard,” Alys commented. “And the extent of your kitchen garden.”
The lord smiled with pride and inclined his head in acknowledgement of the compliment. “I have no doubt that his presence will be an ongoing comfort to my betrothed.”
And so ’twas settled, the sun rising red and hazy as the four of them took to the road, a dozen palfreys running behind. Edana raised her face to the wind, never having imagined that her life could hold such promise as this. Kerwyn winked at her and she knew a happiness beyond all expectation.
’Twas no small thing that ’twould always be hers.
Alys listened to the rain throughout Saturday night, keenly aware of Burke’s absence beside her. She had a sense of great decisions being in the wind, though ’twas not until the following morning that she understood why.
There had been no mistaking Burke’s tension all the day before. He rode in grim silence behind her, and Alys could fairly feel him summoning his resources to meet his mother’s “formidable” will.
They took their rest in the abode of the miller of Montvieux, Alys in a chaste bed upstairs, Burke below. She slept poorly, missing her knight’s warmth through the night, no less his low chuckle. Even the twilight sight of Montvieux’s wealth had been enough to prompt troubled dreams.
Alys rose and dressed early, restless though she knew not why. At the sound of Moonshadow in the courtyard, she tore open the shutters, not caring a whit for her unbound hair. ’Twas raining fully this morn, neither the misty threat of the day before or the light patter of the night past. The rain fell in steady sheets and cast Montvieux in a thousand shades of grey.
Alys discerned Burke’s silhouette in the same moment that she heard the rumble of his voice. He swung into his destrier’s saddle, a dark shadow against the silver of the rain, his hood drawn over his helmet. She raised her hand expectantly, certain he would glance to her window, but Burke turned the steed and abruptly rode away.
Alys’s hand fell back to the windowsill, a shadow of dread falling across her heart. She looked to the distant hill, where she had glimpsed the lights of Montvieux’s hall the night before. Even the falling rain could not hide the size of that place, and Alys imagined she could feel the will of Burke’s mother summoning her son to her side.
And what would that mother demand of her only son? Repentance, of course, and a return to his birthright. The formidable Margaux would bend Burke to her will. Burke had already shown doubts in the wisdom of his course, and now he would be confronted by the splendor of all he had cast aside.
Alys’s fingers clenched. She stared after Burke as Moonshadow’s hoofbeats faded to naught and cursed herself for not uttering the three small words that could have made the difference in his choice.
She had never told Burke that she loved him. ’Twas the only factor in her favor, and he did not know the truth of it.
The village chapel bell rang in a mournful summons to Mass as Alys felt the weight of her own foolishness. But there was naught to be done now. She closed the shutters and turned back to the room, wondering how she would bear the solitary wait.
But Talbot d’Annoceaux leaned in the portal, smiling cheerfully at her shock. “Good morning to you, Alys of Kiltorren,” he said. “Are you truly the daughter of Isibeal of Kiltorren?”
“Aye,” Alys admitted, edging away from the man she had instinctively distrusted from the first. What was he doing here? What did he want from her? And why had the miller let him climb the stairs unchallenged?
“Then you will have to come with me.”
“Nay, I will not go anywhere with you. Burke is here …”
“Burke has left. I watched him go and you are at my mercy.” At her obvious doubt, Talbot beckoned to another out of sight. His squire appeared, holding a knife to the miller’s throat. Alys gasped as the squire’s blade dug deeper and the miller began to beg for his life in barely coherent French.
“You cannot injure him!”
“ ’Tis your choice.” Talbot shrugged. “Accompany us and he will live.”
Alys looked to the miller, then to the squire’s shaking hand. Talbot was determined, though Alys could not imagine what this was about. She had to think of some way to save everyone involved.
She could fool this man, she was certain of it.
“Of course I shall come,” Alys agreed, snatching up her girdle, veil, and circlet, She forced a smile, hoping she could disarm Talbot. “Indeed, I have worried of your fate since Kiltorren!”
Talbot’s eyes widened. “Indeed?”
“Why, you must know that I noted you.” Alys let her glance slide over him, hoping she managed some shred of sensual allure. She let her voice drop. “From the very first moment our eyes met, I thought you were a knight of rare charm.”
Talbot smiled slowly. “I knew you were a whore.”
Alys deliberately rolled her hips as she walked across the room, and Talbot devoured her every gesture.
“I thought you favored Burke.”
“Him?” Alys waved dismissively as if scornful of Burke’s abilities. “In truth, I have had better from an ostler.”
Talbot chuckled and elbowed his squire. “I shall see you ridden as you have never been before.”
Alys rather doubted that, but she smiled. “And then?”
“And then you shall win the fate you so richly deserve.” Though Talbot tried to be ambiguous, there was a glimmer in his eye that did not bode well for Alys. She might have stepped back, but he snatched at her hand and hauled her roughly toward the stairs.
This was no jest and Alys tasted new fear at Talbot’s harsh manner. She could smell the ale on him and wondered if he even knew what he did. Alys managed to kick off one of her shoes, casting it into the middle of the room she had occupied as a signal to Burke of her distress.
Talbot swore at her for impeding his progress and tugged at her arm, the sudden move making Alys’s kirtle snag on the door latch. The metal dug painfully into her flesh. She heard a tear but did not even have time to look back.
In the chamber below, Alys watched helplessly as the squire hit the miller in the back of the head with the hilt of his blade. That kindly man slumped to the floor and was promptly shoved behind a trunk.
Alys could only hope he was not dead.
Talbot’s expression did not bode well for her own survival, though his motive was a mystery. Burke would follow her, Alys knew. Burke would come in time, she had to believe that.
Alys had to keep herself alive, and she had to leave her knight a clear trail. Burke’s insistence that she could not lie to save her life rang in her ears as Talbot dragged her out into the rain.
Alys hoped that for once in his life, Burke was wrong.