Claire Delacroix (69 page)

A minstrel took the floor and Millard bent his attention upon the young man, as much as an excuse to ignore Talbot as to hear the tale.

But the minstrel’s tale, once it had begun, fairly stole the old knight’s breath away. Millard craned his neck to capture each and every word, hope rising with every stanza.

’Twas beyond belief, but his wish upon that star had come true.

albot was quite pleased with himself. Not only had he coaxed more wine from the serving wench, but she had consented to sit by his side. She was a comely creature, all curves and dimples, more than enough to keep a man’s hands full.

She perched beside him, filled his chalice at regular intervals, and was not concerned about the roving of his hand. Talbot was quite certain she was the perfect woman for him.

At least for tonight.

Even better, his crusty uncle deigned to ignore what he did. There was naught worse, to Talbot’s mind, than to be the focus of his uncle’s attention, for that man was demanding beyond all.

If only Millard would show the good grace to die soon.

’Twas a mark of his uncle’s disregard for Talbot that he not only lived but continued to amass yet more wealth and keep it greedily to himself. ’Twas as if Millard tempted Talbot with what that man could not have, at least not yet.

The minstrel sang a triumphant closing stanza about the cursed maid of Kiltorren, and the serving wench sighed into Talbot’s ear. “Is it not terribly romantic?”

Talbot had not troubled to listen to the tale, but he smiled for her all the same. “Wondrously so,” he agreed, then gave
her buttocks a hearty squeeze. Romantic tales, he well knew, could make a maid lusty.

But Talbot would have no chance to test the truth of that.

Millard snatched his sleeve, the older man moving so abruptly that Talbot nearly lost another chalice of wine. “Did you hear that?” he demanded, his eyes blazing as if they were aflame.

“ ’Twas some tale, no more than that,” Talbot declared with all the scorn he dared to muster.

That man inhaled quickly. “ ’Twas no mere tale! ’Twas
my
tale!”

“Truly?” the wench asked, her eyes wide.

Millard’s gaze dropped to the breasts spilling out of her bodice, then rose to her face. “Find yourself a decent kirtle, child,” he said with more gentleness than he ever summoned for his own blood. “There are those here who might misinterpret such a display of your many charms.”

She smiled, then raised a hand to her bodice, flushed, and fled.

Talbot stumbled to his feet and called after her, but to no avail. He snorted disdain. “Thank you, Uncle, for that!”

“You have no time to rut with a serving girl. I have a task for you.”

Talbot rolled his eyes and made to sip his wine. “You always have a task for me, Uncle, and ’tis always one at which I fail to satisfy.”

The chalice never reached his lips, for Millard snatched it away and dropped it on the board with a thud. Before Talbot could grab it again, the older man grasped a fistful of his tabard and gave him a shake.

“You will not dare to fail at this task,” he said with a growl, casting Talbot away from him as if the merest touch was offensive. “Or you shall have no chance whatsoever at seeing any trinket fall from my hand to your own.”

Talbot blinked as he found his footing, the delightful languor of the wine abandoning him in a heartbeat. “If ’tis of such import, why not do the deed yourself?”

“Millard!” came a cry from across the hall. “We parlay at your convenience.” Talbot watched his uncle wave and give a nod, then the weight of that man’s attention was upon him once more.

’Twas not a pleasant sensation.

“My liege lord has need of my presence,” Millard acknowledged through his teeth. “And if you understood anything of the pledge you have taken, you would know the import of that.” His eyes narrowed. “Indeed, Talbot, if I had my choice, I
would
go in your stead, but the choice is not mine.”

Talbot straightened at the implied insult and brushed down his tabard with care. “You know you can rely upon me, Uncle.”

Millard scoffed. “I know no such thing, but I have no alternative. Did you listen to the minstrel?”

“Nay! Such nonsense is for women alone.”

“Such nonsense will decide your fate. This minstrel sang of a maid of Kiltorren, a beauteous woman abandoned by her lover true.”

“ ’Tis a common enough tale.” Talbot shrugged and tried to reach for his chalice.

Millard neatly interrupted his gesture. “ ’Tis an uncommon tale in its details. You will go to Kiltorren, you will ride out this very night, and you will find this maiden.”

Talbot looked up in astonishment, but there was no mistaking the resolve in his uncle’s gaze. The old man had lost his wits. “Uncle! ’Tis naught but a tale!”

“ ’Tis rooted in truth and I know it well.”

This was madness! “But I do not even know where this Kiltorren lies.”

Millard arched a silver brow. “Had you listened, you would
know ’twas on the west coast of Ireland, that the waves of the sea crashed upon its very walls. You would know that the Lord of Kiltorren was blessed with two daughters, the eldest of whom he dispatched to Paris to find a fitting match. You would know that she was a blond beauty unrivalled in that town so filled with blond beauties.”

Talbot’s uncle, in this moment, looked every measure the ferocious warrior. Talbot eased away from the older man.

Millard’s lips tightened. “Had you listened, you would know that she fell in love with a knight, a man with no holding to call his own and no hope of a holding because he was the younger son. You would know that she was compared to the legendary beauty in the tale of the unicorn, the maiden so sweet and innocent that she tamed even the ferocious unicorn, a beast deemed to have no heart of its own before it succumbed to her charm.”

Talbot’s mouth went dry as his uncle fingered the unicorn rampant embroidered in gold upon his deep-green tabard. Indeed, there were elements of this tale that were too familiar for comfort.

“And you would know that she returned to her home in shame,” Millard continued, his voice softening over the words, “her belly ripe with her lover’s child. A
child
!”

There was an intensity about his uncle’s manner that made a shiver of dread roll over Talbot’s flesh.

“You have heard the tale before?” he dared to ask.

“I have
lived
it,” Millard retorted. “I have sought this woman in every corner of Christendom for nigh upon twenty years, though clearly I missed this Kiltorren.”

He turned that boring gaze upon his nephew. “You will go there in my stead. You will find this maiden, you will find her child, and you will bring them both directly to me. If you fail, do not trouble yourself to darken my threshold ever again.”

Millard paused, looking as forbidding as only he could. His voice dropped dangerously low. “Am I understood?”

Talbot fought to make sense of what he had just been told, he struggled to see his way clear of this dawning sense of betrayal. After all he had done for Millard, his uncle would deny him an inheritance upon this bard’s tale?

’Twas unfair!

Talbot levelled a cold glance at his uncle and dared to voice his objections. “I am to ride to an estate which may or may not exist, I am to retrieve a woman who has no name, I am to seize a child who may have never seen daylight and who may or may not be your spawn, and if I fail, you will grant me naught?”

“Precisely,” his uncle agreed with satisfaction. “But the woman’s name is Isibeal.”

Talbot knew his eyes boggled.

“I can wait for you no longer than a fortnight,” Millard continued with crisp authority. “If circumstance permits, I myself shall ride to Kiltorren before that time and meet you there.”

Millard frowned. “Do not be so foolish as to fail, Talbot. This is a matter of great import to me.” Before his nephew’s incredulous gaze, Millard turned, his cloak swinging behind him, and strode to the chamber where his liege lord would parlay.

The older man was apparently unaware of the indignation rolling through his nephew. Talbot rose to his feet and lifted his fist as if he would cry out at such injustice, but then his hand fell limply to his side once more.

For truly, Talbot did not have the audacity to challenge his uncle openly. He dared not risk that man’s wrath while there was still a chance of making Millard’s holdings his own.

This Isibeal and her child, though, were another matter.

Nay, Talbot would not play so willing a part in retrieving Millard’s heir, not at his own expense. He drained his chalice
in one gulp and bent his thoughts to the question of how he could appear to follow his uncle’s bidding without undermining his own ambition.

There had to be a way.

If Isibeal or her child yet lived, that fact must be changed. And it must be changed before Talbot returned to his uncle’s side, or before that man appeared at Kiltorren.

Talbot dared not linger a moment.

Alys lay in the great soft bed and stretched. ’Twas different indeed to not labor all the day long. On this night, for the first time in many nights, she did not fall into slumber as soon as her head hit the pallet.

’Twas wonderful. Alys surveyed her new chamber yet again, smiling. She folded her arms behind her head and listened to Edana snore. And she permitted herself to dream.

Perhaps she would grant Burke a kiss—just one—to show her appreciation for the change he had seen made to her circumstance. Alys’s toes curled as she guessed how he would respond. Burke would smile a slow smile of delight when he lifted his head. His eyes would shine that silver blue that stole her breath away; he would touch her jaw with a gentle fingertip and send her pulse racing.

Something rapped against the shutters, and Alys jumped at the sudden sound. Her eyes flew open, though silence reigned again.

Another rap followed. This time Alys saw something roll across the floor. She crept from the bed and felt in the shadows.

’Twas a pebble, rounded by the sea.

A third hit the shutters and rolled before Alys could think of how it had come to be flying through the air.

Then a low voice supplied the missing detail. “Alys!”

She smiled despite herself. ’Twas Burke, there could be no doubt of that.

“Alys, are you awake?”

Alys knew she should not respond, but still she did. She opened the shutters and let in the indigo of the night. The sky was full of stars, the wind from the sea hinted of rain. Alys leaned out the window, her loose braid falling over her shoulder, and was not surprised to find a knight staring up at her from the bailey.

“How could I sleep when ’tis raining pebbles?” she demanded playfully, and cast the stone back toward him.

Burke caught the missile with a flourish, then clutched it to his heart. “A token from my lady fair,” he crooned, then his smile flashed.

It seemed safe enough to return his smile with so much distance between them. “You are drunk!” Alys charged laughingly.

“ ’Tis true enough.” He executed a sweeping bow. “I am besotted with the vision of loveliness before me.”

Alys choked on her laughter, knowing she should not encourage his nonsense.

“The moonlight gilds the tresses of my lady fair, the stars dance for her alone …”

“Oh, Burke, promise me that you will never seek employ as a bard,” Alys interrupted with a smile. “The company would cast eggs at your head.”

He chuckled then and propped his hands on his hips. “Truly, your concern for my welfare touches my heart, Alys. I shall treasure this hint of progress in my suit.”

Alys chuckled in turn. “You grasp at the wind, sir.”

Burke shrugged amiably. “You grant me little choice.” His smile faded suddenly. “Come down, Alys. Come talk with me.”

“I cannot talk with you in the moonlight!” Though Alys sounded shocked, ’twas not the suggestion as much as its appeal that troubled her.

“Whyever not? You already do as much and ’twould save much shouting if you joined me here.”

“Aunt would not approve!”

“Indeed, she might compel us to wed without delay for such shocking behavior! That would be a calamity.” Burke feigned dismay so thoroughly that Alys chuckled again. “Come down, Alys,” he entreated again. “Come walk with me so that your aunt cannot overhear.”