Claire Delacroix (94 page)

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?”

“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.