Authors: The Temptress
And then she knew.
’Twas a ploy to win a private audience with her! ’Twas a trick he played, no doubt intending that she should rush to tend him, to ply him with healing potions. Oh, he would probably confess that only her kiss could heal him, or some such nonsense.
Esmeraude had no intention of so readily following his will. ’Twas time he learned that she had thoughts of her own.
She stood and granted him a gracious smile. “How unfortunate that your tale could not be completed, though truly a tale of such faithlessness is perhaps unsuitable for my nieces’ ears.”
Bayard’s eyes widened in a most satisfactory way, but there was naught he could say to argue the matter without further undermining his ruse.
“Aye,” she said, bestowing a smile upon her nieces in an echo of Bayard’s confidence. “You must understand that this Iseut was a particularly selfish woman.”
“How so?” Annelise asked.
“She loved Tristran, but wed another. Bayard told me earlier that she fulfilled her duty by wedding her betrothed, but she did not. She deceived her husband, not only on the night of her nuptials, but when she continued to meet with her true love, Tristran. She had the security of marriage and the luxuries of a queen, but never surrendered the affections of her lover. Thus, she was fair to neither man, but saw only to her own desires.”
Bayard opened his mouth to argue, but Esmeraude did not let him speak. If he would be mute, let him be mute!
“Nay, nay, do not strain your voice,” she chided, not missing how his eyes flashed. Esmeraude shook her head with resolve. “Iseut was wrong. She should have either wed for her love and made whatever sacrifice was required, or she should have foresworn her love and fulfilled her obligation, not only by wedding her betrothed but by remaining true to him.”
Bayard stepped forward and raised a hand as if to argue. “But ’twas you who argued that love was the greater power!” he croaked.
“Shhh! Do not injure yourself further on my behalf. ’Tis true that I believe that a man and woman should love each other afore they wed, but ’tis unfair for a woman to wed a man, knowing that another man holds her heart in thrall. I should never be so unfair to the man I wed, nor should I ever be unfaithful.”
The men seemed struck to silence by her words, but Esmeraude was not done. She granted them all a sunny smile, so determined was she to prick Bayard’s cursed confidence.
“That is why I will not wed a man I do not love. ’Twould not be fair if my true love crossed my path after those nuptial vows were made.” She inclined her head regally to her astonished suitor. “I thank you for the reminder, Bayard, for it has bolstered my resolve in my quest for the man who will hold my heart.”
There might have been steam rising from the knight’s ears, but Esmeraude was not done.
“Perhaps ’tis better that your voice could not sustain the tale,” she consoled him, taking the tone one took with an invalid. “I think a tale of faithlessness most unfitting for Angus’ daughters and one must, as you well know, be courteous to one’s host.
“And now, by the terms of Bayard’s own suggestion, I must choose a winner of these tales. Indeed, Nicholas, your tale was offered no true contest.”
That man beamed and got quickly to his feat. “And my prize?”
“No less than a kiss,” Esmeraude declared. Bayard fumed before her but she did not care. ’Twas time she confirmed that his kisses were not the only ones with the power to awaken her passion.
Yet Esmeraude discovered precisely the opposite.
Though his effort was valiant, Nicholas’ kiss made her think of the lips of fishes. Esmeraude even kissed him twice, just to be certain, a move which made every man in the hall hoot. But the only pleasure to be found in Nicholas’ kiss was in turning from it to find Bayard glaring at her, his eyes that tumultuous blue.
And ’twas that sight which made her heart leap, not Nicholas’ attempt at an ardent embrace.
Aye, her heart had known Bayard from the first. She covertly noted his frustration and wondered whether good might be found in this. It did not seem to Esmeraude that a man who viewed all matters in the cold light of logic would be so very infuriated by her granting a kiss to another.
Fortunately, there were two more suitors here - well, one more, as Connor had lost interest in her charms - and who knew how many more en route. Esmeraude would take her sister’s advice - she would talk to and kiss them all. And when more suitors came, she would do the same.
She retired with a smile, certain that she would force Bayard to confess his affection for her in no time at all. Soon enough she would have her heart’s own desire and the marriage of which she had long dreamed.
* * *
As the company attended Bayard’s tale, the storm clouds had closed completely around Airdfinnan’s walls. The fortified isle might have been cast adrift in the clouds, isolated from all the mortal world, echoing in the silence of the ages.
The sentries were startled when they changed their shifts, for the fog was nigh impenetrable. Though one could see clear across the bailey from the gates, a man who poked his hand through the portcullis could not see his own fingers for the fog.
More than one man shivered and crossed himself. The gatekeeper barred the great wooden doors that evening without any command from his lord, not content with the protection of the lowered portcullis alone.
What none noted was that a small plant which had long languished in the garden began suddenly to grow. The plant, a gift from the distant south which had taken poorly to its change of clime, had been assumed dead or close to it for fifty springs. But on this night, it sprouted with unholy vigor and grew as if ’twould compensate for every moment lost.
It climbed the wall with astounding haste, then stretched down the other side. Its length bristled with thorns, each lethal spur the length of a man’s hand. When one branch dipped into the river Finnan long before the dawn, the entire plant seemed to sigh with delight. It shimmered brilliant silver - making more than one sentry question his own sight - then grew with even greater speed.
And the mood within Airdfinnan changed slightly during the course of that night. ’Twas as if the fog that surrounded the walls changed the hue of both sunlight and moonlight to flatter those it touched.
Smiles were exchanged in the hall that evening, and more than a few flirtatious glances were cast across the kitchen. Men found the audacity to compliment serving maids and were astonished that the perfect words fell from their lips. Women blushed, many looking more young and soft and desirable than they had in years. The air seemed faintly tinged with an exotic perfume, one that put both men and women in mind of pleasures to be found abed.
And many sought those pleasures as, unbeknownst to all but a few dazzled guards, the vine grew with reckless speed.
By the time the sentries changed shift in the morning’s pearly light, the vine had covered the wall behind the garden so thickly that the men could no longer patrol the entire perimeter. It grew no more that morn, though its thorns glistened against the pallor of the fog.
The lord was summoned and he looked long and hard at the plant. He tried to cut it back with his own blade, but it turned the steel away. His men took a step back, more than one certain the plant was a creation of the fey.
“It has long been said the Finnan runs through Faerie,” whispered one, the others nodding sagely.
“Nay, ’tis the doing of the lord’s mother,” muttered another. “’Twas long said that she could cast a spell to turn a man to stone. ’Tis her ghost returned to haunt us all.” They argued quietly over this, the company dividing into two camps, each as persuaded of their view as the other.
Angus of Airdfinnan eyed the fog and the vine as if unaware of the dissent. He called for a cold ember, then marked the furthest point of the vine with a black line on the stone.
When he was done, he handed the ember to one of his men. “Mark it all and keep a watch upon it. Tell me the very moment that it grows.”
“Is it the fey or your mother?” demanded one man, bolder than the others.
The lord silenced them with a sharp glance, more than one man cringing before him. “Had you any wits at all, you would know ’tis neither.” With that, he retired to the company of his lady wife, leaving more questions than answers in his wake.
* * *
Ceinn-beithe, though untouched by vines and witchery and fog, was caught in an uncustomary flurry of activity.
And Mhairi MacLaren stood in the eye of the storm. ’Twas not a familiar place for her, and she saw both advantage and disadvantage within it.
To be sure, she was excited by her father’s choice to offer her hand as well as Esmeraude’s. ’Twas thrilling to be the center of so much male attention and flattering to have them seeking her favor so ardently. It made her feel like a woman to have the responsibility of choice, and she was very aware that her choice would determine all the rest of her life.
She had not thought much of marriage until recent years, and then she had assumed that her parents would encourage a match with whichever local man of good repute managed to catch her eye. It made sense to Mhairi that Esmeraude, who sparkled more brightly than any maiden she had ever known, would not find a man to suit her close at hand. Mhairi, though, fully expected to fall in love quietly with a man who came courting from nearby.
So, though ’twas not her nature to savor having every eye fixed upon her, for these few days, Mhairi enjoyed the attention. She did not fool herself that ’twould last. Indeed, she made every effort to learn about each man in turn, that she might better assess the shape her life might take by his side.
There was Douglas, a tall man much older than herself and Esmeraude, and one who seemed most intent on imposing his opinions upon others. Esmeraude had found his demands and disapproval most vexing, and Mhairi could see her half-sister’s argument in this. Life with Douglas would be filled with recriminations, disapproval, and dour silences. ’Twas true enough that he had a measure of wealth, a home, and a pair of goats, but each moment seemed to bring another disappointment to him.
Mhairi expected that there was a woman somewhere who could make Douglas smile, but neither she nor Esmeraude was that woman. She imagined that his home would be cold and the fare at his board austere, regardless of his fortunes.
Nay, she did not need wealth, but she would enjoy what pleasures came to hand. Life was short enough in itself without making each day an ordeal.
Then there was Alasdair, whom Esmeraude had declared to be too short. He was a lively and jovial man who could readily coax Mhairi to laugh, though he seemed to think of naught but earning the next laugh. Mhairi expected him to prove himself both practical and whimsical, as her father was, but she had yet to see more than his humor. She wondered whether he was always so entertaining, or only when there was a matter at stake, then called herself skeptical.
If she loved Alasdair, he might prove to be most amiable company. If she did not, she suspected his manner would quickly become tedious.
Dour Lars had retired to the corner of the hall, his glum mood surrounding him like a cloud. He had proven to have a taste for ale, which Mhairi did not find attractive, and he did naught but watch her, his baleful gaze making her skin creep.
Nay, Lars was not for her.
The foreign knights were more promising, though Mhairi knew that unfamiliarity increased their allure. Her pulse quickened when one of them strode into the hall in all his finery and she imagined herself as the lady of a marvelous castle, the like of which they only heard of in tales. Aye, there were two of particular interest who did not pursue Esmeraude.
Gabriel was one and he let her ride his destrier, though he held her reins fast in his hand. Mhairi thought him most marvelous with his dark eyes that could be filled with the sparkle of mischievous laughter or as sad as a hound’s when she left him for another suitor. He was not so tall, though he was strong, and his hair was dark and curly.
She did not care that he was a younger son or that he had naught but his armor and steed. That alone was rich beyond her wildest dreams. And she liked how he encouraged her to try some new feat - like riding his steed or holding his blade - all the while concerned with ensuring her safety. He spoke of tourneys and winning matches and earning a fortune in the lists, and Mhairi found it all terribly exciting.
She could love Gabriel, given the chance. Mhairi was certain of it. What maiden would not adore such a man?
Kay was so different from Gabriel, yet intriguing all the same. He was fair and quiet, manners exquisite, his eyes a blue so light as to be silver. He said little, but smiled when she spoke to him as if she were witty beyond compare. And he kissed her hand with such elegance that it nigh made Mhairi swoon. His horse was less fine than Gabriel’s but still finer than Mhairi’s mother’s palfreys.
Kay brought Mhairi small tokens each morn when she entered the hall, each presented with a flourish - a shell, a flower, a stone with a vein of shiny quartz. He would point out the charms of each thing with a few words and a warm smile, his eyes lighting when she expressed her gratitude for his thoughtfulness.