Authors: The Temptress
“Perhaps I enjoy a challenge, sir.”
The older man chuckled ruefully. “Then, indeed, Bayard de Villonne, you and Esmeraude may be well suited. She is naught if not a challenge.” He shoved a hand through his hair and frowned at the scroll once again. “This quest for her hand is a fitting test in my estimation of any man who would take her to his side, though I wish she had not embarked upon it so impulsively.” He shook Bayard’s hand. “Godspeed to you.” Then he raised his voice and addressed the assembly. “Godspeed to all of you who accept Esmeraude’s challenge. Ride forth and see my daughter safely returned!”
A loud cheer fairly rent the hall but Bayard was already leaving, his thoughts spinning as he made a list of what to do and sorted it in order of necessity. He did not even notice Simon by his elbow, until that man snatched his sleeve.
This time, Simon’s antagonism shone in his eyes. “I always said you were a fool, Bayard de Villonne. You have lost a great chance by telling the entire company the contents of the note.”
Bayard halted, insulted. “Are you suggesting that I should have lied?”
“A thinking man would have guaranteed his advantage.”
“An honorable man does not feel the compulsion to cheat.” Bayard paused to meet Simon’s gaze squarely. “And unlike you, I know I have no need to cheat to win.”
With that, Bayard turned on the heel of his finely wrought boot and left Simon behind him. He was sufficiently honest with himself to admit that his intended had just made herself far more interesting than he had dared to hope.
Which merely redoubled his determination to win her.
* * *
Esmeraude’s adventure was not proceeding precisely to plan.
’Twas two nights since her departure from Ceinn-beithe. The King of the Isles had not been pleased with her news, as she had expected, and he had refused to be charmed. Indeed, his course of action had been somewhat different than Esmeraude had hoped.
“A wise man seizes what opportunities present themselves,” he had declared after Esmeraude shared her tale with him. For a heartbeat she had felt triumphant, until he shattered her hopes with his next words. “’Tis a perfect opportunity to see Ceinn-beithe secured as mine own.”
And despite Esmeraude’s vehement protest, she had been handfasted immediately to the king’s most loyal man.
Indeed, the king had laughed -
laughed!
- at her protest that she would wed for love alone. Her consent to this match had not been deemed necessary, nor even her repetition of the binding vow. The king decreed that once this man bedded her, she and Ceinn-beithe would be his own.
And if he planted his seed in her belly, then her handfast would endure beyond the traditional year and a day.
Esmeraude was furious. She had never been treated as a mere means to an end in all her days, and she cared for the sensation not a whit. These men desired her dowry alone, a situation far worse than being courted by ambitious fools. She knew now, belatedly, that the King of the Isles had only indulged her whims previously because there was naught at stake. Esmeraude knew that when she had the time, she would appreciate how favored her life with Eglantine and Duncan had been.
But first she had to escape.
Her new spouse was a massive Norseman, the largest man Esmeraude had ever seen. His flesh was tanned to a deep gold, that hue matching both the straight hair that hung past his shoulders and what few teeth he had. There was a gold band around his wrist and some small talisman on a leather cord around his neck. He had a scent about him that told much of his personal habits and none of it good.
He dropped the latch on the door behind himself after fairly dragging her to a small chamber and smiled with satisfaction. ’Twas clear he had taken the king’s challenge to heart. Esmeraude understood that the latch was fastened to ensure that none might intervene, even if she screamed. Célie might be outside the door, but she could do naught. The din of the celebrants in the hall was faint with distance and she knew she could rely only upon herself for salvation.
The flickering light from the lamp in the chamber accentuated his size and his every muscle when he turned to face her. She supposed his expression might be considered a smile of invitation.
Esmeraude was not inclined to accept. Aye, there was no mistaking the glint of avarice in his pale eyes. Clearly he knew what wealth would come to his hand with this deed.
If
he could do it.
He peeled off his shirt, kicked off his chausses, and approached her in a state of expectation. Esmeraude backed away and his smile faded at her defiance.
He lunged for her but Esmeraude ducked out of his way just in time. He fell heavily against the wall, muttered a curse in Norse that had no need of translation, then came after her once again. A new flame burned in his eyes and he scowled. Her mouth dry with fear, Esmeraude evaded him once more by dodging at the last moment.
He roared fit to shake the roof, then moved with lightning speed. He caught her around the waist and flung her over his shoulder. Esmeraude bit and kicked, but he barely acknowledged the blow of her heel slamming into his calf. He was as hard as a rock and as strong as a bear.
When he flung her onto the hard pallet, the breath was momentarily knocked from her. Esmeraude tasted terror, for she knew that she would not survive a year and a day of bedding with this man.
’Twas then she began fighting for more than her maidenhead.
She wrestled and bit, struggled and tried to escape from the bed with unholy vigor. He caught her easily every time, chuckling to himself at the futility of her efforts, and she hated him more than she had ever hated another in her life.
Esmeraude suddenly recalled a saying of Duncan’s.
A foe greater in size is seldom greater in wits.
Aye, she could outwit this oaf, she knew it well.
Esmeraude smiled at her new spouse when he cast her again onto the pallet. He halted, puzzled. She sighed as if happily surrendered and touched his face with her fingertips. He stared at her, eyes narrowed.
She lay back on the pallet as if prepared to accept his touch. He watched warily and she smiled a welcome. She stretched her arms over her head, noting how he fairly devoured the sight of her. She smiled anew and crooked a finger, which finally won her a wide smile and a growl in response. He shed his loincloth with a smile, then seized the hem of her kirtle to push it over her waist.
Esmeraude struggled not to flinch. His hand moved heavily over her legs, and he grasped her thigh with the strength of one accustomed to winning his way with force. She caught her breath but did not draw away, which seemed to please him well. He crawled over her and Esmeraude knew she had to keep him from settling atop her. She would never shift his weight once he had done so!
She sat up abruptly, clasped her hands behind his neck, and pulled him down onto the pallet beside her, echoing his rough play. His eyes glinted and he smiled. His hand landed assessingly upon her breast, as if assuring himself that he had been paid his due in full. He squeezed none too gently and she wondered whether he intended to milk her like a goat.
Esmeraude forced herself to breathe in a normal fashion. He began to utter some encouragement as his hands roved over her, his voice low and rough. Clearly, he thought her shy. He stretched out beside her, at ease and evidently convinced that she had no inclination to avoid him any longer.
But when he bent down to nuzzle her neck, Esmeraude, in her turn, moved with startling haste. She jabbed her fingers at his eyes, drove her elbow into his ribs, and slammed her knee into his crotch.
He howled in mingled pain and outrage as he rolled away. Esmeraude did not waste her chance. She bounced to her feet and ran to the door. He roared with frustration, his foot landing heavily on the floor, and she knew she had not long to flee.
And even then, he might catch her. Esmeraude refused to think about what he might do after that.
Her cursed fingers shook so much in her desperation that she dropped the latch, losing precious time. She glanced back to find him diving after her.
Esmeraude impulsively snatched up the lantern and waved it before his face. He yelled and fell back, raising his arms against the flame, then tripped over the tangled garments on the floor. He bellowed in fury and fell slowly, like a great tree toppling. His head made a thunk as it hit the floor.
He moved no more.
Esmeraude stood and stared, her heart hammering in her throat, her breath echoing loudly in the chamber. Was he dead? She did not know. Perhaps he feigned his state to lure her closer, the better to pounce upon her once more. Esmeraude swallowed as she considered the response of the king if she had, indeed, killed his trusted man.
The latch jiggled and she nigh jumped through the roof. Surely they could not know her crime so soon!
“Esmeraude!” Célie hissed and Esmeraude steadied herself against the wall in relief. “Is this where they have taken you, child?”
“Aye, Célie! I am here.” Esmeraude put down the lamp and opened the latch.
The maid took one look at her face and hugged her tightly. “Did he...” she began fiercely, but her gaze slipped past Esmeraude to the fallen man and she gasped. “What have you done, child?” she whispered.
“He would have forced me. I fought him and he fell.”
Célie leaned closer to peer at him. “Is he dead?”
“I do not know.”
“Then we had best discover the truth.” Célie stomped over to the large man, surveyed him thoroughly, then bent down to listen for his breath. “He yet lives,” she said as if disappointed, and poked him with her toe. He stirred, much to Esmeraude’s relief. “Though he will not be pleased when he awakens.”
“Nor will the king be pleased with what I have done.” Esmeraude eyed the open door, easing closer to listen to the distant sounds of revelry. “We could escape, Célie, and none would know the truth of it soon.”
“Save this one. He stirs even now.”
“We can ensure he does not stir far.” Esmeraude unfastened her girdle, and used it to knot his wrists securely together. Célie rummaged through the satchel she carried, examining the few things they had brought. She produced a short length of rope. The two women exchanged a smile, and Esmeraude bound the man’s ankles together.
He stirred, groaned, and was still once more.
“The beauty of a handfasting,” Esmeraude said with quiet resolve as she stared at her would-be spouse, “is that either party has the right to leave the match if it proves unsatisfactory. I find you an unsatisfactory partner, sir, and thus I leave you.”
Célie clicked her tongue. “He may insist otherwise. If you are not present to defend yourself, who knows what will be said of you? Are you yet a maid?”
“Aye!”
“But he may lie. There is much at stake in this.”
Esmeraude had to think for a mere moment. “Then I shall leave a note, one that will make the truth clear. Aye, I shall leave a riddle so that those men who pursue me know the fullness of the truth on their arrival.”
Célie sat down heavily and crossed herself. “Esmeraude, you have no lack of audacity. What if the King of the Isles follows you?”
“Then I shall tell him before all that he has treated me poorly.” She dug through the satchel’s contents grimly. “Either way, I shall insist that whoever weds me pledges himself to any king other than the King of the Isles.”
“’Tis not your place!”
“I do not care! I have been poorly served, Célie, used as no more than a means to an end by a king I came to in trust. I was his
guest
!”
“Your trust was poorly rewarded.”
“Indeed ’twas! I did not agree to handfast with this one, yet I was forced. We both know ‘tis not customary to do such a thing.” She gestured to the Norseman with disgust, her anger now replacing her fear. “He would have injured me without remorse. The king wants Ceinn-beithe secured for all time, regardless of the price to me, even though ‘tis through me he would win it. ’Tis unfair! I shall make sure Ceinn-beithe is never his again.”
“God in heaven!” The maid regarded Esmeraude in shock.
“I know my words are uncommonly bold, Célie. But I am vexed and I am right. A
man
would see blood shed over such an indignity.”
“A man has the right to mete justice.”
“If the suzerainty of Ceinn-beithe is so coupled with my maidenhead, then I should have some right to say what shall be done.” Esmeraude smiled for her aghast maid. “I think my response quite temperate, under the circumstances.”
Célie blinked and protested no more. In the satchel, Esmeraude found the nib and the stoppered vial of ink, drew out a snippet of used vellum that had been carefully cleaned, and began to write.
“What shall we do now?”
“We shall do what I should have done in the first place. We shall visit my sister Jacqueline, for she will defend my right to choose the man I should wed. A
woman
will understand, as the King of the Isles did not.”
The maid shook her head. “But Airdfinnan is so far away!”