Claire Delacroix (76 page)

The insolence of it all! To be disregarded by a mere gatekeeper was beyond disgraceful. Talbot put his hand on the hilt of his sword and strode to the portcullis, not entirely certain of what he intended to do but determined to see results.

And in that moment, the pound of hoofbeats filled the air. The gatekeeper turned back, his heavy features alight with curiosity. Talbot found himself turning the moment he recognized the gait of a destrier.

Another knight!

But this knight rode alone. How could that be?

Talbot frowned as the silhouette of the arrival drew out of the mist. The man rode with haste, bent over the neck of a steed whose magnificence was not concealed by distance. Indeed, the stallion was so fine and so black, its step high, its coat glossy. ’Twas the manner of destrier Talbot had always desired, and he disliked this knight, simply for riding it, without knowing any more about the man.

Talbot slipped back into his saddle, not wanting to be at a complete disadvantage when this oddly solitary knight arrived.

The man who pulled the black steed to a halt beside Talbot did so with a flourish. His armor left no doubt of his knightly status, neither did his finely embroidered tabard nor his fur
lined cloak. Fine spurs gleamed on his heels, his steed was mud-splattered but wondrously caparisoned. He was soaked to the skin, just as Talbot was, but this knight seemed unreasonably delighted, despite his state.

He had already doffed his helmet and shoved a hand through his dark hair, loosing raindrops like a shower of jewels.

“And who,” the knight asked with amusement, “have we here?”

“Sir!” The keeper crowed with delight. “The ladies have been asking after you.”

Aye, this knight was cursedly good looking and would give Talbot a contest for the finest wench. Talbot hated him even more.

The knight grinned, a merry twinkle lighting his eyes. “
All
of them, Godfrey?”

The keeper chuckled. “All but one, though I daresay she is more interested in your return than all of that.”

This seemed to please the knight, who surveyed Talbot anew. Indeed, he clucked to his steed, that beast prancing around Talbot’s own sorry mare in a tight circle.

Even the destrier would not acknowledge the mare, so humble was she. Talbot’s ears burned with shame, he gritted his teeth and pretended not to notice this knight’s survey.

“This man calls himself a knight,” Godfrey supplied. “And would pass my gates without explanation.”

“I told you well enough that I had a mission at Kiltorren,” Talbot snapped.

“A mission?” the knight inquired silkily.

“ ’Tis not to be confessed to any soul who crosses my path.”

The knight arched a dark brow, riding behind Talbot to complete his circular survey. Talbot itched to watch the man
but did not want to show weakness by turning to look. He stared stiffly ahead, wondering what mischief this knight intended to make.

For there could be no doubt that the man had something on his mind.

“Is your master oft so testy?” the knight asked Henri.

“Aye, sir!” the boy declared, and Talbot clenched his teeth yet tighter at the gatekeeper’s quick smile. “Though ’tis worse when he has need of a cup of wine and a wench, as he does now.”

Talbot would box his squire’s ears for that impudence.

The knight paused beside Talbot. “And what does your wife think of your wenching?”

“I have no wife!” Talbot retorted impatientily. A trickle of rainwater made its way beneath his chemise and ran coldly down his back. “And I fail to see what import that is. I ask only to be admitted to this keep, to find comfort and some measure of hospitality …”

The knight’s eyes flashed. “No wife! But you must have a betrothed.”

“My marital circumstance has naught to do with entering this godforsaken hovel on the edge of the world.”

But the knight merely smiled. “Have you a betrothed?”

“None!”

The knight’s brows rose. “Indeed?” He surveyed Talbot once more—most insolently to that man’s way of thinking—then met his gaze again. “But you must be a knight. You do have spurs and a blade.”

Talbot heard an implication that his armament was less than adequate in the knight’s words and was immediately infuriated. “Of course I am a knight! I am a
nobleman
! I am in need of hospitality and welcome, a welcome that would be offered more readily anywhere else in Christendom!” he raged. “Must we stand in the rain while you satisfy your cursed curiosity?”

“All these assets, yet no betrothed.” The knight rubbed his chin consideringly, as if Talbot had said naught. He turned to the keeper. “Do you think he is foul to look upon, Godfrey? ’Tis not my matter of expertise.”

“Nor mine, sir, but I daresay many a woman would take him.”

“Indeed.” The knight’s bright glance swivelled back to the simmering Talbot. “Are you without inheritance, then?”

“Such rudeness! I fail to see what my circumstance has to do with passing beneath these gates!” Talbot ranted. He dismounted and strode through the puddles to grip the portcullis. He gave it a hearty shake but the keeper did not even show the courtesy to look alarmed. “I am Chevalier Talbot d’Annoceaux and I demand that you grant me admission …”

“D’Annoceaux!” The knight nodded to the keeper with approval. “A fine family, Godfrey, there can be no doubt of that.” He sidled closer. “My mother has oft spoken of an old flame of hers, one Richard d’Annoceaux.”

“My uncle,” Talbot supplied stiffly and returned to his saddle. “He took holy orders and is currently the bishop of Sainte-Madeleine.” He flung out his hands. “Does that win me favor in your eyes?”

“A
bishop,
Godfrey.” The knight released a low whistle. “That is not a measure of influence many families can claim.”

“Nay, indeed, sir.”

The knight leaned closer, and Talbot instinctively did not trust the glimmer of humor in his silvery eyes. “And your father would be?”

“Michel d’Annoceaux, the eldest and heir of Theobald d’Annoceaux, but I fail to see the import …”

The knight tilted his head and spoke as if Talbot said naught. “You must then have older siblings.”

Talbot inhaled with impatience. “I have an elder brother, whom my father grooms to manage Annoceaux, though even
he does not show the audacity to insult my presence as you two …”

“Ah! So you are left without legacy. And hence without right to claim a bride.” The knight sat back with satisfaction at having solved the riddle, but before Talbot could complain once more, that man turned to the gatekeeper again. “Is it not a shame, Godfrey, to see a young man so full of prospect denied the chance to take a bride?”

“Aye, sir, that it is.”

Before Talbot could protest this discussion of his fortunes, the knight turned to Henri once more. “Is your master taken with a single woman?”

“Sir?”

“Does he pursue a lady who has stolen his heart?”

“Nay, sir, he prefers to spread his affections far and wide,” the squire contributed with more forthrightness than Talbot believed the situation merited. “My lord is popular indeed among the wenches, though his uncle claims he will have bastards at the gates if ever he wins a piece of land.”

The knight was smiling again. “And what manner of wench does he prefer?”

“Plump and willing, sir.”

“Henri! Bite your tongue!”

The squire looked chastised but the knight chuckled. “We could assure half his needs were met, at least.”

The keeper gasped, then guffawed. “Ah, sir, now I see the direction of your thoughts!”

Talbot had the sneaking sense that he was being mocked, or that the knight played some game at his expense, though he could not fathom what was amiss. ’Twas not an unfamiliar feeling, for he oft felt this way in his uncle’s presence.

The difference was that he did not have to humor these two.

Talbot was well and done with this pair and their infernal
questions. “I am delighted to have provided your amusement on this day,” he began hotly, gathering the reins into his hands. “But if we are to make Killarney …”

“You cannot leave!” the knight protested.

“I will not sit in the rain and be mocked!”

The knight looked contrite in turn. “Godfrey, have we mocked the man? Indeed, ’twas not my intent.”

“Nay, sir, we but inquired after his credentials.” The keeper braced his feet against the ground and eyed Talbot. “Though we have yet to learn of his errand here.”

“I have told you that I ride to Kiltorren on a mission …” Talbot began tightly, but the knight interrupted him once more.

“And we should dearly love to hear the details.” He smiled. “Do not leave, Talbot of Annoceaux.”

At least, matters had changed course in Talbot’s favor. “Surely we could adjourn to the keep proper,” he suggested, taking no pains to hide his irritation, “and continue this discussion in whatever modicum of comfort could be won here.”

“Indeed,” the knight said with a slight inclination of his head. “I am certain that Lady Deirdre and Lord Cedric would be delighted to make the acquaintance of a knight of such fine lineage as yourself. Godfrey, if you would be so kind. I shall personally ensure that this guest makes no mischief.”

“Fair enough, sir.” The keeper, his grin too wide for Talbot’s taste, immediately cranked open the portcullis.

Talbot’s blood began to boil. This knight had but to ask and his will was done! Talbot deliberately closed his mouth and tried not to resent the differences in their circumstance.

He could loathe this country, for their failure to respect a noble knight, if naught else.

The two knights rode beneath the spiked gate, Henri trailing behind. Talbot could not help but compare his own steed once more to that of the newly arrived knight. Proximity did
naught but make the contrast worse and did not reassure Talbot in the least. The black beast must be worth a small fortune.

Indeed, at such close quarters, Talbot could see that this man’s blade rested in a fine scabbard far beyond his own means, that the man’s boots and tabard and even his very trap was worth a king’s ransom.

What manner of man might Talbot have become if he had been granted his due from the outset? What might his life have been if he had been born first, instead of his brother Theobald?

’Twas unfair, there was no doubt of the matter.

“And who are you?” Talbot demanded testily, the comparison and the weather making his tone sharper even than usual.

The knight pulled off his glove and offered his hand. “Chevalier Burke de Montvieux.”

Talbot felt the blood drain from his face. By reputation, Burke de Montvieux was a champion, a knight who never lost a seige, a man who had but to desire something to make it his own. His good fortune was legendary—as was his charm, his handsomeness, and his wickedly lethal skill with a blade. Talbot knew that Burke rode with his sire, a sorry excuse of a mercenary, the father as reputed for his savagery as the son was for his grace.

But what was Burke de Montvieux doing here?

Talbot swallowed awkwardly and decided ’twould not be clever to irk such a man. He hastily shed his own glove and took Burke’s hand. “I apologize for my comments,” he said hastily, but Burke waved off the words.

“It is naught. Indeed, I cannot tell you, Talbot d’Annoceaux, how very delighted I am to make your acquaintance.”

Talbot blinked. “Truly?”

“Truly.” Burke nodded with vigor. A bevy of sodden goats trotted out of their path, bleating complaint, their bellies mud
died and their tits hanging low. Talbot swallowed a grimace of distaste at finding himself in such humble surroundings.

“Are you familiar with Kiltorren at all?” Burke demanded. “ ’Tis a rare prize, and I would be pleased to show you its many merits.”

Talbot had no eye for agricultural matters, but this place did not seem to be prospering. There was almost no activity in the village beyond. Indeed, the place had the tired look of somewhere abandoned. And no wonder! The estate was more rock than soil. Talbot had yet to hear of crops that flourished in stone. Even the goats had a hungered look about them.

They certainly eyed him overmuch.

But his companion seemed oblivious to all of this. “After all, we have some time before the meal and the company of women beckons us into the hall.” Burke turned an expectant smile upon Talbot. “Shall we?”

Talbot looked longingly toward the golden glow spilling from the distant portal, a prospect of warmth and food, women, perhaps wine, certainly greater comfort than he was currently enjoying.

God’s blood, he could not believe what he endured at his uncle’s command!

But, on the brighter side of matters, this knight’s intervention had won Talbot the admission to Kiltorren that he craved. He had but to let the man exhaust himself, then he could seek this Isibeal.

Indeed, Burke might tell him all he needed to know.

hen a woman decides to ignore a man, matters proceed much more satisfactorily when the man is present to notice her slight.

Four days without even the prospect of glimpsing Burke was weighing heavily upon Alys. She sat in her chamber, determined to enjoy it for every possible moment before Aunt snatched it away, and found herself often staring out the window.