Claire Delacroix (28 page)

“What
is
my legacy, Father?” Thierry demanded softly. His sire frowned into space for a long moment, then met his son’s gaze once more.

“Well do you know that we share a mark in common,” he said quietly. Thierry nodded. “A mark ‘tis of our lineage and the heritage of our bloodline.” His voice dropped and Thierry had to strain to hear the words, even though they stood but an arm’s length apart. “Well might you have heard tell of the lost kings of Rhedae, the forgotten kings whose line was divinely chosen to rule.”

“Aye.”

Dagobert’s gaze grew serious and Thierry fancied he saw sadness in those gray eyes. “A line of kings wrongfully displaced by usurpers and overthrown from our rightful role. Long centuries have passed, each with their attempts, some noble, some covert, to regain that which we have lost, to regain that which is our rightful legacy. Each attempt has been a failure. I watched my sire die in battle and took the pledge at his hand that very day.”

Dagobert sighed heavily. “I, too, failed at the task and nearly lost all I held dear in the transaction. ‘Twould have been too much to pay for something mayhap no longer within our grasp, for well it seems to me that the days of regaining lost legacies are passing. Such doings are of the matter of myths and fireside tales and not a way for a man to earn his way. Centuries has it been and oft have I wondered if the blood royal ran too thin in my veins to see the matter successfully resolved.”

He cleared his throat carefully and looked into Thierry’s eyes once more. “When we had retreated to Montsalvat and were besieged, well we knew that the fortress would fall to the invaders. Alienor and I decided to stay but long enough to grant you your name. ‘Twas when you should have been granted the burden of your legacy according to family tradition, but I—” Thierry watched in amazement as his sire shook his head wonderingly and smiled sadly “—I could not so readily commit you to a path I feared to be folly.

“That night, beneath the stars at Montsalvat, I claimed you as my son, granted you my name and bestowed upon you the choice of whether to take up the family quest or not. Never had another in our line done this for his heir, but times change and opportunities fade, and I would not see you pay a high toll for what might well be whimsy.”

The lost kings of Rhedae culminated in him. Silence reigned between them for a long moment as Thierry fought to make sense of his father’s words.

‘Twas impossible to believe, yet the tale struck a chord of truth within him that told him his sire spoke aright. Of a line of kings was Thierry. Of a rightful line of kings destined to rule by divine choice. Here was the meaning of his mark. Here also was the grand destiny he had envisioned for himself, should he but regain the crown.

Quickly Thierry reviewed what he had observed in Paris and the vigor with which those summoned by Eustache had taken up his cause. A lost line of kings. Never would Thierry have imagined this to be his fate, but even now, his pulse quickened at the prospect.

“Make no mistake, Thierry,” Dagobert said with utmost seriousness. “Never did I imagine ‘twould be so many years before I told you the fullness of the tale.”

“No fault was it of yours that I would behave so foolishly. ‘Twas that quest that drove you from home, not cowardice as I charged,” Thierry guessed intuitively and his father almost smiled at his low words.

“‘Twas that, indeed,” he admitted. “Already had I lifted my hand to the battle and failed. A hunted man was I in these parts and well had my desire grown to see many more days in Alienor’s company.” He spared a crooked smile over his shoulder and Thierry followed his gaze to find his mother’s eyes glazed with tears. Dagobert’s voice dropped to a confidential whisper.

“‘Twas Alienor’s desire once she had saved me from certain death that I live long enough to see my son become a man.” The two men looked into each other’s eyes once more and Dagobert lifted his other hand to rest companionably on Thierry’s shoulder. He tightened his grip and summoned a smile that warmed the silver of his eyes.

“And so I have,” he said softly. “So I have.”

The two men looked away for a moment, Thierry struggling to clear the tears from his vision. His father cleared his throat gruffly.

“Not easy is it for a man to admit when he is wrong,” Dagobert added quietly. “And I would not be churlish enough to hold words spoken in haste against you.” No mistaking his pride was there and emotion rose in Thierry’s throat fit to choke him. Dagobert’s grip tightened on Thierry’s shoulder. “Glad I am indeed that we chose this time to come home.”

Home. Thierry followed his father’s gaze back to the heavy stone walls and knew exactly what the older man had meant. Naught did he recall of this place, but still Montsalvat invoked a powerful magic in his heart.

‘Twas here he wanted to raise his family with Kira, he realized suddenly. ‘Twas here he wanted to make his home. Well did Thierry know that he had not imagined Kira’s comfort with the old keep. Here would they set down their roots.

A sudden thought disturbed Thierry’s thoughts and he glanced to his sire in alarm.

“Why do you ride home now?” he asked urgently. “Is something amiss? Are you ill?”

Dagobert shook his head slowly, his calm expression soothing Thierry’s fears as naught else could. “Nay,” he said finally, squinting as he looked up to the high walls. “‘Twas a dream that set us on our way west.”

“A dream?” Thierry prompted. His father nodded once, then turned to face his son.

“Aye,” he confirmed solemnly and his grip tightened slightly on Thierry’s shoulder. “A dream that the time to regain what we had lost was upon us again.”

Thierry’s heart soared at the import of the words. ‘Twas
his
time! ‘Twas from Montsalvat that he would launch his attempt to regain his rightful legacy.

A thrill tripped through Thierry at the thought that his destiny was once again within his grasp, and he stifled a grin of anticipation. From here would he hold court over his domains that he had no doubt he would regain.

Were the knights not already loyal to the cause? Had not Eustache and the others already risked their hides and their reputations to save him from certain slaughter in Paris? He would lead them to the victory they desired, the victory they had hoped for all these centuries. He would grasp his legacy with both hands and make the old tales ring true.

The blood of two divinely appointed lines of kings mingled in his veins. Was this not everything of which he had ever dreamed? Not a doubt was there that he would succeed, for destiny was on his side.

Under Thierry’s hand, the lost kings of Rhedae would soon be found again.

“D
id you travel alone?” Alienor interjected hastily. Thierry returned reluctantly to the present at her question.

“Nay, I did not ride west alone,” Thierry admitted warily. He indicated his silent friend, still sitting astride his mount in the shadows. “My
anda,
Nogai.” His parents nodded, and greetings were exchanged in Mongol.

He knew he should tell his parents of Kira. Suddenly Thierry was nervous beyond recollection and he unexpectedly feared that they would not approve of the woman he had taken to his side.

“Just the two of you were there?” his mother inquired politely.

“Nay,” Thierry conceded awkwardly. “My woman was there, as well.”

He did not miss the look his parents exchanged. “Your woman or your wife?” Dagobert asked in a precise tone of which Thierry well knew the import. He straightened and deliberately looked his father in the eye.

“Indeed, there is naught of difference betwixt the two,” he maintained stonily. His father arched one brow high and made to speak, but Alienor intervened.

“What is her name?” she asked in an obvious bid to avert an argument.

“Kira,” Thierry supplied, feeling suddenly in poorer temper than he had expected. “Persian she is,” he added for no explicable reason.

“And lovely, I am sure,” his mother said quickly. Thierry fancied she spoke thus to keep his father from interjecting but he flatly refused to meet the older man’s gaze. “Mayhap we could meet her,” Alienor suggested. Thierry’s gaze flew to his mother’s in dismay.

Kira meeting his parents? The idea was more disturbing than it should have been.

What if they did not approve?

“She is not here,” he said. His parents looked confused and his rationalization for leaving Kira behind suddenly seemed inane beyond compare. “Small she is and delicate. Well I thought that I would have to go to Khanbaliq to find you, so Kira I left in Eustache’s care—”

“You left her alone at Montsalvat?” his sire demanded tightly. Thierry did not miss the agitation in his father’s tone.

“Aye, for safer she will be there,” he began, but got no further.

“Safer? But with you she was in Paris?” his father demanded skeptically.

“Aye,” Thierry agreed warily. “My woman is she, as all know.”

Dagobert leaned closer and his eyes gleamed. “Tell me how you left Paris,” he ordered.

Thierry shrugged uncomprehendingly. “We fled, for as soon as I bared my mark, we were attacked.”

“Fled with Eustache?” Dagobert insisted tersely.

“Aye,” Thierry responded irritably, still not seeing the way of things.

“Fool!”

To his complete astonishment his sire wagged one indignant finger directly beneath his nose. “Addlepated fool!” Dagobert spat and whistled impatiently for his attendants. “Surely I raised you to have more sense than this!”

The charge was so reminiscent of precisely what Eustache had said in Paris that Thierry was momentarily taken aback.

“Eustache said they would be prepared,” he protested.

“It matters naught,” his father snapped before he turned away.

“Töde! Make the horses ready immediately! We ride on to the fortress with all haste!” Dagobert muttered an expletive under his breath. He spared his son one eloquent glance of disgust before he spun and hauled himself back into his saddle.

“Surely they can defend the fortress—” Thierry said to his mother. Alienor leaned over to grip Thierry’s hands for a long moment.

“He but fears for your Kira,” she confessed quickly before releasing his hands and hastily turning her mount. Already had Dagobert given spurs to his horse and Thierry was left staring after them.

Had Eustache not spoken aright? Had he left Kira in danger?

“For Kira?” Thierry was in his own saddle in an instant. “Why? What risk has she at Montsalvat? Safe she should be there.” Thierry’s heart went cold but evidently no answer was he to have. The rest of his father’s retinue followed in the older man’s wake, naught but a cloud of dust left before Thierry.

“What does this mean?” Thierry shouted in frustration. He spurred his beast and raced to catch up to his sire. “What is the threat to Kira?”

“Haste must we make,” Dagobert called impatiently over his shoulder. “You have but to think upon the matter to see the truth. Poorly indeed does it serve the king’s interest to leave any of us breathing. ‘Twas that alone that had me flee my homeland. ‘Twas that alone that bade me grant you a choice in taking this legacy.”

“What is the price to Kira?”
Thierry demanded again as he stood in his stirrups, already half certain he knew the answer.

“Your Kira may be forced to bear the price of being the woman of the fruit of the vine,” his sire said enigmatically.

Kira could not be in danger because of his mark alone. ‘Twas preposterous.

“Nay!” Thierry retorted sharply. “Safe she is at Montsalvat! ‘Twas why I left her there. Naught has this to do with her. Naught.” His father shook his head slowly as Thierry drew up alongside, sympathy dawning in the older man’s eyes as he regarded his son.

“We can only hope that ‘twill not be too late,” he advised.

The very words set a chill through Thierry’s heart, but no more could he ask, for his sire was already digging his heels into his mount.

Had he abandoned Kira to some cruel fate? It could not be thus, but Thierry feared that he had done precisely that. Surely naught could have happened in the short span of a day. Surely Eustache would protect Kira, he thought wildly, urging his horse on with renewed vigor.

Surely this legacy of his that promised so much could not steal away the one person he held most dear.

* * *

Kira was over the wall and a dozen steps down the slope before she realized that she was being watched.

She stopped abruptly and clutched her bag to her chest, not at all liking the look of the two dozen men who confronted her. Half-hidden they were, lurking in the shadows of boulders and leaning against the trunks of trees, but their eyes gleamed.

And every eye was fixed upon her.

Kira’s pulse took off at a gallop. She stepped cautiously backward, knowing full well that she could not scale the cursedly smooth wall. Jumping down had been one matter, but now she was truly stranded on the outside.

Mayhap leaving Montsalvat had not been a well-conceived plan.

One man stepped forward, the ripple of his cloak revealing a sliver of azure and gold that fairly stopped Kira’s heart.

Knights from the court in Paris. One look into the steely gaze of the one who approached her with relentless steps told Kira that this was no social call. She panicked and turned to run just in time to see old Eustache leap from the wall in her wake.

He bellowed and drew his blade before he hit the ground. Kira was certain she had never been so glad to see another mortal in her life. The knight stalking her shouted a response. Kira spun to see his blade clear its scabbard as well and knew instinctively that this would be a battle to the death.

With her as the spoils.

Eustache shot her a glance and Kira instantly understood. She scurried out of the way and leaned against the chill of the heavy wall, wincing when the blades clashed for the first time. She opened her eyes and was relieved to find Eustache was yet unscathed. The men backed away from each other and circled. Kira licked her lip, her gaze drawn unwillingly to the figures lurking in the trees. Something cold took hold of Kira’s stomach when she realized the import of their presence.

Should Eustache best this cold knight, he had yet twenty-three more to conquer before he earned her freedom.

How could she have been so foolish?

“Eustache de Sidon, are you not?” the cursedly agile mercenary inquired conversationally.

“Aye, ‘tis my name,” Eustache responded with a vicious swipe of his blade that belied his age to Kira’s eyes. “Heard tell of me, have you?”

The mercenary cocked a skeptical brow. “Aye, plenty have I heard of you and your liege lord over the years.”

“Many years has it been since my liege lord passed away.” The lie fell so easily from Eustache’s lips that Kira knew he had told it before. Was that why Montsalvat had been left in peace?

“Passed away?” the foreign knight inquired mildly. “Mayhap passed away over the hills.” He backed Eustache determinedly across the deadened grass with a renewed attack. Kira felt her hands rise to her mouth. The two men danced across the dawn-tinged ground, more evenly matched than she might have guessed.

Suddenly the mercenary tripped over a stone and lost his balance. Eustache took advantage of the opportunity to lunge forward. The knight swore and twisted, managing somehow to raise his blade with lightning speed. Kira gasped when the sword slid between Eustache’s ribs and surprise lit the older man’s features. Eustache swore vehemently and backed away, the other knight watching with eerie steadiness.

To Kira’s astonishment Eustache took a deep breath and lifted his blade once more.

“En garde,”
he said with icy precision.

Even Kira’s inexperienced eyes saw that the stakes had been raised. Eustache fought now for his life and his vigor was astonishing. Their blades clashing with deafening force, they crossed the clearing back and again.

Eustache’s blade caught the other knight across the cheek and those impassive features contorted in pain. The foreign knight swore as a trickle of red meandered over his skin. Anger tightened his lips but Eustache had already jabbed again. The knight twisted and the tip of the blade but traced an ineffectual line across his throat. He roared in fury and lunged, slamming Eustache’s blade so hard that the sword clattered across the few stones embedded in the grass.

Too far away to be readily retrieved. Kira dared to take a step in pursuit but two of the other foreign knights drew their blades and stepped over the sword.

Eustache drew his dagger in a flash as the knight swung for the final blow. Eustache kicked out and caught the other knight’s ankle. The mercenary swore again as he lost his balance, but his blade still found its mark.

Kira’s heart stopped as Eustache fell, the length of the knight’s sword buried in his belly. She waited but he moved naught.

‘Twas over. The foreign knight ignored Eustache, calmly inspecting his own wound.

This could not be. Eustache could not be gone so quickly. Kira’s gaze flicked over the party of foreign knights in trepidation.

She swallowed in anticipation of her own fate. And her foolishness had cost Eustache dearly as well!

To her astonishment Eustache suddenly leaped to life. His dagger caught the morning light as it arched toward the other knight’s chest. The mercenary shouted in outrage and jerked away. Eustache buried the blade in his shoulder with a grimace of pain and wrenched the blade downward.

His grip loosened and he slowly slid bonelessly back against the dirt, his features lifeless in truth now.

Well it seemed that the pounding of Kira’s heart might deafen her when she met the cold gaze of the foreign knight. The cursed man smiled a most predatory smile and she knew naught good was in store for her.

* * *

The sun was well past its zenith when they passed beneath the barbican again. All seemed normal, but Thierry liked it not. Dagobert shouted for Eustache as they gained the bailey, but Thierry had no interest in finding the older man. All of his fears focused on Kira. Never should he have left her alone. He leaped from his saddle and dashed up the stairs to the solar.

‘Twas empty. Thierry tore open the bed curtains to find that space similarly voided.

She was gone.

It could not be. Thierry turned over stools and prowled the room angrily until he saw that his other saddlebag was gone. Kira had left him.

Impossible it seemed, but the chilling truth could not be denied. He dashed back down the stairs to find a frown on his sire’s brow.

“None have seen Eustache all day,” Dagobert said with dissatisfaction.

“Kira is gone,” Thierry said flatly.

“Something is amiss,” Dagobert concluded. He snapped his fingers and raised his voice. “Search the grounds! Summon all to the task! The lady’s life may be in danger!”

There was a scurry of activity as the men within the hall left to do Dagobert’s bidding. Thierry fought against the tangle of emotions within him as he struggled to make sense of it all. Why would Kira have left him deliberately?

And what would he do if she was lost to him? Already there was an aching hollow within him and he yet knew not her fate.

To his surprise he found his mother’s hand resting on his arm. Thierry looked up and found sympathy in her eyes.

“Well I think that you hold your Kira in regard,” she said softly.

“Aye,” Thierry agreed roughly. The press of his mother’s fingers increased slightly.

“And yet she is not your wife.”

“‘Tis the
same,
” Thierry insisted, knowing all the while that his mother was not convinced.

“Mayhap ‘tis the same to you,” Alienor said smoothly. “But is it the same to your Kira?”

Was that why Kira had left? Did she think he did not care for her? The very thought made everything turn cold within Thierry. Well should he have given her the
aljofar.
Well should he have told her the truth.

He could only hope that he still might have the chance.

“Here!”

The cry brought Dagobert and Thierry simultaneously to the guard post on the curtain wall. Dagobert muttered a curse and stepped immediately back from the scene below.

‘Twas Eustache lying below, bloodied and dead. Thierry studied the older man’s corpse until he located the telling wound. Swordplay. Several men were gathered around Eustache and looked to be making preparations to lift him back within the fortress walls. Thierry’s gaze lifted over them to scan the ground and the periphery as he sought some sign of Kira’s passing.

Had she come this way?

Thierry met Nogai’s gaze. The Mongol nodded thoughtfully, visibly tracing the bloody trail marking the path where Eustache’s body had been hauled.

“Dragged behind the rocks and trees was he, milord,” the man who had accompanied them supplied tersely. “‘Twas why the sentries did not spot him sooner. ‘Twas Beauregard who saw him.”