The Highlander's French Bride Read online

  Kinnon considered the man’s request then nodded. “I can promise you our protection to Aubrac. After that, our paths will likely part.”

  “Do not mistake me. Villages cling to the sides of steep ravines and travel will not be faster once we depart Aubrac. But after the mountains of Aveyron there will be plateaus and rolling hills. There, you will find it much smoother going.”

  “I thank ye, sir, for yer information. We will do well to stick together while we may.”

  Satisfied with Kinnon’s response, the man bowed his head and ambled to the small campfire one of the pilgrims had lit. People clustered around it for the cooking space and for the warmth, as the lowering sun ushered in a cold night.

  Kinnon ate a meat pie, bought earlier that day at the market and heated briefly on the Scotsmen’s own fire. Too weary to engage in the customary post-supper tales, he rolled himself in his plaide and, facing into the darkness, he plunged instantly into sleep.

  They broke camp early the next morning and walked the horses until they were limbered up, then mounted and continued along the trail. Kinnon chafed at the slow pace, but remembered the pilgrim’s words and did not attempt to push faster. They traveled up mountainsides and across icy waterways full of melted snow. All around them was the vast forest until at last they reached a rocky knob overlooking the river Allier.

  They rested that night in a tiny chapel beneath a statue of St. James. The air blew thin and cold and Kinnon worried about Melisende.

  Did the relic merchant tell the truth? Is she ahead on the pilgrim trail? Did she arrive in Aubrac safely? He imagined her adrift, alone, no family and no place to call home. His heart turned grim to think of her fearful, judging every step to ensure Hervé’s legacy did not follow her.

  I will find ye, Melisende. I will do everything within my power to bring joy to the rest of yer days. Dinnae give up, lass. Dinnae give up.

  Chapter 24

  The morning tolling of the bell faded. Melisende stared after the departing pilgrims as they set out on the next lap of their journey to Santiago de Compostela. On their heels was a small herd of dark-eyed cattle, their dun hides stretched loosely across jutting hips after their winter in the barns at Aubrac. They hurried away, udders swaying pendulously, eager for the tender new grass.

  “There will be other groups of pilgrims if you wish to join later,” Jean-Luc reassured her. He smiled. “There are always pilgrims on the trail.”

  Melisende turned from the gate. “I know. But there is something about seeing people who have become familiar leave without you.” She ruffled Jean-Baptiste’s ears. “Your care comes first, mon ami,” she told the dog. “I will not have you pretending to be sound just to keep up.”

  She smiled at Jean-Luc. “Thank you for caring for him. I knew when he injured his foot, but it was not until we reached Aubrac that he was able to get the care he needed.”

  “I feel certain he will be able to travel in another day or two.” The knight’s dark eyes sought hers. “The question is, do you still wish to?”

  Heat spread through her as she caught his warm regard. “You have been very attentive to me, monsieur—Jean-Luc,” she amended as he had begged her to over the past two days. “I set out from Le Puy with the thought that my life could start anew once I was far enough away to be safe from the soldiers there, and once I came to terms with how my sweet sister could say and do such things.” She shrugged, the bitter edge of betrayal souring the memory of years of sheltering Lucienne from harm.

  “And yet, along the way, you met me.” Jean-Luc nudged her softly, his words prodding a response she wasn’t sure she was ready to give.

  “You do not know me,” she told him. “Since I left Le Puy I have become more guarded, less trusting.”

  “You trust me, do you not?” he pointed out.

  “Oui, but I am normally bold, self-reliant—and occasionally impertinent,” she admitted with a ghost of a smile.

  Jean-Luc indicated a stroll about the village with a courteous sweep of his hand. “I would imagine you are in a position in which being self-sufficient is often forced upon you. As for being bold, it is unwise for a young woman such as yourself, traveling alone—albeit with your fierce four-footed protector—to be noticed.” He laughed. “I would, however, enjoy seeing your impertinent side.”

  Some of her melancholy slipped away and Melisende joined his infectious humor. He caught her hand and brought it to his lips, lightly brushing them across her knuckles.

  “You must know how I feel about you by now. You captured my heart the moment I saw you emerging from the mists, like a goddess stepping to earth. I wondered then what a poor, earth-bound mortal such as I could possibly offer that would cause you to notice me.”

  Melisende laughed aloud, more carefree than she could remember in a very long time. “You have given me much, Jean-Luc. I am eternally grateful.”

  His eyes became thoughtful and he pulled her aside to a sausage vendor’s stall. “Let us break our fast and discuss our plans for the day.”

  Melisende tilted her head in surprise. “You have all day free?”

  His smile was superior, almost secretive. “I have taken the day to woo a beautiful woman.”

  Melisende nodded, abuzz with happiness. I have missed the company, the banter of a relationship with someone my own age. I have been too responsible for too long, and missed out on much by trying to be a parent to Lucienne. The easy companionship she had enjoyed with Kinnon came back to her. She slid a look at the tall knight from the corner of her eyes. His stance was full of confidence and a hint of danger, clear warning to all, even without the bold white cross on his black tunic, that he was a man to be reckoned with. And yet he had shown nothing but kindness to her and Jean-Baptiste. Even the dog accepts him. She glanced at Jean-Baptiste fondly.

  Thoughts of Kinnon returned, for Jean-Baptiste had accepted—even loved—him as well. The two men were similar, yet different. They both held the self-assurance of a warrior, but she estimated Jean-Luc’s blond head would top Kinnon’s dark locks by a couple of inches, though Kinnon’s broad shoulders had boasted a raw strength Jean-Luc’s lighter frame would never have.

  Jean-Luc’s remark of seeing her in the fog flattered her. A smile crossed her lips to remember Kinnon’s attempts to tell her how he felt about her. I like the way yer hair is neither black nor brown, and how yer eyes pierce my heart—and see my lack of words to tell ye how much I admire ye.

  Had he only admired her? Would it have become more had the war not separated them? I loved you, Kinnon. I could not admit it, for I did not want my heart to mourn you so much when you left. But you touched me as no one else ever has. Your gentleness, your humor, your love of life. You were so passionate about the wrongs against others, especially against those who could not protect themselves. I longed every day to hear your voice, to talk with you, to soak in your presence. I admit that is now past, but I will not forget.

  She considered Jean-Luc as he accepted the sausages tucked inside fresh baguettes from the vendor with a nod. I enjoy being with Jean-Luc. I feel protected, cared for. He is kind, but there is a hard core in him that will never be truly gentle. As a knight, it is his sworn duty to be gracious to all—but is it his nature?

  She noted the appreciative glances from the women around them as they admired Jean-Luc, how they preened as he inclined his head in their direction. Am I jealous? Do I feel superior to have caught his eye? He is courteous to them—do I stake my heart on his fidelity?

  Do I wish to be protected? With Kinnon, I felt his equal. It would be difficult—mayhap impossible—to reach equality in Jean-Luc’s world of warfare. It is his life. One I would likely accept, but never enter.

  “There appears to be much going on inside that lovely head of yours,” Jean-Luc drawled, giving her a patronizing smile. “Here is a bench in the shade. Sit, eat, and tell me what more I can offer you.”

  * * *

  The fog was a fragile thing, drifting in and out of the trees l
ike a seductive ghost, chased by a dawn breeze. Early morning sun gleamed gray and cold, and the camp was already stirring. The sound of hooves on the packed earth prodded Kinnon to battle stance.

  A white banner with a red cross appeared out of the mist, snapping in the wind. Thirty men rode abreast, their mantles marked with the same cross. The visors on their helmets were up as they assessed the pilgrims. They slid to a stop, alert to the mounted Scotsmen.

  One knight rose in his stirrups, addressing them. “We are sworn to protect the pilgrims along this trail. Speak of your intentions.”

  Kinnon sent his horse two steps forward, acknowledging himself as their leader. “We have traveled with them since Le Puy. We will serve them as long as our paths lie together.”

  The knight settled in his saddle and conversed briefly with those at his side. He turned to Kinnon. “You and your men are welcome to join us. The pilgrims are our responsibility until they leave Aubrac.”

  Kinnon grinned at the men arrayed behind him. “Well then, lads. Welcome to Aubrac.”

  They rode to one side of the knights across the high plains, passing herds of tan, dark-eyed cattle on their way to summer pasture, with bored lads pacing along behind. Ahead, the town of Aubrac appeared, its walls circling protectively.

  The commander pulled his horse alongside Kinnon. “The domerie is just ahead. The large building there.” He nodded to a structure with a square bell tower, surrounded by a nave reinforced with sturdy arches. “You are welcome to stable your horses with ours.” He directed Kinnon’s gaze to a large, white-walled barn nearby. “And it would be an honor to house you and your men for the duration of your visit as well.”

  Kinnon started to decline, wishing to forego the welcome in order to more quickly question the monks at the domerie, to discover if Melisende had indeed passed through here. But he understood the number of his men would likely stretch the hospitality of the monks, and reluctantly acquiesced to the knight’s offer.

  They parted from the pilgrims and rode toward the stables. Young lads hurried from the building, each to a different knight and his mount. A few others hustled to claim the new horses, looking at them in awe as their gazes darted from the bare knees of the Scots to the meticulously garbed knights.

  “Doesnae appear as if they’ve ever seen a Scotsman before,” Rory muttered to Hamish as a lad sent him a startled look before taking his horse away.

  “’Tis the bloody uniform they wear. White and red without a speck of dust. And that eight-pointed star on every one of them.”

  “’Tis the Maltese Cross,” Kinnon informed them. “These are the Knights Hospitaller. The four arms of the cross represent the four cardinal virtues of prudence, justice, fortitude, and temperance. The eight points are reminders of the oaths they have sworn, though I dinnae remember them.”

  “They are to have spiritual joy, to weep over our sins, love justice and be sincere and pure of heart,” the commander supplied as he approached their group. “To live without malice and humble ourselves to those who would cause us injury. To be merciful and be willing to suffer persecution.” He smiled broadly, and Kinnon was relieved to see he did not appear offended by Kinnon’s lack of knowledge.

  He doffed his helmet. “No offense intended, but how is it a Scotsman knows of the Knights Hospitaller and our creed?”

  “None taken. I served for a time in Bertrand’s army. I saw men of many different creeds on my travels and there was always much opportunity to learn if ye wished it.”

  “All of France mourned Bertrand’s passing.” The knight paused, a moment of respect for the memory of the man, then turned to his current purpose. “I am Josse D’Aramitz, commander of this tongue of Knights Hospitaller. It is our duty to protect those on pilgrimage, and the hills swarm with bandits.”

  “I am Kinnon Macrory, of clan Macrory. This is my captain, Rory, with nineteen trusted soldiers. Your men are much appreciated,” Kinnon remarked. “One man who has made this pilgrimage more than once mentioned your help to me.”

  Josse accepted the compliment with a single nod. “Come this way. I will show you to your quarters. You may purchase food in the market or join us as we break our fast. We do not eat before we leave to our morning duty.”

  “I would leave Hamish to settle the men,” Kinnon rejoined, “but I have a personal errand here and wish to see to it immediately.”

  D’Aramitz’s eyebrows rose. “Ah, the raison your path may part from the pilgrims’?”

  “Aye.” Kinnon decided to trust the knight. “I seek a young woman who was unjustly accused of a crime and forced from her home a week or more ago. I had hoped she would find safety, but I seem to be always a few days too late to help.”

  “A Scotswoman?” the knight asked.

  “Nae, French. Her sister saved my life after I was wounded at the siege of Châteauneuf-de-Randon, but the woman I seek was charged after her dog attacked the soldiers who were sent to retrieve me.”

  The knight gave Kinnon quizzical look. “A large dog? One that is her protecteur?”

  Excitement raced through Kinnon’s veins. “Ye know her?”

  D’Aramitz shook his head. “Myself, non. But one of my knights has a large dog he is tending in the stables for an injury. He says the brute’s owner is a beautiful young woman from Le Puy.”

  * * *

  Melisende tensed. “I do not know what other kindness you could offer a pilgrim such as myself, chevalier,” she murmured carefully.

  Jean-Luc closed her hand around one of the baguettes and she bit off a small morsel. He finished his own in three large bites, and brushed the crumbs from his hands. “I have more than a simple attraction to you and I believe, though you have lapsed back into formality, some attraction exists for me on your part as well, n’est-ce pas?”

  “I am grateful to you and I enjoy what time we have spent together,” she allowed. “Are you insinuating there could be more between us?”

  Jean-Luc gave her an amused look. “Have I not said so? I have paid you many compliments—some to lift your spirits—but all because I sincerely meant them.”

  “Even that I looked like a goddess descending to earth the morning you first saw me?” Melisende could not suppress a grin.

  He chucked her beneath her chin. “Especially that one.”

  She shook her head, her eyes crinkled with amusement. “Then, you should examine either your eyesight or your standards, for I am assuredly no goddess.”

  Jean-Luc leaned closer, his gaze on her lips. “You are beautiful, Melisende—by any man’s standards.”

  He brushed his lips against hers and she startled. No man had ever been so bold or attempted such a liberty. He immediately drew back, giving her breathing space, but kept his seat on the bench next to her.

  “To alarm you is the last thing I wish.” He spoke softly, for her ears only. “Whatever you are willing to give—I will not ask you to go beyond what you desire. I can be a patient man, ma chérie. You have my heart—and my word.”

  Melisende set her baguette aside as a sudden chill ran through her. “If your promise is for a short intimacy, chevalier,” she said, stressing the last word to remind him of his sworn oaths, “then rest assured your patience may be transferred to a woman more suited to your tastes, with no animosity from myself.”

  Jean-Luc leaned his shoulder casually against the rock wall behind the bench. “I am sure I could change your mind and your hesitancy if you would but remain in Aubrac a bit longer.”

  Melisende rose to her feet in a fluid, angry movement, sweeping her skirt away from contact with the knight. “I am certain you could not. Jean-Baptiste and I—”

  The dog surged to his feet, a mighty bark cutting through Melisende’s words. She reached for him, afraid he was about to launch himself at Jean-Luc, aware what the massive jaws could accomplish on human flesh. To her surprise, Jean-Baptiste did not face the knight, but the crowd on the street. His tail wagged, slowly at first, then faster as he apparently recognized someon
e in the dense throng of passers-by.

  She grasped his collar, and the dog stepped onto the street. The crowd parted around them as people registered the dog’s excitement. “Méchant chien,” someone muttered darkly.

  Jean-Baptiste leapt forward, all but dragging her as she lurched after him. She tripped through a muddy patch of uncobbled street and she lost her grip on his wide leather collar. Barking happily, the dog disappeared into the mass of people. Melisende stretched up on her toes, trying to search above the heads of those around her.

  And found herself face to face with the one man she thought she’d never see again.

  Chapter 25

  The dog bounded out of the crowd, straight for him. Kinnon raised his arm en garde before his chest in an unconscious response as the beast launched himself into the air. People cried out, stumbling over each other to get away as the dog’s apparent attack was met with the harsh whisper of steel leaving its sheath. Kinnon recognized Jean-Baptiste a split second before he was spitted on Rory and Josse’s swords.

  “No!” he shouted. Stepping quickly forward, he grasped the dog, hands full of furry muscle on either side of the beast’s neck, and pulled him close, shielding him from the men’s offensive guard. Jean-Baptiste whined, whipping his body around and around, ears creased against his head as he danced his greeting at Kinnon’s feet.

  “Is this le chien?” Josse asked, his sword still in hand as he eyed the massive beast.