Ban Talah Page 8

  TALAH SMILED AT Juetta’s outburst of laughter, stopping to lean against a post on the pier.

  “Did you see the look on his face?” Juetta said in her French accent. “My God, I thought he was going to throw a demon’s rage!” Talah’s gaze drew Juetta to step closer, holding tightly the new fabric. Gesturing to the bundle she smiled. “Thank you for this.”

  “You bought it.”

  “Not without your bartering.”

  Oh, how Talah had missed the delicate way her French accent would curl around that silkened tongue at such words. Juetta de Bearn was the daughter of a duke Talah’s father used to do business with. Their chateau was nestled in the rich hills along the Pyrenees Mountains, among the vineyards of a monastic society, which Juetta’s father resided over. Kings and noblesse visited often, leaving young Isadora and Juetta to venture out into the countryside alone. Juetta would teach Isadora the French language and Isadora would in turn teach her to ride a horse and joust like a warrior in the way her father taught her. To ride a horse bareback took skill, as young Juetta discovered.

  “Valeur,” young Juetta cried out to her horse, laughing and holding onto Isadora’s waist. “Valeur, slow down!”

  Valeur was Juetta’s thoroughbred, and although she was used to taking the mare through the same pastures, it was securely by saddle.

  Young Isadora was in her element and smiled over her shoulder to the girl, clutching her fingers tighter around the flaxen mane. “Don’t worry, Juetta,” Isadora insisted. “This is her spirit. Let her fly.”

  “But I’m going to fall off!”

  “You’re doing fine. Just use your legs. If you can master her bareback, you’ll be the best rider in all of France.” Talah could still recall the joyous scream Juetta cried out as they jumped a fallen tree.

  To bring Talah back to the present, a little girl ran down the pier passing the two as she screamed and giggled. Such a reminder to Talah of the ringing in her ears long after that day. Juetta’s sudden heated slap on the arm awakened her senses. Puzzled, she followed Juetta’s stomping. “Forgive me, did I miss something?”

  Juetta twisted about and seethed, “All this time you have been alive and you did not even bother to send a message? A small note, something. For six years I have mourned your death in every dream, recalling our last moments together. Every word spoken, every touch, every breath I have recalled with vivid torment. I have sorely cried myself to sleep countless nights knowing I could never again know your love. And every time a summer rain would fall upon my face I would feel your caress about my skin as if were the last time we made love.” Her stern resolve faded under the tender gaze of Talah, and tears swelled within her eyes. “Why? Why did you not tell me?” Juetta turned about.

  Talah embraced her and whispered into her hair. “I had to go away. I could not tell anyone. Not even you. Please try to understand.”

  Juetta turned abruptly on heel and faced the woman she knew as Isadora. “Why did you not come to France?”

  Talah scoffed.

  “You could have stayed on my father’s land, hidden safely perhaps in the monastery, away even from King Louis’s knowing.”

  “I could never put you or your father in such danger.”

  Talah’s mind reeled at the sudden memory of the abbey at Newcastle. Her heart ached at the painful vision of the bloodlust that stained the dirt and sacred stone walls with sanguine rage. She staggered and shook her head. Tears gathered as she clenched her teeth with savage agony. “No,” she murmured. “He would have killed you. He would have killed all of you.”

  Juetta inhaled and reached out to touch her arm. “Something has happened to you, hasn’t it?” Juetta gasped.

  A deep struggle in Talah’s eyes had embedded itself as thorns, whose piercing she distanced herself from with a deep exhale. “Forgive me.” With closed eyes, she quickly composed herself. “It is a scar that needs no such reminder of its presence.”

  Juetta quietly took Talah by the hand and gently tugged. “Come,” she breathed, smiling with an apparently new understanding. “Walk with me.”

  Moya, Brodie, and Mac had awaited Talah’s arrival near a French vessel when Brodie spotted Talah on the pier below. Brodie ran down the plank to meet her.

  “Well, I take it you were successful, aye Brodie?”

  “Nothing to it,” he replied with a wide grin. “We head out at sunset.”

  “Brodie, may I present Lady Juetta de Bearn.”

  Brodie carefully took her hand in his and tilted his head politely. “Pleasure.”

  Talah gestured to Brodie. “This is William Brodie. One of my most elusive warriors,” she added with tongue-in-cheek.

  Juetta smiled. “Really?”

  “Aye. Give him a bottle of brandy and wages and you’ll not see him till the next call of battle.”

  “Well,” Brodie said finally, “I suppose we should start loading our gear, aye Talah?”

  “Would be a good idea, Mister Brodie.”

  Watching Brodie brush past, Juetta mused. “What a charming young man, Monsieur Brodie.”

  Talah sighed. “He has his moments.”

  BRODIE HAD WALKED up the wharf and gathered the horses. All except one, that is. Lugh was bent on being his usual self, not allowing anyone to touch even his reins. Lugh jerked and fought much to Brodie’s will.

  “Aw, come on, now,” he urged impatiently. “I know you want to go on the nice, pretty boat, don’t you?”

  Again, Lugh kicked and whinnied and caused a real uproar among the nearby townsfolk and merchants. Some laughed and made crude remarks while others were shouting in fright of what this large, dark horse might do.

  “Come on,” an embarrassed Brodie scowled. “Move it!” Finally, out of annoyance, he tossed down the reins and backed away. “Ahh. Damn you. Serves you right if I should leave you here.”

  Just then, a hooded pilgrim carefully stepped up beside Lugh and placed a gloved hand upon his nose. Lugh’s black eye darted quickly to this stranger. At first he was startled and attempted to back away. However, after being given a rowan leaf, he calmed and was easily led toward Brodie.

  “I wouldn’t touch him,” Brodie warned. “He’s awfully...frisky.” The last, Brodie murmured noticing Lugh’s approval of this figure’s lead. “How’d you do that? He only allows Ban Talah to lead him that way.”

  Familiar features silenced Brodie's tongue as the hood was pulled back slightly.

  “By Andrasta, won’t Talah be surprised.”

  TALAH HAD BEEN in conversation with Mac when she turned about to see Brodie escorting the horses to the ship. Her eyes squinted curiously at the figure in the brown pilgrim’s robe who led Lugh. As the two approached, Talah grinned with knowing.

  “There is only one other Lugh would stand still for.”

  A gloved hand pulled back the hood to expose a swag of braided blonde hair that fell over the right shoulder of Talah’s old friend, Danann. “And who would that be?”

  “What changed your mind?” asked Talah. “I was led to believe your life had been swept away by a certain beauty.”

  Danann pulled the robe up over her head exposing her shoulder, arm armor, and Pict tattoos on her right forearm. “Believe it or not, it was her idea.”

  Talah laughed.

  “Aye. She kicked me out and told me not to return until it was out of my blood.”

  “She hasn’t any idea what she’s just committed herself to,” said Moya, who greeted them at the plank of the ship.

  A shout from up top interrupted the group. It was the ship’s captain.

  “Ey,” he shouted again, in his French accent. “Better get settled. We sail in two hours.”

  Talah allowed her comrades to board ship, grasping hold of Danann’s arm as she escorted Lugh atop the plank. She smiled warmly and said, “Whatever the intention, I am very pleased at your return.”

  Directing her eyes away from the group, Talah turned back to Juetta’s enchanting features. “Forgive me, my L
ady, that our meeting again should be so brief. However, I’m afraid impending matters dictate a swift departure. If I may be so honored as to walk you to your ship?”

  A small grin curled around the corner of Juetta’s delicate lips. “You are certainly the gentlewoman I remember,” she breathed. “Still that charming radiance about you. However,” she added with a devious twinkle. “There is a small matter I have yet mentioned.”

  “Aye, and what is that?”

  “We are at my ship.”

  Talah stepped back in surprise.

  “Oui.”

  “And where are you headed?”

  Juetta leaned against the ship’s bulwark. “Anywhere you want to go.”

  Talah paused to ponder, then smiled. “I see what you’re doing. But, I’m afraid I cannot allow you to come. This trip might prove to be quite dangerous.” Taking her by the arm, Talah led her down the plank. “Allow me to make arrangements with a friend of mine who has a manor just north of here. I’ll provide safe carriage. And I’ll come to you upon my immediate—”

  “I’m afraid I haven’t made myself clear,” she stated, unyielding. “This is my ship. I own this ship.”

  “Your ship?”

  “That is what I have been trying to tell you.”

  Talah shrugged it off. “Well, no matter. I still suggest you stay until we return.”

  “Have I fallen from your memory so that you forget what makes me breathe?” Juetta spat defiantly. “I am quite capable of taking care of myself. I need no protection from you or anyone else!”

  “No. I doubt that you would.”

  Talah had crossed her arms over her chest and scrutinized the woman’s fierce tenacity, enthralled at the fact of Juetta’s little change in personality after all those years. Still the same fiery temper and persistent determination. Much like herself, in many ways. Perhaps, this is why the two had been such torrid lovers.

  Grinning, Juetta took Talah by the hand and turned back toward the deck. “Come. I’ll prove it to you. I’ll give you a personal tour.” Juetta approached the captain and first mate as they stood on starboard. “This is Captain Jacques Deconus. And here is First Mate Jean-Luc. As the men bowed she added, “Gentlemen, this is your guest, Ban Talah.”

  Eyes wide, the men glanced at each other in recognition of the name and pulled themselves from their slouching positions. The captain composed himself politely.

  “Treat her as you would treat me,” Juetta ordered evenly. “No exceptions.”

  AN ORNATELY CARVED wooden door opened to allow Talah sight of an unusually expansive cabin. Fine upholstery decorated the living space with all the amenities of a noblewoman’s French chateau.

  “Do you like it?” asked Juetta.

  “It’s beautiful,” Talah replied, dumbfounded. “Almost how I would envision Cleopatra’s quarters.”

  Sauntering past Talah, Juetta stopped before a pewter flagon of wine and poured two pewter cups full of the rich red liquid.

  “I wanted comfort, as if I were home,” she answered, placing a cup in Talah’s hand. “Father believed I should not go without the same indulgence, douceur de vivre, which is desirous.” The last she breathed while standing close to Talah.

  Talah eyed her delicious lips before clearing her throat. “Your father has done well for himself over the years. It certainly carries a distinct refinement over any other cabin I’ve seen. Including King Henry’s.”

  “You’ve seen King Henry’s quarters?”

  “Well, it was just a boat to him. A mere means of travel to this land or that. He used it primarily as his task room, bringing us in to discuss strategies and politics.”

  The last, Talah murmured, captivated by Juetta’s hypnotic eyes and lovely features. The sweat of desire arose like a fire as Juetta brushed against her thigh. The blood pulsed and heart raced so, Talah thought she needed to come up for air. Juetta melted into Talah’s palm as her fingers caressed her soft cheek. Talah fought hard the seduction that stirred the embers of remembrance, but could not escape the last vision of her body. Milk sweet, her flesh adorned with soft thyme and warm sun-kissed dew. Juetta hiked up her gown and began moving against Talah and drew her lips near. Talah stopped her and stepped aside.

  Juetta ruffled her eyebrows. “Have I repulsed you?”

  “Nonsense.” Talah looked again into the depths of Juetta’s eyes and added with a sigh, “Forgive me.”

  “I would almost believe your mood oppressed by the longing of another.”

  Talah brushed past after laying her goblet down. “I have business to attend to. If you would excuse me, my Lady.”

  Juetta called to her as she opened the door. “Talah, forgive me. Please. Why not dine with me tonight? You and your companions.”

  Talah nodded after a thought. The door closed. Talah’s mind reeled before stepping away. Only the sound of her own footfalls endeared company with such amorous affliction to quietly fade in silence, leaving her soul with questions unanswered.

  THE DUSK SKY burst forth into a coral fire of clouds as the sun bowed to its last breath upon the lay of sea. The host ship, the Fleur de Lyon, and its crew dutifully embarked upon its journey, calmly escaping the blush of evening skies in silhouette. The ship’s captain, Deconus stood at the helm engaged in conversation with his first mate and a handful of others.

  Jean-Luc defied his captain’s opinion about the Pict warrior. “If I had it my way, we would already be sailing back to France with this woman in chains.”

  “Have you seen her?” exclaimed a short crewman. “She’s a giant!”

  The crew burst into laughter. “To you, everyone’s a giant,” replied another.

  “Have you seen the bounty?” Jean-Luc asked Deconus. “Twenty thousand Anglaises pounds in gold.”

  “I know what her head is worth,” spat Deconus. “I’m just curious why the Church wants to give up that kind of fortune for a woman.”

  “Kings have been ransomed for less,” exclaimed one.

  “She is a sorceress,” said another in low, afraid her ears would somehow hear his gossip.

  Jean-Luc nodded. “A witch. She’s killed many an army by her magic.”

  Deconus grimaced diabolically. “When the gods send you a whale, you simply find a bigger rope and more spears.”

  LADY JUETTA DE Bearn smiled at her Scottish guests seated before her. She chose a satiny emerald gown befitted with pearls and lace embroidery. Soft whips of brown hair fell softly onto her shoulders and around her forehead. The many candles lit a warm glow that danced over her skin like amber jewels and her eyes sparkled.

  “A toast,” she announced with crystal goblet held high. “To your journey.”

  Juetta’s composure was that of a true noblewoman. This did not go unnoticed by Talah, who sat at the opposite end of a magnificently dressed table.

  “And another,” Talah added, eyeing Juetta warmly. “To our host, Lady Juetta. For such a fine meal and generous hospitality.”

  Indeed, it had been a fine meal of boar and all its accoutrements. It was no wonder everyone continued to pick at the meat even as their bellies protruded.

  Brodie belched in agreement. “Aye, it was a fine meal, my Lady.” He smiled to a servant filling his cup from a Greek carafe, adorned with painted figures of naked men. Eyeing the piece more closely, he said, “Well, would you look at that. They run naked too.”

  Brodie’s drunken laugh tickled everyone else to laugh as well.

  Mac leaned away from the table and rubbed at his belly, which seemed stretched over its capacity. “Right now, I can’t imagine walking let alone running.”

  “Well, it’s no wonder,” Moya spat. “You practically ate the entire boar yourself.”

  “Aye, I did, didn’t I?” Mac beamed happily. A roar of laughter shook his mighty tummy as he popped a piece of cheese in his mouth as a sweet reprisal.

  Brodie reached within his thick coat and pulled out a chanter. He had looked upon Juetta’s enticing smile of curiosity and was
possessed to play a soft, dreamy tune instead of his usual high-romping dance melody. It was a beautiful piece that settled the minds and stomachs of everyone, so much so that Moya began to drift off to sleep. Danann nudged her.

  Talah had looked about the table before staring long into the candles flickering glow. She then lifted her gaze to meet Juetta’s penetrating eyes. The song had ended, bringing Talah to her senses to coolly acknowledge Brodie’s smile.

  “Thank you so much, Monsieur Brodie,” sighed Juetta. “That was a most beautiful aria. You must play for us again sometime.”

  Brodie exclaimed, “Oh, I could play the one I wrote for Talah.”

  Talah grimaced. “I believe we should retire for the evening, Brodie.”

  “Oh, just one more.” Brodie started another tune, but not before a dagger struck boldly into the side of his chanter, causing a squeal of an off note from its startled player.

  Juetta stared at the dagger. It was the small blade Talah received from the Old Woman. Its iridescent metal must have captivated her senses, as if calling to her. “What a most splendid little weapon,” she gasped in wonder. “Where on earth did you get such a piece?”

  “It was a gift,” Talah answered.

  Juetta held out her hand like a child begging for candy. “May I touch it?”

  Talah gestured for Brodie to hand the weapon to Juetta. It wasn’t in

  her hands but a moment before she whelped, dropping the piece to stick into the hard plank board at her feet. Brodie and Talah gathered to her while Danann and Mac raised eyebrows in question.

  Juetta sheepishly glanced about the faces staring back. “How silly of me.”

  Talah grabbed a cloth from the table and began wrapping the wound that appeared on Juetta’s palm. “It’s very sharp. I’m sorry, I should have warned you.”

  THE BAND HAD gathered below deck with the horses for the night. Talah had dropped off to sleep lying on Lugh’s neck, or so she pretended. Moya had fallen fast asleep in the next stall, for the sluggish roll of the ship was a soothing sedative. Danann stood at Mac and Brodie’s stall, keeping them awake in conversation.