She’d brought the frantic expectant mother to Ghislaine’s cottage, where the girl had remained hidden throughout her pregnancy. Laudine—an experienced, capable midwife—had delivered the infant and cared for the young mother for the first few months as she nursed the babe that she loved with every fiber of her being but could not possibly keep.
And, when the infant Gaston was old enough to eat gruel and take milk from a cup—the despairing, devastated, doomed mother relinquished her cherished son to Ghislaine and Gaspard.
With the sacred promise to forever keep her secret and never reveal the painful truth.
And so, they had.
Ghislaine’s quavering voice brought Viviane back to the present. “Now that he is seven years old—the age when boys enter training to become a knight—we had thought of sending Gaston to Finistère. To squire for one of your three sons, Laudine.” Ghislaine sipped her tisane and gazed out the window, watching the sparring boys who would one day become valiant knights. “It seemed a logical choice…for Gaston to serve King Guillemin inle Château de Beaufort.”Anguish and elation warred in her impassioned eyes.“But, for him to have the opportunity to train with the legendary Lancelot…to travel to Camelot and become a Knight of the Round Table of King Arthur Pendragon…” Her hand shook violently,tisanespilling down her chalice as tears spilled down her cheeks. “His greatest Yuletide wish will indeed come true.” Ghislaine held Viviane’s gaze with gratitude, guilt, and grief. “But it will be so hard to let him go…” she buried her face in her hands, succumbing to smothering sobs.
Gaspard wrapped his tree trunk arms around his heartbroken wife, cradling her against his solid chest. “Shhh…it will be fine. He’ll come back to Bretagne every summer with Lancelot to train atla Joyeuse Garde. We’ll see him often, my love. And he will become as fine a knight as his mentor. Imagine—our son Gaston, a Knight of King Arthur’s Round Table!” The deep timbre of his voice soothing as a mellow harp, he rocked her, showering her dark curls with comforting kisses, infusing his wife with supportive strength and shared parental pride.
Ghislaine lifted her tear-stained face. “You’re right. I must think of Gaston and how much this will mean to him. It is truly the chance of a lifetime.” With a crumpled smile, she whispered to Viviane, “Thank you. For my beloved son… and for this extraordinary opportunity. I am forever grateful.” She reached across the table and affectionately grasped Viviane’s hand.
The Lady of the Lake squeezed it firmly in return.
Viviane spoke to Esclados. “You mentioned that you bring news from King Guillemin of Finistère. Is everything all right with your three sons?”
“Yes, indeed—they all fare well, each one a respected knight ofle Château de Beaufort.Our son Bastien, as you know, is the king’s eminent Master of Horse. But he has recently received an additional, most prestigious title. Now that the Princess Gabrielle has been called home from Paris—due to her father’s poor health—Bastien has been appointed as her personal royal guard.”
“Congratulations. What an exceptional honor!” Viviane clasped Esclados’ calloused hand and beamed with genuine pleasure and affection.
“He’ll also resume the equestrian lessons he used to give her as a young girl.” Laudine sipped hertisane, her amber eyes glistening in the morning light. “Perhaps even the intensive training that so scandalized the courtiers of Paris, shocked that a pretty princess would want to wield a weapon.” A sly grin spread across her bemused face. “They could never imagine a mere woman as a warrior. But I remember Bastien saying that Gabrielle had exceptional skill in the saddle. With a bow and arrow. And especially with the sword.”
Esclados took a large gulp of mead and swiped a swarthy hand across his trimmed beard, his eyebrows lowering into a pensive frown. “King Guillemin is anxious to see his daughter wed. With his health rapidly declining, he must arrange a royal wedding as soon as possible.” He leaned back in his chair, crossing chiseled arms against his broad chest. “The Marquis de Nantes, Robert Cauchon, is pressuring the king to marry Gabrielle to his son Ugolin. But Cauchon is closely allied with the infamous pirate Balthazar. If his son were to marry Gabrielle and become the King of Finistère, Cauchon and Ugolin would control all shipping on the Breton seas, from the Loire River to the mouth of the Seine. King Guillemin cannot allow that to happen. Which is why he is hosting a Yuletide Joust, with Gabrielle’s hand in marriage offered to the champion.”
Laudine leaned forward expectantly, her voice a breathless whisper. “Lancelot and Esclados, with their magnificent stables, will arrange and implement the joust, providing thedestriersfor the tournament. Which Bastien will oversee, in his role as Master of Horse. The Yuletide Joust will take place on the fourteenth of December, with three days of celebration, culminating in the royal wedding on the sixteenth. Pray that it is not Ugolin Cauchon who wins Princess Gabrielle’s coveted hand.”
Two eager, grimy faces appeared in the doorway. Gaston regarded his father, an irresistible plea in his big blue eyes. “Can we please practice with you?”
Gaspard grinned at Esclados as he rose to his full, towering height. “Let’s leave our wives to chat with our amiable hostess, while you and I get a few of the knights to train with the boys.”
“Sounds good.Allons-y. Let’s go.” The Red Knight stood, stretched out his strong back, and strapped on his superb Spanish sword. He winked at his wife, white teeth gleaming against his dark, handsome face. “We’ll leave you—this lovely trinity of mothers—to plan the upcoming winter solstice.” He glanced at Gaston, his eyes full of merry mirth. “I wonder whatLe Père Noëlwill bring this Christmas?”
As the chuckling men departed with exuberant boys whooping with glee, Viviane smiled contentedly at Laudine. “With Gabrielle’s wedding following the Yuletide Joust, our sons will be home just in time for the winter solstice.” She reached across the table to squeeze Ghislaine’s trembling hand. “For my son to make your son’s Yuletide wish come true.”
A lone tear trickled down Ghislaine’s smiling cheek. “Gaston will be overjoyed. I cannot wait to see his astonished face when he meets the great Lancelot of the Lake.” She dried her eyes, inhaled deeply, and sipped hertisane. She turned to Laudine. “Will all three of your sons be home for the holidays?”
“I truly hope so. I do expect Gaultier. And Cardin, our youngest—with his betrothed, the Lady Charlotte of Saint-Renan.” Laudine sipped her herbal tea and sighed. “But, with Bastien now serving as personal royal guard to Gabrielle, I doubt that he will be able to leave the princess he is sworn to protect.” She gazed pensively into hertisane. “Of all my three sons, he’s the one I worry about most. Gaultier, as our oldest, will inheritle Château de Landuc.And Charlotte’s dowry includes land and a small castle in western Bretagne, close enough for Cardin to remain in loyal service to King Guillemin while raising a family of his own. But Bastien, as our middle son, will inherit neither land nor title. And I fear that he may never marry. For I believe my chivalrous, gallant son lost his heart long ago.”
Sorrow shone in her expressive amber eyes as she held Viviane’s gaze.
“To the feisty, fiery princess. Gabrielle of Finistère.”
Chapter 4
The Viking Princess of Finistère
He loved watching her long red hair billow in the briny wind, sheathed sword strapped at her slender hip, black cloak unfurling like the enormous swan wings of a Valkyrie shield maiden.
Marivée, her fleet footed gray Andalusian, flew across the heathered moors, the horse’s incredible speed a sheer, thrilling delight to the free spirited, flame haired, fire hearted Gabrielle.
Every morning, they zigzagged through the dense woods, racing to the expansive plateau on the peninsular clifftop where—a dozen royal knights standing guard at the edge of the forest—Bastien honed the equestrian and weaponry skills of his princess protégée.
She’d surpassed her previous expertise in the saddle and accuracy with the bow and arrow, yet struggled to regain her precision with the blade. So, after riding and archery, they focused on self-defense moves with the dagger. And offensive attacks with the sword.
Holding her against him as she struggled to break free was agonizing, torturous pleasure. Her intoxicating scent, the feel of her body moving against his, the unbearable desire building more each day…the only way he was able to maintain control was by withdrawing into a sullen, solitary soldier focused solely on battle.
“Extend your arm like this, to parry my downward diagonal cut.” He stood behind her, guiding her weapon as he explained the defensive technique. “Block the blow and launch into your own attack.” Bastien raised her arm to simulate absorbing a strike, pulling her into a sidestep and swirling into a counterattack as she parried his opposing sword. “Now, control the flow and force me back.”
