Esmeraude’s heart began to thunder and she could not take another step. She heard the splash of oars as the second boat was rowed back toward Mull, but had eyes only for the knight before her.
Perhaps Bayard’s mortality was not such a fault, after all. He seemed vibrantly alive this morn, as vital as a dancing flame. He was taller and broader than she had recalled, no less striking in sunlight than in moonlight.
“I did it!” Andrew cried behind her. “I knew you would come, my lord.”
A smile touched Bayard’s firm lips, though his gaze did not waver from Esmeraude. His words were softly uttered and filled with pleasure, his voice deep. “Aye, Andrew, you did very well.”
In the darkest corner of her heart, Esmeraude could not claim to be disappointed to see this knight again. Bayard, crusad
