“I was in Damascus,” Angus repeated firmly. “And without a denier to my name.”
“After your release, then,” she concluded and he gave her a stern look.
“Who tells this tale?”
Jacqueline smiled and held a finger to her own lips. “Not me.” Then she could not hold her tongue. “But why were you even imprisoned?”
Angus chuckled beneath his breath. “I should let you be consumed with curiosity for the tale.”
“But you will not.” She heard the change in his own tone. “You mean to tell me!”
“I shall tell you what I am prepared to tell you and not a word more.” He smiled crookedly. “You have found me in a weak moment.”
“Hardly that. I doubt you have any such moments. You have simply chosen to tell me now. Why?”
“Perhaps I would savor silence in my final days.”
His expression was so mischievous that Jacqueline could not have been insulted. She laughed and leaned back against him. “Tell me, then, tell me as much as you dare.”
“I suppose there is naught to be done but begin at the beginning,” Angus mused. “I arrived in Jerusalem after a year’s journey and many unexpected adventures. The last of which was the attack of thieves on the Jaffa road, which left my comrade dead and relieved me of my purse.”
Characteristically, he did not dwell on this misfortune, nor did his tone waver, though Jacqueline was appalled. “Fortunately, I managed to save my comrade’s body and flee to the gates of the Holy City.
“’Twas there I met Rodney, for he was standing sentry there. No doubt he was pleased to meet another from his homeland, even in such poor circumstance, and he was quick to offer his aid. He took me to the Templars, insisting that any father would want his son in such august company. He served them as a sergeant in those days and so then did I.”
“But the master of the order saw promise in me, for some reason, and he had me trained as a knight. I welcomed the opportunity and earned my spurs beneath the order’s care. And I joined the order, laboring as a knight, praying, fasting, fighting.”
“Which is why you know so much of poverty, chastity and obedience.”
“They are more challenging vows than many at first believe.”
“But you kept your vows.”
“Aye, I did. And in the years after my arrival, it seemed that my aid was needed most in Outremer. There were many earthquakes, which caused not only devastation, but the fear that they were a portent of worse to come. Around the same time, a most able warrior by the name of Saladin had come to lead the Saracens. He was bold and valiant and much skilled in strategy.
“Many in the Latin Kingdoms of Outremer feared his influence, and worse, his plans for Jerusalem. The King of Jerusalem himself had pledged to not build a fortress in the valley of the upper Jordan River, though ’twas a strategic site. ’Twas at the ford where Jacob wrestled the angel that the Templars then began to build their fortress of Chastelet.
“In defiance of the treaty?”
“The master of the order reminded all that the treaty was made with the king, not with the Templars.”
“Surely a convenience.”
“The defense was needed for the protection of Jerusalem—perhaps that was why the King of Jerusalem provided his own troops to encircle and protect its construction. Saladin too saw its import, for he offered tremendous ransom to have the construction stopped. Naught halted the rise of those walls. Chastelet was completed in six months, and garrisoned with fifteen hundred mercenaries and sixty Templar knights.”
“Including you.”
“The King’s troops withdrew once the fortress was complete and many of the elite of the Templars returned to Jerusalem in his escort. Saladin attacked the new fortress but was repulsed—then he surprised the retreating party by surrounding them at Marj Ayun. The King of Jerusalem and Raymond of Tripoli escaped.”
“What of the others?”
“The grand master of the Temple, Odo de St. Amand, was captured, and most of the remaining Christian troops were slaughtered. ’Twas a horrific loss.”
“What of the other knights?”
“There is a practice in the east of ransoming a nobleman or a military leader to his own side for as much coin as possible. The knights who did not die were captured and taken to Damascus to be imprisoned until they might be ransomed. It is, however, contrary to the rule of the Temple for a knight of the order to be ransomed for more than his belt and his sword. The grand master refused to be ransomed, as did the knights of the order captured with him.”
Angus frowned at the floor of the dungeon. “’Twas interpreted by the Moslems to be an attempt at treachery. Since the Templars had so recently defied a treaty they had made with the King of Jerusalem, the order was held to be faithless. ’Twas determined that the knights were spies and should be compelled to confess to their true intentions.”
Jacqueline lifted her hand to his face.
Angus met her gaze. “What better way to deter a spy than to relieve him of the tools of his trade?”
“They only took one eye.”
“I never knew when they intended to collect the other.” He smiled wryly. “Perhaps that dread was part of their intent.”
“But you were released.”
“We were all released. The grand master died in that Damascus prison a year after capture. By then matters had changed—Saladin had, after all, razed Chastelet to the ground in the interim and felt no threat from it or perhaps from us any longer. ’Twas evidently felt that a gesture of goodwill was seemly. What knights of the order survived were permitted to escort the grand master’s body back to Jerusalem for burial. They even returned what weapons were obviously of sentimental value.”
“Such as your father’s sword.”
“Odin’s Scythe.” Angus shook his head in recollection. “I shall never forget the first touch of sunlight upon my flesh, nor the sight of Rodney, holding Lucifer as he awaited me there. I was weak and sickened but he tended me without complaint and he never would hear a word of compense for the acquisition of that steed.”
“Was he not at Chastelet?”
“Nay, he had been ordered to remain in Jerusalem. There was a time when he regretted it, but later he came to appreciate his fortune. I was commended upon my return to Jerusalem for my service to the order and asked my one desire.”
“You wished to come home,” Jacqueline guessed.
“Who would not?” Angus looked around the dungeon, and she thought she saw a suspicious glimmer in his eye. She ached anew for him, knowing what he had found, but his voice echoed softly in the chamber. “Indeed, after that, who would not?”
* * *
Angus said naught more that day. Jacqueline could see his exhaustion, though he paced restlessly and kept his gaze fixed upon the sliver of light visible to them. His shoulders sagged when the light disappeared and she could sense that he mustered his strength.
Angus seemed to fight his need to sleep, though she had no such success. She curled up on the step, disappointed when he declined her invitation to join him. All too soon, she fell asleep to the sound of his regular footfalls as he paced the cell.
She was awakened by a blood-curdling yell.
The cell was as dark as pitch, though she smelled fear within it. Angus thrashed against the walls and shouted gibberish. Jacqueline sat up, stunned when he swore with diligence, and knew he needed aid of some kind.
She eased closer to his side, guessing his position by the sound. He flung out a hand, bellowing incoherently, and barely missed her.
His fist struck the wall with alarming force, and she realized that he was sleep. She backed away from him in fear. He muttered angrily, he raged against unseen enemies and he struck out at atrocities that only he could see. She could smell the sweat than ran from his flesh and fairly taste his terror. She knew that he was snared in dark dreams of recollection.
Dreams perhaps prompted by him finally surrendering his tale to her, an
d that by her request. There was naught for it, for she was responsible again—she had to aid him.
Her own heart hammering with trepidation, Jacqueline approached Angus. He roared in anguish just as she drew near, then flung out his hands as though he would defend himself. She ducked quickly beneath his arms and wrapped her arms around his waist.
“’Tis Jacqueline,” she whispered but he grasped her shoulders in her hands as though he would fling her away.
“Nay, nay, nay.”
“Aye, ’tis me. Angus! You are but dreaming. You must awaken!”
He denied her vigorously, struggling against her grip once more. She felt the fury building within him again and recalled how he had been reassured in the cavern. She unfastened the tie in her hair with agitated fingers and shook out her braid, casting her hair over his flesh.
He trembled as she gripped him in fear, but then suddenly, he stilled. For some reason, the touch of her hair made Angus pause.
Jacqueline whispered soothingly to him, insisting he dreamed and reminding him of her name. She lifted a lock of hair as he had done once and ran it across his face.
Angus shuddered and his breath left him raggedly.
“Jacqueline,” he whispered hoarsely. His grip upon her changed, no less urgent than before but now he held her closer instead of trying to cast her away. He buried his face in her neck and inhaled deeply as though there was some magic in her that she could not discern.
When he kissed the hollow of her throat sweetly, the tears rose to Jacqueline’s eyes, so great was her relief.
When his lips found hers, Jacqueline could deny him naught. He kissed her with a hunger unexpected, as though he could not ever sate his desire for her. Angus cradled her against his chest and rained kisses across her face, her neck, her shoulder, murmuring her name like a litany. There was a desperation in his touch, a need that she could not deny when she knew she could fill it.
The heat rose immediately between them, their very flesh seemingly kindled to the flame. They tasted each other and touched each other and demanded of each other with a newfound urgency. Jacqueline found herself bold in the darkness and enflamed by his ardor. She kissed him with hunger, letting her tongue duel with his, delighted that she could make his desire rage.
He was within her in no time at all and she welcomed his heat. They moved together, tormenting and pleasing each other, summoning a tide so great and one that deluged them so quickly that they were both left gasping.
And then they loved again, more slowly, each caress punctuated with endearments. The pleasure was no less for their leisure and indeed, Jacqueline was amazed to learn that Angus could coax her response yet a third time in succession.
’Twas then she slept, curled against him, her feet in his lap and his fingers enfolded in her hair.
* * *
As Angus held Jacqueline close in the darkness, he struggled to understand how she had dismissed the clutch of his nightmares. She was fearless, he realized, uncaring for her own safety when she could lend aid to another.
And for her assistance, he was grateful.
He had no doubt that Jacqueline would ask him again of what he feared in the night, of what had happened in that prison, just as he knew he would never tell her of it. She had no understanding of the wickedness men could inflict upon each other in the name of whatever goal. She might be destined to learn of it, but Angus would not be the one to teach her.
He loved her, just as she was, this contradiction of innocence and defiance. Angus loved her optimism that justice would prevail and her determination to do whatever was necessary to ensure that it did. He loved the way she laughed and the keenness of her intellect, he loved how she did not admit defeat readily and defended those for whom she cared.
He loved how fearless she could be, how she argued with him when she believed him mistaken and how she questioned all she did not understand. She was a beauty to the bone, his Jacqueline. She was a marvel to him, appearing so soft and sweet, yet hiding a core as resolute as steel. He, who had never expected to love again, had been healed by this one woman in more ways than one.
And because Angus loved Jacqueline, because she had given him so many gifts, he would give her the sole thing she desired. He would ensure that she did become a novitiate at Inveresbeinn, for her own choice was all this lady wanted.
She had told him so a dozen times, after all. ’Twas her choice and he would ensure that she had it, whatever price he had to pay to see it done.
’Twas the least he owed her.
Now, all he had need of was a scheme to see them free of this place, and that with all haste. The beauty curled against his heat was too full of life to perish like this.
Chapter Eighteen
“Be utterly still,” Jacqueline counseled in an undertone when Angus was yet on the verge of waking. Indeed, he was astounded that he had managed to sleep at all. He reached for her but she was gone, on her feet and out of his reach.
And before he could pursue her, she began to scream so loud he thought his ears would be rent.
“Zounds!” he muttered, and she dug her toe none too gently into his ribs.
“God in Heaven!” she cried. “He is dead! I am trapped here with a dead man. Aid me, someone!” She screamed and screamed and screamed, apparently so overcome by fear that she could do naught else.
“You are too overwrought,” Angus advised in an undertone. “They will think you mad.”
“When I wish your advice, I shall ask for it,” she replied at equally low volume.
She bellowed anew, entreating those above for assistance. “Aid me, I beg of you! May God have mercy upon your souls. He is dead, dead in the night. ’Twas bad enough you were trapped with a leper in this place but now he is dead, and I know not if there are”—her voice echoed with horror—“bits of him loose down there.”
“’Tis a myth,” Angus felt obliged to observe.
He earned another dig in his ribs for his counsel. “I am distraught,” Jacqueline hissed. “And overcome with terror. If you would be so kind as to let me continue.”
Without awaiting his reply, she screamed with new vigor.
Had their circumstance not been so dire, Angus might have been amused by the lengths to which Jacqueline was prepared to go. She murmured prayers, she gasped in horror, she made more noise than he could have ever imagined a single woman might make. But their situation was most serious—and of more import, her idea was not all bad.
So he dismissed his smile and lay as still as a corpse, hoping against hope that her ploy would work. There was finally the sound of running footsteps and the murmuring of men consulting above. ’Twas most annoying that Angus could not hear their words, but then, ’twould not have been advisable for Jacqueline to halt. More footsteps sounded as men fled and he feared she would be ignored.
But suddenly, the trap door was opened, the fresh air itself a balm to the soul.
“What ails you, woman?”
“Edmund! You must aid me. He is dead! You cannot leave me imprisoned with a corpse.”
Jacqueline did a credible job of being incoherent with fear after that. Angus heard her ascend the steps, begging the men for their compassion. She wept and he peeked through his lashes to find her cringing and clinging to the man. Indeed, ’twas so unlike her normal manner that she might have been another woman.
Which just made him appreciate the woman she was all the more.
“I cannot release you, for Father Aloysius says you are allied together.”
“Oh, Father Aloysius spoke the truth. I was deceived, cruelly deceived by this man and used for his malicious ends. He persuaded me that he was the true heir to Airdfinnan, and I -” her words faltered convincingly “- I thought I had stepped into an old troubadour’s tale. I aided him, like a fool, but Father Aloysius saw the truth. If only”—she sobbed like a contrite penitent —“if only I might have his forgiveness.”
The guard descended the steps, wariness in his movements. “How did h
e die?”
“He assaulted me last evening. What could I do but fight for my chastity? Perhaps you heard my struggle?”
’Twas a clever appropriation of the sounds of Angus’ night terrors.
“Perhaps,” Edmund conceded and gave Angus a cautious nudge with his boot.
“I tried to climb the steps, he followed, I pushed him and he fell. I thought that he merely hit his head, but on this morn, he does not move.” Jacqueline’s voice wavered. “He is dead, I know it, and I will not be trapped with the corpse of a brigand, no less a leper!”
Edmund touched Angus’ arm. “He is not cold.”
“How am I to know when he passed from this world?” Jacqueline snapped. “He is dead. He draws no breath.”
Edmund leaned down, putting his ear close to Angus’ chest. Angus held his breath, half certain the man would hear the pounding of his heart. But Edmund straightened and coughed. “I can tell naught in this darkness. I will have to get another to drag him to the light.”
“Why do you not do it yourself?” Jacqueline challenged.
“I will not touch a leper!”
She scoffed. “Though you will steal his cloak readily enough.”
Angus felt Edmund move away. “You will tell none of that!” Edmund muttered and Angus heard that man’s foot upon the stair. “I shall have to surrender it to the others if they know the truth.”
“How is your hand?” Jacqueline whispered wickedly. “Does it still itch?”
“Witch!” Edmund lunged for the stairs and Angus took the opportunity he was certain Jacqueline offered. He rose and leapt after the man, assailing him from behind.
Edmund was startled in truth. He stumbled, but by the time he reached for his blade, Angus had already claimed it.
Edmund’s eyes rounded in horror but Angus cut him down, seized his cloak and kicked the man’s corpse down into the cell. He thought better of it, and retrieved the man’s boots. He was delighted to discover that Edmund had a dagger as well as his sword and claimed that smaller blade too.
Garbed like Edmund, he climbed to the top of the stairs and peered over the lip by Jacqueline’s side. Like the sensible woman she was, she had kept herself out of sight by huddling on the top step. Angus was pleased to note that Edmund had been sent to quiet her complaints alone.
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