Sinful

by Nathalie Gray

  Gautier gritted his teeth and stormed away. His blood boiled in his veins. That woman—that stubborn, irresponsible woman. Oh but he would find her, and when he did, she would come peacefully or, by God, he would drag her the entire way to the altar!

  Those he met on the way to the distillery shied away from his path. He rushed up the hill, not slowing down when someone asked him a question. He did not even hear what the man said. He did not care.

  They knew. The wizened man, her overseer, he knew. He would tell. Gautier would make him.

  Word of his arrival must have preceded him for the giant walked out of the large building atop the hill and came to stand in the middle of the dirt road. He could have been a pillar of flesh. Gautier balled both fists at his sides and when he was within earshot, he called to the giant to step aside or face his wrath. The man did not move.

  Gautier’s heart quickened with the rush of energy. Though he did not want to fight this one, he knew he would not even reach the distillery doors without first knocking aside the massive tower of muscle guarding it.

  “Stand aside, man, I’m in no mood for leniency,” Gautier snarled when he was still some paces away.

  The giant did not speak but uncrossed his arms and made fists as well. Those had to be the size of melons. A low growl escaped Gautier. Had they all conspired against him? Could they not understand he was only doing the Lord’s work, through His emissaries in the Vatican?

  As he reached the giant, Gautier sidestepped, pivoted and sent a sharp kick aimed chest-high, which would have floored anyone else. Against this man, it barely registered. A mighty shove in the chest knocked Gautier back a couple of steps. He shook his head to clear his vision. By God, had he just been hit by a bull?

  Gautier launched another kick, this time aimed low at the giant’s knees. For all his strength, the massive man was not quick enough to avoid the blow. He grunted in pain when one of his legs buckled. He collapsed to one knee but managed to seize Gautier by the habit and pulled him down with him.

  Other workers came to stand about and watch. Out of the corner of his eye, Gautier spotted the overseer. He looked neither happy nor satisfied, which was puzzling. Gautier would have thought seeing the reviled “champion from Rome” brought to his knees would have been highly satisfying. Another thing startled him—the giant could have used much more force than he had. Why was he holding back?

  With as much clout as he could put into it, Gautier drove his elbow in the giant’s face. His head snapped back and blood spurted out of his nose and mouth yet he held on to Gautier’s garment with the grip of a drowning man.

  “Let me pass and I won’t make it worse,” Gautier hissed as he tried without success to stand.

  For reply, the giant managed to pull him into a bear hug, which made Gautier’s ribs creak in protest. He growled in pain and frustration. This man just did not understand.

  Gautier cursed under his breath. He had no choice now.

  He could not snake his arms out of the steel bear hug. Gautier twisted and writhed until he was straddling the kneeling giant’s lap. A dull pain began to radiate along his upper arms and chest. Air came in but barely. Gautier smacked his chin onto the man’s nose. Bones crunched. His head ringing from chin to skull, Gautier snapped it down a second time. Blood splattered the giant’s face and neck. Finally, the massive tree-trunks that were his arms let go.

  Gautier backpedaled before the giant could grab at his clothes again. He kicked the kneeling man in the chest. With a humph, the giant keeled over and lay there, gagging blood and trying for one last swipe at Gautier.

  Without waiting to see if anyone else wanted a taste, Gautier strode away from the giant, who had now rolled onto his front and was making valiant efforts to stand. A stone-faced overseer stood in Gautier’s path.

  “Where is she?” Gautier demanded in a loud and clear voice. If the overseer and his tree-sized brute would not cooperate, perhaps someone else had more wits.

  Faces tightened, some looked uncomfortable yet resolute, others looked downright hostile. Fools! All of them.

  When he reached the overseer, Gautier seized him by the front of his work tunic and hoisted him up close. “Where…is…she?”

  “You won’t beat naught out of us, Brother. May as well spare you the time, yes,” the older man replied.

  No fear shone in the dark eyes. Resolve. Stubbornness. Ah yes, a lot of this. Just like her. Were they all related in this Godforsaken province?

  Gautier released him abruptly and put both fists on his hips. “I’ll find her. I always find the one I’m looking for. That’s why I’m here.”

  The older man spat on the ground separating them. “So you’ve done this before, force a girl to marry a swine and a thief? Well, some servant of the Lord you are.”

  “Don’t…”

  The tone of his voice must have dulled the overseer’s bluster for he sucked through his teeth and looked away. “Go back to work, boys. The brother and I need to chat. You two, take care of Renaud.”

  Gautier looked back to see the giant get to his feet unassisted. The look he gave him bode naught good for their future encounters. Despite this, a grudging respect budded in Gautier’s heart. Anyone willing to take so much punishment to protect someone else merited at least deference, if not approval.

  When they were alone, the overseer crossed his sinewy arms over his chest. “She’s gone because you forced her to. You’ve only yourself to blame. Would’ve done the same myself.”

  “Make this easy for everyone. Tell me where she is so she doesn’t suffer because of your defiance.”

  Blanching, the old man shook his head. “I don’t know where she is. The mistress is a cunning girl, you won’t catch her if she doesn’t want you to.”

  Gautier’s heart squeezed at the prospect of having to beat it out of the old man but he would, damn it, for he had to know where she was. So much depended on it. His very soul hinged on fulfilling his duties. He could not fail God now, not after He had saved him from a hell of pain.

  “You know it’ll be worse for her when I do find her,” Gautier said, loathing how his words made the old man’s face twist with disgust. “It’s right and just for her to marry, as per the Vatican’s edict.”

  “Right and just? I’m sure that’s what the Saracens are telling themselves when they get their hands on some of us.”

  Gautier could actually feel his blood leaving his face. His skin grew clammy and cold. Pearls of sweat rolled a teasing course along his spine. “Don’t speak of things you know naught about.”

  “You think you’re the only one who got caught?” the overseer remarked casually as he ran a thick hand over his grayish hair. “Don’t look so troubled, word gets about fast in these parts. Everyone knows everyone. But whatever they did, back in Jerusalem, it won’t be as bad as not listening to your soul when it speaks to you.”

  Gautier crossed his arms over his chest. He stifled a cringe of pain. There would be some colorful bruising come morning from where the giant had gripped him. “What do you mean?”

  “If you need to ask, then you’re not listening to your soul, are you? This whole thing is wrong and you know it.”

  Just to prove him wrong, Gautier pulled the dagger out of its sheath inside his sleeve and in one fluid motion, leveled it with the overseer’s throat. “I’m a man of God, yes, but not a man of the cloth and I won’t hesitate to use it.” He let the blade rest against the old man’s skin. “It’s not for me to decide what’s right or wrong. I just do the Lord’s work and leave the quibbles to better men than I.”

  To add more emphasis to his word, Gautier let the full length of the blade rest across the man’s throat. Lightly but there all the same. He had no wish to harm the overseer for showing loyalty but there was a limit to his patience. “Where is she?”

  To his credit, the overseer looked away defiantly. Then as if he had suddenly changed his mind, he lowered his face and said something Gautier could not hear.

 
“Speak up,” he growled, hating every moment of this unpleasant business.

  “She has family in Spain.”

  Spain? She had left for Spain? “When did she leave?”

  “Last night,” replied the overseer. He did not look up when Gautier slid his dagger back inside his sleeve.

  “She’s traveling to Spain all by herself?” Gautier asked, unsure if he should be surprised, impressed or alarmed. A woman alone on the roads. God knew what could happen to her.

  “I left her.” There was such misery, such self-disgust in those few words Gautier did not doubt the man’s sincerity.

  “You were loyal, you’ve naught to be ashamed of.” Gautier turned to leave. “I only wish she would’ve trusted in God to make some decisions.”

  A sparkle of slyness danced in the dark eyes but was gone the next moment. “If you harm her in any way, Brother, I’ll set the whole town on your heels. And never mind if you’re a cardinal’s champion or not. We may be simple folks to you men of God, but simple folks tend to bend together. They’d do it gladly too, her folks. She may seem cold to some, but to us, those who know her, she’s a caring woman.”

  Not harm her. Gautier merely nodded, not wanting to make a promise he would have to break. He doubted the baroness would make the journey back an easy one. The thought of it weighed heavy on him as he sprinted down the hill and toward the church.

  There was so much to do before he left. There was not much time. Spain of all places!

  When he reached the church front yard, he noticed one of the doors was opened. He gritted his teeth and pushed it all the way in. Expecting the two knights, he was surprised and annoyed to see the confessional’s door closed, which meant someone sat inside, waiting to confess. He had no time for this! While he listened to some self-serving condemnation, the baroness would be riding farther and farther away. And she was a good rider. A smirk raised his lips when he recalled her dealing with Lussier at the tavern.

  With a long sigh, he rushed to the confessional, opened his door and snapped the panel open. Beyond the lattice, the outline of what resembled an older woman shifted in the poor light.

  “Pray be brief as I have urgent work to do,” he whispered.

  In his pack for the road he would bring a length of rope, to tie her hands but also to lead her animal behind his. A good, fast horse would do. He would travel light, little else but the clothes on his back, some food.

  “Brother…” began the old woman then she faltered. “I’ve, er, I know where she’s gone.”

  Gautier stopped making his mental preparations for the road. He leaned in closer to the lattice. “Whom do you mean?” He knew just whom the old lady referred to but wanted to be sure.

  A sharp intake of air whistled next door. “The mistress, Brother. I know where she’s gone.”

  Trying to sound casual, Gautier took a deep, noiseless breath. “Where would that be?” Spain, I know. I’m trying to make ready for the road as well, foolish woman.

  “Some ways from here, there’s an old château that used to belong to their family. That’s where she’s hiding. I saw her leave late yesterday.”

  He swore his heart stopped beating for several breaths. “What?”

  “It’s not that far from here. I can tell you the way,” replied the older woman.

  As she gave him the directions to the baroness’s hideout, he could not help wondering why he felt such hostility toward his informer. This woman was making a good deed, was she not? Telling him where her mistress hid was helping him do the Lord’s work, did it not? Then why did he feel as though he listened in on some wicked gossip?

  After she had left, his feelings of revulsion turned into anger. So the overseer had lied after all. He had looked so frank. Loyal to a fault!

  Gautier would have to deal with the old man when he came back. Right now he had a baroness to catch, which would undoubtedly prove arduous, wretched and time-consuming. He tried to ignore the little voice that added “wrong” to his list. Gautier shook his head.

  The Lord’s work was never wrong.

  Chapter Seven

  Dawn had barely slashed the sky with brown and purple that Charlotte was on her feet, ready for the day. Sleep had eluded her. A night of fitful, restless tossing and turning. Every sound had been suspicious and worth a quick trip about the perimeter.

  After she took care of her horse, she grabbed her felt cape, rolled it under her arm and collected the few items she would need for her morning ablutions.

  A wind charged with threats of rain drifted in through the dense trees. She did not care, she had to do something or risk losing her mind. A grin lifted the corners of her mouth. She was bored. Already. And there was so much work to do at the distillery.

  As she reached the narrow ribbon of river, she set her things on a nearby boulder and stripped. Hissing a complaint at the water’s temperature, Charlotte waded in up to her thighs. After a while of arguments and counterarguments, she suddenly sat on her heels. A keen cry of shock escaped her. With more speed than she had ever used before, she washed herself then her hair. Soapy strips roiled and floated downstream from her. September may be her favorite month but it was getting just too cold for river bathing. Shivering, she leaped back to shore in quick little jumps, wrestled back into her garments and buttoned the cape around her shoulders. Much better.

  As she strode back to the château, she spotted her horse, which fretted about, its ears flattened against its skull, its nostrils dilated and flaring. It did not pull on the long tether but looked upset.

  Charlotte’s guts twisted in a knot. Slowing down, she clutched the bundle in front of her as she surreptitiously slid her hand to her waist where the dagger was sheathed. The cold hilt provided little comfort. A quick scan of the area yielded nothing of value. No smells, no strange sounds. But her horse had sensed something. Unless some annoying insect had stung it.

  She slowed as she rounded the base of the dilapidated château. Through the crumbled-down wall, she could spot the chapel and its gaping round window staring back at her like a stone Cyclops. Her heart kicked into a high gallop. Though she had been shivering a moment before, she was now sweating. She felt a presence. Clutching the bundle against her chest, she inched closer, noiselessly, slowly, until she could get a view over the part of wall still standing.

  “Don’t move.”

  Charlotte yelped in fright when a dark form stood beyond the crumbled masonry, in front of the toppled altar.

  Brother Gautier.

  How had he found her? For the span of a heartbeat, the image transfixed her. His hood was up. The black uniform, darker than night, hung over him like some ominous cloud. The way he stood there unmoving, his pale eyes unblinking and his hair the color and shine of yellow silk made him an angel. The tight set of his jaw and the way he stood on legs wide apart pierced the divine vision. Charlotte swallowed hard. An angel of death.

  He took a step forward, pulling his hood back. “Don’t move. Everything—”

  Charlotte never heard the rest. Throwing the bundle aside, she bolted back the way she had come.

  “Wait!”

  His loud command did naught to convince her to stay. Instead, she shouldered her way amid branches, through narrow gaps, under low-hanging limbs. Charlotte’s heartbeat whooshed in her ears with the thunder of rushing water. A low and craggy rock face blocked her path. After checking behind her, she leaped two feet up, scrambled and clawed her way higher. As she was reaching up to clutch a thick root for support, something gripped her ankle. Yelping in shock and panic, Charlotte looked back to see Brother Gautier clambering up to reach her.

  “Come down,” he snarled, yanking on her ankle. “You’re only going to hurt yourself.”

  As reply, she grabbed at the root and sacrificed support for opportunity. She snapped a sharp kick to his head, which had him cursing—however, letting go of her foothold produced a bumpy, painful slide back. Added with his weight on her leg, Charlotte could not hold on to her advantage
. She half slid, half tumbled from the rock face, knocking the man down and landing atop him. Floundering in a tangle of cape and habit, Charlotte managed to punch and kick and knee her way upright. She was shocked to realize she held her dagger in a scratched and bloodied fist. After slashing behind her blindly, she rushed back to the ruins.

  Behind her, he continued his appeals, though he sounded angrier every time. She could not stop, even had she wanted to. Animal instinct guided her, prodded her into a panicked flight for her life.

  As she reached the château, Charlotte could no longer hear him tearing through the woods behind her. A quick peek back yielded a shock—there was no one there. As she charged for her horse, praying she would have time to untie it, a heavy weight tackled her from the right. She went down and was unable to roll away for the implacable grip on the back of her neck. Pain exploded behind her ears and a high-pitched shriek burst out of her. She had actually made that sound!

  “Stop struggling,” he panted, settling over her, using his greater weight to pin her down. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

  “You already have.”

  Brother Gautier released the hold on the back of her neck. “And for this, I’m truly sorry. But as unpleasant as it’s becoming, I always finish my work.” Steel laced his voice. She’d never heard him speak this way before.

  “You mean finish the hunt,” she snarled through clenched teeth. If she could only hurt him!

  His tone had lost the lethal edge when he spoke. “I’ve never considered you a prey, my lady, but a kindred soul. Lost, just like me.”

  Hypocritical brute! Charlotte tried to elbow him but met nothing but a muscled shoulder that hurt her more than she did him. “How did you find me?”

  “Someone told me.”

  “I hope to God you didn’t touch a hair on Armand’s head, you despic—”

  “I haven’t. A woman told me at confessions. Although I did speak with your overseer but he lied to me, told me you’d left for Spain.” Brother Gautier sighed. “Loyal to a fault.”