by S A Monk
The Order might not see the handwriting on the wall, but Lucien did. The Kingdom of God was deeply divided, and its destruction had never looked more imminent. Jerusalem could not hope to stand against the united force the infidel had become under the sultan.
Lucien himself felt as if he was at a crossroads in his life. He had lived with the Order for fifteen years and been in Outremer for nearly a decade. Since arriving in the East, he had seen too much bloodshed, avarice, and treachery. Men like Odo de Saint Amand, Gérard de Ridefort, and Reynald de Châtillon were completely self-serving. They cared for nothing but their own vainglorious ends. His years in the Levant had destroyed his youthful idealism, though he continued to do his duty and do it well.
And into the turbulence had come the compelling Lady de Châtillon.
Good Lord, he wondered yet again, what was he doing inviting these interactions with her? He was a monk, and she was a married woman. There could be nothing between them. To desire her company so intensely was pure folly! But he sensed in her a loneliness that rivaled his own, and her vulnerability touched something deep inside of him that made him want to stand at her side and defend her. He felt an affinity with her that was inexplicable.
He was sure no one had ever truly cared for her the way she should have been cared for. It was obvious neither her father nor her husband cared enough for her welfare to provide her with any protection. That she had not been assaulted or murdered on the roads and streets of Outremer was truly a miracle.
But underneath her vulnerability and fragile hold on life, Lucien saw a woman of great courage and inner fortitude. She had a tender spirit and a noble heart. She cared deeply about what she was doing at the orphanage and clearly meant to continue her endeavors, no matter the risk to herself.
Despite his vows, Lucien knew he was strongly attracted to her. He had not been able to ignore her tonight. She had drawn him like a bee to a succulent bloom. She was a remarkable beauty and a remarkable woman. He could only imagine what her life with a corrupt scoundrel like Reynald had been like. God, to have been bartered to him at fourteen!
The wretchedness of her young life must have caused her great pain and despair, and yet somehow she had escaped Reynald and valiantly taken up a cause that had obviously put joy and hope back into her life. How could such courage and conviction not move him?
While he ate, he saw her watching him now and then. She was an observer, like himself.
Beneath the sooty sweep of her dark eyelashes, there was little she seemed to miss. Lucien wished he could rejoin her, but he dare not throw convention in the face of his superior anymore than he had already.
When the long meal was over, the tables were cleared of the trenchers. Pitchers of wine and ale replaced the food, and no one loved to drink more than a Templar. Soon their area of the hall became quite boisterous. Lucien longed to get up and find a way back to Gabrielle de Châtillon, but like everyone else, he sat through the entertainments.
It was well past compline when the jugglers, dancers, and musicians dispersed to the far corners of the great hall for more informal performances. Most of the rank and file Templars and Hospitallers left the celebration for their commanderies. The officers remained, as did Lucien, unable to bring himself to leave before visiting with Reynald's enchanting wife one final time.
He was headed her way when he was intercepted the lovely young widow of a nobleman from the north. It was not the first time the tenacious Lady Elizabeth of Athlith had tried to corner his attention. The woman spent a great deal of time at court, and was most persistent whenever she discovered his attendance.
Lucien had become very adept at avoiding her, but tonight she had him truly snared.
“Lucien de Aubric, how naughty of you not to come bid me a good evening,” the blonde cooed, blocking his path. “I saw you holding court at Sibylla’s table, and you did not even acknowledge me.”
Lucien inwardly cringed at her embellished pout. “How thoughtless of me. I do apologize.”
“Then you must do so by sharing a walk with me through the gardens. They are lovely in the moonlight.”
Her hands were already straying inside his long white mantle to places they should not roam. Lucien could only imagine the assault she would launch once they were in the darkened courtyard.
To his immense relief, assistance came in the form of the very woman he wouldn’t mind walking through the gardens with.
Gabrielle de Châtillon approached on the arm of Brother Giles. The look she bestowed on Lucien over Lady Elizabeth’s blonde head was one of wicked amusement.
Brother Giles was more direct. “Lady Elizabeth, have I caught you accosting a fellow brother of the cloth?” His laughter captured the widow’s startled attention. Immediately, her hands flew out from under Lucien’s mantle.
Lucien sighed with relief and took a step back from the blonde.
Gabrielle raised one eyebrow in silent inquiry, then offered a suggestion that she knew would send the pretty widow running. “Brother Giles and I are wandering the room looking for donations of money or volunteer hours for the orphanage. Would you like to donate either, Lady Elizabeth? The Queen has already made a generous contribution. I could certainly use a few hours of your time each week at the hospital or the orphanage. There are so many to care for.”
The voluptuous widow quickly demurred and scurried away.
Gabrielle watched her departure with a genuinely amused laugh. “Oh dear. I guess not.”
"That was very wicked of you, lady," Brother Giles commented with a chuckle. “You know Lady Elizabeth has no taste for charity work, particularly with the infirmed and our native population."
"I knew that, but how else were we to rescue poor Brother Lucien from the questionable attention of the lady. She did look ready to drag him off into a corner, and I have noticed he does seem to attract these colorful court butterflies like bees to honey."
“I am wounded that you think I do it apurpose, mi’lady,” Lucien retorted, offended.
“Aw, the price of beauty and gallantry,” Gabrielle teased him.
“Beauty?” Brother Giles sputtered with a hearty laugh. “Surely your eyes deceive you, mi’lady.”
Gabrielle simply smiled at Lucien. “I think not, Brother Giles.” Seeing the Templar’s reddened complexion, she granted him mercy. “But I am engaging in a little retribution here. You see, Brother Lucien has a wicked penchant for teasing.”
“Really?” The Hospitaller looked from one to the other and shook his head in disbelief. “I do believe you are describing someone else, Lady Gabrielle. My friend’s intimidating black scowls are more familiar.”
Lucien finally reentered the conversation. “Brother, I think you need to thank the queen for her generous patronage tonight. I do believe she is looking your way.”
"Then I must not keep her waiting," Brother Giles replied, looking toward the dais where Sibylla was standing. “Lady, I will see you on the morrow.” Dipping his head, he left his two friends to each other’s company.
“I am sorry for teasing you, frère, but Lady Elizabeth did look quite busy with her hands, and you do seem to attract a fair amount of feminine attention for being a monk.”
“Sadly, the habit simply presents a greater temptation to some women.” Lucien regretted the comment the moment he made it, for the woman before him dropped her head and reddened. He was at a loss as to how to correct his words, though, without making them worse, so he said what he had been thinking earlier. “If it were not sure to draw censure, I would ask you to walk with me in the gardens. There is no butterfly here lovelier than you, Lady Gabrielle. You outshine them all.”
His compliment left Gabrielle breathless and speechless. No man had ever told she looked lovely. Reynald had always found something derogatory to say about her appearance.
Thinking of her husband drew her eyes to him. He was across the room, in a darkened corner, engaging in an intimate conversation with Lady Silvia. He had paid Gabrielle no attenti
on since arriving, which was fine with her, but when she looked toward him, he looked back. The malevolence in his grey eyes was more acute than usual, and it unnerved her acutely. She had been separated from him for so long, she had almost forgotten how much fear he could instill in her.
Brother Lucien followed her gaze. “Does it bother you to see him with Lady Silvia?”
Gabrielle turned back to the Templar and felt her fear dissipate. “Not at all. He bothers me. I have not seen him in a long while, until he and my father came to town for this party. He has my house in an uproar. And I despise all that he reminds me of.”
“He is staying with you?”
“He did last night. I doubt he will tonight, now that Silvia has arrived. She has a house in the city.”
“Are you afraid of him, Lady Gabrielle?”
“I try not to be.” She fidgeted with the wide sleeve of her chainse, both wishing to end her conversation with the handsome Templar and wishing it could lead to a walk in the moonlit courtyard with him. The wiser course won. “But it is late and I must leave, Brother de Aubric."
“Do you have an escort home? If not, I would be happy to give you my escort.”
Oh, Gabrielle was so tempted! "My husband has granted me two of his guardsmen," she responded. "But thank you for the offer." With a twinkle in her eye, she stared up at him. "I am again sorry for teasing you about the goodly share of feminine interest you attract, frère. I don’t often have occasion to enjoy myself this much socially."
Lucien shook his dark head ruefully. "I am afraid that my need to come and go at the palace so frequently has made me the mistaken object of a few female designs. I have gotten very adept at avoiding dark corners and encroaching hands."
Gabrielle had to laugh; the image of him being chased into corners was so amusing. If she could, she would have loved to linger here in the midst of all these people and continue talking to him. She had been deeply flattered by his attention tonight. And she had noticed that while many women had tried to catch his notice, they had failed. It was hard to be troubled by issues of morality, when she had only to look into that darkened corner to see her husband and his mistress deeply engaged with one another.
"I would like to visit you at the orphanage soon, mi'lady," Lucien said, watching her slip a covert glance into the corner where Reynald still talked with his mistress. "I believe I may have found several contacts that will help place these children in Muslim homes.”
Her eyes brightened with excitement at the news. "Really? That is wonderful news! I am at the orphanage every day, except Sunday. Give yourself enough time for a game of stickball, frère."
"I will make sure to do that, Lady. Have a safe journey home."
Lucien watched her walk away, and continued to watch her until the guards Reynald had assigned her fell in place behind her. She was gone no more than a few minutes when he started to feel an uneasy prickling sensation crawl up his spine. It was a familiar instinct; one he always heeded. He wondered what triggered it and looked over to where Reynald and Lady Silvia were standing. As soon as Gabrielle left the hall, they moved from their corner and followed at a discreet distance, keeping to the shadows. Lucien traced their steps. Two of Reynald's men joined them in the courtyard, then left in the same direction Gabrielle had taken. Soon after, Reynald and Lady Silvia left the palace as well.
Lucien could not shake his unease. His premonitions of danger had always served him well. Something in Reynald’s manner aroused his suspicions. Both he and his leman had left without taking leave of the king and queen. Reynald’s rank and relationship with the king made that an unusual oversight and a breach of protocol. And Reynald’s men had been in a hurry.
Lucien decided to follow in Lady de Châtillon's wake. Since his leaving would cause no breach of protocol, he slipped out easily, without consequence or notice.
CHAPTER 6
Gabrielle was surprised by how quiet the streets of Jerusalem were. She had not thought it so late when she had left the royal birthday party. Originally, she had planned to leave as soon as it was acceptable, but because of Brother de Aubric’s presence, she had stayed longer. And she had thoroughly enjoyed the affair, which was unusual for her. Because of the queen’s generous patronage of the orphanage and her cause, she attended as many functions as she could tolerate. But she rarely enjoyed any of them.
The frontier court was primarily a military one. Affairs were usually dominated by talk of war and defense. The women at court were too often like Lady Elizabeth of Athlith. With too much time on their hands and nothing meaningful to fill that time, they engaged liberally and indiscriminately in gossip and dalliances. Gabrielle had few friends at court, and she knew most saw her as eccentric and strange.
Except Sibylla, whom Gabrielle suspected befriended her because she deeply disliked Reynald. Despite the fact that her husband had supported their coup and was secretly called the kingmaker, Sibylla resented his use of her husband. He and the Templar Grand Master had a stranglehold on King Guy’s decisions regarding the military affairs of the kingdom. Gabrielle knew Sibylla wanted her husband to unite the barons of Palestine, not divide them by listening to only a few.
Politics! It gave her a headache. The kingdom was drowning in dissention, while Sultan Saladin was building strong alliances within the Islamic world. Gabrielle loosened her twisted gold turban and lifted it off her head, then massaged her temples with her fingertips as she leaned back against the cushioned seat of the litter.
The conveyance was not hers, but Reynald’s. She preferred to walk or ride her horse. Her husband’s insistence that she use his litter and bodyguards bemused her. When he had first learned of her work with the orphans, he had made it abundantly clear he did not approve of it. Gabrielle had not been surprised by his feelings. Many of the children she rescued had been victims of villages her husband and father had ruthlessly raided. Reynald hated all Muslims, regardless of age and gender. His fifteen year imprisonment in an infidel dungeon in Aleppo had simply intensified what he had always felt.
But Reynald de Châtillon had an astute knowledge of geopolitical affairs. He ran an effective intelligence network. He commanded his own army. He held a large, strategic fiefdom that stretched from Amman to the Red Sea. He had played a powerful and influential role in the entire region of Outremer since arriving over three decades ago. He had even been married to the princess of Antioch and held the title of its prince before his imprisonment. But none of that had ever been enough for him. And, unlike some of the barons who had established homes here, he had never learned to respect any of his Muslim tenants and neighbors.
Reynald de Châtillon was a cruel, malevolent man.
He had made it clear to her long ago that he would not ever waste his manpower to lend her an armed guard for any of her travels. Therefore, she found it strange that tonight he had freely offered her not only an armed guard, but his well-appointed litter. The fact that it was being carried by men who were likely slaves disturbed her. She did not believe in slavery. But Reynald was deplorably a slave-trader, in addition to all his other nasty endeavors. And the men at either end of the conveyance were undoubtedly one of the many slaves that belonged to him.
With her head laid back against the high cushioned seat, Gabrielle had just begun to shift her thoughts to a more pleasant topic than her despicable husband when the litter suddenly came to a halt and was set upon the ground. She waited for several moments, but when no one came to open the door, she parted the heavy damask curtains and peered out into the black night.
To her surprise, no one was around; not the two burly guards who had flanked the litter, nor the dark-skinned slaves who had carried it. Gabrielle stepped out cautiously. They had not stopped on the street where her house was located. In fact, she did not recognize this street or section of the city at all.
The disappearance of her escort alarmed her more than her unknown location. She had heard the two guards talking in low murmurs now and then. In fact she remembered he
aring them growl something at the slaves just a few minutes before they had stopped. Where had they all gone? How could four men simply vanish without a sound?
The narrow street was completely deserted. Buildings of three stories and more loomed over her on either side, and there were no lights shining behind any of the shuttered windows. As her eyes adjusted to the unlit street, she decided she must be in a warehouse district of the city, and if that were so, she was a long way from the safe haven of her home. She was not even sure she could find her way there, though she finally realized, she must try.
After reaching into the litter to grab her turban, she withdrew her eating knife from her pocket, pitiful weapon that it was, and turned in the direction she guessed she must go.
As she moved away from the litter, she kept stealing looks over her shoulder, hoping the men who had deserted her might reappear. A large shadow moved out from the corner of a building down the street. It did not look familiar, although she was too far away to clearly distinguish features. She stood motionless, waiting to see if it would move in her direction. When it did, she decided to pick up her skirts and hurry along. In between her soft leather-soled footfalls, she heard booted feet coming closer. Whoever was behind her was quickly closing the distance.
At the corner, Gabrielle dropped her turban as she turned to head in another direction. Casting a quick look over her shoulder as she did so, she felt the blood drain from her extremities. The shape of the man who had been following her was alarmingly close. Her quick glimpse told her that he was dressed in dark garments and turbaned headgear. She stifled the scream that rose up her throat and broke into an all-out run, her heart pounding with fear and helplessness. Ducking into a doorway, she grabbed desperately at the door handle and found the blasted thing locked securely against her. Dashing out again, she dared another look at her pursuer. Terror nearly paralyzed her. He was close enough to see that his face was swathed in a black scarf, and there was a long narrow dagger in his hand. The metal shone with a wicked glimmer in a sliver of some kind of faint light.