by S A Monk
Struggling to keep her wits about her, she darted around another corner and raced onto a wider street that appeared to lead to some lit buildings farther ahead. Faint sounds came to her; possibly human voices in the distance. It was hard to tell over the loud pounding of her heart. If she could stay in the shadows and keep running, she might be able to reach help before the man caught up to her. She was swift of foot and agile enough from her travels and playing with the children at the orphanage, but stealth and swiftness alone would not save her this night. Yet again, she would need divine intercession for if left to defend herself with her dinner utensil, she would surely die this night at the hands of the cutthroat behind her.
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Lucien looked around the empty street and controlled his nervous horse with a stroke of his leather-gloved hand. The night was dark and moonless, and it was damned hard to see more than a few feet ahead of him. It was not that late, but this part of the city was deserted. He was pretty sure he was in the warehouse district, and he did not understand why Lady de Châtillon’s trail had brought him here. It was a measurable distance from her home.
The sense of dread he had felt since leaving the palace increased tenfold. There had been no sign of Reynald and Lady Silvia anywhere along the way, and now he had lost sight of Lady Gabrielle. Until a few minutes ago, he had trailed behind her litter, keeping his distance for fear her guards would hear his horse’s iron shod hoof beats on the cobblestone. He had never been more than half a furlong behind them, then they had made a turn and vanished.
Sitting atop his mount, he scanned the area, disgusted with himself for losing her. Every instinct he had was resounding with alarm. He decided to take the alley that forked off the street he was on.
It narrowed the farther he went, then widened between two rows of vacant, multi-storied buildings. It was in the tiny square that he found Gabrielle’s abandoned litter. His alarm mounted, but he saw no evidence of foul play, so he did not take the time to dismount and inspect the conveyance. He kept his horse to a quiet walk as he took a narrow street that led off the square.
At the end of the block, the gold glitter of expensive cloth caught his attention. He swung off his horse and picked up the partially unwound turban that Gabrielle had worn to the king’s party. Remounting, he headed down the next block. When he got to the thoroughfare that bisected the street, he looked both ways. To the left, he spotted two dark figures, one in pursuit of the other. Though, it was some distance, he could make out the shine of gold fabric on the lead figure. Lucien spurred his horse into a gallop, no longer concerned about stealth.
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Gabrielle whirled at the sound of a horse behind her. She had no time to discern who it was for the dark figure chasing her was nearly upon her. No more than ten paces separated them. With an agile leap off a low laying crate, her attacker dove through the air for her. This time she did scream. Her lungs vibrated with it in the stillness. Spinning sideways, she jumped out of his grasp, raising her little jewel encrusted knife as she did so. His lunge fell inches short of her shoulder. Rolling, he came to his feet, his gleaming blade aimed at her heart.
Gabrielle brought up both of her arms to defend herself, but was suddenly pushed aside by a fierce shove from the all white phantom who had jumped off of his horse to land squarely between her and her assailant. Stumbling, she fell backwards against a stone wall and collapsed, but quickly struggled to her feet as her attacker and her defender grappled in hand-to-hand combat a foot in front of her.
In the dark, it was hard to follow their movements, but as her mind cleared, Gabrielle could tell the man clothed completely in white was Lucien de Aubric. Moving out of their way, she looked beyond him and saw his distinctive black Arabian horse. How he had come to her aid yet again, she had no idea, but never had she been happier to see a man.
Her assailant was small, but agile, completely indistinguishable in his all black attire. He was a quick and efficient fighter, and the Templar had his hands full with him. Both men held long dagger-like blades and slashed at each other whenever space between them allowed it. Shivering with fear, Gabrielle prayed vigorously for her defender.
Lucien de Aubric moved with deadly grace and agility. It was obvious that he knew how to street fight. At one point he leapt up the wall she was pressed against and somersaulted over her attacker’s head to come up behind him. He might have killed the man then, but the dark-clad villain whirled just in time to deflect the downward thrust of the Templar blade.
Both men fought for supremacy. At last, Brother Lucien managed to push the attacker backward and wrestle him to the ground. Grunting and cursing, they struggled for a short while in the dirt until Lucien landed on top of the man, raised his long knife, and brought it down with a forceful plunge straight into the man’s chest.
Gabrielle heard the dying man’s final gurgling breath, and shuddered as she silently uttered a prayer for his soul. The blackness of the night became a godsend, for she was quite sure she did not want to see what lay before her.
She heard Brother Lucien’s breath rasping in and out of his lungs and stepped over to him to determine if he was injured. Lifting a trembling hand to his face, she inquired after him.
“I'm fine; just a nick or two. Nothing life threatening," he reassured her, staring at her with an equal measure of concern. “And you, Gabrielle? Are you hurt?”
She realized it was the first time he had used her given name, and liked the way it flowed over his tongue. She assured him she was unhurt, though she was shaking so hard, her voice uttered the words in broken cadence.
Lucien opened his arms to her in silent invitation, and she stepped into them without a moment’s hesitation. They closed around her with fierce tenderness as she huddled against him.
Beneath the white wool of his surcoat, she felt the heat and solidity of him. She pressed her face against his heart and heard its strong steady rhythm. Gradually, her fear ebbed away, leaving her aware of a multitude of pleasurable sensations.
Gabrielle had never experienced physical pleasure from a man. The way she felt in this Templar’s arms was an entirely new sensation, a heady one at that. Treacherous thoughts of what it might feel like to have his large hands stroking over her seeped into her mind. She didn’t want to step out of his arms, but she knew she must before she did something stupid and dangerous, like invite further intimacy.
“This is the second time God has answered my plea for help with you, Brother de Aubric,” she said, more than a little awestruck by the realization. “I’m not sure what to make of this.”
Her nervous laugh was matched by the deep husky timbre of his much earthier chuckle. “I do not know what to make of this, either, mi’lady, but it seems fate has chosen me to act as your guardian. I cannot say that I mind.”
Gabrielle caught his hand and saw that his leather gloves had been sliced by her attacker’s knife. Beneath, his knuckles were bleeding. She immediately pulled the long sleeve of her gown over their scraped surface. “I definitely do not mind, frère. I believe I would be dead twice over, if not for your timely intervention. Again, I thank you, and yet it seems so little.”
“Come.” Lucien put a hand to the small of her back and urged her toward his horse. “I will see you safely home.”
Once seated behind him, Gabrielle answered his questions about what had happened. “My guards and the slaves carrying my litter vanished into the dark as if someone had snatched them into the air. I saw no sign of them anywhere. It is most troubling, and I am not given to flights of fancy.”
“I think the whole incident was well planned. That man who attacked you was an assassin; one of Rashid Sinan’s fanatical followers. They do not roam the streets of Jerusalem at night without purpose.”
“My God!” Gabrielle felt her world tilt. She knew about the infamous Syrian assassin sect. Who in the Levant did not? “Once paid, they do not stop pursuit until their victim has been killed. I have heard Reynald talk of them. Their fee is very great. So
meone must truly want me dead.”
“I wish that you did not have to know this, lady, but it is best that you do, so that you will be on constant guard.”
Lucien felt her grip on his waist tighten. Pressed so close, he could feel her renewed trembling. She had every right to be terrified. Being the target of one of Sinan’s Assassins was the same as a death sentence. He was fairly certain the man who had contracted for her death was her degenerate husband. His behavior tonight had been too suspicious.
But he was not going to let her handle this alone. Somehow he would deal with this for her. For tonight, though, he needed to get her safely home, and make sure she was watched closely until he discovered who was behind this. Hopefully, by tomorrow, he would have a plan in place to protect her, and in the meantime, he would let Hazir know where to reach him if there was further trouble.
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The following morning Gabrielle awoke tormented by a night full of terrible dreams of death. They left her feeling helpless and frightened. Despair threatened to overwhelm her as she began to realize the only person who could afford an Assassin and who wanted to be rid of her was the man who held all legal rights over her. All of the freedom she had struggled to acquire for herself these past five years could vanish in an instant if Reynald decided to curb it. She literally lived by his whim. He was such a powerful man. Who would dare to challenge what he chose to do with her?
While he could not openly murder her without consequence, he could have her killed and cover his involvement, probably with very little suspicion cast upon himself. Afterall, she traveled about the city and the countryside virtually alone. She made it easy for him to permanently dispose of her. And she knew his motive. With her dead, he would be free to expand his holdings into Hebron by marrying Lady Silvia. God help her! Why had he waited this long? She wondered if the lone bowman in the olive grove at the scene of the caravan raid had been sent by her husband.
Dear Lord! She had to find a way to protect herself from Reynald! He had nearly destroyed her life twelve years ago. She was not going to let him terminate it now.
She was climbing out of her bed when she heard a commotion downstairs. By the time she slipped into her silk robe, her husband was charging up the stairway. She braced herself and fought a wave of fear and nausea as she heard him shout her name at the top of the landing.
Hazir opened her door and preceded him into the room, only to be pushed forcefully aside as Reynald strode past him. Her father was on his heels, with Hazir’s grown daughter, Sadhira, coming up worriedly behind him.
Gabrielle was grateful for the presence of her friends, though she knew she should dismiss them immediately to protect them from Reynald’s wrath. Belting her robe about her waist, she faced her fuming husband with as much calm as she could muster.
Her mind warned caution, but her battered emotions prompted her to lash back at Reynald. She was sick unto death of his intimidation. And her father, despicable man that he was, could not be expected to ever come to her defense. As always she was alone. At least Reynald could not strangle her in front of Hazir and Sadhira.
“What do I owe this gentle morning greeting to, Reynald?”
He glowered at her and barked a response. “I hear you were attacked last night by an Assassin.”
“An Assassin, you say? I did not realize I merited such expense. And you are so swiftly informed of events that occurred but a few hours past. How is that, Reynald?”
“I’m not here to answer your questions,” he replied arrogant, his jaw locked in anger.
“Have you found the two guards and the slaves that you assigned me last night? Apparently all four men vanished as if they had been plucked from the streets by an invisible hand?”
Her sarcasm earned her a clenched fist, which thankfully remained at his side for the time being. “There has been no sign of the guards or the slaves carrying your litter. And the news is all over the palace this morning. It seems Lucien de Aubric was asking questions as the cock crowed. What has that damned Templar got to do with you, wife?”
Gabrielle hated his use of the word. It had never been spoken to her in love or tenderness, only in subjugation. “He came along last night and assisted me. If not for him, I would be dead now, husband!” she unwisely spat back.
Her husband was a big man, and he was still very vigorous, far from enfeebled. The sharpness in her tone was irritating him, she could see. He took a menacing step toward her, putting her within arm’s reach. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Hazir suddenly leave the room. Reynald saw it, too, and laughed disdainfully, muttering a racial slur under his breath.
“What is this we hear about de Aubric rescuing a caravan you were traveling with a few weeks ago?” her despicable father demanded.
Gabrielle shifted her gaze to him. He was an age with Reynald, though he, too, looked far from nearing three score. His sandy brown hair was graying at the temples, and he had a shorter, more wiry build. He wasn’t a bad looking man, just a bad tempered one. Gabrielle had never thought she looked much like him. She had also never cared one bit for him, and there had been many times when she had fantasized about him not being her real father.
“He and several Templars were on patrol when they intercepted the merchant caravan I was traveling with as it was being attacked by bandits.”
“Have I not told you that you may do this godforsaken work with these heathen children only as long as it does not embarrass me? Talk of de Aubric’s heroics and your saintly endeavors are circulating through the court. It’s being said that you follow in my wake, trying to right what I have wronged; that I am the demon lord and you are an angel of God.”
Gabrielle dismissed his accusations with a negligent wave of her hand. “It is just talk, Reynald. There is too much of that at court.”
“Damnation, woman!” he thundered, taking another step toward her. “It is more than that. It demeans me!”
Considering he was nearly toe to toe with her, Gabrielle was amazed that she found the courage to reply, “You do that all by yourself, Reynald. You need no help from me.”
She turned to walk away from him, and he grabbed her, whirling her back to him. “You are coming home to Kerak with me, woman!” he snarled furiously, his fingers biting painfully into her soft flesh. “Get dressed and pack your belongings. We will leave within the hour.”
Panic slammed through Gabrielle’s entire body. She had not expected this. Behind the thick walls of Kerak, she would lose all freedom, all sense of worth, and all dignity. At best, she would become what she had been for seven long hellish years; a battered, sexually abused slave to her husband’s volatile moods. More likely, he would soon arrange for her death, making it look like an accident. Memories of her mother’s accidental death chilled her to the bone.
Determined to resist that fate at all costs, she mustered all of her courage. “I will not return to Kerak with you, Reynald!”
His face reddened with rising fury. “You will do as I order!” he thundered, grasping her by both arms and giving her a fierce shake that rattled her teeth. “I own you. You are my property. You are chattel. I can even sell you if I choose. And you will address me as lord and curb your insolent tongue!”
Gabrielle met his fierce-eyed glare defiantly. “I will not go to Kerak, my lord!”
“By God, you will!” Raising his large hand, he slapped her hard across the cheek.
She reeled under the fierceness of the blow. Years of experience had conditioned her to duck the instant he lifted his hand a second time. She twisted vainly in an attempt to escape the next blow, but when it didn’t come, she lifted her head and opened her eyes to see why.
Lucien de Aubric was standing between her her and Reynald, and he had his hand clamped around her husband’s wrist. His big white clad body acted as a shield, and she’d never been more glad to see him.
“By God, what is this?” Reynald bellowed. “You would dare come between a husband and wife, Templar?”
Lucie
n stood his ground, his face and body taut with unleashed fury. “I am standing between you and the lady, and will continue to do so as long as she is endangered by you Reynald,” Lucien responded with a menacing glare. “I will not let you harm her.”
“She is mine to do with as I please, de Aubric,” Reynald snarled malevolently.
“I will not let you harm her, by God!”
Standing behind the Templar, Gabrielle felt real hope for the first time in all the years she had been married to Reynald. While Brother Giles had assisted her where he could, he had never stood toe-to-toe with Reynald and refused him dominion over her. Her husband put fear in most men. He was too powerful to thwart without harmful consequence.
But Lucien de Aubric was not afraid of Reynald de Châtillon. Despite the fact that he looked as if he would love to smash Reynald’s face in, he held his anger on a tightly controlled leash. His unyielding strength gave Gabrielle courage and made her realize this Templar might be the best protection she could get from her dangerous husband and morally deficient father.
Relieved beyond measure, she stood behind the Templar and looked over Brother Lucien’s broad shoulders at her husband.
Reynald sneered at her. “I am taking you home with me, bitch! Do not think to hide behind this Templar. De Ridefort will never tolerate his interference.”
Lucien gave Gabrielle’s husband a derisive snort.
Standing beside his misbegotten comrade, her father spoke up finally. “You cannot defy your husband, daughter. You will do as he says and return with us to Kerak. If it pleases you, you may stay with me at Montreal.”
Gabrielle laughed bitterly. “Nothing about you has ever pleased me, father!” she spat. “You tormented my mother until she took her own life, then sold me into marriage for the opportunity to grow rich alongside your contemptible friend. I would be no safer at Montreal with you, than I would be at Kerak with him and Silvia.”