by S A Monk
And her relationship with the Templar was so new, she really did not know how to explain it or define it. It was no secret she was under his protection, but the nature of that protection was still evolving.
Her feelings for him were disconcerting. She could not help the fact that she was deeply attracted to him, but she could help acting on those feelings. She reminded herself daily that there could be no possible relationship between them, except friendship. Nevertheless, whenever she looked at him, she felt her pulse quicken. And despite her inexperience, she thought he felt something, too.
As she laughed at something Maria said, she glanced over at him and let her eyes travel over every inch of him. Like all of them, he was dressed in the traditional native attire of the region; a long white tunic, loose leggings underneath, a black sleeveless over-cloak, and a long black head scarf that was held in place across the forehead by a piece of twisted red cloth. With his dark coloring and beard, he looked very Arabic, fierce and dangerous with his scimitar belted at his waist. Nothing of the Templar or the Frank remained in him.
Gabrielle wondered if he ever felt torn between two worlds in this land his mother's people must have come from at one time. Brother Giles had told her that he had lived undercover among the Arabs, in Damascus, for nearly two years while still a monk of the Order. She wondered how that experience had affected him. What would it have been like to live so isolated from the Templar monastic community? Few of their rules and none of their daily routines could have been followed. Had he enjoyed the experience or hated it? Gabrielle wanted to know all she could about this man who had suddenly taken center place in her life.
When he caught her staring at him, he dipped his head and smiled, sending her heart racing with that particular crooked, half-grin he exhibited occasionally. Disconcerted with the tiny hint of intimacy in his eyes, she bent and dipped the last gourd into the water hole. As she was doing so, she felt something whiz over her veiled head. Beside her, Lady Maria screamed.
Gabrielle dropped the gourd and began to rise when she was suddenly caught around the waist and tackled to the ground. Pinned beneath him on her back, she looked up into Lucien de Aubric’s alarmed face as he lay over her.
"What happened?"
He brushed his hand over her cheek and swept it into her hair, displacing the scarf that had covered it. His long fingers curved themselves to her scalp, then probed for injury, she assumed.
"I am unhurt," she reassured him, then questioned again. "What happened? Is Maria well?"
Lucien dropped his forehead to hers and released a deep sigh. "She is fine. Did you not see the arrow that sailed over your head as you bent to the water?" When he lifted his head, it was inches from hers and his face was etched with unmistakable fear.
Gabrielle shook her head and, without thought, lifted her fingers to stroke away his anxiety. "I felt nothing. Was it another assassin?"
"We will find out." Rising lithely to his feet, he held out a hand to assist her to hers. "Come. Stay behind me, though."
Frightened finally, Gabrielle cast a quick look to Lady Comnena, who was hiding behind a rock. Lucien's broad back prevented her from seeing much else until Hazir's two nephews and Brother Giles came marching out of some waist high bushes, dragging a man between them. He was small and very dark-skinned, dressed in tight fitting black clothing, just like the man in the street in Jerusalem the night of the king’s party. He was also quite dead. An arrow protruded from his chest, and Gabrielle assumed one of the three men before her had killed him. All carried crossbows in their hands and quivers of iron-tipped bolts on their backs, as did the dead Arab.
Gabrielle shuddered, and Brother Lucien reached around to take her hand, bringing her to his side. She turned her head into his shoulder, unable to look upon the dead assassin.
"Bury him," Lucien commanded succinctly, then steered Gabrielle toward her female companion and a flat-topped rock.
Maria Comnena reassured herself that all was well and that Gabrielle was uninjured while Lucien went to recover the bolt that had sailed over her head. When Gabrielle saw him walking back with it held in his hand, she reached for it and passed the pad of her thumb over the sharp iron arrowhead. It was broad enough and long enough to have deeply pierced her skull.
"My God!" she whispered, curling her fingers around the shaft. "This is what my husband and father meant for me. What did I ever do to deserve such hatred?"
When she lifted her beautiful watery blue eyes to his, Lucien saw the horror and the pain in them. Her unshed tears tore at his heart, and in that moment, he silently swore to deliver a reckoning to her vile husband when next they met. Needing to ease her anguish, he lifted her to her feet, curled one arm around her neck, and pulled her against him as he took the arrow from her trembling fingers.
"I will keep this and deliver it to Reynald personally the next time I see him, and by God, I will not let him succeed in this, Gabrielle," he swore, his cheek pressed to the top of her head.
+++
That night, the travelers stayed at Balian's stronghold in Nablus. Maria’s daughter, Isabella, had come from Toron for a visit. There were several members of Balian's extended family in residence, as well, and the evening turned into a pleasant opportunity for Gabrielle and Lucien to catch up with old acquaintances and friends. The gaiety at the evening meal did much to dispel the fear and queasiness Gabrielle had been feeling since the attack.
Being chased down on a dark street in Jerusalem had been frightening, but being shot at in full daylight seemed to bring the horror of it more sharply into focus. And for over a fortnight, there had been no attempts on her life. Maybe she had foolishly thought the assassination attempts had ceased. With her petition for annulment, she had hoped Reynald would withdraw his contract with the fida’i. Obviously, he had not. Why wait months for an annulment when he could be rid of an unwanted wife now? The bastard!
Early the next morning, Gabrielle, Brothers Giles and Lucien, and Hazir's nephews set out for Tiberius. It was a windy late spring day and previews of the summer heat were upon them. Gabrielle tucked her head veil around her face, covering her mouth and nose from the dust and grit of the road, just as the others did. On her coffee-colored Arabian gelding, she rode behind Lucien's big black Arabian stallion, with Brother Giles coming up behind her, and the nephews further back. Behind their tightly wrapped headgears, the riders rode single file along the narrow rocky road to Tiberius, their eyes constantly scanning the countryside.
Despite the pleasant company at Nablus, Gabrielle had not slept well, and she kept nodding off in her saddle, only to be jarred awake by the rocky terrain beneath her horse’s hooves. More than once, she gazed longingly at Brother Lucien's back, wishing she could ride with him and lay her head on his broad shoulder while she slept. Better yet, she thought impulsively, she would rather be riding in front of him, sheltered in his arms. She was quite certain that then she would feel secure enough to sleep peacefully and deeply, without the graphic nightmares that had been plaguing her since the attempts on her life.
+++
It was dusk by the time they reached Tiberius. Perched on a hillside, the town sat above the Sea of Galilee, or Lake Tiberius, as some called it. Through his marriage to Lady Eschiva, Count Raymond III of Tripoli had acquired the prominent fiefdom, which included Tiberius as its capital city.
The district of Galilee was bordered by Acre on the coast and Mount Carmel to the west, the Jordan River to the east, and the Valley of Jezreel to the south. Oultrejourdan and Kerak were farther south, below Jerusalem. To the northeast, lay Syria and its capital, Damascus. In fact, the eastern borders of Galilee and the eastern side of the lake remained firmly in the hands of the Arabs, much to the Franks displeasure.
The high bluffs of the Golan plateau rose on the eastern side of the lake. Fed by the Jordan River, the Sea of Galilee was a massive sprawl of deep blue beneath the ceiling of twilight. Fishermen and their boats plied the vast depths during the day for their abundant ca
tches, but the predominate pursuit was agriculture. Galilee was the rainiest, most fertile region of Palestine, and Count Raymond and his wife were not the only Crusader families who drew wealth from the region.
Gabrielle had always loved Galilee, especially the region around the lake. It was a land of rolling, grassy green hills, with a multitude of wildflowers woven in among the farmed fields and groves of fruit trees. With the lake as its sparkling center jewel, it was particularly breathtaking in the spring.
And it was nearly as scared to Christians as Jerusalem. Christ grew up in nearby Nazareth, and began his early teaching along the shores of the Sea of Galilee. Pilgrims wandered the countryside searching out all the sacred places from the Bible. On their way into the city of Tiberius, their small party had passed many of them.
Walled, Tiberius sat on the western side of the lake and had a commanding view of it and the surrounding countryside. Once the travelers were admitted through the gates of the city, they ascended to the flat-topped hill on which the garrison castle of Tiberius sat. It too was surrounded by high battlements and several watch towers. Even a thousand years later, remnants of King Herod Antipas’ great northern palace could still be seen here and there. The current castle had even been built upon the underpinnings of Herod’s old garrison. Like the region, the city and the walled fortress rested on the foundations of ancient history.
Since Lucien had sent a message ahead to Raymond by carrier pigeon, he and his party of five were let in through the raised portcullis without further question once they identified themselves. In the courtyard in front of the large square keep, stable boys came to help with their horses. Within a few moments the big double oak doors to the keep opened and Count Raymond came down the steps to greet his visitors.
He went to Lucien first and took his arm, from elbow to wrist, in a grip of greeting. “Brother de Aubric, ‘tis good to see you again! And Brother de Chancery, you as well.” After gripping the Hospitaller’s forearm in a similar fashion, Count Raymond turned to Gabrielle. “Lady de Châtillon, you are most welcome here.”
Gabrielle held the reins to her horse with one gloved hand, but removed her glove on the other and extended it to the count, who bent to place a kiss on it. She had not been sure what to expect from him. He and her husband were bitter enemies, and Reynald would never have been welcomed him here; admitted maybe, but not welcomed.
Lucien introduced Hazir’s two nephews, then waited while the count gave Colin, the squire who had come with him, directions concerning the party’s animals and baggage. Before the young man could carry out his duties, Lucien directed him to wait a moment.
“Lord Raymond,” the Templar began. “We have had another encounter with an assassin along the way. I fear you should know this before admitting us into your home. There may be more attacks. I would not want to place your family in jeopardy.”
Gabrielle echoed Lucien’s sentiments, in complete accord with his intentions. “We can stay at an inn in the city.”
The count waved away their concerns. “Lady de Châtillon, Lucien has told me of your dilemma. You are welcome to our safe haven, such as it is, and be assured I will notify my guards and post extra watch.”
“Thank you, mi’lord,” she acknowledged with a nod, deeply moved and vastly relieved. Staying at an inn in town would have been dangerous and not nearly as appropriate.
Lucien had also warned her that he had asked the count for adjoining rooms. Though he had not wanted to frighten her further, he had admitted to her that there probably would be more attempts on her life. Gabrielle knew the fida’i would not stop. It would be foolish to believe otherwise. Dear God, she was frightened! Even in this hilltop fortress, with a garrison of armed men on alert, she still might not be safe.
That night, though, she slept better than she had expected to, knowing Lucien was in the next room, separated from her only by a closed door. The count and countess had given the entire party rooms on the third floor of the keep, two floors above the great hall and one floor down from the family residential rooms. Gabrielle’s room was sandwiched between Brother Giles’ and Brother Lucien’s, while Hazir’s nephews were given sleeping accommodations down the hallway. She was surrounded by protection. Nevertheless, Lucien had made sure the shutters on the lone window in her room were secured and locked, and that the outer door was barred, as well. The only unlocked door was the one that separated her bedroom from his.
Later that night Gabrielle heard Lucien enter his room and move around as he prepared for bed. She was snuggled beneath her covers, his presence next door giving her great comfort. The evening had been pleasantly spent with the count and his wife, Eschiva, and their three sons, two of whom were married and living at the castle with their wives and children.
The close-knit family had made Gabrielle wistful, and the presence, for a little while, of the count’s four young grandchildren had resurrected painful memories and demolished dreams. After their evening meal, Raymond, Brother Giles, and Lucien had adjourned to another room to talk. Lady Eschiva, her two daughters-in-law, and the children, ranging in age from two to eight, had kept Gabrielle entertained, but she wondered how Lucien’s meeting had gone.
It had been obvious he and the count were longtime friends. They spoke to one another with a familiarity born of many years. The few things Gabrielle had overheard said between them demonstrated to her that they shared very similar political opinions. Brother Giles was also of a like mind, though he was less out-spoken than his friends. Tiberius was just across the lake from the Syrian border, and Count Raymond was dangerously involved with Saladin on some level. Gabrielle was only partially aware of the problem. But she could see that Brother Lucien was worried about him and for him. The purpose of these talks was to alter Count Raymond’s current position, and she could tell there was a great deal at stake.
Lucien had outlined many of the issues he had come to talk to Lord Raymond about on their way here. Gabrielle was unused to such frankness from a man. Most men considered women of no consequence when it came to political or military discussions. Churchmen and laymen, alike, constantly decried that women were of inferior intellect.
Reynald hadn’t even treated her with that much respect. He had often called her an idiot, in private, as well as in front of others. Funny, how she had never heard him speak of Lady Silvia in such terms.
For a long time, Gabrielle had thought maybe Reynald was right about her. She had been an impressionable fourteen, afterall, when she had been married off to him. But her mother had taught her to read and write, without her father’s knowledge, of course. Eventually, as she’d gotten older and wiser, she’d learned to deflect the verbal denunciations Reynald had rained on her. In a secret compartment in her room, she’d kept the manuscripts and books she managed to covertly extract from some of the goods Reynald had stolen from the caravans he had raided. Many of them had been in Arabic, so she’d found an educated Egyptian slave at Kerak who taught her to read Arabic.
In her attempt to escape Reynald and her father, she had discovered every nook and cubbyhole at Kerak. Those hiding places became her sanctuaries. In each of them, she’d hoarded food and books, spending hours reading by whatever light she could manage to drag into them. Eventually, her long disappearances led her husband and her father to believe she was more than a touch mad. And Gabrielle had let them think that. She had even pretended it sometimes. It was an easy pretense. Life with both men had nearly sent her over the edge of sanity.
And now, thank the Lord, she lived in the light. A wonderful man had come into her life who treated her as if she was an equal; a man who, if nothing else, was a friend, a protector, a guardian angel. If anyone could keep her safe and give her a tomorrow, it was Lucien de Aubric.
CHAPTER 9
The day after their arrival, Lady Eschiva and her two daughters by law invited Gabrielle to accompany them into Tiberius to visit their favorite silk merchant. He had just gotten some bolts in from a trader who had recently returned f
rom a trip to the Far East. The silk merchant had invited the ladies of the castle to inspect his new merchandise. He was claiming the silk was the finest he had ever seen. The countess, in particular, was quite excited about viewing the fabric.
They traveled the short distance into town under a heavy guard. It was a brilliant late April day. The sky was such a deep blue, it almost hurt the eyes to gaze upon it. On the lake, which they caught glimpses of coming down the hill from the castle, fishing boats plied the azure blue waters, their full white sails catching the spring breezes as they drifted across the surface.
It was a truly perfect day, and Gabrielle was thoroughly enjoying herself. For weeks now, she had been busy working at the hospital and in the orphanage, unable to go into the city proper because of the restrictions of her sanctuary and the danger of another assassination attempt.
It had been too long since she had enjoyed a completely idle day, doing nothing more than sharing the company of pleasant female companions, browsing through shops and outdoor stalls at a souk. While she had brought some coin, she was frugal with it, purchasing only a tiny bottle of her favorite perfume and a bar of scented soap. If she was going to succeed in freeing herself completely from her husband, she needed to conserve her funds for she would never again depend on Reynald or her father for a thing.
The countess was old enough to be Gabrielle’s mother, but she was still a very good looking woman. The Christian community was not very large, and like Maria Comnena, Lady Eschiva had been a friendly acquaintance for a number of years. Gabrielle had always liked her. She was lively, intelligent, and kind. If she had ever felt sorry for Gabrielle’s disturbing circumstances, she had never alluded to it. Though she and her husband had never liked Reynald, they both had always treated her warmly.
The countesses’ daughters-in-law were of an age with Gabrielle, and were both very pleasant companions. All in all, it was the kind of day Gabrielle had needed, and though she did not purchase any of the gorgeous, very expensive silk, she helped the three ladies make selections that were indeed some of the finest she had seen.