Perhaps this Templar was no better than a mercenary. Christina had been obliged to service some of those men and did not relish the prospect of entertaining another.
Perhaps she could see him drunken in the passing of a day and a night, then slip out of the house with his fat purse. Two boys followed behind them, and she guessed they were his squires. They were small enough of stature that she thought she could best them both, if necessary.
Still, she did not like that there were three of them. Her heart fluttered and she exchanged a glance with one of the men who stood by the door. Clients were told that these men defended the house and its coin, but Christina knew that a sharp cry would bring at least one of them running to the defense of one of the women.
She supposed that was also a defense of the possessions of the house.
Christina nodded, aware that Wulfe waited for her reply. “Do you intend to return to the Latin Kingdoms?”
“As soon as may be. I am charged with a task, and once it is completed, I will return immediately to Outremer. Every knight’s blade will be needed to defend all that is holy. I can only pray I do not arrive too late to do my part.”
“Might I ask after your task?”
“Nay.” He fell silent then, such tension in his body that Christina knew she had done little to put him at ease. She was well aware of Costanzia’s watchful gaze and smiled up at the knight as if naught were amiss.
“Would you not partake of a meal?” she asked, guiding Wulfe to the table as she had been instructed. It seemed a safer subject than his recent history. She would think about the prospect of Jerusalem being lost later. “Some wine? Or ale? Meat and bread?”
He exhaled mightily and turned to face her. “I have only the appetite for one feast in this moment,” he said. “I apologize if my commitment to my order offended you.”
Christina forced herself to smile. “Not at all. Fighting men are always so resolute.”
“Fighting men?” Wulfe arched a brow and she sensed that he teased her. “Is that what you call knights in this city? It was no small task to earn my spurs.”
“And many mercenaries have labored hard to buy theirs,” Christina retorted before she caught herself. “I am not certain the distinction of rank in the trade of war is of as much import as many knights would insist.”
Wulfe laughed at that, surprising her. “Fair enough,” he acknowledged. “I suppose men are much the same when naked. A prick and some coin.”
Christina itched to slap him, so confident was his smile, but she guessed he tried to provoke her. It was only reasonable to provoke him in return.
“You might be surprised,” she countered mildly. “The very fact that you are a warrior monk makes you appear to be different from others thus far.”
His eyes glinted but she saw the color rise on the back of his neck. “Indeed?”
“Surely your rule precludes the frequenting of brothels?”
“Surely it does,” he acknowledged. “But I cannot be that uncommon. This is Venice, the city of such repute that all of Christendom speaks of its sins. I am certain there are bishops and priests aplenty who visit this abode.”
“You would be right in that,” Christina admitted. “But I had believed that knights sworn to your order held to higher ideals.”
“Disappointed?” There was a challenge in his expression that made her heart skip a beat, but Christina disguised her reaction.
“We shall see.” She looked him up and down. “Wulfe.”
He grinned outright at that. “I should have visited a brothel in this city sooner,” he said, his gaze locked with hers. “The company is most enticing.” He lifted her hand and kissed her fingers, managing to look both wicked and alluring.
“No more enticing than others.”
Wulfe shook his head. “Infinitely more enticing,” he corrected. “For never have I had a whore converse with me as you do, much less match wits with me.”
Christina winced at the name she had earned. “Courtesan,” she corrected.
“If you so prefer.” He turned her hand over and planted a warm kiss in her palm, his gaze never leaving hers. “I cannot wait for the delights of this night to reveal themselves.”
His desire for her was so evident that Christina’s mouth went dry. It was different, though, for he responded to her words, not her face or her breasts. Her heart was racing with an anticipation she rarely felt, and one she feared would be disappointed.
She wanted this moment of flirtation to endure.
“At least savor one cup of wine,” she urged, drawing him to her side again and trailing her fingers over his arm. “My patroness is most proud of the vintages she acquires.” Christina reminded herself that it was impossible to know what to expect from a man before the chamber door was closed. Wulfe’s charm might be fleeting indeed. It was easier if the patron had at least one cup of wine, for it evened the odds should she have to fight for her survival.
Wulfe accepted a cup and let her fill it, but barely let the wine touch his lips when he sipped. Curse him for being temperate!
“The room?” he asked, evidently determined to have his one desire fulfilled sooner rather than later.
All night. How many times would it be?
She hoped she was not expected to welcome the boys as well.
Christina beckoned to a servant, but one of the knight’s squires stepped forward to take the chalice and pitcher instead. “The boys can remain here in the hall…” she began to suggest.
He shook his head with such resolve that she fell silent. “They will accompany me. You need not fear their intervention. They merely protect me and my purse.” Wulfe smiled but she knew from his eyes that he would not be swayed. “They will practice their chess.”
Christina glanced toward the boys, not particularly reassured.
Costanzia gave her a hard look from the far side of the chamber, and Christina bit back any argument she might have made. In this moment, the streets seemed meaner than the knight before her.
The bed chamber it would be.
Chapter Two
“Have you been long sworn to the order, then?” Christina asked, turning her steps toward the stairs. She drew Wulfe fast against her side, ensuring that her breast was pressed against his arm, hoping that her perfume teased his nostrils.
The boys followed.
She saw the knight’s fleeting frown. “Of what import is that?”
“I thought perhaps your appetite was whetted by a hunger unsatisfied.” She fell silent for a moment, then continued, wanting to know his measure. “I thought perhaps you were devoted to the rule of the order until this day.”
Wulfe laughed then, and it was not forced. Indeed, his eyes twinkled. “When I heard of the beauty of Christina and cast aside my vows in search of the truth.”
“Do not mock me.”
“It is not my intent to do so,” he said, sobering. “But you speak aright in naming my shortcoming. It is my personal challenge to uphold the pledge of chastity.”
Christina did not like the sound of that, but she smiled. “Then you often pay for satisfaction?”
“Not often,” he acknowledged. “But there are times when a man has need of a woman’s caress.”
“And you find yourself in such a time.” It was easier if men talked about themselves, if she learned more of their needs and desires before reaching the bed. “Are such times predictable?”
“Only in their link with frustration in other arenas.” Wulfe grimaced when she glanced his way. “I endeavor to be temperate. You need not fear you will be granted a pox by me. I am not so lusty as to have earned that doom.” Christina was relieved by his attempt to reassure her and only hoped he told the truth. “But there are moments when I know myself to be vexed.”
“Vexed?” Christina echoed, amused by his choice of words despite herself.
“Vexed,” Wulfe agreed. “If I cannot change my situation, I must endeavor to find release in other ways, lest my fighting abiliti
es be compromised by my mood.” He flicked her an intent glance. “An irked man will strike too soon and err in his choices. It is my sworn pledge to defend those weaker than myself, and I will not permit vexation to compromise that vow.”
Christina could understand that well enough. “You choose for the greater good.”
He nodded. “It is a weakness and I know it well. Until I conquer it, though, my ability to do my duty must be protected, at whatever price.”
With another man, Christina might have thought he constructed an excuse for his dalliance, but Wulfe was so serious that she believed him. “What situation could cause such a state?” They reached the next floor, and she guided him toward the far end of the corridor where the best chamber was located. There could be no greater contrast between this wide corridor, with its parquet floor and elaborately painted ceiling, and the attic above. The difference was greater again in the chambers.
“An assignment that proves annoying to fulfill.” Wulfe heaved a sigh. “Indeed, I fear this one may not be completed with anything like timeliness, and that vexes me beyond all.”
“Why? Surely the Temple ensures your comfort regardless of your task?”
Consideration and perhaps humor lit his eyes. “As this place ensures yours?”
Christina found herself flushing. “There is food and a roof.”
“Aye, there is food and a roof. Do you not ever aspire to more?”
It was curious to see any commonality in their situations, particularly since he had noted it first. He, after all, was a Templar knight. She preferred to call herself a courtesan, but the truth was that she was a whore. Either way, the sexual expectations of their respective roles could not have been more different. “Do you?”
“Of course.” Wulfe shook his head. “But aspirations do not ensure food and a roof, so choices must be made. Perhaps compromises must be made.”
Christina was surprised to find his reasoning so close to her own. “In service to the greater good?” she asked lightly as they reached the end of the corridor. The sound of the music below was faint, and she could hear the cries of the sea birds.
Wulfe looked around with undisguised curiosity, and she knew he noticed the door at the end of the corridor with its doughty lock. “In service of one’s own survival. One’s life, after all, is what one makes of it.”
What had brought him to the Templars? She halted at the end of the corridor, outside the room she would choose, her bravery faltering in this moment. How much more of him could she learn before meeting him abed?
Wulfe caught her looking at him, and their gazes locked. “How came you to this place?”
“Does it matter?”
“Only that I would wager that you made a similar choice to mine.” Wulfe leaned closer and she caught the scent of his skin. It was beguiling, more beguiling than anticipated. There was much to be said for a man who was clean. “To ensure your own survival, despite a high price.”
“You would win that wager,” she admitted, then wished she had not. He watched her more closely, curious, but Christina dared not confide any more. She changed the subject. “I had thought your coin was held in common by the order. Is the acquisition of coin another weakness of yours?” She earned a sidelong glance for that.
“You know so much of Templars, then?”
“Nay, but all monastic orders forbid the holding of personal wealth.”
“But leave the matter to the discretion of the master of the priory. In Outremer, it is not uncommon for coin gained by a knight and surrendered to the master to be returned, at least in part, to the knight himself.”
“Is discipline so lax then?”
His expression became guarded. “The life is hard and fraught with peril. It is a wise master who understands how to ensure his men are sustained.”
“How is coin won?”
“Ransoms, primarily,” he acknowledged readily. “At least that is the source of mine. The capture of an important individual from the opposite side oft ensures that a ransom is paid.”
Christina could believe that Wulfe might be successful is such an endeavor and found herself relieved that he had not earned his coin at dice or other gambling. “But secular knights in Outremer oft win their fortunes there.”
“True enough.”
“We hear of younger sons returned with titles and fortunes. Surely you could have ridden east without joining the Templars.”
He shook his head. “I should have starved far west of here.” He gestured to his garb and his squires. “All that comes to my hand has been earned by my own labor, but there will never be sufficient for a holding.”
“You might sell your blade.”
“Never,” Wulfe replied with a finality that indicated he had considered the matter. “A man who sells his blade is a mercenary or no better than one, condemned to follow the dictate of whichever man will pay, be his cause right or nay.”
“You could swear to the service of a lord you knew to be moral.”
He eyed her, his eyes still twinkling but his expression more sober. “With no noble lineage? It will not happen, Christina. The Templars will be my life, that much is certain.”
She did not know what to say to that. She respected that he had considered his choices thoroughly and found herself wishing he had had better ones.
Wulfe surprised her again with a sudden glance. “And you? Will this be your life?”
It was a horrifying notion. Christina dropped her gaze to hide her revulsion. “We have more interesting matters to accomplish this day than making such conversation,” she murmured, ensuring her voice was low and seductive.
His responding smile was quick. Was he relieved that she brought discussion back to the matter at hand? “You speak the truth in that.” His gaze swept over her, his appreciation clear. “Lead on, fair Christina. I find myself challenged to prove to you that not all men are the same.”
Christina hid her reaction to that pledge. She took Wulfe’s hand and opened the door to the very best room. The first to take a client, and one who paid for the entire night, gave her the right of choice. Christina would make the option count.
It was strange how a few words of conversation with a man she actually found alluring could change her view. This Templar was different from the men she usually had to satisfy, and it was more than his handsome visage. Wulfe truly looked at her. He asked about her own life. He spoke to her as if she were his equal, even if only for a day and a night. Tricking him was out of the question, for she felt that this knight was an honorable man.
Would Wulfe help her to escape this place if she asked him to do so? Nay, he could not have sufficient coin to see her freed—and why should he? Wulfe might have saved his coin for a bit of pleasure, but it would not be enough. Costanzia would empty his purse and demand yet more. Plus he was a knight sworn to the service of a monastic order, not a man who could wed—or even keep a mistress. He said himself that he would always be a Templar.
Nay, she would have to find another way to escape this place.
* * *
The silence between herself and Wulfe seemed fraught to Christina as they entered the richest of the rooms reserved for clients. He halted in the midst of the chamber and turned in place, surveying his surroundings. His expression was impossible to read and she hoped he was not displeased.
The boys, in contrast, were clearly awed. The mouth of one hung open and the other’s eyes were round. Christina might have laughed if she had not been impressed herself.
This corner room boasted a pillared bed draped in red silk, the dark wood lavishly gilded. The pillows were stacked high and the mattress thick, of finest down. It was a bed fit for an emperor. This was the largest room, with the finest view over the Adriatic through the arched windows alongside the bed. Also, the bed was curtained and the door could be locked. In the corner was a fireplace, and at the far end, a pair of low divans faced an even lower table. She had never been granted this chamber, had only glimpsed it, but this nig
ht it would be hers.
In that moment, Christina resolved that this would be her last night in Costanzia’s house. She would win Wulfe’s assistance.
Somehow.
“Does it displease you?” she asked him when he remained silent.
He shrugged. “It is more lavish than my usual accommodations.” He surveyed the chamber again, and she realized he was no less impressed than his squires. “I wonder how a man’s view of the world would be changed if he slept thus every night.”
“I doubt he would fight Saracens.”
Wulfe snorted. “Likely not. If he could afford such a chamber, he would pay others to fight for him.”
“Did you fight Saracens?”
“Of course.” He turned away with a frown and she knew she had sent his thoughts in a direction that was unwelcome. It was her task to kindle his desire anew, to put her curiosity aside for the moment.
Christina strolled to the bed, knowing Wulfe’s gaze followed her. She let her hips sway in the way she had been taught was seductive. Indeed, she would recall every lesson granted in this house and put it to use on this night. She trailed a hand along the velvet that covered the mattress, then loosed the lacings on the sides of her kirtle.
She took an age over the task, drawing out the moment to encourage Wulfe’s interest. She rolled her shoulders to encourage her garment to drop to the floor and heard his breath catch at the sight of her long white chemise. Doubtless he could discern the shadows of her curves through the fine cloth. She bent to pick up the kirtle, laid it across a bench, then turned to face him. She perched on the edge of the mattress and began to loosen her hair, before looking at him again.
Wulfe’s gaze was locked upon her. Indeed, she was not certain he breathed.
Christina smiled in satisfaction. “I suppose the Knights Templar do not sleep in luxury.”
He stood before the window, arms folded across his chest. His features were shadowed thus, but she heard humor in his tone. “One straw mattress, one bolster, and one blanket is supplied, according to the rule, and every brother must wear his chemise, belt, chausses, and shoes to bed.” He gestured to the lantern on the table before the window then spared her a glance. “And no brother shall ever sleep in darkness, lest he be tempted by wickedness.”
The Crusader's Heart Page 3