“I did not realize as much,” Wulfe admitted, wondering at the point of this confession.
“Do you know her tale?”
Wulfe shrugged. “A prostitute who followed Jesus.”
“More than that,” Christina murmured, then sighed. “So much more than that.”
“Tell me,” he urged, wanting to know why she had mentioned the story.
“Mary was the daughter of a noble family and born to wealth. She is called Magdalene because she held the town of Magdalum in her own right.”
“Truly?” Wulfe said, because he was surprised by this detail.
Christina twisted in his arms to grant him a small smile. “Are you surprised by the notion of a woman holding title to property?”
“Not in our times, for I have seen women rule holdings in the absence of their husbands and fathers, but in those days, aye, I am.”
“It must have been more common, for no one in the tale seems surprised by her responsibilities. Indeed, her father divided his holdings between his three children, two daughters and a son.”
“That would be unusual in our times.”
She eyed him. “Do you find it offensive?”
“That the one who rules a holding is fair and just is of greater import than whether the responsibility is held by man or woman.”
This reply, which was honest, seemed to please his companion. Christina nodded, then continued with her tale. “Mary was a great beauty as well as wealthy. She chose to surrender the management of her holding to her sister, Martha, so that she could indulge herself in savoring the pleasures of the flesh. Her brother, Lazarus, made the same allocation, though he chose as much so that he could concentrate upon his military career.”
Wulfe could understand that choice well enough. He was intrigued that her tale featured both a warrior and a whore.
“And so it was that Mary heard of Jesus and his teachings, and she wanted to see him. She went to the house of Simon the leper, where Jesus was a guest. She knew her reputation well and had often been shunned by others for her sinful choices. She dared not mingle with the company, lest she be rejected. She also knew herself to be lost, and hoped that hearing Jesus teach would give her guidance. She was with the servants when it came time to wash the guests’ feet and so it was that she took it upon herself to wash the feet of Jesus. She dried his feet with her hair and anointed them. Mary was recognized by the others, of course, including the host, Simon, who was certain that Jesus would not allow such a woman to touch him. He did, though, and then he took her hands and raised her to her feet, forgiving all her sins and rebuking those who would condemn her. For this precious gift, she granted him her love and her service for all the days and nights of her life.”
“She followed him,” Wulfe recalled.
“She followed him and she served him, with more love than all his other disciples combined. She did penance for her sins as he instructed in order to fill her heart with God’s love once more, and she sat at his feet to listen best to his sermons. He defended her from those who said she was unclean, lazy, and wasteful. He wept when she wept, more touched by her sorrow than that any other person. He raised her brother, Lazarus, from the grave when he had been four days dead and, she remained by his side while he hung on the cross. It was Mary who prepared the spices to anoint the body of Jesus, and she who did not abandon the vigil even when the other disciples left the tomb where he had been laid.”
Christina lifted her chin and met Wulfe’s gaze. “He did not judge her. He did not find her unworthy because of her past choices, and in this, he won her devotion and her love.”
Wulfe understood her implication well. But he knew the limits of what he could offer, and a place by his side, however devoted Christina might be, was not a possibility.
“I am no savior,” he whispered into her hair. “Though you make me wish I could be.”
She spun then to face him, and her smile sent heat through his veins. “Perhaps your desire is not sufficiently strong,” she whispered, then pulled his head down. He felt her stretch to her toes, then her fingers slid into his hair. Her eyes shone with full awareness of her effect upon him, and he might have cursed her skills if he had not felt so very good.
“You do not fight fairly,” he charged and liked how she chuckled.
“Do you, when all is at stake?”
Wulfe might have asked for more detail, but Christina kissed him, deepening her kiss with a slow deliberation that dismissed any thought of protest. She was so soft and enticing, and more, so artful that he could not resist her siren’s call. He groaned and caught her closer, slanting his mouth over hers and glad to be beguiled anew.
Chapter Three
She made progress in winning Wulfe to her side, Christina was certain of it.
And he made progress in convincing her of his merit. Her champion indeed. If she could only persuade him to help her to not only leave Costanzia’s house but Venice itself, she might be able to return home. Hope flickered in Christina’s heart for the first time in years. She had been certain that it would be impossible to leave the city.
With a champion, it could happen.
She had to take care to not ask too much of him too soon.
When Wulfe awakened next, night had fallen. Christina heard the change in his breathing and felt the weight of his gaze before he spoke.
“Are you lonely in this place?” he asked, so surprising her that she looked at him.
“Lonely? There is no solitude to be had in this house.”
“And none in a garrison, either. But the loneliness I speak of comes from being able to confide in another.”
“I have no need of such a luxury,” Christina protested, but her voice caught.
“I do, though I never thought I would.”
Christina was intrigued. Who had Wulfe confided in before? And what would he confide?
He watched her with a smile that hinted he had anticipated her reaction. “I would suggest that we share confidences.”
“Nay.” Christina shook her head, fearful of what he would ask of her. She would surrender truths to him at her own discretion and her own pace, the better to ensure she kept this tentative alliance.
Wulfe smoothed the coverlet, and she followed the gesture, noting how golden his skin looked against the cloth. His tone was idle but she was not fooled: he was intent upon this goal. Already she considered what truth she might offer to ensure she did not lose his good will. Such was the power of this man. “But as you have noted, I have paid.”
“Some things cannot be bought.”
Wulfe softened his voice. “Consider this, Christina. Once morning comes, we will never see each other again.”
There was a prospect she did not like.
“I will continue upon my journey and you will remain here,” Wulfe continued easily, mistaking the reason for her reticence. “What harm could there be in sharing a tale of our past with each other? Indeed, I see only a gain.”
Which truth of her past would sway him to her side? He was not lacking in compassion. Did she dare to confess all of it? “How so?”
He shrugged. “Solitude can wear upon the heart and mind.”
She was watching him, unable to hide her interest.
“Tell me how you came to be in this place,” he invited, then smiled. “Think of it as a respite for a tired warrior before we resume the night’s entertainment.”
Christina smiled then. “I am not so convinced that you have need of such respite,” she teased and slid her toe up his calf. “I had no notion that a Templar would be so vigorous abed.” She reached for him, aware that he was aroused again, but Wulfe closed his hand over hers, halting her move.
“Not the courtesan,” he said softly. “Not this time.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, although she knew.
“I would be with you. I would know more of you.” His gaze was intent. “I would know what compelled you to join this household.”
“And the boys?
”
“Cannot hear us.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “Especially if we speak like this.” He beckoned to her with one finger but Christina did not move toward him. They would negotiate this without his seductive touch muddling her thoughts.
“Do you always interview your whores?”
“Nay. I never have before.”
“Why me?”
“Because you are different, and I would know why.”
She smiled at that and eyed him. “And what will you tell me?”
He blinked, his reaction so close to her own that Christina almost smiled. “I beg your pardon?”
“This must be an exchange. A tale for a tale. Two equal tales, one for the other.”
Wulfe was clearly discomfited by this. He rolled to his back and appeared to be fascinated by the canopy. Christina knew he evaded her gaze and was heartened that their need for privacy was so similar. “I do not know how to tell a tale.”
“Everyone knows how to tell the tale he has lived,” she insisted. “Tell me how you became a Templar. All your reassurances to me apply equally to you.”
He considered her, eyes narrowed. “Then you will tell me your tale?”
“If yours is honest enough.”
“And will you judge as much?”
“I will.” Christina rose to her feet. She took the few steps to the low table, knowing that she granted Wulfe a view of her nudity and that it might convince him as her words had not. She poured a goblet of wine with leisure then brought it back to him, aware that he watched her keenly. She sat on the side of the bed and offered him the goblet. “You first,” she said, hoping he did as much.
Their gazes locked and held for a potent moment.
Then Wulfe sat up, letting the velvet fall to his waist, bracing his back against the headboard before accepting the chalice of wine. He sipped deeply of it, nodding approval at the quality, then beckoned to her. She returned to the bed but sat opposite him, at the foot, wanting to watch his expression. He lifted the velvet coverlet and she slid beneath it, her legs stretched out alongside his. She was well aware of the points their flesh touched and of the heat emanating from his body. He dropped his hand so that it rested on the cloth, its weight upon her ankles. It was a strangely convivial moment and she had the sense the great bed offered a haven from the world beyond.
A place where they could speak the truth, without a price.
Wulfe glanced toward the window before he spoke. “I was raised by a gamekeeper in the woods. He was old by the time I have memories of my youth, ancient even, and he compelled me to work hard. He taught me that a man must earn what he would call his own.”
“Your mother was his wife?”
Wulfe shook his head. “Nay. He said she abandoned me in the forest when I was an infant. He took me in, though he had no desire for a babe in his hut, because he said he could not leave me to die of exposure.” He lifted his brows. “It was winter.”
Christina was appalled by his mother’s choice, although Wulfe had either made his peace with it or he disguised his thoughts well. “How could she do such a deed?”
“He told me that women were untrustworthy.”
“In this, her sex is of less import than her nature!”
Wulfe said nothing but sipped of the wine, savoring it.
Christina wondered whether he meant to continue, so prompted him. “Was he your father?”
“Nay, not that. He bade me call him the old man, no more and no less.”
It seemed a heartless way for a boy to grow up.
Wulfe considered the view of the harbor, his voice dropping low as he continued. “The old man died when I was ten summers of age or so. As I said, he was very old, and he granted himself little kindness. He took a cough that winter and suffered long into the spring with the illness. By the time he took to his bed, he told me that he would die. He spoke more to me in those few weeks than he had in years. He told me how to bury him once he died, told me where to dig the grave, made me describe it once it was done so he knew it was done right.” Wulfe met her gaze. “In fact, he sent me back to dig it deeper. He told me that I had to leave the hut, which was the only place I had ever known, after his death. He made me promise to do all of this, and then, just as he had predicted, he died.”
He swirled the wine in his cup, staring down at it. “It was precisely as he had forecast. I do not think I believed him until it happened, until there was no beat of his heart.” His smile was wry. “I do not know how long I sat there, waiting for him to take another breath.”
Christina had the urge to console him. She reached down the length of the bed and touched Wulfe’s hand. He did not look at her, but he locked their fingers together.
Then he shrugged. “I did all as he had instructed, then left the hut behind with reluctance. I might not have left at all if I had not feared he might yet round a corner to chastise me. It was spring and the forest was turning green with new growth. I remember how beautiful it was, and how uncertain I felt. I had no destination or goal, and for the first time, there was no one to give me one.”
“You could have sought your mother.”
“She who had abandoned me of her own choice? I think not. And how would I have known her, even if I had been so foolish as that? Nay, I knew I had to find myself some other abode, somewhere. Another old man, perhaps. I did not know where to turn, but in the end, the choice was made for me.”
His brow darkened. “I heard the horses before I saw them. There was a lord of the manor, of course, who called these woods his own, and he rode regularly to hunt. I had always stayed out of the way of his party, as the old man had bidden me, but on this day, the dogs were fast behind me. I ran, thinking to outdistance them, but they bayed and lent chase.” Wulfe looked at her, his expression outraged. “They hunted me. I could scarce believe it, not until I was cornered in a clearing, hounds snapping at my heels. I was hauling myself into a tree when the lord himself called for me to halt.” He shook his head at his own folly. “I thought he meant to save me from his dogs.”
“He did not?”
Wulfe cupped the chalice in his hands. “You must realize that no man of his ilk had ever spoken to me. His horse was fine and enormous, his armor gleamed, and his cloak fluttered behind him. His hair was as white as fresh snow and his eyes as cold as ice. I had the thought that he might be a snow king or one of the Fae, stepped from the tales the old man had told me on winter nights.” He pursed his lips. “When he fixed his attention upon me with that fierce gaze, I feared him more than his pack of hounds.”
Christina had the sense that Wulfe’s trepidation might have been justified.
“There had to be twenty men with him, nigh a dozen on horseback, riding finer steeds than I had ever seen, and dressed in finery. There were men in rougher dress, too, beaters and those who managed the dogs, although I did not know their roles then. I had never seen so many men at once. I certainly had never had so many people intent upon me, or been cornered by hunting dogs who snarled and snapped. I am surprised I managed to speak at all.”
“He asked you questions then?”
“He wanted to know about the gamekeeper and his whereabouts. It seemed he had sought out the old man, only to find the hut empty. I told him that the old man had died and where he was buried. There was no guile in me, and I had no ability to lie. Indeed, I was so astonished that I could not have summoned any untruth.”
“Surely he believed you?”
“I am not certain.” Wulfe pursed his lips and shook his head. “He dismounted and strode toward me, as fearsome a man as I had ever seen. He caught me by the chin and lifted me fairly off my feet, then stared at me. It was clear enough that the sight of me offended him, though there was little I might do about it. ‘You should be dead,’ he growled, then flung me to the ground. Before I could move, he had drawn his dagger and cut my cheek. Quick and deep, so that the blood flowed warmly down my face.”
Wulfe’s hand rose to the scar on his face, and Ch
ristina knew he touched it unwittingly. His lips set. “Then he whistled for the dogs. He ran his gloved finger across my cheek, then let the lead hound taste it.”
Christina gasped.
“I ran.”
“Indeed!”
“The hounds hunted me with a fervor they had not shown before. It was the blood, the scent of it and the taste of it. It made them frantic. I ran as I had never run before. I dropped the pack of the gamekeeper’s prizes, I tore my garments, I lost my cloak. I ran through undergrowth, thorns tearing at me, the pack of barking dogs fast on my heels. I crossed a stream, the water filling my boots and slowing my pace dangerously. The lead one caught me then, sinking his teeth into my thigh as I struggled to climb up the bank. I can see him yet, a reddish hound with a short coat, green eyes, and fierce white teeth. The others bayed on the far shore, then lunged into the water. I knew I had but a moment to ensure my own survival.”
“What about the men?”
“They rode after the dogs, laughing and encouraging them. I saw the baron halt on the opposite bank. I saw him smile and knew it would be worse if I was captured. I kicked his hound hard in the face, kicked it again so it fell into the stream with a howl. I saw the baron’s disapproval, but then I ran anew.”
“But why would he do such a foul deed?”
“Because he could, I suppose. As I ran, I recalled that the old man had taught me the boundary of the lord’s lands.”
“So you might leave?”
“So we might aid another to leave. We had found a doe who had given birth uncommonly late in the summer. The gamekeeper encouraged her to leave the baron’s lands, with her fawn, before that man rode to his fall hunt.”
Christina bit her lip, recognizing that the old man had understood his overlord’s lack of concern for any but himself.
“Once my wits returned to me, I realized where I was and I ran for that border. The party pursued me well beyond it, but there was a town and they did not dare to chase me as far as its walls.”
“And you found sanctuary there?”
Wulfe scoffed. “I did not dare to seek any, given my sole experience of the kindness of strangers. I ran for the better part of a month, determined to put as much distance between myself and that forest as possible. And in the end, I reached another forest, different from the one I had known all my life but familiar in its tranquility. I found another gamekeeper there, one who grew older, and I offered to help him. He was suspicious, just as the man who had raised me had been, but I knew his kind and I knew the work that had to be done, and I showed him with my deeds that I was unafraid of hard labor.”
The Crusader's Heart Page 5