She felt the coldness of the blade against her skin, hidden between them, and narrowed her eyes to mere slits. Her heart thumped.
Another floor board creaked, but she knew she no longer needed to warn her companion.
It seemed an eternity passed before Christina saw the silhouette of the intruder against the window. There were three windows in this room and they were large on this, the third floor of the house, for there was little threat of thieves at such height. All arched high in graceful curves, framing views of the night sky. From this angle, Christina could not even see the rooftops of the city, just the stars above. From the deep hue of the sky and the silence of the city, she knew it was very late, after midnight. She watched the intruder’s silhouette through her lashes, ensuring she breathed deeply and evenly.
He or she wore a cloak with a hood, disguising both features and shape. She thought the intruder might be taller than herself, but it was hard to be sure from this angle. The intent was clearly theft, for the intruder sifted quickly through Wulfe’s belongings. The squires had taken the knight’s weapons and tabard, but the remainder of his garb was on a low broad table between the bed and window.
As was his purse.
What riches could a Templar carry? Christina knew Wulfe’s purse was not light—though lighter than it had been—but the thief did not appear to touch it. There was no jingle of coin as Wulfe’s garments were searched.
How strange. It was as if the villain sought something specific, other than coin, something the Templar carried himself.
Wulfe had confessed to being upon a quest. Did he carry some token or treasure? Had he been entrusted with a valuable, or a secret message?
She hoped the boys were not injured by this intruder, in some effort to compel them to confess Wulfe’s secrets.
Her heart stopped cold when the intruder pivoted to stare at the bed. She could see the villain’s hands and could not see that any item had been claimed from Wulfe’s belongings. Did this person know they were awake? Was there more than thievery in the plan? The shadowed silhouette loomed closer, and Christina closed her eyes tightly, lest her wakefulness be revealed. It was horrible to not be able to see what transpired, but she was terrified. Surely the villain would hear the thunder of her heart?
Christina felt a rush of air and dared to peek through her lashes again.
There was no shadow before her. Where had the intruder gone? She strained to hear the sound of the thief’s breath, had time to fear that the boys were in peril, then Wulfe moved with lightning speed.
The knight rolled out of bed in one fluid gesture and slashed his blade into the curtain on the back side of the bed. Christina saw the glint of a second knife blade and realized that the intruder had tried to stab Wulfe. The drapery was cut so that she saw the intruder’s shadow again, then Wulfe leapt toward his attacker.
There was a grunt, then some weight was slammed into the wall. A scuffle ensued. The boys cried out and Christina heard them stumble to their feet. She slipped out of the bed in search of a lantern, not wanting any of them to mistake an ally for a foe.
By the time she had struck the flint and lit the lantern, the battling pair were by the window. Wulfe grappled with the thief, and it seemed they were evenly matched. Wulfe wore nothing at all, while the thief was swathed in black.
Suddenly, the assailant struck Wulfe across the face with a gloved hand, the full cloak having disguised the blow. Wulfe staggered backward, dropping his blade. His attacker lunged for it, but Christina saw it had been a feint: Wulfe tripped his opponent so the thief fell hard to the floor. The knight seized the thief from behind, locking one arm around that individual’s throat and reaching for his hood. Christina saw the flash of teeth in the shadow framed by the hood, then the thief bit Wulfe’s arm hard. The thief spun and jabbed an elbow into the knight’s ribs, kicking up a heel in the same moment. Wulfe blanched and his grip must have loosened, for the thief tore free. The boys shouted and made to attack, but the thief seized the oil lantern from Christina’s grasp and flung it at the boys.
“No!” she cried but it was too late. Though the boys ducked, the glass reservoir shattered against the wall, and the oil ran over the draperies. The flames leapt in hungry pursuit. The smaller boy tried to extinguish the flames, but his clothes also caught fire. Some of the oil must have fallen from the airborne vessel to his garb.
Christina seized Wulfe’s cloak and hastened to the squire. She wrapped him in the garment and Wulfe helped to roll him on the ground until the flames were extinguished.
“We must leave!” Wulfe said, reaching for his boots.
She glanced back and saw that the intruder lurked in the shadows. That villain had not fled the chamber, as she had expected. Why?
She cried out and pointed, and Wulfe gave chase. The intruder darted across the chamber then; Wulfe fast behind. There were always a trio of lanterns left alight in the corridor, for the convenience of those guests who departed during the night. The intruder seized the closest one and flung it at the knight.
Wulfe jumped out of its path and the lantern landed in the middle of the great bed, spilling oil onto the linens. The pillared bed was a conflagration in a trio of heartbeats. Christina heard the fleeing footfalls of the attacker.
Wulfe swore with a vigor that might have made Christina blink under other circumstance. As it was, she wanted to add some foul words of her own. He dressed with haste, drawing on his chemise, chausses, and tabard, shoving on his boots as the taller boy belted his scabbard around his waist. Christina, too, donned her kirtle and shoes, pushing her stockings into her belt. She glared at the jeweled girdle, then donned it as well, recalling how she had seen women beaten for daring to remove it.
One day she would cast it aside as well as all it represented, but not yet.
“Leave naught behind,” Wulfe bade the boys. “We will not return. Quickly now!” The boys scurried, quick to pick up his remaining garments and possessions, even as the fire spread. Wulfe saw all of them out of the chamber, then shut the door. “It will not hold the flames back for long,” he said grimly. “You must rouse the others,” he said to her, then raced to the summit of the stairs.
“I would go with you!” Christina cried.
But Wulfe paused on the lip of the stairs to glance back, then shook his head. “It cannot be so,” he said and there might have been regret in his tone. “Be well, Christina,” he added, then pivoted to leap down the stairs, his cloak flaring behind him.
It was clear he meant to abandon her and pursue the villain. He took the stairs two or three at a time, ushering the boys out of the house ahead of him.
Christina would not be abandoned here, not now.
“Fire!” she shouted as she raced after the knight and his squires, matching his pace on the stairs. “The house burns!” she cried in the local dialect, making as much noise as she could. By the time she reached the second floor, Wulfe was already disappearing down the staircase at the far end of the house. Christina swore under her breath and ran faster.
She reached the ground floor and could see that Wulfe had emerged into the street, framed by the open portal as he looked to the left and to the right. The boys were with him. She ran to the door, but the porter moved to close the door anew.
“Fire!” Christina cried, seizing his meaty hand.
“You cannot leave.”
“He has paid for the entire night. I merely keep the wager that was made.”
“It is not common…”
“Nor is it common for to have a client who pays so well,” Christina snapped. “Would it not be wise to ensure his return?”
The porter’s eyes narrowed. “Let us ask the signora what she says.”
“Aye,” Christina agreed, seeing opportunity slip away. She heard chaos erupting above her and Costanzia’s shouts and knew that once that woman arrived, there would be no chance of passing through this portal. “Let us ask what she says about you admitting that thief to the house.”
&nb
sp; “What thief?” the porter demanded, but Christina saw that he knew.
“The one who tried to stab my client. The one who set the house afire. How much did he pay you? Enough to sate the signora, too?” Christina lowered her voice. “Enough to repair the damage being done by this fire? Perhaps she will take it from your wages.”
“You would not tell her!”
“Rely upon it: I would.” Christina smiled with resolve. “Unless you let me pass.”
Their gazes held for a long moment.
“Tell her I tricked you,” Christina invited.
The porter’s eyes narrowed for a moment, then he raised a hand as if he would summon Costanzia. But Christina seized the heavy wooden portal and hauled it open. She ducked beneath his arm and ran into the night, knowing she was doomed unless she found a defender in this unholy city.
“You will be back!” he roared after her. “And you will pay!”
But Christina had been doomed before, just as she had been threatened. She had yearned for an opportunity to change her circumstance. Now that it had come—in the unlikely guise of a Templar knight—she would not be left behind.
No matter what the price.
* * *
Gone!
Wulfe spun in the small square where he had last glimpsed his assailant. He could still feel the cold touch of that blade against his back, a sure sign that he had waited a beat too long to respond to the threat.
That error might have cost him dearly.
Enchantment was the root.
Christina’s enchantment. He might have paid dearly for the pleasure she had granted, and with more than coin.
Wulfe stared into the dark alleys on the far side of the square, uncertain which one the wretch had chosen. There were too many shadows in this cursed city—even the space behind the well in the middle of the square looked ominous. He closed his eyes, listening, and heard the faint sound of boots on stone.
There! Wulfe crossed the plaza in haste, the boys fast on his heels. He reached the far side where two alleys wound crookedly into darkness just as the bells of the church that faced this square rang out, pealing the hour.
To his dismay, he could hear only the bells, their resonant peals obscuring all other sound.
Wulfe exhaled. Though the sky was yet dark, it was time for matins.
The sun would rise soon, but not soon enough to spot his prey.
By the time the bells had ceased, there was no sound but his own breathing.
The cur had escaped.
Wulfe pivoted, vexed, and slapped his gloves upon his own palm. He seethed at his own failure. He had not been sufficiently quick. He had not wanted to injure the attacker beyond any ability to confess his intent, and he certainly had seen no point in killing the assailant. Wulfe had been foiled because he had wanted to know the thief’s identity and his scheme.
Alone in the streets of Venice but for the boys, he regretted his own mercy.
And what had the villain wanted from him? Not his coin. Not his weapons. The missive that Gaston carried for the Master of the Paris Temple, the one that officially Wulfe carried? The treasure, secretly entrusted to Fergus? Wulfe recalled how Hamish, the squire of Fergus, had been injured on the ship and wondered whether the boy truly had been pushed.
Though he did not have possession of the treasure, Wulfe still was responsible for its delivery. He would have to verify that Fergus still carried it.
Why had the thief lingered?
To see what Wulfe would save when the room was afire, of course.
In this moment, he must choose one alley or the other and hope he picked aright. How would he know the villain? He had glimpsed no more than a dark cloak and had only a rough notion of the attacker’s size. He had not wounded the fiend sufficiently for the injury to be evidence of his deed. Indeed, he was not entirely certain it had been a man who assailed him in the dark.
What if it had been a woman? What if it had been some woman in the employ of Costanzia’s house? Was that why Christina had been awake? Because she had anticipated the assault, or known of it in advance? It was common enough for patrons to be robbed and even killed in brothels, and the boys, his usual source of security, had been asleep. He could not suppress the sense that he had survived by luck alone.
Even as he debated his course, the people of this wretched city rose from their slumber. He could hear a bustling on all sides as fires were stoked and days begun.
Wulfe ground his teeth in annoyance. He had known in the Holy Land that someone pursued their party, and even Gaston had agreed. Gaston had been certain that no one could have pursued them over the seas, for they had taken the last ship from Acre.
But their party had been followed across the Adriatic. Gaston had been wrong, again, but Wulfe had been the one to nearly pay the price. He marched down the right alley, his mood nigh as sour as when he had gone to the brothel.
Good coin he had spent for no good result. Wulfe’s temper simmered anew. He feared that the sole way any villain could have pursued them from Acre was to have taken passage on the same ship.
Did the fiend travel in their own party? It was a horrifying prospect.
“Wulfe! Wait!” a woman cried from behind him.
He turned to find that the alluring Christina had followed him. Even though he had savored her wares thoroughly, his body still responded to the sight of her.
Clearly he had not sated himself.
Perhaps it was the return of his annoyance that fed his desire anew.
Or the lady’s spell.
Either way, even knowing he should do as much, Wulfe could not turn his back upon her twice in short order. He stood, like a man struck to stone, and watched her run toward him. Zounds, but the woman was a beauty. He remembered the way her voice had broken with the confession of what she had done to survive and felt again the urge to assist her. He was snared as surely as a rabbit in a trap and did not like the realization in the least.
In fact, that was as good a reminder of his dream and his own convictions as he needed. Women were deceitful. Women beguiled men and used them for their own purposes, not caring about the fate of their victims. And Wulfe knew well enough that Christina had enchanted him. She was but half a dozen steps away, when he regained control of his unruly desires. He pivoted on his heel and began to stride after the villain.
Who surely was long gone.
Was that why she called him to a halt? To ensure that the villain escaped fully?
“Wulfe!” Christina cried again. “Wait!”
He kept walking.
Doubtless she wanted his aid.
Doubtless some barbarians in the employ of her mistress were fast behind. He had seen the pair at the gates upon his admission into the house and did not doubt that there were more.
“Wulfe!”
He spun to face her then, intent upon seeing the end of this matter, his own inclination to assist her to the contrary. “What is this you do?” he demanded, ensuring his tone was rough. “Our wager is done, madame, and you had best return to the house.”
Christina did not falter, but lifted her chin with a determination he found admirable. “You paid for the night,” she said. “And it is not yet dawn.”
A shutter opened above them, the minute creak and catch of breath revealing that their conversation had an audience.
“I have had my fill,” Wulfe insisted.
“Yet you have not had what you paid to possess.” Christina’s lips had a stubborn set and her eyes gleamed with resolve. She loosed the neckline of her dress, holding his gaze all the while. The woman’s skin was as creamy as he recalled, and he knew its softness. He was certain she saw him swallow before he averted his gaze. “Do you not wish to complete our business?” she asked in a sultry voice and strolled closer. He could smell her perfume. He could recall the feel of her beneath his hand. He could taste the sweet ardor of her kiss, and the combination was sufficient to make him forget the intruder.
Almost.
&nbs
p; He met her gaze, knowing his own was icy. “Do you imagine that I wish to be hunted down and slaughtered by your mistress for stealing a treasure from her hoard?”
The observers above whispered to each other and fairly leaned out the window, the better to listen to such salacious detail.
Christina scoffed. “How can you be stealing what you have bought?” She unfastened her chemise slowly, a siren determined to claim him fully. She smiled, sultry and tempting. “I but ensure that you have what you deserve.”
Wulfe inhaled sharply, then closed the distance between them. He caught her wrist in his hand, needing to halt her before she exposed herself fully. Stephen and Simon stood back and watched with round eyes. “Perhaps you ensure that the villain escapes,” he charged and her outrage was clear.
“I warned you!” she reminded him, her eyes flashing fire.
“When it was too late to save myself.”
Christina enraged was even more alluring than Christina bent on seduction, for in this, he spied the real woman. “How dare you suggest as much,” she demanded, her voice falling low. “I believed you were a man of honor, one who would aid me…”
“You cannot come with me,” Wulfe said, interrupting her with quiet force before she convinced him to ignore what he knew to be true. “You know this. There is no future after the dawn, and I would end matters now.”
“I will not be left behind.” Christina arched a brow when he might have argued. “It would not be right.”
“Nor would it be right for me to earn the ire of your mistress.”
She grimaced. “I will not return there, and I do not care what I must do to ensure as much.” Her gaze locked with his. “Name your price.”
Wulfe looked left and right, enticed more than he knew was wise. “You should go back to the house. A roof and regular meals, as we said. You will be defended there…”
“Not again,” she said, her tone hard. “That price is too high.”
The Crusader's Heart Page 7