He felt exasperation, caught between his desire to do what was right and the awareness of his own vulnerability. It was never good to be in the thrall of another—which only meant that he understood her desperation. “And what am I to do with you?” he demanded in a whisper that had the two old hens leaning farther out the window, lest they miss a morsel.
Christina smiled. “Anything you desire,” she purred and slid her fingertip up his arm.
She played the courtesan again, using her arts against him, but this time, Wulfe could not halt his reaction. His body responded to her touch as if she commanded him. “Nay! I am a Templar, a knight sworn to chastity…”
“That vow seems somewhat elusive to you.”
“That is as may be, but I cannot take a companion, or a female servant, much less a wife. You cannot journey with me! It is too public.”
Christina tilted her head to regard him. “But surely, it is your sworn pledge to defend pilgrims? I was a pilgrim…”
“But no longer.”
“Who is to say as much? I would go home, and embarking on such a perilous journey requires a defender.” Her gaze darkened. “If not a champion.” She gave weight to that last word and he felt a cur for ever having uttered it.
Wulfe exhaled again, shoving a hand through his hair. He felt a stab of envy that this was one thing he did not have in common with Christina—she had a home to which she might return, while he did not. He could understand well enough her desire to go there, but not how he would manage it.
“But I am granted a quest, granted by my superior…”
“To sample the brothels of Venice?” she asked so archly that he felt the back of his neck heat.
“To deliver a missive to Paris,” he snapped. “And once it is fulfilled, I return to the east…”
“Paris?” Christina interrupted him with satisfaction. “That destination will suit me well. It is close enough to home and far enough from here to make a good beginning.”
Wulfe flung out a hand. “But you cannot travel with me!”
“Whyever not? Because you would not have others realize how you flaunt your vows?”
“Because it is not fitting,” he huffed, that reason sounding thin even to his own ears. “Because you have no coin to pay for your way.”
“I shall pay in kind,” she insisted and trailed that hand up his arm again. The women above tittered. “From here to Paris, sir, I shall offer myself to you as often as you desire.”
Wulfe knew he should not be tempted but he was. “Impossible,” he said, but heard the lack of conviction in his voice. He was watching her lips, so soft and full, so close—and he well knew how luscious her kisses were.
Christina clearly discerned the war within him, for she used her touch to tip the balance in her own favor. The press of her lips against his throat sent pleasure surging through him, and Wulfe found himself closing his eyes against his own will. “I shall make it worth your while, sir,” she whispered before touching her lips to hers.
Wulfe should have protested, but he was lost, in thrall to this courtesan’s seductive kiss.
And that was worrisome indeed.
* * *
Christina knew that Wulfe was not convinced of the merit of her plan, but having no other option, she was determined to make it come to be. From Paris, she could find her way home readily enough. It was the escape from Venice that was the challenge, for Costanzia would pay any gatekeeper to return women she considered her property. Christina had need of a man unafraid to fight, at least until they were a good week away from this place. She needed a disguise as well, and thought that traveling with a Knight Templar would offer a good one.
Wulfe pulled back, forcibly breaking her kiss, and Christina knew this would be her last chance to secure her desire. If he left her now, she would never find him again.
Costanzia, though, would.
If she could not convince him with her touch, she would show herself useful to him in other ways. Aye, he had said that he preferred to talk to her, rather than savor the skills of the courtesan. Too late, she realized she would not win his full agreement with her caress.
She had to change tactics.
Before Wulfe could protest again, Christina placed her fingertips over his mouth, and glanced upward to the women who listened so avidly. She tucked her hand into his elbow, turned him in the direction he had been walking, and they proceeded down the alley together. There was laundry hanging overhead.
“Hastily now,” she said in an undertone. “Before the pails of slops are emptied upon us.” She spoke in German and chose a northern dialect apurpose. She had discerned that accent in his own speech and hoped to establish a stronger bond between them.
He chuckled at her comment, then started that she had changed languages. “I was right,” he murmured. “Venetian is not your mother tongue.”
“And was I right in guessing yours?”
“More right than I should have preferred. You cannot come with me.”
“We but walk together. There is no harm in that.”
He slanted a glance her way and she doubted that he was fooled. “You will not change my thinking. It cannot be done.”
Christina changed the subject, endeavoring to show herself to be useful. “That thief came in search of some specific item. The intruder searched your garb and only your garb, then tried to kill you. What manner of missive do you carry to Paris?”
Wulfe stiffened. “You need not know of it.”
“But I already know some. And if you tell me more, I may be able to help you more. There is much of this city I have learned.”
He slanted a glance her way, intrigued against his will. “Like what?”
“Like where a thief will hide. Is yours from Venice? Or were you followed?”
Wulfe’s eyes narrowed. “Perhaps the villain came from within Costanzia’s house. Perhaps you knew of it.”
Christina shook her head. “I warned you when I heard the step on the floor. If I had been complicit, that would have ensured a beating.”
“Which perhaps is why you desire to leave the house.”
“You think it a risk to confide in me,” Christina insisted. “But I think it folly not to do so. Who else is in your company? Where have the boys been? Have they made acquisitions for you? Bought food? Had your armor repaired and your blades honed? Where do you sleep, when you are not at a brothel? Where is your horse stabled? There are a thousand places where details of you and your habits might have been shared, and you will be vulnerable in each one of them.” She knew she had Wulfe’s attention. “There are not that many Templars in Venice with hair of gold and eyes of silver.”
She felt his body tighten and knew he had not considered himself to be so readily identified. He considered her, his eyes that icy hue that made her think of the predator for which he was named.
He arched a brow. “While one such Templar with a beautiful whore on his arm will be less readily noted?”
Christina smiled. She could not halt herself. It was true that having her accompany him would make him more remarkable. She leaned closer and dropped her voice to a whisper. “Which is why I suggest that we remain secluded until your departure, the better for me to compensate you for your assistance. There are few would see you in your bed, save me, I should think.”
She could not read his thoughts, which might have troubled her more if she had not felt the skip of his heart.
“We must depart this very day,” he said crisply. “There will be no time…”
“There is always time,” Christina interrupted him, speeding her steps. “But we had best secret ourselves soon. If you ride out this day, it will be after the dawn, and the sky grows rosy even now.”
“You mean to distract me from chasing the villain.”
“You had already lost the trail by the time I caught up to you.”
Wulfe walked beside her, the boys trailing behind, and seemed for a moment to be uncertain what to say. “Are you always so stubbo
rn as this?” he asked finally.
“Only when a matter is of dire import,” she replied, doubting there was much to be lost in honesty. “Though it could be said that in this matter, we are both equally resolute.”
Wulfe pursed his lips, evidently deciding, and she knew she would not have to wait long. “Will they beat you?” he asked and she nodded, not needing to lie.
“Of course.”
His lips tightened and she knew his choice was made. He turned down a street and strode with greater purpose. His path was not in the direction of Costanzia’s house, and Christina dared to hope.
“You may stay with me until the dawn,” Wulfe ceded. “But only because there is no place for you to take refuge so early as this.”
Christina was thrilled that he made any concession to her at all and was determined to ensure he did not regret it.
Chapter Five
Wulfe was a fool and he knew it.
He knew he had little to offer Christina and this was at best a reprieve. Still, what manner of man would send her to be beaten and abused? He could not bear the thought. There had to be another solution. He strode quickly back to the rented house, not wanting to give her another chance to win his sympathy. Perhaps Christina could remain at the house, after their departure. Perhaps they would give her work in the kitchens there. Perhaps he could find another solution that would see her free of the brothel.
It was madness for him to take such an interest, but he could do naught else. He feared he would not be free of Christina soon.
A part of him did not want to be.
Did he dare to believe that she had not known of the assault? If he did, then either the owner of the brothel was at root, or the villain had followed Wulfe to that place and awaited his moment. It seemed suddenly critical to get back to the rented house.
Wulfe turned down the street, taking Christina to the portal of the house, only to discover that the entry had been locked against him.
He pounded upon the wooden doors of the rented house with his fist, knowing it was good sense for their small party to have secured themselves thus but disliking the indignity of being required to demand admission.
He was well aware of the mingled curiosity and surprise in Christina’s regard.
He was also aware that Venice was too shadowed and quiet behind him.
“I demand admission!” he shouted and pounded yet more. To his relief, the portal was unlocked, though not as quickly as he might have hoped. The door was opened so abruptly that he fairly stumbled into the courtyard. He ushered Christina and the boys into the space and Bartholomew secured the doors behind them. It was clear the others had heard him sooner, for Gaston was by the well, awaiting him.
That knight’s disapproval was clear, but Wulfe was not so enamored of his fellow knight this morn either. He had, after all, been attacked because of Gaston’s mistaken confidence that they had not been pursued, let alone his choice of the more distant port.
Wulfe was not yet prepared to concede that it was good he had not carried the missive, given the night’s events.
Gaston arched a dark brow, fairly inviting a confession. It was this attitude of Gaston’s that irked Wulfe beyond all, this calm conviction that seemed to measure Wulfe and constantly find him lacking. Aye, he was passionate, and aye, he was headstrong, and aye, he was a bastard. He was well aware of his shortcomings when Gaston gave him that look.
“We are in peril and must ride out at once,” he declared. “I have been attacked!”
Gaston, curse him, leaned against the pillar that supported the stable roof, looking disinclined to go anywhere anytime soon. But Wulfe was supposed to be the one leading this party! Gaston could at least make a show of heeding his words to preserve the illusion.
“We ride out this morn!” Wulfe roared. “If not this very moment.”
The other former Templar, Fergus, appeared in the portal of the common room. He yawned and shoved his hand through his hair, before he spoke. “What a ruckus you make for so early in the day.” His man-at-arms, Duncan, stood behind him, rubbing his chin as he openly surveyed Christina.
Aye, they all looked at Christina. Wulfe glanced back at his companion and felt an unwelcome stab of desire. Her hair was yet unbound and it shone. She ignored the staring men in what had to be a deliberate choice, and one intended to feed their curiosity.
Indeed, she took the opportunity to arrange her garb. She might have been at leisure in her chamber, for she laced the sides of her kirtle with care. The courtesan was back. The languid way she moved, the way she tossed her hair over her shoulder, the secretive smile upon her lips, all combined to make her occupation abundantly clear to all. Her kirtle looked uncommonly rich in the shadows, and that mysterious girdle glinted as if more valuable than Wulfe knew it had to be.
Duncan’s eyes were alight with interest, and Wulfe wondered whether she would turn to another man in this company to defend her, when he declined to aid her.
That thought did naught to dispel his rising temper.
He spun to face the others. “It is yet night and I was attacked while I lay abed,” he snapped. “It is sufficient to weary me of this city. I order our immediate departure.”
Fergus shook his head with infuriating defiance. “Hamish needs more rest before he rides,” he said, referring to his injured squire. “So the apothecary says and so it shall be.” He nodded amiably at Everard and Joscelin who had followed him from the common room. Beyond it were stairs to the chambers above, and Wulfe could only conclude that they had been roused by his knocking. “I would not answer to his mother for the boy’s health.” The men chuckled together, but Wulfe bristled.
This was no jest. Truly, he tired of this attitude that they could linger over this journey, as if they visited sites of interest at their leisure. He would complete the quest in haste and return to aid his brethren in Outremer.
Why did no other soul in the party share his sense of urgency?
“I will not be delayed because of a squire, let alone one so witless that he falls into the hold of the ship when unsupervised,” he said, heat in his words. He hoped Christina concluded that he was without compassion.
“I was pushed,” Hamish declared from the shadows of the stable.
“You tripped,” scoffed Kerr.
Fergus shook his head, ignoring the dispute between his two squires. “It matters little how the injury was inflicted. I will stay in Venice two more days.”
“This party must remain together,” Wulfe insisted. “And I am in command! I say we leave this very day. It is not safe for us to linger.”
“Because you were attacked by this woman?” Duncan asked, his tone jovial. “I wager few men would resent that assault.” Fergus chuckled with him. Wulfe thought about inflicting injury upon the Scotsman, but Gaston finally roused himself to speak.
“What has happened?” that knight asked, his tone temperate. “It was only last eve that you were glad to have a night away from all of us.” Gaston looked pointedly at Christina, who ignored him as well as Duncan.
“Surely you wish to remain in Venice and entertain your guest,” Fergus teased.
Wulfe glared at him. “She is not my guest. She is a whore…”
“Courtesan,” Christina interrupted crisply. “And my name is Christina, as I told you.”
Fergus inclined his head and might have spoken to her, but Wulfe interrupted before he could. Perhaps if he spoke harshly, Christina would be dissuaded of his merit as a protector. “Her name is of no import. Her trade can be called whatever you desire to call it. No matter how honeyed the choice of word, it is what it is.”
He was aware of Christina’s disapproval and told himself that he welcomed it. The truth was that he felt a cur, but there was little point in pretending that matters could be other than they were. He continued. “I have paid her in full, but she follows me…”
“He declared himself my champion last night,” Christina said, her tone both sweet and commanding. Wulfe
was not surprised by how readily she summoned his desire to be of aid to her. He truly was beguiled.
Every man turned to look at her, even Wulfe, who would have preferred to have done otherwise. Christina smiled with a confidence in her own allure, and he knew that every man in the courtyard was sworn to her cause.
“And indeed, I owe my life to this knight,” she continued. She flicked him a look hard enough to make him flinch, although her tone remained sweet. “Of course, I must follow him that the debt might be repaid in kind.”
“You would surrender your life for him?” Kerr asked, clearly incredulous. The others snickered, though Wulfe seethed at the boy’s impertinence.
And the failure of any knight to correct that attitude. Some soul had blackened Kerr’s eye on the ship, and Wulfe thought the boy should have learned something from the experience.
“You should not be deceived by appearances,” Christina chided the squire. “Or judge a man by your first impression of him.” Her eyes glowed as she smiled at Wulfe and Wulfe’s heart thundered. “The lion with a thorn in his paw is yet a noble creature, though his pain may make him terrifying.”
Heat flooded through Wulfe that she could think so well of him, feeding that urge to assist her.
Perhaps that was her intent.
That Christina could provoke such a reaction in him when he was determined to separate their paths was a sign of weakness that Wulfe did not welcome. “You owe me no debt,” he said to Christina, keeping his tone cool. “I paid for the pleasure you granted and our agreement is fully satisfied.”
She replied mildly. “I say it is not satisfied, and if it is an agreement, then the consensus of both parties is required to call it fulfilled.” She smiled at Wulfe, as if untroubled by his annoyance, but again, he saw that glint of resolve in her eyes.
“I did not pay to have my life threatened, to need to defend myself in a moment of leisure or to have to flee from certain destruction.”
“As bad as that?” Fergus drawled, then winked at Christina. “I would not have expected a mating with you to be so dire.”
“There was an attack upon the house,” she informed the other knight, and Wulfe was surprised she could speak of it so calmly. “As can happen, when there are wealthy patrons in residence.” She cleared her throat. “And brigands looted both house and patrons after setting fire to the establishment. The other women…” Her words faded and she straightened, casting a smile at Wulfe.
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