“I suspect not,” she acknowledged, her tone gentler. Perhaps she liked that he showed a care for Gaston. “But if so, I will send Radegunde to tell you of it.”
Wulfe bowed then and departed, striding past Christina who yet lingered outside the door to the chamber. He wanted a cup of mulled wine himself though it would take more than that to drive the chill from inside him.
What if Gaston had been killed? There would have been a hearing in Paris, to be sure, and he doubted any in this company would defend his choices. His chest was tight with the reality that he was making solid progress in losing all he treasured on this journey. Stephen came galloping after him, passing him before he reached the ground floor. He carried Gaston’s boots for Bartholomew and took them directly to the stables.
The door at the summit of the stairs was slammed and a key turned audibly in the lock. Wulfe looked up because he knew Christina had not moved. Even though he had anticipated that she would be watching him, his heart leapt to find her doing so.
He was yet enchanted, and perhaps a fool, but he could not be churlish. Wulfe had no regrets. “The chamber is yours from this moment forth,” he said quietly.
She remained impassive. “Will you not return and confer with me?”
Wulfe shook his head. “Never again,” he said with finality.
“But…”
Wulfe interrupted Christina, knowing he would not be immune to any appeal she might make. “Consider, if you will, whether you need join our party for the duration, or if you can make your own course sooner than Paris. Without knowing your destination, I cannot make such a choice.”
She descended the stairs to his side, moving with a quiet grace. Her steps were almost fluid and he found himself watching the sway of her hips, savoring the brief glimpses of her feet beneath her hem. When she halted beside him, it was all he could do to keep from looking into her eyes or inhaling deeply of her scent.
That way lay temptation.
“Without knowing all of the truth, you cannot make a choice at all,” Christina said, her words so quietly uttered that only he would hear.
Wulfe’s gaze flew to hers at that. “I do not understand.”
“I suspected as much.” She nodded, her manner curiously efficient. “What do you know of the treasure?”
He blinked. “What treasure?”
“The one you carry to Paris at the command of the order,” Christina replied with such surety that he was shocked anew. “Do you know what it is? Where it is? Who wants it? Because I know two of those three, and I would wager that if we conferred we might resolve the third.”
Wulfe was stunned, but there was no doubting her own conviction in her words. He spared a glance up the stairs and another down to the common room, then raised his voice. “Aye, a cup of mulled wine would be most welcome.” He held Christina’s gaze. “I shall see if there is another brazier to be found, if you would fetch some wine.”
“I am at your service, as ever, sir,” she replied so demurely that Wulfe might have smiled under other circumstance.
As it was, he wanted only to know the fullness of what she had learned.
And how she had discovered it.
Was it possible that he might have an ally? It was a strange notion for Wulfe, who always carved his path alone, but he could not deny that it was an enticing one.
* * *
Desperate times called for bold choices.
One glimpse of Wulfe’s set expression had told Christina that she had been right about his plan to abandon her.
Did he mean to leave her in Venice? Just outside the gates? Christine knew she needed yet more aid from him, yet also understood he would not take pleasure as his compensation. She had to assist him to succeed in his mission.
She did not doubt he would argue with her about that. Wulfe was accustomed to solitude to be sure, and to keeping his secrets. His trust thus far had been hard won and it was far from complete.
The secrets of the order would be the last he surrendered, to be sure.
Christina knew she would have little chance to convince Wulfe to share his observations with her. She composed her argument as she gathered a pitcher of wine from the common room, a pair of crockery cups, and a small pot. By the time she returned to Wulfe’s chamber, he had set a brazier before the window and lit a small blaze within it. It cast a welcome glow into the chamber, which seemed more chilly to Christina than it had before. She could not deny her sense that he had set the brazier particularly close to the large arched window. She guessed that he wanted those in the stables to see that no intimacy was exchanged by them.
Fair enough, but the most important intimacy was not physical. Christina took a seat and poured wine into the pan. She was keenly aware of the man near her side, his vitality and power. She could not imagine the world without him.
What if Wulfe had been attacked instead of Gaston?
What if the assailant had succeeded?
Christina shivered at the notion. Wulfe noted her gesture and offered his cloak to her. “Let me help you with your hauberk first,” she suggested. To her relief, he did not argue with her. In moments, his sword, tabard and hauberk were set aside, his aketon following soon after. He offered his cloak to her then, wincing as he sat down, and turned his attention to heating the wine. The task appeared to require undue concentration.
“Tell me what you know,” he invited quietly.
“Tell me first what happened this night. Where did you go and why?”
He flicked her a look so stern that she thought he might decline. “I do not need to tell you as much.”
“You do, if you mean to solve the puzzle with my aid.”
Wulfe frowned and spoke softly. “It was Gaston’s scheme, to draw out the villain. He thought that if I departed with purpose, the villain would follow me. His plan was to surprise the villain from behind.”
“But the fiend already knew that you do not lead the party.”
“It seems as much.” His eyes seemed very blue. “You were right.”
“And of greater import, the villain knew that you did not carry whatever he seeks.”
Wulfe’s expression became strained. “What is it?”
Christina was astonished. “Do you not even know?”
He shrugged, swirling the wine. “It was not believed we had a need to know. We had to pledge to secrecy and to refraining from satisfying our curiosity.”
“You were simply to deliver a package,” she guessed. Wulfe nodded. “And if necessary, die in its defense.”
His gaze clung to hers. “That detail might have been implied but it was not uttered aloud.” He pursed his lips, hesitating, then continued. “There is a missive, as well. Gaston carries it.”
Christina was delighted that he had chosen to trust her, but also insulted on his behalf. “Why not you?”
His frown deepened though his tone was mild. “Because Gaston was better known and thus better trusted by the preceptor, Brother Terricus. He has negotiated treaties these years and has been much relied upon in matters of some sensitivity, by my understanding.”
“While you?”
“Fight. And usually win.” Wulfe poured the wine into the crockery cups, a swirl of steam rising as he did so. “I suppose it could be said that Terricus delegated responsibility as he saw fit.”
“But neither of you carries the treasure. Whose choice was that?”
He granted her a look, inviting her speculation.
“Terricus.” She felt her lips tighten. “And a brother of the order cannot defy an order.”
Wulfe saluted her with his cup for that conclusion, then took a sip. “He can, however, voice a protest, as I have done repeatedly. I might as well have saved my breath.”
“I think it a grievous insult to you.”
“I assure you that I have felt it more keenly, but given the situation, the feint may be what has protected the prize from the thief. That surely is of greatest import.” He stared down into the contents of his c
up, then impaled her with a sudden glance. “Have you seen it?”
Christina nodded.
“Do you know where it is?”
She nodded again. “I believe it is safe in its current place.”
“Current?” Wulfe arched a brow.
“It was moved.”
“Ah.” He thought about this. “But you are not positive of its safety.”
“It is impossible for me to be certain, without knowing the motives of all those in your party.”
He nodded, bracing his elbows on his knees and evidently fascinated by the wine. “It is of great value then?”
“Beyond price.”
He looked up at that, surprised. Christina nodded.
Wulfe rose to his feet and paced the width of the room, his wine apparently forgotten. “It is true that we are a company of strangers,” he said. “I could be intent upon claiming such a prize, whatever it is, to buy myself a better future than one serving the order. Fergus could be in need of funds for the estate he returns to claim, as could Gaston. I do not know Bartholomew’s history, although Gaston vouches for him. The lady Ysmaine could have any scheme, even without her husband knowing of it.” He pivoted to face her. “And you, of course, will be suspected, too.”
“But not by you?”
Wulfe smiled.
Christina forced herself to continue their line of discussion, though she was delighted by his endorsement of her character. “A mercenary, a merchant, and a nobleman are in your party, too. Any of them could desire it.”
“As could any of the boys, or the women laboring in the kitchens here, or a thief who caught a glimpse of it.” Wulfe lifted a hand.
“I think that unlikely,” Christina said. “It was too closely secured for a casual glimpse. Someone knows it is carried by this party.”
He nodded. “And it might be desired in its own right, to blackmail any of us to pay for its safe return, or sold.”
“Coin solves any number of woes,” Christina agreed. “Although this item will not be readily sold. One would have need of connections in high places to gain a suitable price for it.”
“If it is that fine, even connections in low places might confer a price worth the having,” he noted.
“I do not understand.”
“A valuable prize sold for even a tenth of its true value can yield an impressive sum.”
Christina nodded reluctant agreement. His gaze searched hers, his curiosity clear, then he spun away to pace anew. She had a definite sense of his frustration.
“Do you not care what it is?”
“Of course. But as I was sworn not to investigate the burden granted to us, I suspect there may be a test as to whether I have done so. I have failed the order already on this journey and I dare not do as much again.”
“How can you say as much?”
“I did not warn Gaston of my suspicions.” Wulfe’s tone was hard. “I did not tell him that the villain might already suspect that he led the party in truth. If I had done as much, he might have suggested another plan. He might not have been assailed.”
Christina appreciated his doubts, but she was dismissive of his conclusions. “From my experience, Gaston does not heed your counsel, no matter how wise it might be.”
“But I did not even try. I chose to believe that he was right, and now he lies injured. If he dies because of this incident, it will be forgotten that the scheme was his. All that will be recalled is that I did not leap into the water to save him.” Wulfe threw back the rest of his wine and put the cup down hard.
“Why did you not?” Christina dared to ask.
He granted her a sidelong glance. “Can you not guess?”
“I know you are not a coward.”
“I cannot swim,” he admitted with quiet heat.
“And so one of you would have drowned for certain, because Bartholomew could not have saved you both. I doubt he would have leapt back into the water for you.”
“I know he would not have done so.” Wulfe shrugged, and she wondered whether he was as untroubled by this as he would clearly like her to believe. She saw in that moment that his distrust of others and aloof manner had been learned by experience. “And why should he have been expected to risk his life twice? Nay, better that I stood back, he saved Gaston, even if both despise me for my cowardice.”
That last word was uttered with a measure of bitterness that revealed his true feelings.
Wulfe had need of solace. He had need of an ally. And Christina would give him as much of both as he would accept from her.
Maybe it would be enough to change the futures of both of them.
Either way, she would regret naught at all.
Chapter Ten
Christina picked up the pot and went to Wulfe’s side, steadying his cup before she poured the rest of the warmed wine into it. “It is not cowardice to choose to live,” she said quietly. “Indeed, that is often the most bold choice of all.”
Wulfe exhaled, his expression solemn. “Understand, Christina, that my entire future rides upon the goodwill of the Grand Master in Paris. I have failed. I have betrayed Gaston’s trust and I have neglected my vows. That must change. I must reform my ways to ensure that I can remain with the order.” He eyed her. “Otherwise, I will starve.”
“For you will not become a mercenary, even to survive.”
“Never,” he said with quiet heat. “To live without principle is no life at all.”
“And you will not pledge to a nobleman’s service because you cannot be assured that his cause will always be just.”
He nodded again, no less grim than before. “The sole righteous path is with an order like the Templars.”
Christina granted him a smile, lifted the cup out of his hand, and sipped from it. “Yet where is it writ that I cannot help you?” Wulfe reached for the wine but she held it out of his reach. “Surely the rule requires that a knight sworn to the order be temperate?” she teased and was gratified to see his reluctant smile.
“You know my concern. We cannot lie together again.”
“But that does not mean that we cannot speak to each other, or that I cannot ride from Venice with your company,” she said, keeping her voice calm even though she feared he would spurn her suggestion. “I will be a pilgrim again, Wulfe, one returning home escorted by a noble knight. In truth, I would like the next man I welcome to my bed to be my lord husband, whoever that might prove to be.”
She saw his eyes flash then he pivoted to stride to the window. He looked down on the courtyard, and she had the definite sense that she had offended him.
“Am I not to spurn your touch then?” she asked. “I thought it would be better to facilitate your choice, then to cast myself at you and attempt to change your thinking on this matter with earthy persuasion.”
He snorted. “Wiser, certainly.” Wulfe lifted his gaze and surveyed her, his admiration clear. His voice dropped low. “But not better, not by any accounting.”
Their gazes locked, the intensity of his expression setting Christina’s desire alight all over again. He was right—their union had been a marvel, far beyond anything she had experienced before.
And she, for one, was not prepared to relinquish all hope of a future.
Indeed, she dared to believe that she might have found what she sought above all else. A champion, to be sure, but also a man who appreciated her for herself.
Not for her appearance.
Not for the skills she had learned in Costanzia’s house.
Not even for the legacy that she might claim with a man’s aid, the one Gunther had so desired. But she, like Wulfe, had learned to be cautious and would not promise what she doubted she could offer in the end.
Still, she would have a taste of him to keep her warm.
“One kiss,” she whispered and his eyes flared.
Christina crossed the floor in haste then, confident that she could claim the kiss she so desired. Wulfe spun her out of view of the window, then gathered her into his a
rms. She loved how he caught her close and kissed her deeply, as if he could do naught else. The heat rose between them, conjured by the merest touch. His passion filled her with pleasure and anticipation. She twined her arms around his neck and slid her fingers into his hair, welcoming him, wanting all he had to give.
Whatever it might be.
This kiss might be their last one, certainly the last before Paris, and she never wanted it to end. Wulfe seemed to share her view, for he slanted his mouth over hers, cradling her against his chest as he kissed her deeply. Christina felt cherished as she never had before.
Long moments later, Wulfe lifted his head, his fingers running down her cheeks. “You have seen it?” he whispered, his gaze searching hers. Christina nodded, but he put a fingertip over her lips, halting her confession of its truth. “Is it worth a man surrendering his life?”
She nodded immediately, and he brushed his lips across hers.
“Watch it with vigilance then, as we journey, and tell me if its location changes. You must swear to tell me if it is in peril.”
“I will, Wulfe. You can rely upon me.”
Wulfe smiled down at her, his fingers speared into her hair. “I will not be able to resist you all the way to Paris.”
“Aye, you will,” Christina said, stepping out of his embrace while she could summon the strength to do so. They had to join forces and aid each other to see the greater good served. If she tempted him to her bed and that cost him his place in the order, he would despise her for it. Christina could not risk that.
She moved to the window, so she would be in view of whoever watched. “I will leave the party at the Saint Bernard Pass,” she said softly but with conviction.
It was for the best.
Wulfe was visibly startled. “That is but a little more than halfway.”
“But close to home. When we part, I will tell you where the prize is, and you shall guard it from there.” She stepped back at his nod, offering him the last of the wine again. “The lesser of two evils,” she invited softly, but could not smile.
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