Wulfe could well imagine.
Stephen smiled. “Truly, Fergus brings many gifts home for his betrothed, Lady Isobel. I hope she loves him as much as he loves her.”
“I hope she does as well.”
“She is Kerr’s aunt, you know.”
Wulfe glanced at the boy. “I did not know that.”
Stephen nodded sagely. “Duncan said they should never have had the wretch in their company, had it not been for the lady’s insistence. Do you think that means he dislikes Kerr, as well?”
“As well? Do you dislike Kerr?”
The boy nodded again, grimacing. “He is always sneaking around, and he is not kind to Hamish at all.” Stephen fell silent for a moment, then continued in a rush. “He said there is a Templar treasure entrusted to our company.”
Wulfe struggled to hide his shock.
“And he says that he will find it.”
Wulfe’s heart clenched at that. If Kerr had claimed the treasure, he could not believe that Christina would think it safe in that boy’s custody.
Nay, someone else had stolen it to keep it safe from Kerr.
But who?
Stephen continued. “Kerr was arguing with Hamish about it that night on the ship, the night that Hamish was hurt.”
Wulfe stopped and confronted the boy, who was proving to be a fount of information. “Do you know whether Hamish was struck or fell?”
Stephen shook his head. “I did not see, but I believe Hamish.”
“Then who struck him?”
The boy grimaced. “Probably Kerr, for he did not like that Hamish argued with him. He says he did not, but he might be lying.”
He might indeed. Wulfe resolved in that moment that he would discover what the boy Kerr knew before they left Venice.
Stephen’s eyes lit. “Perhaps it was someone else, for Hamish vowed he would find the treasure himself.”
“He did?”
“Aye.” Stephen frowned. “I think he did not believe Kerr and wished to prove there was no treasure. Perhaps Kerr struck him for that.” He shrugged. “No one likes Kerr. He even said that Laurent was as weak as a girl, and Bartholomew struck him for his words.”
Some matters began to make sense to Wulfe. He could understand why Christina had taken to telling stories to the boys in the stables each day and guessed where she had learned as much as she had in so short a time. “So that was how his eye was blackened.”
“And Bartholomew said we should not tell, for he would ensure that Kerr kept his silence in future.”
“Has he?”
Stephen pursed his lips. “Only when Bartholomew is around.”
Had the villain learned something of the treasure they carried from Kerr? Wulfe was resolved to find out, and his pace quickened without him realizing as much.
“Where do we go?” Stephen asked, surveying their surroundings with curiosity.
“You will see. It is this way,” Wulfe said, indicating a small street that wound to the right.
“Have you been here before?”
Wulfe smiled, thinking of Christina’s comment about his protection of orphans. “Several days ago. There is a monastery just ahead that I visited.” He scanned the route ahead, then smiled when he spied the portal he recalled. “Here.” He tugged on the rope and heard a bell ring inside.
“It does not look like a monastery to me. It looks like a house.”
“Not all is as it appears, Stephen.”
The boy nodded. “Aye, Christina is not like other whores we have met. Duncan thinks she is a noblewoman in truth.”
Wulfe lifted a finger for silence as a small window in the door was opened. He could see one eye in the shadowed space beyond, then a gasp of satisfaction.
“Brother Wulfe!” Brother Franco declared in a whisper as he opened the portal. “I did not think to see you again.” His gaze dropped to Stephen, then he looked at Wulfe with a question in his eyes.
Wulfe dropped a hand to Stephen’s shoulder. “This is one of my squires, Stephen.” It was only then that he realized the boy might be surprised to see the fate of other orphans. “I came to ask after your memory, Brother Franco.”
“Not so fine as once it was,” that man acknowledged, then stepped back and gestured in invitation. “But my brethren remember a great deal. They are at matins, but soon will break their fast. You are welcome to join us.”
“I thank you for that.” Wulfe inclined his head and waited in the courtyard with Stephen, well aware of how that boy surveyed his surroundings. Several faces appeared in the shadows, the children who lived in the establishment curious about the arrivals.
“It still does not look like a monastery,” Stephen whispered, indicating the open door of the chapel. “Save for the monks praying.”
“It is more like the priory, in that there is labor done here in God’s name, by men who have taken their vows.” Wulfe smiled at the boy. “The brothers feed and shelter orphans.”
Stephen looked about himself with new interest. It was but moments before the bells of the chapel pealed and the brothers filed out of the shadowed space. They nodded at Wulfe and Stephen, curiosity in their eyes, and proceeded in silence into the refectory.
“Is it like the priory in that none should speak while at a meal?” Stephen whispered.
“I expect as much,” Wulfe advised in an undertone. “Eat a little lest we insult their hospitality, but recall that there are many hungry mouths in this abode.”
Stephen nodded as Brother Franco beckoned to them. They were seated between him and Brother Matteo and warm bread was placed before them. There was honey, as well, and some cold meat. Wulfe realized he should have seen Stephen fed before their departure if he had expected to boy to resist such temptation. The boy was of an age to eat heartily whenever opportunity presented itself.
“You have a question for us, Brother Wulfe,” Brother Franco said. “And I would give permission for it to be shared at our meal.” The brethren regarded Wulfe with interest. “Please, if you know of any reply, share it with Brother Wulfe.”
“Indeed,” Wulfe said. “When last I was here, I mentioned a widow in our party. I had thought she might seek to join a religious order.”
Brother Franco nodded. “I recall as much.”
“I did not realize that she had seen her husband murdered, much less that he had been assaulted in this very city.”
The brethren looked up as one, their meal forgotten.
“He was stabbed most cruelly and died before she reached his side. He was also robbed.”
“Such misfortunes are known to occur in all cities, Brother Wulfe,” the older Brother Matteo said with quiet regret.
“Indeed, I recognize as much. The reason for my query is this. She says she does not know where he is laid to rest, and I doubt that she will ever return to this city again. It is clear that his loss is a great wound to her still and if she could visit his resting place, it might give her solace.”
“But how should we know such a detail? Hundreds if not thousands of pilgrims die in this city each year.”
“Aye, but it occurred nine years ago. She said that several monks were the sole ones to come to her aid, that they said a mass for him and ensured he was laid honorably to rest. She cannot recall who they were or where their chapel was located, so great was her grief.”
Brother Franco shook his head with obvious regret.
Before he could speak, though, Brother Matteo tapped his finger on the board. “Nine years? And a pilgrim? From whence did he come?”
“I am not certain.” Though Wulfe knew that Christina meant to leave their party at the pass, he did not know her destination, much less whether her goal was her family home or her husband’s abode.
Brother Matteo nodded as he considered that. “Might I see her? It is possible that I will recognize her and thus the man in question.”
* * *
Christina awakened late again, having lain awake long into the night with dissatisfaction. Wulfe’s
kiss had fed a desire that was not easily dismissed, and she felt that she had not slept well.
She dressed all the same and opened the portal, only to find a folded pile of cloth outside the door along with a pitcher of warm water. Clearly both had been left for her.
Christina shook the cloth and discovered it was a kirtle. She smiled at its modest lines. It was not new and it was not elaborate. The plain green wool was sturdy and unadorned. Tucked into the folds of cloth was a simple white chemise and a veil that was both plain and generously proportioned. The kirtle was of the right length for her, more or less, and would fit, more or less, but was neither luxurious nor provocative.
Christina adored it. She retreated into the room and shed the kirtle from Costanzia’s establishment as quickly as she could. She washed with vigor, as if she would scrub away the shame of the life she had been compelled to live, then donned the chemise and the kirtle. She braided her hair and coiled it up on her head, as she had once worn it every day. The veil was arranged and pinned over it, and she wished she had a glass to see the transformation in her appearance.
She removed Gunther’s ring from the pocket in the hem of her old kirtle and strung it on to one of the laces from that garment. She made a necklace of it and hid the ring between her breasts, liking the feel of the cold stone there. She would never again fear for its safety.
She truly would leave this place behind.
Christina rolled the old garments together and descended to the common room, much delighted with her appearance. She would have to thank Wulfe for his generosity.
She was breaking her fast when Duncan appeared, that man sparing her a smile. “Fits well enough, lass,” he murmured. “Though it is a mark of your beauty that even garbed modestly, you might tempt a man.”
“I thank you for the compliment.”
Duncan grinned. “And not for the garb?”
Christina was startled. “This is a gift from you?”
“You need not be so surprised, lass. I thought you might prefer to abandon the mark of your former trade.”
Only the mark of it? Christina lost her appetite at that, for she feared she understood his expectations. “But I cannot pay you,” she protested, hoping he did not request that the debt be rendered in kind.
“One day you will,” Duncan said amiably. He spared her a twinkling glance. “I would not expect a woman to sate more than one man per day as you pleasure Wulfe, and truly, I would not vex him willingly by attempting to claim what he defends as his own.”
Christina had naught to say to that. Did Wulfe consider her to be his own? She doubted as much, particularly given that their coupling was a charade, but it would only be folly to correct Duncan.
“I apologize that I did not realize this was your generosity. I thank you.”
“And you are welcome.” They ate in silence then, even as Christina considered the merit of adding Duncan to her list of those she trusted.
It would have been an easy choice, had he not been so obviously appreciative of her charms. She knew well enough that desire could tempt men to deeds beyond expectation.
“Christina!” a boy cried and she turned to see Stephen racing across the courtyard. “You must come.”
“Come where? And why?”
The boy dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Wulfe has a surprise for you, and he bade me fetch you.” He raised his voice then. “I thought you might like to see the arrival of the ships, my lady.”
Christina hesitated, wondering why Wulfe had not come himself. Duncan seemed to share her wariness for he removed a knife from his belt and slid the scabbard across the table to Christina. “Take it,” he advised quietly.
Christina knew enough of this city’s perils that she did just that. She thanked Duncan again, then followed Stephen. To her relief, Wulfe waited around the first corner. He was tapping his toe with impatience and scanning the streets. At the sight of her, though, he stepped forward. His approval of her changed appearance was clear and he bowed before tucking her hand into his elbow. He set a brisk pace that she matched as Stephen ran beside them.
“Why do I think we are not going to see the ships arrive?” she asked and his smile flashed.
“We may have a better surprise for you than that.” His gaze flicked over her. “I see that Duncan is as good as his word.”
“You knew he meant to do this?”
“We agreed that you would prefer to look more like a pilgrim, though I had no coin to see it done. Duncan offered to see the matter addressed.”
“He is most gallant, then.”
“I think him smitten,” Wulfe acknowledged, and Christina wished it might have troubled him more. “Let us make haste.”
* * *
Christina’s new garb was both blessing and curse.
Though it pleased Wulfe to see her dressed as a noblewoman, the simple kirtle was more than sufficient reminder that she was not his to touch. He should honor her, as an aristocrat and a pilgrim, and not desire to touch her anew.
The strange matter was that he found her more alluring in modest garb, not less so. She walked taller and held her head high. With her hair braided and her curves disguised from view, her eyes seemed more remarkable.
There was a coolness between them now, a formality that he should have welcomed, for it should have made it easier to recall that their fates could not be joined. Her posture made it clear that Duncan had been right about her lineage.
The change between them made Wulfe regret that he had so little to offer to a woman of her ilk.
Save this one gift.
He hoped that it would please her.
Christina was clearly curious about their destination, for she glanced his way repeatedly. “I did not know that the arrival of the ships could be seen from this quarter,” she said finally.
Wulfe smiled. “That was but a ruse to draw you out.”
“You persuaded Stephen to tell a falsehood?” she teased and the boy grinned.
“I agreed to do as much, my lady, for I wished you to be surprised.”
“Then you are in league together.”
“Indeed we are,” Wulfe said, halting before the monastery. He turned to Christina. “Do you have your husband’s ring?”
Christina’s smile faded and she paled. She did not reply, but pulled a cord from the front of her kirtle. It was fashioned into a necklace, and he saw the glimmer of gold as she pulled the ring strung upon it out of her chemise. At her enquiring glance, he nodded and she removed it from the string, placing it upon her left hand. It was a gold band with a large blue stone set in it. Wulfe blinked that she should have concealed a prize so rich. She considered the ring on her hand for a long moment, her face pale, and he wondered whether she had guessed the surprise.
He rang the bell and Brother Franco opened it promptly. He said naught but peered at Christina, then gestured. Brother Matteo appeared at his side, his eyes narrowed. He was much older than his fellows, his face lined and the remainder of his hair white. His eyes were dark but bright. He scanned Christina’s features, then his gaze dropped to her left hand. The monk bent to peer at the ring on her finger, then he smiled.
“It is you,” he said quietly. “I shall never forget this ring, or the lady who offered it in compense. I wondered that you did not return.”
“I did not know where I had been.”
Brother Matteo smiled. He turned to gesture to the courtyard and the chapel beyond. “Come, my lady. Come and see where your beloved husband lies at rest.”
* * *
It was a humble chapel, simply ornamented and not overly large. Gunther would have liked it, Christina knew, for it seemed to resonate with the faith of the brothers who worshipped within it.
He could have found no finer place to rest.
There was a single beeswax candle on the altar, which was a simple wooden table, wrought strong. There was only a square of linen adorning the altar, a pottery chalice and plain wooden plate atop the linen for the
communion. The floor was tiled and the space was cool, the sole source of sunlight coming through a crevice in the wall above the altar. It was like an arrow slit, but formed in the shape of a cross between the gaps in the bricks.
Gunther had been laid to rest in the wall to one side of the altar. Christina knew that they could not entomb any bodies beneath the floor, as was the custom elsewhere, because of the aqua alta. Those high tides washed through the city each winter, turning plazas into lakes and the lower floors of houses into pools.
She knelt before the altar and prayed for Gunther’s soul and his immortal rest. She felt her heart fill with tranquility and a measure of joy to know that Gunther had been in such good care. She heard the sounds of the children who lived with the monks in this place and smiled as they argued about the distribution of bread in the adjacent rectory. They ran and shouted, despite the admonitions of the monks, and Christina was gladdened by the sounds of their vitality.
Aye, Gunther must be pleased to be in such company.
She wept quietly for his untimely demise, his lost dreams, and his goodness. And by the time she rose to her feet, she was doubly determined to see Helmut pay for his crime.
Christina straightened and crossed herself, genuflected, and surveyed the simple chapel with pleasure once again. Wulfe had given her this, the opportunity to say farewell, and tears pricked at her eyes again that she should know such generosity.
She left the chapel to find Wulfe waiting for her in the courtyard. He showed none of the impatience she had witnessed in him before. Several of the boys had gathered around him, examining the hilt of his sword and fingering the hem of his chain mail hauberk. He was patient with them, his manner kindly, and she saw adoration in the way that Stephen looked at him.
“They are a rare breed,” Brother Franco said from behind her, evidently having followed her gaze. “It is no small thing to wage war for God and justice.”
Christina smiled in agreement with that. “I am so grateful for this opportunity.” She turned to face the monk. “I would thank you all for your charity to my husband. I know he would think well of this place.”
“Indeed?”
The Crusader's Heart Page 23