The Grand Master fell to one knee and reached out a hand, as if he did not dare to touch it. “The reliquary of Saint Euphemia,” he whispered in awe, then dispatched a man with a curt gesture.
He looked up to meet Wulfe’s gaze. “This is missive enough, Brother Wulfe,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Indeed it is more of a message than I would choose to receive. If Brother Terricus saw fit to remove it from the treasury, then Jerusalem will fall.” He stood and swallowed, looking older than he had just moments before. “If it has not already,” he added in a whisper. “These are foul tidings indeed.”
Wulfe heard the Grand Master’s words, but could not tear his gaze from the majesty of the reliquary. Christina had been right. A villain would readily kill for such a prize as this. Christina had been certain that the villain was Everard, and he had left the party two nights before.
Unless it had been a feint and he followed them, to have the element of surprise upon his side.
He understood that the lady Ysmaine had left the party to ensure that the villain did not steal the treasure on the last part of its journey.
And Christina had gone to Ysmaine’s aid.
Though Gaston had given chase, that might not be sufficient to ensure the welfare of both women. If the knight was compelled to choose, it only made sense that he would save his wife first.
Wulfe spun away from the Grand Master and seized Teufel’s reins. He flung himself into the saddle and turned the horse toward the gates, which were just closing. “Hold the gates!” he cried.
“Brother Wulfe!” the Grand Master shouted in outrage. “You do not have permission to depart.”
“I must finish what has begun, sir.”
“You must provide a report of all that has transpired….”
“Not in this moment, sir.” Wulfe bowed his head and urged Teufel onward.
The Grand Master raised his voice imperiously. “I order you to dismount, Brother Wulfe! I command you to render a full accounting of your journey immediately…”
Wulfe winced, for this was the first time that he defied a direct order from a superior.
But he did not halt and he did not glance back.
The Grand Master sputtered.
“Has he no shame?” Bartholomew whispered as Wulfe rode past him.
“The tower falls,” Fergus said inexplicably.
“Perhaps the foundation was undermined,” Duncan said, and the Scotsmen nodded at each other. It was evidently a private joke.
The Grand Master did not share their amusement. “Brother Wulfe!” he roared. “The gates will be barred against you and you will be reprimanded for this disobedience…”
But Teufel slipped beneath the lowering gate like a shadow chased by the dawn.
And Wulfe felt free.
He would willing surrender all that was his to ensure Christina’s safety.
Indeed, he just had.
Once in the street, he gave Teufel his spurs, hoping they were not too late. The destrier galloped with fearsome speed, as if he sensed Wulfe’s urgency. He heard hoof beats behind and looked back to see Stephen and Simon fast behind him, Stephen grinning with delight. It was clear the boy guessed his intent.
People fled from their path with terror, and Wulfe wondered whether the horse looked like a demon loosed from Hell. Teufel’s hooves clattered on the bridge, and he snorted at the greater crowds on the island. They parted before the beast, though, as if Fortune was finally on Wulfe’s side.
He made the porch of Notre Dame with greater speed than he might have hoped. Ysmaine had fled in this direction, as if making a path for sanctuary. Surely no villain would assault her there. He turned Teufel in place, the horse tossing his head and snorting with impatience to run, and then he spied it.
A faux gem of familiar orange hue glittered between the cobblestones.
Some distance away, he spied another.
Wulfe smiled, glad beyond all that Christina had anticipated pursuit. He urged Teufel onward, bending from the saddle as he followed the trail, and hoped all the while that he would arrive in time.
* * *
Christina followed Helmut and Ysmaine stealthily, fearing that she would be caught. She knew full well how savage he could be and had no desire to corner him. Nor did she wish to abandon Ysmaine to his scheme, whatever it was.
She dropped the gems at intervals, her spirit quailing as their number diminished. Would he ever halt? Finally, he ducked into a narrow alley with only a single gate at the far end. He glanced back so suddenly that Christina barely had time to hide herself, then she heard a latch drop.
She peeked to find the alley deserted.
What was behind the gate?
How could she enter without being observed?
Christina crept closer, her grip tight upon her sack of remaining stones. She hastened down the alley and listened. Heart pounding, she lifted the latch and peeked through the crack, only to find Helmut with the lady in a small courtyard. His horse was tethered under a shelter at the far end of the space, and it was the same one he had ridden from Venice. She had feared that he might have accomplices, but there were none.
Of course, then he would have been required to share the spoils.
He turned on Ysmaine, and Christina knew she had to stall for time, lest he kill the noblewoman before assistance arrived. This was the moment to be bold.
If not to goad him to anger, and the making of an error.
She had only to think of Gunther to be filled with a thirst for justice.
Christina opened the gate wide and spoke clearly, hiding her fear of what Helmut might do. “At least some soul is gratified by your presence,” she said, keeping her tone languid.
Helmut jumped in a most satisfactory manner, then spun to face her. Coward that he was, he held Ysmaine before himself, his knife at her throat. “What are you doing here?”
Christina leaned against the gate. She smiled at him, knowing she appeared more confident than she felt. She liked how her manner and her presence troubled him. “Let us say that I wished to ensure the welfare of another woman.”
He snorted. “Whores care only for their own advantage.”
“You might be surprised to learn what whores care about.” Christina eyed the blade he held against Ysmaine. “Is it the mark of a pious man to abduct another man’s wife?”
She was not surprised that he did not reply.
“Doubtless you want a reward of your own,” he sneered. “Is it not all about the coin for your kind?”
Christina surveyed the courtyard, which was barren indeed. “I fail to see any chance of reward in this place.” She met his gaze anew. “Unless your desire is for the lady’s charms.”
“In which case you would offer your own instead?”
She smiled, ensuring her expression was seductive. He was agitated, though whether it was due to her presence, the situation itself or his reaction to her, she did not know. Christina did not much care. She wanted to provoke him to err, no more and no less.
“You might find me more to your liking as a partner.” She strolled toward him, letting her hips sway in invitation. His eyes flashed and she saw him catch his breath.
But then, she knew he was not as virtuous as he would have the others believe.
“Do you think I failed to note how you watched me when you thought yourself unobserved?” It was a falsehood, but the claim might unsettle him. He might fear his truth had been revealed. She halted a step before him and reached for the tie of her chemise. “For a pious man, you showed a very earthy interest in my wares.”
Helmut pretended to be disdainful, but he was watching that tie.
Or the flesh revealed when it was loosed.
“I merely disapprove of you and your trade.”
“Because you are a man above reproach,” Ysmaine interjected. “Abduction and assault are fair play.”
“And murder,” Christina added with a smile. “Do not forget murder, my lady.”
“I do not kn
ow what you mean…” Helmut protested, but she saw a wariness dawn in his eyes.
This was the moment that had filled Christina’s dreams.
She reached out a finger and collected blood from Ysmaine’s flesh, then displayed it to him. “Your manners are lacking, sir. This lady is nobly born and wed to a knight. What cause have you to threaten her life?”
“This is a private matter,” he huffed. “She holds property of mine.”
Christina arched a brow. “One you own or one you would claim?”
“How dare you speak thus to me?”
“I have seen you look,” Christina murmured. She drew the laces from one side of her kirtle slowly and he watched hungrily. She turned so that the shadow of her breast would be visible to him through the garment’s sides, and he stared. Slowly, she lifted the wool so that he would be able to see her nipple. He did not so much as blink. “Would you like a closer look?” she asked in her most sultry tone. “Perhaps in exchange for the lady’s freedom?”
“Whore,” he muttered, tearing his gaze away. “I will not barter with you…”
“Vermin,” Ysmaine said and tried to escape his grasp. Helmut swore and gripped her more tightly again.
Christina unlaced the other side of her kirtle, ensuring that his view was improved.
“I am Everard de Montmorency,” he declared, his words falling in haste and fury. “Count of Blanche Garde and heir to Château Montmorency and I will not tolerate…”
“Are you?” Christina demanded, interrupting him.
He was shocked. Not surprised, though, not truly. “What do you insinuate?”
She smiled, knowing it would vex him. “Only that I know you are not Everard de Montmorency.”
Helmut was at a loss for words. The lady Ysmaine looked between the two of them, perhaps choosing who to believe.
“How exactly do you plan to convince them at Château Montmorency that you are Everard in truth?” Christina asked. “It was simple to take his place in Outremer, where he was known only by repute, but it will be more difficult to trick his own kin.”
Helmut inhaled sharply.
Christina pretended not to notice his discomfiture but held his gaze and eased closer. She had to get that knife away from Ysmaine’s throat. A flick of the wrist could see the lady killed, whether it was an intentional gesture or not.
“Is that why it took so very long for the duke’s faithful and pious son to embark on the journey home to say a final farewell to his father?” she demanded, watching the anger spark in his eyes. She provoked him further, knowing he was close to losing his temper. “Did you hope the father might die before you arrived? As a dead man himself, Everard could not have managed the journey at all, but it would have been folly for the imposter who had stolen his name and his purse to reveal his own lie.”
“You lying whore!” Helmut flung Ysmaine aside and snatched for Christina, but she had been warned by his eyes. She kicked him hard in the crotch before he took two steps. He paled and fell to his knees, and Christina found her own anger rising. She kicked him in the head without hesitation, knowing she would not be sated until he lay dead in a pool of his own blood.
Just as he had left Gunther.
“No one truly looks at a whore,” she charged, hearing her own anger. “We are breasts, at best. But I invite you to look again, to look at my face this time.” She took a shaking breath as he looked up, his fingertips falling from his own temple. “I was in the party of noble pilgrims who traveled east with you and Everard. I was with my husband then, but perhaps you never look at noblewomen, either. The fact is that I know that you are not Everard.”
Helmut snarled and lunged after her, hands extended like claws. Christina let him catch her. It was the sole way Ysmaine might escape.
She reached into her garter and seized Duncan’s dagger, which she had hidden there, when he could not see her move.
“You lie!” he bellowed as he seized her by the hair. Christina gave Ysmaine a warning look and the lady seemed to understand. Helmut then slammed Christina back into the wall of the house and did so with such force that the breath was driven from her.
She slumped, hoping to evade more violence, but he raised his hand to strike her again.
Scoundrel! Christina jabbed with the knife, knowing that surprise would be on her side only the first time. The wretched man saw it in time and leapt to one side so that she missed. He seized her and flung her to the ground, using the force of her own blow against her.
Christina laughed, knowing it would startle him. “I do not lie!” she declared and smiled at him with confidence. “We meet again, Helmut,” she murmured and inclined her head.
He blanched at the sound of this name.
Ysmaine’s eyes were round.
Christina advanced upon Helmut with the blade before herself, as intent upon having the lady know the truth as ensuring that Helmut knew himself caught. She might not leave this courtyard alive, after all, and she would ensure he did not hide his crime again.
“You were the mercenary assigned to defend your lord and employer, and I remember you well. My husband noted then that you were lying and lustful, and you are still vermin, if better garbed.” She sneered at him and he leapt toward her, trying to seize the knife. They struggled over it, even as Ysmaine watched.
“Run, my lady!” Christina cried.
The lady was spurred to action, although her feet betrayed her. She stumbled as Helmut nigh wrenched the blade from Christina’s grip and she feared the day to be lost.
Helmut, it seemed, would have his say, as well. He grasped Christina’s hair, pulling it back with vigor so that she was compelled to look at him. She could not see Ysmaine and only hoped the lady gained her freedom.
“You!” Helmut whispered, his gaze roving over her features. “You are Juliana, the wife of Gunther…”
“Who was slaughtered for the seven pennies in his purse, after he had discerned your true nature.” Christina reminded him savagely. “Did you take his purse, as well as his life? I would not put it past a man of your ilk.”
“I am no thief.”
She laughed, knowing it would irk him. Let him beat her. Let him silence her. The feat would not be readily done, and it would be worth the price to see Ysmaine safely beyond this villain’s grasp.
Helmut struck Christina hard across the face, and she did not have to pretend to fall to the ground. She was dizzy from the force of his blow and feared she might not be able to occupy him long enough. Indeed, she could scarcely keep her eyes open.
There was a crack in that moment, and she glanced up to see that Ysmaine had struck Helmut in the back of the head with a rock. He turned on the other woman like a mad beast, and Christina dared not close her eyes.
“Run, Christina!” Ysmaine urged, though there was little chance of that. She could not even get to her feet.
She watched in horror as Helmut struck Ysmaine so viciously that she lost her balance and stumbled backward. He did not waste a moment in grabbing the bundle that was disguised as her belly. He tore it away with a savage gesture, revealing that he knew it was not a child. He then flung Ysmaine aside so that she fell heavily against the stone wall.
Ysmaine put out her hand to halt her fall, but tumbled to the ground all the same. Even in her current state, though, Christina could enjoy that Helmut cradled some false replacement for the reliquary and not the true prize. Surely he would flee. Surely she could close her eyes for a moment before aiding Ysmaine.
But she heard the sound of straw being moved and felt it fall over her. She opened her eyes in time to see Helmut strike his flint and set strands of straw alight. He cast them into the scattered dry stalks and the fire spread quickly. The courtyard filled with smoke with terrifying speed and she could barely discern him as he seized the reins of his horse.
“Farewell, ladies,” he sneered. “Is it not said that witches should be burned alive?” He flung open the gate and the wind fanned the flames to burn faster.
“Gaston,” Ysmaine whispered.
“I believe we have unfinished business, sir,” that knight said.
Relief surged through Christina.
Someone had followed her trail.
The lady Ysmaine would be safe, and Gunther would be avenged.
Though it was what Christina had believed she desired above all, it seemed less than satisfactory now that the goal was achieved.
Still, it was to be her due. She heaved a sigh and let her eyes close.
Chapter Sixteen
Only vermin assaulted women.
Only a fool touched Gaston’s lady wife. One look at Ysmaine, pale with blood on her hands, was enough to set his blood aflame. That this fiend had intended for her to be burned alive, that he would abandon her in such circumstance, made Gaston want to kill him slowly. He had never been filled with such a desire for vengeance.
But the lady he loved had never been so threatened before.
He assessed the flames and saw that Ysmaine bent over Christina. She might have fled and saved herself, but that was not her nature. Rather than his wife perishing in this fire, he would see Everard left to die in flames.
Gaston stepped back and lifted his sword to Everard’s chest. “En garde,” he murmured, and the words had barely crossed his lips before the villain lunged at him. Their swords clashed hard and Gaston felt his cheek nicked. He parried hard, driving Everard back against the wall with a flurry of blows. He forced that man away from the gate and was aware that Ysmaine tried to rouse Christina. He wished the women were safe, but he knew enough of his lady to guess that she would not abandon her companion.
He sliced down hard, compelling Everard to drop the reins, then slapped the horse. The beast fled the fire, darting through the gate to the street.
One life was saved. He had three yet to ensure.
“You attack the wrong person!” Everard protested. “The whore means to injure your wife.”
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