The Crusader's Heart

by Claire Delacroix

  “No moles,” Rupert decreed. “I am sorry, my lord, but this man is an imposter who would steal your son’s legacy.”

  The duke dropped his head to his hands and wept. He looked even smaller and more fragile than he had before, and Wulfe regretted that the truth stole the one thing that could have given him solace.

  The seneschal watched his lord, sympathy in his gaze, then took command. “Bind him.” Helmut fought the knights but was no more successful than before. In moments, he was bound. “He will face the duke’s justice when the duke sees fit to hear whatever case he can make in his own defense.”

  “Everard had everything!” Helmut roared with bitterness. “He was weak and unskilled with a blade. He granted mercy where it was not deserved. He could not keep his coin, but granted alms to beggars at every turn. He had no right to be wealthy, to be a knight, to gain a holding, when I, I who have fought for every trinket that has come to my hand, was so much better in every way.”

  “Save in your heart,” Wulfe said and the seneschal nodded.

  “Did you kill him?” the seneschal asked Helmut, his tone deceptively mild. His eyes were flashing with an outrage that Wulfe shared.

  “I took from him what he held only in disdain,” Helmut declared bitterly. “He gave away his coin but I savored it. He cared more for the life he thought he would have in heaven, so I dispatched him to it.”

  “Cur!” Marthe shouted.

  “Vermin!” the company cried as the duke wept.

  Wulfe found himself turning to Christina as Helmut was led to the dungeon, only to find that her face was streaked with tears. She was smiling though, and he could nigh sense the relief that filled her.

  Gunther had been avenged.

  He had given her this gift, and now their ways must part.

  But first, he would escort her to whatever place she called home, even if the extra time in her company would only torment him. He told himself that he was not in a hurry to face any discipline from the Grand Master in Paris, but that was not why he would choose this path.

  He wanted to know for certain that Christina was safe.

  * * *

  Christina could not bear to see the anguish of Everard’s father. How tragic to end his days knowing that his most beloved son was lost. She thought of her own mother then, and wondered whether her own disappearance had distressed her mother.

  It had never been her intention to do as much, but Christina had been so distressed by her own situation that she had not sent word. She had thought it more cruel to contact her family when she was unable to leave Venice, but now she wondered whether her pride had kept her from asking for help that might have been willingly offered.

  What if her mother had died in her absence?

  Christina left the hall and wandered the gardens behind the keep, sickened by the possibility.

  Indeed, the bile rose without expectation, and she was sick. At least she managed to reach the pile of deadened leaves and clippings left to compost over the winter. With shaking hands, she buried the evidence of her illness, only to realize that an older woman watched her from a patch of kale. It was not Marthe, for this one had darker hair, but there was a welcome pragmatism in her manner.

  “Is it the spawn of the villain or the Templar?” that woman asked, much to Christina’s confusion. When she shook her head, the woman shrugged. “Either way, you will have a long road ahead of you, my dear.”

  “I do not understand.”

  “Do you not? To bring a child into the world without the support of its father is a challenge to be sure. Not so uncommon as that, but still not to be desired.” The woman winced and returned to pulling weeds. “But if the villain is the father, the lord might be kind to you. Indeed, you would both have been cheated by the same man, and he might be generous for that. The duke has compassion, to be sure.”

  Christina smiled. “I am merely ill this day, which is most inconvenient, but I am not with child.”

  “Are you not?”

  “I am never with child. I am barren.”

  The woman chuckled. “You shall see by the spring whether that remains the case or not.”

  “But I cannot be pregnant! It is impossible.”

  “By the way that Templar looks at you, I would say it is very possible indeed. Take my counsel and do not argue that ’tis a virgin birth. It is better to acknowledge the truth from the outset.”

  With child. Christina surveyed the garden without truly seeing it. Could it be so?

  “You look most surprised. Did you truly not know?”

  “I still do not know.”

  The woman worked a stubborn weed free. “And when did you last have your courses? Have you been intimate with a man since? How many days have you lost your meal? You need not confess it all to me, but it might do you good to think upon it.”

  Christina had not bled since several weeks before meeting Wulfe in Venice. She counted on her fingers. He had arrived at Costanzia’s house on the feast of the Magdalene, July 22. It was now the feast of Saint Augustine, well over a month later. They had been intimate, multiple times. And her belly had been in great turmoil since leaving Paris.

  Could she carry Wulfe’s child?

  She stared at the woman in wonder.

  “Your breasts then,” the woman continued. “Do they seem larger? And tender?”

  “They do,” Christina acknowledged and sat down hard, for her world had been shaken. A new hope made her heart flutter. Was it possible that neither of her younger sisters had yet borne sons?

  Was it possible that she could give Wulfe a future outside of the order?

  “You truly did not know then,” the woman said, and Christina realized that she had come to stand beside her. “I am sorry if I surprised you, for I thought you did know. It is better, though, to know sooner than later.”

  “Aye. I am glad to know. I thank you.”

  The woman smiled, her expression kind. “May you and the babe be blessed, my dear.”

  Christina smiled and impulsively embraced the woman. “Thank you,” she said again, then hastened to find Wulfe. Somehow she had to tell him the news.

  She could not make such an intimate confession in company. Nay, she had need of a moment of some privacy, the sooner the better. Christina hoped that Wulfe was yet determined to escort her home.

  * * *

  They camped in the forest that night, not so far from Montmorency keep but well beyond the village. It had been clear that they, as the bearers of ill tidings, had not been welcome to stay, though the baron and his family had offered the invitation. Wulfe had declined politely, insisting that they had far to travel, and Christina was just as happy to be far from Helmut.

  As much as she disliked and distrusted him, she realized that she had no desire to witness justice being done. It was sufficient to know that he had been discovered and would pay for his crimes.

  The stars were numerous that night, and they had provisions from the kitchens at Montmorency. They had been granted a skin full of good red wine, bread, and hard sausage, cheese, and apples. Wulfe and the boys had made a fire, the boys gathering wood at his dictate, and they sat around it after their meal. The horses were tethered nearby and a small stream splashed as it passed the spot they had chosen. The snap of winter was in the air, though they would not be overly cold that night. She kept her hand over her belly, aware that it was rounder and wondered what Wulfe would say if she told him of the babe.

  Would he deny that it was his own? She watched him covertly, doubting he would be so churlish. He sat on the opposite side of the fire, with his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle, his easy posture giving her a curious joy. He was less stern than when she had met him, more at ease, and she liked the change well.

  Nay, he would not decline his role in the creation of their child. But the confession would trouble him, she could guess, for he believed he could not wed her honorably. It would make him aware again of his lack of fortune, and she did not wish to make hi
m feel like less than he was.

  All the same, she wondered what she would do, she and this child growing within her.

  She dared to hope again that her sisters had not been more fortunate than she. What if she returned home to find that they had not borne a son yet?

  What if Wulfe’s child was a boy? The possibility of granting the son that every man must desire was enough to send a thrill through her, even without the possibility of her father’s legacy to be won. She lowered her gaze, considering how the truth might be shared, sooner rather than later.

  “Would you tell us a tale, my lady?” Stephen demanded.

  “Surely you have had sufficient tales of saints to sate you?” she teased, wanting to keep silent on this night, the better to think of possibilities. “I say it is time for Wulfe to share a tale.”

  He flicked a glance her way and to her surprise, he ceded. “Perhaps it is so. I know only one tale, though I would share it with you.”

  The boys exchanged grins and leaned close to listen.

  Wulfe stared into the fire. “Once, there was a young man. Indeed, he was not much older than either of you. He set out to seek his fortune.” He paused and frowned. “It sounds thus as if he chose to seek his fortune, but in truth, the choice was made for him. He had grown up in the woods, in the care of a gamekeeper. When that man died, the young man was alone. He had naught to his hand, no advantage, no parent, no relations or even a home to call his own. He sought his fortune in order that he might survive.”

  Christina knew then that he told of his own life.

  “He traveled far and saw much before one day, he was welcomed into the abode of a gamekeeper. That man had a scheme, unbeknownst to the young man, though it quickly came to fruition. The nobleman who held sway over that holding visited the gamekeeper, as was his custom, and the gamekeeper presented the young man as a candidate to train with the lord’s own son. The nobleman was much pleased with this suggestion, for it seemed he had been seeking an opponent of suitable size and strength for his nephew.”

  “He wished for his son to win,” Stephen suggested.

  Wulfe smiled. “He wished that his nephew was not defeated every time. His own son was older and had earned his spurs, so the nephew had little chance against him. The nobleman told the young man that while more is learned in defeat than in victory, the nephew had need of a more fairly matched opponent. And here was the offer he made the young man: if he would agree to spend five years training in the nobleman’s household alongside the nephew, the nobleman would dub him a knight as well.”

  “There is a fine offer!” Simon exclaimed.

  “Indeed. The young man was quick to accept, and so began the most challenging five years he had ever known. He learned much in both victory and defeat, and became an accomplished swordsman. He learned of strategy and tactics, and even better, he and the nephew became good friends. They earned their spurs together and were dubbed on the same morning, and such was the generosity of the nobleman that he saw them both armed. The young man knew that the nephew’s blade and armor was better than his, but that was only right. He was no kin and the nobleman had granted him more that could have been expected of any other.”

  Wulfe sipped his wine. “And so it was that the nephew returned home, and since the young man was again resolved to seek his fortune, they traveled together to that holding. It turned out that the nephew had a sister of remarkable beauty. He thought little of her charms, for she was younger and had always followed him when they were children, but when the young man saw her, he might have been struck to stone. By virtue of her beauty alone, he loved her, and he knew he would do any deed to win her hand in his own. It must be said that his good fortune thus far had given him high expectations, but I cannot fault him for such optimism. Indeed, it seemed the maiden favored him.”

  “Did he wed her?” Simon demanded.

  “Did he win a keep and a holding, then wed her and have many sons?” Stephen asked.

  Christina smiled at their enthusiasm and dropped her gaze to her hands, fearing that she knew how this tale would end.

  “He pledged his love to her, and it was well received. It seemed that naught could go awry for this pair, and when she kissed him fully, he thought his heart would burst. And so it was that he hoped to gain a wife in marriage, but alas, such good fortune was not to be.”

  “Whyever not?” Stephen asked.

  “Because the lady confessed her secret to her brother, who laughed at her. It seemed she had always vowed that she would wed a prince or a king, and her brother teased her that the knight who had gained her affections was not even of noble birth. He meant naught by it, for he thought her love was true, and indeed, I think he was pleased that his friend had earned his sister’s affection, but the maiden claimed she had been deceived. She spurned the knight from that moment hence and refused to even speak to him again.”

  “Her love was meager, then,” Christina dared to say.

  “Indeed.” Wulfe was taut with this admission and it seemed the rejection still stung. “Her affection had a high price, a price higher than he could pay.”

  “But what happened to him?” Simon demanded.

  Wulfe shrugged. “He left that place and rode on, his heart bleeding that his lady’s love had not been sufficient to accept him as he was. He knew then that he would never dare to love again, and he joined a military order, the better that he should not be tempted to err anew.”

  “And the sole women he knew were whores,” Christina guessed.

  Wulfe’s gaze met hers across the fire. “Aye,” he said, his voice husky. “Never the same one twice.”

  “Then he was always alone?” Stephen asked.

  “Aye.”

  “That is no tale,” Simon complained. “He should have met a princess, or found a treasure.”

  Wulfe smiled. “I do not doubt that he would agree with you.”

  There was silence between them, then, save for the crackling of the fire.

  “Christina tells better tales,” Stephen noted, his tone disgruntled.

  “Then perhaps you should not have asked for one from me,” Wulfe said gently.

  The boys, undeterred, turned to her, their faces alight. “Will you tell us a tale, my lady?” Stephen asked.

  Christina smiled. “I have heard the same tale,” she said, well prepared for Wulfe to quickly look her way. “But the ending differed in the version I heard.”

  “Truly?” he said softly. “Then perhaps you will share it.”

  “Aye, share it!” Simon and Stephen said as one.

  “The tale was the same to this point, but the young man continued to seek his fortune. He was a knight by now, as you know, and one who was certain of the place of women in his life. Then one night, he met a widow who was not so ready to let him escape her affections. She kept him by her side for a day and a night, and then when he left, she followed him.”

  “She cast a spell upon him, to be sure,” Wulfe said.

  Christina smiled. “Perhaps the magic was between them, for it seemed that neither could turn away from the other. And so they spoke often, and they laughed together, and they found their thoughts to often be as one. They lay together and confessed their secrets to each other, and they even solved troubles together. Then one day, the woman realized that she had conceived his child.”

  Wulfe nigh dropped his cup at that, and his eyes widened in astonishment.

  “Were they wed?” Simon asked.

  Christina smiled and shook her head. “Nay, for the knight believed he had naught to offer a bride. I gather that he was still wounded by that other maiden’s inability to see his true merit. The truth was, though, that this lady had only sisters. Because the knight had not met her family, he did not know this, and she had not spoken to him about it. But her father had been much convinced that holdings should be passed down from father to son. Because he had no son, he decreed that the first of his daughters to bear a boy would see that son inherit the estate. And so it
was that the lady asked the knight to escort her home, and she prayed every night and every morning that their child might be a son, so that the knight would believe he could wed her in honor.” She fell silent then, her gaze clinging to Wulfe’s.

  “Another matter they might resolve together,” Wulfe murmured.

  “And what happened?” Stephen asked.

  “Was it a boy or a girl?” Simon said.

  “I do not know. That was all the tale that I heard. I knew only that they traveled together to her family home. I hope it was a boy and that the boy became heir, but I do not know for certain.”

  Stephen exhaled with dissatisfaction. “That tale is little better. A good tale deserves a good ending.”

  “And perhaps this one had such a happy resolution,” Wulfe said firmly. “But the hour is late and we rise early to ride on.” He rose and kicked the fire, scattering the coals, as the boys wrapped themselves in their cloaks. He turned to Christina, his gaze bright in the darkness. “It is damp this night,” he said softly. “I would ensure your warmth, my lady.”

  Christina smiled and rose to her feet, only too happy to comply.

  * * *

  A child!

  Wulfe was both shocked and delighted. He schooled his expression with care until the boys were bedded down and he had ensured that the horses were tethered. He returned to Christina then, snared anew by her luminous gaze. He spread his cloak on the ground and they lay down together, then he pulled her into his embrace and wrapped his cloak over them both. She nestled against him as she had that first night in Venice, her back against his chest, her legs curled before his own. The softness of her hair teased his nostrils, and her scent aroused him. He found his hand not only sliding around her waist but landing on her belly. His fingers spread protectively over her and Christina locked her hand over his own.

  “A child?” he murmured into her ear.

  “A child,” she agreed softly.