Perhaps a convent loomed larger in Ysmaine’s future than she had realized.
The notion made her restless. Indeed, what took so very long? Ysmaine nearly tapped her toe with impatience as time passed by and the conversation continued without resolution. Would Gaston’s sacrifice be for naught in the end? Would the Saracens attack on this night? It was worrisome that the other ship was gone, especially when she saw the sailors on this one were making preparations to depart. They checked the wind and lashed items down on the deck. They shouted as the last of the provisions were hauled aboard, and she saw them cast off one of the heavy ropes tethering the ship to the dock.
She clenched her hands together tightly, closed her eyes, and prayed.
There was little else she could do, though Ysmaine despised that her choices were so few.
“We should have tried the other ship,” Everard complained, echoing her thoughts, then sighed. “Perhaps we will be fighting Saracens after all.”
“Impossible!” Wulfe declared and strode forward to intervene.
In that moment, Joscelin turned, his expression triumphant, and beckoned to them. He snapped his fingers to hasten them along. “The agreement is made, but they will sail shortly, with or without us! Hasten yourselves!”
The horses were led on board one at a time, though it was clear that the destriers thought little of this choice. Wulfe’s black stallion snorted and fought the bit, refusing to cross the gangplank—at least until one of the palfreys nipped him in the butt. He tossed his head and neighed outrage, so resembling his knight that Ysmaine had to bite back a smile. Once that steed was aboard, the others followed, some more meekly than others. They had to be tethered on the deck. Ysmaine and Radegunde helped Bartholomew to secure the palfreys, though he would accept no aid in brushing them down after their ride. The squires returned with fodder for all the horses, and they were watered, as well.
There was naught for her to do, so she returned to the deck to watch the preparations, Radegunde fast by her side. Joscelin was there, looking proud of himself, the knights beside him. They informed her of her contribution to the cost of their passage, and she gladly gave the coins to Joscelin, ensuring that she did not reveal the contents of the purse Gaston had given her.
It was heavier than she had realized, and she was glad of that.
The man ensured her welfare, even after his demise.
Would she be welcomed at Châmont-sur-Maine as his widow? She did not even want to think of it.
“You proved to be as good as your word,” she said to the merchant. “I should not have doubted you.”
He laughed. “An agreement can always be made. It merely depends upon the price, and the price is better if you know the other party’s desire.”
“Although the matter was closer than we might have preferred,” Wulfe said, nodding at the ropes being cast off.
“All the same, I am glad I did not take a wager against him,” Fergus said amiably. The others might have laughed but there was a shout from the crowd and to Ysmaine’s delight, a knight upon a dapple destrier galloped through the crowd.
It could not be.
But Ysmaine knew that steed, she knew that dark hair, she knew the breadth and size of that knight…
Praise be to Mary, for Gaston survived!
Chapter Ten
“Hold the ship!” Gaston bellowed, standing in his stirrups as he waved. Ysmaine thrilled at the sight of him, more hale than she could ever have hoped. Her heart thundered, and she wanted to fling herself upon him.
Curse this crowd between them!
Gaston’s tone turned imperious when the people did not move aside. “I will not be left behind!”
“Gaston!” Ysmaine cried with delight and relief.
“He is alive!” Radegunde declared, her pleasure echoed in the expressions of the entire company. She hugged Ysmaine impulsively. “You are a wedded woman yet, my lady.”
Ysmaine noted that the crew were drawing up the gangplank and that her husband’s survival was not yet assured. “Nay! He will be abandoned!” she cried, even as Wulfe strode to the captain with purpose. An argument ensued there, as the gangplank was stowed away, and in the meantime, Gaston gained the lip of the wharf. He dismounted and held his destrier’s reins, impatience in every line of his figure. Ysmaine surveyed him greedily, then knew she should try to influence the captain’s choice. She smiled when his gaze flicked to her and did not disguise her joy.
Did her taciturn husband smile? Ysmaine believed as much.
She hastened to Wulfe and produced a coin from Gaston’s purse. “My husband, sir,” she explained, uncertain whether she would be understood or not. “We thought him killed, but he has arrived. You must allow him aboard!”
The captain eyed her, then considered the proffered coin. He made a gesture and Ysmaine added another. His hand closed over the coins, and she had a moment’s fear of his intent. “Another man might have been tempted to ensure you were at his mercy, my lady, but my own wife would think poorly of such conduct.” He winked at her then, a man confident of his charms, then called to his men to replace the gangplank.
“I salute your wife then and would send her my thanks,” Ysmaine said. “She, like me, is wed to a man of honor.”
“And she will have a gift from him when we reach home port.” The captain tucked the coins into his own purse, then bowed to her before returning to his duties.
Ysmaine spun, her heart in her throat as she watched the gangplank replaced.
“It seems Gaston chose well,” Wulfe murmured. “You spend his coin to good purpose, at least.”
She bit back any reply, wanting only to watch her husband’s approach. She could have anticipated that he would guide the horse with gentle resolve, and that the beast would trust him completely—even though it could not like the gangplank any more than the other steeds had done. Bartholomew greeted his knight with obvious pleasure, and Gaston shook the younger man’s hand before granting him the destrier’s reins.
Did Ysmaine imagine that the relief of the other knights seemed greater than might have been expected?
Either way, Gaston was alive!
She had been given another chance, and she would not betray Mary’s kindness. Nay, she would be the best wife in all of Christendom, the best wife a man could desire, and she would do whatsoever was necessary to see her husband well pleased.
Ysmaine stood back, heart thumping. She knew it would be inappropriate to rush toward him, though that was precisely what she wished to do. It would not be proper conduct. She should await him, be demure, offer her hand when he deigned to turn his attention upon her.
Everything within Ysmaine battled against such decorum.
Gaston, meanwhile, was embraced by the other men in their party. He shook hands and accepted their goodwill, moving through the company so slowly that she could not bear the waiting. The gangplank was stowed and the ship being pushed away from the wharf when he halted before Ysmaine. The wind was in his hair and his eyes were alight, that smile lifting one corner of his lips.
There had never been a more handsome man in all the days of the world, Ysmaine was certain of it. Her heart pounded and she felt blessed beyond all expectation that he was her lord husband.
And that he yet drew breath.
“I regret to inform you, lady mine, that you are not again a widow,” he murmured, his tone both deep and teasing. “Did I not confide that I did not intend to die as yet?” He offered his hand but a kiss on her knuckles would not suffice in this moment, not when she was fair bursting with delight.
If a woman could not greet her husband with enthusiasm when he had cheated the grave, then the world was far less just than she had previously believed it to be.
“Gaston!” Ysmaine cried and flung herself toward him, loving the way he caught her close and lifted her in his embrace. He swung her around and laughed at her enthusiasm. Even though the ship was underway and rocked slightly, his feet were planted so solidly on the deck t
hat she knew he would not lose his footing or drop her. Her husband was a rock, a foundation upon which she could build her life. Ysmaine nigh wept at that, only realizing in the heat of his embrace how solitary and adrift she had felt.
She would bear him sons, as many as she could manage.
Many of those on both ship and dock cheered at their reunion, but Ysmaine did not care for their reactions.
Her husband held her close, his heart beating against her own.
Gaston was alive.
She framed his face in her hands, studied him for a moment, and savored the heat of his skin beneath her hands. “How did you manage this feat?” she whispered. “Have I wed a sorcerer?”
His lips quirked. “Perhaps merely a fortunate man.” His eyes twinkled. “Or one destined to be wed to you.”
“More than that,” Ysmaine retorted, though she liked the sound of that. “Did you guess we would be assaulted?”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “Why would you imagine as much?”
“Because you did not hesitate. You had a scheme for the eventuality, in case it did occur.” She smiled and saw his expression soften again. “A sound plan is often mistaken for good fortune, after all.”
“Indeed. Do you regret not losing another husband?” he murmured, clearly knowing the reply.
Ysmaine shook her head, unable and unwilling to hide her relief. “Nay,” she whispered, her voice husky. “I would keep this one for a few years yet. I do not doubt he has a plan to ensure that is so.”
Gaston made to laugh, but Ysmaine then bent to kiss him with gusto, not caring who witnessed her relief.
* * *
The lady dazzled him anew.
Even when Gaston was prepared for his wife’s embrace, even when he glimpsed the intent in her eyes before she kissed him, her touch was nigh overwhelming in its power.
It seemed the lady had awakened a passion within him that had slumbered long, but now demanded to be sated.
Gaston broke his kiss with regret and surveyed his lady wife. Ysmaine smiled up at him. She put his purse of coins into his palm, granting him a quick accounting of what she had spent and why.
By all the saints, she was a practical wife, and a beauteous one, as well.
Gaston was thinking that a single coupling, perhaps even a daily coupling, might not suffice to control his ardor for this lady.
The others demanded the tale of his escape, and he summarized it, mentioning the mercy of his old friend and not Ibrahim’s quest for a missing girl. The other men clapped him on the shoulder and congratulated him, then dispersed.
The ship had rounded the point occupied by Acre and the sea was rougher beyond the shelter of the harbor. He held Ysmaine close, aware of her curves and softness. He was cursing the lack of privacy on the ship and trying to guess how long it would be until they made port, when Ysmaine astonished him anew.
“You command this party, do you not?” she asked, her words so quietly uttered that only he would discern them.
Even so, Gaston’s heart clenched. “Why would you believe as much?” he demurred, watching her lips tighten even as he tried to hide his reaction.
Her eyes flashed and she shook her head. “I am no fool, sir!” she chided. “It was you who chose our route, and you who gave the command to ride on. It is you who carry the missive, as I have seen.” Gaston made to protest but Ysmaine put her fingertips over his lips to silence him. “I will guess that you have sworn an oath to keep this a secret,” she murmured, with a confidence he could only admire. “Indeed, I can think of no other reason why you would break your own demand for honesty between us.”
Gaston swallowed, aware again of the perceptiveness of his wife.
“But here is the nut of the matter,” she continued, a small frown between her brows. “My concern is solely thus: are we wedded in truth? Because if you lead this party and command a Templar knight, then you must yet be pledged to the order, and thus our nuptial vows must be hollow.” Her gaze clung to his. “I would know, sir, whether I am wedded in truth or not.”
Relief flooded through Gaston that her concern was so simple. He whispered to her, hiding his action in their embrace. “I have but one task to complete, lady mine, and it is true that all is not as it might seem. I beg of you to keep such observations to yourself.”
“I will,” she vowed quietly, her gaze searching his. He saw that she was dissatisfied with his partial answer, but it would have to suffice. “If you pledge to tell me all of it, once we reach Châmont-sur-Maine.”
Gaston smiled at the very notion. “It will not be of import then, and truly, such matters should not be of concern to a lady.”
He had thought he might pacify her, but Ysmaine’s gaze hardened in a way that was becoming familiar.
“Indeed?” she asked, arching a fair brow. The wind gained momentum and strands of her hair escaped her braid. “Why should that be?”
Gaston’s confidence faltered. “Because ladies should not have to trouble themselves with matters of strategy and warfare, or even alliance. The courts on a holding are administered by the lord, as are the accounts…”
Ysmaine interrupted him crisply. “Perhaps it is so in the Temple, for you have no women to rely upon.”
“Of course we do not,” Gaston agreed. The light in his lady’s eyes left him feeling that he had erred in his easy agreement.
“But what of life at Châmont-sur-Maine? Did your mother ignore all matters beyond her embroidery and her son?”
Gaston blinked. He had not considered his parents’ marriage in years, if ever he had. “She kept the keys,” he recalled, speaking slowly. “And was said to be sharp with the inventories.”
Ysmaine smiled. “I shall like her, then.”
“She took the veil upon my father’s death.”
His wife frowned. “But why? Was she beyond the age to remarry?”
Gaston turned to watch the port fade from view, his throat tight with the memories. “She had seen only sixteen summers when she bore me,” he admitted. “She was my father’s third wife, and it was said she was the one who made him feel young again. I recall the laughter from the solar in the evenings or even in the afternoons.”
Ysmaine smiled a little. “Then we have this in common, sir, for my parents also laugh often in their chamber.” She leaned close to him to whisper. “I believe such conviviality is rooted not only honesty but discussion and partnership.”
Again, it seemed his wife had expectations of their match that exceeded his own. Gaston regarded her with some wariness. “You have said your parents confer much.”
“And I would wager that yours did, as well.” There was a knowing glint in the lady’s eyes. “Perhaps I will visit your mother in her cloister to discover the truth. Perhaps she will convince you of the merit of my view.”
It was remarkable how Ysmaine could tempt him, especially as his reaction had so little to do with her charms. She was a beautiful woman, to be sure, but what made Gaston’s breath catch in his throat was the challenge in her eyes, as in this moment. Despite all he had been taught in the order about the place of women—or lack of it—she made him question his assumptions. He liked to banter with her, and he was fascinated by the way she argued with much logic. She was insightful and clever, and he was glad to have chosen her as his wife.
“I must thank Wulfe for ensuring your safety.”
Ysmaine’s smile turned knowing. “Or for following an order?” she asked lightly.
Gaston took warning from that. He should be more concerned that his wife understood him so well as she did. Even knowing that he was sworn to secrecy, he was tempted to trust her with the truth.
This could not be.
He excused himself without reply, knowing that she watched him depart.
As galling as the prospect was, Gaston might have to take counsel from Wulfe in the matter of earning a lady’s heart. His wife, it seemed, was adept at perceiving his secrets, and Gaston wished to be able to trust her fully. Once the
y were home, he would join her abed, of course, and he would have need of his sleep.
He did not believe, though, that conjuring Ysmaine’s passion in the way Wulfe suggested—as enticing as the prospect was—would be a successful strategy as winning her heart. Nay, Ysmaine was too practical for that. He had to convince her to love him, but he had to do so by proving the advantage of having him by her side.
Though Gaston knew little of such romantic quests, surely, the conquest of a woman’s heart was much like any other siege. He would prove himself reliable and win her trust in that. He would treat her with honor. He had already shown his willingness to protect her. He cast a glance over her faded gown and resolved to indulge her, once they reached Venice. He had to believe that would win her regard.
And a son in her belly would ensure her loyalty.
That had been his father’s strategy and lacking any other, Gaston was convinced of it.
* * *
To Wulfe’s surprise, Gaston came to his side. They two were alone at the stern of the ship, watching Acre fade into the shadows of the horizon behind them.
“I would thank you for seeing to my wife’s protection,” Gaston said, his tone formal.
“I did as commanded, no more than that,” Wulfe admitted.
Gaston bit back a smile, but did not reply.
“She carries poison, you know.”
“Aye, I do know.”
Wulfe was startled. “And you do naught about it?”
“I would see what she will do about it,” Gaston replied mildly. “Possession in itself is no crime.”
“It may be too late for you by the time she acts.”
“Have you seen me consume any item from her hand?”
Wulfe considered the other knight. “You watch and you wait, and you risk much in this.”
Gaston shrugged. “I would risk more should I make an unfounded accusation of my lady wife.”
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