Though she could see no one as yet, she feigned astonishment Radegunde assailed her in the courtyard. “My lady! Hamish has had a fit! He has need of your assistance in this very moment.”
“Truly!” Ysmaine exclaimed, noting the bundle in her maid’s possession. The girl’s eyes danced with her success. Ysmaine pressed the key to her chamber into Radegunde’s hand. “I bought some lavender this very day to soothe my own sleep. Fetch it for me, if you please, for it may be of aid to him.”
“Of course, my lady.” Radegunde fled up the stairs, and Ysmaine dared to be relieved. The relic was in her own possession, which could only ensure her husband’s success.
Even if it had required a small falsehood to ensure the transaction was made.
* * *
Gaston left his lady wife within the sanctuary of the house and strode out to confer with Wulfe. He walked toward the port first, knowing he was easily noted in the crowd because of his height. He lingered in the markets on the way, pausing to take the view from more than one bridge, certain he would spot the Templar sooner or later.
He spied Wulfe at the stall of an armorer, seeing to a repair in the hilt of one of his blades. The knight watched the craftsman closely and appeared to be pleased with that man’s skill. Gaston waited until Wulfe glanced up, then looked deliberately toward the square named for St. Mark. Wulfe nodded minutely, then returned his attention to the armorer.
Gaston wandered, taking his time in getting to the square, then making a circuit of it. He spotted Wulfe at the far end and made his way toward that knight. He ducked down a side street before reaching the knight, and increased his pace, moving swiftly down the twisted way. He turned corners and crossed bridges, ducked under laundry and finally emerged in a small courtyard that faced the main canal. It was deserted, silent except for the tinkle of water in the fountain in its middle. The windows were few and high. Gaston leaned against a stone wall in the shade and waited.
Wulfe emerged from the same avenue but a moment later.
“Followed?” Gaston asked in an undertone, but the knight shook his head.
He came to stand beside Gaston and the two leaned close, speaking quietly and watching the entries to the square.
“It defies belief,” Wulfe muttered. “Our party is yet followed, even though no ship departed Acre after ours.”
“I am not convinced that we were followed from Acre,” Gaston said. “The baggage was searched on the ship, after all.”
“Do you think someone seeks the treasure entrusted to us?”
“I think someone in our own party is curious, if not more.” Gaston drummed his fingers on the board. “Did you catch any glimpse of your assailant?”
Wulfe shook his head. “I was abed, asleep with the woman. We had been amorous, several times, and I dozed.”
“The boys?”
“I thought them awake, but it is clear they were not so.” Wulfe shook his head. “She had locked the door, but I heard the tumblers and was immediately awake. It was too close to be either of the boys.” He frowned as Gaston watched. “I thought the establishment meant to rob me, as can occur, but the floor creaked as the intruder entered.”
“One unfamiliar with the room, then.”
Wulfe nodded. “I waited, feigning sleep, and finally saw the intruder, silhouetted against the window.”
“Man? Woman?”
“Tall enough to be a man, but otherwise impossible to be sure. He or she wore a voluminous cloak.”
“A thief, then.”
Wulfe lifted his gaze. “A thief who went through my purse and garments, yet left the coin.”
Gaston did not care for the sound of that. “And then?”
“And then, the flames. The oil from the lantern was spilled and set alight, the entire room quickly engulfed in fire.”
“The intruder fled?”
Wulfe shook his head. “The intruder lingered, drawing back into the shadows of one corner.”
“He or she wanted to see what you saved.”
Wulfe’s lips tightened. “I seized my knife and shouted to the boys. The woman made for the door as she shouted a warning, but I went after the intruder. We struggled and I felt the nick of a blade. The thief was as slippery as an eel but I struck hard.”
“Did you inflict an injury?”
“My blow struck something, then I was kicked hard to the ground. A lantern was flung at me, then one at the woman, and all set afire. By the time I recovered my footing, the attacker was gone, and it was all I could do to get the four of us out of that inferno.”
Gaston nodded. Though he and Wulfe had not always agreed, he appreciated that the other knight had ensured the welfare not only of his squires, but of the courtesan. He suspected that the knight felt more for Christina than desire. “You saved her life,” he noted. “She speaks aright that this leaves her in your debt.”
Wulfe scowled, his manner brusque. “I did what any man would have done.”
“I think we both know that is not true,” Gaston said gently. “More importantly, Christina knows it is not true.”
“She should remain here.” Wulfe flung out a hand. “There is no future for her with me.”
Perhaps that was the crux of the matter. Wulfe was sworn to the Templars, quite possibly because he had few other choices. “And what makes you imagine there is a future for her in Venice?”
Wulfe looked up, visibly surprised by Gaston’s words.
“Women are not born whores any more than men are born knights,” Gaston said. When the other knight considered this, he turned the conversation back to more practical matters. “You smell of smoke. We must be alert to that scent on any of the others, or take note of any injury.”
“You think the intruder is in our party.” There was no real surprise in Wulfe’s tone, and Gaston was reassured that they had come to a similar conclusion. “You believe that whoever pursued us in Outremer sought this missing girl, and not the root of our errand.”
“I fear that is the only possibility that addresses all details.” Gaston met Wulfe’s gaze. “And truly, what do we know of any in our party?”
“We were assembled by Brother Terricus…”
“On the basis of timing and convenience, as well as some urgency. The fact remains that we know precious little of our fellow travelers.”
“I suppose this is true, but it is not unusual.”
Gaston did not believe his fellow knight understood the full significance of what he was saying. “Even you and I know little of each other. To be sure, I have heard of Brother Wulfe at the Gaza Priory and his black destrier, but we have never met.”
Wulfe blinked. “I could be a brigand who had assaulted him on the road and replaced him.”
“Though the squires would have been difficult to find,” Gaston acknowledged. He smiled. “And truly, I have heard sufficient of the Gaza brethren to doubt that you would have survived such a battle unscathed were you not the true Brother Wulfe.” He did not add that any such villain would not have saved the courtesan the night before, but instead continued. “You can follow the same logic throughout out party. I first encountered Fergus a mere two years ago and have never served closely with him. The sole person in this company I can vouch for is Bartholomew, for I have known him since he was a boy.”
Wulfe nodded reluctant agreement. “And we know yet less of the merchant Joscelin de Provins.”
“Save his repute.”
“And of your lady wife.”
Gaston was forced to cede that. “At least we know Everard de Montmorency to be who he claims to be.”
“Do we?” Wulfe asked.
“He has been part of the royal court at Jerusalem for at least eight years as Count of Blanche Garde. I have seen him many a time at court.”
“Why did he leave Outremer, just as it faces its greatest challenge?” Wulfe asked.
“His father lies ill,” Gaston replied, repeating what he had been told by Terricus. “He returns home as a dutiful son to say
his farewell.”
“But as Count of Blanche Garde, he has a holding, or did before he abandoned it.”
“Perhaps he did not wish to witness its loss to Saladin. Perhaps, like many others, he yearns for the familiarity of home, despite his gains in Outremer.”
Wulfe’s lips tightened. “Perhaps there is something amiss that he did not remain to defend it, or ride out with King Guy.”
“Perhaps he has not your taste for warfare.”
Wulfe sat back, his expression discontent. “A man of wealth and privilege, who rides alone. I am reminded of a thief in the night, attempting to flee detection.”
“If that were so, then he would have ridden north from Blanche Garde to Jaffa, and not troubled with Jerusalem or seeking the defense of the Templars.”
Wulfe shrugged, unconvinced. “I shall keep him on my list of suspects, even if you do not. Along with your lady wife.”
“My wife is above reproach…”
“She acquired poison and confers often with the merchant Joscelin…”
“Who tries to gain a guarantee from her that she will buy spices from him once home in France.”
Wulfe arched a brow. “And who is always missing when matters go awry.”
Gaston frowned at the truth in that.
“They could be in league together, and disguising their plotting as discussions over spice.”
Gaston did not believe it. He deliberately provoked his companion, for he felt some retaliation deserved. “I shall not keep a list of suspects, for I believe no one can be put upon it with surety, save perhaps your lady courtesan.”
The Templar’s eyes flashed. “She is not my lady courtesan…”
“She argues otherwise.”
“To have a courtesan or mistress would be defy my vows!”
Gaston could not suppress his smile. “While visiting a brothel did not?’
The back of Wulfe’s neck turned ruddy. “I would be gone from this place with all haste,” he said, his expression yet more grim. “Tell me that we need not await the welfare of a squire.”
“We must, lest we appear to be thieves fleeing in the night.” Gaston leaned closer. “But that does not mean that our time in this city shall be wasted. Let us try to lure your assailant into making another attempt.”
“Upon my life?” Wulfe asked, a thread of amusement in his tone.
“Of course. You are the one who leads this party, after all.”
Wulfe grumbled a little but did not turn aside. “You have a scheme?”
“A feeble one, but it might be effective. The villain believes you to be the leader of our party and thus the one charged with possession of the item he seeks. Your baggage was searched at Samaria, that of all the others in our party searched on the ship. Last night, I suspect you were followed and your more intimate belongings searched, again in a quest for some hint of the location of the prize. It may be clear to the villain that you do not carry it.”
“And so?”
“What if you acted as a man bent on collecting it?” Gaston dropped his voice, though he doubted any were close enough to hear them. “There are those in Venice oft used by the order for the safekeeping or sale of gems and precious goods. I would not threaten the security of any of them, but this practice is well known.” Wulfe leaned closer. “After all retire this night, you might leave the house, as if keeping an assignation in secret. I will follow you, leaving sufficient space that the villain may lend chase.”
“And that fiend will find his reckoning in the streets of Venice.” Wulfe nodded with satisfaction. “I like it well, for this city is known to be violent at night.”
“I will watch for your departure,” Gaston said.
Wulfe and Gaston shook hands, then Wulfe left the square. Gaston waited, counting the beats of his heart to two hundred, then left the square by another avenue. He took a long and winding route back to the house, finding it all in uproar when he returned.
It seemed the apothecary had been prudent indeed in insisting that Hamish not be moved so soon.
Chapter Fifteen
Ysmaine was a wretch.
Or perhaps she was wicked.
For she failed to be satisfied with all the blessings that came to her. She had a husband, who was hale, handsome, and heir to a holding close to that of her own parents. She had food aplenty and a good palfrey to ride. Her husband was indulgent, letting her purchase whatsoever she desired in the opulent markets of Venice. Her room was comfortable and comparatively large, complete with a large window, a fine view of the building’s interior courtyard, and many fat candles. She was safe and she was possessed of good health herself. She even had a priceless relic secured for its own safety.
Yet she wanted more.
On their second night since arriving in Venice, she lingered in the common room, finishing her wine. Radegunde was in her chamber already, ensuring all was prepared for Gaston’s nightly visit, and also watching the relic. Ysmaine finished her wine, while Gaston checked upon Hamish. The boy was well, of course, though Ysmaine felt a twinge of guilt that Radegunde’s ruse had created such an uproar. Fergus was resolved to remain with the squire this night and watch over him. The other boys chattered with excitement, and even Wulfe ceded that the apothecary must have been right.
She did not dread the inevitable coupling with Gaston, but wanted more of it than she had experienced thus far. All the same, it seemed wrong to have any complaint of a husband who defended and protected her so well. He was neither cruel nor unfair, and truly, there was much admirable in his nature. Gaston ensured that he did not injure Ysmaine, and he touched her so that she was prepared for him. She supposed he was quick about their mating because he thought it a duty best accomplished and done.
But Ysmaine could not have imagined that there had been laughter from the solar in the afternoons because her parents fulfilled a duty. She could not believe it was obligation that had her mother seizing her father’s hand, her gaze dancing as she tugged him toward their bed. Nay, there was more.
And Ysmaine desired to know of it.
Indeed, it was Gaston’s touch that was the root of her dissatisfaction. She liked the weight of his hand upon her, there, and wished he did not remove it so quickly. His touch made her yearn for something nameless that she was somehow denied.
He had demanded honesty between them, and she would gladly have told him what she desired of him.
The problem was that she did not know.
Radegunde did not know either.
Ysmaine was drumming her fingers upon the board when the night was rent with a woman’s cry. Her hand stilled in her alarm.
That woman swore, calling upon several saints for relief.
Were they being attacked?
Ysmaine rose to her feet and went to the doorway to the courtyard. She saw Gaston lingering in the shadows of the stable, his gaze fixed on a window above her. It must have been the window beneath her own.
The woman cried out again, screaming Wulfe’s name with abandon. Her cry ended in a moan so long and low that it gave Ysmaine gooseflesh.
Was that pain or pleasure?
Gaston bit back a smile.
It was the courtesan Christina who cried out.
And it appeared that woman knew what Ysmaine wished to learn. She noted that light spilled from a window above, casting a most intriguing shadow on to the opposite wall of the courtyard. It was evident that Wulfe and his whore were most intimately entwined and had left the lantern on the far side of the room. They were standing up, the whore balanced on the knight, her feet braced on his thighs.
Her breath caught when Gaston’s gaze landed upon her. Ysmaine knew she should be modest and turn away from the silhouettes, but she could not cease to watch.
Her curiosity was too great.
And surely, it was not bad for her husband to know that she was so intrigued.
The courtesan threw back her head and wailed as Wulfe’s hips pumped. She called his name again, then seized his hea
d and bent to kiss him. The shadows disappeared, so that Ysmaine guessed they tumbled to a pallet.
She had been atop him.
Ysmaine flattened her back against the wall. She bit her lip, marveling that such options were possible. But then, why should there not be variation? The key union need not be dependent upon the pose of the couple. She felt a rising excitement at even this much of a revelation.
Then the whore wailed with such abandon that Ysmaine’s gaze rose again to meet that of her lord husband. She could be heard panting, crying out for relief, and cajoling Wulfe with such volume that other lanterns were lit in the building. A fist pounded upon a floor and Ysmaine could guess whose fist it might be. She peeked into the courtyard as Gaston spared a glance to the window, then her husband crossed the courtyard with measured steps.
What did Wulfe do to Christina? Ysmaine could not help but wonder as the whore’s cries grew louder. Whatever he did, Christina clearly approved. Ysmaine wanted desperately to see more and was considering the merit of going into the courtyard on some feigned mission…
Then Wulfe roared, bellowing with such vigor that it could only be one sensation causing his pleasure. Christina cried out almost in unison and at a similar volume.
She had also gained a release?
Was that possible?
If there had been any doubt that they did no violence to each other, the whore began to laugh merrily. Wulfe’s throaty chuckle joined the sound. The lanterns that had been lit were extinguished and some call was heard from the street beyond the walls. This only made the whore laugh more loudly.
Ysmaine might not know exactly what she wanted from Gaston, but Wulfe’s whore most certainly did. She wondered how she might enquire about such a delicate matter, when she found the heat of her husband beside her. “I apologize, lady mine, that our abode is turned into a brothel this night,” he murmured, and her heart thumped at the glow of his eyes.
She felt flustered and embarrassed that they should both have witnessed the Templar’s pursuit of pleasure, yet also tingled with that arousal that so beguiled her.
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