The Crusader's Bride

by Claire Delacroix

  Her husband had not only come for her, but he had abandoned his quest to pursue her instead. Was her welfare an obligation he would fulfill?

  Or did she dare to hope for more?

  * * *

  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 from 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.”

  “I heard only you strike my lady wife,” Gaston growled and moved quickly, his blade slicing Everard’s shoulder. “Wulfe was right to doubt your intent from the outset. What man of merit abandons a holding when it is about to be besieged?”

  “You know naught of my intent…”

  They battled, moving back and forth, almost evenly matched. When Gaston landed a blow, it was because Everard did not relinquish his grip on his burden.

  “You speak aright,” he replied, wanting to provoke his opponent. If the man who called himself Everard was angered, he might make a mistake. “All these years I have believed you to be Everard de Montmorency, for I had no reason to doubt the tale you told. Now I learn that this is a lie.”

  “The whore lies!”

  “You lie,” Gaston countered and saw his opponent’s eyes flash. “Why did you not return to France to visit your ailing father sooner?”

  “I had a holding to defend.”

  “But you left it unprotected in the end.”

  “I saw that it was doomed.”

  Gaston scoffed. “Your tale makes little sense, unless you are a coward. Why did you leave Outremer by coming to Jerusalem first?”

  “I sought the aid of the Templars! It is your sworn task to accompany pilgrims on the road…”

  “You were nigh at the port of Jaffa in Blanche Garde. Had it been your desire to leave Outremer in haste, you could have been a-sail before we even left Jerusalem.” Gaston shook his head. “Nay, the reason is in your grasp. You came seeking a prize to steal.”

  A partial roof on the opposite side of the courtyard fell in then, tumbling to the ground in a flurry of sparks. The flames burned higher as the wood caught and more dark smoke filled the air. Christina coughed and Gaston saw Ysmaine coax the other woman to her feet. There was something amiss with Ysmaine’s hand, but he would see to that later. He willed them to move more quickly.

  “I am not on trial!” Everard retorted. “I need not explain my choices to any man…”

  “Nay, you are condemned, by the burden in your own grasp.”

  “But…”

  “All you must do to prove your innocence is surrender it to me,” Gaston invited. He lowered his sword and stretched out his left hand, knowing full well what his opponent would do. The women were passing through the gate, and the fire had nearly turned the courtyard into an inferno.

  The man who called himself Everard attacked. “I owe naught to you!” he roared even as their blades clashed hard. “I will not answer to a monk who breaks his vows by taking a wife!” He battled hard against Gaston and jabbed suddenly. Gaston stepped back and only then saw the peril he had not realized.

  Ysmaine had returned to the portal, doubtless seeking him. He could not warn her to retreat, not without calling his opponent’s attention to her presence. He felt his lips thin to a grim line when she pulled her eating knife and sidled along the wall behind the villain.

  The woman had too much valor, to be sure.

  “You will die here, and the tale with you,” Everard sneered. “I will sell this prize to see my own future secured.”

  “Someone else will recognize you.”

  “Silence can be bought, and I will have the funds.”

  “You did not silence Christina.”

  “Not yet,” Everard replied grimly. “I shall see to that.” He kicked a barrel toward Gaston with savage force. “And you will not survive this day to share the tale.” Ysmaine eased toward the villain, though Gaston did not reveal her presence. He jumped over the barrel and attacked Everard, hoping to distract him from any sign of the lady’s presence behind.

  But Everard leapt aside so that Gaston’s blow missed. He seized Ysmaine, spun her and flung her toward the brightest blaze of the fire. She stumbled and cried out, but Gaston did not wait to see his lady fall into the flames. He lunged after her and caught her against his chest. Unable to keep from tumbling after her, he cradled her from the force of their landing, then rolled her beneath himself to shelter her from the flames.

  By the time he rolled to his feet, Everard was through the gate. Gaston heard the other man slam and lock it from the other side. He hauled Ysmaine to her feet beside him and they raced to the gate as one. He fought against the latch, but to no avail.

  He spared a glance to the flames, then caught her around the waist. He fairly flung her to the top of the courtyard wall. “Jump, lady mine!” he commanded when she hesitated atop the wall.

  “Aye, jump,” Everard purred from the other side of the wall, the sound of his voice sending a chill through Gaston. “Grant me another pretty prize.”

  Ysmaine hesitated. Gaston heard a cry that he thought might have come from Christina. Ysmaine danced backward as the other man evidently lunged at her. Gaston heard the imposter laugh, then the clatter of hoof beats.

  Ysmaine leapt down from the top of the wall on to the other side.

  Gaston watched the flames come closer. The summit of the wall was too high for him to heft his own weight there. Indeed, he could not even brush the summit with his fingertips. There was naught in the courtyard to climb upon, for all was aflame. He shouted but there seemed no one to hear his cries. The smoke was thick, and he began to cough, fearing that Everard had called his fate aright.

  At least Ysmaine was safe.

  Gaston heard her swear, then the latch rattled. “It is so hot!” she complained, and he heard her kick the gate. To his relief, she unfastened the latch from the other side, and fresh air billowed into the courtyard.

  “He has seized Christina and ridden that way,” Ysmaine declared as Gaston stumbled into the alley. He grabbed her hand and led her away from the foul place, coughing to clear his lungs. To his relief, Wulfe was in the square before the cathedral, astride his black destrier.

  He made his way to his fellow knight and told him what had transpired. “Christina left a trail of these gems,” he told the Templar, whose manner was most severe. Wulfe took one of the stones and studied it, then placed it in his purse. “Ysmaine says the villain rode that way with her, and I will wager you will find a trail.”

  Wulfe nodded curtly and gathered his reins. “I thank you, Gaston, on behalf of the order. Know that the treasure is safely delivered.” Gaston closed his eyes in relief. “May your new life suit you well.” Wulfe offered his hand and the pair shook hands. Then the Templar t
hen was gone, bending from the saddle in search of the glinting orange glass. His squires broke free of the crowd and raced their palfreys in pursuit.

  Ysmaine looked between Wulfe and Gaston, her astonishment clear. “Do you not go with him?”

  Gaston shook his head. “My contribution is done.”

  “But this matter is not completed…”

  “It is for me. The treasure is delivered and the missive will be so shortly. My obligations are nigh complete, lady mine.”

  Still Ysmaine stared at him.

  Gaston realized to his horror that his wife had not feigned her fear that he meant to return to the order and abandon her. He caught her close, compelling her to meet his gaze and willing her to see his conviction. “I am a secular lord, lady mine, with a loyal wife to my hand,” he murmured to her. “It is not for me to follow the command of the order of the Temple, for I have more worldly concerns to mind.”

  He waited for pleasure to light her features, then he ducked his head and kissed her so thoroughly that only a witless woman could doubt his word.

  And his beloved bride, Gaston knew well enough, had wits enough for three.

  * * *

  It seemed that all went aright and so readily that Ysmaine feared she had misunderstood.

  Perhaps ill fortune had been her companion for so long that she dared not trust her happy circumstance.

  Gaston carried her down the street, his expression resolute.

  “You need not carry me, sir,” she protested and he spared her an amused glance. “It is my wrist that is injured. I can walk.”

  “I dare not trust that you will accompany me otherwise,” he murmured, stealing a kiss before he smiled anew. “For I owe you much explanation. And truly, I like this well.”

  “How so?”

  “It grants us time to talk, as you so suggested.” He shouldered his way through the crowds before Notre Dame. “And to be honest with each other, as I would prefer.”

  “I did not wish to deceive you…” Ysmaine began to protest but Gaston halted and silenced her with a thorough kiss, right there in the street. Passersby hooted and shouted encouragement so that Ysmaine was flushed crimson when he lifted his head. He regarded her with sparkling eyes. “I mean to explain, sir,” she tried again, only to be soundly kissed once more.

  “No explanation is necessary,” Gaston murmured when he broke their kiss again. “All has come aright, thanks to your cleverness, and I am indebted to you. I regret only that you believed even for a moment that I wished our match annulled.”

  “You do not, then?”

  “No man finds a treasure unexpected and casts it aside.” He was so dismissive that Ysmaine smiled. Gaston continued through the square, and Ysmaine nestled against him, well pleased indeed. “I would suggest we visit the Temple, for the horses and Bartholomew are there and we might best see for ourselves that the treasure has been secured. I have also the missive to the Grand Master to deliver, and doubtless he will have questions for me as to what transpired in Jerusalem.” He spared her a glance and Ysmaine nodded.

  “That makes good sense, sir. And then?”

  “And then.” Gaston nodded. “And then I have a boon to ask of my lady wife. I would entreat her that we recall a certain night in Venice, when we both spoke and loved with vigor, when honesty was between us and much more.”

  “Before you were assaulted.”

  “That very night.” Gaston smiled at her. “I would continue from the promise of that night, casting aside this last month of subterfuge, even though it was done for good cause.”

  “Your boon is readily won, sir.”

  His smile flashed. “Excellent. Then we shall have need of baths, stabling for the horses and a good inn. We will all savor a hot meal and a glass of wine, then I shall, with permission, spend a night abed with my lady wife.”

  “Surely you mean an interval, before you retire to the stables,” Ysmaine said, but to her delight, her husband shook his head.

  “An interval will no longer suffice. I will spend the entire night in my lady’s bed, from this night forward.”

  “What of the stables? What of your steed?”

  “He is of import to me, of course, but not the key treasure in my life. And truly, there is solely one prize to defend from this point onward.” His eyes shone with affection as he considered her and he dropped his voice to a murmur. “My priorities have changed, lady mine.”

  “Gaston!” Ysmaine pulled his head down to kiss him with sufficient enthusiasm to show her approval of that notion. He crushed her against him, and Ysmaine was dizzy when he lifted his head.

  “Curse responsibility,” he muttered. “I would find an inn immediately.”

  Ysmaine laughed, happier than she had ever imagined she might be. She kicked her feet as he crossed the bridge to the north bank and could not keep herself from smiling.

  “And now we come to a matter worthy of discussion,” Gaston said. “I have thought often of your insistence that your parents consult upon the administration of the estate.”

  “Amongst other matters.”

  “So I would ask your counsel.” Gaston shifted Ysmaine’s weight, reached into the pouch at his belt and removed a missive. “From my brother’s widow,” he said. “I had thought little of the manner of my return, but now I wonder if I miss something of import in her words. Perhaps I see shadows where there are none, but I would ask your advice.”

  “You would have me read her missive?”

  Gaston nodded, and Ysmaine unfurled the vellum with delight. “I know what it says, but it is possible that you will see more meaning than I have.”

  “She is frugal,” Ysmaine said immediately. The script was crowded, cramped so that more tidings fit in less space, and the vellum had been washed of script at least twice before.

  “Aye, her family considered the match to be most fortunate, as I recall.”

  Ysmaine nodded, reading quickly. Her gaze lingered on the last passages. “How curious that her older daughter was wed so close to her husband’s funeral.”

  Gaston flicked a glance at her. “Coincidence? Or detail of import?” He sighed. “Will I arrive home to find my holding claimed by another?”

  “Do you know this Millard?”

  She watched as he pursed his lips. “It is long since I left France, remember.” Ysmaine nodded agreement. “But he is of an age with me. We trained for our spurs around the same time, and encountered each other then.”

  “Then you know something of his nature.” She saw that Gaston was choosing his words and tried to help him bypass his usual tact. “Did he ride to crusade?”

  Gaston laughed aloud. “He? Nay! War might have soiled his tabard.”

  Ysmaine was enormously relieved. “Then he is not a knight who wears the scars of battle on his hide?”

  “Unless he has changed much, I would guess not.”

  “Yet it has been months since your brother’s demise. He might have gained allies within the hall already.” Ysmaine nibbled her lip. “What if we stop at my father’s abode en route to your home? My father might know more of events at Châmont-sur-Maine.”

  “Will your parents be pleased that you have wed a warrior such as me?”

  Ysmaine smiled. “It was my father’s father who taught him the merit of a warrior’s scar. My father wears his with pride.” She saw the Temple’s high walls appearing ahead of him and had an idea. “And if you were to invite a company of your fellow knights to escort you to your new home, perhaps to linger and celebrate your good fortune, my mother might be indebted to you forevermore.”

  “How so?”

  “I have five younger sisters, Gaston. My mother always hoped that my marriage would facilitate at least several of theirs.” She smiled up at him. “And if you arrived at Châmont-sur-Maine with a company of warriors, perhaps Fergus and Duncan and Bartholomew, I doubt a man who preferred to keep his tabard unsoiled would protest your claiming of your legacy.”

  Gaston grinned. “Lady
mine, you are a treasure to be sure,” he murmured, then kissed her with such surety that her breath was stolen away.

  Ysmaine twined her arms around his neck and kissed him back, her heart thundering with such vigor that she thought it might burst. “I love you, Gaston,” she confessed when she was able to speak.

  “Then all is aright, for I love you, as well, lady mine,” Gaston confessed. Another kiss punctuated their confessions, and he looked positively disheveled as he approached the gates of the Temple.

  His pleasure in their future gave her an idea. “We should not linger long at my parents’ abode, for I would see you arrived at your home estate by September 16.”

  Gaston frowned slightly. “I have no objections, but why so precise a date, lady mine?” He nodded to the porter at the Temple gates, who waved them onward.

  “That is the feast day of Saint Euphemia, who I believe has cast her favor over this journey and our match.”

  Gaston halted in the courtyard to look down at her, his wonder clear. “The relic of Saint Euphemia?” he asked, then shook his head. “Was that the treasure?” At Ysmaine’s nod, he looked awed. “We carried a precious burden, indeed.”

  “You did not know?”

  “It is not uncommon to know only part of a tale, lady mine.”

  “Do you not wish to see it?”

  “I pledged to restrain my curiosity.”

  “But your quest is complete, and it is most beautiful. I think you should have the chance to look at least once upon such a marvel, after you have defended it.”

  Gaston’s gaze flicked to hers. “We should petition the Grand Master to see the relic, that we might pray for Saint Euphemia’s blessing.”

  Though Ysmaine thought it already granted, she could not protest the perfection of that scheme. She doubted the Grand Master would refuse him, and she was right.

  Her heart was singing when they entered the chapel of the Temple to pray, her hand held fast within Gaston’s own. So much had come aright, and she had many thanks to give. Indeed, Ysmaine had only one request to make when she touched her fingertips to the glorious reliquary of Saint Euphemia, and that was for the prompt conception of his son.