Templar Prize

by Deanna Ashford

  He smiled and Edwina thought that he looked remarkably attractive and far more approachable dressed in just a loose-fitting brocade robe.

  ‘Lady de Moreville.’ Judging by the way he slurred his words, it was apparent that he had imbibed a fair amount of wine.

  ‘Your Majesty.’ She flashed an encouraging smile at Berengaria. ‘I bid you both goodnight,’ she said and then walked towards the door, hoping that the king was not too drunk to be able to perform tonight. Berengaria would be mortified if she was still a virgin when she awoke tomorrow morning.

  7

  Edwina looked in total awe at the city of Acre, which had once been the major port of the Latin Kingdom. It was far larger than she had expected it to be and shaped like a huge triangular shield with two sides fronting the sea, while the eastern side was protected by massive crenellated walls.

  A group of knights had greeted them on the beach when they had landed and were now escorting Berengaria along with Edwina and the queen’s ladies through the Christian lines. Edwina had never even been near a battlefield before and she found it was a troubling sight, regimented yet chaotic, and terrible yet magnificent, all at the same time. King Guy had arrived here with only a small force over two years ago and he and his men had been blockading the city all that time: now these few knights and soldiers had swelled to a besieging army of unimaginable proportions. She could see a near endless sea of tents and thousands of knights and soldiers. Huge siege engines fronted the Frankish lines and she knew the names of some of them – trebuchets, mangonels and onagers. They all looked imposing but she wasn’t knowledgeable enough to be able to distinguish one huge catapult from another. Nevertheless, she could distinguish the awesome and terrifying clattering and crashing sounds as the huge stones they projected constantly pounded the walls of the city.

  ‘How do they endure that day after day?’ Berengaria said to Edwina.

  Just in front of them a group of weary, dust-covered soldiers trooped past carrying stretchers on which lay wounded men covered in blood, some terribly mutilated and crying out in agony.

  ‘Do not look, my lady,’ Edwina said and Berengaria averted her eyes. Yet Edwina was unable to draw her gaze from the pitiful sight. ‘Where are they taking them?’ she asked the knight who walked by her side.

  ‘There are a number of medical facilities run by the Hospitallers at the rear of the lines. They will be well cared for,’ he replied in a calm matter-of-fact way as if the sight of them hadn’t troubled him at all.

  Could one eventually become accustomed to so much suffering? Warriors must have to do so. For once, Edwina was relieved that she had not been born a man.

  Edwina did find it difficult to understand why the king had decided to bring his new wife to this terrible place, but perhaps he’d had little choice. After leaving Cyprus they had sailed straight for Tyre, which was further north along the coast from Acre. Tyre was one of the few cities of the former kingdom that was still in Christian hands. It was controlled by Princess Isabella’s husband, Conrad de Montferrat, and it was he who had stubbornly refused the king and his followers access to the city. In Tyre, as the king had planned, Berengaria would have been safe and comfortable, but now instead she and her ladies would have to live in the middle of a war zone.

  By now they had passed through the French lires and were in English territory. The soldiers here seemed much more cheerful, greeting the ladies with smiles and cheers – it appeared that the queen’s arrival was considered a propitious event. Edwina could only presume that they believed that if the king had been confident enough to bring his wife here he must be equally confident of victory.

  There had been even more enthusiastic celebrations when Richard had landed three days ago but she and Berengaria had been forced to watch those from onboard the royal galley as the king did not want them to land until suitable preparations had been made for the queen. Edwina was proud to know that her king’s reputation as a formidable warrior was renowned far beyond Christendom. Rumours were rife among the fleet and she had heard it said that the Saracens feared and respected him above all other Christian leaders as they believed that he was the one man who could lead the Frankish forces to victory. Not surprisingly, when the Lionheart had first stepped ashore he had been greeted by frenzied shouting and cheering. Even from the ship anchored in the bay, she and Berengaria had been able to see the huge celebratory bonfires they made on the beach and hear the men’s voices raised in joy as they sang rousing Crusader hymns.

  ‘The men are all convinced that Acre will be ours in days now that the great Lionheart is here,’ the knight at Edwina’s side said with pride.

  ‘Let us hope that comes to pass,’ she replied.

  Judging by the banners she had seen fluttering above the tents just about every nation in Christendom was represented here and it heartened her to know that so many different people shared the same noble cause. In fact this camp greatly resembled a small city. They walked past lines of tents and many rows of tethered sturdy warhorses, which were used by the heavily armoured knights. She saw pavilions filled with weapons and supplies; another medical facility, staffed by Hospitallers; and even a small smithy. Somewhere, she knew, most likely some distance away from the military personnel, would be the washerwomen and ubiquitous camp followers who provided far more personal services for the men.

  It was at this point that she caught sight of Stephen striding towards her and Edwina’s heart leapt in her chest. He looked so magnificent in his armour and his chiselled features were breathlessly masculine. She sometimes forgot for a moment how handsome he was and she knew that she loved him more deeply now than she had before. It was a love that had survived many tribulations and would never die.

  They had barely spent any time together recently apart from those few halcyon days in Cyprus before the royal wedding. The very next morning Stephen, Richard and King Guy had set out in pursuit of Isaac Comenius. It had taken nigh on two weeks, but eventually the emperor had been captured. She had stood with Berengaria on the steps of the castle and watched as the captive was returned to Limassol. Appearing terrified, Isaac had prostrated himself before Richard, begged for forgiveness and pleaded for mercy. She had been told that, because of a past imprisonment in his youth, he was terrified by the thought of iron chains. The former emperor had been visibly relieved and thanked Richard profusely when the king had magnanimously promised not to put him in iron chains. Nevertheless Richard was not that forgiving a monarch, and he had then beckoned forwards a servant carrying a basket. Richard had kept his promise: there would be no iron chains because inside the basket were specially wrought chains of pure silver. For a brief moment, Edwina had even pitied the broken man Isaac became as he collapsed sobbing on the ground.

  ‘Your Majesty, welcome.’ Stephen bowed to Berengaria as he reached them. ‘Quarters have been prepared for you.’

  ‘Stephen.’ Berengaria acknowledged him with a warm smile. ‘Edwina and I are pleased that you are well. I should like to be conducted to the king straight away.’

  ‘Regretfully the king is unable to see you right at this moment, Majesty. He suggests that first you rest a while.’

  Edwina could see that Berengaria was disappointed even though she tried to conceal it. Despite the king’s apparent drunkenness their wedding night had been a success. Now that the queen had tasted the pleasures of her husband’s bed, she had told Edwina that she was eager to repeat the experience as often as possible but she had barely seen Richard since that night.

  ‘The queen would like to bathe,’ Edwina told Stephen.

  ‘A bath will be provided if necessary. However,’ he said worriedly, ‘water is difficult to come by here, would washing suffice?’

  ‘It will,’ Berengaria interjected regally.

  Unfortunately, Edwina’s enthusiasm for bathing had not rubbed off on the queen. Edwina was constantly troubled by the fact that few people she came across even washed on a regular basis and, despite the fact that she should be w
ell accustomed to it by now, she still found the strong body odours of some of the other nobles rather stomach-churning at times.

  ‘Is the royal compound near?’ Edwina asked Stephen.

  ‘The king has had a special compound constructed for the ladies of the court,’ he told her. ‘It is in the safest part of camp and will be well protected at all times.’ He glanced back at the massive earthworks along the entire rear of the camp. ‘Our spies tell us that Salah ad-Din and his men are camped in those hills in the distance so the earthworks are there to stop them trying to break though our lines.’

  ‘Why did the king not greet Berengaria when she landed?’ Edwina asked as Stephen led her into his tent. ‘She is upset at his reluctance to see her.’

  To be brutally honest Stephen had other matters on his mind at this time, which were much more important to him than the romantic notions Berengaria held about her new husband. He wanted Edwina, needed to strip her naked and make love to her right now. Yet he had to force himself to hold back on his lustful urges. She deserved to know the truth and he hoped then when she learnt it she would be able to explain the situation to the queen in a thoughtful and tactful manner.

  ‘He is not reluctant to see her.’ Stephen couldn’t resist pulling Edwina into his arms. He held her close, her breasts pressed against his armoured chest. Tenderly he kissed her cheek, knowing that once his mouth made contact with hers he would lose all sense and reason in the height of his desire for her. Forcing himself to hold back, he contented himself with brushing his lips against her jasmine-scented hair. ‘Richard is ill – he fears his condition may upset Berengaria.’

  ‘Ill!’ Edwina exclaimed, tipping back her head So that she could see into his green eyes. ‘Not seriously so, I trust?’

  ‘It is bad but not life-threatening.’

  ‘Bad, how bad?’

  ‘He will recover, given time. The illness is called Arnaldia. The King of France suffers from it as well but to a lesser degree.’

  Taking her hand he led her deeper into the tent, hoping that she would notice the latest addition to his furnishings. Half hidden behind the curtain, which gave some privacy to his sleeping quarters, was a wide divan covered with a brocade counterpane and scattered with brilliantly coloured silk pillows. During warfare his lodgings were usually quite spartan but he had added more comforts in order to please Edwina. He hoped that she would be able to discreetly share these quarters with him when the queen did not require her presence.

  ‘Arnaldia?’ Edwina queried. ‘I’ve not heard of it.’

  ‘It is not that uncommon in the Holy Land. Some physicians say it is caused by the Frankish diet which, coupled with heat, upsets the balance of humours in the body.’ Stephen did not think it wise to tell her of the symptoms. The sudden high fever and soreness of the mouth and gums were bad enough, but the king had coped with that without complaint. However, Richard was vain about his looks and he had looked at Stephen in horror when the physician had warned him that his hair might fall out and his nails loosen. ‘He will recover in time and with the right treatment, especially now that I have persuaded him to allow an Arab physician to treat him.’

  ‘A Saracen?’ she asked worriedly. ‘Is that wise?’

  Stephen smiled reassuringly. ‘He will not harm Richard. In fact his treatments are more to be trusted than those of Frankish physicians. Doctors from the East are far more knowledgeable and this man is a devout Christian.’

  ‘Are there many Christians among the Arabs?’ Edwina looked confused.

  ‘Why should there not be? This land is the birthplace of Our Lord and he was an Arab or more precisely a Palestinian. Christianity is nearly twelve hundred years old while the Moslems’ great prophet Mohammed preached less than six hundred years ago.’

  ‘For some reason I always thought their religion far older than ours. How do you know so much about it, Stephen?’

  ‘In truth, I do not know that much. Nevertheless, my godfather encouraged me to read Arabic literature and I have even studied parts of their holy book the Qur’an.’

  ‘It appears that I have much to learn about this land.’ Edwina’s eyes at last alighted on the divan. ‘That looks comfortable.’

  ‘It was recently liberated from a Saracen caravan. I thought that you might appreciate the luxury, as opposed to a hard soldier’s pallet. I doubt that you will have much privacy in the queen’s compound so I could not possibly visit you there at night.’

  ‘Berengaria relies on me. If it were not so I would move in here with you and not care one jot for the scandal it caused.’

  ‘Life here may be less regimented than at court but we will still be expected to maintain at least an air of morality and I have no wish for your reputation to be compromised. We have many years ahead to be together, do we not?’

  He saw concern in her blue eyes for a moment before she managed to conceal it and he knew that she feared he might perish in battle. Life as a knight could be dangerous and death was always a possibility. He could not in good conscience lead her to believe otherwise. He would go to Richard and beg permission to marry her right now if he could but, despite the fact that she had loathed Hugh, she still had to maintain the necessary period of mourning before she took a new husband.

  As Stephen looked lovingly at Edwina he was reminded of the last time she had been in his bed, her lips swollen with kisses, her blue eyes languorous with desire, those luscious breasts and sweet cherry-coloured nipples. Lust and love entwined like the strands of a rope, binding her even more securely to him than a wedding ring ever could. Just thinking of her, remembering the last night they had spent together and the passion they had shared, turned his cock rock hard. He could feel it pressing against the heavy constriction of his chainmail leggings.

  ‘I pray that we do have many years ahead of us after this war is over,’ she said softly.

  ‘And in the meantime this tent can be our own private refuge from the constraints of court life and the rigours of warfare.’ Tenderly he drew her towards the divan.

  ‘Have we time?’ she asked with a teasing smile.

  ‘I will make time. While his illness prevails, the king has left me in charge of his army, much to Guy’s disgust. So everyone else will have to wait for me, will they not?’

  ‘I will have to help you out of your armour.’ Edwina eyed his second-best surcoat. He had not worn the old one because it was spattered with blood and he did not want to upset her feminine sensibilities. ‘I used to help my brother Fulk when he attended tournaments in his youth.’

  As Stephen flung off his surcoat, she sank to her knees and began to unlace his chainmail leggings, but not surprisingly she was a little more clumsy and slower than his squire would be. Once she had undone the complex laces, she let the heavy leggings fall to the ground.

  Straightening, Edwina reached for the buckles of his hauberk and unfastened them but she wisely did not try to help him remove the weighty garment. Stephen struggled out of it and placed it on its wooden stand. Beneath the mail he wore a thickly padded gambeson, a shirt, breeches and boots, which he removed swiftly, eager now to get her into bed.

  As he tossed aside his sweat-soaked garments, he was all too conscious of the seductive way Edwina was looking at him. ‘I hope I don’t stink too much,’ he said anxiously as he resisted the temptation to crudely sniff his armpits.

  ‘Even at your worst, my love, compared to other noblemen you smell like a garden of flowers. At least it is the honest sweat of battle and not the stink of months of unwashed skin,’ she said as she tore off her modest silk gown, followed by her shift.

  Stephen’s eyes hungrily roved Edwina’s body as she sank down on the divan. Never had she looked more beautiful to him. Her curves were returning now; he could see it in the splay of her hips below her narrow waist and in the extra fullness of her creamy breasts. ‘You are so lovely,’ he said huskily. ‘Lovelier than any woman I have ever laid eyes on.’

  ‘If you say that often enough I might come t
o believe it,’ she said as he stepped towards her.

  Stephen threw himself onto the divan, feeling it give a little under his weight. He pulled her into his arms and, as their lips made contact, a fiery spark of desire travelled down to his belly and into his cock, which was already achingly hard. Her mouth softened and opened and their tongues entwined, causing the spark to burst into flames, whipping his desire like the hot desert winds into a sirocco of lust. He kissed her hard and deep, wanting to place his own possessive mark on her forever.

  Catching her lower lips between his teeth, Stephen nibbled the soft flesh seductively, then kissed her again, long, slowly and languorously until she was gasping for breath. His lips made love to her mouth while his hands moved over her beautiful body. Roughly palming her breasts, he kneaded them, tugging at her nipples until they stiffened into firm peaks.

  His hot breath brushed her cheek, slid down her neck and took possession of one of those sweet little teats, sucking and nipping at the rosy bud until she gave a moan of pleasure. Stephen could not resist the temptation a moment longer; he brushed his sword-roughened fingers against her sex and pressed the heel of his hand against her pubic mound. Her breathing quickened and her thighs rolled open, inviting him to enter the most seductive, sacred part of her body. Desire washed over him, hot and powerful as the sun, as he explored the valley of her sex and slid his fingers into her velvety sheath. It seemed to swallow him up, urging him to venture deeper, as Edwina moaned again, pressing her hips demandingly against his hand.

  By now Stephen was so aroused that he feared he might climax just by touching her and that was not his aim; he wanted to come inside her and experience the pulsing heat of her vagina as she too reached fulfilment