by Traci E Hall
“Over there. Pour yourself a cup. Pour one for me too. I’ve missed you, my friend. I’ve needed your counsel.”
Payen handed the king a goblet of spiced wine, then filled one for himself. “I am here at your disposal.”
“I love my wife.” Louis sounded faintly embarrassed.
“I know.” Payen nodded, uncomfortable. What if he admitted to himself that what he felt for Catherine was love? He stilled. Thinking. Wondering. Poking the idea apart.
Louis cleared his throat. “You know as well that Odo is not as fond of Eleanor as I would wish, but the two both want to tell me that their way is the right way. I listen.” He sipped his wine. “And make my own decisions.”
“You are the king.” Payen chuckled. “Such a duty should come with a few benefits.”
“You listen without judgment.” Louis looked at him intently. “Have you witnessed Eleanor engaging in any peculiar behavior?”
“Non. When I have been with her, she is charming, amusing, and an interesting conversationalist. She doesn’t complain about being on horseback all day. Her views on women’s roles in society are certainly different, and she says she encourages such thinking in her Court of Love.”
“Pah, that.” The king drank his wine. “An excuse to play music and write poetry. But if it makes her happy?” He shrugged. “I have no quarrel.”
Payen smiled into his goblet.
Louis leaned over and whispered, “What I have to say must not leave this tent. I believe Eleanor, despite my disapproval, remains in contact with Raymond of Antioch.”
Payen was surprised. “She is looking forward to a nice visit with her uncle when we arrive in Antioch next month and to being pampered in a palace she can trust, but I have not witnessed any evidence that they’re in contact.”
“She remains bitter about Constantinople.” Louis scratched at his beard. “Now, about this boy Gaston. Eleanor thinks to use him as a pawn against Pope Eugene III.”
Payen’s hand tightened on the goblet. “And you?”
“The boy belongs in Rome. The pilgrimage is going so well that we will send him there with stories of victory for God once we are through. I don’t want anything more than the child’s safety. I trust him in your care.”
“I accept your charge with honor.” Payen bowed his head.
“Is there anything you want? Land? A bigger title: count or baron? I’m sure Odo could find you something.”
In the past few weeks, he’d given a lot of thought to what he wanted. “I wish to be released from the oath I swore to my father.”
“What oath? Why is this the first I am hearing of it?”
“My father took it personally that it was Henri who challenged the king to a race, and when Philip died, my brother ran away with a Scottish beauty with no thought to honor. He disgraced our family in your eyes.” Payen had never shared his pledge with Louis, not wanting him to feel obligated to the de Montfers. “I promised to never bring shame to our family name.”
“My reckless brother took the challenge and died in the market, his horse tripping over a pig. It could have been a child! He was a fool. I don’t hold your family responsible. Both young men were impetuous. And Philip had a mean streak.” Louis shivered. “So why do you need to be released from the oath? Do you go in search of disgrace?”
Payen hummed. “I planned to marry a plain wife, one who would build our family coffers. Give me responsible children.”
“How dull. I release you from that oath.”
“I didn’t make it to you.” Payen set down his empty goblet, stretching his neck muscles.
“Listen to me. I am king.”
Payen stared at Louis, his heart lightening in small increments.
“As you said, being king should have some benefits.” He stood and placed a hand on Payen’s shoulder. “I, King Louis VII of France, release you, Payen de Montfer, from an oath you swore as a mere boy. I have seen the oath completed. You are a man of honor.”
“Merci.”
Louis sat down. “You need a larger title.”
“I don’t require . . . Thank you,” Payen said, humbled.
“Your father will be content with more land?” Louis eyed him shrewdly. “To what do we owe this change of heart?”
Payen looked Louis directly in the eye. Anything was possible. “I am in love. I think.”
Louis stood, grabbing the wine and filling both of their goblets. “At last you feel love and faith in mankind. Don’t keep me in suspense. Who is the fortunate lady?” He grinned.
Oddly nervous, Payen couldn’t stop his smile from spreading. “Lady Catherine le Rochefort.”
“Dear God.” Louis sat down. “We will need to make you a baron to gain your father’s forgiveness.”
Chapter Seventeen
Later that night, Catherine hid in the queen’s tent. She sent Larissa to ask after Gaston’s health and give her regards to de Montfer for the evening. She had no intentions of doing anything more stressful than partake in lighthearted gossip.
Mamie and Fay chattered with the queen about bringing some of the Byzantine fashions to France, while Catherine reclined on the chaise. She kept her eyes closed as she rested, careful not to fall asleep, though her bones ached with weariness.
Poor Sarah seemed miserable and exhausted. Catherine worried Sarah’s pregnancy wasn’t going well, but there was no way to help her friend.
Catherine exhaled, then inhaled slowly, pressing her shoulders against the cushioned velvet.
So nice to relax. Just for a while. A little bit longer.
A. Little. Bit. Longer.
Ragenard stood at the door of their rented room, pointing to his gloves on the table.
She lay on the pallet, still warm from their lovemaking.
“Would you please bring me the gloves?”
“I wish you wouldn’t go today. You don’t have your chain mail back from the blacksmith, and to joust with leather armor is asking for harm.”
“I have to win today to pay the blacksmith for repairs. Please bring me my gloves.”
“You just want to see me naked.”
“Trust me, Catherine, I am no fool.” He grinned his promising grin.
She stood to bring the knight his gloves.
“I will be home with a purse large enough to buy you dinner, so be ready, my lady.”
“I would rather you stay home, and we can eat leftover bread.”
“The bread was stale when we got it two days ago. It is not like cheese, which tastes better with mold. I will be fine.” His brown eyes told her he loved her.
“We should send a letter to my family.”
“Let’s not argue about this today. I would have money to go with my pride when I ask your father’s forgiveness for whisking his daughter away.”
She smiled, knowing he never wanted to talk about it. She blew him a kiss as he left.
He was carried home on a makeshift litter, bleeding from his gut. The broken lance remained in his abdomen.
“Make it right, Catherine. Make it right.”
How?
“Wake, Catherine,” Fay said, lightly brushing her forehead with the back of her hand. “You are dreaming.”
“Crying,” Sarah added, empathy in her eyes.
Catherine sat up, dizzy. Mamie handed her a cloth napkin, and Catherine wiped her face, absorbing the dream. “Ragenard told me with his dying breath to make things right. And then he passed on, and I . . . I made a worse mess of things.”
“We heard,” Mamie said sympathetically.
Eleanor pulled up a stool and took Catherine’s hands in hers. “Peony, darling, it is time for you to release Ragenard’s spirit. If he haunts you, it is because you won’t let him go.”
“That isn’t true!” Catherine closed her eyes, wondering if she was wrong. The necklace got so hot it burned, and she lifted it from her gown.
“What happened?” Eleanor said. “Catherine, you have a red line around your neck.”
“See? Ragenard is get
ting stronger. He doesn’t approve of the feelings I have for Payen, and—”
“You have feelings for Payen?” Sarah said in disbelief. “But he is so, so arrogant and serious and . . . no fun.”
“That is not the important thing here, Sarah,” Eleanor said. “Catherine, you think Ragenard made that mark on your skin?”
“That is the necklace he gave you, isn’t it?” Fay said.
“Why don’t you take it off if it gets hot?” Mamie said.
“It only started happening in Nicaea. Whenever I am around Payen. It’s as if Ragenard is warning me that I have an obligation yet to fulfill.”
“Such as?” Eleanor said.
“I . . .” She looked at the queen and swallowed. “As you know, I made this journey looking forward to the absolution it would provide.” She took a deep breath and stared down at the large sparkling diamond in her palm. “I must bring this family heirloom to Jerusalem in exchange for the priest praying for Ragenard’s and George’s souls.”
“Who is George?” Fay said.
“Did you ignore your wedding vows, Catherine?” Mamie said.
“No. George is Ragenard’s brother.” She met her friends’ gazes. “I killed him. Killed him with a candlestick when he strangled me. He was out of his head with grief, and I would have given him the necklace, but he had his hands around my throat, and—” Tears fell as if it had happened yesterday.
“So that’s your secret. Hmm. I knew you were hiding something,” Sarah said.
“And why the necklace makes you sad.” Fay nodded.
“It was him or you, Catherine. Must you feel so guilty about it that it robs you of rest?” Mamie stood tall.
Catherine briefly closed her eyes. “It was an accident. I ruined the Clemont family. I am not a nice person.”
Fay rubbed Catherine’s back. “Yes, you are.”
Between hiccups and tears, she managed, “I was supposed to marry George, but I ran away with Ragenard. It seems Ragenard stole this necklace from his brother. Perhaps that is what he wanted me to make right? He wanted to be buried at Clemont Manor.” She dabbed at her nose. “Instead, I killed the last Clemont—”
“Enough, Peony,” Eleanor said. “What did you hope to gain bringing this necklace all the way to Jerusalem?”
“Absolution, sanctioned by Pope Eugene III.”
“For finishing the crusade.” Mamie nodded. “We are close.”
“Forgiveness comes from within,” Fay whispered, poking at Catherine’s leg. “You must forgive yourself. Ragenard’s death was not your fault, and George was trying to kill you. Perhaps the necklace heats in reaction to your feelings.”
Catherine shook her head. “The necklace heats because Ragenard is jealous.”
“I cannot believe we are having a discussion about possessed necklaces.” Sarah crossed her arms. “Have it blessed by the priest and be done with it.”
“This is the first time it’s ever left a mark.” Catherine touched the thin welt about her throat.
“It gives me the shivers,” Mamie declared. “Let’s toss it in the river.”
“I can’t part with it.” Catherine curled her hand over the gold. “It is the only way I can get Ragenard and George out of purgatory. They were the last of their line, and I left them both dead. Unburied.”
“Fay is right in this,” Eleanor said firmly. “You must forgive yourself and let Ragenard go. I would leave George’s black soul to God.”
Payen walked around the campsite, keeping the queen’s tent in view at all times. Night had descended hours ago, but the moon and stars, with the occasional soldier’s torch, gave ample light. Knights, seated around a low-burning fire, drank ale. The noblewomen were already in bed.
If he caught a glimpse of Catherine, he could tell her his changed fortune. With his oath completed, he could choose a wife as he pleased. If he wanted a passionate woman who happened to be more beautiful than any goddess, he could have her.
If the lady said yes.
At last, Catherine left the crimson and white tent.
He breathed a sigh of relief.
She stepped, alone, toward the tables where giant pots of stew waited.
Not wanting to startle her or give her a chance to bolt, Payen crept quietly behind her. “Catherine?”
She did not turn. “I heard you coming, de Montfer, from a hundred paces back. If you are trying to catch someone unaware, you shouldn’t break every twig in your path.”
Dumfounded, he said nothing as she ladled thick bits of meat with savory brown gravy into a bowl. His own stomach growled, and she passed the bowl back to him without looking his way. She picked up another bowl for herself.
“I thought I was being quiet.” He cupped the hot bowl in one hand, his mouth watering.
“What do you want? I am ready to argue with you.” She glanced at him. “The good thing about being this tired is that for once, I can look at you and my toes don’t curl.”
Since he shared the affliction, he understood but didn’t like it.
She brushed past him and took a seat on a fallen log.
Taking her dagger from the small sheath at her waist, Catherine stabbed a piece of meat, put it in her mouth, and started chewing, her tongue flicking out to catch a drop of gravy.
Her lips were so inviting . . .
“I wanted to let you know that I have been formally released from my oath to my family. The king has pronounced it completed. I might get a rise in rank.” And I love you . . .
She finished chewing, licking gravy from the sharp blade. “Hmm.” She speared another piece.
He grabbed her wrist before she popped it between her pink lips. “Did you hear me?”
“Do you want me to break your arm?” Her eyes dared him.
Payen released her wrist. “I like you better when you are moaning beneath me.” He’d never thought to speak to a woman this way, but Catherine, strong and capable Catherine, could stand the truth.
She spit out a piece of gristle. “Just because you are free from your oath does not mean that I am. I”—she lowered her voice even more—“am a killer. And if you want to live to see tomorrow, I suggest you shut up and eat your stew.”
“I like you this way too.” Payen took his spoon from his pouch. “You are fierce when you are hungry.”
Catherine glared at him as she held her knife to the bowl of meat.
He let her eat and finished his bowl first, remaining quiet while Catherine scooped the last onion.
At long, long last, she stood. “Let’s rinse these in the river.”
They crossed through the clearing, where men, full from the evening meal, talked quietly and drank ale.
Payen, not susceptible to ghosts or spirits, felt something simmering in the air.
Catherine rubbed the chill from her arms and snuggled her cloak about her throat.
He would rather take her cloak off and lay her down along the forest floor. Prove to her how he loved her, how he didn’t care at all that she had protected herself from a violent crime, that he was proud of her strength. That he didn’t mean to call her unreasonable. Just . . . a woman. His woman.
They kneeled side by side, and Payen breathed in the scent of peony from Catherine’s hair. She hadn’t bothered with a veil when she’d snuck out for stew, and the thick, sable braids begged for smoothing. One fell over her shoulder, landing in the water.
“May I?” he asked before touching her.
“Oui. I would not really break your arm.” She laughed warmly. “I was hungry. And tired. I apologize.”
“I shouldn’t have announced my news like that.”
“I’ve been thinking about what you said. I wish it made a difference. However, I must get absolution. I promised Ragenard’s ghost I would give his family heirloom to the church in exchange for his soul.” She set the bowl upside down on the grass to dry. “And George’s.”
A promise to a ghost?
Payen sighed.
She believed it, and that
was all that mattered. He would help her see it through.
“What happens if you don’t get absolution?”
She peered at him. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“I don’t know. What if?”
“Then I would join George and Ragenard, caught between heaven and hell, where my soul could scream in anguish for eternity.”
He winced.
She sat back on her heels. “Do you think we won’t get the pope’s blessing?”
“Once we save Edessa.” He gave a wry chuckle, his world upside down. “I thought when I told you I was free, you would cry tears of delight and fall into my waiting arms. And I would pledge my undying love.”
“And do you?” She raised her gaze to meet his. “Love me?”
“I do. I will wait for you . . . as long as you need.”
She slowly stood, offering her hand to help him up. He accepted, craving her touch.
She kissed his cheek, like a sister, not a lover. Looking directly into his eyes, she stomped on his heart. “Don’t wait.”
Screaming erupted from the other side of the camp.
Payen pulled his sword from its sheath. He tried to push Catherine behind him, but she elbowed him and ran toward the chaos, her short sword already in hand. She leaped over the fallen tree they’d shared their meal on as if it were a mere puddle.
“Whoa,” he muttered, having no choice but to do the same. He made it barely, if the scrape of cloth against bark was anything to go by.
Catherine led the way into the shouting mass, jostling into the center.
Unlike her, he had to stop. To observe. To make the right move.
Arrows fell at his feet, quivering as they pierced the ground in front of him. One, two, and three. He stepped away from the light of the torches, which was bright enough to make him a target. His cloak, blue and gold, pronounced his allegiance.
His breath caught, and he searched for Catherine in the melee.
Her capable voice demanded silence. The circle parted as she, with Mamie and Fay, swept people to the side. “Give him air,” Catherine ordered.
He let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding.
Dominus kneeled by a fallen knight, the white feather visible in the shadows. The man didn’t move.