by Traci E Hall
His heart lighter, he went in search of the sturdy canvas needed for tents, pausing to look at silver bracelets and wondering if Catherine would like a gift.
An angry German-accented voice spoke in Greek.
Payen cautiously peered around the corner.
Hector argued with the Byzantine emperor’s messenger, the same one who had been at camp earlier.
Payen’s gut knotted. Catherine suspected Manuel and Conrad worked together against Louis.
It all came together. Every time the German emperor was around Manuel so was Hector as his aide-de-camp. And Hector reported to the pope on behalf of Conrad.
Payen inched forward to hear. His boot landed on something, and a cat ran from him, yowling.
Hector and the ambassador each looked up with guilt and surprise.
Payen lifted his hand in greeting, speaking only in French. “Hector! I thought I heard your voice. Did Lady Catherine make it to Emperor Conrad?”
Hector frowned.
“King Louis is worried because the emperor reopened that wound on his back.”
Hector visibly relaxed and answered in French. “Oh. I did not see her, but Emperor Conrad is fine,” the German said. “In fact, I bring a letter of goodwill from him to Emperor Manuel.”
Goodwill? Payen nodded, looked down to make sure there were no cats or traps, and stepped away with a casual nod. “See you at camp.”
He turned, and the Byzantine messenger asked Hector in Greek, “Can he be trusted?”
“Those Franks are a crude lot. I don’t like him, but he’s harmless.”
Harmless? Payen finished with the supplier and spent more time than he wanted ensuring that the supplies he’d bought made it to the carts.
Urgently aware of the German’s perfidy, Payen raced his stallion back to the field.
Which was empty.
He rode next to the Valley of Decervion, a green gulch with a peaceful river meandering down the hill. Arriving at camp before dusk, he spotted King Louis’s royal standard and rushed to the large, plain white tent. No guards.
He dismounted and peered inside. The tent was dark.
Where would Louis be? The priests might be readying for Christmas. Or the king could be saying prayers. He wouldn’t appreciate an interruption.
Which left two people he could tell: Conrad and Catherine.
Was Conrad innocent or guilty along with Hector?
Where would Conrad’s tent be? He shaded his eyes, searching for the German standard.
There, along the lower ridge.
Nobles gathered in clusters, knights and soldiers pitched tents, and squires gathered firewood. Everything seemed normal.
Uneasy, Payen left his horse and walked to Conrad’s tent. No guards here either. He opened the flap, pausing as he pushed on the canvas. This tent seemed dark too. If Conrad was sleeping . . .
He stepped in and was yanked forward, a knife digging into his throat.
Chapter Twenty
“You ride slow, old man,” Hector informed him with garlic-scented breath.
Right now, Payen felt slow. He’d known something was wrong and walked inside anyway. He’d behaved out of character and was reminded why caution was the better part of valor.
“I had to ensure the supplies on the cart were what I ordered,” he said calmly. “These things take time.” As he spoke, he looked around the inside of the gloomy tent, smaller by half compared to Queen Eleanor’s. The interior held a writing desk and a chair, a few trunks, another chair, a stool, and a bed. He smelled the tang of ink, remembering that Hector told him Conrad had written a letter to Manuel.
Conrad, white-faced and sweaty, sat on the bed.
Payen’s anger leaped when he saw Louis sitting on a small stool, his hands tied behind his back.
Lady Catherine, her eyes promising retribution, perched on the edge of the trunk, wrists bound by her peony scarf.
Fay sat at her feet, parchment crumpled in her hand.
His mouth dried.
“What did I interrupt?” Though it didn’t show in his voice, his heart beat so hard it hurt his chest. He’d sent Catherine here, knowing she would look through Conrad’s things. This was his fault.
Conrad groaned and tried to stand but collapsed, obviously in pain. “I caught this little bitch going through my correspondence.”
Payen looked at Fay. What else did she have in her hand?
Conrad laughed sourly. “Not her. The beautiful one. I wondered what happened to my letters from Irene. You took them, didn’t you? And I trusted you.” He eyed Catherine. “I caught you with your hand in the trunk.”
Catherine remained mute.
“Why does Fay have the parchment?” Payen stalled for time, forming a plan.
“She took it from Catherine as the lady tried to hide it. Women.” Conrad sneered at Fay, sweat on his upper lip. “Hector told his whore to kneel, and she did as told. This other one tried to break my thumb.”
Payen stilled, afraid to look at Catherine and give anything away. “That doesn’t explain why King Louis is bound.”
Fay cried softly, holding the letter to her breast.
Conrad pulled at the corner but couldn’t get it from her grasp. He was too weak to force the issue. Or Fay was too strong.
Payen would never doubt the queen’s guards again.
“The king interrupted me when I was fighting with Catherine. Hector, please untie him.” Conrad’s breaths were short, sharp. “I won’t be able to help you if you don’t release Louis immediately.”
“What does the letter say?” Payen said, as if he had any right to know.
Catherine took a breath and glared at Conrad. “He asks Emperor Manuel to give him shelter; he tires of praying all the time with our good King Louis and wishes to sleep in a warm bed, welcomed by his kin. Oh, for a large sum of money, Conrad will sign over the dower lands Emperor Manuel wants.”
“I warn you about Manuel, Conrad.” Louis’s skin flushed.
Payen summoned all his self-control to remain still and outwardly undisturbed at the abuse his liege suffered.
From the corner of his eye, Payen saw Catherine discreetly move her hands, loosening her fabric bonds on her wrists.
Louis continued, “He will offer help with one hand and trick you with the other. It happened to you. Your own aide-de-camp saw it with the Varangian Guard.”
Hector shook his head and laughed. The deceit, topped with the garlic, was nauseating.
“Manuel won’t treat me so poorly. I have something he wants.” Conrad coughed and sucked in a breath. “This is nothing against you, Louis.”
“I have something he wants just as much,” Hector told Conrad.
Hector’s knife pressed against Payen’s throat, and a warm trickle of blood dripped down his stinging neck.
Hector continued, “It’s time to board the ship. I have a nice reward waiting in Constantinople for me.”
“What are you talking about?” Conrad demanded. “What have you done to earn a reward?”
“I have yet to finish my work.” Hector grinned, nicking Payen’s throat again.
Payen kept his gaze forward, which just so happened to give him a good view of Catherine and Fay.
“If you will stand up, Emperor Conrad, then I will worsen that wound so it appears you died of it. As for the rest of you? I am tempted to let my Turkish friends have you. They too have offered money for a chance to kill a king.”
Manuel was paying Hector to kill everyone? That didn’t seem right, even for the treacherous Byzantine emperor.
Payen balanced himself, prepared to move.
“And the pope? What does he think of your plan to kill the monarchs in charge of rescuing Edessa?” Catherine held Hector’s gaze.
“How will he ever know? For the amount of coin I am getting from Manuel, I can bribe the entire Turkish army to ensure that not one of you makes it out of this valley alive. The pope knows what I tell him to know.”
Hector played everyo
ne for coin. Payen banked his fury. “You have no honor. Your money will do you no good.”
“Money rules. I have no need of honor.”
Catherine nodded and jerked her hands free, wielding Fay’s dagger as she ran toward Hector.
Fay jumped up, catching the German traitor in the gut with a solid kick.
Payen grabbed Hector’s arm, twisting until he heard a crack. Payen shoved the man back, Catherine and Fay standing ready. Furious, but knowing anger led to mistakes, he kept a solid grip on the man’s arm. “Before this night is through, you will tell us everything.”
Payen heard the sound of iron flying past his chest, then the slick slice of metal piercing flesh. He turned to Hector as blood spurted freely from the man’s neck.
Conrad’s dagger quivered in the dying man’s throat. Payen turned to the emperor, who rose unsteadily.
“He was a traitor. I will send his head to Manuel.”
Catherine took a hot bath in the privacy of Queen Eleanor’s tent. She had to get the blood off.
It wasn’t long before Mamie entered. “Would you like me to scrub your back?”
“Non. This feels wonderful.” Catherine closed her eyes and leaned back, her arms tucked inside the metal tub, her knees barely visible.
“I am here if you want to talk.”
Catherine didn’t answer, hoping Mamie would take the hint. Then Sarah came, bringing a bottle of wine and a round of cheese. Fay was next, and last came Eleanor.
It was a veritable party, all while Catherine soaked behind a small screen. The brazier, filled with coals, radiated warmth. She wasn’t getting out of the tub until the water cooled. She’d earned a long soak. The rest of the queen’s guards were clearly accustomed to violence. Apparently she would never get used to being covered in a man’s blood.
“You are so quiet, mon fleur. Are you certain you won’t have a cup of wine with valerian? I promise it will make you sleep. No nightmares,” Eleanor said over the screen.
“I am fine,” Catherine answered. If she said it long enough, eventually it would be true. Unless she let her mind rest long enough to uncover all she’d buried.
“You have an ardent admirer in de Montfer’s squire.” Mamie whistled. “And he will be a handsome one in time.”
“Stay away from Jacques, Mamie.” Catherine glared, rubbing the rosemary-scented bar across her arm. “He is an innocent.”
“For now. Boys do become men, thank God.”
Catherine rolled her eyes and soaped a leg.
Sarah peered over the edge. “Are you all right, Catherine? Fay said it was awful.”
The kindness beckoned tears, which she quickly wiped away. “It happened so fast.” She pushed a tendril of hair behind her ear. “I had no idea Fay was handing me her eating dagger in the crumpled parchment. I was able to slice through the scarf and signal Payen. We all leaped at Hector at the same time. Payen had him captive.” She touched her throat, remembering the cut he’d sustained.
“But it was Conrad who killed him,” Eleanor said.
“Right after Payen told Hector to tell us everything about Manuel,” Catherine said, knowing she would never forget the look of disbelief on Hector’s face as he died.
“Conrad didn’t want his secrets spilled.” Eleanor now peered over the screen, her face next to Sarah’s. “Which means he harbors them.”
“I am glad we caught Hector before he killed anybody,” Catherine said. “Although I think he may have been the one to set up the ambush with Conrad. I just don’t understand why he would risk everything for money. Where would he go after it was all over? What kind of life could he live on stolen gains?”
“You are tenderhearted,” Eleanor said. “Hector was the link between Manuel and Conrad, and it will be interesting to hear what comes of Conrad returning to Constantinople with Hector’s head in a basket.”
“Fay,” Sarah said, “you haven’t shared how you are doing after all this. It was a difficult assignment.”
“Oui.” Fay cleared her throat. “I thought it was Hector. I knew for sure when everyone went to fight the Turks except him. I slipped away from the corral and listened behind the tree next to the tent as Hector met with Emperor Manuel’s messenger. Manuel wanted Hector to cause more dissension between Louis and Conrad so the army would split and the crusade would end here. Manuel does not want us in Asia Minor. He views this as his territory and us as possible usurpers.”
“Louis does not care to look the fool,” Eleanor said. “He trusted Conrad and learned the hard way not to trust Manuel. He feels terrible that Conrad is returning to Constantinople, but at least Conrad will sign over the dower lands he’s been holding of Irene’s.”
“For money.” Fay snickered. “Not because it is the right thing to do.”
“I know.” Eleanor laughed softly. “My husband does not understand such devious behavior. His heart is pure.”
“But to kill Conrad, his own liege?” Catherine rested an elbow on the edge of the tub to look up at Eleanor.
“It’s possible Manuel wanted those dower lands any way he could get them. Conrad’s death could make it easier. Catherine, your fingers are wrinkled.”
“Fine.” Catherine stood and dried her body and wrapped her hair with a large absorbent cloth. She felt clean and clearheaded. The bath worked like a full night’s sleep on her tired mind. She dressed in a simple, loose robe of pink silk edged with peony flowers, then joined the ladies.
“That was the best gift I’ve had in a long time. Thank you.”
“Would you like to go next, Fay?” Sarah said.
“Go ahead. I will wait. We will be here four wonderful days.” Fay smiled, but her gray eyes held a hint of something that hadn’t been there before.
What had she given up to catch Hector? Someday they could talk about it, but right now it was all too fresh.
Catherine removed the cloth on her head and finger combed her hair.
“I am so proud of my guard. I could not have chosen a finer group to aid my quest for knowledge, truth. Catherine, Fay, you kept us from slavery to the Turks. Shall we celebrate? We can invite de Montfer and Louis. Catherine, you can play your fiddle. You haven’t brought it out once since Constantinople.”
Before meeting Payen, she’d simply enjoyed the music. Now every love song brought to mind a pair of amber eyes. Eyes she couldn’t have.
Payen de Montfer had fought bravely in the small but decisive skirmish with the Turks. He’d saved them all from Hector.
After, he’d claimed not to feel the cut on his throat. When she had touched the tender area on his neck, she’d felt him tremble.
The only thing keeping her from his bed was her promise to a dead man. Could she bear it any longer?
They could have all died today.
A smile tugged at her lips.
Yet they hadn’t.
Her body tingled with anticipation. Four days of rest.
Catherine nodded. “I would be delighted to play.”
“And will you be kind to Lord de Montfer, our hero?” Eleanor said. “The man is handsome, courageous, intelligent, and able to keep up with you. You should reconsider your feelings for him.”
Catherine looked up. “My feelings are not the issue. I love him.” The admission was rather easy. It felt right.
“You do?” Mamie clasped her hands and smiled.
“Then please give up the guilt you hold toward Ragenard.” Eleanor set her wine down.
“I am.” Albeit temporarily. “A Christmas gift to me.” Ragenard’s necklace heated.
“Not fair,” Mamie said. “If Catherine gets a gorgeous man for Christmas, I think we should all get one.”
“I don’t want one,” Sarah mumbled from the other side of the screen.
“You can’t give yours back,” Fay said. “Poor Jonathon.”
“Poor Jonathon, my left foot! If you want him, he is all yours.”
“Finish your bath,” Eleanor said. “We want to sing and dance. And it would be
nice if you could at least pretend to be happy for the evening. That is an order from your queen.”
The inside of Queen Eleanor’s tent sparkled with oil lamps, the crystal painting color on the inside walls. The December night air refreshed the interior each time someone walked through the tent flap. Large pillows sat in corners, bright scarves draped over trunks, and carpets softened the floor.
Payen could not look away from Catherine. Her hair was brushed loose, and tiny silk peonies entwined a silver coronet keeping a pale pink veil in place. She perched on the edge of the blue velvet chaise, dainty embroidered slippers peeking beneath the hem of her pink gown.
A few nobles, guests of the queen, listened as she lightly strummed a small fiddle, singing a song of love.
He didn’t miss a single enticing glance she sent his way. Had she changed her mind?
He would claim her tonight, if she would have him.
“They are lovely.” Louis approached from behind, observing Catherine play.
Fay, wearing a yellow gown trimmed in gold and ivory, stood behind the chaise, occasionally harmonizing.
Sarah, in dark orange, lightly tapped a handheld drum.
Mamie, in red, clapped along.
Eleanor, draped in French blue and silver, sat next to Catherine on the chaise, content.
“Oui, but I have eyes for only one.” Payen chose to wear black this night, rather than the king’s colors. He would be his own man as he wooed his lady fair. “The one in pink, if you were wondering.”
King Louis laughed. “I myself am partial to blue.” He cleared his throat. “Have you discussed your fortune with the lady yet?”
“I was waiting for a break in the music. It can wait.”
“You are my new ambassador to the crown.” Louis chuckled. “I very much like that title. It just came to me. It will allow you to travel, observe, and collect information. With a like-minded wife.”
“It must remain our secret,” Payen whispered.
He’d told Louis everything, apologizing for holding back information when his duty was to share it all. Conrad’s loyalty deserved to be questioned.
“I am not certain she is a spy,” Payen said.
“Oh no, it makes perfect sense. My wife knows much more than I give her credit for. And how else, if not for a handful of lovely ladies doing her bidding?”