by Traci E Hall
“Care for my stallion?” It wasn’t good-bye forever. Just for now.
The king nodded, and Payen turned on his heel.
Where was Catherine? Even more important, where was Ragenard? He would put an end to Catherine’s fears once and for all.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Catherine, accepting that she acted impulsively, slipped away before Payen and Jacques noticed, running down the hill and into the line of trees.
She shivered at the idea of men rifling through the belongings of corpses and didn’t want Gaston touching a dead, possibly diseased body. They had to hurry and get back to the barge. Even if she had to toss Gaston over her shoulder and run all the way, they would make it out of here to Rome.
She understood Payen’s loyalty compelled him to tell the king the Turks and Greeks were working together, but the queen had charged her with the well-being of Gaston. Even if she hadn’t, Catherine would find him.
Stepping gingerly over the skeletal remains of German soldiers, Catherine called, “Gaston!”
The bodies had been lying here for weeks, if not longer. Surely the Turks had already taken anything of value. She stopped, peering down at a silver button. They did need coin. She pulled her hand back as a beetle scurried across the dead man’s chest.
“Gaston?” Her pulse beat faster. “We must hurry! I promise not to be angry that you are down here by yourself.” With all these disgusting, stinking dead bodies.
Why hadn’t they been stripped already? Were the locals afraid of spirits? Ghosts?
Trembling, she wondered if anybody had ever buried Ragenard or George. Had Simms ransacked their bodies for anything of value? Out of habit, she touched her throat.
The place still burned, though the necklace was gone. The diamond to save them from poverty was in her pouch.
“Ragenard, I am sorry,” she whispered as she walked through the trees. “Sorry that I killed your brother, sorry that I couldn’t bury you properly.” She looked up, catching a glimpse of someone. Someone tall. Someone with the same wide shoulders as her dead husband’s. Someone with a blue cloak trimmed in gold.
“Enough,” she said with authority. It was time to confront the ghost and demand he stop haunting her. Ragenard was not coming with her to Rome. She had to accept life without absolution. He had to accept his death.
Was that particular shade of golden-brown hair a trick of the light?
“Ragenard? Gaston? Please answer me.”
Apprehension racing, she forged ahead.
They had less than an hour to gather their things and be at the barge. No time to say good-bye to her friends or the queen. She had a different quest: getting Gaston to Rome and somehow bribing the pope to coerce Emperor Manuel into complying with the treaty he’d agreed to a year ago. Before the crusaders starved to death.
She felt time slipping away and cupped her hand over her mouth. “Gaston! You aren’t in trouble for leaving camp, but we must hurry.”
A flash of brown hair. Ragenard’s hair, haloed by filtered sunlight. Was he an angel? Had she been worrying all this time for nothing? In his haunting, he could have let her know. She’d lost a lot of sleep. She clenched her fist, moving onward.
Around the curve. Just out of sight.
She darted after the figure. “Wait!” Catherine ran directly into the man’s back.
A beefy forearm pushed her. “Catherine.”
“George?” She stumbled, then righted herself.
Her dead husband’s supposedly dead brother held Gaston by the neck, easily lifting the small child in one hand.
The last time she’d seen George, he’d been mad with grief and trying to kill her. No, he’d been bloody and dead on the floor of his mansion.
“Bonjour.” He grinned, his face shaved, like Ragenard’s used to be. George had always had a full beard. And now he dressed as a Frank soldier?
The fear in Gaston’s eyes cleared Catherine’s head. “Set him down, George. I killed you once. I don’t mind doing it again.” She reached for her sword. This time she would do it right. “Now!”
“I’ve been following you for months. Found you by accident when I joined the Frank army. Wanted my necklace back, but you’re never alone. You’ve got to be the craziest woman I’ve ever seen.” George sneered. “Walking around in men’s chausses and armor! I’ve been counting my blessings that Ragenard took you off my hands.”
“What? I loved—” Catherine raised the sword. “Drop him!”
The boy’s face was bright red, and his feet flailed.
George laughed. “I knew the time for vengeance would come, despite you incurring the queen’s favor.”
Instead of reacting, she planned. She didn’t want George dead, not really, but she wanted Gaston safe.
She lunged forward, aiming for the muscled part of his arm with the flat of her sword. He dropped the boy.
Gaston gasped for air.
Before she could reach the boy, George yanked him up by the arm. “Give me the necklace. It’s an heirloom, and it doesn’t belong to you.”
“If you would have showed yourself like a real person instead of pretending to be a ghost, I would have given it to you. I would have given it to you that day, but you didn’t give me a chance.”
“Liar. You tried to kill me with a candlestick, witch!”
“Do you recall what you were doing? Strangling me. Put the child down!”
“Non. In fact, I think I will bring you before the priest and tell him what you are. Witch, murderer!” He shook Gaston’s arm.
The boy cried out in pain.
Catherine leaped forward, this time using the sharp tip of the blade as she sliced down on his wrist.
George’s hand opened reflexively.
Gaston fell to the ground, crawling toward Catherine to stay out of George’s reach. The boy hid behind her.
Catherine lifted her sword, her body on fire with anger. “Where is your weapon? I challenge you to a fair fight.”
“You are crazy!” George clasped his bleeding wrist. “I could cleave you in two with one blow.”
Catherine heard the sound of hurried footsteps.
“Do you need assistance?” her husband said calmly.
She kept her gaze on George. “I don’t think so.”
George looked from Payen to Catherine, his face mottled red. “I just want my necklace. I don’t care about you. Seems I never did.”
Pride made her want to fight. Pride would make them miss the barge. She lowered her weapon.
“We have to go, Catherine,” Payen said gently. “Rome beckons.”
“Fine.” She sheathed her sword. “You got lucky. All I have is the diamond pendant. I used the gold. Consider it my dowry.” She tossed George the silk pouch containing the diamond.
He caught it with his good hand.
“I was going to pray for you,” Catherine told George, her eyes welling as she released the fear of the devil holding her soul captive. “I’m glad I didn’t kill you. Did you bury Ragenard?”
He held up the pouch, opened it, and smiled. “Oui, in the family plot. Now I can marry a decent woman. One who won’t run off and pretend she is a man.” George pocketed the diamond and walked toward the French camp.
A year of her life spent in hell.
Now they simply went their separate ways?
George took three steps before Payen grabbed his shoulder, whirled him around, and punched him in the nose. Blood spurted everywhere.
“What was that for?” George fell back into a boxing stance, taking a swipe at Payen that he easily dodged.
Stunned, Catherine watched as Payen punched again and dropped the man to the ground.
“For haunting the woman I love. For attempted murder. For being an all-around arsewipe.”
Gaston whooped.
“You through?” George said, hand to his jaw.
“Yes.”
George left without a word.
“He really is a soldier?” she said. “Thank y
ou for standing up for me.”
“You don’t need absolution.” Payen kissed her, not caring that Gaston rolled his eyes. “You were never guilty. I told you things would work out for the best.”
Catherine felt happier than she had in years. “Your search for a rainbow after every storm is sure to annoy me. In fifty years or so.”
“Jacques is waiting for us.” He kissed her nose again. “Come. Gaston, are you hurt?”
“No. Just mad that I couldn’t get away from the bad man. I told you I saw him around.” Gaston followed Payen through the forest.
“Yes, you did,” Catherine said. “Next time I will listen.”
They met up with Jacques, who had two bags at his feet.
Catherine’s mouth dried. They were to travel to Rome, and they had no money, only two bags of worldly goods among the four of them. “I thought I’d finished living like a vagabond.” She laughed through her tight throat.
Holding her hand out for one of the bags, Catherine vowed to care for her new family, even if it meant exchanging fortunes for bread.
Jacques shook his head, easing both bags over his shoulder. “They weigh nothing. Medicine, bread, a blanket, and we each have an extra tunic. From Queen Eleanor.”
Payen carried Gaston on his back, and they ran as fast as they could around the city wall. They found a way inside through a waterspout and reached the docks as the barge captain untied the rope from the pillar.
Catherine yelled and waved.
The captain’s hand shot out, and he grabbed the pole, holding the barge in place. “Hurry!”
They ran, jumping from the dock to the long, slow-moving boat.
“My money?” The captain opened his palm.
She gave him the last of their coin. Thanks to this man, they were safe. For now. “My eternal gratitude.”
Payen shook the captain’s hand. “She means it, as do I.”
“Make yourself comfortable. It will be a few hours before we reach the Aegean Sea. There is a barrel of apples, if your boys would like one.”
She refrained from kissing the captain’s cheek. He went back to his duties, and the boys ran off to procure the apples.
“Well,” Catherine said, accepting a bite of the slightly wilted red apple Gaston offered, “we are to meet Pope Eugene III.” She looked at Gaston.
The boy didn’t show any sign of recognition at the name. He coughed.
“I have medicine for you.” She tousled his filthy hair.
They were all in need of baths and fresh clothes.
“We’ve no money, now that I don’t have the diamond.” How would she save them?
Payen slid his arm around her shoulder. “I have money once we get to a real city. Don’t forget I am a baron now. And you a baroness. Even if we can’t pronounce the name of the barony, it counts.”
She looked away, unable to completely hide her smile. “We should probably practice or nobody will believe us.”
With a cocky grin, Gaston reached beneath his cloak and pulled free a leather pouch. He jingled it, then spilled coins into his palm. “Will this help?”
Catherine’s stomach plummeted. He was the grandson of the pope. He had to stop stealing! What if he took a liking to the ceremonial jewels?
“Gaston,” she said as patiently as she could, “we promised to take care of you, so you would never have to resort to thievery again.”
“The queen said she needed coin.” Gaston shrugged. “I was going to give it to her. I didn’t take a single piece of jewelry.”
She had a terrible feeling about the silver glinting in his palm. It looked like a button. “Where did you get that?”
“From the dead Germans! We used to do that in Nicaea with the dead soldiers. Only we would keep the jewels. But when Jacques said that was wrong, I just kept the coins. I thought they could help.”
Jacques and Payen exchanged an uncertain look.
Glad to hear Gaston had a moral code, Catherine nodded. “Let’s not do that anymore. I say we give thanks for what is before us. And, Gaston?” She lifted his chin to make sure he was listening. He had a moral code, yes, but it was bent. And given the sins of his father and grandfather?
“Oui?”
“No matter what happens in the future, avoid pledging yourself to the church.”
Payen chuckled. “A wise decision. We will assist you when the time comes.”
“I want to be a squire, like Jacques.”
“You will have to learn to ride your own horse,” Jacques teased.
“You could hardly lift my sword when you came to me,” Payen reminded the young man.
“But now he can fight Turks!” Gaston said.
Payen clasped each boy on the shoulder. “Someday both of you will be brave knights.”
Catherine bowed her head in thanks, then looked at the river.
“Any regrets?” Payen walked to her side.
Catherine smiled. “None. I am thinking of the stories we will tell our children.”
“You should probably let me do the storytelling.” He laughed softly, pleased at his own joke. Then he leaned down, brushing his mouth lightly across hers, his warmth teasing her senses. Sandalwood, mahogany. Love. Passion. “Do you think Gaston stole enough coin to afford separate rooms on the ship?”
She thrilled at the thought of sharing an actual bed with her husband. “Gaston did not steal. He salvaged those coins. Ingenious, really.”
Payen chuckled.
“A chamber of our own?” she said. “That sounds like something a plain wife might want. I challenge you, de Montfer, to create a love nest as well as I did.”
“That is a challenge I will gladly accept.”
Catherine wrapped an arm around Payen’s waist, leaning into him as the boys flanked them. The coast slipped away, and she felt a small pang of sadness for leaving her queen and the excitement of the crusade behind. Yet she had no doubt her time with Queen Eleanor—as a guard, a spy, and a friend—was far from over.
Epilogue
My Dearest Queen Eleanor,
The ambassador to the crown, Baron of Bidleiex, and I were warmly welcomed in Rome by the illustrious Pope Eugene III. The Holy Father was surprised by your unexpected yet thoughtful gift. He prays for France and agreed to do what he can to ease your plight for the glory of the crusade. In return for this divine intervention, the baron and I have agreed to keep the aforementioned gift in our tender care.
There is much to see and much to learn here. We look forward to your victorious return to France when we can be together again.
With love,
Catherine
Baroness of Bidleiex
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