by Shea,Lisa
He drew in a long breath. “First, Zeke was heading back out to the Holy Land. The Kings’ Crusade had just begun, and his services were in high demand. He needed fresh forces to take on the enemy. If I agreed to commit to a ten year contract with his group, he would take on my training and equipage. He would pay my father up front a finder’s fee, and that would cover the loans currently outstanding.”
Jessame’s heart caught. “… or?”
Berenger’s gaze did not waver, but he took a moment to answer. “My only other option was to marry Bernice, a wealthy widow who had an estate in Crewkerne. Her income could amply ensure our debts would be settled.”
Jessame’s throat went dry. Berenger could have been tied for life to another woman. For the rest of his days he would have been walking at her side during the sunlit stretches of afternoon, easing into bed with her as dusk shaded the world …
Berenger’s face flushed crimson for a moment, and he looked down. “I am not proud of it, but for a moment I thought about fleeing. I seriously considered escaping from either choice, about chancing the brutal beating I would receive when the men tracked me down. The idea of either of those options cut me to the core. I simply could not take in that my life’s path, my entire future, had collided with such insurmountable circumstances.”
His gaze firmed. “But then I thought of Roger’s family, Estrilda’s family – all those local merchants who depended on getting paid in order to feed their children, to keep their houses warm through the long winter. It was not just my father’s reputation on the line, it was our family’s, and it was the community who depended on these debts being paid. It was not nameless usurers who my father had betrayed – it was honest, hard-working wood carvers and seamstresses. I owed it to them to do the right thing.”
He took in a long, deep breath, and then let it out again. “And so I agreed to accept the ten year contract, to head to the Holy Land with Zeke and his mercenary band.”
Jessame’s voice was a mere whisper. “So that is why you left,” she managed to bite out.
Berenger gave the slightest of nods. “Zeke was thrilled. He had me sign the necessary forms on the spot. They made me sleep between them in the central hall; I think they half expected me to change my mind and run off the moment I could. The next morning, Zeke and I headed out, side by side, on our way first to Dover, and then across the Channel to meet up with a main force gathering in Calais.”
Jessame could remember that morning clearly. There had been grey clouds billowing in the sky, but she sat on the front steps, waiting patiently for Berenger to arrive. The raindrops had come, turned into a torrent, and yet she waited there, thoroughly drenched, her eyes glued to the long dirt road. He had never come, not that day, and not the many days she maintained her vigil.
Berenger’s voice broke into her thoughts, his voice low, tense. “I did manage to see Sabina as we passed through town, and …”
The image of Sabina murmuring with Berenger in a quiet corner, of him slipping the hand-carved coin over her head, of him pressing his lips to hers, flared into full color vision in Jessame’s mind. She turned on him roughly. She was overcome with the images, the emotions, and her voice was hoarse when she spoke.
“I do not want to speak of Sabina,” she ground out, her eyes holding his.
He drew to a halt, his eyes widening in surprise, then he slowly nodded. “Of course, I apologize. Her death is so soon, I should have thought before speaking of her.”
Jessame slid down to sit by the trunk of the willow, drawing her eyes out to follow the stream along its rocky tumble. “Sabina was like a sister to me,” she murmured at last, her shoulders sagging with weariness. “Whatever happened a decade ago, I am content to leave it in the past. So much has occurred since then.”
There was a long silence, and then Berenger sat as well. Time passed, and slowly Jessame found herself being comforted by the truth. He had not wanted to leave. He had been forced into it, and he had come back as soon as he could. It was all starting to make at least some slight semblance of sense.
The stream drifted by, the willow leaves sighed softly in the summer’s breeze, and at last the deepest hollows of Jessame’s heart tenderly released. A new sense of calm eased into her.
She let herself become lost in the whisper of the evening air, the echo of the moss-filled woods.
*
Haze, tinting a gentle orange, stretched across the sky. Berenger gave himself a soft shake and turned to her. “I imagine you must be getting hungry; shall we go in and find something to eat?” he asked in a low voice.
Jessame realized to her surprise that quite a bit of time had passed. She was famished. She nodded, moving with him back into the small cottage. In a moment she had rousted the fire into life, and it seemed only a heartbeat before she was ladling a fragrant stew out for both of them at the small bench table.
She glanced over at Berenger, and her heart stopped. For so many years she had fantasized about this moment, dreamt about her and Berenger being together, sharing a quiet meal, a domestic scene of harmony. And now it was finally here, but it was all upside-down. Berenger was striving to bring to an end a quest she believed with her very soul.
And he had pledged himself to another.
Berenger turned, his eyes shadowing. “What is it?”
She looked down, pushing away her bowl. “I am just exhausted,” she admitted. “I think I will need to head to bed early.”
Berenger rose to his feet. “I will be staying,” he stated, his voice brooking no discussion.
Her eyes flew up to his, shocked and wide. He could not be serious. He was planning to sleep in her bed?
“What, here?” she gasped.
His face grew still, and a hint of quizzical confusion grew in his eyes. “I would sleep on the floor, by the fireplace,” he clarified at last.
Jessame relaxed slightly, but she still shook her head. “The dirt floor is hardly comfortable,” she pointed out. “I am sure I will be fine.”
“I will stay,” he reiterated, “and as for the accommodations …” The corner of his mouth quirked up in a gentle smile. “If you had seen our situation during the siege of Acre, you would realize how much your quiet cottage is a meadow of Eden compared with what I have been through.”
Jessame flushed. She was reminded again of just how much he had endured, what he had shouldered during his ten long years away. She might have missed him, but she had had her loving father by her side, a sturdy roof overhead, and four strong walls around her.
She knew Berenger had experienced a far less gentle world. She could see it in his eyes, in the haunted shadows which came over them at quiet moments. She could feel it in the tenseness which strung across his shoulders, which pulled taught at a sharp sound or quick movement.
He was still standing there, his gaze steady on her. He seemed both resolved and carefully attentive, as if she were a skittish colt who might bolt at the slightest noise. She drew her eyes down the strength of his arms, the easy way the sword rode at his hips, and a longing drew through her, an intense desire for him to wrap her in his arms, to press his lips against hers.
The thought whispered in her ear that he had been Sabina’s, that he had pledged to her, and a large part of her no longer cared. That was in the past, and Sabina was dead. She was here now, she had loved him all her life, and he was everything she could want in a man.
She closed her eyes for a moment. There was still her mission to think of. Four women had been slain. She still had her disguise, could still finish what she had begun. Anything else would have to wait until that was done.
She knew she should insist that he return home. It would only make her task that much more difficult, if Berenger’s horse was left outside her cottage all night long. She could be seen to be the kept mistress of a single man, and the murderer might move on to a fresh target.
She could not do it. She could not ask him to leave when every speck of her body craved for him to stay by her
side.
“Stay, if it pleases you,” she finally agreed in a tight voice. She made her way wearily over to the thin straw mat she slept on. She tumbled into bed fully dressed, pulling the covers up over her shoulders.
Berenger barred the door, then put out the candles. He made his way over to the wall by the fire and, true to his word, lay down against it, facing toward her.
The fire flickered at a low rumble, and only the faintest glow lit the room. In the quiet darkness Jessame could clearly make out Berenger’s eyes, how they held her own, how his body was prepared for action, ready to protect her from any harm.
The thought warmed her immensely.
She found herself relaxing, easing, falling into more restful sleep than she had known for years.
Chapter 12
Jessame drifted into wakefulness, a contented ease soaked into her body that had been lost to her for a decade. A gentle, soft light streamed in through her window, and she fluttered her eyes open against it, drawing in a deep breath. Her eyes moved across the room …
Her breath caught. Berenger was watching her, his focus attentive and warm. She became lost in his gaze, and a glow swept over her, one she barely remembered from her youth.
The corner of his mouth quirked up into a smile, and he rolled to his feet, moving toward the pottery bowl on the table by the window. He took a rosy apple and returned to sit cross legged at her side. In a moment the knife was off his hip and he was carving a long wedge for her, handing it over.
“Good morning, Jess,” he murmured.
She nodded at him, taking the apple slice, drawing herself up to a sitting position. It seemed so comfortable, familiar, to be there side by side, him carving off pieces of fruit, her sliding them into her mouth, enjoying their fresh flavors. It was as if she were eight years old again and they were relaxing in the pantry, leaning against the ancient stone walls, enjoying one of the orchard’s fall gifts.
“It has been a while since we did this,” commented Berenger, his eyes distant. “Millie used to scold us for spoiling our dinners, but that never did stop us.”
Jessame popped another slice into her mouth, a smile spreading across her face. “At least we would only eat the apples, most of the time,” she agreed. “She kept those cookies of hers on the highest shelf, so that we could not easily get to them. We could only look up at them, tormented.”
Berenger nodded, smiling. “She did put that high shelf to good use,” he agreed. “The cookies, the sweets, and that treasure box of hers, which held who knew what special items.” His eyes glanced over to the mantle, high above their heads.
His gaze suddenly narrowed.
“Wait a minute …” he murmured, looking at it more closely.
Jessame’s heart pounded against her chest, and she could barely breathe as he drew to his feet, strode over to look first at the oak box, and then at the other items spread out along the mantle’s shelf. When he turned back to look at her, his gaze was half understanding, half horror.
His voice was almost strangled. “When you had said these were remembrances, I assumed you meant of the men you had been with. But … Millie’s box, the horse shoe, the sheaf of wheat …. these are tokens of the women who were slain. You knew about all four women, and you had their deaths as your focus?”
Jessame found herself nodding.
Berenger took a step forward, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Here I thought you were doing this for money. You are actually trying to solve the mystery of their deaths?” His voice ground to a halt within his throat. “You are using yourself as human bait?”
Jessame could not move an inch.
Berenger ran both hands through his hair in utter shock. “Good God, Jessame, you barely survived a dissolute, lust-filled man who was simply upset with your dismissal! How could you possibly think to stand against an insane murderer who we know has already slain four hardened women? And who knows how many others we have not heard of? What gave you the slightest thought that you could hold your own against him?”
Jessame’s frustration, exhaustion, and grief burst from her. “Sabina was dead, and nobody cared!” she shouted, giving herself over to the emotions. “The sheriff callously described her broken body, and Millie was sobbing, and nobody gave one whit. The sheriff almost laughed; he seemed to think the slaying was a good thing. I could not turn to my father. I had nobody at all to turn to. Someone had to do something. There was nobody else …”
The tears slipped from her eyes, turned into a deluge, and suddenly he was there beside her, holding her tightly. She sobbed, collapsing against him, completely lost. He wrapped around her, and she gave herself over to him, beyond caring. It was too much for her. She could not hold the burden any further.
Her legs folded beneath her. He gently lowered her to the edge of her bed, holding her against him, and she sobbed out her despair. She cried for her father’s illness, for her collapsing home, for the senseless deaths of Sabina and the others. She cried for Berenger being sent away, for her being left alone. Years of bottled-up emotion burst through every seam, and she was powerless to hold it back.
Her tears ran dry, and still she cried, feeling the pain as a physical force in her body.
Finally she simply had no energy left and she lay, limp and helpless, curled up in his arms. His body was sturdy around her, and she felt his lips press tenderly against her forehead.
His voice was gentle when he spoke. “We will figure out a solution, Jess,” he promised. “Together, there will be a way.”
The faintest spark of hope glimmered in her chest. He had said we. Perhaps he would take the cause on as his own, and together they could figure something out.
Berenger’s voice became rough. “Sabina was a very special woman,” he continued. “I will do everything in my power to see her killer brought to justice.”
It was as if cold water had drenched Jessame. Suddenly it flooded back in on her; the love token, the meeting Berenger had had with Sabina before he left. Of course he would want to work on this challenge. It involved the woman he loved.
He had loved Sabina.
Jess pulled herself sharply from Berenger’s arms, standing and striding over to the window, staring out at it, a powerful ache wrenching at her heart. Behind her, she could hear Berenger get slowly to his feet. His voice was low and hesitant when he spoke.
“Jess …?”
Jess’s voice came out sharp and harsh. “You might as well have it,” she snapped. “It is yours, after all.”
His voice was laced with confusion. “What is?”
“Her necklace, in the box,” she shot out hoarsely.
“I do not understand,” he responded slowly.
Her tears started up again, and she brushed them away. “Just take it,” she insisted. She could not turn, not see his face as he drew in the emotions of his beloved one.
There was a movement of feet behind her as he crossed to the mantle. “I already have the new cross Roger made for me,” he murmured, half to himself. “But if it is this important to you for me to have Sabina’s ebony one, that she wore every day, then …”
There was the scraping of wood as he lifted the lid, and then a strangled groan. The room went silent.
Jessame found that she could barely breathe. She clutched at the edge of the table, holding herself upright, imagining him staring at the token with pain, with longing, with heartache. Her breath came in long, shallow draws, and she wished that he would leave, would walk out the door and never come back.
Berenger’s voice was choked with emotion when he spoke. “You found this on Sabina’s body?”
Jessame could only nod. Her throat had completely closed up, and she struggled to bring her breathing under control.
Berenger’s voice came to her as if from far away. “I did not give this to her.”
The sheer idiocy of the statement filled Jessame with billowing rage. She spun in place, striding toward him, staring up at him in fury and despair and longing.
> “How can you lie to me?” she screamed in outrage. “How can you claim that token is not from your own hands? That fish is engraved on my favorite fishing rock, in the gate of my horse’s stall, and sometimes I feel I can still see its outlines on my hand! I would know your mark in my darkest depths of despair. Those long days after you walked away, I would run my finger over and over the fish you had left behind, wondering why you left me, why you would not come back, why you had abandoned me …”
He was staring at her with a look of growing shock and wonder. He held the token up to her, his gaze never leaving hers.
“I did not give this token to her,” he stated again, his voice growing more clear.
A stillness settled over Jessame, bringing the room into a crystalline focus, and yet her mind could not take in fully what he was saying. She could only stare at him mutely.
He took a step forward, drawing her hands in his and placing the curled coin in her palm. “I made that token for you,” he murmured, his eyes steady on hers. “When I saw Sabina that misty morning, I only had a few minutes to speak with her. I told her to give the token to you. I told her to tell you that I would be back for you in ten years. That if you could wait for me, that I would pledge myself to you and never leave you again.”
He took in a deep breath. “I told her to tell you that I loved you.”
Jessame’s heart stilled. A warmth billowed out from deep within her, warming her, embracing her in tenderness.
“You loved me?”
A shudder ran through him, and he pulled her in hard, wrapping her in his arms. “God’s Teeth, Jessame, I have loved you since the days of racing our horses side by side, since the nights of gazing at the stars and talking for hours. During the past ten years you were the first thought I had on waking and the last one as I curled up for sleep.” He pulled back, looking down at her. “I love you, my dearest, sweetest, most beloved Jessame. You are my light, my soul, my other half who makes me complete.”
Jessame glowed with the light of a thousand lamps. “You did not abandon me?”