The Crusader’s Vow: A Medieval Romance

by Claire Delacroix

  In the solar, Enguerrand raged about the folly of letting Fergus take custody of the treasure and spewed hatred about Saracens and women that set Fergus’ teeth on edge.

  “She did not steal it,” he said finally. “Think of what you are saying.”

  “Of course, she stole it!” Enguerrand raged. “A priceless relic stolen when a Saracen held the sole key to its hiding place! What else could have happened?”

  “My father has a key as well.”

  “To his own treasury. How could he not?” Enguerrand shook a finger at Fergus. “And he did not have a key on the day you rode to Dunnisbrae.”

  “What has that to do with it?”

  “That is the day it was stolen!”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because there was a witness,” Enguerrand insisted.

  “Ask the witness who took it.”

  “She—that person will not say.” Enguerrand paced the width of the solar. “Your father did not take it, that old man. Why would he steal it? It was in his possession already!”

  “And why would Leila steal it, after she had defended it from thieves all the way from Jerusalem?”

  “She had a scheme. They all have schemes...”

  “Why would she want to steal it?”

  Enguerrand rounded upon him with flashing eyes.

  “Saint Euphemia is not sacred in their tradition. The relic has no power for her. She meant to sell it,” the Templar hissed. “It was for the coin that she wished to have it.”

  “Then why would she not have stolen it in Venice or in Paris, where such a prize could be more readily sold?” Fergus argued. “There are no buyers with fat purses in Galloway in search of relics, and if there was one, he or she would not buy from a Saracen woman.” He shook his head. “There is no reason for my wife to have taken the reliquary.”

  “Yet she did. She had the keys!” Enguerrand snapped his fingers. “Perhaps she intended to extort coin from us!”

  “You have no coin,” Fergus pointed out. “Being sworn to poverty and chastity.”

  “But the order is wealthy beyond compare,” the Templar said with fury. “This must be her scheme. Summon your infidel wife and demand her price!”

  “Have you not considered that someone else might have wished to blacken Leila’s reputation by making it appear that she had taken it?”

  “She is an infidel,” Enguerrand said. “What reputation has she to defend.”

  It was difficult for Fergus to keep his temper. “Yet she is my wife and has some authority by dint of that.”

  “Who would care?”

  “I have an idea, but I would like to be sure.” Fergus arched a brow. “What of your witness?”

  “I care little for treachery in your household. I care more for the relic entrusted to me.” Enguerrand pounded his fist upon a table. “Where is the prize?”

  Fergus heard a tap upon the door. He opened it to find his father in the portal, his expression grim. He gestured for that man to enter, then closed the door again.

  “What is missing from the treasury?” his father asked and Enguerrand started. “It is evident from Agnes’ comments in the hall that you expected some prize to be secured here, and your expression now reveals that it is missing. What was it?”

  Enguerrand said naught.

  “The reliquary of St. Euphemia,” Fergus told his father. “We were entrusted with it at the Temple in Jerusalem, and I was charged to bring it here for safekeeping.”

  “Yet is it not safe!” Enguerrand said.

  “Ah!” Calum said, taking a seat and nodding at Enguerrand and Yvan. “Now I understand your presence in the company.”

  “On the contrary, the reliquary is quite safe,” Fergus said, much to the knights’ astonishment and his father’s interest. “We discovered the theft soon after it occurred, and later the hiding place of the prize. The reliquary has been moved to a new location.”

  “Where?” Enguerrand asked.

  “It is safer if no one else knows.” Fergus bowed to his father. “I apologize, Father, for not confiding in you sooner...”

  “It is of no matter, my boy,” that man said calmly. “A secret is better defended if fewer know it.”

  “This is outrageous...” Enguerrand sputtered but father and son ignored him.

  “The girl provoked him to search for it,” Calum said. “And knew its dimensions.” He raised his gaze to that of Fergus. “Which means she knew your secret.”

  “Aye. We believe she stole it on the day I showed Leila the holding.”

  “But she said she saw her lady with it the day before,” Yvan declared.

  “A lie. Leila had the sole key to the treasury that day.”

  “Until you had the silversmith copy them and gave a set to me,” Calum said.

  “And when we returned from that ride, Leila smelled the girl in the solar.”

  His father chuckled. “Saracens and their sharp noses!”

  “But how could that be?” Enguerrand asked. “If you and your father had the sole keys, only you could have entered the solar and the treasury then.”

  Calum wagged a finger at him. “But the knot in the cord of mine was retied that day, for it was different when I awakened from my nap. I wondered at it at the time, but saw no reason why it should be so until now.”

  “But still, any soul could have taken it...”

  “The girl was particularly attentive that day. I wondered at that at the time, as well, but was content to let her serve me.”

  “She wanted the key,” Fergus concluded.

  “Alas, it is not my attention she covets,” Calum said.

  Fergus did not understand. “What do you mean?”

  “I would wager that she has a scheme to better her position, by ousting Leila from your marriage and stepping into the vacancy herself.”

  “What madness is this?” Fergus demanded.

  His father chuckled. “I have seen her watch you when she thinks herself unobserved. That one never planned to labor all her days, and if you would wed a Saracen, why would you not wed a peasant?”

  Fergus swore. Enguerrand looked shaken and Yvan hid a smile behind his hand. Calum looked most pleased with himself. “And what is your scheme now?”

  “We shall pretend to fall for her ploy,” Fergus said. “Enguerrand and Yvan can search the solar and we will ensure that Leila is believed to be guilty so that Agnes reveals the fullness of her plan...”

  His father raised a hand to silence him. “I have a better idea, one that will not discredit your wife in the least.”

  “I should be glad to hear it,” Fergus said, and the older man dropped his voice to a whisper. The Templars and Fergus leaned close to hear his suggestion, which was a vast improvement, indeed.

  * * *

  Calum knew he was going to enjoy this feat. Agnes had tricked him and he was not a man to let such an insult pass. That she meant to discredit Leila, the lady she served and the wife of the laird, was a breach of everything Calum held dear. The scheming girl would be taught a lesson and soon.

  He had a wager with Fergus that Agnes would flee and he intended to win it.

  “It must be here!” Enguerrand roared from the solar above him, then audibly tipped a chest to its back.

  “My wife is innocent,” Fergus shouted back. There was a great sound of a scuffle in the laird’s chamber, one loud enough to draw the attention of all in the hall. Furniture was tipped and Calum had no doubt that the contents of the various chests were scattered. He made his way down the stairs to the hall, pretending that the task was more difficult than it was.

  Of course, there was a small cluster of souls awaiting him at the foot of the stairs. Iain was there, but Calum raised a hand to halt him from climbing to the solar. “I would have a cup of hot milk, Iain, if you please,” he said firmly. “Lady Leila, your husband would speak with you in solitude.”

  Leila nodded and climbed the stairs quickly.

  Agnes smirked, turning away to
hide her expression as she returned to her sweeping.

  Enguerrand and Yvan passed him, noisily demanding a search of the entire keep. “To the smithy!” cried Enguerrand. “She must have hidden it there!”

  In truth, they were going to make their way toward Agnes’ hiding spot to ensure she could not retrieve what she believed was the relic.

  Enguerrand paused on the threshold of the hall and turned back, fixing his glare upon Agnes. “You!” he cried and the girl looked up. “Do not even think of leaving this hall before I speak to you again.”

  “Of course, sir.” Agnes curtsied, her satisfaction with this most clear. She evidently thought she would have the opportunity to condemn Leila, but Calum would help her to see otherwise.

  Calum returned to his abandoned seat and sat down heavily, passing a hand over his eyes as if he were more tired than he was. He considered the chess pieces on the floor and bent with painful slowness to pick up a pawn, drawing her to him like a fish on a line.

  “My lord, let me assist you in that,” Agnes said, easing him back to his seat before she bent to gather the errant pieces. In truth, if she were as dutiful as she would have him believe, she would have picked them up already.

  Calum sniffed. She did smell like onions.

  “Thank you, Agnes,” he said, as if exhausted beyond compare. “I shall miss you, to be sure.”

  “Miss me, my lord?” She smiled at him. “Why would you miss me? I have no plan to leave Killairic. It is a most fine keep.”

  “I fear I have been unable to defend you in this matter.” Calum shook his head. “It is most unjust, but then, such matters usually are.” He sighed.

  “What is unjust, my lord? What matter?”

  “The matter of the missing Templar prize, of course,” Calum admitted heavily. “You were right to tell them of what you saw, but they are not inclined to sense. It is Enguerrand’s conviction that Lady Leila must have had an accomplice.”

  “But why?”

  “How else could she sell the prize, knowing so little of Scotland and of Gaelic?” Calum shook his head. “Nay, by their thinking, she worked with another to ensure her success. They seek that accomplice now.”

  Agnes paled and licked her lips. “Surely she might have made such an acquaintance on her journey north?”

  “But someone must have hidden the treasure for her. How else could she fulfill her obligations of that day, as well as hide the treasure? And given her activities of the day, it must have been someone within the hall.”

  “Must it have been, sir?”

  “Of course!” He ticked off events on his fingers, watching the girl’s fear grow. “On her first morning here, Lady Leila broke her fast early at this very board, with Duncan. Iain saw them both, for he told me of their farewell when I rose.”

  “Perhaps she gave it to Duncan.”

  “Nay, Iain said Xavier packed provisions for him and that Duncan took naught else from the hall.”

  Agnes sat down.

  “Iain told me also that Lady Leila was subsequently with Xavier in the kitchens, reviewing inventories and making plans. She went then to the smithy, where she aided poor Nellie, and all the village knew of that. The rain was such that she could not have gone any farther without being in a more foul state. Then we two sat together, here by the fire, awaiting Fergus.” Calum shook his head. “Nay, if she is the culprit, she had an accomplice, and you can be certain that the accomplice will be the one to bear the burden of the blame.”

  “What is this?” the girl cried.

  “My son will hear no criticism of his lady wife! He believes her innocent. Nay, Agnes, the sole person who could have aided her in this hall, by Enguerrand’s reasoning, is you, and I wager that he will not be silent until he has seen you tortured and tried for the crime.”

  The girl rose to her feet. “Me, sir?”

  “You, Agnes. There is no other person who could have so aided Lady Leila.” He held her gaze for a moment, letting her see his conviction. “I fear for you, Agnes, which is why I tell you of this.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “Is there a place you might find sanctuary? For once the Templars return to the hall, your fate will be sealed, and even I will not be able to speak for you.”

  Agnes surveyed the hall, her panic clear. “Dunnisbrae,” she whispered. “My brother is there.”

  “Then flee, Agnes,” Calum advised. “Flee now while there is a chance. It will not endure long, so do not delay.”

  “I will not, my lord. Thank you for this!” She kissed his hand, then walked quickly from the hall. Calum sat back in his chair, not doubting that she broke into a run as soon as she was out of sight.

  He wondered how much she would steal on her departure and could not help but think that any loss was worth the price of being rid of Agnes and her schemes.

  * * *

  Leila could not believe that Fergus had convinced the Templars to take her side. She stood at the window of the solar with him, the same one from which she had watched Agnes visit her prize.

  Fergus was at the opposite window, both of them ensuring that they remained out of the light. “My father has done as he suggested. She is running to the stables.”

  “But she has no horse.”

  “Hamish thinks Stephen is her lover.”

  That would explain the girl’s scent. Leila gripped the sill, watching. She had a glimpse of Enguerrand and one of Yvan. The pair had separated in the forest and their mail had shone briefly in the sunlight. She guessed that they had both closed their cloaks for she could not see them any longer. There was no motion below at all.

  Fergus muttered a curse. “And so she steals one of my palfreys,” he muttered. “I suppose I should not be surprised.”

  Leila turned to him as the sound of the hoof beats echoed in the village. “Will she go to back to Dunnisbrae?” she asked and he shrugged.

  “I do not care where she goes, so long as the reliquary remains safe and we are rid of her.” He came to Leila’s side and they watched together. Soon enough, Agnes and a palfrey came into view. She had arrived so quickly that she could not have stopped at the hut of Hamish’s aunt and uncle, even if she had divined the new location of the reliquary. She hesitated at the point where the road curved toward the forest.

  “Let us send her on her way,” Fergus muttered. “Wherever she is going.” He leaned out the window then, pointing at her. “There!” he cried. “There is the thief!”

  There was a hue and cry from the walls, but the Templars did not reveal themselves. Agnes turned the horse and gave it her heels, urging it to a gallop. She fled down the road that led to Galloway and Leila had never been so glad to see the back of another.

  Fergus pulled her into his arms again and held her tightly. “Shall we find you another maid?”

  Leila smiled. “Not until the shadow you sense has been dispersed. Is it gone?”

  Fergus winced and shook his head. “Perhaps on the morrow.”

  But perhaps not. Leila held tightly to his hands, glad beyond all that he trusted her, and hoping they would survive whatever threat he sensed.

  Would his portent hang over them for all time?

  Was it caused by her presence at his side?

  What if only her departure would see Killairic safe?

  Wednesday, May 4, 1188

  Feast Day of the virgin Saint Walburga

  12

  Châmont-sur-Maine

  * * *

  The messenger assumed he would be spotted quickly.

  He had no certainty of how protective a former Templar might be of his holding, and also no desire to be killed before delivering his message. The messenger dismounted while still under the protective cover of the forest and surveyed the village and keep. It was late afternoon and the gates to the village were still open.

  To ensure he was not regarded as a threat, he led his horse out of the forest and walked the last increment to the village. He knew the moment he was spotted and was not surprised to see two armed s
entries step into the opening of the gate. He drew no weapon and made no quick moves, but continued to walk steadily closer to their watchful figures. His steed, a fine and fast mare, tossed her head, content to walk beside him after their long journey.

  The messenger paused outside the gates, knowing he was within range of any archer, and held out the missive in his gloved hand. He spoke in French, knowing that his accent would betray him as a foreigner, but then, his garb probably had done as much already.

  “I have a message from Outremer for Lord Gaston de Châmont-sur-Maine,” he cried.

  The sentries exchanged a glance, then one stepped forward. “From the Temple?”

  The messenger shook his head. “The Temple has fallen,” he said, for it was a fact. His choice of words did not reveal his own alliance. “This message is from a man who begs the assistance of Lord Gaston.”

  The sentry offered his hand. “Give me the message and I will see it delivered. You can wait here for any reply.”

  “Nay.” The messenger raised the missive to his chest, his hand closed around it, and took a step back. “I swore to put it into his hand myself.” He was aware of the peasants who had gathered to watch the exchange and wondered what they whispered to each other. The local dialect was almost incomprehensible to him and he feared that by entering the village—if he were invited to do so—he might be stepping into a trap. A trickle of cold sweat slid down his back, but he held his ground.

  The sentries conferred quietly but only for a moment. “You will leave your horse and your sword here, and Raoul will escort you to the gate of the keep. It will be Lord Gaston’s choice to meet you or not.”

  The messenger bowed, a lump in his throat. “I thank you for this courtesy,” he said, hoping that all was as it appeared. Would he die suddenly and so far from home? He hoped not, but there was little choice. He had to deliver the missive. He left his mare with the quiet sentry and surrendered his sword before he followed the first. He never looked back, for he knew that a man’s posture could decide his fate. He was uneasy crossing the bridge to the keep, but spared only a single glance to its towering height.