The Crusader's Handfast

by Claire Delacroix

  Scots died in France, in astonishing numbers, after all. What was one more?

  There could be no whisper of his crime associated with either Domnall or Guthred, not if they were to make a successful bid for the Scottish throne.

  Murdoch appeared to be so drunken that he dozed, but all the while, he listened avidly to Duncan’s conversation with the other mercenaries.

  Why did Duncan ask after employ as a mercenary? He could have served his father well in that capacity, but had declined to do as much. Did he leave the service of Fergus of Killairic? If so, why?

  Perhaps it would be wise for Murdoch to learn a little more before he struck the fatal blow.

  When Duncan left, Murdoch finished his ale, pulled up the hood of his cloak and followed his intended victim. They had never met, but Duncan was reputed to be wily.

  And Murdoch did not intend to fail.

  * * *

  Lady Ysmaine and her husband were sharing the evening meal in their chamber and darkness was falling. Radegunde had cleaned and washed and folded, and still bustled about the chamber while they dined.

  She could not help but overhear their conversation and knew they were aware of that as well. The pair had discussed Gaston’s failed effort to find any tidings of Wulfe or Christina, and Radegunde knew they were concerned for both. It seemed futile to her to chase after the knight at this point, for there was no telling his direction, and indeed, she had to imagine that Wulfe would have returned to the Temple for aid if he had believed himself in need of it. To her, the implication was clear that Wulfe had succeeded, yet saw no reason to deliver word of it to his former companions. He was evidently the manner of man well accustomed to completing his missions alone.

  Radegunde would have wagered that Everard was dead, that Wulfe and Christina celebrated their reunion with gusto, and that they had no desire to be found or disturbed. Only then would Wulfe arrive at the Temple to be disciplined by the Grand Master for his defiance. She could not blame him for delaying that moment.

  No one asked for her counsel, though. Instead, her lady asked her husband to consider who might make Radegunde a fine husband.

  God in heaven. She might well be wed before they even reached Châmont-sur-Maine!

  To Radegunde’s relief, Gaston had not been home in years, so he did not know much of his villeins. He, too, suggested Bartholomew, but at least her lady dissuaded him of that notion. The lady Ysmaine then began to speculate upon the eligible men who had been at Valeroy before her departure.

  “If I may be so bold, my lady,” Radegunde dared to interject. “There is not a one of them who would tempt me.”

  “Too young,” the lady said, smiling at her husband. “Radegunde would prefer a man to take her hand in his.”

  Gaston appeared to be amused by this notion, but merely sipped his wine.

  “Radegunde, you cannot hope for love at first glimpse, as advocated in the troubadour’s tales,” Ysmaine chided.

  “Even they do not advise a marriage be made upon such a whim,” Gaston noted.

  Ysmaine nodded and repeated her conviction. “A good match is founded upon good sense.”

  The lord put his hand over that of his lady. “And provides good soil for affection to grow,” he agreed. They eyed each other, clearly much besotted with each other and convinced of the merit of their scheme.

  Radegunde could not bear to listen to more of it. She begged to be excused and left them to their discussion. Given their expressions, she had little doubt that their attention soon would turn to more intimate matters than her marital prospects.

  She knew they meant well and reminded herself of that with every step she took. She carried the broom she had borrowed back to the kitchen, sparing a glare for the man who had accosted her the night before and still watched her from the far side of the kitchen. She strode to the courtyard to dump out the bucket of dirty water, then paused to rebraid her hair and wipe her face.

  She was sore from her efforts of the day, but she was glad to have had honest labor to do. It would not be all bad to rest her ankle, either. She would sleep well this night, to be sure, and she would sleep in the lady’s chamber. How long should she wait before rapping at the portal again on this night? She knew the lady would admit her immediately but did not wish to interfere with the pair’s desire to conceive a son.

  Bartholomew was brushing the steeds and appeared to be deeply in thought. Indeed, she did not wish to encourage assumptions by making conversation with him, but at least his presence kept the cur in the kitchen.

  Radegunde inverted the bucket and sat upon it, considering the few stars visible in the sky overhead as she faced the truth. The life she wished to evade was upon her already. She had not left this inn at all during the day, but had been left behind when her lady went to give alms. There had been a lot to do, but Radegunde could not help but yearn to see more of this great city.

  Particularly as she might never return.

  She wondered whether she would leave the inn at all before they rode to Valeroy, whenever that might be. There, she would be even more confined and doubtless soon wedded. Radegunde felt restless, but there were no sensible alternatives. If she fled her lady’s service, she might starve or be injured. She had need of the protection and security that Gaston’s household offered.

  Still, she could not quell her desire for adventure.

  Radegunde supposed she would have to learn to do as much, and the realization made her feel old. She stood and returned to her labor. She shook out her lady’s dried chemises and cast them over her arm, then filled the bucket with fresh water and headed for the stairs.

  She saw Bartholomew glance toward the gate and his features light in recognition. Radegunde turned, wondering who arrived, only to find Duncan standing in the opening to the street.

  Wearing his plaid.

  Her mouth went dry as her gaze roved over his legs—which were fine, indeed—then back to the glint of humor in his eyes. He looked so alluring that Radegunde forgot to be annoyed with him, hoping only that he had changed his thinking and returned to be with her this night.

  “Is Lord Gaston here?” he asked.

  Radegunde had a moment to hope that his reaction earlier this day had been due to Gaston’s presence.

  But Duncan spoke to Bartholomew, not her. “I have tidings for him,” he said by way of explanation and she might not have been standing before him at all. Was he truly so disinterested in her presence?

  Bartholomew abandoned brush and steed and brushed off his hands. “Aye, he is in his lady’s chamber. I will fetch him for you.”

  “I would not disturb them,” Duncan said.

  “They enjoy their meal as yet,” Radegunde supplied, hoping to draw his eye. Bartholomew nodded and passed her, taking the stairs several at a time.

  Then Duncan’s gaze met hers and she saw that glitter of interest in his eyes once more. It was sufficient to make her heart pound.

  If he would keep the matter private, that could only be a good sign. Radegunde put down the bucket, then turned to face Duncan fully.

  “Are Wulfe and Christina found?”

  He shook his head. “Not so far as I know.”

  “So, these are not the tidings you would bring to Lord Gaston?”

  Duncan shook his head again. “I do not think they will return.”

  “I do not wager that the Templar would think to inform any of his failure or success. He seems most accustomed to relying upon no one.”

  “He will not fail,” Duncan said with conviction. “He will do whatever is necessary to defend Christina.”

  “How do you know?”

  Duncan’s eyes twinkled. “He was going to sell his steed in Venice, to buy two lesser ones, so that she had a horse to leave the city.”

  Radegunde blinked in astonishment. “His destrier?” No knight would surrender his horse willingly.

  Duncan nodded even as he smiled at her.

  “Then he is besotted indeed!”

&nbs
p; “I believe so.” Duncan’s manner turned thoughtful.

  “Is this what you came to tell Lord Gaston? Such tidings might convince him to have less concern for his fellow knight.”

  “It was not that, but you are right. I should tell him. Affection of such power changes much.”

  Their gazes clung and Radegunde felt her flesh heat. “And here I hoped you might have returned for me, not to speak to Lord Gaston.”

  “Perhaps my aim was to do both.” Duncan smiled, just a little, but it was sufficient to make her heart skip. “Would you believe me if I said as much?”

  Much encouraged, Radegunde took a step closer to him. “You nigh gave me frostbite this morn, sir.”

  Duncan grimaced. “I did not sleep, but was haunted all the same.”

  “By dreams?”

  “By memories.” He looked drawn then, and Radegunde wished she could have eased his concern away.

  She dared to guess. “Of what you have done?”

  “Of what I have not done.” Duncan spoke with resolve, then took a step closer. “And so I will not lose an opportunity.” Her heart began to race but he raised a hand. “I still would not take what you offer, but I would have one last kiss, if you would surrender it to me.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I have been reminded that life is uncertain and that a man should live so that he dies without regrets.”

  “Do you mean to die?”

  “No one means to die, lass,” Duncan said, his voice so husky that she wondered what those haunting memories had been. Their gazes clung as the light faded even more, and she took another step toward him.

  She smiled, making her tone playful, for he was too solemn. “Only a kiss, Duncan?”

  “Only a kiss.”

  “And you with such fine legs,” she teased. “My mother will despair of me and my wiles.”

  “She need not do as much,” he replied, his eyes gleaming. Radegunde smiled, intent upon making the most of his concession, and closed the distance between them. She liked how he watched her so intently.

  Perhaps she could convince him to do more.

  She smiled at the prospect, then suddenly smelled the ale upon him and halted. “You have been drinking!”

  “I have been to a tavern, it is true…”

  Radegunde leaned close. She smelled smoke and roast meat, then the unmistakable scent of cloyingly sweet perfume.

  “Oh! You have been whoring!”

  Duncan appeared to be startled. “Not precisely,” he began to argue.

  Radegunde was not prepared to listen to any defense. She was outraged. “This is why you would have just a kiss, for you have given the rest to a whore!” She shook her head. “Nay, you did not give it. You paid her to take it from you.”

  He reached out a hand in appeal. “Radegunde, you see more than is the truth…”

  “I smell the truth,” she retorted, retreating quickly. “How dare you return to me and request a kiss after you have lain with a whore? Do not make matters worse by telling a falsehood to me, Duncan MacDonald.”

  Duncan’s eyes flashed. “I tell no falsehood, lass!”

  “I say you do. And I say that you are not the manner of man I believed you to be,” Radegunde declared, her tone hot. She did not know whether she was more disappointed with herself for misjudging Duncan or him for making such a choice. “I thought you a man of merit, one of honor and principle. You were the one who insisted upon not taking what I offered to you…”

  “I did not take what you offered, to be sure, just as on this day, I did not take what they offered.”

  “Liar! You smell like whores, and there is but one way for that to transpire.”

  Duncan opened his mouth to argue, but Radegunde had heard sufficient. She threw a punch, just as her brother Michel had taught her. Her fist slammed into Duncan’s nose and he staggered backward, more shocked than injured. Blood spurted from his nostrils and he gasped, but Radegunde did not care.

  She dropped her voice low. “You are a knave and a fool, Duncan MacDonald. You declined what I offered to you out of affection, then bought the same from a whore! I hope she leaves you with a pox, for such a choice deserves no less.”

  He was holding his nose, and he glared at her over his hand. “I did no such deed.”

  “Liar,” she retorted. “Cur and blackguard.”

  His eyes flashed. “And this is your tribute to me, for honorably defending your maidenhead?”

  “I would choose whether or not to be rid of it.”

  “And what if you conceived a child?” Duncan demanded hotly. “What then, Radegunde? How will you convince your bridegroom that you are a maiden? What will your life become?” He jabbed a finger through the air at her. “I leave no babes behind me!”

  “I would take the risk!”

  “I would not!” he roared, more infuriated than ever she had seen him. “Do you think I would be glad to see you in the company of the women in the tavern this day? What if Gaston casts you from his holding? What if you lose your patroness?”

  “I will not!”

  “You cannot know for certain, and you might learn as much too late.”

  “You have a poor view of my lord and lady!”

  “Who both forgot your safety last night!”

  That was true. Radegunde could not defend them against that charge. She and Duncan glared at each other, even as she heard the sound of boots descending the stairs and the murmur of male voices drawing near.

  Duncan grimaced, and his eyes were filled with uncommon heat. “I did not lay with a whore this day, lass, but even if I had, it is not so foolish a strategy,” he said with quiet insistence. “An interval with a whore is a simple exchange, coin for pleasure, with no lasting bond and no child to recall the deed.”

  Radegunde shook her head at this paltry excuse. “I expected better of you.”

  “You need expect naught of me, as I made clear.”

  “I offered all I have to you, with no repercussions, no ties, no coin, because I admired you as a man. You need not fear a repetition of that offer, Duncan.” She picked up her bucket so quickly that the water spilled over the lip. “Indeed, sir, you can go to Hell.”

  With that, she pivoted and marched up the stairs to her lady’s chamber, her blood boiling. She stepped past Lord Gaston and Bartholomew, having no doubt both had heard all of the exchange, and did not care in the least.

  She would enter her lady’s chamber and not leave it again this night.

  If that meant she never again saw Duncan MacDonald, Radegunde told herself that was just as well.

  Even if she did not believe it.

  Tuesday, September 1, 1187

  Feast Day of Saint Drithelm and Saint Giles of Provence

  Chapter Six

  Duncan had time aplenty to regret his error with Radegunde.

  He also had little opportunity to set matters to rights.

  Much less apologize.

  There were many discussions over the days they remained in Paris, and much debate in private chambers in the Temple. Gaston was prepared to acknowledge the possibility that his niece’s husband Millard simply saw Châmont-sur-Maine defended in his choice of hiring mercenaries, and would not assume that those forces would be used to keep him from claiming his legacy. Duncan could see the caution of the former Templar and respected that Gaston’s past experience as diplomat and negotiator informed his choices. The resolve in that man’s eye, though, proved that he both hoped for the best and prepared for the worst.

  Another legacy of Outremer, to be sure.

  It was decided that none would seek out Wulfe. At Duncan’s urging—and Radegunde’s advice—Fergus confided in Grand Master and Gaston both that Wulfe had intended to sell his destrier to ensure that Christina could leave Venice in their company. Both knights were shocked that Wulfe had even considered such a sacrifice and concluded that it revealed much about that man’s admiration for Christina, as well as his resolve to defend her. They were all rem
inded of Wulfe’s defiance of the Grand Master, a choice that had seemed impetuous at the time but might be yet another indication of his amorous intent.

  It appeared that Wulfe’s future was neither in Paris nor with the order.

  Given what Duncan had learned in the tavern, Gaston chose not to send word ahead to either Valeroy or Châmont-sur-Maine of the party’s pending arrival. The tale was that Ysmaine wished to surprise her family, but Duncan guessed that Gaston wished to keep the tidings of his own return secret for as long as possible.

  Finally, Fergus and the Grand Master were wary of assuming that the reliquary was safe without the surety that Everard had been brought to justice. There was much consideration of the best location for it to be secured, for it was the prize of the Templar’s hoard.

  The Grand Master had no desire to be remembered as the one who had lost the treasure. He knew the mind of the king, as well, and confirmed the rumor Duncan had heard in the tavern: if Jerusalem was lost, the king meant to lead another crusade. In his absence, and the absence of the many knights and barons who would accompany him, how secure would the city of Paris be? The Grand Master also had seen a scheme for the walls that Philip thought to build in the city’s defense. The Temple would lie outside their protection, and though he ceded that this was prudent, Duncan saw that the Grand Master expected trouble.

  They were all sworn to secrecy as to the true state of affairs in Palestine. The loss at Hattin was known but not its full horror, and the Grand Master would keep the advantage of additional information.

  These concerns were debated thoroughly, and all perspectives presented with a thoroughness and attention to nuance that set Duncan’s teeth on edge. He would have their plan decided and embark upon it!

  Ultimately, it was concluded that Fergus should accompany Gaston to Châmont-sur-Maine, purportedly to witness the dubbing of Bartholomew, but truly to add his support to Gaston’s rightful claim of his legacy. The Grand Master assigned six Templar knights to join their company, supposedly a guard of honor for one of their own returning home, but also a provision of power.