The Crusader's Handfast

by Claire Delacroix

  Duncan had been ordered to wait outside the gates of the convent, with the horses. He had carried the baskets over the threshold to the porter, then retreated. The porter had carried the baskets into this room, but only after the abbess had peered into them.

  That woman had claimed one of the bottles of wine, as well, granting Radegunde a quelling look when she might have protested.

  Perhaps it was a tithe.

  The abbey was so quiet that Radegunde found herself agitated. She felt as if she visited a tomb, so silent and cold was the chamber. It was dark, as well, having only one very high window that did not face the sun. She could hear the nuns at prayer and the soft whisper of leather slippers on the stone floors, but the place was devoid of vitality.

  Until Lady Eudaline swept into the chamber. She carried a candle, and the scent of beeswax combined with the glow of the flame to make the room seem both warmer and more welcoming. Her manner was imperious and decisive, the flick of her wrist at the abbess who might have remained her surprising Radegunde with its dismissiveness. She might have been a queen, and Radegunde marveled that such a woman would have retired from the world for any reason.

  The abbess, however, did not fully retreat. She hovered just beyond the portal.

  It was clear that Lady Eudaline did not appreciate this.

  Radegunde wondered how to address her, for she seemed a high noblewoman yet, not a woman who had abandoned the trappings of the material world. She decided to call her by her secular address, hoping it might please the lady.

  Lady Eudaline had her height in common with her son, as well as her vivid blue eyes. Her silent but thorough perusal of Radegunde was also reminiscent of Gaston, and the maid doubted that the lady missed any detail.

  She seated herself regally, as if compelled to endure an unwelcome audience, set the candle on a table beside her, then eyed Radegunde coolly. “Should I know you?” she demanded before Radegunde could introduce herself.

  She was blunt then, as Lord Gaston was not.

  “Perhaps only by association, my lady,” Radegunde said, refusing to falter under that sharp gaze. She was well aware that the abbess listened. “My mistress is Lady Richildis de Valeroy…”

  “Richildis!” Lady Eudaline eyed the pair of baskets. “What a delight that she recalls me.” She beckoned and Radegunde brought one basket to her feet, the one with the letter from Lady Richildis. She unfastened the top, then fetched the other basket. By the time she had placed it by Lady Eudaline’s feet, that woman had already claimed the missive. She examined the seal, ensuring it had not been broken, and flicked the barest glance to the portal.

  “Sister! You know that correspondence should be read first by me,” the abbess protested. “And all the wealth that comes to us individually should be shared with all.”

  “And I know that there has already been some wine shared,” Lady Eudaline retorted. “I see the gap in the basket’s contents.”

  The abbess’ lips tightened but she did not move.

  “Was anything else claimed for the order?” Lady Eudaline asked Radegunde.

  She shook her head. “Nay, my lady.”

  Lady Eudaline fixed a glare upon her supposed superior. “Take the other bottle of wine then and leave me with my guest.”

  The abbess, to Radegunde’s surprise, did as instructed. It made her wonder how much Lady Eudaline had contributed to the foundation.

  When the abbess was gone and the portal closed, Lady Eudaline shook her head. “Well worth the price of her absence, I would say. I cannot abide wine any more at any rate.” She flicked a twinkling glance at Radegunde. “Dare I hope that is eau-de-vie?”

  “It is, my lady.”

  “And mine to savor.” She gestured and Radegunde removed the wineskin that was wedged in the lower realm of the basket, offering it to the lady with a curtsey. “It smells of plums,” Lady Eudaline murmured and took an appreciative sniff. She gestured to a shelf on one wall and Radegunde fetched a cup. She poured a small measure for the noblewoman, who indicated that Radegunde should drink of it first.

  Radegunde thought she was being hospitable and took a small sip. It seared her throat like liquid fire.

  Lady Eudaline eyed her for a long moment, then plucked the cup from her grip. She topped it up and set it aside. She capped the wineskin and considered it for a long moment. “Richildis sent me this,” she mused, then fixed that sharp gaze upon Radegunde once again. “How curious. From whence does it come?”

  “Italy, my lady. I believe from Venice.”

  Lady Eudaline arched a brow. The wineskin disappeared beneath her skirts and Radegunde was instructed to return the empty cup to its former location. The noblewoman watched intently, her gaze so knowing that Radegunde fairly squirmed, then peered into the basket again. “Dried figs! My favorite.” She offered one to Radegunde.

  “They are your gift, my lady.”

  “And there is more to you than meets the eye, girl,” the lady countered softly. “Eat a fig.” There was no doubting that it was a command.

  Radegunde was glad that she knew none of the gift had been tainted, although she was intrigued by the lady’s caution. She took a fig, as daintily as she could, and ate it under Lady Eudaline’s sharp gaze.

  Silence filled the chamber.

  Lady Eudaline did not seem to blink.

  Radegunde could hear her heart pound in her ears and wondered what she should say or do. The noblewoman simply watched her, as if she endured a test, but Radegunde did not know what it was, much less how to succeed at it.

  When Lady Eudaline finally spoke, her words were so softly uttered that Radegunde had to lean closer to hear her. “There is only one person in all of Christendom who would send me these two gifts together, and it is not Richildis de Valeroy.” Her stare was as piercing as a hawk on the hunt. “Who are you and why are you here in truth?”

  “I am the maid of Lady Ysmaine, the oldest daughter of Lady Richildis of Valeroy, and now the wife of G—”

  “No more!” Lady Eudaline held up a hand to silence Radegunde. She glanced to the portal, then leaned closer, her expression avid. “He is at Valeroy yet? He is well?”

  Radegunde nodded to both queries. “If you will excuse me, my lady.” At Lady Eudaline’s nod, Radegunde opened her kirtle to retrieve the small sealed scroll tucked between her breasts. Though she wished to be modest, she did not want the lady to think she was deceptive. Lady Eudaline smiled a little when she saw the scroll, and her gaze brightened when she had opened it.

  “No clerk could match his horrific scrawl, to be certain,” she murmured and ran a fingertip over the script with obvious affection. “His father did not wish to have him trained for the church, even though he was the younger son.” She eyed Radegunde again. “Let me feel your pulse. Does it race?”

  Radegunde stretched out her wrist and the older woman locked finger and thumb around it. She counted, then nodded with satisfaction. She unfurled the missive then, and selected a fig herself.

  “You thought they were poisoned,” Radegunde whispered.

  “Much is possible in these times,” the lady acknowledged without regret. “You brought both and consumed them willingly enough. If the gifts were poisoned, it was done without your knowledge. Still, it was not out of the question.” She smiled. “I am glad they are not, though, for I do like both figs and eau-de-vie.”

  Why did she fear to be poisoned?

  What did she know?

  Lady Eudaline sipped the eau-de-vie, then cast it back. She blinked, evidently surprised by the potency of the contents, then smiled. “And there is a potion for a winter’s night.”

  She then ate a fig and read Lord Gaston’s missive more slowly than she had read that of Lady Richildis. When she was done, she rolled it up and held it to the flame of the candle. She ensured that it was burned completely, then blew the ashes across the floor so that they could not be discerned.

  Then she eyed Radegunde once more.

  “So he is wed.” Lad
y Eudaline murmured, her satisfaction was clear. “And wed well.”

  “Aye, my lady, I believe as much.”

  She tapped a fingertip on the arm of the chair. “And so close as Valeroy.” Radegunde heard the yearning in the older woman’s voice. “He was right to send you. He must go home with all the knowledge I can give him. You must take it, and reveal it to none.”

  “Aye, my lady.” Radegunde thought the lady would confess a tale to her then.

  But Lady Eudaline stood and raised her voice. “How kind of Lady Richildis to send such gifts to me in memory of our friendship. I would send a small token to her in your care. Come with me, girl, to my cell. I will then pray for your safe journey home.”

  She swept from the small chamber then, leaving the baskets on the floor, and Radegunde could only follow behind her. The figs she kept in her hand, however, and Radegunde guessed that the abbess would not have any success in claiming them.

  “But, it is not acceptable,” the abbess began to protest, appearing in the corridor ahead and stepping into Lady Eudaline’s path.

  “It is for a moment and no more,” the lady argued, and it was clear she would not be stopped. “Do not make such a fuss over a small matter, Adela,” she chided and the chastised abbess stepped aside.

  Radegunde hastened after Lady Eudaline.

  As they strode down a walkway on one side of a cloister, Eudaline spoke quickly and softly. “I arrived as a new bride in 1153, knowing full well that my predecessor, Rohese, had been buried only six months. She and her youngest son had been killed when a boat capsized. Fulk did not believe it an accident. He confessed that he was glad he had taken Bayard with him on that day’s ride, for he had chosen to do so in the last moment.”

  “Bayard?” Did she mean Lord Gaston’s older brother?

  “His son and heir,” Eudaline confirmed. “He was but six years of age and should have been on that boat with his mother and younger brother. They had planned the excursion weeks before and the boy was disappointed to be denied it in the last moment.”

  “The whim saved his life, though.”

  “That it did. If only a similar whim had done as much this year.”

  Radegunde struggled to hide her reaction. The lady believed that Bayard had been killed! “Did Fulk know who did it?”

  Eudaline shook her head. “He had suspicions, though. Châmont-sur-Maine had only come to his hand in 1142, by grant of Geoffrey of Anjou, as reward for loyal service. Fulk held it against the assault of Elias II in 1151, and the grant was reaffirmed by King Henry.” She granted Radegunde a sharp look as they reached her cell. “But Fulk was not the sole one who desired such a gift from the king’s hand. When he died, I left the matter to Bayard, to ensure that my own son was not made prey.”

  “He might be so now, my lady.”

  “Indeed,” she agreed grimly. Lady Eudaline ducked into the cell, which was small and spare, as well as sufficiently chilly to make Radegunde shiver. Lady Eudaline plucked a small crucifix hung on a lace from the wall, pressed it between her hands briefly, then gave it to Radegunde. “It was Fulk’s and his mother’s before that. It is wrought of ebony. Hide it. Tell him I hope it brings him all the good fortune he needs.”

  The token was no sooner secreted in Radegunde’s bosom than the lady seized a small book from the bed and spun to return to the chamber where they had met. The abbess was watching from the far end of the cloister, her expression disapproving.

  “This will cost me, to be sure,” Lady Eudaline muttered, although she sounded as if she looked forward to the confrontation.

  “But who did your husband suspect?” Radegunde whispered, trying to look as if she did not speak at all.

  “His oldest adversary, of course.” Lady Eudaline halted then spun to face Radegunde, bending to kiss her cheeks in succession. “Sebastien,” she said when she touched one cheek with her lips. “De Saint-Roux,” she said when she touched the other.

  But surely that man was dead, if he had been a competitor of Lord Gaston’s father?

  Lady Eudaline pressed the small book into Radegunde’s hands and spoke again for the benefit of the abbess. “I thank you for making this journey to bring me such kind greetings from Lady Richildis. Please thank her for her generosity. This is but a small gift, but I would grant it to her, in gratitude for her kindness.” She kissed the book and gave it to Radegunde. “Godspeed to you,” she said, sounding much like her son, then pivoted and joined the other women as they filed toward the chapel for mass.

  Radegunde felt that she had gained little information for her lord and lady, but there was no opportunity to ask for more. Lady Eudaline was disappearing into the chapel, and the impatience of the abbess was clear.

  Perhaps there was some detail hidden in the book.

  Radegunde hoped as much. She disguised her glance after Eudaline by admiring the cloister, then curtseyed before the abbess. “Such a place of beauty and tranquility,” she said. “I thank you for permitting my lady’s errand to be completed.”

  The abbess studied her. “How strange that Lady Richildis would think of an old friend after so many years. Eudaline has been here for sixteen years and has few visitors.”

  “If I may be so bold as to say, I believe one’s thoughts often turn to the past when battling an illness,” Radegunde said, thinking it was not precisely a lie. She had not specified that Lady Richildis was ill.

  The abbess straightened in understanding. “We shall pray for her.”

  “I thank you.” Radegunde cast a glance at the sky. “I must make haste back to my lady’s side.”

  “Of course.”

  Radegunde strode to the door and the porter opened it for her.

  “What did you say your name was?” the abbess called and Radegunde’s heart leaped for her throat.

  “I am Marie, my lady,” Radegunde lied, for there were three of such name in service in Valeroy’s hall.

  “And your companion?”

  Radegunde concocted another tale. “A man-at-arms, recently sworn to my lord’s service. He was the sole one who could be spared this day.” She shrugged. “It is tedious to ride with an escort one cannot understand.”

  The abbess smiled. “He speaks only the tongue of the Scots, then?”

  “Evidently so, my lady. I can make no sense of his words.”

  “May you be quickly back at Valeroy again, then.” The abbess inclined her head, watching, as Radegunde departed.

  She was glad indeed to see Duncan yet awaiting her, and had she not feared they were watched, she might have seized his hand and told him all. As it was, she smiled primly and mounted her palfrey, as if they were merely employed in the same household. She did not spare him a glance, but rode on, hearing that he followed.

  Radegunde could not wait to be far enough away to talk to Duncan in truth.

  Aye, she wanted to look within this book, to be sure.

  Chapter Ten

  It was only midday, and a fine day as well. Duncan waited until the abbey was far behind them, confirmed that there were no signs of pursuit, then urged his steed closer to Radegunde’s palfrey.

  “Did you speak with her?” he asked quietly.

  Radegunde nodded. “She gave me a book, then a crucifix in secret.”

  Duncan nodded, knowing that Gaston had anticipated his mother would send him some token. “I noted a path, lass,” he said. “It winds to the left, just ahead.”

  “Where does it go?”

  “Away from the road, which is all I desire. Let me take the lead. Perhaps we can find a place to share the repast sent with us.”

  “Only the repast?” she teased, and he spared her a grin.

  “Perhaps more than that.”

  Radegunde slowed her palfrey so Duncan could pass her, and he walked his steed along the narrow path. As he had hoped, it wound steadily away from the path to the abbey and grew smaller as they rode. It was not long until the forest had closed around them and the sound of songbirds had increased. He heard wa
ter running. The horses strode onward, until the forest opened into a clearing that could not have suited his purposes better.

  It was hidden from the road but open to the sky, and the sun illuminated it. The clearing felt sheltered and warm, the perfect place for his plan. Duncan dismounted, casting the reins over his steed’s head and leaving the beast to graze. He then lifted Radegunde from her saddle, holding her captive before him for a long moment. She regarded him with shining eyes.

  “I am glad you changed your thinking, Duncan,” she whispered.

  “And I am glad you provoked me to do so,” he countered. “It is the nature of a stubborn man to become set in his path.”

  She grinned. “What good fortune that I do not mind urging you from it.”

  “What fortune indeed, lass,” he murmured then bent and touched his lips to hers.

  Radegunde leaned against him immediately, welcoming his embrace and wrapping her arms around his neck. The heat of their kiss flared, as he had guessed it might, and he was tempted to continue without delay.

  But there was an order to matters that must be followed, to ensure that honor was kept. He would not indulge in passion first and make amends later, not this time.

  Duncan broke their kiss, then tugged the reins over the head of Radegunde’s palfrey. The horses nudged against each other, grazing contentedly as he led Radegunde by the hand to stand in the sunlight.

  He turned to face her and met her expectant gaze. “I would accept your challenge, lass, and seize what we might share this day. You speak aright that the future is unknown, and there is little merit in a life shadowed by regret.”

  She smiled with visible delight, but he put one fingertip over her lush mouth.

  “But I will not steal your maidenhead from you, like a thief in the night, and leave you with the burden of that loss. There may be a child, and though you believe that all can be as you desire, I would not see you pay a price for any sweetness there might be between us.”