The Crusader's Handfast

by Claire Delacroix

  He chuckled despite himself and liked that she smiled in return. “I feared you would do as much if I called you anything else.”

  “You might try some alternatives.” Radegunde’s manner turned flirtatious, and though Duncan could not name the reason for her forgiveness, he welcomed it.

  And he would not err again.

  “Wife,” he said. “Partner.” She granted him a wary glance, and he let his voice drop low. “Lady mine,” he said, reaching for her hand when her expression softened.

  “You know I am no lady.”

  “You are my lady, if I am not such a fool as to jeopardize that honor.” Duncan took a breath. “You are right, Radegunde, in your passion for savoring every moment. Events of this day have made me realize how uncertain all can be. Understand that I wished only to protect you.”

  “I do not wish to be protected from you, Duncan.”

  “Nor I from you.” He kissed her fingers. “I cannot fathom why your manner has changed, but I welcome it.”

  “Perhaps I thought of being without you.”

  “I certainly considered the future without you and found it lacking.”

  Radegunde laughed with delight and cast herself at him, then recoiled. “You smell foul, Duncan!”

  “I know.” He brandished the soap and stole a kiss. “Yet you, as the clever woman I know you to be, have offered the solution.”

  “My mother makes it. She brought it with her.”

  “She knew I would fetch a corpse?”

  “I do not think so. She always has some, and now we do as well. It is not as fine as the soap Joscelin granted to Lady Ysmaine.”

  “But it does not smell of roses either.” Duncan sniffed it with appreciation. “I like this scent well.”

  “Then we are allied again?”

  “Aye, to my relief. I would not argue with you again, Radegunde.”

  “Nor I with you.” Radegunde plucked the soap from Duncan’s hand and cracked it on the rim of the tub to break it in two. She handed the smaller piece back to him. She stood taller, her usual purpose restored, and he found his own mood vastly improved by her cheerful presence. “I am glad you like the scent, for your garb will be washed in it as well. Do you need another bucket of water? I shall bring it if no boy can be found. Laurent can aid me in scrubbing your plaid. With this wind and the last bit of sunshine, it may well be dry by the evening meal.”

  “I thank you, Radegunde.” Duncan felt that the obstacles were less insurmountable with Radegunde at his side, that much was certain.

  “I shall demand a payment from you, to be sure.”

  “And I shall be glad to fulfill your desire.”

  “There is a promise I will remember.” She cast him a wicked smile, then set to work. She grimaced as she gathered up his garments. “Was there ever a river so muddy as this one? The smell!”

  “Perhaps you might bring my chausses when you have a chance.”

  Radegunde spun to face him and her eyes danced with familiar merriment. “I like your plaid better.”

  “But it will have to dry.”

  She laughed. “Perhaps I should like to keep you here, nude.”

  Duncan grinned. “Perhaps I would not find it such an ordeal. We might begin on your list of desires.”

  “We might, had I not so much labor this day.” Radegunde’s smile heated Duncan to his toes and he was aware that she could see the effect of her presence upon him. “Perhaps you would wear your chausses only to see that I am not tempted to forget my chores.”

  “Perhaps it is the only sensible choice,” Duncan agreed. “For I am sorely tempted already, simply by the reappearance of your smile, and were you bent on seduction, I should have no ability to resist you.”

  Her smile broadened, and he knew she was pleased. Duncan felt a wretch for having given her any doubts. “Come here, lady mine,” he murmured, beckoning to her with one finger. “I think a kiss is warranted now that we have made amends.”

  When she cast herself at him this time she did not recoil, but lingered long to savor his kiss. Her response heated his blood and set Duncan ablaze, filling him with a yearning for this woman that he knew would never be sated. He slanted his mouth over hers and kissed her thoroughly, trying to tell her with his caress how much she meant to him.

  It was Duncan who put distance between them this time, and his rueful sigh prompted Radegunde’s mischievous smile again. “You will get wet and cold,” he growled. Her gaze flicked downward and she took evident delight in her influence upon him.

  “I vow that I will not test your resolve,” she whispered and touched her lips to his again.

  “Your very presence tests my resolve,” Duncan informed her. “But you are right that we must make the most of each day as it comes.”

  “And you are right to think of the future,” Radegunde ceded. “Since we are both right, there is no reason to be at odds.”

  “My thoughts exactly.” There could only be another sweet kiss after such an agreement, but before she pulled away, Duncan whispered in her ear. “I have a request that I do not know how to fill.”

  “Aye?”

  “Aye. Lord Amaury bade me find the book so your mother can examine it. Do you know who has it?”

  Radegunde sobered immediately and shook her head. “It was there, on the floor where she had dropped it. But then I looked out the window and when I turned back, it was gone.”

  Duncan frowned. “Someone picked it up.”

  “Aye. It was not Lady Ysmaine or Lord Gaston, for I asked.” Before he could ask, Radegunde touched her lips to his ear. “I remember who else was there.” She whispered a list of names.

  Lady Marie.

  Lord Millard.

  Possibly the maid Benedicta or another servant.

  She leaned back and held his gaze, her own filled with concern. “It is too long a list,” she murmured. “We are only two and they are three or four.”

  “Then we must choose our strongest suspect. I will watch Millard,” Duncan said.

  “And I the maid.” Radegunde nodded. “For I distrust her most.”

  Duncan nodded. “Use care.” He smiled down at her, yet holding fast to her hand, feeling her pulse leap. “I would not lose another moment with you before the Yule.”

  Radegunde nodded and straightened, her expression filled with familiar determination. “Then we must fill this time with memories, the better to sustain us both when we are parted.”

  Duncan could find no argument with that.

  In fact, he was resolved to give his lady a fine memory this very night. A reconciliation deserved a celebration, to his thinking, and Duncan wished to make a sweet confession to Radegunde with his touch, if not with words.

  * * *

  Radegunde had no time to seek either Benedicta or the book, but in the end, it mattered little.

  Benedicta found her.

  Radegunde was in great demand for the remainder of that day. Lady Richildis did not wish to impose upon Lady Marie so her maids relied upon Radegunde instead. After cleaning Duncan’s plaid and fetching his chausses for him—as well as celebrating the end of their dispute with kisses that left her eager for night to arrive—Radegunde directed them and tended to her lady, and fetched for her own mother as well. The kitchen was bustling and the hall was being prepared for the feast on the morrow.

  One of the villagers brought the daily pail of milk from his goats and the cook roared that Radegunde see it dispatched to its destination. Between arranging the evening meal for this night and preparing for the morrow, he appeared to be at his wit’s end.

  “Take the milk, I beg of you! I have not a finger’s breadth of space to spare,” he complained. Radegunde seized the bucket and made for the stairs.

  “I suppose this is merely the beginning,” Benedicta whispered, so close behind Radegunde that she jumped and near spilled the milk.

  “Aye, there is much to do before the feast.”

  Benedicta laughed though the sound was har
sh. “I mean the beginning of death at Châmont-sur-Maine,” she said. It was clear that the older maid had been crying and Radegunde felt a pang of sympathy for her. She guessed who had prepared the body of Lady Azalaïs, and truly, that was a task no maid desired to perform for her mistress.

  Then the other maid leaned forward, malice shining in her eyes, and Radegunde forgot her compassion. “Who will be next?” she hissed. “Lord Millard? Lady Marie? Will your lady cease the killing before they are all dispatched?” Radegunde tried to ignore the spew of venom, but Benedicta followed behind her. “And what was their crime? Knowing Lord Gaston before she? Providing competition in future to any child she might bear?”

  Radegunde spun on the stairs to confront the older maid. “You should not be so foolish as to disparage the lady of the keep.”

  “Perhaps it is not the lady of the keep who is responsible,” Benedicta said slyly. “Do you not service her in all other ways? Perhaps you, with your sure understanding of poison and your ability to anticipate where it might be found, are the one who saw my lady dead.”

  “Me!” Radegunde nearly dropped the bucket. “How dare you utter such an accusation, and with no proof…”

  Benedicta chuckled. “Oh, you are too clever to leave proof, are you not? Who poisoned the book? Was it truly Lady Eudaline?” She leaned closer and lowered her voice. “Or was it you and your fiendish mother?”

  Radegunde gasped.

  “Aye, she knows much of poison, does she not? And long in service to your lady’s family. Perhaps it was not Lady Ysmaine who ensured the death of her first two husbands, but her maid.”

  “Nay!”

  Benedicta smiled. “There is no proof of your innocence, either.”

  “And you would call me a liar, as well?”

  “You told us of the book. You said you fetched it. It was poisoned and you knew it. Oh, I see your ploy now, when it is all too late for my lady.” Benedicta’s eyes narrowed. “I would wager that you would like to have it back, that you could ensure none could prove that it killed my lady.”

  “I would like to see it secured so no others are injured.”

  Benedicta scoffed. “For you are compassionate beyond all. Of course. Just as your man is merely a man-at-arms, who does noble service for his lord.”

  “Of course he is!”

  “And what of the man found dead beside the old oak tree? The one who was found the morning after your lover was the last through the gates.” Benedicta spat. “You are killers, both of you, and I do not care whether you do as much for your lord and lady, or for your own satisfaction. Mark my words: you will be discovered and made to pay for your sins.”

  Benedicta surveyed Radegunde once more, then pivoted and marched back to the kitchen, her chin held high. Radegunde stared after her, simmering with anger.

  It was only because she had not turned away that she heard the footfall. The barest slip of leather on stone, a fleeting shadow, and she was alone again.

  Who had listened?

  And did that person believe Benedicta’s words?

  * * *

  It was clear that Radegunde was distressed when she returned to their chamber that night. Duncan had made preparations for a seduction, but knew with a glimpse that she had much to say first.

  “Vexing creature!” she declared when the door was closed behind her. “I have no doubt that she knows much of this matter. Indeed, I expect she enjoys the trouble she makes!”

  “Benedicta?” Duncan stirred the coals in the brazier, poured her a cup of wine and coaxed his outraged lady to the pallet. Once there, he tucked her beneath his arm and his cloak and waited.

  “Who else?” The tale of Benedicta’s venom spilled forth with speed, filling Duncan with anger that anyone should so malign his lady. “Do you think any would believe her?” Radegunde asked by way of conclusion, clearly horrified by the possibility.

  “Only a fool would believe a charge to fall from that one’s lips,” he said with vigor. “You are known by your lady and her family, and you are trusted. The merest acquaintance convinced me of your integrity and but a glance told me the truth of that one’s dark nature.”

  Radegunde smiled a little and turned the cup in her hands.

  “I did not tell you yet of our good fortune this night,” Duncan said. “The castellan has opened the first of the casks to ensure the wine is good for the morrow. I took the liberty of offering to aid in ensuring its merit.”

  “I thought it was better than usual.” Radegunde took only the barest sip before setting it aside.

  “Out with it,” Duncan commanded with affection.

  Her smile flashed briefly, then she scowled anew. “I am skeptical.”

  “Of all, or some detail in particular?”

  “It is Azalaïs.”

  “A tragedy,” he agreed, taking a more considerable sip of the wine as he watched her. It was fine. “Or is it the haste of the funeral that troubles you?”

  “Nay, it is Azalaïs herself. It is a long time since I have met a woman so nearly invisible. She was meek and quiet, pale in her coloring and sedate in her dress. I barely noticed her on our arrival, or her younger sister for that matter, yet they are daughters of noble blood raised in a fine estate. They should have been pampered if not indulged, and somewhat demanding. Instead, they are as mice. They are more different than the sisters at Valeroy than I could have imagined possible.” She met his gaze. “What would make them so timid?”

  “One cannot begin to speculate.”

  “Aye, but one can,” Radegunde insisted. “Indeed, one must speculate, for it makes no sense that such a woman would have the boldness to steal a book from within a trunk in my lady’s chamber, in the very solar!”

  Duncan considered this. “A quiet person can do much when provoked.”

  “Exactly so!” Radegunde agreed, her eyes shining. “But what—or who—provoked her?” She sat back but he could tell that she was still thinking furiously. She shook her head. “I do not think she stole the book. Nay, I believe that Benedicta stole it. Such a theft is more in keeping with her nature.”

  “But she might have done it at her lady’s bidding.”

  Radegunde pursed her lips. “Save that I have yet to hear either of the sisters give a direct command to any of the servants. Nay, their mother or Benedicta commands others on their behalf.” She caught her breath and turned to Duncan. “Or Millard,” she whispered. “I heard him command a bath for his lady the other morning and he made all the servants hasten.”

  “Perhaps Benedicta heard you tell of the book, then stole it for her lady to know the truth of what Lady Eudaline had confided in Lady Ysmaine,” Duncan suggested. “Was that of her own volition, or was she ordered to do as much?

  “She is lazy,” Radegunde said, her tone dismissive. “I do not think she would undertake any task of her own volition. Someone bade her do it, even waited to see the task completed. I am certain of it.”

  “Why not Azalaïs? If she was so timid, she might want another to do the deed.”

  “Would she even consider the theft? I would imagine her more likely to ask Lady Ysmaine if she might see it.” She grimaced. “In a whisper, when no one else was around.”

  “And yet, she clearly had the book. I still think Benedicta might have stolen the volume of her own volition, then offered it to her.” Duncan shrugged. “Or been caught with it, having taken it out of curiosity or even to vex you, and been compelled to surrender it.”

  “Compelled to surrender it? To Azalaïs?” Radegunde chuckled. “Oh, Duncan, never was there a noblewoman so dominated by her maid as Azalaïs. Nay, it would have to be a stronger soul who claimed any item from Benedicta. Wretched creature.”

  Duncan could only agree with that assessment.

  “Azalaïs had some boldness, it is clear,” he said. “Perhaps you have guessed her character wrong.”

  “How so?”

  “She did leap from the tower when she knew she was poisoned. Such a jump is not for t
he faint of heart, even if she did wish to shorten her own suffering.”

  “That is true,” Radegunde agreed quietly, and he knew she was recalling the events of the morning.

  “It might be a better mark of her nature,” Duncan continued. “What if she was quiet only because she and her husband feared Lord Gaston’s intent and did not wish to provoke him?”

  “Lord Millard suffers from no such concern.” Radegunde sipped her wine finally, which encouraged Duncan that she did not intend for it to go to waste, then put it aside. “What if Azalaïs did not jump?”

  “What madness is this? Her body was in the river!”

  Radegunde leaned closer, eyes shining. “What if she was cast from the window?”

  Duncan blinked. “But why?”

  “Because whoever was with her saw that she had been poisoned and knew she would die.”

  Duncan did not understand. “But the book was known to have come from Lady Eudaline. Lord Millard was evidently with her, but he could not have been accused of poisoning the pages.”

  Radegunde frowned. “But what if someone compelled her to read the book aloud, so that she took the risk instead of the person who wished to know the book’s contents?”

  “Why would Lady Azalaïs do such a thing?”

  “Because she was afraid.” Radegunde straightened, her lips setting with resolve. “Fear, Duncan. That is what I saw in Rohese’s eyes. I could not understand her reaction fully at the time, but her expression was one of terror.”

  “Fear of what?”

  “Of being next.” Radegunde leaped to her feet and began to pace the chamber, her words coming low and fast. “Consider this possibility. Lord Millard is most concerned with his own affluence. He wed Azalaïs in haste after Bayard’s death, hoping to become lord of the holding. It is possible that he won her heart with his charm, but it is also possible that he forced his will upon them all.”

  Duncan found himself obliged to be the devil’s advocate. “Three women undefended might have welcomed a knight to their hall.”

  “And been susceptible to his tales of what their future might be, should they remain undefended. In their vulnerability, Lady Marie accepted his suit for her daughter’s hand.” Radegunde nodded and Duncan had to agree that it made sense.