Courageous

by Dina L. Sleiman

  “It would be hard for her.”

  “And what of you?”

  Randel’s gaze boring into her caused Rosalind to turn toward his close scrutiny. Her throat felt oddly dry of a sudden under the perusal of his dark eyes. “Me?”

  “Could you run a man through? Deliver a death blow?” He seemed to gaze deep into her soul, searching out the truth. Randel had a special way of looking inside people and discerning their needs.

  She swallowed and focused her attention back to the children. “There is a reason we leave the warfare to men. I admit I am more comfortable with distance weapons. Throwing daggers and archery.”

  Then she imagined pressing her sword into flesh, even the flesh of an enemy, and winced. “For myself, I am not certain, but for one of my girls . . . I believe I could.”

  Glancing quickly from the side of her eye, she saw him nod. “That is good to know. It might come to that someday.”

  “Have you . . . ever had to?” she asked.

  He took a deep breath and sighed. “’Tis hard. Harder than I imagined. But sometimes a warrior does what he must. Your training takes over in such moments.”

  She could not resist turning to him again. This time he locked his gaze to the children, who were attempting to stand from the arched shape, and she watched a flash of pain wash over his features. Much like her, he seemed to have some secret pain, which he barely held at bay. While she longed to shoulder some of his burden, she did not wish to open her own humiliating past, and so let the issue drop.

  His hand pressed into her waist and he tugged her closer, although she saw no one about. It felt nice there. Right. Different from and yet similar to Sir Hugh, the only other man who had ever touched her so before.

  The few times she had seen Hugh since he had tossed her aside had been trying indeed, and she had found not a single scrap of affection left in her heart for the jovial man she had once known—recalling only the bitter attack of their last conversation, which yet echoed through her mind at the most inopportune times.

  But she did not wish to relive any of those awful memories on such a lovely day. Tilting her head just an inch to the side, she was able to rest it against Randel’s well-muscled shoulder, and found it fit quite nicely.

  A giggle caught her ear. Issobelle pointed their way.

  Rosalind stood back up straight, raised a sharp brow, and snapped, “Stay focused. All of you!”

  Lillian pressed up to the arch and then rocked to standing with ease. “I did it!”

  Jervais tried again, but from his barely arched position, crashed back to the deck. “This is not fair. Why can we not work on the joust?”

  Garrett rocked back and forth, then stood as well. “Because the horses are on the other ships, you dunderhead.”

  Jervais swatted at him, but Garrett stepped away and laughed.

  “This is good for you, Jervais. Keep it up,” Randel said.

  “Good for both his body and his arrogance,” Rosalind whispered for Randel’s ears only.

  “Why do you not try it?” Jervais shouted. “’Tis not as easy as it looks.”

  “Perhaps I will.” Randel pulled away from her and jogged over to the children.

  The cool breeze at her side took her by surprise, making her feel suddenly alone. She trotted after him and decided to join the fun as well. They must make the most of these carefree days aboard the ship, for they would not last long.

  From the dusky shadows of the hull, I stared out into the bright sunshine upon the deck. There he was. Once again cavorting with the children. Playing as if he deserved any happiness in this world.

  Randel deserved nothing. Not happiness. Not the honorable position he had been granted in this campaign. Perhaps not even life itself.

  Not when my brother, the only person who ever really mattered to me, the only person who truly cared about me in this world, lay rotting in his grave. Seventeen. The boy had been a mere seventeen years old. He should not have even been a soldier, except that he was so desperate to escape our parents. Certainly they had never loved either of us. He and I had planned to someday meet again, when both of us were free of their clutches, but it had not turned out that way.

  Dead. Gone. After all these months, I could still hardly believe it.

  And it was all the fault of Sir Randel Penigree.

  The church could harp about forgiveness all it wanted. But I would never forgive Randel. He had become my very reason for drawing breath. My reason for embarking on this campaign. My reason for enduring this blasted sea voyage and the leadership of that awful shrew of a woman, Honoria.

  I never had been one to support these wretched crusades. They had brought England naught but trouble, stealing away our taxes and even the honorable King Richard. Leaving us in the hands of that tyrant John, until our own region of North Britannia had managed to break away. Besides, while I hid the fact well, I found the entire Christian faith far too restrictive and had long incorporated my grandmother’s pagan beliefs.

  I could not care less about this ludicrous cause.

  That fool Randel positioned himself on his head and attempted to press his feet into the air like some idiotic court jester. I would knock him down from his precarious perch easily enough. The only joke here was the fact that Sir Randel led these children while my brother lay dead. He was not a man of honor. He was a coward and an imbecile. He had been my brother’s commanding officer, and it was his fault that my brother had died under his watch.

  I hated him. And my hatred fortified me like a strong wine. It flamed my blood and blurred my vision of all but him.

  Sir Randel tumbled down and grabbed for the maid, Rosalind. The two of them laughed and clung to each other longer than might be considered mannerly. Rosalind, whom I grudgingly admired despite her lowly upbringing. The girl had spunk, no matter her poor choice in companions. But if she stood in my path, she would topple alongside her friend. Nothing would get in my way.

  My hand twitched against the dagger, hidden within my clothing.

  How I would love to run him through this instant, but I did not desire to destroy my life along with his. I yet had all the time in the world, not to mention a vial of poison hidden away with my belongings. I would continue to watch and wait. Soon I would discover his weakness, and I would bring him tumbling down for good.

  Sir Randel would never return to England. I would see to that.

  Rosalind scurried up to the highest deck for a rare moment alone while the girls beneath her in their cabin preened for dinner. She stretched out upon the smooth wood, propping her hands behind her. The air was already taking on a nip as the sun dipped low to the west, a hovering bright orange ball against streaks of purple and pink. A bird soared overhead, an arching silhouette upon the sky’s rich palette, and then settled itself atop the highest mast to the center of the ship.

  For a moment she could almost forget that nearly every muscle in her body screamed at her for the punishment she had forced upon it today. Sadie’s training had proven quite challenging, but Rosalind did not regret her involvement.

  Her limbs felt somehow more attuned to her mind, more under her control. She had always excelled at activities that involved coordinating the hand and the eye, but she had lacked the requisite strength to fight with skill. She had a feeling—a rather dull aching feeling—Sadie would remedy that soon enough.

  Though she could not see over the sides of the ship from her position, she could look across the decks and out over the sea to the horizon beyond. As someone who had grown up inland, sea travel had surprised her in many ways. Not only the mammoth size of the ship and its three sails, but the construction itself.

  Having only seen small river vessels, she had never imagined a two-story hull, nor the towering “castle” structures at both the stern and bow of the ship, which offered not only above-board cabins for the more esteemed passengers, but also provided tall, crenelated defensive structures not unlike a castle wall. Had the small Italian taridas they encountere
d yesterday been enemy ships, they could have rained down arrows upon them with ease.

  Other things had surprised her as well—like the dried meat and hard bread she had grown weary of within days, the birds miles from the land they skirted as they traveled, and the fresh scent of the sea that seemed to wash all her troubles away. And the outdoor nature of their lives, for no one wished to be crammed in the crowded cabins or dreary hulls for long.

  She rolled her neck against the stiffness that was gathering there and stretched her aching back. Leaning forward, she reached for her toes and wiggled her body in a manner worthy of the twins in an effort to relieve the pain.

  “That is what you get for tumbling about like a court entertainer.”

  Seemingly from nowhere, Lord Rumsford sprang onto her private hideaway.

  Rosalind quickly straightened her tunic to better cover her leggings. “Lord Rumsford, you should not sneak up on a girl like so.”

  He wiggled his brows over an admittedly handsome face. His chin-length hair and neatly trimmed beard framed his strong cheekbones and sea blue eyes to perfection. “And how should I sneak up on her?”

  Rosalind grimaced. “Not at all.”

  He tipped up his chin and chuckled, and then plopped down beside her so close that their hips grazed. “I saw you up here alone, and I could not let this moment pass. Is it my imagination, or have you and Sir Randel grown quite attached lately?”

  “I cannot account for what you imagine,” Rosalind said coyly, although she was pleased he had taken note so soon. Or perhaps . . . they had been spending too much time together all along.

  “And I cannot say I much like that fellow. He once took something quite precious from me. I know Lady Honoria trusts him, but perhaps you should not.”

  Rosalind just twisted sideways and shot him a glare.

  “You know, I have more to offer you than Sir Randel.” Rumsford adjusted himself so that his arm brushed Rosalind’s back.

  She scooched forward an inch on the slick deck. “Like what? A ruined reputation?”

  He grabbed at his chest. “You wound me, dear Rosalind. I had meant to suggest something far more pleasurable, but you spoiled all the fun. You certainly are a tough nut to crack.”

  “Well, thank you. That is the first truly nice thing you have ever said to me.” She would not wish him to know how much her tough exterior had cost her. She had learned the hard way from her old admirer, Sir Hugh, not to let a nobleman dally with her.

  He chuckled again, for they both knew Rumsford had spent ample time and compliments attempting to charm her. “I am not generally one to approve of women being involved in battle, but I have to admit, you actually looked quite lovely out there with the children today. You have a natural grace and a fine form.”

  “And you have a flattering tongue. Do you ever choke upon it?”

  But he would not be deterred. “Please, Rosalind, do not give up on me. Time passes so slowly on this ship. You have a sharp wit, and I can think of no one I would rather converse with. Say you will have dinner with me tonight. Surely you tire of the ship’s bland provisions. Sup with me in my cabin.”

  “’Tis not yours alone.”

  “Ah, but as a ranking nobleman on this crusade, I think I can persuade the others to allow us some privacy.” He winked at her. “I have some lovely treats. Fruits, sweetmeats, cheeses. You will find no others like them on the Mediterranean.”

  The girls had a few of their own treats hidden away for late-night conversations, but Rosalind would not tell their secrets.

  “So what do you say?” Lord Rumsford placed his hand over hers, and she tugged it away.

  Sitting up and crossing her legs before her, she adjusted her attire once again. “Perhaps I have not been clear.” She turned and looked him straight in the eye. “Sir Randel and I have established . . . an understanding.” There, that was true enough.

  He shifted farther away from her. “I see. Perhaps I should alert the she-wolves.”

  “That would be quite helpful.” Their plan was going perfectly!

  “So you trust his motives, but not mine. Do you think that is wise?”

  “I have known Sir Randel for some time. He is a close friend of my employer and quite honorable.”

  Rumsford nodded slowly as he took in this new information. Then his up-and-down motion switched side to side as he shook his head in the negative. “I would not be so sure if I were you.”

  “For now we shall remain friends only. This mission is too important to us. We have much time still to see if this shall work, or if we shall even survive.”

  He winced. “True enough. Which is why I am sure that you shall not blame me for seeking out a companion during these last peaceful days.”

  She relented and smiled. “I do not blame you, but you shall not succeed with me.”

  “Fine. I surrender, then. But if you ever change your mind, you know where to find me.” He sprung lithely to his feet. “I bid thee adieu, fair maid Rosalind.”

  So it would be dried meat and hard biscuits again for her tonight, but some pleasures just were not worth the cost. She understood that truth more than most. Rosalind stood to her feet as well and went off in search of Randel before the crashing memories could wash over her once again.

  Chapter 7

  “We are nearly to our destination.” Lady Honoria pointed to the coasts of Armenia and Antioch, which they had been skirting for the last few days, then slid her finger slightly south along the map to the area of Tripoli. “The captain believes we will reach Tripoli sometime tomorrow or the next day at the latest.”

  Randel pressed his head close with the other leaders gathered around the table in Lady Honoria’s cabin. He felt honored to have been included in this meeting alongside Lord Haverland, Lord Rumsford, and several other leaders. It seemed his failure at Gravensworth might not haunt him to the grave as he had once feared.

  Nearly there. He both tingled with excitement and went cold with fear. The day they had both awaited and dreaded during their months at sea.

  These past weeks had gone by in a pleasant, sun-drenched haze, especially since they had added the tumbling training and since Rosalind had helped him hold Jocelyn at bay. They had not been entirely successful on that front, as the girl was quite persistent, but the situation had improved. And having Rosalind always at his side had proven even more pleasant than he had anticipated.

  She felt right there. Like a natural extension of himself. She did not leave him confused or nervous, like some beautiful women he had met. Instead, she brought him comfort, joy, and peace.

  This entire trip felt so right. All those years when his parents had forced him to stay indoors, studying, preparing for a priesthood he had no interest in, this is what he had longed for. This is why he had snuck out again and again to train. And it had proven well worth the while.

  Sir Ademar leaned closer to the maps. “We shall land near the main city of Tripoli where the local lord resides. Some Bohemond fellow. He is French, I hear, so we should communicate well enough.”

  The Norman nobles in England yet spoke their native French, although their ancestors had dwelt in their new land for over a hundred and fifty years.

  “Yes.” Lady Honoria’s brow furrowed. “I have done my research, and it seems that there have been problems with crusaders from differing countries working at odds with each other. Breaking each other’s treaties and what not. We hope this Bohemond will be agreeable to our cause and help to guide us.”

  “So where do you believe the prisoners are being held?” Lord Rumsford asked.

  “We have only rumors to go on at this point,” Honoria said. “But we believe this area just south of Tripoli, which has been wrestled from Tripoli’s grasp by the infidels.”

  “It shall be a challenge.” Sir Ademar’s hand clasped the hilt of his sword. “But we must have faith.”

  “Which brings me to another issue.” Lady Honoria took a step back to better see them all. “I expect every o
ne of our crusaders, down to the youngest page and lowliest foot soldier, to behave with the utmost honor to represent Christ well. We will use force only when force is required. And we will show respect to the basic humanity of our enemies to the greatest degree that we can. You all must support me in this matter.”

  “Of course.” Lord Rumsford tipped his head, and the others followed suit.

  “You have my full agreement,” said Lord Haverland. “Sir Randel, you and Rosalind will continue your leadership of the children. They are coming along quite well under your care. My Humphrey seems to be improving in both skills and attitude.”

  “And Garrett has a new sense of confidence,” added Sir Ademar.

  Randel’s heart warmed at that. Their statements about their sons confirmed his own belief. He was meant to be a warrior, meant to be a leader. “Rosalind gets much credit. Especially for the girls. She understood their needs much better than I did. We have equipped them with lighter swords and focused their training more on archery and defensive measures.”

  “Very wise.” Lady Honoria nodded. “My compliments to this Rosalind. I am glad we chose young energetic people to work with the children. I do not think many of us could have handled that job. But do you think she can serve as a leader in the field as well, or does she seem likely to grow rattled under pressure?”

  Lord Rumsford laughed. “Oh, our Rosalind is not easily rattled.”

  Though Randel appreciated his support, he did not like Rumsford’s familiar tone. He had thought the man had relinquished his pursuit, and he eyed him warily.

  “That is good to hear.” Lady Honoria seemed to be considering the issue further. “And do the children respect her, though she is not titled?”

  “She has won their respect,” Randel assured them.

  Sir Ademar took the map and rolled it up. “We should gather the ships and make some sort of announcement. Lady Honoria, perhaps a speech is in order.”

  “Indeed. A speech and a special mass. You will see to it, Father Andrew?”