Courageous

by Dina L. Sleiman

  Rosalind looked to fifteen-year-old Brigitte as she spooned her stew into the air longingly, then allowed it to plop back in her bowl. Now that Rosalind thought about it, Brigitte had been leaving food behind for days, and the normally curvy young lady looked a bit sharper and bonier than usual.

  “I suppose you can have the rest, Sadie.”

  “Wait.” Rosalind held up a hand to stop Brigitte from passing along her food. “You need to eat, young lady. All of us need our strength for what lies ahead.”

  “If she does not want it, I will take it,” called Jervais. “I can be strong for the both of us.”

  Brigitte shot him a glare, then came to squat before Rosalind where she sat upon a log. Tossing another glance over her shoulder, Brigitte lowered her voice to a whisper. “I have gotten too fat of late. We all know I do not truly plan to fight, but if I do not return home betrothed, my mother shall be sorely vexed.”

  “What do you mean, you are fat? You’ve been working harder than you have your entire life. All of you girls have toned up nicely from your training. I wish you would not worry about boys and romance so, but trust me, men do like a few curves in the right places.”

  “Not Humph—” Brigitte slapped a hand over her mouth.

  Rosalind turned to Sadie, who never had patience with such silly girlish games.

  Brigitte pled with her eyes.

  “Well, you brought it up, not me.” Sadie shrugged. “’Tis well known amongst the girls that Brigitte hopes to catch Humphrey as a fiancé before we return home. But he seemed quite taken with Bohemond’s daughter back in Tripoli, and now she’s worried.”

  And said daughter was as thin and tiny as a waif, not to mention dark-haired with pale skin. Quite the opposite of the buxom, robust, blond Brigitte.

  Rosalind sighed.

  How could she convince these girls that they could be strong on their own and let romance and marriage come if and when they might, that they should not sell their souls for a man?

  Rosalind had thought she was that sort of strong girl, yet she had let Sir Hugh take her virtue so lightly, had given herself to him and nearly destroyed herself in the process. Surely no one could blame her for wanting better for these girls.

  She took Brigitte’s hands in her own. “Brigitte, you are not Bohemond’s daughter. You shall never be, but you are beautiful the way God made you, and the right man shall find you perfect.”

  Now she gave Brigitte’s hands a firm shake. “And if you do not finish your dinner, I swear I shall send you packing back to Tripoli and far away from Humphrey. You must be strong and battle ready, else I shall not let you travel with us.”

  Brigitte’s gaze fell to the ground between them. “Yes, of course. I know you are right. Only it is hard to see him admiring another.”

  “Now is not—”

  “I know,” Brigitte cut Rosalind off with her voice raised to a degree that the other girls might hear. “Now is not the time for romance. Easy for you to say when you are naturally as slender as a reed and the man you admire most cannot take his eyes off of you.”

  “That is not true,” Rosalind protested. But when she peeked across the fire, surely enough, Randel’s wistful gaze was fixed upon her, and he offered a little wave.

  All the girls giggled.

  “Rosalind, you know that I am truthful above all things,” Sapphira said. “And the truth is, on this issue, Brigitte is absolutely right.”

  And the giggles rose to a new pitch.

  “Shh . . . ,” Sadie shushed them all. “We sound like a bunch of little girls.”

  “We are a bunch of little girls,” Lillian said.

  “’Tis not as if you have been lacking for male attention either, Sapphira.” Brigitte headed back to her seat with her stew still in hand.

  Sapphira did not answer, and although it was hard to tell in the flickering light, Rosalind suspected Sapphira’s cheeks had flushed pink.

  “You have not said much about Philippe,” Rosalind prompted. “Do you enjoy his company?”

  Sapphira took another bite of stew and seemed to be weighing her answer. “He has excellent manners, and he is quite kind.”

  “And quite nice to look at,” teased Issobelle with her red curls sparkling.

  “Is he?” asked Sapphira coolly. “I had not noticed.”

  Which of course elicited yet another round of giggles.

  “So you don’t mind that he has been spending so much time with you,” Rosalind pressed, for she knew the girl would go to great lengths to do her duty, even if she was not feeling comfortable about it.

  Sapphira bit her lip. “I suppose I do not mind, but I wish he would not show me such particular favor. I am concerned about his intentions.”

  “Surely his intentions are honorable.” Issobelle leaned forward with excitement. “He has been courting you right in front of his own family.”

  “I realize that.” Sapphira squirmed upon a rock. “But I have made it clear that I wish to join the church. Although he has not mentioned marriage or the future in a forthright manner, I fear he does not take my plan seriously.”

  Rosalind had made it clear to Leo that she was attached to Randel, but he did not seem to take her seriously either.

  “You know,” said Brigitte, who despite her flighty nature was quite smart concerning issues of romance, “many girls claim an interest in the church before fully reaching their womanhood, and of course before meeting the right man.”

  Now Sapphira’s blush grew obvious. “I do not wish to discuss it further.”

  “As long as you understand that if you ever do change your mind, that would be acceptable,” Rosalind assured her. “There are many different ways to serve God and fulfill His purposes.”

  Sapphira just nodded. She had reached her womanhood early on their voyage, but she had spoken to her sister about it rather than Rosalind. In fact, she seemed quite shy about such issues. But at least she did not seem truly distressed by Philippe’s attention, more so confused. Rosalind would give her time to work that out on her own.

  Perhaps that was the problem with Leo. He thought Rosalind might be persuaded to change her mind now that they had met. Rumsford had been deterred easily enough, but he knew he had little to offer a girl like Rosalind. However, Leo had made it clear that he intended to marry her. And in any normal sort of circumstances, she would be a fool to turn him down.

  But her life had ceased to be normal on a fateful night a year and a half ago.

  Although Rosalind feared she was not worthy, perhaps she must consider joining the church like Sapphira, elsewise these pesky suitors might never give her a moment of peace. Why did Rosalind always seem to draw such bold and charming men?

  First Sir Hugh, then Lord Rumsford, and now this Leo. She had had her fill of them. She would take a mellow, faithful, and genial sort of fellow like Randel over any one of them.

  Glancing behind her, she noted that Leo watched her from across the way. Unlike Randel’s companionable wave, Leo sent her a searing look along with a sensual toss of his dark, wavy hair. He wiggled his thick brows her way, as if to say, Just you wait.

  Utilizing every ounce of strength within me, I somehow managed not to fling myself across the dark valley and wrap my hands about Randel Penigree’s throat. Oh, how they ached and burned to plant themselves in his gullet and squeeze tight. My hatred had naught but burned and strengthened over the past month.

  He nudged one of his boys playfully. I could not say which, for I could not have cared less about the group of obnoxious youngsters. They clawed upon my nerves. In fact, I had rather grown to hate the lot of them, for they had helped Randel in his rise to glory.

  Was I the one given leadership in this campaign? No, Randel was. Was I the one who feasted in the count’s castle? No, Randel. Randel and his passel of rowdy children and that awful Rosalind who was ever glued to his side. Meanwhile, I languished in the background, in the tedium and the boredom of this horrid crusade I did not even believe in. And mea
nwhile my brother, the only person I had ever truly loved, lay dead in a grave in England.

  Perhaps I should find myself a romantic distraction, as seemed to be the course of the day on this ridiculous mission with its women and children. In fact, I just might. It would take my mind off my troubles, but only for a short time.

  Matters like a dead brother were not easily dismissed. And my brother would be avenged. The more I dug, the more I pressed, the more I suspected Randel Penigree had been more involved with his death than even I had guessed. Something horrible had occurred at Gravensworth Castle. That I knew for certain. And Randel Penigree was to blame. From that I would never be dissuaded. I yet lacked evidence of foul play, but the very fact that he survived while every soldier beneath him perished was condemning enough in my mind.

  Once battles started and soldiers were wounded and disappearing, then I could strike. Oh, it would be easy to send a sword or an arrow flying his way, but would he suffer enough? Not likely. No, I yet needed the perfect plan.

  That Rosalind woman stood and approached Randel now. She laughed at something he said. Perhaps I would take her down as well. I had liked her well enough in the beginning, but much like the children, she had chafed my nerves raw due to her continual fawning over the imbecile.

  I took a deep breath and braced myself. I picked up my dagger and pressed my thumb against the sharp blade. But now was not the time. And perhaps I would not do the deed myself. It all depended on which strategy would most likely bring Randel Penigree down for good and destroy his name and reputation along with him.

  “Please, one more story,” whined one of the twins, as Randel moved toward the exit flap of the tent.

  “It has been a long day. You boys should rest.”

  “I am too excited to rest,” said the matching twin. “Tomorrow is the day we have been waiting for all these months.”

  Randel yet held the flap open over his head. “And it might be a difficult day. So you will need to be fresh and ready.”

  “Go ahead,” Humphrey said. “I shall tell them a story they shall not soon forget.”

  “Keep it appropriate.” Randel shook his finger at him.

  “Oh, it shall be.” Humphrey assumed the cherubic expression of an angel.

  Randel grimaced, but he let the flap fall closed behind him.

  Through the fabric he heard Humphrey say. “Appropriately . . . scary!” Humphrey’s shadow lunged at the younger boys, and they all squealed.

  Randel chuckled and headed to the groups gathered near the fires. He really should not hide out with the children night after night. Tomorrow they would head into battle, and he would do well to become acquainted with more of the others. After his defeat at Gravensworth, it had seemed easier to stay hidden away at home, and then with the children, to avoid tough questions and suspicious stares. But he was ready to put all of that behind him.

  Lady Honoria and Lord Haverland trusted him now. They had given him a place of honor on this crusade. And he had even managed to befriend the commander of the Tripolian forces.

  He skirted his way past the she-wolves as they flirted with a group of Tripolian soldiers, being careful not to draw Jocelyn’s notice.

  There was the commander now, an engaging young man with light brown hair and a trim beard, dressed as a proper European crusader. Randel headed his way and noted that Lord Rumsford and several knights from his ship were conversing with his new friend.

  “Randel, come join us!” the commander called. “I assume you all know each other.”

  “Sir Randel and I go far back, ever since he stole my first love.” Rumsford jostled Randel playfully with his shoulder.

  “So that is it!” Randel suddenly recalled a young woman named Elizabeth with flowing chestnut hair. “I never could remember why you hated me so much. But neither of us ended up with the girl. So I suppose it does not matter now.”

  “I am quite over her. And you have rather grown on me during this trip. Although you do tend to keep yourself hidden away with those children.”

  “What can I say? I am just a child at heart.”

  The commander wrapped an arm around Randel’s shoulder and gave him a shake. “That is why he is so much fun, I tell you.”

  “Well, I have not made his acquaintance” came a surly voice from the shadows.

  “Sir Manfred, allow me to introduce you to Sir Randel.” Lord Rumsford pulled the man closer to the firelight.

  Randel vaguely recognized Sir Manfred as one of the knights who had been aboard his ship. A rather short, broad man with a craggy face, but strong looking, and evidently trusted enough to be near the women and children.

  “Sir Manfred is a fine soldier. You should test your sword arm against him someday.”

  “I might do that,” Randel said.

  But Manfred just sneered at him and pulled back again.

  What was the man’s problem? Perhaps he was jealous that Randel had grown in favor on this crusade, while he had stayed in the background. But it was not as if any of the other knights had been jostling for an opportunity to serve as glorified nursemaid to the children. Randel had earned his new place through hard work and faithfulness.

  “So did he truly steal your first love?” asked the commander, attempting to steer the conversation in a more pleasant direction.

  Rumsford laughed. “I had been working up the courage for weeks to approach Elizabeth and ask her for a dance.”

  “Yes, our fathers had been spending quite some time together, and I had grown tired of hearing about the elusive Elizabeth. Mind you, I was only twelve, and Rumsford already a randy sixteen.”

  “And that night I must have pushed Randel too far.”

  “Indeed. No less than five times you headed in her direction, and no less than five times you turned back.” Randel shook his head at the memory. “I thought you quite the besotted fool.”

  “Then this one says to me that if I will not ask her, he will do it himself. For a moment, I thought he meant to ask her on my behalf, so I said for him to go right ahead. And the next thing I knew, he had the fair Elizabeth twirling in his arms, and all my future hopes and dreams came crashing down around me. And the pup was not even as tall as her!”

  “Ha ha! Crashing down. Surely you exaggerate.” The commander gave Rumsford a shove.

  “Perhaps not,” Randel said, “for he has barely spoken to me these last seven years.”

  “I was but a lad, and losing one’s first love can leave a fellow quite forlorn. Although, I must say,” Lord Rumsford gestured beyond Randel, “tonight it looks like someone else is in jeopardy of losing his love.”

  Randel turned to observe Leo pressing near to Rosalind and chucking her on the chin. She grimaced at him and pulled away, but Leo only scooched closer. Rosalind appeared a bit annoyed, but Randel’s heart thumped hard in his chest and pounded in his ears. In no uncertain terms Rosalind had told Leo that she was not interested in him. A gentleman of honor should respect a woman’s wishes, but Leo did not seem to concern himself with such niceties. He went after what he wanted with full abandon.

  Well, two could play at that game. Randel would put a stop to this once and for all.

  Chapter 13

  Once again pushing Leo away, Rosalind noted a flash of ivory moving her direction. Randel, no longer so mellow, strode straight at them with stark determination, and if she was not mistaken, even a bit of anger.

  “Leo of Cyprus, you push the lady too far.”

  “You see, Rosalind, even he thinks you are a lady.” Leo just chuckled devilishly.

  “This is not a game. I must ask that you unhand her.”

  “All is well, Sir Randel. ’Tis just Leo’s way.” But Rosalind took this opportunity to stand and move apart from Leo.

  “If you wish to spend time with her, by all means do. But if you plan to leave her alone in the moonlight . . .” Leo wiggled his brows. “I cannot be held responsible for my actions.”

  “In fact, I was just heading this way t
o ask Rosalind to walk with me.”

  “What a wonderful idea.” Sincere joy bubbled in Rosalind’s chest and burst into a smile across her face.

  “Come.” Randel wrapped an arm over her shoulder, and not for the first time, she noted how snuggly she fit against him. She reached up to place her hand over his, and tossed a triumphant look over her shoulder at Leo.

  “He is still watching us,” she whispered close to Randel’s ear.

  If she was not mistaken, he shivered as her breath tickled his skin.

  “We shall give him something to watch.”

  Randel led her between two tall tents to a narrow area that only Leo could see. Then he twisted her in his arms and pulled her to him. As Rosalind gasped and turned her questioning gaze up to Randel’s dark eyes, she spotted something there she had never seen before. An intensity. A strength. And a yearning. As her mouth still gaped in shock, he caught it with his own.

  Something about the all-too-familiar sensation caught her off guard, and her body responded, even as her mind struggled to make sense of it all.

  Fire shot through her, and old feelings she had thought long buried surged to life. Precious seconds passed before she found the strength and the shred of intention needed to pry her mouth away from his. She buried her head against Randel’s sturdy chest. Wanting to hide her reaction. Ashamed of her ardent response.

  She did not wish to be that girl again.

  Dear God, help me. What had he done? Though not quite a saint, Randel had never let his instincts overtake his rational mind in such a manner before. “It was just a kiss,” he whispered over her head. “Merely a kiss,” he repeated, for both of their sakes.

  But he knew it had been much more, and surely she felt it too. Rosalind and Randel, both committed to remaining unmarried for their own reasons, had tangled their hearts during those brief moments. That was not how a warrior monk behaved. “I am sorry,” he said, “I did not mean it to go that far.”