Courageous

by Dina L. Sleiman

  With the prayer rug under her arm, she headed out to fetch her own belongings. That surly Sir Manfred growled at her as she passed him by. No doubt he disapproved of the prayer rug, but she held little regard for the man’s opinions.

  Along the way to the horses, a familiar voice called her name.

  “Rosalind, Rosalind, please wait. I wish to speak to you.” Leo jogged toward her across the bustling courtyard. He took her hand and pulled her into the shadow of one of the buildings.

  “What is it now, Leo?”

  “It is nothing like that. You need not sound so leery.” He grinned at her, then winced and pressed a hand to the inflamed cut upon his cheek.

  She could not help but feel compassion for the fellow. He had come along to aid them, after all. “You should have that taken care of.”

  “In good time. It is only a scratch, and many are still in dire need of medical attention.”

  She smiled. He was a good-hearted sort, even if an irrepressible rogue. “What did you wish to say?”

  “I just wished to apologize that we must leave so soon. Philippe and I tried to convince the commander otherwise, but he was insistent that we do as the count instructed.”

  “No apology necessary. I understand.”

  “I just did not want you to think . . .” He raked his fingers through the thick waves of his hair.

  “You did not wish me to think it had anything to do with me rebuffing your romantic advances,” she finished for him.

  He took a deep breath. “Exactly. I might not like that you came here previously committed to another, but I want you to know that I would never seek to punish you over such a petty matter.”

  “You know, there are other single European women along. And some of them have blue eyes.”

  “Yes, I met a few lovely ladies just last evening, although might you explain why some call them she-wolves?”

  Rosalind giggled, feeling at ease with him again. “Just use caution and sound judgement with that lot. Several are quite on the prowl for a husband.”

  “Well, I have no complaints there.”

  “In truth, most of them are nice enough. Just beware of Jocelyn.”

  “I came to that conclusion on my own.” He reached over and tapped the rolled rug beneath Rosalind’s arm. “Do you know what this is?”

  “Yes. We know little of Moslem culture, but even we have heard about their prayer rugs.”

  “Moslems pray five times every day. One cannot help but admire such devotion. But I do not think the Druze recite the prayers or use the prayer rugs, so perhaps there were other Moslem forces here to support them.”

  “I do not understand how the Druze differ from the other sects.”

  “To be honest, no one knows much about them. The Sunnis and Shiites differ on issues of Mohammad’s successors and certain finer points of doctrine. But it seems the Druze mix in a number of other ancient religions with Islamic teachings. They are very secretive about their beliefs. Their fellow Moslems do not consider them to be Moslems at all.”

  “I suppose that is not so different than our Christian sects.” She shook her head. “It always befuddles me that we began these crusades to support our brothers in the Byzantine church, and then turned on them and took their lands in the fourth crusade, claiming they were not true enough Christians.”

  Leo half chuckled. “’Tis funny yet ’tis not. Rome is fickle—that no one can deny.” He nodded toward the rug. “Did you pause to wonder if the owner died today?”

  Rosalind pressed her lips together and nodded. “Likely he did. Only a small percentage were imprisoned, and from what we could see on the ridge, few of the enemy fighters fled.”

  “What do you plan to do with the rug?”

  “We gave most of their possessions to the soldiers to do with as they wished, but I could not part with this.”

  He nodded. “It is good that you honor your fallen enemy.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I enjoyed our time together, Rosalind.”

  “I did as well. And I so appreciate all you taught me about this people and this land.”

  “I shall miss you when I leave.”

  “And I you,” she said, realizing it was true. His romantic pursuit aside, Leo had been a good friend.

  He gave her a small bow. “My lady.”

  She just shook her head at his persistence in using the incorrect address. “If you insist.”

  Leo offered one last irrepressible grin and walked away.

  Once he was gone, Rosalind could not help but wonder. If she had been open to a relationship with him, might he have fought harder for her cause?

  But it did not matter. She was no longer a young woman who would sacrifice what was right for what was expedient. The last time she had chosen expediency at the prompting of her mother, it had nearly destroyed her. She was learning and growing and would never make such a mistake again. No, her resolve to remain single aside, she did not love Leo in that way, and she could not pretend she did merely to court favor with the powerful man.

  In a few days, two-fifths of the soldiers would return to Tripoli, and their English troops would be left to press deeper into foreign territory alone. It pained her to think she might have prevented that, but if indeed God had called them on this crusade, their job was only to remain faithful.

  Victory would depend upon Him.

  Chapter 16

  By their second night at the prison in Jezeer, life was falling into a new sense of normalcy. Sapphira leaned her head against Sadie’s shoulder and gazed into the flickering campfire. It was nice to have a friend, a sister almost. Her own sister had always been more of a mother to her.

  They all had worked hard over the last days to tend the wounded, bury the dead, and prepare their temporary home. Sapphira’s muscles ached in ways that she had not experienced during her training upon the ship. But she felt great satisfaction in her hard work and all that they had accomplished.

  Already the former prisoners were rallying with a new glow to their cheeks as they spoke wistfully of home, and most of the wounded were well on the mend. Sapphira had learned much about healing from the ladies of the group. Though it broke her heart that men had been injured due to her vision, it mitigated her guilt to be actively assisting the injured, and she never would have expected to be so enthralled by the healing arts. She could hardly wait to learn more.

  Philippe grinned at her from her left. He took her hand and pressed a quick kiss against the back of it before letting it go.

  Sapphira repressed a smile and tucked her face deeper into Sadie’s safe and sturdy shoulder.

  Sadie snorted, but then another giggle from farther away caught Sapphira’s attention.

  Rabia, the young daughter of one of their guides, covered her mouth and giggled some more.

  Sapphira sat up straighter and motioned to her. “Rabia, come and join us.”

  Rabia offered a polite little bow. “Oh, no, I could never impose upon your hospitality.” The girl’s French was a bit stilted and heavily accented, but overall it was quite good.

  “You are welcome anytime.”

  “Thank you, but I must take this water to my father.” She lifted her bucket higher for them to see.

  “Might I ask why you laughed?” Sapphira said.

  Rabia shuffled her foot a bit. “I was surprised. Unmarried boys and girls do not touch in my culture. But it was funny to see your reaction.”

  Philippe chuckled. “She is a bit of a shy one.”

  “Not shy, just reserved,” Sapphira corrected.

  Rabia pulled her Moslem head scarf tighter around her face, as if for protection from such foreign ways.

  “Someday I would love to hear the story of how your family came to be a guide for the crusaders.” Sapphira tossed out the suggestion as if tossing crumbs to a frightened bird in hopes of luring it closer.

  And it worked. Rabia, with her fathomless dark eyes and tan skin, took a few steps in their direction. “Tha
t is simple. We are of the Sufi Moslem faith. There are very few of us in this area, and our lives were threatened. The crusaders have offered us safety in exchange for our assistance, for we know this land quite well. And we have discovered that we have more in common with them than we might have expected.”

  “Well, now you must certainly come and tell us your stories sometime,” Sapphira said.

  “Perhaps another night.” Rabia offered a hesitant smile, and Sapphira returned it. Then Rabia scurried off.

  “I could have told you about her family,” Philippe said. “They have been with us for many years. They are quite trustworthy. We never would have brought them otherwise.”

  “But it is so much more interesting to hear it from her own lips.”

  At that moment, Rosalind, Randel, and the rest of the children came and joined them. “There you all are.” Sapphira had an idea she wished to share with them.

  As they sat, Jocelyn, dancing with a sheer Oriental scarf at a distance in the firelight, called out, “Come back. Sir Randel. The fun is only starting.” But Randel paid her no heed.

  “It seems the Cyprians brought wine to celebrate the victory, and matters have gone quite wild,” Sir Randel said. “Jocelyn’s dancing has passed the point of appropriateness, and Rumsford, along with about half of the soldiers, is quite intoxicated. We thought we would all be better off over here.”

  “I suppose we should not judge them for celebrating. It has been a difficult few months to get here.” Rosalind sat down. “But I don’t think Honoria is pleased, and we didn’t want to be a part of it.”

  “And that Sir Manfred fellow looks as if he wishes to strangle you,” Jervais said to Randel. “Whatever did you do to him?”

  “I have no idea.” Randel shrugged.

  “Sir Manfred hates everyone,” Garrett said. “’Tis just his way, but he is an excellent soldier. He served under my father back home.”

  “Well, I am glad everyone is here. I had been hoping to catch you all at once.” Sapphira patted her knees to get their attention. “And what I have in mind will be a nice respite from the carousing. I want to teach you all some of the songs I learned while visiting the convent of St. Scholastica. It did not occur to me before the battle, but there are several places in the Old Testament when praise is employed as a part of warfare.”

  “Rosalind has a beautiful voice.” Randel gripped Rosalind’s shoulder, his admiration obvious to them all.

  “I love to sing!” Lillian said.

  “What of you boys?” Randel asked. “We know that Garrett can play a drum.”

  “I can sing a fair bit.” Jervais shuffled his foot back and forth with false modesty.

  “And Garrett has the voice of an angel,” Sapphira said, for he used to sing to her when they were younger.

  “Thank you so much.” Garrett grimaced. “I was going to keep that fact to myself.”

  “Well, I think it is wonderful.” Rosalind mussed Garrett’s wavy brown hair. “This is something we shall do together. ’Tis like praying, only prettier.”

  “Precisely!” Sapphira smiled, glad that they were accepting her suggestion so readily.

  “And while we’re learning new things,” Sadie said, “I’ve been meaning to ask Randel and Rosalind if they ever learned the secret bird calls used as a code by the Ghosts of Farthingale Forest.”

  Rosalind laughed. “No, but I heard of them from Lady Gwendolyn.”

  “Indeed I did.” Randel sat down by the fire now. “We used them to excellent effect when rescuing the Lady Merry, and then again when we needed to stand up to the council and stop Sir Warner from attacking the city.”

  “So what do you say? Shall we teach them?” Sadie beamed with excitement.

  “That is a most excellent idea.” Rosalind took a seat beside Randel and gave him a playful slap on the arm. “And it reminds me of your Syrian serin. In all the excitement I had nearly forgotten. Have you seen one yet?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Do you know what sound it makes?” she asked.

  “My grandfather never mentioned it.”

  “Then we must determine to find out and add it to our secret calls.” Rosalind laid her hand upon his shoulder companionably.

  Sapphira always enjoyed seeing them together. That must be how a happy married couple appeared. She had never really had much opportunity to observe that with her parents deceased so soon and her sister’s husband away in the Holy Land.

  Randel nodded. “Interesting. The serin’s call could be a special battle strategy just for us.”

  “Rabia might know the sound it makes,” Sapphira said.

  She glanced at Philippe again, and he was smiling warmly at her as always. “I cannot wait to learn your songs, Lady Sapphira.”

  “I cannot wait to learn the birdcalls.” Garrett hopped from foot to foot with anticipation.

  “Is there an owl call?” asked one of the twins.

  “Indeed there is,” Sadie said. “A barn owl.”

  And so they all settled in for a pleasant evening of learning and playful teasing. When Philippe reached over and took Sapphira’s hand, she did not jerk away. For he would be leaving all too soon, and she still had much to unravel about her feelings for him.

  On this, their third day in Jezeer, Randel watched the children working hard at their sword training once again. Though the Tripolians would be leaving on the morrow, Philippe insisted he would stay with them. And so he had offered to train the children in special sword techniques used by their army and particularly helpful against the Saracens’ curved weapons.

  Randel crossed his arms over his chest. Philippe seemed to have matters in hand. He was well on his way to making himself invaluable to their troop, as he no doubt hoped to do in his quest to remain with the lovely Sapphira, who had clearly captured the young man’s heart.

  Rosalind sat near the girls, awaiting her turn to spar with Philippe. They had put off discussing their disastrous kiss for far too long. The children would be fine without them for a few moments.

  He walked to her and squatted down beside her, tugging at the sleeve of her tunic. “Might I borrow you for a while?”

  “Borrow me?” She turned and smiled. “Well, I suppose you must ask the girls that question.”

  “Go.” Sadie gave her a shove. “Philippe is doing a fine job. I’ll assist if he needs any help. You two deserve a break.”

  Randel stood and offered Rosalind a hand to help her up, then just as quickly released it. He led her across their practice field, which lay to the north of the prison, and directed her toward the shade of a gnarled tree. It offered them a comfortable and semi-private place to sit.

  Perhaps it would be better to take her somewhere that they could truly be alone, but this conversation would be challenging enough without adding the temptation of more kissing to the mix. They would both be safest here.

  He watched the children for a few more minutes without saying a word.

  She nudged him with her shoulder. “Did you wish to speak to me about something?”

  He lowered his head and shook it as he chuckled. “I did, but now I find it rather hard to begin.”

  “Is it about the . . .” Now Rosalind faltered.

  He swallowed. “The kiss.”

  “I thought we had put it behind us.” She bit her lip.

  “Yes. And I want us to go forward with our friendship as if nothing is amiss.”

  She nodded, letting her lip slip back through her teeth. “I think we have managed to do so these last few days.”

  “We have. Quite admirably. But the kiss brings up a related issue. A deeply personal issue I have been meaning to discuss with you for some time.”

  Rosalind sighed. “We do tend to keep our conversations to light pleasantries. ’Tis not that I don’t trust you . . .”

  Then they both sat in silence again for a few moments.

  Finally Randel blurted the issue that had been pressing upon his mind. “I plan to remain here and bec
ome a Templar. After we complete our mission, of course. I would not abandon you all. I should have told you earlier, but I do not wish the children to know. Not yet.”

  Her head snapped up, and her eyes registered shock. “A Templar? As in a warrior monk?”

  “Yes. That is why I shall never marry. And why I had no right to kiss you so.”

  “Please do not apologize for the kiss again. And you do not owe me an explanation—although I’m glad you told me about your plans. I want us to be true friends and not to feel we must hide things from each other.”

  She clasped her hands and rubbed them together. “But a Templar? Randel, are you certain? I have come to notice that while you are quite adept at warfare, you have a gentle heart and you take hurting others rather hard. What draws you to it so?”

  Her words stung him, although he knew she did not mean them in that way. They rang too similar to the reasoning he had heard throughout his life.

  “I told you I had a falling-out with my parents. They wished me to join the church, but I have always wanted to be a knight. Finally, with this decision, I found a path that might please us all.”

  She stared at him quizzically for a few moments. “I am not certain that I see you as a priest either, but you are intelligent and very sincere in your beliefs. Perhaps it would be more fitting. Are you sure about this plan to be a Templar?”

  So many thoughts warred within him, but he had said too much already. He steeled himself against further questions. “I am sure.”

  “Jocelyn shall be disappointed.” Rosalind nudged him playfully.

  “Thank goodness I have not seen her all morning.” Randel would be perfectly happy if he never saw that woman again.

  “She always sleeps late, especially after a night of carousing. I assume the Tripolian and Cyprian soldiers enjoyed the show.”

  “They all shall no doubt be following us home to Europe,” he chuckled.

  “Or kidnapping the she-wolves to marry them and keep them here.”