Courageous

by Dina L. Sleiman

She took his head between her hands and pressed her forehead to his. “But you cannot carry about this burden. You are a good man. A wonderful soldier. You must find a way to let it go and move on. You must forgive yourself.”

  She made it sound so simple. Far too simple. “The way you have forgiven yourself for whatever sins you have committed?”

  Rosalind sucked in a sharp breath and pulled back. “That is different.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it was no accident.”

  “Will you tell me about it?” he finally dared to ask.

  She sighed. “As I fear you might have guessed, I lost my virtue to Sir Hugh. I thought I loved him at the time. Perhaps I did, but that does not matter now. Then when I discovered I was with child, I was terrified I would lose my employment. I could not let that happen, for after my father died, my siblings had nearly starved to death.”

  Tears trickled down her cheeks. “During the time I worked for Lady Gwendolyn, everything changed and my family was well. When I discovered I was with child, I knew what I needed to do to protect them.”

  Just as he had feared. His heart ached for her.

  “I arranged to get away. I even took money from Hugh’s room. But I feared I could not go through with it. My mother encouraged me to do it. She promised it would be quick and easy.”

  “Was it?” he asked, being careful to keep any judgement from his tone. He knew she had punished herself enough for this decision already.

  “No, it was long and painful and horrible. I took the awful potion, and the wise woman poked at me with a huge needle. Hours and hours of cramps wracked me. I thought I might bleed to death. And at the end . . .” Now her choking sobs kept her from speaking at all.

  He drew her to himself. “At the end?”

  “It was . . . so tiny . . . so perfect. Fingers and toes. I didn’t know. I swear to you I didn’t know. Elsewise I never would have . . .” And she dissolved into sobs once again.

  “Shh, shh, let it all out.” He rubbed her back as she continued to cry.

  A few minutes passed before she collected herself enough to speak again. “Hugh said he would never forgive me. He called me a harlot, a thief, and a murderer. Those words yet haunt me. They echo in my head. I fear they are true.”

  “You are forgiven, Rosalind. I promise you. For surely no one could have repented her sins as thoroughly as you. You must accept that.” Oh, how he wished he could convince her of that truth.

  “As you have accepted God’s forgiveness and redemption for your mistakes? As you have accepted that Gravensworth was not your fault?”

  But he could not accept that. “We are quite a pair.”

  She clutched his tunic. “We are. Can’t you see that?”

  But as soon as she said it, she winced. It must hurt her to think such thoughts so soon after reliving the memory of her child.

  He pushed her shoulders gently away from him. “Do you understand now why I need so badly to prove myself? How desperate I am to win my family’s approval?”

  She considered that for a moment, then proceeded slowly, as if cautious to get the words right. “I do understand, but I do not believe God is leading you in this direction. It is guilt and pain and desperation.”

  “Perhaps, but that is how I feel right now.” He lowered his head, for he no longer wished to look into her haunted eyes.

  He could not give her what she wanted. If today had proven anything, it had proven he was far too lost for that. All he could hope now was that Sir Etienne could toughen him and turn him into a proper Templar.

  Elsewise he knew not how he might survive.

  I could hardly believe my good fortune. When I followed Randel and Rosalind to the rocky outcropping, I had hoped I might pick up a tidbit or two to help my cause. That perhaps I might hear some detail of Gravensworth or learn of some impropriety between the two.

  But I had never expected to stumble upon such a treasure trove of indicting information! It was the sweetest balm to my revenge-hardened heart.

  Slinking back between the tents, I hid deeper in the shadows. On some deep level I had always suspected Randel had killed my brother, but I had never thought I would hear him speak the words aloud.

  My brother had changed his identity when he ran away from our brutish father, but he had sent me word of his new position and his new name. Anslem Sollers, soldier under Sir Randel Penigree at Gravensworth Castle. The very fellow Randel had run through with a sword before slinking off into the night.

  Randel had no right to be alive. I did not even feel anger anymore. Nor pain. Hatred had so saturated my soul that it had become essential to my very nature. I lived and breathed for my revenge. And soon I would have it.

  Between this conversation and tonight’s earlier debacle, I finally had the perfect plan in mind to destroy the man for good. Randel Penigree would be brought down. He would be brought down hard.

  At the hand of a woman no less.

  The next evening Randel scanned the area as he led his troop into yet another mountain valley, this one only a few miles from the Druze-held prison in Beirut. The Templars had already spread out in their tents, and the passage was carefully guarded from both directions. He had intentionally kept the children behind the foot soldiers today, so that he might be able to allow the others to set up camp before them and thus avoid his enemy.

  “Rosalind, take the children and set up in that area over there.” He pointed to a shady spot near some trees. “As far from Sir Sebastien as possible.”

  “Good thinking.” She headed that way.

  Meanwhile, Randel searched for the leaders. He spotted Sir Giles and Sir Etienne speaking with Lady Honoria and Lord Rumsford. Perfect. Lord Haverland was nowhere to be seen, but he had kept to himself these last days, no doubt grieving his lost son.

  “Ho! Sir Randel. How was your trip?” Sir Giles asked.

  “Excellent.” No need to bring up his squabble with Sir Sebastien. That was over now, and he would be careful to keep the children far from the man so that they would not repeat the situation.

  Honoria quirked a brow his way but did not correct him. She turned her attention to Sir Giles. “The more important issue is what you and your men have discovered.”

  “Yes, we were getting to that. You are just in time, Sir Randel.”

  The man gazed to the east, although a foothill impeded his view of the city. “We have successfully blocked any communications. They do not suspect a thing. And according to my spies, the prison is full of Europeans right now. Nigh on three hundred, many of whom are reported to be Englishmen.”

  “And of my husband and cousin?” Honoria asked.

  “Nothing specific,” Sir Giles said, “but we have confirmed Sir Etienne’s information that most of the high-ranking nobles were brought here after a major skirmish two years ago.”

  She sighed. “That is good to hear.”

  Sir Etienne nodded. “Indeed. The bad news is that the prison is well defended. But we have enough men to overtake them. Our plan is to sneak up on them at night. My Templars can scale the walls and neutralize the guards on the parapet. Once they have opened the gates, we should have ample forces to take the prison.”

  “How near is it to the city? Might we face opposition from there?” Randel asked.

  Sir Giles rubbed his beard. “Too near. But we have spotted your ships just a few miles up the coast. We must keep matters stealthy and quiet and hurry all of the troops and the prisoners to the ships straightaway to make a quick escape.”

  “That sounds possible.” Honoria grabbed to the hilt of her sword.

  “What shall you do after this?” asked Sir Etienne. “Recoup in Tripoli and onward to Jerusalem?”

  “I do not know.” The Lady Honoria’s mask of stoic strength slipped, and Randel caught a glimpse of her more vulnerable side. “Sapphira has no peace about moving forward, and I must confess, this has been hard on all of us. Perhaps once we find our people, it shall be time to return home. If not, I
think we shall keep most of the women and children in Tripoli where it is safe.”

  “I understand,” said Sir Giles. “This fight is not for everyone, certainly not for the long term. That is why God has called some of us to a lifetime here in the Outremer.”

  “So when shall we attack?” asked Honoria.

  “As soon as possible. This must be a surprise in order to work, but it is late to prepare for tonight. Tomorrow would be best.”

  Indeed, the sun was close to setting already, and most of the troops had just arrived.

  “I would like to go in with the first round of fighters tomorrow,” Randel said. Not only because he wished to prove himself to the Templars, but because he itched for his next fight. For the fierceness and numbness of the battle lust. Although something about that frightened him.

  “Sir Randel, you must stay with the children. They depend on you,” Honoria said.

  Of course she was right, but disappointment washed over him nonetheless.

  “I agree,” Sir Giles said. “You have a special bond with them. You have been an admirable leader to those youngsters.”

  Sir Etienne gripped Randel’s shoulder. “But I do commend your desire to fight.”

  Their praise filtered like sunshine into his dreary heart. The time had come.

  “You know, Sir Etienne, Sir Giles, I have been meaning to speak with you. When the English leave, I would like to stay and join your Templars. I feel especially drawn to Sir Etienne’s troop.”

  Sir Etienne slapped him on the back. “Splendid plan, my boy. We would love to have you.”

  Sir Giles just studied him. “I can see you as a Templar, but I will not argue with Sir Etienne over you. Sir Sebastien has been with me many years, and he yet holds a grudge against you. I think he blames you for bringing the children here. They stir up something rather ugly in him, I fear.”

  Randel’s blood began to boil again. He recalled that evil glint in Sebastien’s eye as he dragged Garrett away, and he burned to put an end to such a threat. “You need to know that I shall not allow his mistreatment of them. In all truth, I can barely abide the man. I believe him to be a villain, and I will do whatever it takes to protect those children from him.”

  Honoria shivered despite the hot day. “By all means, please do. Has Sir Sebastien ever harmed them?”

  “He was rough with a few of the boys, but I intervened,” Randel said. “I have been keeping a close eye on him. I do not think anything else happened.”

  “Sir Ademar mentioned something about a row between the two of you. That was good of you to protect the children.” Honoria smiled at him, although the expression appeared forced. “Well, I suppose we have some big days ahead of us. I shall rally the troops for instructions after they refresh themselves. Thank you all for your input.” She turned to leave.

  Randel scanned the area with the Templars but did not spot Sir Sebastien. He would do his best to keep his anger in check. Just two more days, and then they might all leave Sir Sebastien behind for good.

  Sapphira and Sadie put the last touches on their tent as the other girls tended the horses and helped prepare dinner. It was a strenuous job but quickly finished, allowing them a few quiet moments. Sapphira ducked out of the smoldering sun into the comforting shade of the tent. Sadie followed, and they both plopped themselves down on their makeshift beds.

  Sadie stretched out with her hands behind her head as if readying for a nap. The girl smiled at Sapphira, then closed her eyes without uttering a word. That is why they made such good friends. Neither had much use for superfluous words. More and more Sapphira found herself longing to save her words for God alone.

  Sapphira pulled out a piece of paper from her sack along with a small vial of ink and a quill pen. She had not found much time to write since arriving in the Holy Land, but a poem had been burgeoning in her mind as she prayed for the last several days. Scratching her quill against the paper, she began to transcribe the words before she forgot them.

  After a while Sadie cracked open an eye. Then she sat up and watched Sapphira until she finished and laid the pen down.

  “What is it?” Sadie asked.

  “A love poem.”

  “To Philippe?”

  “No, silly. To God.”

  “May I read it?” Sadie crawled over to join Sapphira on her blankets.

  “Can you read?”

  Sadie grinned sheepishly. “In fact, I can. Lady Merry taught all of the Ghosts to read.”

  “Well, here then.” She handed her friend the paper.

  Sapphira watched over Sadie’s shoulder, still surprised that the peasant girl could read. She followed along to review her latest work.

  Who would have thought

  that simple acceptance of a cross,

  of a paradoxical three in one,

  could be the beginning

  of human completion?

  Yet something within

  me always knew,

  always yearned,

  always cried for that to come.

  The man I sought was man

  no more, but purest divine entity

  who would saturate my soul.

  I rest in His matchless love.

  Sadie sat for a moment in quiet contemplation.

  Sapphira pushed down her insecurities. The words were so intimate. No one had ever read her poems before, but if she could not trust Sadie with her most private thoughts, she could not trust anyone.

  At last she could restrain herself no longer. “What do you think?”

  “I think you are over Philippe.” Sadie elbowed her in the side and chuckled.

  “Seriously?”

  “Seriously . . . I think . . . ’tis far beyond lovely. I’m having a hard time finding the right words. Unlike you, I am not a poet.”

  “Then, you like it?” Sapphira took the paper back into her own hands and lovingly stroked the words.

  “Very much,” Sadie assured her.

  Sapphira rolled the paper and tied a string around it. “Rabia says that her namesake poetess wrote love poems to God. I wonder sometimes if they are similar?”

  “Have you noticed that she seems very open to our Christian beliefs?”

  “I have.”

  “And do you plan to do anything? To . . . I don’t know . . . to convert her, I suppose?”

  “I don’t know either,” Sapphira admitted. “A part of me says not to let this chance slip by. But a part of me keeps focusing upon the hindrances. It would be hard for her. For her family. She would leave her whole culture behind. And she is only a child. I do not even know how that might work.”

  “I have heard that the Moslems kill their relatives if they convert.”

  Sapphira’s stomach clutched at the thought. “I have heard the same. But Abu-Wassim is a kind and loving man. I could not imagine him doing such a thing. Still, the situation gives me pause. In my heart, I mostly feel led to pray and to love and to be a true friend to Rabia.”

  “I think that is the best plan possible,” Sadie said.

  Her approval warmed Sapphira’s heart and unclenched her stomach. Sadie was the wisest of the girls by far.

  “I will pray with you.” Sadie stretched back out on her blankets. “We might not have much time left with her.”

  “Do not remind me.”

  Whatever these next days brought, their time with Rabia would likely come to an end soon. As yet, their mission barely seemed worth it. They had lost nearly as many men as they had saved. But Sapphira could not imagine going back in time and never having been to this place, never having experienced this crusade, and never having met her new friends.

  As she pondered Rabia’s stirring face, something deep inside her said that it was all worthwhile, for Rabia alone.

  Chapter 32

  I settled myself in with a group of Templars to eat my dinner. Being so near to Randel last night had nearly ruined my appetite. But it had been worth it, for I had learned so much. Tonight I would sit near Sir Sebastien
and keep an eye on that front of my plan.

  To my surprise, my friends had followed me. Old habits, I supposed, as they still could barely look me in the eyes, and they would no doubt rather sit near marriageable soldiers than these worthless Templars with their insipid vows of chastity.

  “Lady Jocelyn,” said Sir Sebastien. “What a nice surprise.”

  “I thought it high time we all become better acquainted,” I said.

  My friends began to chat with the Templars, but I preferred to watch and wait.

  I did not like the intense look in Sir Sebastien’s eye. Perhaps a few weeks ago I might have enjoyed the game of tempting a monk. But not after my ordeal in Jezeer. Such attention had lost its appeal.

  “Jocelyn!” One of my friends poked at me, jerking me from my thoughts. “Sir Sebastien asked about your adventure in Jezeer.”

  They all gazed at me curiously. And why not? I had yet to share a word about it. I took a deep breath. “I would call it more of an ordeal than an adventure.”

  “Oh, come now,” Sir Sebastien smirked. “You were the only female taken. Is that not a bit suspicious? No one would blame you if you struck some sort of bargain for your freedom. Although by the fact that you returned, I suppose it did not turn out as you planned.”

  I gasped. No one else had dared question me until now.

  “’Tis obvious that Jocelyn is the most beautiful of the women. Perhaps a Templar has trained himself not to see such things, but it makes sense to us.” One of my friends reached over as if to pat my shoulder, then dropped her hand, seeming to think better of it. “Although I am terribly sorry that it happened to you.”

  “Thank you,” I whispered to her and shifted on the log where I sat.

  “I see just fine,” Sir Sebastien said with a roguish quirk of his brow.

  If only this Templar knew precisely what I had bargained, he would think far less of me than he already did, but I did not care one whit about his opinion. Tears welled in my eyes as I recalled just how much matters had not turned out as planned.

  I should dwell on the future and the bliss I would experience when at last Randel was brought low and my dear brother’s life was avenged. I must harden that last wounded place in my heart to pure steel.