Randel noticed that Rosalind had ceased her weeping and now focused on the proceedings.
He must say all that was on his heart, both for her, and for every soul gathered here. “The Rosalind who is before you is a new person. Perhaps once she took money without permission, once she relinquished her virtue too easily to a man who did not deserve it. And yes, unfortunately, without fully understanding the ramifications, she ended the life of her own dear child.”
Jocelyn cried out again. “But she—”
“Let him finish.” This time Lady Honoria interrupted her.
He paused and looked Rosalind straight in her piercing blue eyes. “But Rosalind of Ipsworth, I say that you are no longer a thief, a harlot, or a murderer. God has given you new names. Precious. Righteous. His. Accept these. They are His free gift to you.”
“And will you accept . . .” Rosalind hiccupped through the remnants of her tears. “Will you accept that you were never a murderer and that you did your best? Will you stop trying to prove yourself and accept the person that God made you to be and His plan for your life instead?”
Her words reached deep into his heart. A heart that he had wanted to render dead, that now coursed with rapid, pumping life. “I will.”
“Enough,” Jocelyn shrieked. “I have had it with your pretty speeches. Sir Sebastien is dead, and Sir Randel poisoned him. That is why we are here.”
“I am not yet convinced of that,” Lady Honoria said. “Is that what you meant, Sir Randel? Did you kill Sir Sebastien to protect the children?”
“If I would have been called upon to fight Sir Sebastien to protect them, I would have done it in an instant, but I did not poison him.”
“Then explain the vial in your tent,” Jocelyn demanded.
Drat! In all that had passed during these short but eternally long minutes, he had forgotten the vial. He would not wish to implicate the boys, but the fury in Jocelyn’s eyes gave him a different idea.
He turned and pinned Jocelyn with a glare. “Perhaps you planted it there. We now know that you have ample reason to hate me. Perhaps you are the one who killed him in order to implicate me.”
“And why has no one ever investigated why Jocelyn was the only woman taken by the Saracens?” Rosalind added. “Is this not suspicious?”
“’Tis highly suspicious,” said Sir Etienne. “I have thought so many times, but as I could think of no possible motive, I had not brought it up.”
“The Saracens seemed to know exactly when and how to attack to find us at our weakest,” Sir Ademar said. “I have wondered about that.”
“This is . . . this is . . . You can’t think . . .” Jocelyn sputtered.
“I’ve seen the vial!” one of the she-wolves shrieked, then clamped her hands over her mouth.
“What?” Lady Honoria, stalwart woman that she was, looked as if she could not handle one more surprise this evening.
“I’ve seen the vial. Lord Rumsford, if I may?” The young woman held out her palm, and Lord Rumsford deposited the evidence there.
She studied it closely. “Yes, this is it. Jocelyn takes it out and strokes it when she believes we are all asleep. She whispers to it. Once, I think she might have kissed it. ’Twas quite alarming. Has anyone else seen this?”
The pack of she-wolves whispered and jostled among themselves. Finally, the only noblewoman of the group stepped forth. In a quiet, remorseful voice, she said, “I have seen it too. But perhaps we misunderstood . . .”
“I think we all understand quite clearly now,” said Sir Giles.
Lady Honoria nodded her agreement. “I am ready to make my ruling. Jocelyn, I believe you are guilty of not only the murder of Sir Sebastien, but also of trying to implicate Sir Randel and Rosalind unfairly. Randel and Rosalind, you will not be held guilty by this court for your past mistakes. Lord Rumsford, have two of your men escort Jocelyn to the ship. Soon we shall try her properly under the local magistrate in Tripoli and allow justice to prevail.”
I struggled against the bindings on my hands, unable to believe that matters turned so rapidly against me. A knight lifted me upon his horse and climbed up behind me. I wanted to scream, to thrash, but my only hope lay in a show of docility.
“Are you comfortable?” asked the knight, chivalrous even with a known criminal. It almost made me sad for what I must do. Almost, but not quite.
“I am fine. Thank you.” I turned and batted my eyelashes at him. “You are quite kind.”
I feigned a few sniffles, though in truth I was too livid to cry.
Another knight mounted his horse, and we headed off toward the coast on this dark night with only a sliver of moon to light the way.
Although I attempted to keep my features even, I seethed and boiled with rage. I would show them. I would show all of them. Not only Randel, not only Rosalind and the passel of annoying youngsters—I would see every last one of them destroyed for this.
I yet had weapons at my disposal. I yet knew how to seduce and use my womanly wiles. I simply must harden that last soft place in my heart that had so recently ached from my ordeal. But my hatred would see me through. It would give me the strength I needed.
And I yet had my dagger hidden away in the folds of my kirtle.
This was not over.
“After the battle we shall all gather here.” Sir Giles pointed at the map in the firelight as he spoke to the assembled leaders. “Where the ships will be waiting for us.”
“From there we will return to Tripoli, at least for a time, and decide whether this crusade will continue or if we should set a course for home,” Lady Honoria said.
Randel paused to consider that. Of course it would be best to head home, but if they did not find Honoria’s husband and Richard DeMontfort, matters might yet be delayed. This crusade had proven harder than any of them ever suspected, the territory more brutal, the situation more complicated. If he had ever wished to head onward to Jerusalem, he had lost that desire along the way.
And now with his new bright perspective, he questioned if he would become a Templar at all. The prospect of priest no longer sounded like a second-rate job, but rather a great honor. And then there was the possibility of . . .
“Wait!” Lady Honoria pressed a hand to her head. “What are we thinking? We cannot do it this way. Have we learned nothing?” Her breathing seemed to turn shallow.
“I do not understand,” Sir Giles said. “I thought we had all agreed upon this plan together.”
Lady Honoria seemed too stricken by panic to respond.
Sir Giles glanced about to Sir Etienne, Lord Rumsford, Sir Ademar, and even to Randel.
Randel was about to shrug his shoulders, when understanding dawned. “She is worried that Sapphira has not been consulted.”
The lady nodded vehemently from her doubled-over position.
“But surely Sapphira would have spoken up if she had a concern.” Sir Giles yet appeared confused.
“Perhaps not after we dismissed her warnings so glibly the last time,” Lord Rumsford said with humility.
“I shall get her, then. Try to take deep breaths, my lady. All will be well.” With due haste, Randel rushed off to find Sapphira with the rest of the children.
“Come with me!” he said.
Seeming to sense the urgency, the fairylike child stood and followed. He brought her back to the leadership group in less than a minute.
“Here she is.” Randel laid his hands on Sapphira’s slim shoulders. “Ask her what you wish.”
“What is it?” Sapphira questioned with concern.
The Lady Honoria yet panted slightly and appeared uncomfortable, but managed to find her voice. “Is God in this plan to attack the prison? I do not blame you if you do not wish to speak to me of these matters. I have not earned your trust. But please, I beg of you, tell me true.”
Sapphira blinked a few times. “I . . . I am sorry. I did not realize my approval was so important to you.”
“Neither did I . . . until we went to pr
oceed without your blessing.”
Sapphira pressed her lips tight for a moment. “I confess that after Jezeer, I have not sensed much concerning our direction. But I have felt no specific concerns or warnings about this plan.”
“Please, give us a yes or a no,” her sister pled.
“I sense . . .” Sapphira stared out into the night sky for a moment. “I sense . . . that it is our decision to make. That is odd, is it not?”
“You tell us, for you are the one who hears from God.”
“’Tis just that I felt so strongly that this crusade was dire,” Sapphira said. “Yet now the urgency is gone. Perhaps our mission has been . . . fulfilled?”
“But what of the attack?” Desperation flooded Honoria’s voice.
By the intense look on her face, Randel could tell Sapphira was seeking the spirit’s prompting, as she so often did.
“I believe God is leaving that choice up to us. It will not be without a cost, but if it is important to us, we may proceed.”
“It is so very important to me—” Honoria’s voice caught on a sob, but she held herself in check—“to know if my husband is there.”
“And it is even more important for North Britannia to know if our rightful duke lives,” said Rumsford.
Sapphira nodded. “Then you have your answer. However, I would remind you that I do not believe we should head to Jerusalem to fight.”
“But if we learn that they are still alive elsewhere?” Honoria asked.
Sapphira reached out and took her sister’s hand. “Then we shall seek God’s guidance—together.”
“Perhaps we should do that right now.” Honoria held her free hand out to Sir Ademar.
Randel gladly took Sapphira’s other hand and Sir Etienne’s as they all joined in a circle.
Sapphira gave her sister’s hand a tug. “You lead us, Honoria.”
Honoria’s cheeks turned pink. Randel had never seen her blush before. At first she spoke with hesitation. “Father God, we humbly come before you. We need your wisdom; we need your guidance. This crusade means nothing if it is not your will.”
Then her demeanor shifted and she grew more confident as she continued to pray for forgiveness and direction with true fervor.
At the end, Randel opened his eyes along with the others. They all stood silently for a moment.
“Does anyone sense anything?” Sapphira asked.
But they remained quiet as they all pondered the situation.
Finally Honoria spoke. “If God is giving us a choice, I believe we must move forward.”
“I agree,” said Rumsford.
Ademar and the Templars all nodded their assent.
“Lady Honoria, Lady Honoria.” A knight stumbled toward them in his hurry.
One of the fellows who had escorted Jocelyn to the ship. Everyone stared at him with concern.
He panted as he stopped before them. “She has escaped.”
“Surely you jest.” Honoria’s mouth gaped.
“I suppose we failed to search her person. While I was gone to . . . relieve myself, she must have convinced my comrade to free her hands. When I returned, his chest was stained in blood, and she was nowhere to be found.”
“Did you search at all?” asked Sir Rumsford, the man’s commander.
“I looked for a trail but could detect nothing in the dark. I’m afraid I was gone quite long.”
Rumsford looked ready to strike the man but controlled himself.
Randel empathized with the dreadful feeling the man must be experiencing, but thankfully, he relived none of his own memories of failure.
“I humbly apologize, but I have been ill since Jezeer. The water there did not agree with many of us.”
Rumsford sighed and raked his hair through his fingers. “Many of the men are sick with dysentery. We must hurry with this campaign before they grow too weak to fight.”
“Where could Jocelyn have gone?” Randel spoke the question they must all be wondering.
“I have no idea, but that girl is volatile.” Sir Giles looked around at all of them. “If Rosalind’s suspicions are correct, Jocelyn might have betrayed us before. There is no guessing what she might do in her bitterness. I believe we must move up the strike to tonight.”
Lord Rumsford brightened at the idea. “The plans are in order. We have the supplies, and the men have been resting all afternoon.”
“I say we do it!” Sir Ademar said and clapped his hands together.
“Then what are we waiting for?” Honoria quirked her brows, and the decision was made. “Gather your troops and be ready in an hour. We move tonight!”
Randel headed for the children with a new buoyancy in his step. Not dread, nor fear, nor even numbness. They were ready for this battle, and he was ready to lead the way.
Chapter 34
Rosalind pulled her horse next to Randel’s. Once again they would watch the battle from a nearby rise, but this time in the hazy, moonlit darkness. The sprawling prison before them proved quite a sight, perhaps three or four times larger than the prison in Jezeer, with an expansive courtyard and a multi-level construction. Just to the right of the building, the Mediterranean shimmered, and beyond it pinpricks of light flickered at a distance from the city of Beirut.
The Templars would do most of the work. The English army would hide close at hand, ready to support them.
Although a small part of her missed being involved in the action, Rosalind would be glad to keep the children safe at a distance—praying, as they were always meant to do. Although they had now proven themselves in battle as well. At least they were not on the ship with the sick and wounded, the prisoners released from Jezeer, and the rest of the women, many of whom moved too slowly for this mission. Only Lady Honoria was with the troops tonight.
The children spread out in a line, but Sapphira hopped down off her horse. “Come, let us gather and hold hands the way we have been doing. I feel God’s presence so strongly when we join ourselves thus.”
The rest of them followed suit, and their well-trained mounts stood patiently by.
“Good plan, Lady Sapphira,” Randel said, “but the adults shall keep watch over the situation.”
Abu-Wassim and Hassan joined Rosalind and Randel, but to Rosalind’s surprise, Rabia moved to the circle of children.
Rosalind reached out and gave Randel’s hand a little squeeze. She had barely found time to process the events of the evening before they headed out again, but she could not help wondering if things might change between them. If Randel might open to the idea of a relationship.
For her heart now felt whole and well and ready to love again. She would give him up if he yet felt the call to be a monk, but with much sorrow. For she had never loved any man the way she loved Sir Randel Penigree.
To the tune of Sapphira’s worshipful songs, she watched the eerie scene unfold before her. Shadowy Templars dressed all in black scaled the prison wall hand over hand, like some sort of insects scurrying up the side. One by one, the Saracen guards seemed to disappear into the inky darkness.
All was still for a moment, then the gates burst open and more Templars rushed inside.
Rosalind bit down an overwhelming mix of thrill and fear. Unable to do anything else to help, she joined the children in their song. Then something in her gut clenched in warning, though matters seemed to be going well from her vantage point.
Not terribly long after dispatching my captor, I stood awaiting my introduction to a new chieftain in Beirut.
Having been raised by a brutish father, I was a quick runner and skilled at disguising my footsteps. Once the knight was dead, I had stripped off my shoes and dashed directly to the coast, following it south toward the city. After a week in Arab captivity, I knew enough of the language to make my request understood. Not that the city guards required much explanation from a lone European woman in the middle of the night.
I straightened my thick, dark hair and my bright red kirtle, willing once again to use any weapon
at my disposal to achieve my goals. For a moment I wondered what would happen to me in this place . . . after. But any fate they had in mind would be better than the death that awaited me in Tripoli. Suddenly fifth wife to a wealthy Moslem sounded quite satisfactory.
“Why do you awake me?” a short, surly man asked in French as he meandered into the room while still rubbing at his eyes.
“You are the leader of this area?”
“Yes. Beirut is under Druze control, and I am the chieftain.”
Several other men followed him.
“I have come to tell you that the crusaders from England are planning an attack on the prison at Beirut.”
He yawned. “We knew this might be a possibility. We have doubled our guard. But your main forces are now captured in Jezeer.”
I shook my head vehemently. “No, the Templars retook Jezeer.”
He studied me as if unconvinced. “I have heard no report of this.”
“Because they have blocked all the passages.” Desperation rose up within me now. I wanted to shake this imbecile, but I needed to control myself.
“Why do you tell us this?”
“They have turned on me, and I want to see them defeated.”
The chieftain frowned and scratched his rear through his loose pants.
“I swear to you,” I said. “They are here. A mere two miles away.”
“Impossible.”
“You must believe me. The Templars are slaughtering anyone who crosses their path.”
“Hmm, the Templars are skilled.” He looked deep into my eyes. “When do they attack?”
“The plan was for tomorrow night, but I would not delay in protecting the prison. With my escape, their strategy might change.”
The chieftain nodded. He lifted his chin to his men, who scurried into action.
I resisted the urge to sigh with relief and blinked back tears that now filled my eyes. It would happen. I would have my revenge.
“And what do you wish in return, my friend?” the chieftain asked.
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