My Beloved

by Karen Ranney

  “I asked myself that question all during my imprisonment.” He smiled, an odd expression for this moment. “Why had she entrusted their secret to me? Even after a year, I was no closer to an answer.”

  “Perhaps she knew you valued knowledge, Sebastian. And that you were not as intolerant of those who thought differently.”

  His hands were braced on his hips. He had removed his gloves, but otherwise still remained armored. His sword swung easily against his body. He was comfortable with it, at ease with the fact he could bring death with a slice of it.

  “I am as flawed as any man, Juliana. But Magdalene’s death made me wish that such an act not be repeated. And perhaps I could not destroy them because of her.”

  He glanced at the paragraph she had studied for so long. It began a nearly thousand-year lineage, a carefully written record of births and marriages and deaths ending two hundred years earlier. “I found the codex first. It was on the top of the basket, as if Magdalene had wanted me to discover it. I remember the moment I read these words.”

  She stared down at the desk.

  “What do we do with them, Sebastian?”

  He smiled. “The choices have occurred as easily to you as they did to me. Send them to the Church in secrecy, but be prepared for the answers never to be known. Send them to the Templars and watch them be used to feed their power. Destroy them.”

  “Or hide them again.”

  “A coward’s way, perhaps.”

  “Or one of wisdom.”

  “It would be my choice,” he said somberly.

  “It’s why you kept them at Montvichet, isn’t it?”

  “I could think of no better place. An abandoned fortress is not a place one expects to find a treasure.”

  “Then why didn’t we leave them there, Sebastian?”

  “You wish a confession from me? Very well.” He walked to the vents on the wall, closed now to keep out the autumn wind. It was not yet cool enough to utilize the oversize fireplace that would heat the room in winter. “For a long time, I thought that I would simply extract the relics and leave the scrolls at Montvichet. But just before we left the fortress, I changed my mind again. I, too, wish to use the Cathar treasure.” He glanced over his shoulder at her. “I’ve not the purest of motives, Juliana. Although I value knowledge, it is not for that reason I would keep the scrolls safe. I will do whatever I must to protect you and to provide for the well-being of those who entrust themselves to my care. A hint of their contents will provide that protection should either the Church or the Order come to Langlinais.”

  “Will they come, Sebastian?”

  “Yet one more question I cannot answer,” he said.

  Juliana held the codex in her hands. She had read it through four times after she and Sebastian had decided to hide the scrolls again.

  A dangerous document, one that endangered them.

  She lived in a world of divisions. Noble and serf. Faithful and heretic. Scribe and unlearned. Lines drawn to separate one man from another. She, herself, had felt the bite of that careful delineation. “You are a woman, weak of mind. You cannot succeed in such fine work.” Words to her from the priest who had visited the convent often and questioned her ability as a scribe.

  It was difficult to move from one world to another. Jerard had passed from serf to knight, a distinction awarded because of his loyalty. She had progressed from unlearned to scribe, only because of a stubborn will. Did she endanger herself now, traversing from faithful to heretic, by refusing to destroy such work?

  A great many of the Latin texts she’d transcribed had been written by men who had worshiped gods and goddesses. Yet their work had been diligently preserved through the ages. Why? Were they not heretic, too?

  Sebastian was not the only one who was concerned for their safety. She would not live without him, could not bear the idea that he might be endangered. She was going to do her part to safeguard him and the people of Langlinais.

  Again, the words she’d whispered to Sebastian in the Montvichet courtyard came to mind. Hairetikos means to choose. Once again she made a choice. Only the future would determine if it was the right one.

  She laid the codex down, and gently flexed her fingers. The work would take more time than it would have in the past, but she would be careful and as diligent as the Cathar scribes. Not one word would be omitted, and in addition to their explanation of the scrolls, she would add a codicil of her own. She would tell the story of the true relics, of the Templar chalice, and of the ruse perpetrated in order to protect both the treasure of the Cathars and Langlinais castle.

  Chapter 44

  The large green window of the chapel had been replaced with a stained-glass work of art. The artisan who had crafted the window had come from a family of such men, his grandfather and father having worked on a cathedral in France. It depicted a monk kneeling before a blazing sun. On the ground beside him lay a sword and a covered basket. It would be the only public record of the miracle of Langlinais, and the secret they would forever keep. The window’s placement had been finished just the day before, and the odor of lead and clay was almost as strong as the wax of the candles. The winter day did little to illuminate the room, and their glowing light added an otherworldly air to the room.

  An altarpiece, tripartite in form, lay open, its newly painted image that of the Garden of Eden. On one side was the image of Eve’s temptation. On the other, the scene of Adam and Eve being expelled from the garden. But it was the middle panel that attracted her gaze. It showed both Adam and Eve upon their knees in devotion to God. Both were smiling, as if welcomed back into the garden. When it had been placed upon the altar, Juliana had been surprised, then embarrassed to note the resemblance of Adam and Eve to Sebastian and herself. Sebastian tweaked the nose of the Church in subtle ways.

  The chapel was crowded, the people had assembled there at Sebastian’s request. It was to be a surprise for Jerard, a blessing of the sword Sebastian had ordered prepared for him. The entire populace of Langlinais was aware of this honor just as they had been Sebastian’s gift of her scriptorium. As they had with her, they had taken great pains to deflect his attention from what was obvious. Yesterday, the smith had finished the sword, a result of steady hammering night and day for nearly two weeks in order to have the weapon ready.

  A man attired in black monk’s garb stood at one side of the altar. Brother Thomas was new to the village, new to Langlinais. He had wise blue eyes for one so young, and a smile that Juliana doubted would ever be thinned in censure. He came forward, his tonsured head bared in one sweep of hand upon cowl.

  Juliana thought back to the first time she’d seen Sebastian, hidden in the darkness of such a garment, isolated in loneliness. She placed her hand in his and he seemed to understand because he pressed it tightly.

  Jerard stepped forward, the look on his face one of caution. They had evidently been successful at keeping such an event a secret. Sebastian retrieved the sword hidden behind a pillar. An emerald the size of a thumbnail was embedded in its hilt, and below that the word trewe etched into the metal. Trustworthy. It was more than an apt description for Jerard.

  Jerard knelt, the look on his face one of disbelief.

  Sebastian held the sword up until the candlelight bathed the blade, then laid it before Brother Thomas.

  “Bless this sword,” he intoned, “so that it may be a defense for churches, widows and orphans, and for all servants of God against the fury of the heathen. I command you, Sir Jerard, to perform your duties faithfully and devoutly. Will you do so?”

  Jerard nodded.

  Sebastian smiled, then whispered to him to stand. He stepped forward, girded the sword belt around Jerard’s waist.

  “Wear it in honor, Jerard.”

  “I will protect it, my lord. With my life.”

  His vow signaled an end to awed silence.

  Sebastian closed the door behind Jerard. Below them were the sounds of merriment, as the inhabitants of Langlinais celebrated. Juli
ana remained in the great hall, a reluctant but radiant hostess. The two men were now alone, as they had often been in other times, days that seemed gray now in retrospect.

  “You have served me well over the years,” Sebastian said, his smile not as easy as he would have wished.

  Jerard dropped to one knee before him. “My lord, I am overwhelmed. To bestow upon me knighthood when I was but a bastard serf is a great honor. But to give me this magnificent sword is too much.”

  Sebastian smiled. The youth he’d first seen in France had grown to be a man of loyalty and humility. Too much humility at this moment, however.

  “As I said, you have served me well, Jerard.” He clapped his hand on his vassal’s shoulder. “Because of you, Langlinais remained prosperous and its people happy during my imprisonment. You’ve held the secret of my disease and been my friend when the world would have shunned me. I care not for your birth. You are a man of Langlinais, and as such you will be forever known.”

  Jerard looked down at the wooden floor.

  “But I need you to evince your loyalty once more.”

  He looked up. “Anything, my lord.”

  Sebastian sobered. “Do not promise so easily. The boon I ask of you will not be an easy one.”

  He moved to the other side of the room where a small table and two chairs were placed, sat, and waved Jerard into the adjoining chair. “I want you to leave Langlinais,” he said, and at the stricken look of his vassal, his own smile slipped.

  “Have I done anything to offend, my lord?”

  “On the contrary, Jerard, you are the only man to whom I could entrust this task.” His fingers drummed on the edge of the table.

  “You know of the Cathar scrolls,” he said, “but you do not know what they contain.” For the next hour, he explained their contents, answering Jerard’s questions with as much knowledge as he had. It was only right, the man who would possess them must also know their danger.

  “You are only the third person alive to know the secret,” Sebastian said. “Such knowledge might prove dangerous for you. I do not make light of this, Jerard.”

  The other man looked stunned.

  “I’ve land north of here.” The only property other than Langlinais that he had left after paying the ransom to the Templars, but he did not tell Jerard that. “Build your own castle upon it, create your own demesne. Take the scrolls there and guard them. It is a sacred task you assume now, Jerard. One of more import than being my vassal or my friend. Do you accept it?”

  Jerard cleared his throat twice before the words emerged. “Yes, my lord, I will. And my sons and my daughters. It will be their inheritance to guard the scrolls.”

  “Is there anyone at Langlinais you wish to go with you? A woman you might take to wife?”

  Jerard shook his head. “No, my lord.”

  “Think carefully, Jerard. If you do, she may go with you with my blessings. And a dower, to assist you both.”

  “No, my lord.”

  Silence, while Sebastian weighed Jerard’s response. “We have always jested about your prowess with women. There are none among your conquests you would wed?”

  “No, my lord. The woman I would take to wife must be learned and loyal. She will be intelligent and courageous, and have the kindest heart.”

  Sebastian raised an eyebrow. “You have just described my wife,” he said, forcing his tone to be calm.

  Jerard’s face blanched, then just as rapidly his face bronzed. “No, lord,” he said. “I revere her as my lady.”

  “See that you always do so.”

  He stood, clasped Jerard on his shoulder. “I will miss you, my friend. Remember that, too. And now, it is time to join the others. I’m sure Old Simon has already begun his own celebration.”

  Chapter 45

  “What is that noise?” She looked up at the ceiling of the great hall. Sebastian extended his goblet to her instead of answering. She shook her head.

  Langlinais wine was famous for its potency. It was not a product of the castle, merely decanted and seasoned until the bitterness was made mellow and sweetness was the lingering aftertaste. The recipe was a closely guarded secret of the brewers, who were also responsible for an equally acceptable ale.

  The evening had been set aside for celebration. The fruit in the orchards had been harvested, and firewood, acorns, and beechnuts gathered from Langlinais’s forests. For days the air had been thick with dust from the wheat threshing. Normal preparations for winter.

  But it was not only the harvest that was being celebrated, but the elevation of one of their own. Jerard had come almost full-grown to Langlinais, but he had served it well, been a fair steward. It was not every day that a man born serf could rise to the rank of knight, and be gifted with three horses and a magnificent sword.

  A loud thud shook the ceiling again, but not one person in the Hall seemed to notice but her.

  “Did you not hear that, Sebastian?” She stood and would have left the dais to investigate had he not pushed her gently back in her chair.

  He motioned with one hand and a jongleur came forward and bowed to the table at large, then sat upon a stool facing the other diners. He idly plucked the five strings of an ud, a short-necked lute, as he told his version of a chanson de geste of Charlemagne and his twelve great peers.

  Every single person in the hall looked intrigued with his story. Except for Juliana, who was still curious about the noises she’d heard, and for Sebastian, who was performing deeds not normally ascribed to knights.

  “What are you hiding from me this time, Sebastian?”

  His right hand held his goblet, his left was wadding up the material of her embroidered surcoat and cotte. His fingers were suddenly on her bare skin.

  “Sebastian!” Her whisper did not seem to disturb him one whit, and as an admonishment, it was useless. His expression was that of a man contented with his lot; a small smile played around his mouth as if he were well pleased with the tale he was hearing. A lock of hair was dislodged upon his brow, giving him a youthful, almost mischievous appearance. But it was the look in his eyes that warned her she would have no success in deterring him from his actions. They held a lazy, almost sleepy expression, one he wore often. Not the look of a predator, but that of a man wishing to bed his wife.

  She could feel her skin warm. If she was a wanton to wish his touch so much, then so be it.

  “You have the strangest look on your face, lady wife,” he said, his whisper no louder than a breath against her ear. “Are you hungry?”

  She shook her head from side to side. Even his voice had power, made it appear as if the air was hotter and thicker around them. As if she could barely breathe.

  “Are you sure? You look almost ravenous. Come,” he said, standing and extending a hand for her. “Smile your apologies for quitting our banquet too soon, my lady wife.”

  She did so, not questioning the need that flowed around both of them. Touch me. Touch me. It seemed a song she sang in her mind, one he seemed to hear as easily.

  He led her past the floor that held their chamber. It had been easier than she’d thought to share a bed. He was so large, however, that several times during the night she awoke with him crowding her to the edge. One fingertip was all it took to dislodge him, and he would roll over to his side of the bed. Sometimes, however, his eyes would open at her touch as he came instantly awake. Then, he would reach for her and the thought of sleep vanished from both their minds.

  At the top of the east tower, he pulled her into his embrace, his mouth covering hers before she could speak. He had a way of kissing her that stole her breath. All she was conscious of in those moments was Sebastian and his talented mouth. He rained kisses over her face, his breath harsh, his grip in her hair not at all gentle.

  He pulled back, traced the shape of her face with his fingers. Even now she marveled at the touch of his skin against hers, no barriers between them.

  “I used to sit and watch you here, Juliana, and wonder what it would be
like to touch you.”

  A rush of warmth flowed through her at his words.

  He placed both his hands at her waist, then turned her in his arms so that her back was to him. Pulling her close to him, he wound one arm around her waist. His other hand went to unbraid her hair.

  When he was finished, and her hair lay like a cloud around her shoulders, his hand cupped her breast. “I used to wonder if your breasts were as pale as the rest of your skin, if they looked like snowy mounds tipped with delicate rose.” His thumb slid over her breast, and when it peaked and rose in concert with his touch, he laughed softly. “Then I discovered one night that they were. Soft and snowy white.”

  She reached up her hand and arched it behind her until she touched his face. He kissed her fingers, then bent to place a small kiss at her temple. Her fingers threaded through his hair.

  “I thought I would die, I wanted you to touch me so much.” A soft confession. It was the first time they had spoken of that night when he’d interrupted her bathing.

  “I came too close to it.”

  He turned her in his arms and bent to touch his lips to her neck. “You taste of roses, Juliana.”

  He raised his head, his breath as fast as hers. She ground her forehead against his chest. He moved one of her hands to place over him. She felt him hard and heavy against her palm. Had it not already transpired, she would have been sure the act was impossible. It was no wonder, then, that she’d felt stretched and filled with him when he entered her.

  Her fingers began a slow exploration of his flesh. She had already discovered that she could make him tremble, or draw in a low, shuddering breath.

  He laid her down on the wooden floor of the tower, an unlikely bower for their tryst. But the rains had come earlier in the day, and the air smelled fresh and clean. There was no dust, and in the way it happens sometimes, the night seemed clearer after the storm. She looked up to see a thousand winking lights, like torches seen from a distance. But no fire in the sky could capture her attention once Sebastian lay beside her.