The Dark Crusader

by Jackie Ivie

  “Oh, Emin. Thank God.”

  “Allah willed it. I am here. You are prepared?”

  Cassandra looked down at herself. She was in her night gown, dressed for bed.

  “We need to be onboard ship within the hour!”

  “What?”

  “We must move quickly, Highness! You need a cloak. Some shoes. They did not unpack this trunk. We will take it.” He hefted a large leather-bound wooden chest onto one shoulder as if it didn’t weigh much more than she did.

  “An hour?” Cassandra pulled on stockings. Pushed her feet into pointy-toed boots.

  “The next ship will not leave until tomorrow night. They leave with the tide each eve! We dare not miss this one!”

  “Can we get on it this late?”

  “Of course. I paid passage this morn. When your carriage first arrived. I have been waiting that very thing. Highness, please. There is no time to dress.”

  She’d pulled a kirtle over her night gown. It barely fit. She looked lumpy and it was uncomfortable. She didn’t care. It hid the bag of jewelry she’d slung over her shoulder, and that now rested at her hip. She snagged a dark green velvet cloak from another hook, and tied it on as she moved to the window. The aperture was small, and high up on the wall.

  “We won’t fit through there! What will we do?”

  He smiled down at her. “Highness. There is another door. The key was in the lock. It leads to another room, where I have been waiting. There is another room beyond it. And then we will be outside. Come. I will not be able to carry you this time. I will have this trunk.”

  “I have legs, Emin.”

  “Yes,” he replied. “I have seen. You will hold to my belt? Stay close at my side? And forgive the lack of respect, but...will you cleave to me, as if I am your man?”

  “I would be honored to cleave to you, Emin,” Cassandra said. “Any woman would.”

  He halted. His back straightened lifting the trunk enough it tapped the door jamb. “Highness?”

  His voice trembled. Then he turned his head and stared at her for a moment as if he couldn’t have heard correctly.

  “Yes, Emin?” she replied.

  He shook his head slightly and turned back around. “We must hurry.”

  She was so lucky to have him! So very lucky. She didn’t realize the extent of it as they scurried along streets, dodging brightly-lit taverns and nefarious places of business, until a group of men stepped from an alley, bringing them to a stop. Cassandra saw a half-dozen men, maybe more. She quickly looked back down before anyone got a good look at her.

  “Ho there! That is a nice big trunk you have there.”

  “And looks like you’ve got a nice little lady, as well,” someone else spoke.

  “Move out of my way,” Emin returned.

  His tone was low. Threatening. She should have known he’d speak the guttural Venetian lingo they used.

  “Where is it you think you are off to...in such a rush?”

  “Move. Now.”

  “Oh-ho. Look who thinks he is in charge?” one of them retorted.

  “You do not wish to challenge me,” Emin answered.

  “On the contrary. That is exactly what we wish. Isn’t it, men?”

  Cassandra couldn’t breathe. Blink. Think. React. Her eyes were wide. Her heart hammering with instant panic. And a scream was stuck in her throat, choking her. Emin seemed immune. He lowered the trunk to the street before twisting to grasp her upper arms and lift her. He set her atop the trunk just above his eye level. The lid had a slight slope. Cassandra wobbled for an instant. Her gaze never left his.

  “Do not move,” he warned in a soft tone.

  Move?

  She was locked in place. It was a chore to nod, and that was accomplished with quick little gestures. He pulled his swords as he spun back to the group. Cassandra looked above them toward the star-filled sky. Silently prayed. She heard grunts. Squeals. Thuds. Something glanced off the trunk she stood atop, jostling her so she had to rebalance. The look down showed it had been a severed head. She couldn’t prevent the gasp. Or the ice-cold shock. The scream that followed was a choked sound. She slapped her hands atop her mouth to stop it. Then slammed her eyes shut. Would that she could cover her ears as well!

  “Highness?”

  Emin’s voice was the most steadying solid sound in the universe. Cassandra swayed, then fell. He caught her. She kept her eyes closed, working to control the hysteria, although nothing stilled the tremors that ravaged her entire body. He put her onto her feet beside him again. He wasn’t even breathing hard.

  “You are...unhurt?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  “Do you wish me to take the trunk? Or leave it?”

  “What?”

  “If I carry you, I must leave the trunk. What is your wish? It is no great issue. I can get more clothing. You and your unborn son are of the most import to me. The trunk is nothing. What is your wish? Can you walk?”

  She nodded.

  “You are certain?”

  “Yes,” she whispered from between frozen lips.

  She heard him heft the trunk back onto his shoulder. She didn’t open her eyes.

  “Highness. You need to hold to me now. And...do not look down.”

  Cassandra slit her eyelids open enough to find his arm, and saw a lot of carnage. She gagged, turned her face away, and forced step after step. That’s when she got a full appreciation of how truly lucky she was to have this man protecting, guiding, and assisting her. Unshed tears blinded her for several streets. She couldn’t believe he called himself worthless. His worth was more than she could calculate.

  As for her grandmother, she didn’t spare the Duchesse Zecchino another thought.

  The ship was at least three times larger than the one they’d sailed from Egypt. With three masts, a lot of sailors, and an entire deck partitioned for paying passengers. The gangway was a long wooden plank, too narrow to walk abreast. Emin strode up it with confidence, Cassandra holding to his belt. They were just in time. The sound of wood sliding on wood could be heard behind her. They’d barely been shown to her allotted space when the ship started moving.

  Her newest prison chamber was twice the size of the cabin on Rhoenne’s ship. It had a wooden platform with a straw-stuffed pallet atop it, and a mass of blankets. Two stools. A table. Some pegs in a wall. A small mirror. And a window. Cassandra untied the cloak with fingers that didn’t feel like hers. She tried twice before she managed to hang it from a peg. Emin settled the trunk onto the floor in the center of the cabin and bowed, as though he’d depart.

  “You are...not leaving?” Cassandra whispered. And then she embarrassed them both by barreling into him, wrapping her arms about his torso, and hugging him.

  “Highness, please. You are safe now.”

  She shook her head and desperately fought new tears.

  “Highness—.”

  “Why...is it like this? Why? We are not even in the east anymore! This is a Christian country!”

  “Bad people exist in all walks of life, Highness. In every land. At every level.”

  “But, you—! They—!” She couldn’t finish. The words were choked and incoherent. She couldn’t even finish them.

  “Ah. I understand. Forgive me. I have spent many years training for just this type of event. In the sultanate they pitted me against opponents and we used real blades. I had to survive. Or perish. Only the best became sultan’s guards. I am very good with swords and knives, Highness. But I had forgotten how it...sickens.”

  Cassandra swallowed. Nodded.

  “You will be all right now?”

  “Please don’t leave me.”

  “I would keep you from the savagery that exists if I could. You have seen much of the world since leaving the harem. You will need to put some of it aside. Rest will help.”

  “Please, Emin.”

  “I will be right outside your door. You have my word.”

  Cassandra shook her head again. Sniffed loudly.
And then tears began in earnest. She shook anew with the tempest. He sighed hugely, lifted her, and carried her to the pallet. He sat, holding her on his lap. Smoothed a hand down her braid along her back.

  “I think there is more to this, Highness. You have been under great strain. This is a release.”

  His words only made her sob harder.

  “Princessa. I am not a young man. I have lived my entire adult life in the harem. I have seen much. Understood more. You have been living a lie. It is especially difficult to do for so long. Guard every word. Pre-think every gesture. Pretend to be something you are not and fool others into believing it is so. It is very taxing. It wears on the soul. But you did it. Your lie is over. No one will harm you while I am here. You are safe. Your unborn son is safe. I will let nothing happen to either of you.”

  She sniffed. Nodded.

  “You do understand what I tell you?”

  “I...love you, Emin. You are a treasure. Never forget that.”

  He stiffened. His arms tightened for a moment. And then he moved, setting her on her feet before standing beside her. He looked like he was flushed. It took several moments before he would look at her again.

  “You are...recovered?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  “And I may go?”

  “As long as it’s not far.”

  “I will be just outside your door. You have my word.”

  Thank you,” Cassandra replied.

  “We will not speak of this night again,” he said.

  “If that is your wish.”

  “It is.”

  “Very well.” Cassandra smiled at him. “Good night, Emin.”

  He nodded and left her, softly shutting the door behind him.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  It took almost three months to reach Scotland. Three months. Of mind-sapping time when every day limped by slowly, and every night was filled with memories of Rhoenne...and the tears that ensued.

  The journey slowed even more once they’d docked at what had been described as a bustling port city of the North. It looked neither bustling, nor did it resemble a city. Cassandra had looked out at her new home and shivered. Not just from emotion, but it was much colder and wetter than even London-town had been. She’d thought that place the ends of the earth.

  But she’d remember it.

  Always.

  It was at London-town that her baby had first moved! She’d been standing at the rail holding to Emin’s arm, patiently waiting to disembark, when the slightest flutter had stirred within her. Her gasp, and the instant touch to her womb earned Emin’s glance.

  “The child...moves?” he’d asked.

  The emotion she’d experienced was too vast. And warm. It overwhelmed with beauty. Cassandra had blinked away tears and beamed a smile. Emin cleared his throat, then returned her smile.

  “Ah. That is good. He is strong.”

  And active.

  She learned just how strong and active on the voyage to reach the Scot port city of Leith. Located just north of their capital Edinburgh, Leith was even more uninspiring than London-town. Low clouds hung over a motley collection of buildings. Everything was gray or brown, or the color of earth. Mud-covered. And wet. Anyone roving the streets wore plain colors or plaids in the same color scheme. It appeared residents simply wore garments made from whatever color the sheep had been when it was shorn. It shouldn’t be a surprise. She’d had exposure to this in Rhoenne’s small tent.

  But that seemed like it had happened a lifetime ago.

  She thanked God daily in her prayers for Emin. The man was a large, imposing presence at her side. He’d ceased scraping his body hair off, showing he had a full head of gray-speckled curly hair and facial hair that grew down his cheeks. Other than the slight dark tone of his skin, he looked exactly like a Scot vendor, or like member of the merchant strata of society. She’d portrayed his wife more than once, but even keeping her head covered and her eyes averted, it still created comment. Once, among a roomful of men, he’d even needed to threaten with the short swords he carried.

  Once in Leith, he’d acquired a length of wool they called a plaide. Draped over the body and looped around the waist, it ended at his knees. It left the lower portion of his legs bare, but the shoulder section could be lifted over his head to protect from the elements. They were woven from wool. It seemed everyone wore woolen garments. For good reason. The fabric was thick, handled the damp well, and it was warm even when saturated. She had a length of it wrapped about her at all times.

  The lone trunk they’d brought from Sitia had contained everything needed for a short stay in a sun-filled villa and little for warmth. Cassandra wore the beautifully woven silks and linens of her shifts for an inner layer. She had to. Her skin could not handle the wool. It itched and chafed and raised a rash when she’d tried. Two of the exquisite silk gowns, a set of stockings, and her two girdles had been traded for loose, floor-length woolen dresses, soft leather boots, and more. Emin was a master at procuring and bargaining, demonstrating a knack for making a deal, and a natural ability to understand and be understood, regardless of language barrier. He’d demonstrated that talent not only aboard the first vessel, but at the markets of London-town, and again on the trading vessel they had sailed north. She had first-hand knowledge of his skills, because she rarely left his side.

  But nothing could have prepared her for what they’d endure once they’d docked at Leith. Emin bargained for two horses, one a short shaggy beast, the other a large workhorse with a wealth of hair at the base of its legs. Called a Clydesdale, they were told that horse would handle the path, the clime, any load, and wouldn’t bolt at an attack, in the event of wolves. Emin procured a small cart that was attached to the small horse. It held the trunk and an assortment of items that passed for food. Ancient-tasting oat cakes. Dry, smoked meats. Old, shriveled berries. Small squares of hardened honey. A bag of oats and another of barley. At least her belly no longer revolted at the fare he provided. She’d had difficulty keeping anything down aboard the first ship, and again in London-town. Once she passed her third month, however, any illness disappeared. And then Emin couldn’t keep her fed. She was always hungry. She was large by the time she’d entered the fourth month of carrying Rhoenne’s child. But that was to be expected. The man was enormous. He would be even amongst his countrymen. He wouldn’t sire a small babe.

  It was at Leith that they finally got a positive answer about Rhoenne. Cassandra had listened intently as the man described it. Near everyone remembered him, but Emin chased down the fellow who’d actually dealt with the Ramhurst. The earl and his party had landed a sennight or so earlier.

  A week!

  She’d missed him by a week?

  He’d spent a nice sum at the markets equipping his party for a journey, the man believed they’d gone west to Castle Tyne, the seat of the earldom. Cassandra had held to Emin to keep from bouncing as thrill after thrill coursed her body...and that just from listening.

  They set out to follow. It rained more often than not. The air chilled exposed skin. And then raindrops turned into thick flakes, blanketing everything with a layer of white that melted once the sun came out again. She’d seen snow long ago. In Vottenavia. Emin was the one who looked stunned even after her explanation.

  They lost the cart on the fourth day. The track had narrowed to a path. It covered hilly terrain, clung to the sides of a gorge, and went through a rock slide that upended the wheeled vehicle and sent their stores flying. Despite Emin’s stricture, she’d helped him gather up food. The babe hampered her only slightly when she knelt and reached. The trunk was secured atop the small horse. The bags at the horse’s sides bulged with items. The reins were attached to the Clydesdale’s saddle. Then Emin pulled her into his arms to mount the bigger horse. Their journey got even slower.

  And on the fifth day, they were accosted.

  “Halt!”

  Cassandra had been dozing, curled into a ball atop Emin’s lap, wrapped in her b
lanket. She hadn’t known it was snowing again, until the command stopped their horse, waking her. She sat, slit the blanket open, and peeked out over the horse’s head.

  Snowflakes were fluttering down, dusting the band of men standing before them. She counted six. Each was armed with a bow at his back. Short swords strapped to their sides. And a plethora of knives tucked into their belts. One had an animal carcass over his shoulders. Behind her back she felt Emin moving. Reaching for the swords he carried on both sides. And then she noticed something.

  “Wait! Emin wait! They wear gray and white with smaller stripes of black and blue! I have seen these colors.” She turned back to the band and spoke in Gaelic. She had a foreign accent, but that couldn’t be helped. “You are...Ramhurst clan, yes?”

  One of them stepped forward. Cocky. Handsome. He had vivid blue eyes reminiscent of Rhoenne, but this fellow was a blonde. But he was definitely wearing the colors she’d mentioned.

  “What of it?” he said.

  “Oh! Thank the saints! Are we near Castle Tyne?”

  “What business would you have there?”

  Cassandra took a couple of seconds. Debated options. And then she just told them. “I...am the countess.”

  They erupted in laughter. Loud. Visual. Unrestrained. The man with the deer carcass even tossed it down so he could join in.

  “Silence, you dogs!” Emin was off the horse and threatening enough they stopped laughing. But then they had knives pulled out, and more than one held his sword.

  “Wait! Please. Gentlemen! There is nae cause for this! Rhoenne Ramhurst is my husband. I swear. We wed in Sitia! He was on a crusade. You know this, yes?”

  Everyone stopped as she maneuvered her legs to the side so she could jump down. Emin forestalled her.

  “Highness, please!”

  “Highness?” one of them asked.

  “I was a princess afore I wed. ’Tis of little import. What is important is Rhoenne. And his band. They have been this way, yes?”