The Dark Crusader

by Jackie Ivie

  “I’d sooner wed a snake.”

  The instant the words left his lips, her face had contorted into something ugly. Rhoenne had kept the revulsion hidden. And then, as if a film had passed over her face, she’d calmed. Laughed with a brittle sound. And shrugged her shoulders. And she’d left the study without once looking back.

  It hadn’t even occurred to him that she’d go after Bhaltair.

  “So. Do you want to tell me what this is about?”

  Rhoenne shook himself. Looked over his shoulder. He’d thought they all left. He should have known Henry would stay to be his conscience.

  “I told you. I need an audience with the king.”

  “But you did na’ tell why.”

  “Couldn’t you just keep Ida company tonight?”

  “She rests within.”

  Henry gestured to the bedchamber Rhoenne should be using. He’d given it over to Ida and Henry, who was still recuperating. Or he used that for an excuse. Rhoenne wasn’t dense. Nor did he care. Henry laughed often and seemed spry lately, while Ida blushed whenever she glanced at Henry. She’d also put on some much-needed weight.

  “I need the betrothal altered,” Rhoenne admitted.

  “The lass is but eight.”

  “So? Alexander wed his queen when she was that age. They were both children.”

  “And have yet to be together as man and wife.”

  “True. But it gained our king what he needed. The same thing I need– England’s King Henry III for a father-by-law.”

  “That poor girl.”

  “What poor girl?” Rhoenne asked.

  “I’m just thinking of...the man she’ll be getting for a bridegroom.”

  “I certainly hope you do na’ refer to me,” Rhoenne commented.

  Henry took a deep breath. “Well. I—.”

  The door smacked open. Euan rushed in, followed by Iain, and Grant. “Be quick, my laird!”

  Rhoenne lifted a brow.

  “You must hurry! Now is your chance!”

  “The tripe is that good?” Rhoenne remarked.

  “His Majesty has attended! But he wearies of the fest. He has already spoken on it. He may leave at any moment!”

  Rhoenne stood. He wasn’t dressed for a court appearance. He had an old plaide draped about him. Boots. His short sword was in a scabbard attached to his belt. Daggers tucked around his waist. No shirt. No jacket. He couldn’t remember if he’d donned socks. He grabbed up his claymore. Strapped it over a shoulder as they walked. Pulled his hair back into a queue. Henry handed him a cord. Rhoenne had his hair tied back as they entered the great hall.

  There were a lot of participants for the evening’s feasting. Rows of nobles sat at tables intersecting the great hall. The king and his companions were on the dais. The king was a good size for a young man. He still looked small. And he was standing. Allistair MacDougall was just rising to stand beside his monarch. Rhoenne took the situation in with a glance and started toward them. His group was instantly noticed. Conversation stilled. He strode purposefully, smacking his boot heels into the floor, making booming sounds. There wasn’t anyone his size in the vicinity. It was obvious. People moved out of the way before they could be shoved aside.

  “Your Majesty!” Rhoenne spoke loudly enough to stop them.

  Allistair stopped mid-rise. The king turned and regarded Rhoenne from above him, due to the dais. Rhoenne stopped just shy of the platform, his men fanned out to either side. He pulled the claymore from his back. Put it tip down onto the floor, and then knelt on one knee beside it.

  “Who is this, please?”

  King Alexander spoke. The lad had a boy’s changing voice, his vocal range moving over octaves as he spoke. The regent answered.

  “This is your earl, Rhoenne Guy de Ramhurst. Of Tyneburgh.”

  “Ah. I have heard of you. Rise. Please.”

  Rhoenne stood. Grabbed the sword scabbard with his left hand and inserted the claymore back into it, sliding steel against steel. The claymore was a large broadsword, usually requiring two hands to wield. Rhoenne made it look easy. It was actually beneficial that he hadn’t donned a shirt. He could tell it impressed. The king wasn’t the lone one staring wide-eyed. But the lad did sit back down.

  “Well. My lord Ramhurst. What can His Majesty do for you?”

  The king wasn’t talking. Rhoenne knew how Bhaltair’s relations regarded him. It was reflected in the man’s tone.

  “I have requested an audience. It is a private matter.”

  “You can speak here,” Allistair informed him.

  Rhoenne considered Bhaltair’s relation, and then moved his gaze back to the king. “Verra well. I am here about my betrothal.”

  “That is a matter for the crown?” Allistair challenged.

  “My betrothed is the queen’s younger sister,” Rhoenne replied.

  “Ah. That is where I have heard of you.” King Alexander piped in. “Go on. Please?”

  “I wish to have the wedding take place as soon as it can be arranged.”

  “She is a child,” Allistair informed him.

  Rhoenne ignored him, addressing his next words to the king. “And I wish to put forth a change of bridegroom.”

  There was a shocked sound rippling through the crowd behind him. It hit his men as well, although all that happened was a collective indrawn breath and straighter shoulders. Rhoenne didn’t move his gaze from the king.

  “You wish to...change the groom?”

  “Aye.”

  “On what grounds?”

  “I have just returned from the seventh crusade in the east. It was na’ a victorious war.”

  “We had heard this already.”

  Allistair spoke, using the supercilious tone he always used around Rhoenne. The king glanced at his regent with a perplexed look on his features before looking back at Rhoenne and his men.

  “All the crusader kingdoms have fallen. Outremer was lost.”

  “We heard that as well,” Allistair interrupted him.

  “Yes. Well. King Louis of France was taken. He is in bondage. The ransom amount will be extremely large. It will need to be raised.”

  Rhoenne watched them assimilate that information. Scotland was an ally of the French crown. Everyone knew where the funds were going to be required.

  “The reason I request the groom to be changed is because...well.” Rhoenne took a huge breath. “I am in violation of the agreement. I have wed.”

  “What?” King Alexander and his regent, Allistair said it in tandem.

  “It was a diplomatic solution. One with potential benefit to the crown. If I may explain?”

  “Please. Continue.”

  Alexander waved a hand. That was a kingly gesture coming from one so young. Rhoenne almost smiled.

  “My bride is the daughter of a Bulgar prince, Philip of Vottenavia. She is also grand-niece of the Duca di Candia, Stefano Giustiniani. As you may be aware, Candia is in the Venetian Domini de Mar.”

  “Your wife...is related to the ruling family of Venice?”

  “That is what I am telling you,” Rhoenne replied.

  “You have access to Venetian gold?” Allistair no longer sounded condescending and arrogant. That was a pleasant change.

  “I did na’ say that,” Rhoenne remarked.

  “Explain please?”

  “I believe I have secured a venue for requesting gold from the Venetians. One, they will find difficult to decline.”

  “This is extraordinary. You are wed to a member of the ruling families of two kingdoms? Two?”

  Rhoenne considered. Smiled to himself. Then answered, “Aye.”

  “How did you manage such a feat?” Allistair asked.

  Rhoenne stood taller. Regarded the regent for long moments while twitters of amusement flit through the room behind him.

  “I told them I was a Highlander,” he replied, drawing out the words for effect.

  The room erupted around him. MacDougall yelled for order. Someone beat on a large
drum. The din gradually quieted. None of Rhoenne’s men had moved. The king was smiling widely.

  “Laird Ramhurst? I noticed you did na’ request release from your betrothal. You asked to be replaced. True?”

  Allistair spoke. Rhoenne addressed his reply to the king.

  “Aye, Your Majesty. That is true.”

  “You have a proposed groom to offer? One who will be accepted by our king’s father-in-law, England’s king, Henry? Should he decide to sponsor your request?”

  “I do,” Rhoenne replied easily.

  “And that man would be...?”

  “My cousin...and – should there be no issue of my marriage – my heir, Sir Grant Ramhurst. Grant. Step forward, mon.”

  His cousin choked. Henry pushed him forward. Of the line-up of men before the dais, Grant was the only one approaching Rhoenne in height and bulk. He bore a distinct resemblance as well. Rhoenne watched as they also noticed it.

  “Ah. This Grant. Can we grant him a title of some kind?” the king asked. “Maybe some land?”

  “I will offer the land, Your Majesty,” Rhoenne said.

  “Excellent. And I shall award a title. Grant Ramhurst? Prepare yourself.”

  Grant dropped to a knee. The king stood and walked to the end of the dais, trailed by his regent. Once he’d reached the floor, it was apparent he was a slight lad. The entire line of Ramhurst men dwarfed not only him, but his regent beside him.

  “Your sword, Grant Ramhurst.”

  He was handed Grant’s broadsword. It took both hands to wield, but that was due to his size, not ability. The lad was young, but he wasn’t weak. He tapped Grant’s shoulders one at a time.

  “Rise. Viscount of Tyneburgh!”

  Grant rose. Accepted his sword back. And looked like a man who’d just taken a blow to the head. The king stopped before Rhoenne and looked up at him. He was about shoulder height, but wasn’t finished sprouting. Rhoenne waited.

  “I shall send a missive requesting a betrothal change from the earl of Tyneburgh to the viscount of the same clan. I will also ask that the marriage take place within the month.”

  “My thanks, Your Majesty.”

  “Is there anything else?”

  “May I retire?”

  The king nodded. Rhoenne dipped his head. Took one step back. Swiveled. And strode back out the way he’d come. His men did the exact same maneuver and were at his heels while they exited the great hall. People once again moved from their path. Nobody spoke until they were almost back to their chambers.

  “Well, Viscount Tyneburgh! I think this calls for a celebratory toast. You have whiskey on you?” Euan spoke.

  “Me? I did na’ even bring a flask in my sporran,” Grant still sounded like he was in shock.

  Somebody smacked him.

  “We’ll just have to return to the fest.”

  “Aye. That we will.”

  “And now that we have a bit of notoriety, thanks to the laird, we should have nae trouble interesting a lass or two.”

  “I had nae trouble afore,” Iain remarked.

  “I was speaking on Euan’s behalf.”

  “Oh. My thanks,” Euan remarked.

  “Go. All of you,” Rhoenne remarked. They’d reached the chamber. He opened the door. Turned back to his men.

  “You will na’ join us?”

  “I have things to plan,” he told them.

  “In that event, I shall stay,” Henry remarked.

  “They do na’ include you,” Rhoenne answered.

  “You continually surprise me, my laird,” Henry told him. “Continually. I am in awe at your ability. Privileged to be commander of your Honor Guard. And na’ dense enough to leave you to plan your next move without a hint as to what it might be.”

  Rhoenne regarded his man. Henry returned the gaze. Rhoenne finally shrugged and walked into the chamber. Henry followed and closed the door.

  He’d been successful. He’d gotten what he wanted. But the pressure around his heart didn’t let up at all.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  The fire didn’t have any answers. It probably never would. But it was warm. Bright. Crackling. Rhoenne poked at the log he’d just added.

  “I see you are determined to be unreadable. As usual,” Henry joined him, yawning and rubbing at his belly. That was probably a mistake. He wasn’t fully healed. The man caught his breath with a wince.

  “Why do na’ you join Ida?” Rhoenne returned.

  “She has had enough of my company lately.”

  “That does na’ bode well.”

  “For what?”

  “Your future, of course,” Rhoenne answered.

  “With Ida? Hmm. Interesting thought. I may have to ponder it.”

  “Well, ’twas you talking of settling down. Gaining your own croft. Starting a family. Finding a comely wench.”

  “And you think I should choose Ida?”

  “You could fill the day with talk and she’d never complain.”

  “Oh. She complains. Just na’ in words.”

  Rhoenne smirked.

  “So. I have been waiting, my laird.”

  “Truly? What for?”

  Henry settled onto his haunches before the hearth beside Rhoenne. “An explanation.”

  “To what?”

  “All manner of things. Your performance this eve for a start. You had me worried.”

  “About what?”

  “The betrothal. And your part in it.”

  “Oh. That.”

  “You could have forewarned me. You did na’ have to accept my words of reproof.”

  “You? Words of reproof?”

  “You let me speak words about wedding the lass yourself. You could have told me you were requesting the change to your cousin.”

  “I was na’ at all certain I would. I do a lot of pondering, Henry. You ken that. Some of my ideas are mere thoughts. Some are fully planned afore I put them into action. Some...I just jump and allow things to go as they may. I was na’ sure what I’d say once I saw the king.”

  “Well. It was brilliant. You have to be the only man in Scotland that could violate a royal betrothal and na’ just avoid royal disfavor, but the king may actually be indebted to you...should he need help raising ransom funds. ’Twas the perfect solution. But that is na’ the explanation I speak for.”

  “You worry over my selection? Ponder Grant’s abilities?”

  “Nae. He is your next of kin. He has also proven to be trustworthy. Loyal. A man could na’ ask for better. ’Tis more the request for a speedy ceremony. That has me puzzled.”

  “Grant will make an excellent laird for the Ramhurst Clan.” Rhoenne didn’t turn from contemplation of the fire.

  “You are the laird of the Ramhurst Clan,” Henry finally spoke.

  “True. But I will be...elsewhere.”

  “And where is it you intend to be?”

  Rhoenne shrugged. “Wherever the path takes me.”

  “For how long?”

  “As long as it takes.”

  “You are heading back, aren’t you? To find her,” Henry remarked.

  Rhoenne sighed. “You are ever insightful, my friend. I have to return. I have to. She is na’ dead. I ken it in my verra bones. And that means she is out there. Somewhere. Alone. Defenseless. And vulnerable.”

  Each word sent pain through his veins, a throb of ache through his skull, and the bondage about his heart squeezed, making each beat hurt. The combination had no salve. And then his eyes pricked with a suspicion of tears. The flames blurred. Silence wrapped about them for long moments while Rhoenne worked at controlling each breath, keeping the emotion at bay, and Henry unaware.

  “You discount Emin,” Henry finally spoke.

  “One man.” Rhoenne looked down, blinked until the jeweled band on his wrist came back into focus.

  “I begin to see the reasoning behind your actions, my laird.”

  “Truly? That makes one of us.”

  Henry huffed a breath that contained am
usement. “You are making certain Grant has enough backing to oust Aileen. The king of England as a father-by-law should suffice. That is why you need the ceremony completed quickly. So you are free to go.”

  “You are a smart man, Henry FitzHugh.”

  “I am na’ captain of your Honor Guard due strictly to my good looks.”

  “So you continually point out,” Rhoenne returned.

  The chamber door opened. Grant walked in. He didn’t look like a man celebrating his good fortune. He looked shame-faced and pale. Rhoenne and Henry exchanged glances. Henry stood to greet him.

  “Grant? You return early. Has the fest ended, perchance?”

  “Nae.”

  “You have perhaps...over-imbibed already?”

  “Nae.”

  “You are feeling poorly?”

  “I need a word with Rhoenne.”

  “Do you wish me to leave?” Henry asked.

  Grant glanced at him, then back down. He took a deep breath. Let it out. It brought out his resemblance to Rhoenne even more.

  “Nae. Privacy will na’ make this any easier. I have earned whatever I reap herewith.”

  Henry and Rhoenne exchanged glances again. Henry’s brows rose.

  “Sit. Join us.”

  “’Tis better if I stand. I may need...the ability to move.”

  Rhoenne stood slowly. Walked to his cousin. Placed a hand on his shoulder. “Perhaps it should remain unspoken then, Cousin.”

  “Grant shook his head, then shook off Rhoenne’s hand. “I have been silent too long already. ’Tis time you knew.”

  “Verra well. I am listening.”

  Grant walked to the shadowed area of the room. Turned around and came back to the lighted area. Did it again. He didn’t look up from the floor.

  “First loves are...verra special. You ken?” Grant started. “And I—. Well. I—. This is even more difficult than I feared.”

  Rhoenne stilled.

  “Are you saying your heart is engaged elsewhere?” Henry asked before turning to Rhoenne. “This could be problematic, my laird.”

  “Na’ really. ’Twould be a minor issue. I’ll just request another alteration to the betrothal. The king has na’ had time to draft his missive yet.”

  “Well. You do seem to have a talent for creating court scandal,” Henry remarked wryly. “What is one more?”