“And you are much amused.”
“He stole your cloak and I feared he had killed you for it.” She spoke fiercely. “He deserves to suffer for his crimes.” And she returned to rubbing his back with such vigor that Angus feared she would scrape the hide from his bones.
But he had neither the will nor the heart to stop her. He was inclined to do anything that might encourage her to continue her chatter.
“So, why was Damascus your hell?” she asked pertly, and nigh dismissed his good intent with but a few words.
“Because I was imprisoned there. Cease your rubbing, I am quite dry enough.” He turned but she retreated, keeping the wool from his grasp.
“Why?”
“I will not tell you of it.”
“For how long?”
Angus propped his hands upon his hips. “You are a cursedly stubborn woman, wherever you are.”
“I seek only the truth.”
“And you will not have it. I will not speak of that place.” He was resolute and she must have heard the truth of it in his tone.
“Then tell me of Lucifer. How did you come by him?”
“There is no wager here. I do not have to tell you one thing or the other. Indeed, I do not have to tell you anything.”
“Then we shall sit in silence and wait to die. Aye, that is a far finer plan,” she retorted more sharply than he might have expected. “Let us feel the hours drag by with agonizing slowness and brood upon naught but our own misfortune. Perhaps we will perish sooner for such a resolute refusal to aid ourselves, even if it does feel to be a much longer time.” Angus said naught to that. ’Twas undoubtedly better that she was vexed with him. He was far too aware of her presence, of her fragility, of the threat he could pose to her when his terrors assaulted him.
He knew they would find him here.
’Twas only a matter of time.
Angus looked and discovered that the thin line of light had gone. He swallowed, all too aware that darkness fell. He would stay awake as long as he could, for ’twas in sleep that the greatest fears attacked.
He must keep Jacqueline as far from his side as possible. He knew not what he would do when the demons of memory claimed him.
Jacqueline sighed and spoke more tentatively than was her wont. She was always prepared to put sharp words behind them, and ’twas a trait he much admired. “I would thank you for coming to my aid, however I have compromised your intent. ’Twas noble of you to try to save me.”
“I did not come for you,” Angus lied, deliberately keeping his tone harsh. “As you undoubtedly recall, I had already released you from my own captivity. ’Tis not my responsibility to ensure your safety for all time.”
“I see.” Her tone turned irritable. “Then why are you here?”
“I came to retrieve Lucifer, of course. The beast was wickedly expensive, and I can ill afford to lose him.” He sighed as if troubled by lesser matters than he was. “Though it seems again that he is aptly named. This folly may well cost my soul.”
Her silence was eloquent.
Indeed, Angus nearly winced from it.
“I had no idea,” she huffed finally. He heard a rustling, as if she drew her kirtle over her head once more. Angus had no doubt that she faced him, with her chin thrust in the air. “I will say good night, then, and wish you pleasant dreams.”
’Twas better this way, Angus reminded himself, though that did naught to ease his certainty that he was a lowly cur. He donned his damp clothes and braced his back against the wall, seating himself upon the stairs that he might watch for the first glimmer of dawn.
And in his weakness, when the lady’s breathing slowed and the darkness pressed upon him, he collected her and gathered her close. ’Twas only to ensure that she was warm, he assured himself, knowing even as the thought was formed ’twas a lie. Angus wrapped his arms around her, compelled himself to remain awake, and waited impatiently for the dawn.
Jacqueline awakened, cossetted by unfamiliar warmth. It took her a moment to recall her circumstance and another to realize that Angus cradled her against his chest. She sat up with a start and his arms fell away from her. There was a faint bit of light in the chamber this morning, perhaps due to the angle of the sun, and she eyed him warily.
His expression was guarded, a perfect reflection of her own uncertainty. There was a good measure of stubble upon his chin, and shadows beneath his eyes. He looked dangerous and disreputable.
“’Twas warmer for both of us,” he said simply, then set her aside and began to pace the width of the small room.
“You did not sleep.”
“What difference to you?”
“Did you?”
He sighed, granting her a censorious glance. “Nay.”
“Whyever not? Did you fear we would be assaulted by night?”
He almost smiled. “Nay, I am not so noble as that. I simply had no need to sleep.”
“Liar. You look to be exhausted.”
“It matters not.”
“Of course it matters!” Jacqueline bounded to her feet and strode after him, matching his pace though he ignored her. “You have need of your sleep if we are to take advantage of opportunity and escape. ’Twill avail naught if you are exhausted, for I cannot carry you.”
“Ah, yes, the prospect of escape.” He halted and spared a pointed glance to the trapdoor. “And how would that be managed?”
“I do not know! Not yet, at any rate.”
“I do.” He spoke firmly. “’Twill not be managed. We shall be left here to die like dogs, forgotten in the shadows.”
He resumed his pacing, but Jacqueline would not leave the matter be. “We will not die here. We cannot die here.”
“There is precious little we might do about it.”
“Well, we must at least have the conviction that all will come right.”
He slanted her a glance. “Must we?”
“Of course we must! For ’twill.”
“You cannot bend all to your will, Jacqueline,” he murmured, and she wondered fleetingly whether he meant that she had bent him to that will. He looked so forbidding that she did not ask.
She did not want to hear his denial.
“If we are to make the most of whatever opportunity is presented,” she reiterated firmly, “then we must have our wits about us and hope in our hearts.”
Angus paused his pacing. “I think it unwise to deceive ourselves in this. You are a woman of sense, so use that sense. There is no merit in believing matters to be other than they are.”
“I understand how dire our circumstances are, but I know that despair will assist us less than hope. God grants aid to those who aid themselves first, and I will not admit that I am defeated until I truly am.”
He regarded her for a long moment, then inclined his head. “I stand corrected. Your counsel is most wise.”
“Then you will sleep?”
Angus gave a breathless laugh, then glanced around the chamber. “Not willingly. Not here.”
“Does this place remind you of Damascus?”
He stiffened, a sure clue that she had found a truth. “Why should it do as much?”
“’Tis a dungeon, and if you were imprisoned in Damascus, I should think ’twas in a dungeon—”
“Do not think, Jacqueline.” Angus left her on the step as he began to pace the cell restlessly.
“Why should I not think?”
“Because ’twill make you curious,” he said with more savagery than she thought the matter deserved. “And there are matters about which you should not be curious.”
His countenance was so grim that another woman would have abandoned him to his mood. But his warning came too late—Jacqueline was already curious, and she meant to do something about it.
“We must do something to keep our wits about ourselves.” Now she paced alongside him, though there was scarcely room. “I have told you tales, ’tis your turn to tell me one.” He watched her grimly. “I have no tales to tell.”
/>
“You have a thousand tales but you choose not to tell them.”
That ghost of a smile touched his lips. “Is it not the same?”
“Nay!” Jacqueline stopped and glared up at him. He looked bemused, not angered, which she knew considerably increased her chance of winning some confession.
As long as she did not ask for too rich a prize.
“Tell me of Lucifer,” she cajoled. “How did you come by him?”
Angus chuckled and shoved a hand through his hair. “Vexing wench. If I tell you of Lucifer, will that sate your lust for tales?”
“Probably not.” Jacqueline grinned, unrepentant. “But ’twill do, as a beginning.”
He sighed heavily but she was not fooled. “I suppose I owe you something for your insistence upon seeing to my welfare.”
She laughed. “I suppose you do.”
“You will be cold,” he suggested with apparent idleness. “Sit beside me that we might share our warmth.”
Jacqueline could not deny him that. ’Twas not all bad to be close to Angus MacGillivray.
She sat beside him on the steps and curled under the welcome weight of his arm. He smelled of soapwort, ’twas true, and of his own flesh, and she tingled where they touched.
When he urged her closer, she nestled trustingly against him. “Now,” she demanded, tapping a finger upon his knee, “you have no further excuses, Angus MacGillivray. Tell me of that destrier and how you came to ride him.”
He took his time finding the beginning, but Jacqueline was content to wait. Aye, prompting him would only feed his natural reticence. “I was in Damascus,” he said finally.
“Before or after your imprisonment?”
“I was in Damascus,” Angus repeated firmly. “And without a denier to my name.”
“After your release, then,” she concluded, and he gave her a stern look.
“Who tells this tale?”
Jacqueline smiled and held a finger to her own lips. “Not me.” Then she could not hold her tongue. “But why were you even imprisoned?”
Angus chuckled beneath his breath. “I should let you be consumed with curiosity for the tale.”
“But you will not.” She heard the change in his own tone. “You mean to tell me!”
“I shall tell you what I am prepared to tell you and not a word more.” He smiled crookedly. “You have found me in a weak moment.”
“Hardly that. I doubt you have any such moments. You have simply chosen to tell me now. Why?”
“Perhaps I would savor silence in my final days.”
His expression was so mischievous that Jacqueline could not have been insulted. She laughed and leaned back against him. ‘Tell me, then, tell me as much as you dare.”
“I suppose there is naught to be done but begin at the beginning,” Angus mused. “I arrived in Jerusalem after a year’s journey and many unexpected adventures. The last of which was the attack of thieves on the Jaffa road, which left my comrade dead and me relieved of my purse.”
Characteristically, he did not dwell on this misfortune, nor did his tone waver, though Jacqueline was appalled. “Fortunately, I managed to save my comrade’s body and flee to the gates of the Holy City.
“’Twas there I met Rodney, for he was standing sentry there. No doubt he was pleased to meet another from his homeland, even in such poor circumstance, and he was quick to offer his aid. He took me to the Templars, insisting that any father would want his son in such august company. He served them as a sergeant in those days, and so then did I.
“But the master of the order saw promise in me, for some reason, and he had me trained as a knight. I welcomed the opportunity and earned my spurs beneath the order’s care. And I joined the order, laboring as a knight, praying, fasting, fighting.”
“Which is why you know so much of poverty, chastity, and obedience.”
“They are more challenging vows than many at first believe.”
“But you kept your vows.”
“Aye, I did. And in the years after my arrival, it seemed that my aid was needed most in Outremer. There were many earthquakes, which caused not only devastation but the fear that they were a portent of worse to come. Around the same time, a most able warrior by the name of Saladin had come to lead the Saracens. He was bold and valiant and much skilled in strategy.
“Many in the Latin Kingdoms of Outremer feared his influence, and, worse, his plans for Jerusalem. The King of Jerusalem himself had pledged not to build a fortress in the valley of the upper Jordan River, though ’twas a strategic site. ’Twas at the ford where Jacob wrestled the angel that the Templars then began to build their fortress of Chastelet.”
“In defiance of the treaty?”
“The master of the order reminded all that the treaty was made with the king, not with the Templars.”
“Surely a convenience.”
“The defense was needed for the protection of Jerusalem—perhaps that was why the King of Jerusalem provided his own troops to encircle and protect its construction. Saladin too saw its import, for he offered a tremendous ransom to have the construction stopped. Naught halted the rise of those walls. Chastelet was completed in six months, and garrisoned with fifteen hundred mercenaries and sixty Templar knights.”
“Including you.”
“The king’s troops withdrew once the fortress was complete, and many of the elite of the Templars returned to Jerusalem in his escort. Saladin attacked the new fortress but was repulsed—then he surprised the retreating party by surrounding them at Maij Ayun. The King of Jerusalem and Raymond of Tripoli escaped.”
“What of the others?”
“The grand master of the Temple, Odo de St. Amand, was captured and most of the remaining Christian troops were slaughtered. ’Twas a horrific loss.”
“What of the other knights?”
“There is a practice in the East of ransoming a nobleman or a military leader to his own side for as much coin as possible. The knights who did not die were captured and taken to Damascus to be imprisoned until they might be ransomed. It is, however, contrary to the rule of the Temple for a knight of the order to be ransomed for more than his belt and his sword. The grand master refused to be ransomed, as did the knights of the order captured with him.”
Angus frowned at the floor of the dungeon. “’Twas interpreted by the Muslims as treachery. Since the Templars had so recently defied a treaty made with the King of Jerusalem, the order was held to be faithless. ’Twas determined that the knights were spies and should be compelled to confess to their true intentions.”
Jacqueline lifted her hand to his face.
Angus met her gaze. “What better way to deter a spy than to relieve him of the tools of his trade?”
“They only took one eye.”
“I never knew when they intended to collect the other.” He smiled wryly. “Perhaps that dread was part of their intent.”
“But you were released.”
“We were all released. The grand master died in that Damascus prison a year after capture. By then matters had changed—Saladin had, after all, razed Chastelet to the ground in the interim and felt no threat from it or perhaps from us any longer. ’Twas evidently felt that a gesture of goodwill was seemly. What knights of the order survived were permitted to escort the grand master’s body back to Jerusalem for burial. They even returned what weapons were obviously of sentimental value.”
“Such as your father’s sword.”
“Odin’s Scythe.” Angus shook his head in recollection. “I shall never forget the first touch of sunlight upon my flesh, nor the sight of Rodney, holding Lucifer as he awaited me there. I was weak and sickened but he tended me without complaint and he never would hear a word of compensation for the acquisition of that steed.”
“Was he not at Chastelet?”
“Nay, he had been ordered to remain in Jerusalem. There was a time when he regretted it, but later he came to appreciate his fortune. I was commended upon my return to Jerusalem
for my service to the order and asked my one desire.”
“You wished to come home,” Jacqueline guessed.
“Who would not?” Angus looked around the dungeon, and she thought she saw a suspicious glimmer in his eye. She ached anew for him, knowing what he had found, but his voice echoed softly in the chamber. “Indeed, after that, who would not?”
Angus said naught more that day. Jacqueline could see his exhaustion, though he paced restlessly and kept his gaze fixed upon the sliver of light visible to them. His shoulders sagged when the light disappeared, and she could sense that he mustered his strength.
Angus seemed to fight his need to sleep, though she had no such success. She curled up on the step, disappointed when he declined her invitation to join him. All too soon she fell asleep to the sound of his regular footfalls as he paced the cell.
She was awakened by a blood-curdling yell.
The cell was as dark as pitch, though she smelled fear within it. Angus thrashed against the walls and shouted gibberish. Jacqueline sat up, stunned when he swore with diligence, and knew he needed aid of some kind.
She eased closer to his side, guessing his position by the sound. He flung out a hand, bellowing incoherently, and barely missed her.
His fist struck the wall with alarming force, and she realized that he was still asleep. She backed away from him in fear. He muttered angrily, raged against unseen enemies, and struck out at atrocities that only he could see. She could smell the sweat that ran from his flesh and fairly taste his terror. She knew that he was snared in dark dreams of recollection.
Dreams perhaps prompted by him finally surrendering his tale to her, and that by her request. She was responsible yet again for his misfortunes.
Her own heart hammering with trepidation, Jacqueline approached Angus. He roared in anguish just as she drew near, then flung out his hands as if to defend himself. She ducked beneath his arms and wrapped her arms around his waist.
“’Tis Jacqueline,” she whispered, but he grasped her shoulders in his hands as if he would fling her away.
“Nay, nay, nay.”
“Aye, ’tis me. Angus! You are but dreaming. You must awaken!”
Stolen Brides: Four Beauty-and-the-Beast Medieval Romances Page 121