by S A Monk
“No one else knew I had no sleeping gown.” She blushed under his scrutiny, charming him yet again. “It is lovely. I like the scalloped lace edging. It will be cooler without sleeves, too. But tell me, how does a Templar monk go into a shop and buy a woman’s undergarment?”
He laughed as he moved to scoot up against the carved wooden headboard. “By going in dressed as an Arab, pretending to be a husband.”
Husband. How I would love that, Gabrielle thought. I have one, but he was never the husband this man could be, if it could ever come to that.
She lifted her hand to his bearded cheek, then slipped her fingers into the thick, shiny length of his sable black hair and shaped them gently to his scalp. Wanting another kiss, she pulled his face to hers and pressed kisses over his sharply defined cheekbones, his blade straight nose, his thickly lashed eyes, his heavily drawn eyebrows. At his forehead, she lingered in benediction, awed by the intensity of her feelings for him. Then her lips trailed downwards to his.
She had learned much about kissing from him. And while she would never have wanted to do it with Reynald, she craved the taste and textures of this ex-Templar. She brushed her lips back and forth across his mobile mouth, savoring him for a long while before gently nipping him with her teeth.
When he gasped in surprise, she coaxed his lips apart and sweetly invaded his mouth with her tongue. Her hand wedged between their merging bodies to slip down and unerringly find his still swollen male appendage, which was snuggly contained by his wool hose. She was sure he must be extremely uncomfortable left in that state.
A ragged sound escaped his throat. She looked into his intense eyes. He did indeed look as if he was in pain. She recognized arousal in a man. Lucien’s was beautiful. For the first time, she wanted to ease that arousal.
While it had frightened her initially, it had also given her incredible joy to please him and to realize she was actually capable of responding like this to a man. She wondered if he would show her how to stroke him to release. She wanted him to experience what she just had. It had been amazing! Never had she known anything like it. Never!
“Teach me how to finish it for you.”
Lucien could not halt the groan that escaped him. My God, this woman was special!
“Not now, Gabi. Tonight was just for you.” Tenderly, he lifted her hand from himself.
“Oh, Lucien, I’ve always been so afraid of this. I didn’t know it was possible to feel such pleasure. It was….” She halted, unable to find the words to describe how she had felt.
He understood, of course, and smiled, his special smile for her; the crooked little one that made her heart flip-flop.
“I thought I would die of pleasure,” she admitted.
“Ahh, Gabi, there is a little death when the pleasure is great, but there is a great deal more we can share.”
She laughed incredulously and nervously. “I want that, Lucien.”
“So do I,” he chuckled “Our timing is lousy, though, isn’t it?”
She shrugged, and a look of sadness stole across her features.
He felt compelled to erase it. “But the kingdom is always in trouble. We will see this through together, somehow,” he said with quiet affirmation. “I am not giving you up.”
She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t really understand what she meant to him, but it sounded as if they were far from finished with one another, and that gave her hope.
“Come… lie in my arms tonight,” he coaxed. “It has been a long day, and I fear there will be more to come. Tonight, I just want to hold you close and feel your heart beat against mine.”
Lucien settled himself against the pillows, remaining in an upright position against the headboard. When he was as comfortable as he could make himself, he reached for Gabrielle and lifted her to lie back, between his legs, against his chest. He could feel her buttocks against his groin, and he knew she could feel his arousal. It would take a long while for that to disappear.
As she snuggled against him, finding her own comfortable position, he slid both arms around her to hold her close. He felt the soft thud of her heartbeat. It was steady and comforting. He nuzzled her hair, then dropped his chin onto the top of her head.
Looking down, he saw the dim outline of her slender curves beneath the filmy fabric of the nightgown. He wanted her still, fiercely, but another time, he would make love to her and seek his own satisfaction. Tonight, he wanted her right where he had her, held close against him as they found peace and comfort together.
CHAPTER 12
The first faint rays of dawn awoke Lucien. Gabrielle was soundly asleep in his arms still, and despite the fact that he had slept sitting up, he felt more rested than he had in a long while. But he dreaded the day. He had been in Palestine long enough to know what would likely occur today. He wanted to remain here, in this quiet, peaceful chamber, with this soft, warm, beautiful woman snuggled so sweetly against him.
He was very careful in easing out from behind her. She did not waken, only shift and snuggle deeper into the bedcovers.
In his chamber, he discovered a fine long-sleeved chain mail hauberk, slit in the front and back for riding, equipped with a leather-lined mail coif. Next to it were a pair of chain mail chausses and a one-piece round metal helm with a broad nasal guard. Mail boot coverings and iron spurs completed the new body armor. Lucien was taken aback by the quality of the armor and how generous Lord Raymond had been.
He’d never had the services of a squire for any extended amount of time, so he had become very adept at lacing himself into his armor. After donning clean wool leggings and undertunic, he put on his gambeson, settled it over his hips, then proceeded with his suit of well-oiled mail.
Raymond had also gifted him with a plain black tunic. There was no insignia on the front, but it was made of a light-weight wool-silk blend. It was a garment of quality, and again Lucien was overwhelmed. Sleeveless, the surcoat fell to mid-calf.
Beside the chair, there was a sword belt and a plain leather scabbard in which he slid his personal sword, one he’d had made for him in Damascus years ago. Because it was personal property, he had not been obligated to turn it over to Brother Conrad last night.
When he was fully attired, Lucien shoved one dagger into the belt at his waist and one into his boot. Finally, he lifted the conical helmet off the seat of the chair, ready to join Lord Raymond downstairs.
This was his first day as a secular knight, a free lance. He missed the familiar weight of his Templar gear, but Lord Raymond had gone to a great deal of expense to replace it with equally fine equipment. He owed the man.
Lucien was surprised to find that he felt at ease with his new status. This morning, his decision felt right. He did not regret it.
But before he left, he had one more thing he had to do. He found he could not leave her without bidding the lady in the next room goodbye.
Gabrielle was awake by the time Lucien reentered her chamber. She watched him come to the bed and remained lying on her side, nestled beneath the bedcoverings.
He was dressed for combat in his armor and sword. He looked intimidating in his black surcoat. It darkened his countenance even more, making him appear very fearsome. Gabrielle had seen him wield a sword and fight in hand-to-hand combat. He was exceptionally skilled. She had witnessed Reynald and his men training. Lucien possessed many deadly skills that went beyond the norm. Twice he had bested the fida’i. Few men did that.
She should not be afraid for him, but she was.
She offered him a smile when he stopped beside the bed. “Lord Raymond has gifted you well,” she commented in admiration as her eyes swept the new armor and surcoat.
“Aye, he has been generous,” he agreed as he went down on one knee beside her.
She reached out from under the coverings and took the hand that was not holding his leather gloves. With eyes lowered so he wouldn’t see her anxiety, she lifted his hand to her lips and kissed the backs of his fingers, one by one. “Be careful tod
ay for me,” she petitioned softly. “Come back to me. I have grown very fond of you, Lucien de Aubric.”
“I go not to fight, but to try to stop it,” he told her.
“It may be a futile effort.” She turned his hand, opened his palm, and pressed a kiss to the scarred center.
“No doubt, but I must try.” He reached for her bare shoulder and pulled her up and into his embrace. “I will return as soon as I can. Stay within the walls of the garrison today.”
His nose nuzzled the hair loosened from her sleeping braid, then his mouth trailed from her hairline to her lips.
Gabrielle curled her hand around the mail-covered nape of his neck and held him tightly to her lips, which opened avidly to receive his hungry kiss. He left her dizzy and shaken, but she managed to sit up in bed as he rose and walked to the door. There were no more words to say, except stay, and she could not ask that of him. The man he was would not allow that. She knew him well enough now to realize that he would always try to find solutions that would avoid blood being needlessly shed. She wished him luck, then knelt to pray after the door closed behind him.
+++
Lord Balian met Lord Raymond and Lucien near the gates of Nazareth. Having come from Jerusalem, then the garrison at La Féve, where he had anticipated meeting the grand masters, he had then ridden on to where it was reported de Ridefort was assembling a force of men.
Balian was sitting on the shaded steps of the Church of the Nazarene with Josias, the archbishop of Tyre, when he spotted Lord Raymond and his party. The count’s three sons, as well as Lucien, Nephrim, Omar, and a dozen soldiers were with him. All dismounted to talk to the archbishop and the baron of Nablus, while their horses were watered in a nearby trough.
“What has happened?” Lord Ibelin inquired worriedly as Lucien and Raymond ascended the steps with their water canteens. “I went to La Féve to catch up to our envoy, and they told me de Ridefort left yesterday to see you, Raymond. Then, later, they got word that he was trying to raise a force to meet some Saracen troops in the area. What were they talking about?”
Lord Raymond sank down tiredly on a stone step below the archbishop and the baron. “I gave permission for Saladin’s son, al Afdal, to send a reconnaissance party across my land.”
“Why?” Lord Balian queried, obviously confounded by the unanticipated turn of events.
The count wiped his brow and sighed. “Because I made a treaty with Saladin to protect my lands in exchange for passage across them.”
Balian shook his head. “Aw, Raymond, this will bring naught but trouble.”
“It already has,” the older man conceded as he uncorked his water canteen. “De Ridefort was at my keep for dinner last eve. He got wind of the envoy, then learned of a nearby troop buildup and felt he had to confront them. He was furious. He would not listen to either Lucien or I. He sent dispatches here and to Caco in an effort to raise men for an attack.”
“Well, you have missed him. Josias said he left here at dawn.”
Lucien propped one leg on a stone step and rested his forearm on his raised thigh. “How many men did he manage to raise?”
The archbishop of Tyre wiped at his balding pate with a kerchief. “Master Gerard gathered one hundred and thirty knights, about three hundred foot soldiers, and two score native troops. He rode out of here shouting for the townspeople to follow, promising them a great Christian victory and inviting them to plunder the fallen infidel soldiers. As you can see,” the archbishop elaborated with a sweep of his hand. “Many took him up on his offer, for the town is nearly deserted.”
Lucien had noticed that when he had ridden in. “Now there may be even more loss of life. The Grand Master obviously forgot about the large Saracen encampment I informed him of.”
His derisive observation was followed by a question from Lord Balian. “Lucien, why are you not wearing your Templar garb? That is not your horse, either.”
“It is a rather long story, Balian,” the count responded, seeing a frown cross the archbishop’s face and wanting to spare his disavowed friend the clerical scolding that was sure to ensue.
“I quit the Order,” Lucien replied, knowing all would know soon enough. “You know I have been thinking of it for some time, Balian. Master de Ridefort and I strongly disagreed about his course of action today. Our argument simply prompted me to act sooner rather than later.”
“Brother de Aubric.” The archbishop stared at Lucien, clearly displeased with his pronouncement. “You took holy vows when you became a monk. They were lifetime vows. You may join another monastic order, but you cannot simply quit.”
Lucien stared back at him. He knew what the archbishop was telling him was true, but he had also known men who had simply walked away to live a secular life. The Templar Grand Master before Odo de Saint Armand, Philip de Milly, Lady Silvia’s father, had joined then resigned the Brotherhood to serve King Amalric as an ambassador to Constantinople.
Being a warrior monk was not the same as being a priestly monk. Life was very different for a knight of the Temple. To begin with, he was a knight. He was trained for warfare, not peaceful pursuits like tending the poor, performing the sacraments, and Christian ministry. Like other monastics, the Templars did engage in daily prayer and devotion, but most Templars in Palestine lived more in the world than out of it. But he had taken vows of chastity and obedience and poverty, and while he had not always upheld them as well as he should have, he had tried.
Still, regardless of the permanence of his vows, he was not retracting his disavowal.
“I am not renouncing God, Your Grace,” he told the bishop. “Only my vows.”
“Does it have to do with Reynald de Châtillon’s wife?” Josias asked bluntly.
“Nay, it does not,” Lucien answered truthfully, although he knew he could feel given to her in a way he’d never felt given to the Church. But his decision to leave the Order had been made for reasons other than Gabrielle de Châtillon. His vows as a monk had been taken as a result of need, not devotion or faith, and his needs had changed in the decade since he’d joined the Templars. He could no longer remain committed to something he no longer believed in. He was not that kind of man.
“Then I will petition His Holiness, the Pope, for release from your vows, brother, for official freedom must come from him.”
Lucien nodded. “I will not return to the Order to await his decision. Mine is made.”
Bishop Josias shook his head, clearly unhappy with Lucien’s adamancy.
+++
By the time, Lucien and the other men in Count Raymond’s party returned to the garrison of Tiberius, the sun had set, leaving dusky light and shadows. The torches had been lit in the bailey and the yard was full of people, horses, and wagons.
It had been a hellish day, and Lucien was sick to the bottom of his soul. He thought he had been prepared for the worst, but the number of dead they had come upon at the Springs of Cresson, near the foot of Mount Tabor, had been gut wrenching.
Survivors, of which there were damned few, told of de Ridefort’s surprise attack upon the Saracen envoy in the heavily wooded area around the springs. Apparently the Grand Master of the Temple and his cavalry had come upon the Arab troops watering their horses. Leaving their infantry behind, in an open field, the Christians had charged the enemy.
James de Mailly, Marshal of the Templar garrison at Caco, and Roger des Moulins, Grand Master of the Hospitallers, had vehemently argued against the charge. De Ridefort had accused them both of cowardice and chastised the Marshal for being afraid to die for the Cross. As a result of his taunting, both men had relented and joined in the attack, only to be cut down within moments of the battle’s start.
It appeared to Lucien, after listening to the testimony of several eyewitnesses, that the envoy had been heavily backed up by a much larger force, under the command of the infamous Blue Wolf, Muzaffar al Din Gökböri, one of Saladin’s leading commanders. This unit, which had been encamped somewhere nearby, had been seven hundr
ed or more strong and had come almost immediately to the envoy’s aide. Caught in a thick grove of trees, without the backup of their infantry, de Ridefort’s troops had been slaughtered.
Of the one hundred plus Templars, only Gerard de Ridefort and three other brothers had survived. The Grand Master of the Hospitallers, plus all of his meager number of knights had been killed. The Templar Marshal, James de Mailly, had died as well. The secular knights from Nazareth were being taken to imprisonment in Aleppo, to be ransomed later. The infantry, who had not escaped, and the unwise townspeople of Nazareth, who had followed the Christian army for plunder, had been captured and marched off to be sold into slavery. Over five hundred fighting men had been lost at the battle of Cresson, including many good friends of Lucien’s, like Brother Giles de Chancery.
Sick at heart, he rode into the Tiberius garrison at dusk, beside the wagon that held the dead, which included his Hospitaller friend. The wagon behind him carried the injured. To Lucien’s relief, Brother Conrad was among them. The German had fought beside Master de Ridefort, who had returned with them and was astride his horse. His injuries were minor. Brother Conrad’s were more serious, but not grievous enough to cause death.
Lucien was burning with fury at de Ridefort’s vainglorious idiocy. Once again the personal pride and misguided zealotry of a grand master had sent good men to their deaths needlessly. If Saladin wanted to weaken troop strength and demoralize the Christian forces, de Ridefort had played right into his hands. If it weren’t for the fact that he knew de Ridefort hated all Saracens and that Lucien eventually found out just about everyone’s intent in Palestine, he would have concluded the Grand Master was working for the enemy.
By the time, they reached the front of the keep, there were many helping hands ready to assist the care of the injured and transportation of the dead.
Lucien was not surprised to see Gabrielle with the countess and her two daughters-by-law. The women went to the wagon with the injured first, and Lucien drew a breath of relief. He left his horse with a stable boy, then strode over to Gabrielle before she could reach the wagon with dead Hospitallers.
