by Traci E Hall
“I will look. You do the same.” The church bells rang, and Dominus cringed. “How on earth do men get anything done when all they do is pray?”
Overwhelmed with conflicting emotions, Mamie asked, “How will I reach you?”
“Leave a signal here—a ribbon or something. I will find you.” He stopped before her, lifting her chin and tilting her face up so she was forced to meet his gaze. Very slowly, deliberately, he leaned in and kissed her.
She jolted at the contact, uncertain but wanting. Need curled up from her belly as she savored the warm press of his lips. Mamie sighed and leaned in for more. Then she pulled back. The church bells rang again.
“What?” he asked, his mouth hovering over hers. “I am no Templar.”
“No.” She lowered her gaze, shielding her vulnerable heart. “You still have Meggie and a family.”
“But—”
“Go. Before you lose something else to Bartholomew.” She touched his fringe of blond curls. “I will keep your secret for now, Knight. Hurry, or Everard will be punished on your behalf.”
After stealing one last kiss, Dominus left. Mamie waited, rubbing a thumb across her swollen lower lip. She imagined being in his arms would be a rare treat. Rare because it could not happen. She did not break up families. No, she kept them together, and then they asked her to leave. Unwanted.
How best to protect Eleanor against Raymond’s plans? Mamie left the trees and walked carefully down the path. Relying on memory, she made her way toward the courtyard but stopped at the top of the hill as she heard Eleanor and Louis in a heated conversation.
“I want you to help my uncle,” Eleanor demanded.
“I told you that I cannot in good conscience do that.”
“Your soul,” Eleanor drawled.
“And yours too, Eleanor. Vitry weighs heavy. They were your people. Innocents, trapped in a church and burned. Does that mean nothing to you?”
“It was war. A battle. One does not dwell on such things.”
“I do not have your ability to let my feelings go. God has not judged this pilgrimage kindly, and I would rectify this before it is too late.”
“I will not leave with you in ten days, Louis,” Eleanor said.
“When, then? How much time do you need? Odo said we can be ready in a week.”
“Never.”
Stuck on the hill, Mamie hoped her gasp went unheard. Her heart ached at what was being destroyed below her. Please stop.
“What are you saying?” Louis said.
Mamie dared to inch closer. What was Eleanor doing?
“I believe we should help Raymond take over Edessa.” Eleanor’s voice rose with excitement. “Imagine, you can change the way historians will view this pilgrimage! Do what we set out to do—save Edessa. Gain control. Let my uncle take over—he can keep Nur ad-Din out.”
“And you say this as if you do not believe I can.”
“You do not want control of Edessa.” She paused. “Do you? You are king already, but if you wanted—”
“Eleanor, Edessa has a prince already. Jocelyn. It would not be given to Raymond.”
“Jocelyn could not keep the city from the Turks. Why should Raymond give it back?”
“There are times when I fear you have ice in your veins instead of the warm blood of a woman. Where is your compassion?”
“Compassion!”
Mamie winced at the queen’s wounded tone.
“Yes. What you feel for your fellow man as they are hurting.”
“I know what it means, Louis.”
This was not good. Mamie wished she could make them stop before their private conversation went too far.
But she could. Just as she was ready to break a branch to let them know she was coming, Fay clapped loudly, shouting as if chased by tigers.
Mamie stopped, just out of sight, watching as Eleanor and Louis faced off over a small table, their letter to their daughter between them.
Fay squealed, running through the grass, a look of terror on her face. “Is it gone?”
“What?” Eleanor asked, standing to look.
Louis, too, rose to his feet.
“The rat! There was a rat the size of a pony. In the bathhouse.”
“The bathhouse?” Louis asked, obviously noticing Fay’s fully clothed state.
“I wanted to bathe.” She sniffed. “And it was there —whiskers twitching. I hate rats. They eat your toes, you know.”
“I did not,” Louis said, angry and suspicious.
Now what? Keeping the royal pair from killing one another took some ingenuity. Mamie slipped off her shoes and stripped off her stockings, quickly putting her shoes back on. “Fay, you dropped your stocking along the way,” Mamie said, walking quickly down the hill. She kept her hem over her shoes. “It was not close enough to bite.”
“A rat?” Louis looked around the ground, then at Mamie. “Really?”
“Fay hates rats more than she hates the water.”
Eleanor shivered. “I am done here anyway. I will seal the letter, Louis.”
“Eleanor,” he said. “Wait.”
“Rats,” Fay added, insistent. “Everywhere.”
“Hmm,” the queen said, as if finally understanding.
Mamie realized what Fay meant as she noticed Thierry in the bushes behind them all. Which meant Odo or perhaps a servant of Raymond was around as well.
“Louis, come to my chamber after supper. Perhaps I will feel in a kinder mood after food and drink. We do have so much to discuss, and I would do so in private.”
He nodded and left without word to any of them.
Mamie’s heart went out to him. A good man, unprepared for the cruelties in the world. The Crusade had made him stronger. But strong enough to face the queen?
Eleanor had no patience left for his piety, not when she was so obviously comparing Louis to her uncle.
Mamie and Fay followed Eleanor to their room.
“A rat?” Eleanor said the instant the door was closed.
“What?” Fay dropped her hands to her sides. “You were surrounded by eavesdroppers and talking about things that should never be said except in whispers in the dark. In a locked room. You are the Queen of France.”
The queen put the writing trunk on the floor and kicked it to the side. “You do not need to remind me who I am.”
Fay, not at all intimidated, said, “I do. You are behaving like a woman without duties or responsibilities.”
Eleanor exhaled. “I do not want to be Queen of France. I want to be Queen of Edessa.”
Mamie gasped.
Shaking, Fay said, “I knew it. I knew something else was going on. What did Raymond promise you?”
“Stand down, Fay.”
“I will not. My duty is to protect you, and you are making errors that I cannot fix. What did he promise you?”
“Queenship of Edessa. Why not? With my vassals, I could hold the city against the Turks easily.”
“And?”
Eleanor flushed while Mamie watched sweet Fay drag their queen over the coals.
“More land for Aquitaine.”
“You don’t go there as it is. It is bigger than France!”
“I do not like the way you are speaking to me, Cuz.”
“You are embarrassing me with the way you are behaving.”
The two women stared at one another while Mamie watched, speechless. Finally, she said, “Wine? I know I could use some.”
Fay nodded first, then Eleanor.
Mamie poured and handed them each a goblet. She suggested a toast. “To us. The queen and her guards.”
The tension eased enough that they were each able to take a swallow.
“I wish you would be more careful. You are not meant to rule Edessa. You already agreed to be the Queen of France. I am sorry that your husband does not excite you with talk of battle and victory. I know your roots. I know what you gave up.” Fay leaned her forehead into the queen’s. “But you did give it up. For power.”<
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“To keep Aquitaine safe,” Eleanor said. “I was a girl. Fifteen. My father had just died. What was I to do?”
“Louis was there to save you. You made a brilliant match. Do not let Odo and Thierry block you from getting your opinion heard. It is not right that you should rule alone or that Louis should. Together, you are a powerful team.”
“He does not listen to me.” Eleanor let two tears slide down her cheeks before she lifted her chin.
“You had his ear this afternoon, and you chose to make a stand instead of talk. You told him you would never go with him. How is he supposed to react? Odo heard you.”
“And Thierry,” Mamie said. “He was in the bushes.”
Eleanor sighed. “I just got caught in the moment—”
“Which is why you have us at your side,” Fay said softly. “Please let us help you. We can ease the way.”
“Toward what? I am not happy. Seeing Raymond and Constance, in love . . . They are happy. I am miserable.”
“You are having an adventure to see you through the rest of your days.”
“This will not be the last adventure I have,” Eleanor declared with a shiver. “I will not mold and rot in Paris, Fay. I promise you that.”
“I did not say anything about rotting. Why must you be so extreme?” Fay paced, taking big strides, her light brown hair a cape behind her.
Mamie stood by the connecting doors in their suite. Larissa was not in the room. Where was she? If she was smart, perhaps hiding under the bed.
Remembering her conversation with Dominus, she asked, “What does Raymond really want from you?”
Eleanor turned to Mamie with a stricken look. “What do you mean?”
Treading carefully, as if walking on an iced-over pond, Mamie said, “What does he want—exactly? Your vassals? The division of you and the king? Or is it best for him if you persuade Louis to come with you to Edessa? How far is he willing to go? And you—what are you willing to give up?”
Cheeks flushed, Eleanor set down her goblet and shook out her hands. “I think you both are reacting in a foul way to something honorable. My uncle is a man of power. He is only asking for the aid that was pledged by Bishop Clairvaux at the beginning of this. Do you remember, ladies? How we rallied the people to sign up?”
Mamie nodded. “We were glorious. White horses, red-and-white cloaks, bells, and feathers,” she said soberly. “King Louis must feel he is in his right as sovereign to come back for Edessa later. He has never once said he would forget about it. Only that Jerusalem needed to come first.”
“Once we reach Jerusalem, there will be no coming back. I know it”—Eleanor patted her heart—“in here. He will listen to the others and be swayed.”
“He has been true,” Fay argued.
“Louis is the king, and he can do what he likes. But a host of other countries joined us in this pilgrimage—and it was to save Edessa.” The queen pounded a fist against an open palm. “Louis changed his mind.”
“Does Bishop Clairvaux support the change?” Mamie asked.
“I am not certain he knows.”
Mamie wondered if this was the news Dominus was supposed to report back to the bishop. She tried very hard not to think about their kiss under the olive tree.
“Before you decide to ally yourself with your uncle over your husband, perhaps we should let him know.”
“Fay, you are being cruel.” Eleanor wiped her eyes. “I love Louis but not in the passionate way of lovers.”
“It is years too late for you to change your mind,” Fay said, her voice rough. “Passion is for new love, for non-royal personages. Remember what happened when your sister decided passion was more important. People died.”
“You and Louis are stuck on Vitry. It is over—and has been.”
“At what cost?” Fay asked, her eyes intense.
“This is not the same.”
Mamie sighed. “I cannot believe that I am the one to ask this, but what about the pope?”
“The clergy are not here, in the trenches, to see what needs to be done. Jocelyn was weak, and he let the Turks in. I would not; Raymond would not! Think of this, ladies: all of Outremer could be ruled by one man, a man of my house. We have the skill and strength to do it.”
“And Constantinople?” Mamie asked, fearing the answer.
“Raymond has no love for Manuel. Neither do I.”
“You have lost your mind,” Fay whispered.
“No. I am thinking over every possibility. I have a destiny.”
“I wish you would think again,” Mamie said, pouring more wine. “I do not think this is what was meant by making a decision that would change history.”
“Do you know?”
“It is a feeling, just like the feeling I had before.” Not tangible.
“My decision to join Raymond and take over Outremer would change the world.” Eleanor took the bottle and drained the last few drops in her cup.
“True.” Mamie thought hard, going with the facts as she knew them. “But your destiny is not here.”
“My uncle has promised me sanctuary for as long as I want it. With or without Louis.”
Chapter Fifteen
Dominus barely made it back to his room in time, scratching at his scalp as if it were covered in lice.
Everard returned from prayers. “What is wrong? Your head is bleeding!”
Dominus looked up, blood dripping into his eye. “It is? I thought I was too hot. Sweating.” He took a sip of water that Everard offered.
“You should see the physician.”
“No, no, I do not want to anger Commander Bartholomew.”
“You are bleeding.”
He patted his head, then looked at the blood and scowled. “It itched. After the shave? Perhaps something in the cream or the brush did not agree with me.”
“I am taking you to the physician now,” Everard said. “If you are reacting to the cream, then perhaps there is a lotion to soothe the rash.” The young knight made the sign of the cross. “You must be in pain.”
“It just itches. I prayed and tried not to notice.”
“Well, you must have noticed enough to scratch your scalp to shreds.” Everard seemed to come to a decision. “I will go and ask the physician what to offer you. That way you do not break the rules and leave the room.”
“Thank you, brother.”
“I will return shortly with relief of some kind. Keep your hands off your head!”
Of course, now that he had said so, Dominus had difficulty following his direction. At least the burn from the sun was covered, which was the most immediate issue.
The next thing of import was how quickly he’d chosen to trust Mamie with his secrets.
But he was not a spy. That was never his duty. He would fight as a knight. And observe, writing down what he saw.
Did the bishop worry that the king and queen might separate? Or was Mamie right and he cautioned against the division of the caravan? There was no way of knowing without asking the man, and that was not possible.
To keep from scratching at his aching scalp, he pressed his fists into his thighs.
Everard returned with a lotion that immediately soothed the burn and the scratches. “Take this powder. It will help you sleep. You will not be able to shave again for a while.”
And that was a bad thing? Dominus had not missed the look on Mamie’s face when she’d seen his tonsure. It was a look not of want but of amusement. He wasn’t used to being the cause of a woman’s laughter. He would much rather be the source of her desire.
He remembered the velvety feel of Mamie’s lips and the deepening green of her eyes as passion flared. He’d been chaste the entire past year, but the kiss had awakened his desires. He wanted her, and she’d promised to keep his secret. For now.
He fell into a fitful doze, wondering how to explain Meggie and all of the children.
Dominus woke to a small shake of his shoulder. “Commander Bartholomew wishes to see you,” a black-
robed servant whispered.
Sliding from bed, fully dressed in shirt, breeches, and shoes, as all Templars were ordered to do, Dominus reached for his robe and slipped it on over his head, easy to see with the light on. All of the rules against temptation.
Dominus did not bother asking the servant what the commander wanted, since the man probably didn’t know, and even if he did, he wouldn’t answer. Silence was prized, something else Dominus hadn’t particularly minded until recently, when he wanted answers.
He entered the commander’s office.
Despite the hour, with the morning sun only starting to show, Bartholomew sat straight, stern. “Sit.”
Dominus took the only chair before the desk.
Bartholomew tapped his fingers on a stack of books, staring at Dominus as if trying to read his soul.
“Princess Constance has specifically requested your presence at the tournament today.” His brow furrowed as if Dominus were somehow behind this ludicrous attempt at joviality.
“Oh?”
Bartholomew sniffed, apparently smelling deceit. “I reminded her that Templars may not hunt or hawk, so she has asked that you be her champion in the joust.”
Something he used to be good at. “If it pleases you, I know how to wield a lance.”
“It does not particularly please me, but it is a royal order.” Bartholomew rose quickly, pushing his wooden chair behind him. “Wait here. I will return with your accoutrements.” He paused, then came around the desk to get a closer look at Dominus’s scalp. “You did this to yourself?”
Dominus bit back a sarcastic retort. “I did not realize . . .”
“It looks painful,” Bartholomew said, allowing a small smile to play at the corners of his mouth.
Bastard. “Oui. Very.”
“We are given trials on this earth to bring us closer to Christ. Amen.”
Dominus bowed his head, wondering how an itchy pate could bring him closer to God.
“You are my trial, Dominus.”
Bartholomew left, and Dominus chuckled. At least I am getting under his skin. He looked at the desk and the open door.
He quickly got to his feet and scanned the papers on the desk. Booklets of prayers, Bible verses. Dominus opened the middle drawer, feeling around inside for a hidden lever or latch. Nothing. Where else would Bartholomew put something he needed to hide?
