Templar Prize

by Deanna Ashford

  ‘He has a multitude of reasons to be jealous of you,’ Stephen replied, only sitting, as convention demanded, after his monarch had done so. ‘You outshine him at everything, do you not?’

  ‘And you allow me no modesty, my friend.’ Richard picked up a pitcher from a nearby table and poured wine into two silver goblets. He handed one to Stephen.

  ‘Thank you, sire.’

  ‘It is a good wine, one Philip gifted me, surprisingly.’ Richard paused, and then added, ‘How fares my mother?’

  ‘She is as beautiful and sprightly as ever.’ Stephen had not been happy when Richard had charged him with escorting Eleanor of Aquitaine to Navarre to begin negotiations for Richard’s marriage to the Princess Berengaria. He would have far preferred to accompany his king to the Holy Land but, because of the bad weather, Richard had been forced to hold his forces here until spring so he had only missed a long boring winter in Messina.

  ‘And did you find Mother’s company pleasing?’ Richard had a teasing twinkle in his blue eyes.

  ‘She is a most delightful companion,’ Stephen lied. Truthfully, Eleanor was an overpowering strong-willed woman, who had proved very difficult to please, but even so Stephen couldn’t help admiring her. ‘The journey from Navarre was not easy but both your mother and your betrothed bore the discomforts without complaint.’

  ‘Yes, Berengaria,’ Richard murmured as he thoughtfully sipped his wine. ‘My mother insists that she will be the perfect bride for me, even though she knows that I have no interest in marrying.’

  ‘That is one of the burdens of being a king, sire. You cannot always do what you want, you also have to consider the needs of your kingdom,’ Stephen replied. ‘She is pretty and sweet natured. No doubt she will make a fine queen.’

  Truthfully, Stephen doubted that his friend would have much in common with the plump and pious princess, who appeared to have little interest in any serious matters. Richard had always been drawn to strong intelligent females like his mother, Eleanor of Aquitaine.

  ‘Unfortunately, as you say we monarchs rarely have a choice in such matters.’ Richard pursed his lips thoughtfully. ‘I do not find her particularly attractive but she does not repulse me, so she will have to suffice.’ He gave a bitter laugh. ‘After all, how long can it take to beget a child?’

  ‘No time at all,’ Stephen said, then paused in surprise as a man he did not recognise strode into the room unannounced.

  When the young man caught sight of the king, he blanched and looked very concerned. ‘Forgive me, Your Majesty,’ he stuttered awkwardly.

  To Stephen’s amazement, Richard didn’t appear angry at being disturbed, which was unusual for him. He just smiled rather indulgently at the young stranger and Stephen’s curiosity was aroused. The man didn’t look much like a Frank as he was dark haired and swarthy skinned, his features reminding Stephen of the Saracens he had seen when he had lived in the Holy Land, which at the time had still been under Christian rule.

  ‘Stephen, this is Armand de Mirabel,’ Richard said as the young man bowed elegantly, bending so low that it appeared too much of a fawning gesture for Stephen’s peace of mind. He had never taken an instant dislike to a man before but he did now and he had no idea why. ‘Armand, my good friend the Comte de Chalais.’

  ‘I have heard much of you, my lord.’ Armand smiled warmly at Stephen. ‘His Majesty speaks of you often.’

  ‘Armand arrived here a few weeks ago from the Holy Land. He has been at the siege of Acre with the forces of the King of Jerusalem, Guy de Lusignan.’

  As Stephen nodded, Armand said, ‘Forgive my intrusion, Highness. I did not realise you were in here. Queen Joanna asked me to fetch her psalter Which she left somewhere in this room.’

  ‘My sister constantly leaves her belongings all over the place,’ Richard said with a smile as he spotted the Book of Psalms on a low chest. ‘There it is. Please take it to her, Armand.’

  ‘Yes, sire.’

  The young man retrieved the psalter and then bowed for the second time, once again far too obsequiously in Stephen’s considered opinion. After he had left the room, Richard said, ‘Perhaps you recall meeting Armand’s father at King Baldwin’s court in Jerusalem?’

  ‘I do not recall doing so,’ Stephen said. ‘But I was young and far more interested in training to be a knight than becoming acquainted with all the noblemen of the royal court,’ he added, thinking of the time in his early teens when he had gone to live with his godfather, Raymond of Tripoli. As was the custom, his father had sent him to Raymond to serve as a squire in his household, prior to beginning training as a knight. His godfather was dead now sadly but Stephen’s memories of him were as strong as ever as he had been a most remarkable man. Not only had he been a great warrior and highly intelligent, he had also been interested in many diverse matters. Stephen was grateful for that because as well as training him in all the skills of warfare, Raymond had also taught him to speak Arabic and encouraged him to study various Saracen texts.

  ‘Armand’s mother was a Syrian Christian and his father a Frankish knight, so he has a unique understanding of the Saracen mind. I thought that he could also be useful as an interpreter when we reach Acre. I know that I cannot rely on your abilities all the time and I prefer men I can trust to act as my translators.’

  ‘Yes, indeed.’ Stephen found it unusual for Richard to so easily place his trust in someone he barely knew. It wasn’t like him. He normally relied just on the council of his most loyal advisors and Stephen was proud to be included as one of them.

  ‘In the meantime –’ Richard spoke carefully as if he was about to say something of great importance ‘– I have another task for you, my friend.’

  Stephen’s heart sank as he imagined a multitude of unwanted tasks, including having to escort Richard’s mother back to England. She had told him that she planned to return home soon to keep a close eye on Richard’s younger, rather disreputable brother, John, who the king had, rather unwisely, left in charge of his kingdom. ‘What task?’ he asked charily.

  ‘Hugh de Moreville, who was, as you know, one of my father’s most loyal knights, has just died.’ He paused as he saw Stephen tense. ‘His wife accompanied him here,’ he added in a gentler tone.

  ‘Edwina here?’ Stephen stuttered, dumbfounded.

  ‘She is indeed and, as I recall, you and the lady were once betrothed?’

  Stephen’s heart thudded out of control as he tried to keep a check on his sudden rush of emotions. Even the sound of her name was opening up old wounds which he had begun to believe were more or less healed. Richard of all people knew how devastated he had been when he’d returned to Aquitaine and discovered that King Henry had arranged for Edwina to break off their betrothal and marry one of the king’s most loyal knights: a man who had already sent two previous wives to their graves.

  ‘Will you say nothing?’ Richard prompted.

  ‘You know the truth of it, sire. For my sake you tried to prevent Fulk taking her to England, did you not?’

  ‘I did, but as you recall my father and I were at open warfare at the time and Fulk was always my father’s man.’ He smiled at Stephen. ‘Now you have the opportunity to make some amends with the noble lady. I doubt very much that she is overly devastated at the loss of her husband. Hugh was a brutal man and my sister tells me that they did not fare well together. In the circumstances I thought perhaps that you might take it upon yourself to care for her. Perchance bring a little cheer back in her life.’

  Stephen walked slowly along the corridor on his way to see Edwina, his thoughts in total turmoil. He was sweating so much beneath his elaborate tunic that his linen shirt clung to his chest and back while his palms felt damp and clammy. Even when readying himself for battle he always felt quite calm and controlled as if death held no fear for him any more. Yet thinking of this one woman, who had wed another almost three and a half years ago, made him feel nervous, confused and excited as if he were a callow youth once again. Time healed wound
s, so he had been told, but none had told him that they could be ripped open again so easily.

  How had she had fared with that brute of a husband? he wondered. Part of him dreaded finding out as he’d met Hugh once and found him an unpleasant individual. Even thinking of her with him and being forced to share his bed made Stephen feel sick to his stomach.

  At Richard’s suggestion, he had spoken to William de Preaux and he’d told Stephen that Edwina had been close to exhaustion a few hours ago after having spent days nursing her dying husband. Despite that warning, Stephen was determined to see her now even though his conscience told him that he should let her rest a while longer. He had always been a patient man but today that virtue had deserted him completely.

  Following Stephen was a small troop of royal servants. One carried food and wine, two others a large wooden tub and the rest large jugs of hot water. He was certain that she would want to bathe after spending many hours in a sickroom tending to her husband. She apparently had no personal servants to care for her needs at this unhappy time and he’d learnt that Hugh had cruelly denied her many comforts, even the services of a lady’s maid.

  By the time he arrived at her door, his heart was beating at what felt like a thousand times a minute and he had to swallow hard and pause for a second before he could recover a measure of composure. Stephen knocked softly on the wooden door but there was not even the slightest sound from within so he cautiously lifted the latch. It was not locked so he opened the door and stepped inside her chamber, feeling somewhat apprehensive.

  He saw her, lying fast asleep on the bed clad only in her shift. ‘One moment,’ he instructed the servants. He stepped towards her, took the damask coverlet from the end of the bed and draped it over her. ‘Come,’ he said softly.

  The king’s servants set about their tasks swiftly and in virtual silence. Soon the bath was ready and the food and drink laid out on a low table. During all that time Edwina had remained in the deep sleep of total exhaustion.

  After the servants had departed, Stephen barred the door and picked up a three-legged stool which he placed beside the bed and sat upon. He had been unsure what to say when he first saw her again and now he didn’t have to cope with that problem, he could just sit and stare at her lovely face. Stephen felt a shiver slide down his spine and an even stronger surge of troubling emotions that made his entire body feel unaccountably weak as he looked at the woman he had once loved more than life itself.

  The softness of youth had left her exquisitely delicate features and she was now stunningly beautiful; lovelier in his considered opinion than she had ever been. She had the face of an angel, with skin as pale as ivory, while her glorious hair was still the same pure brilliant gold he remembered it to be. Her long, surprisingly dark lashes lay thick against her pale cheeks as she slept, yet there were now dark shadows of exhaustion, like bruises, under her eyes.

  Stephen’s thoughts were in turmoil and he was unsure how he actually felt about her after all this time. The desire was still there, there was no doubt about that, but he was no longer the relatively innocent young man who had been her betrothed. Life had honed and hardened him, until he had come to believe that he could never love any woman ever again.

  Now that he had at last opened his mind to his painful memories, he recalled how desperate he had felt when he had returned from that mission for the Duke of Aquitaine to find her gone. Against all warnings, he had followed her to England, knowing full well that it was foolhardy when Richard and his father were still at war and that he risked being arrested and thrown into prison.

  Unfortunately, he had arrived just in time to see Edwina and the tall grizzled man, who was now her husband, leaving the chapel. As he stared at her pale distraught face, his tortured mind had been filled with the words of the marriage ceremony – ‘whom God has joined together, let no man put asunder’.

  Not so long after that King Henry had died and Richard had become king. When he had accompanied Richard to England, Stephen had hoped to see Edwina again but Hugh had never brought her to court, keeping her sequestered instead in his castle in the depths of Northumberland.

  Stephen looked thoughtfully at Edwina. All the time he had been thinking of the past she had been sleeping soundly. He was not sure if he wanted to wake her just yet as she still looked exhausted. But her bath would cool too much if she didn’t make use of it soon. Of course, after she had bathed and eaten, she could always sleep again, he told himself.

  Suddenly she sighed and to his consternation began to thrash about on the bed as if she was having a terrible nightmare. ‘No,’ she murmured. ‘Please no, Hugh,’ she cried out in a terrified voice.

  ‘Hush, Edwina,’ he said softly as he stroked her cheek, longing to take her into his arms and comfort her but knowing that in the depth of her dream that might frighten her even more. Yet the sound of his voice appeared to calm her a little. ‘I am here,’ he added reassuringly.

  Her frantic movements gradually ceased and she opened her eyes. Blinking sleepily, she stared at Stephen as if he were some kind of strange apparition. ‘Am I dreaming?’ she asked in a weary, hesitant voice.

  ‘No, it is I.’ He gently brushed the stray fronds of golden hair away from her face.

  ‘Stephen?’ Her blue eyes widened in surprised disbelief. ‘Is it really you?’

  ‘I am as real as you are.’ He smiled tenderly at her.

  ‘I thought I saw you earlier . . .’ she stuttered. ‘I convinced myself that I was mistaken.’

  ‘No mistake. I am here, Edwina,’ he said, as she shakily tried to lift herself. ‘Let me help you.’ Sliding a strong arm around her, he helped Edwina into a sitting position and tenderly placed an extra pillow behind her back.

  ‘How? Why?’ she asked in confusion.

  ‘I arrived here with Queen Eleanor and Princess Berengaria,’ he explained.

  ‘And why are you here in our bedchamber?’ She suddenly looked terrified. ‘Hugh!’ she gasped, glancing around apprehensively.

  ‘Edwina,’ he said as gently as he could, ‘he’s dead, don’t you remember?’

  ‘Remember?’ she replied, her body still as tense as a bowstring. ‘Dead – yes.’ She hunched back against her pillows like an old woman.

  Her terror reignited his hatred of Hugh. He cursed her late husband and hoped that he was where he belonged, in the depths of hell. When he had first met Edwina she had been well rounded with a perfect bosom, slim waist and curvy hips, but at present she was rail thin. Now that her face was no longer in repose, he saw that her pale skin was drawn way too tightly across her high cheekbones. Then he spotted a large number of fading bruises on her thin arms and his stomach churned angrily. It was clear that she had been misused.

  Gently, he took hold of one of her hands, which had been moving restlessly against the coverlet. Clasping it tenderly, he stared into her troubled blue eyes. ‘Hugh died, Edwina. You nursed him to the end, did you not? You are clearly exhausted, that is why you are confused.’

  ‘Yes.’ Tears welled up in her eyes. ‘I remember now. I was so scared, Stephen.’ She clenched his hand so hard that her nails dug into his palm but he didn’t even feel the discomfort. ‘I prayed to God that he would die and now he has. Do you think that means that I will go to hell?’

  ‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘From what I know of Hugh de Moreville, he deserved all that came to him. He committed many sins in his lifetime and I just wish he had died long before he wed you.’

  ‘If only fate had not treated us so badly.’ She shyly lowered her eyes as two spots of colour formed on her pale cheeks.

  Stephen could only guess at the travails she had been forced to endure at the hands of that loathsome man. No doubt she had suffered even more, he thought with a sudden surge of guilt, when Hugh had discovered his supposedly innocent bride was no longer a virgin. ‘Did you confess to Fulk and tell him what happened between us when he told you that you were to break our betrothal and marry Hugh?’

  ‘That I was
no longer . . .’ She choked on the words. ‘My brother didn’t believe me. He said I was just lying in a desperate attempt to stop my marriage. I had hoped that when my husband discovered the truth he would set me aside, but he did not.’

  ‘So he punished you instead?’ he said as he brushed his fingers over the fading bruises on her arms.

  Edwina did not reply to his question; she seemed lost in her thoughts for a moment. Eventually she gave an unhappy sigh and glanced towards the table containing the food and drink. ‘I’m uncommonly thirsty: Could you get me something to drink?’

  ‘Of course.’ Stephen rose to his feet and stepped over to the table. He poured out a goblet of light Rhenish wine. ‘Here.’ He sat back down on the stool and handed her the goblet, conscious that his hand was shaking a little. How could this woman move him so much and so easily, when he could stand cool and unafraid in front of a whole troop of Saracen soldiers?

  ‘You have not changed at all, Stephen.’ She sipped the wine and then smiled tremulously at him.

  ‘I have a few more battle scars,’ he admitted with a wry smile.

  ‘As have we all . . .’ Her words trailed off and she stared into her cup of wine, appearing not to want to meet his gaze for a moment.

  ‘You are as beautiful as you ever were, Edwina.’ Perhaps, even if he could not be anything else to her, he could be her friend, he thought as, taking hold of her free hand, he lifted it to his lips. As he kissed it, she stiffened slightly almost as if she were afraid of his touch. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Hugh said that I had become loathsome and that no man would ever desire me again.’

  ‘He lied.’ Desire for her coiled like an insidious snake deep in his belly, even though he knew that it was wrong to feel like this at this moment in time.

  ‘I fear that he did not.’ She glanced down at her thin arms. ‘I am ugly and sullied both without and within.’

  Tears filled her eyes and she looked so unhappy that he could bear it no longer. Wanting to reassure her, and unable to resist the temptation her beauty afforded him, Stephen leant forwards and tenderly brushed his lips across her pale cheek. All sense and reason told him that he shouldn’t be doing this, but regardless of all that had happened his body still ached to touch her again. Ignoring the sudden tensing of her limbs, he meshed his hand in her hair and drew her towards him. Stephen captured her lips with his, kissing her tenderly and with restraint, his touch by necessity caressingly delicate. At first she kept her lips tightly closed but slowly, as he continued to kiss her, his mouth moving gently against hers, they eased open a little.