He would not consider that she had no future, only that it was not within his world.
“No future for me,” she echoed, a bit of sadness in her voice.
“Just because I cannot see it does not mean as much. I never see my own.”
“Then perhaps our future days are bound together,” she whispered, making the opposite conclusion to his own.
Fergus did not know what to say.
Leila looked up at him, then, and her gaze lingered on his mouth. She ran the tip of her own tongue across her bottom lip, as if she hungered for more than he had any right to give, then she took a deep breath and dropped her gaze, hiding her thoughts from him.
Fergus felt immediately bereft. “What will you do?” He lifted one hand when she did not reply. “Will you stay here at Haynesdale with Bartholomew and Anna? I know they would welcome you.”
Leila shook her head.
“Will you continue to Killairic with Duncan and me?”
“And face the wrath of your betrothed?” she suggested, a smile in her voice.
“Isobel might not make the conclusion you expect.”
“Then she is a fool,” she said hotly and straightened beside him. “For any woman with blood in her veins would desire a man so loyal of heart as you, even if he were not wrought so tall and fine, nor possessed of such valor.”
“Leila!” Fergus protested, surprised by her endorsement. “You know little of me...”
“After eleven months in each other’s company, I know much of you, and all of it has merit.” She looked up at him, her eyes flashing. “I admire you, Fergus. You are the manner of man to whom I should like to pledge my troth.” Her gaze clung to his, her desire so easily read that Fergus was shocked.
Indeed, her confession made his heart leap, and he wished it had not.
Leila must have seen his expression change, for she smiled ruefully. “You need not fear that I will act upon this, or that I will be more than your faithful companion,” she continued more quietly. “But if the lady Isobel fails to see your merit, or dares to doubt your integrity, she will answer to me.”
Fergus’s answering smile faded when Leila’s hand landed on his thigh and any words died on his lips. His entire body went taut as an unruly desire rolled through him.
He had been chaste too long, to be sure.
Leila’s eyes were so dark as to be fathomless. Fergus could not tear his gaze away from her. When she spoke, her voice dropped low with intent. “And if there is ever any deed you would desire of me, Fergus, you have only to ask.”
Fergus was honored and might have admitted as much, but he had no chance. For Leila caught her breath, then stretched up and touched her lips to his. He knew it was intended to be a chaste kiss, perhaps the sole one they would ever exchange, but her caress fed that newfound fire within him.
He found himself bending closer, unable to resist what she offered so freely. He cupped her nape in his hand and deepened their kiss, tasting her sweetness and wanting more.
When she opened her mouth to him, surrendering to their embrace, Fergus realized that Leila was not the only one who wished for the impossible.
Wednesday, April 27, 1188
Feast Day of Saint Anastasius
1
Dumfries, Scotland
* * *
Leila regretted that impulsive kiss.
She should never have touched Fergus. She should never have kissed him. She should never have indulged her secret yearning. Now, her desire for him burned like a flame. It was distracting. It was inappropriate. And worse, that one kiss had changed the way Fergus looked at her, forevermore.
She had sacrificed his friendship for a single kiss, and while she could not regret the wondrous taste of pleasure itself, she did mourn the loss of his companionship. He had left her that night and avoided her ever since. He no longer spoke directly to her and did not even meet her gaze.
Fergus was clearly disgusted with her. Did he think she had behaved like a whore?
Leila realized quickly that the kiss that she had desired beyond all else had come at a very high price.
She was lonely as a result of his lost companionship. Hamish, Fergus’ squire, had not even been able to look her in the eye since the revelation at Haynesdale that she was not a boy. The two Templars who had accompanied them from Châmont-sur-Maine and thence from Haynesdale had seldom addressed her when they believed her to be a squire. They regarded her with something akin to horror now that they knew the truth. She was an infidel to them in more ways than one. Leila could not help but think that their brethren in Palestine would not have been quite so distant. Gaston had always spoken to her, for example, as had Fergus until that kiss.
The Templars’ squires contented themselves with whispering to each other like young girls, and Leila did not deign to give them even a glance. The warrior Duncan was the only person who had talked to her since leaving Haynesdale the morning after that fateful kiss. Mostly she spoke to him of his beloved Radegunde. He wanted to know every detail of what Leila had observed of Radegunde while at Châmont-sur-Maine, and recognizing that his curiosity was born of affection, she indulged him. Repeatedly.
Duncan was not the only one to miss Radegunde and her merry nature. Leila missed her friend as well as the company of women, even those far above her station. She rode out from Haynesdale in a company entirely male, except for herself. She chose not to disguise herself as a boy again, for she did not want to enter Fergus’ home under a pretense. At the same time, she knew that she would be assumed to be a whore.
Some notions had no borders.
What was she to do? Her plan had been to escape the marriage arranged for her by her uncle, and little more than that. The party of knights leaving Jerusalem had offered the perfect cover, especially when she was given the role of Fergus’ third squire. But now the quest reached its completion. All of the knights were home, save Fergus, and his home was just ahead.
She could have remained at Châmont-sur-Maine or even Haynesdale, but she could not bear the possibility of parting forever from Fergus. She had not lied to Fergus before that kiss—in fact, she had not told him the fullness of the truth. Leila knew she loved Fergus and that he was the sole man she wished to wed. She had no expectation that her love would be returned, but could not abandon his company that readily.
What would she do once she arrived at Killairic? She was curious to see his home, of course, and would like to meet those he held in affection. She even wanted a glimpse of Isobel, but what then?
Her hope that she might make a future there, perhaps even with Fergus himself, was a foolish dream. He adored Isobel. She would love no other than him. Yet in this land, she could not disappear into the crowd. Each day that they rode north, Leila was more obviously a foreigner and the curious stares were more open. Yet she was resolved not to return to the east.
Would she be compelled to become a whore? Without a man to defend her, Leila could see no other choices. Plus she was resolved to wed only for love, since her departure had been a protest against an arranged match. It made no sense to come so far and compromise her hopes for her future.
Was there any chance she might win Fergus’ heart? Leila could not be certain until Fergus and Isobel exchanged their vows. She would decide what to do when that marriage was celebrated, and not before.
When they departed Haynesdale, Leila refused to delay the party and declined any concessions the men would have made to her gender. She rode long and hard, just as they did, and slept on the ground, just as they did, and washed quickly in cold rivers, just as they did. In a way, she admired Fergus’ haste to reach home and his beloved.
She knew she would come to love Scotland as much as her birthplace. The winter had been longer and colder than any season Leila had ever endured but that made the arrival of spring seem even sweeter. She took note of the greenery crowning the hills, the activity of birds, the appearance of flowers by the road. The air warmed each afternoon, smelling rich with new gro
wth and possibility, though it was still chilly in the morning and evening. The land was fertile and lush, the wind was crisp, and the streams were clear.
The land was a veritable paradise.
Leila knew she was not the only one who was relieved when Fergus chose to halt at Lincluden Abbey on what was to be their last night before reaching Killairic. The monks and nuns welcomed them kindly, although with many glances at Leila. The Templars, Enguerrand and Yvan, were visibly gladdened by the choice, though Duncan was less impressed with their accommodations. He grumbled that he had enough of monks but Fergus only smiled at him. Leila welcomed the opportunity to both bathe and sleep on a straw pallet. She feigned incomprehension when she was asked a few questions and was glad of the imposition of the establishment’s vows of silence.
She awakened to a sunny day, filled with anticipation to see Fergus’ home.
They rode through Dumfries early in the morning, when the fishermen were selling their wares, and the bustle of commerce was keenly familiar. Leila could have spent a day there easily, examining the wares, but Fergus was intent upon reaching Killairic by noon. It was not long before they took a road leading to the west. The land grew even more beautiful, though Leila would not have believed it possible. The wind was crisp and smelled of the salt of the sea, and the sun was warm on their shoulders. The company rode in veritable silence, but she felt the anticipation of both Fergus and Duncan.
When they crested a rise, Leila caught her breath at the hilly expanse of land spread before her with the sea sparkling beyond it. The forest was so richly green that she thought her eyes deceived her. The water, beginning at the base of the hill and stretching into the distance, shone silver in the morning light. Mist was gathered near the water and obscured the view to the left and in the distance. The wind lifted her hair, though, and she imagined the mist would soon disperse.
Perched on a hill several miles ahead of them was a keep ringed with walls. The square tower was built of stone, though it was much smaller than those she had seen further south. The tower was surrounded by a fence of timber with a moat, and there was a village nestled within the walls. A pennant waved from the high tower of the keep, though Leila could not discern its insignia at this distance.
She saw a profusion of white within the walls on the south side, moving in the breeze, and reasoned that there was an orchard in bloom sheltered there. Smoke rose in the morning air from fires both inside the walls and in the village. Two men worked furrows into a field to the far right, pushing a plow, birds swooping around them as they worked. A stream sparkled as it ran past the keep, some of it diverted to fill the moat, then continued to the left. Upstream of the keep there was a mill and a millpond, too. Part of the millpond looked to be divided from the rest with nets and she wondered what manner of fish they raised.
What a prosperous and peaceful holding!
“Home,” Fergus said beside her, his satisfaction clear. Leila glanced toward him quickly, her heart thumping that he spoke to her again. She seized the chance to admire his rugged good looks. His hair was auburn and curled on his collar. His eyes were an enticing green, and he was both tall and broad-shouldered. He had changed his garb when they left Haynesdale, packing his mail away and dressing instead as Duncan had for months. A length of plaid was wrapped around his waist, its hues echoing that of the wild land around her. He wore a white chemise, open at the throat, a boiled leather jerkin and dark boots. His cloak was wool, like her own, but lined with fur. He looked vital and masculine, so alluring that her lips burned in memory of that kiss.
He had come to ride beside her, which was a welcome change, but still avoided her gaze. Leila would take all improvements, however small. She blamed her own impetuous kiss for the change and was greedy for more of him than even this.
“Beautiful,” she said, ensuring that her admiration showed.
Fergus smiled, obviously pleased. “You can perhaps see how the promise of returning here gave me strength and hope.”
“I can, indeed. What a dream to return to a land of abundance, a good home and a loving betrothed.” Leila swallowed. “I am certain that you and Isobel will have many happy years together.”
Fergus opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it again. After a moment, he pointed down the water. “This is the Solway Firth. The far shore is Cumbria, sworn to the English king, but this shore is Galloway and Scotland. You can see Henry II’s realm on a clear day.” His tone was cool, as if she were a visiting acquaintance, and Leila supposed that she was.
She also supposed she should not have mentioned Isobel. But was the prospect of seeing his beloved not the main reason for his pleasure? How she wished a man might wait for her with such ardor!
Nay, she wanted Fergus to speak of her with such ardor.
She was a fool, to be sure.
“And that keep ahead is Killairic,” he continued.
Leila nodded in understanding. “I should have guessed as much.”
“How so?”
“The horses have quickened their pace, at least yours and Duncan’s have done so. They recognized the road when we left Dumfries.” She smiled. “Every creature’s step is lightened at the prospect of returning home. After four years away, you must be glad to see this place again.”
“I am.” Fergus spared her another intent but quick glance. “Does that mean your step will never be lightened again?”
Leila shook her head. “No. It means I will make myself a new home.” She let Fergus see her resolve.
“You did not care so much for your own?”
“I loved it dearly. I would never have left, save that the one thing of greater import to me was at risk.”
“Your chance to choose your spouse?”
“And thus my happiness. I did not believe I needed to choose my husband before a bad one was chosen for me. I would not condemn myself to a life of woe, even to please my uncle.” She shrugged. “I had to choose.”
“You miss Outremer.”
“Of course. But the choice is made, and now my future must be made.”
Fergus studied her, his curiosity clear. “Where?”
“Here, if I am welcome to linger,” she said, holding his gaze for a long moment.
“But it is so different!”
Leila noted that he did not give her any reassurance, but refused to be insulted. The choice of welcoming a guest might not be his to make. Fergus was honest, and she admired that trait. He never promised what he could not ensure was given.
And every vow he made was kept.
“It is, and I like that difference,” she said instead. “The earth is fertile and so green that it defies belief. I like the mist and the rain, and the confidence that there will not only be water but enough of it.” Leila smiled. “And I like the wildness of the hills. It seems that I could ride away from the party and be utterly alone within moments.”
“You could be.”
“What a beguiling notion.” She shook her head, looking around herself with wonder. “I have lived in cities all my life. I have known dust and sun and crowded markets. I like that there is this tranquility and yet the town is so very close.” She smiled at him again. “This could be an earthly paradise. Do you know anyone named Adam or Eve?”
Fergus laughed. “Be warned, Leila. Scotland is much colder than your home, without olives or so many fruits.”
“Each land has its own fruit. I see that orchard within the walls of Killairic. What kind of trees are those that bloom?”
“Apples, mostly, though there are a few others.”
“A fine and versatile fruit.” She nodded approval. “And so there must be bees, and so there must be honey.”
“You seek familiarity in the differences,” he noted.
“I have made my choice, Fergus, and I must ensure its success,” Leila replied. “There is much I left behind, to be sure, but it is better to admire in the road ahead. Yearning for the past is of no merit.”
His gaze was thoughtful and he
was silent for a moment.
“Can you not envision any situation that would compel you to surrender Killairic?” she asked, knowing full well that it was different for a man and heir, but wanting him to understand.
“Nay,” he said without hesitation.
“Truly?”
Fergus frowned but did not reply. “It will be easier for you to remain in Scotland if you take a husband.”
“No doubt,” Leila agreed, her words tight. She supposed that wedding another man was one way to give herself some security. It was a notion of some merit. Perhaps she would find love in an arranged match, as Gaston and Ysmaine had. It might be a compromise that would lead to the happiness she sought.
In this land, though, Leila was at a disadvantage, in language, custom, and the knowledge of men’s reputations. She wondered if Fergus would grant her advice as to suitable candidates. Were there more men like him in this land? Leila could only hope so. A tall and handsome man of honor with a valiant nature would suit her well, even if that man could not be Fergus.
He said naught, though, so she decided to ask. Fergus would be a good judge of character, particularly of his fellows.
She cleared her throat. “Perhaps you might be so kind as to suggest men of merit to me. I will not have my old sources of gossip available to me, after all, and I would prefer not to put myself in a similar situation to the one I left.”
Fergus seemed startled, then he nodded. “Of course.” He pointed again and changed the subject, though Leila could not imagine why. Perhaps he had never been a matchmaker before. Perhaps it was not the occupation of men in this land. “There is an herb garden beyond the orchard, also within the walls, which is where the bees are kept.”
“I will be delighted to see it all.”
“My father will be glad to show you. He takes great pride in Killairic. He has overseen much of its construction, since it was a simple timber keep when he took command of it.”
The Crusader’s Vow: A Medieval Romance Page 2
