The Crusader’s Vow: A Medieval Romance

by Claire Delacroix

  “I thank you for your courtesy,” Leila said with a smile and bowed to him. She hastened out of the hall, both concerned for the horse and glad of the opportunity to see Fergus again.

  Duncan accompanied her to the bailey, then indicated the entry to the stables. “I believe my lord Fergus would speak to you alone,” he said to Leila’s confusion.

  About his horse?

  Leila picked up her skirts and hurried to the stables. She had no sooner stepped inside and blinked at the relative darkness, then the door was closed behind her. She spun to find Fergus leaning against it, his arms folded across his chest and his eyes gleaming. “Marry me, Leila,” he said.

  Leila blinked. She took a step back. She was certain her ears had deceived her.

  But she could not have misunderstood because he had spoken in French. “I beg your pardon?” she asked all the same.

  “I am asking you to marry me,” Fergus repeated, his manner more resolute. “You have need of a husband. I have need of a wife, as the woman I intended to wed has married another. If you would only consider the option, I am certain you will see that it offers much merit.”

  Leila looked down the length of the stables, only to see Fergus’ dark destrier grazing contentedly in his bucket of feed. Duncan’s destrier was in a nearby stall, chewing as he regarded her.

  “Your horse is not injured,” she said with relief.

  “Not at all. I wanted only to speak to you and soon.” Fergus pushed a hand through his hair and looked suddenly rueful. “I have even concocted a tale about the stallions being amorous this spring to ensure that I could be alone with you here.”

  Leila sat down on a bench between the stalls. She could not make sense of Fergus’ offer, as much as she yearned to accept it. She wanted to know why he would propose such an arrangement.

  He could not love her, not so suddenly as this.

  What detail did she not know?

  “Why is the matter urgent?”

  “Because you must wed to remain here, and I would not have you thought a whore.” Fergus shrugged. “In fact, I would halt such speculation before it begins.”

  Leila did not tell him that it was probably too late.

  He surveyed the stable, as if more concerned with his thoughts. “As Duncan reminds me, my father grows older. Indeed, I am a little surprised by the change in him in just four years. I know he would be glad to see the succession ensured before his own passing. He has but one son, so it is left to me to wed and have a son myself, for the future of Killairic.”

  Leila nodded understanding. It was not a romantic confession, but it was a truthful one. Given the choice, she preferred honesty over sweet lies.

  Killairic, his home, was of the greatest import to Fergus. He would see it secured, and he offered to ensure her safety with his scheme.

  Leila would be glad to be part of such an agreement.

  “And, as Duncan notes, Stewart is less likely to take issue with my visiting Isobel on the morrow if I arrive as a married man myself.”

  Leila chose not to comment on that, for she knew naught of Stewart.

  Fergus evidently took her silence as an indication that she might refuse. “You would have the protection you need to remain in Scotland,” he reminded her. “And my defense in case there are those who would be intolerant.”

  It seemed too good an offer to be true.

  Surely there was a chance of their match becoming one of love and passion?

  Still, Leila hesitated. She wished he might have made some sweet confession, even just expressed some admiration.

  Or given her a kiss. That might have reassured her of her future hope coming true.

  She feared a match proposed so lightly could be put aside just as lightly, but her maidenhead would be gone all the same.

  Fergus sat down beside her, his manner intent. “I had not expected you to be so surprised. Not after our kiss last Saturday at Haynesdale.”

  “After which you ignored me, as if I were a harlot coming to your home,” Leila felt obliged to note.

  Fergus smiled. “As if you were a temptation I dared not indulge. I fear I have been chaste too long.”

  Was it more than than? Leila desperately hoped it might be. Their gazes locked for a moment and she could not take a full breath when he watched her so closely. “You seek a match of convenience.”

  “Perhaps it would be so at first. Perhaps it would ripen to more. Who can say? Think of Gaston and Ysmaine.” He smiled but she guessed that he did not have any expectation of surrendering to love again. His sadness tore at her own heart and she put her hand over his own.

  “I do.”

  “As Duncan notes, a match would serve both of us for this moment.” His implication was clear. Perhaps it would not ripen to more. Perhaps they would live as friends and companions, but not true loves.

  Convenience had never seemed so unpalatable to Leila as it did now, and that only because she wished for more.

  She chided herself silently for being greedy. The suggestion had much merit.

  “They will assume you are wedding your whore,” she noted.

  Fergus was dismissive. “Let them believe what they will. Marry me, Leila, for the sake of both our goals.”

  She shook her head. “It is not so simple. Our faiths are different...”

  “Not so different as that. There is common ground between them, as we saw in Outremer.”

  “But the differences are of import and have immediate implications. I do not mean to make obstacles, but how should we be wed? Who will officiate—a priest of your faith? I do not doubt that any such would insist upon my being baptized first, and I am not prepared to do so.”

  Fergus studied her with curiosity. “Not ever?”

  “Not yet, if ever. I do not know enough of your doctrine to make an informed choice.” She smiled at him. “When one talks of the immortal soul, only an informed choice will suffice.”

  “True enough.” He frowned at the floor. “But I would suggest a handfast to you, not a marriage.”

  Leila took a breath. “A pledge of a year and a day, as Radegunde and Duncan have made?” She instinctively disliked the casual nature of this bond, but it was a custom in this land and would not be the first such that she might need to embrace. It seemed an arrangement that would appeal to men, especially those who liked to have different partners, but perhaps she was too critical.

  Radegunde had chosen it with Duncan, and done so whole-heartedly. Perhaps Leila should let her friend be her guide.

  Fergus nodded. “We would live as husband and wife for that term, then decide how best to proceed. It would give you an opportunity to find a man to claim your heart truly and make the kind of match you desire.” He nodded with satisfaction. “It might be a good compromise.”

  Leila knew it was unfair to be irked. Was she to simply be his consolation?

  And that for only a year? She wanted so much more!

  “Is Isobel wedded or does she have a handfast?” she asked, keeping her tone light.

  “My father said the bishop wedded her to Stewart.” He met her gaze. “What difference?”

  Leila resolved in that moment that she would be utterly honest with him, in all matters. To her thinking, that was the sole chance gaining the future she desired. “I thought you might hope for her return.”

  His gaze hardened then, and she understood that Isobel had hurt his pride as well as his heart. “If so, it is of no import. Isobel has chosen to be my past. I ask you to be my future.”

  His words sent a thrill through her, even though there was no passion in his tone. Still she had questions. “What if there is a child?”

  “I will take full responsibility for him or her,” Fergus vowed. “Upon that you can rely.”

  Leila folded her arms across her chest. “While I should be compelled to leave you, your home, and our child as an unchaste woman with neither kin nor allies? That will leave me with no prospects at all!” She shook her head. “Nay, that will
not do.”

  “It is not so different to your situation now.”

  “I am a maiden. That is always of import. Is it not so here?”

  “Not so much as you might think,” he said so earnestly that she believed him. “A handfast is an honorable arrangement, and if I am the one to introduce you to your future partner, there will be no stain upon your nature. It is like a marriage, but one of the highlands and not the church.”

  “Is that what all the men who offer a handfast say to their intended?” she asked with a smile.

  Fergus smiled back at her. “Perhaps so, but the fact remains chastity is of less import here than further south.”

  “You were chaste.”

  “I felt it fitting. It is clear that Isobel did not share my view.” He sobered and she wished his honorable choice had been reciprocated. “What would you do otherwise? If you do not handfast with me, how can I protect you? How will you live in this land?”

  His concern made Leila’s heart clench. “And how will you provide an heir to your father if you do not take a woman to wife?”

  “Exactly. I know he would see the succession ensured, and I think sooner would be better.” Fergus held her gaze, hope in his eyes. The warmth of his thigh was close to her own, making Leila wonder if she accepted a fool’s wager. She knew she would only fall more deeply in love with Fergus over that year and a day. Indeed, it might destroy her to have him put her aside, especially if she had borne him a son.

  Fergus took her hand in his and appealed to her, his voice husky. “I would give my father this gift, Leila, even if the match is only one of convenience.”

  That he appealed to her for the sake of his father’s contentment could not be resisted. Fear was like a stone in her gut, but Leila knew naught was ever gained without taking a risk. That kiss hinted to Leila that they might find love in this match, regardless of Fergus’ expectation. She did not doubt that physical intimacy could lead to an emotional bond—indeed, if she declined to meet Fergus abed, he might seek pleasure elsewhere and she might lose the chance to win his heart. Could she help him to heal from Isobel’s betrayal?

  Leila chose to take the risk.

  “You think your father would accept a child with Saracen blood as his heir?” she asked, already guessing the answer.

  “I do,” Fergus said with a nod. “You saw his greeting of you. He rode to the east when I was young, though I will let him tell you of it. As you can see, he harbors no ill will as a result of his experience.”

  Leila nodded. “I look forward to that tale.” She dared to put her hand over his. Fergus turned his hand, capturing her fingers with the warmth of his own, and her heart leaped for her throat. His gaze warmed and his thumb slid across the back of her hand in a smooth caress. Desire unfurled within her, a need so potent that she could not believe he was immune to the spell he cast. Leila’s pulse raced and she watched Fergus swallow. He fixed a hot look upon her, one so ardent that she flushed to her toes.

  He did desire her! That was a start.

  “A year and a day it will be then,” Fergus murmured, his voice so low that Leila’s blood nigh boiled. He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it, his sweet caress sending a welcome fire through her. “We shall tell them now and celebrate the handfast at the feast tonight.”

  And she would begin her conquest immediately.

  “Surely such an agreement demands more than a kiss on the hand,” Leila whispered boldly. She watched as Fergus paused, then smiled when his eyes darkened. His gaze dropped to her lips, then she saw his pulse at his throat. Leila took encouragement where she found it.

  She would wager that his reaction was not entirely because he had been chaste.

  But she would have to prove that to him.

  One night at a time, she would conquer his heart.

  Leila dared to believe it could be done. She reached to touch her lips to his, just as she had before, and felt satisfaction when Fergus slanted his mouth over hers and drew her close.

  Just as he had before.

  Nay, he kissed her even more thoroughly, which made her heart pound with satisfaction.

  She had a year and a day to claim Fergus completely.

  Let her quest begin.

  * * *

  It might have been a balm to Fergus’ pride if Leila had readily agreed to his offer, but he admired that she had sensible concerns and wished to know his answers before making her choice. He had made one betrothal impulsively, following his heart and his father’s timely suggestion, and had to believe that a thoughtful choice might be a better one.

  Truth be told, it could not be worse.

  What he could not fully explain was his sense of triumph in her final agreement. It must be a question of pride. And his heated reaction to her kiss was surely fed by his long bout of chastity. By the morning, such physical distractions would be dismissed. It would be better for him to confront Isobel then, for his thinking would be clear.

  As he led Leila back to the hall, Fergus was already wondering where he could find a suitable husband for her. Not in his father’s hall, to be sure, for there was only Iain, Xavier and Murdoch. He would have to find occasion to take her to another keep or a meeting. He had time to make her a good match, and that was no small thing.

  He was certain that he would not love again, and he knew she wanted a loving match. Theirs might evolve into affection, but Fergus was determined to make Leila’s dream come true. She had left everything to begin anew, after all.

  He had a year and a day to find her the husband she deserved.

  His father looked up, eyes bright with curiosity, when they stepped into the hall and Fergus called to him “Father! I am a fortunate man this day indeed.”

  “Are you?” Calum asked with a knowing smile.

  “Leila has agreed to pledge a handfast with me.”

  Those in the hall turned to listen, then murmured to each other.

  Fergus smiled at Leila, who gazed at him as if theirs was a love match. The sight made his heart pound. “We shall pledge to each other this very day, before the feast.”

  “That is most excellent news!” Calum declared, then rose to cross the floor to them. He seized Leila’s hands in his and kissed her cheeks, evidence that he already admired her. “I am delighted, Lady Leila, to welcome you to our family.”

  “And I am pleased to join it, my lord,” Leila said, bending to kiss his hand.

  Calum chuckled with satisfaction, then raised his voice. “Iain! I have more labor for you, but it is a joyous task. Fergus and Leila are to pledge a handfast this very day, and the solar must be made ready for the bride.”

  “But Father, you do not need to surrender the solar,” Fergus protested. “You are Laird of Killairic.”

  “Of course, I do! I have long thought that I should pass the lairdship to you upon your return, and this day will be the perfect time to do so.” His father lowered his voice. “Let your new wife be lady of her own hall, Fergus. Killairic has been without a woman’s guidance for too long, and I welcome the surrender of my responsibilities.”

  “But, sir, I would not oust you from the comfort of your chamber,” Leila protested.

  “But you must, Lady Leila,” Calum insisted. “The heir to Killairic should be conceived in the great bed in the solar, if you will forgive my blunt speech, just as Fergus was.” He winked. “Indeed, you cannot begin too soon upon that endeavor.”

  Leila blushed and smiled, even as Calum turned to Iain. “Move my belongings into the chamber at the south side of the tower. I have thought often of how the morning sun warms that small chamber more than it can heat the solar. There is space enough for a good bed and several braziers. I have only the two trunks that will need to be moved.”

  “Of course, my lord,” Iain said, a thread of dismay in his tone. Fergus guessed the reason immediately. This new task would add to his already-full schedule for the day.

  “We will all help,” Fergus said and Iain’s relief was visible. “The boy
s can move my baggage to the solar, and Duncan and I will help move Father’s trunks. Every man in the hall is already occupied with preparations for the feast, so let the newly arrived take on this task.”

  “Indeed, sir,” Iain said.

  “In fact, leave the matter to me, Iain,” Fergus continued. “You have much to manage this day, and my bride and I can decide how best to arrange the chamber for her tastes.”

  “Thank you, my lord!” Iain declared, glancing at the state of the hall.

  “When Hamish is done with the spice inventory, send him to me,” Fergus said. “I will ask the Templars if their squires might share the task.”

  “You will need this,” Calum said in an undertone, revealing a pair of keys that hung from a lace around his neck. They had been hidden beneath his chemise, where once they had hung from Calum’s belt. He removed the lace and gave it to Fergus. The larger was the key to the solar, which was seldom locked, and the smaller to the treasury, which was accessed from the solar. “There is an inventory in a ledger just inside the door. Be certain that all is as it should be.”

  “Thank you, Father. I will.” Fergus offered his arm to Leila. “And now, let us see to the solar.”

  3

  “What are you going to do with the gifts?” Leila asked quietly when they were on the stairs. Several boys had already scampered ahead of them with small trunks of purchases intended for Isobel and there were many more following them. “It would be a shame to waste such fine goods.”

  “True. You should choose what you like from them,” Fergus suggested. “I would like to send one item to Isobel as a wedding gift, but not any one item in particular.” He glanced down at her. “There must be a length of cloth that will not suit your coloring.”

  She slanted a glance at him but said nothing. He found her mysterious when she was silent, for it was difficult to guess her thoughts. That intrigued him.

  “Tell me,” he urged.

  “In private, perhaps,” she agreed softly, then entered the busy solar. “You will have to send word that your marriage is not to be celebrated, after all,” she continued mildly. “I think Lord Gaston will be relieved to remain at home with Lady Ysmaine so close to her time. Though, of course, they will be disappointed to hear your news.”