The Crusader’s Vow: A Medieval Romance

by Claire Delacroix

  Fergus wondered whether they would be so disappointed as that. He knew they both liked Leila.

  “I will send a missive to Bartholomew,” he said, glad that Leila thought so sensibly. “I believe he intended to write to Gaston with some regularity.” He halted to admire the chamber, trying to see it through Leila’s eyes.

  The solar filled the top floor of the tower of Killairic, and the windows offered views in all directions. The solar was of goodly size, with a large pillared bed in its very midst. Thick curtains hung around the bed and the mattress was plump with goose down. There were wolf pelts cast across the bed as well as woven wool blankets and a large brazier on the south side of the bed. On the eastern wall was a small altar with a beeswax candle upon it, and there was a crucifix hung on the wall above it. Leila’s gaze lingered on it for only a moment, but she did not seem to be troubled by it, to his relief. Fergus was not ardent at his prayers but he had fond memories of his mother praying there. The shutters on the north and west windows were closed against the wind, but Fergus opened them to show Leila the view.

  “Beautiful,” she said, coming to stand beside him and taking a deep breath. “And such a crisp wind.”

  “You will not find it so admirable in winter,” he noted and Leila laughed.

  She slanted a glance at him. “I shall have you to keep me warm, will I not?”

  Their gazes locked for a heady moment and Fergus could not summon a word to his lips. He thought of Leila’s kisses and could not wait to hold her against him, to explore her delicate figure, to couple with her. She held his gaze unflinchingly, her lips curved in a welcoming smile that made him anticipate the night ahead.

  “Hold this safe for me, if you please, Lady Leila,” Duncan said from beside them, startling them both. He offered Leila his saddlebag and she put the strap over her shoulder.

  “Of course,” she agreed easily, then touched a fingertip to the braid of Radegunde’s hair tied around his wrist. “How long will you stay?” she asked.

  “I will ride north in the morning, lass, now that you are cared for.”

  “Then you will not ride with me?” Fergus asked in surprise.

  Duncan spared him a glance. “You have my opinion already on that scheme.”

  Leila turned a questioning glance on Fergus and he felt his neck heat. Duncan granted her a gruff smile, then turned to direct the boys. Even when they were alone again, Fergus could not bring himself to explain his desire to see Isobel to Leila. He thought it obvious and felt awkward to even consider expressing his intent to visit his former betrothed to the woman he would wed this night.

  “The floor is cold even in this season,” Leila noted after a long silence.

  “I brought some rugs,” Fergus said, seizing upon the change of topic. “Perhaps we should put them on either side of the bed, so that floor is not a shock in the morning.”

  Leila laughed so easily that he was relieved. “That is a good notion.” She surveyed the chamber with a critical eye. “I am put in mind of Radegunde’s scouring of the chamber at Châmont-sur-Maine.”

  “It is a bit dusty,” Fergus agreed, seeing the cobwebs in the corners. “I wonder if it has had a thorough cleaning since my mother’s death.”

  Leila arched a brow.

  “Eight years ago,” Fergus supplied.

  A gleam of purpose lit in her dark eyes. “If that is the case, it shall have one this day. Is there a maid or two who might assist me?”

  “You do not have to do the labor yourself!”

  “I do,” Leila insisted. “They must know that I do not put myself above them and that I am prepared to do my share.” When he might have protested, she placed her fingertips on his arm. “I am from afar, Fergus, and they know it well. They must learn that we have more commonalities than differences, and I must begin immediately to build alliances in your home.”

  Fergus could scarce argue with such good sense.

  Iain came into the solar then, doubtless checking on all activities in what he saw as his domain.

  “Ask him to recommend a maid for me,” Leila advised. “It would be fitting to seek his counsel in such a matter. Ensure that he is not insulted by my desire to clean the chamber, if you please.”

  Fergus nodded agreement. “Iain, Lady Leila will have need of a maid. Is there a young woman in the hall or village you would recommend for such service?”

  Iain considered the matter for only a moment. “We have a young girl assisting in the kitchens, my lord, but she has a fine eye for women’s garb. Her skills might be better put to use in the service of Lady Leila.”

  Fergus smiled, for Leila had been right. He was amused that she already gave him good advice in his own home. “I knew you would have a recommendation. There is no one who understands the nature of each soul at Killairic better, Iain.”

  The steward bowed. “I thank you, my lord, though truly, this is simply my responsibility.”

  Fergus grimaced and lowered his voice, flicking a glance at Leila where she stood at the window, seemingly oblivious to their conversation. “My intended is most fastidious, Iain, as many Saracens are known to be.”

  “Indeed, sir.” The steward cast a disapproving eye over the solar. “Then perhaps she might be more inclined to see the chamber cleaned than your father has been. It is past due for a scrub, but I have not wanted to disturb your father’s comfort.” The steward sniffed. “He insists that he likes older rushes.”

  Fergus guessed that his father had been trying to save the steward from extra labor. “I assure you that Lady Leila does not share that view.”

  “Excellent, my lord.” Iain bowed to Leila, his approval clear. “I shall send Agnes to her immediately, although she is the only one who can be spared from the kitchens on this day. Perhaps some of the cleaning could wait until tomorrow.”

  “Perhaps. I will suggest as much.” Fergus cleared his throat. “She may insist upon helping with the task herself to see it done more promptly.”

  “I would not wish to give offense...”

  “Nay, Iain,” Fergus protested. “It is my lady who does not wish to give offense. She told me already that you must be nigh overwhelmed with duties this day, and that she seeks to contribute.”

  Iain considered Leila who smiled at him warmly.

  He blushed and bowed, so clearly pleased by her attention that Fergus found his own smile. “Of course, sir. Please give the lady my regrets that we have so few staff to serve her will.”

  “Of course.”

  “Tell her that I look forward to a woman’s administering hand. And please tell her, sir, that I, like your father, will be glad of the opportunity to improve my French.”

  “Then let us do as much now,” Fergus said, recalling Leila’s desire to make alliances. The steward would be a good place to begin. He beckoned to her and introduced the pair, standing back to watch as Iain made his greetings in careful French. Leila was patient and listened to him completely before replying, giving no sign that she noticed two errors.

  She was diplomatic and gracious, as a laird’s wife should be, and he watched with pride as she put the older man quickly at ease. They agreed that one maid’s services would be sufficient on this day and disagreed politely upon Leila’s determination to help in the cleaning. Leila laughed at Iain’s protests and teased him just a little, just enough to charm the steward completely.

  “You have made a quick conquest,” Fergus commented when Iain left the solar, his step filled with purpose.

  “I expect he misses having a lady to consult about the administration of the household,” Leila said. A smile played over her lips. “I like him very much. He reminds me of a man who spent most of his life in my uncle’s service. Karayan might have been one of the family after such long association.”

  Fergus glanced around, noting that they were alone in the solar. “And what were you thinking earlier, that you said you would only confide in private?”

  Leila sobered. “It is not for me to grant you ad
vice...”

  “But it is, for you are to be my wife.”

  “So, the role is perceived to be the same?”

  Fergus nodded. “In these lands, yes.”

  “Then, you must think about the appearance of all you do, Fergus. There will be those who assume you wed your whore as a matter of simplicity because your betrothed has chosen another. Those people will think me a second choice, and not unfairly so. But if you would have me treated as wife and not as courtesan, then your regard for me must be clear. Even if I am not first in your esteem, you should make it appear so.”

  “This seems reasonable.”

  “Your sole gifts to me cannot be what was intended first for Isobel,” Leila said with quiet heat. “This is not greed on my part or any criticism of what you have brought, but to grant your new bride the leavings from your betrothed is...”

  “A poor choice,” Fergus concluded. He spread his hands and raised his voice, just as Duncan and the boys returned. “Tell me, Leila, what nuptial gift would make your heart sing?”

  She smiled, so well pleased that his heart thundered. “Two mating pairs of pigeons,” she said, to his surprise, but speaking with such resolve that he could not doubt the honesty of her reply.

  Perhaps they were a delicacy often eaten in the east. Fergus remembered seeing them for sale in the souks, but not ever having tasted one. Of course, if they were an indulgence, they would not have been served at the Temple, where austerity was the rule.

  “And a means of keeping them,” she added.

  “A cage?” Fergus suggested.

  Her smile turned mischievous. “They will breed, and quickly, Fergus. A cage will not contain their numbers for long.”

  He thought about the garden and nodded. “Perhaps it is time we added a dovecote to the garden.”

  Leila’s features lit with delight. “That would be a most welcome gift, indeed.”

  “Then it shall be done.” Fergus turned to the others and switched to Gaelic, discovering quickly that there were often pigeons for sale in Carlisle, and that a man who knew best how to build a dovecote could be found in Dumfries. He made sure it was understood that this was to be Leila’s wedding gift, then divided his father’s keys. The key to the solar, he put in his purse, but the smaller one he kept in his hand, the lace hanging from it.

  “Before I depart for Dunnisbrae, let us see the valuables secured,” he said to Leila. “When I return, I will have the silversmith copy the keys so that both you and I shall have a set.”

  “No more copies than that, though,” Leila said darkly.

  Fergus nodded agreement, knowing that she was thinking of Châmont-sur-Maine and the plentitude of keys to the solar there. He unlocked the treasury and glanced inside it, noting the small chest where his father had always kept his coin and the second larger one that contained deeds and legal documents. He fetched his trunk that had gems within it and placed it in the small chamber. Leila was placing the saddlebag in the treasury when someone rapped on the door to the solar. It proved to be Iain.

  Fergus locked the door once the treasure was secured, then gave the key to Leila, still on its cord. She put it around her neck and dropped the key into her chemise, just as his father had done, but this time, Fergus watched the path with greater interest.

  When Leila smiled, he realized what he had done and cleared his throat. “I will ask Iain how soon we can arrange for your gift,” he said, then turned to find a young girl waiting on the threshold. She was young and would be considered pretty, but he had no interest himself in her charms.

  She curtsied. “I am Agnes, my lord, sent to be maid to your lady.”

  Fergus introduced the pair and left Leila to manage Agnes.

  As he left the solar, he was thinking of golden skin and dark eyes, of a mysterious smile and woman both finely built and strong. He was thinking of good sense and loyalty, and the merit of having a partner whose word could be relied upon.

  And Fergus was thinking, with far more anticipation than he might have expected an hour before, of his wedding night ahead.

  * * *

  Agnes was no fool.

  Every soul she knew commented upon her ability to see the truth of a situation—and her gift for calculating how best to use that information to her own advantage. She had been likened to a cat in many places, given her talent for landing upon her feet. Agnes knew it was less about the landing than in assessing when to jump.

  She made good choices. Going to Stewart MacEwan had been a good choice, for her brother had found labor there. Accepting Laird Stewart’s request that she go to Killairic and await the return of Fergus had been a good one, too. Laird Stewart wanted to know when the son of Killairic returned home, which was only reasonable, in Agnes’ view, given that his wife had been betrothed to Laird Fergus first.

  The old Laird of Killairic liked her, which meant she gained special favors. Those in the village were foolish in their trust, a trait that Agnes hoped to use to advantage when necessary. Stephen, the ostler, was a competent lover but more importantly, a collector of gossip and rumor. People confided in him, which gave Agnes fodder to gather in anticipation of a generous reward—from the right laird at the right time.

  It served Stephen as well as Agnes to have no one know what they did together in the stables at night, which was another advantage. His unhappy marriage, in truth, was why Agnes had chosen him. She had learned young that men wedded to shrews were the most discreet lovers and often the best trained ones.

  On the day of Laird Fergus’ return, though, Agnes was stymied by her choices.

  Of course, she owed a report to Laird Stewart of the return of the son of Killairic. Old debts should be paid first.

  But then, there was the question of how to proceed to see her own advantage best served.

  At first, Agnes thought it might be beneficial to charm one of the Templar knights. To be sure, both were tall and handsome, with dark hair and dark eyes. Their manner was stern, but Agnes had been certain she could tempt at least one of them to smile—if not more. Perhaps her destiny was in London or even Paris, larger cities with greater opportunities for the ambitious—and even access to royal courts. Her first effort, though, earned her a stare from one that was cold enough to freeze her marrow and disdainful, too.

  As if she was a mere whore.

  She would not sully herself with a man who did not appreciate her.

  The village priest then told her that the Templars were sworn to poverty, chastity, and obedience, like other monks. Agnes had not realized that detail, since Fergus had joined their ranks. Apparently, there were distinctions between those who joined for a specific term of service and those who joined for life, as well as between lay brothers and knights, but Agnes was quickly bored with the details.

  She had more interest in her own fate.

  Agnes did not know any of the returning party, for she had not been at Killairic before their departure. She recognized this Duncan by his friendship with Murdoch. They were of a kind, to be sure. Duncan would be honorable and feel compelled to report any misdeed he witnessed, just like Murdoch. It was best for Agnes to avoid them both.

  The laird’s son, Fergus, was as handsome and charming as Agnes had heard over the years. It was to his credit that she could find naught about him that disappointed, and she wondered if he could truly see the future. Although he might provide an excellent opportunity for her ambitions, she was leery of his rumored talents. It might be wise to avoid him until she knew the extent of his abilities better.

  They brought a whore with them, an infidel so shameless that she rode openly in the party, as if she were a lady. Her skin was so dark that it looked to be filthy, and Agnes thought that all the indication of her nature that was needed.

  She peeled onions in the kitchen, weighing the merit of the boy Hamish, the squire of Laird Fergus who had journeyed all the way to Outremer and back. He was slightly younger than her fifteen years but so much more innocent in the ways of the world—and t
his, despite his travels! Agnes thought that there might be amusement in introducing him to the pleasures of the flesh. He might have secrets of his lord’s to share, as well. In fact, she was certain she could coax any tale from him, given his sidelong glances of interest, but that would cut both ways.

  Hamish was likely incapable of keeping any secret, and Agnes could not afford such a liability.

  What of the squires of the Templars? They looked as grim as their knights.

  She was curious about the trunks of gifts brought for Lady Isobel and wondered if she might be able to assess their contents at some point. Perhaps theft would be the sum of the opportunities available to her. Laird Stewart would be curious about Laird Fergus’ generosity, she was certain. The hall was too busy for her to have a look as yet, and Agnes did not want to steal some trinket that would be missed too soon. Impatient with the prospects offered by the arriving company, Agnes watched them closely, intent upon gathering tidings for Laird Stewart. Her sole reward might lie there.

  And that was when she noticed how the Templars watched Duncan.

  Why?

  Perhaps they distrusted him, but their expressions were not judgmental. The more she watched, the more Agnes wondered. Why were there two Templars in the party in the first place? If they always accompanied those who left their service for home, why had she never seen one before? Or heard of one venturing this far north and west before? Agnes was certain that at least one of the sons of the Campbell clan had taken the cross and returned from Outremer. Even the old laird himself had seemed to be surprised by their presence.

  Could there be another reason for them to accompany the laird’s son?

  Why did Duncan hold so fast to that one saddlebag? He did not look to be a man who had many worldly possessions, let alone those he would fear to see stolen in his companion’s home.