The Crusader’s Vow: A Medieval Romance

by Claire Delacroix

  “Truly.”

  “I should have liked to have met her.”

  There was naught that could be said to that. “We will ask Margaret in the village to sew for you. I do not doubt that she still has the most skillful needle hereabouts and my mother was always complimentary about her talent.” Fergus nodded at the array of fabric. “Choose a second. The lady of Killairic must have at least two garments of her own.” Leila touched the kirtle she was wearing, and he shook his head before she could speak. “In addition to the one given to you by Radegunde,” he said firmly. “It is a good serviceable garment, but not the attire of a lady.”

  Leila smiled and stepped back. “Then you choose.”

  Fergus selected two lengths of fine cotton for chemises and another length of wool in deep gold. He picked sheer fabrics to match for veils and added them to the pile. A golden circlet would replace the plain pewter one that Leila had worn since Haynesdale, and two finely crafted leather belts with detailed tooling would suit her as well. He added the stockings, a velvet purse, a heavy black wool for a cloak. “We shall find some fur to line it,” he said, then frowned at the shoes and slippers. “They will all be too large for you. Let us ask Margaret what can be done.”

  “You are a generous lover,” Leila said.

  “It is all yours, if you desire it.”

  “What you have chosen is more than sufficient.” Leila indicated a length of finely woven deep green wool. “Your father might be glad of a new robe, and this will be warm for him.”

  “An excellent suggestion. For that, you win a third kirtle, made of the wool in the hue of roses.”

  “Fergus!”

  He grinned at her, liking that she was pleased. “And now, the gift.” Fergus chose a length of blended wool and silk in a brilliant blue. He had bought it because it was the exact hue of Isobel’s eyes, and he wanted rid of it. The color would not suit Leila at all and it was too fine to give to anyone else.

  There was a psalter rolled within it for the journey, a small volume with delicate images that he had bought for Isobel in Venice. It was a lady’s volume, but Isobel was not ardent in her prayers. Fergus had bought it because it was so beautiful, but was reluctant to give such a treasure to her now.

  He would save it, for another woman might one day appreciate it. Perhaps Leila would convert, or he might be so fortunate as to love again in future.

  Was that the dark cloud he had discerned? His own future without love?

  Fergus refused to think about it. He set the psalter aside, recalling another trinket. There were fine needles of steel in the bottom of one trunk, the like of which he had never seen before glimpsing them in Outremer. He had bought them for Isobel, and some lengths of silk thread which would be welcome for her embroidery.

  Again, the tokens had been costly, and Isobel was not diligent with her stitchery either, but Leila would never sit and embroider. She would hunt and hawk and ride with him, all of which were welcome prospects. He had seen her muck out the stalls of the horses and did not doubt she would undertake any labor she deemed practical and necessary. He doubted that embroidery would ever count. Fergus added half of the needles and thread to the blue cloth, thinking the gift was suitable. He put the remainder of the needles and thread aside for Margaret.

  “Let us give these to Margaret,” he suggested. “They will make you an ally, to be sure, and she will have good use of them.”

  “That is a fine idea.”

  Content with his choices for Isobel, Fergus took one of the small trunks and packed them into it.

  Leila granted him a challenging glance but said nothing.

  Fergus understood that she had something to say but feared to speak her thoughts. He would teach her to do as much, and he would do that without delay.

  Honesty, after all, was the foundation of every good match. He would have that, even if he could not have Isobel.

  4

  “What is amiss?” Fergus asked.

  Leila hesitated, then spoke quietly. “Do you not think that too fine a gift to offer another man’s wife?”

  “It is too fine a gift to leave packed away,” he replied. “The shade of this cloth does not favor you and you are unlikely to ever embroider.”

  “True enough, but it might be wiser to send less. She is wedded to another man.”

  “And she was betrothed to me,” Fergus said stubbornly. Every time he saw this cloth he would think of her betrayal and he did not wish to dwell upon it. “I think it only reasonable that I send her a gift with my good wishes for her happiness.” When she did not reply, he continued. “I will be arriving as a married man myself, Leila. Surely that will improve Stewart’s view of my gesture?”

  Leila arched a brow but said no more.

  Fergus had a thought. “Did you desire either of these things?”

  “Of course not. And since you bought the gifts, they are yours to disperse.”

  He ignored his sense that she had not told him all of her thoughts. “I will ride to Dunnisbrae tomorrow to give my regards to Isobel,” he continued. “Enguerrand and Yvan will remain here...”

  “You mean to visit Isobel yourself?” Leila asked, her astonishment clear. “And on the morrow?”

  “I cannot leave the tidings of Kerr’s death to be delivered by another,” Fergus said, irked that yet another person questioned his decision. “And it is not a message that should be delayed.”

  Leila shook her head and turned away from him, packing away the remainder of the cloth with quick gestures. Fergus could feel that Agnes was attending their discussion, but Leila said no more.

  He missed both her frank counsel and the flash of her eyes. This demure Leila was far less beguiling.

  “You disapprove,” he said, inviting her to say more.

  “It is not my place to approve or disapprove, clearly.” Leila curtsied to him. “Your will is mine, my lord. Is that not how it should be between man and wife?” She moved past him to stack one trunk against the wall, only the quickness of her gestures revealing her annoyance.

  “Nay! I would hear your thoughts.”

  “You will not listen to my thoughts, so I will keep them to myself.”

  “Leila! Tell me what concerns you.” Fergus pursued her and touched her elbow when she did not turn to face him. “Leila,” he said, his voice dropping low. “Let us always have honesty between us. I would hear the truth of your thinking, even if you expect it will displease me.”

  She stilled beneath his touch. “Truth?”

  “Truth.”

  “Even if you will not welcome it?”

  “Even so.”

  Leila rounded upon him, glanced at Agnes, then spoke with low heat. “It is one thing that you love her still. It is another that you wed me out of grace and kindness. But do not be such a fool as to provoke a warrior who is her husband by showing your admiration for his wife so clearly. She chose him and it is not your place to offer temptation.”

  As Fergus had expected, her concerns were rootless.

  “You make much of little,” he countered with a smile. “And assumptions of people you do not know. Isobel was my betrothed! Her nephew accompanied us by her request, and the boy died! I must tell her of his fate myself.”

  “You make excuses,” Leila countered with flashing eyes. “You love her still, and if I can see as much, so will her husband. What else would he think, if you rush to her side the day immediately after your return? He will not be fooled by this handfast, not if he has any wits at all!”

  “You would jump at shadows,” Fergus said, knowing his tone was dismissive.

  “Aye? What do you know of this Stewart MacEwan?”

  Fergus realized that Agnes had again lifted her head. He spared her a quelling glance and she returned to her scrubbing. “That he is a warrior, perhaps twenty years older than Isobel. I do not doubt that he defends her well. She is beautiful.”

  Leila straightened. “In my experience, men who fight to gain their desires are quick to assu
me that others covet their prizes.”

  Fergus shook his head. “I have known Stewart at a distance for a long time. He will be glad of any gift that shows his wife’s beauty to advantage. He will be glad of tidings from the east, as well. You will see. I will be greeted warmly.”

  “Even though you tell them of Kerr’s death.”

  Fergus winced. “I expect Isobel will be dismayed. Her brother was killed, you know, and his wife wed another. Kerr was her only nephew and reminder of her brother.” He knew that Isobel would be devastated by the loss of Kerr and resolved again to keep the truth of the boy’s nature from her.

  Leila studied him for a long moment, her eyes seeming even more dark than usual. “Do not be such a fool as to console her, at least not when her husband might see you.”

  “Leila! You make much of naught.”

  “Do I?”

  “It is but the visit of a neighbor and the deliverance of news.”

  She eyed him, her expression inscrutable. Fergus was certain she discerned his hope that Isobel had been compelled to wed Stewart against her own will.

  When Leila’s lips tightened and she turned away from him, he felt her disappointment keenly. But they had agreed to honesty, and he would not deceive her about his surrendered heart.

  “I trust you are right, my lord,” she said, her tone temperate once more. She worked steadily and in silence, the line of her shoulders telling him that she was yet annoyed.

  The next day would prove him right about Stewart and Fergus knew it.

  But in this moment, he had to regain Leila’s goodwill. They were to be handfasted, after all. He turned to survey the chamber and the angle of the sun. “When you and Agnes have restored the solar to rights, would you like to bathe before the ceremony?”

  Leila spun to face him and her lips parted. “I should, indeed.”

  “There is a wooden tub in the kitchens,” Fergus said, savoring the sight of her pleasure. “I will have it brought here and ensure that all know the new lady will bathe daily in hot water.”

  “But Iain has much to manage this day.”

  Fergus smiled at her for he could clearly read her hope. “I believe he might be convinced to ensure the pleasure of the new lady of the hall. If not, I shall help to ensure that the bride has her desire.”

  Leila’s eyes twinkled as she smiled and Fergus felt triumphant. “You are a thoughtful man. I thank you for this, Fergus.” She flicked a glance at the girl, then licked her lips. “I hope you are right about this visit,” she whispered. “I will pray for your safe return.”

  Fergus looked down at her, touched by her concern, and had to tease her a little. “I did not know that prayer was your inclination.”

  The corner of Leila’s mouth lifted into a smile. “I was taught that Allah aids those who aid themselves, and I prefer to do what I can to ensure the goal I desire. In this case, though, my counsel has been declined. I will pray, for that is the sole course left to me, as I would prefer not to lose a spouse immediately after I gain one.”

  “I promise you that I will return in time for the evening meal, and that all will be as I say.”

  “And I will pray that you are right, my lord.” Before Fergus could reply, Leila closed the distance between them with a step and stretched to kiss his cheek. He caught his breath then, unable to deny temptation, turned his face slightly so that their lips met.

  Leila leaned against him, her hands landing upon his shoulders, and Fergus found himself catching her around the waist to draw her close. She was so enticing and her kiss grew more potent each time. Heat raced through Fergus as she surrendered to his kiss and he was glad that his bout of chastity would end this night.

  Satisfaction would clear his thinking and ensure that he was temperate when he met Isobel again.

  Though Fergus was sufficiently honest to admit that it was not Isobel who reigned in his thoughts when Leila slipped her fingers into his hair and pulled him closer.

  * * *

  “Gifts, gifts,” Calum declared from the portal, and Leila blushed as Fergus reluctantly ended their kiss. The older man smiled as he entered the solar, and she saw that there was a length of fabric over his arm. “For you, Lady Leila, as my wife always said a bride needs a new kirtle for her nuptials.”

  The garment was a rich purple and gleamed with the luster of silk. There was gold embroidery upon the hem and the cuffs of the sleeves, as well as around the neckline.

  Leila was surprised to be offered such a splendid garment. “Sir, I could not accept such a gift...”

  “Of course, you can,” Calum said, interrupting her. “I brought it from the east, almost twenty years ago, as a gift for my wife. The hue was wrong for her, or so she insisted, and has been folded away ever since.” He shrugged. “I liked the purple with her hair, but she did not and ladies are always right about such matters.”

  Leila smiled at Fergus. “I see that you come honestly by your generosity.”

  Fergus laughed. “My father always lavished gifts upon my mother. We both liked to see her pleased.”

  Leila took the garment, then held it up to admire it. It would be a little long, but there was no time to shorten it. She reasoned that the hall had been swept and it would not be overly damaged in one night of wear.

  “There is more in the trunk, of course,” Calum said. “A silk chemise, along with a belt and shoes that match, but I did not think it fitting to present such garments to a lady. Send the girl for them.”

  “I will. Thank you so much.” Leila kissed Calum’s cheeks and he smiled at her. “You have made me so welcome at Killairic. I thank you for that, as well.”

  The older man grinned at his son. “I see the inclination of Fergus’ heart and I trust his judgment in this.” Leila thought it might be tactless to note that Fergus’ first choice of bride had not shown his good judgment so well. Fergus himself was looking at his boots. “All I ask, Lady Leila, is that you bear a son soon.”

  “I shall do my best, sir.” Leila curtseyed.

  “And that is all any man can ask. Come, Fergus, let us leave the bride to her preparations.” Calum called to Agnes and said something quick in Gaelic. The girl rose to her feet with obvious relief and followed him from the solar.

  “The curtains, the mattress, the linens and the bath,” Fergus said. “I will do what I can to assist, for it must all be done before the evening meal.”

  “Thank you, Fergus,” Leila said, wishing she did not have such a dread of his visit to Isobel on the morrow. She failed to see how that journey could end well, but tried to have faith in Fergus’ decision. How she wished she could protect him from a repetition of this day’s unwelcome news.

  In a way, she wanted to witness his meeting with Isobel yet in another, she was not certain she could trust herself to be polite in the other woman’s presence.

  She smiled at him, grateful for all he had done and determined to believe in their shared future. “Thank you for all of this.”

  Their gazes clung for a thrilling moment, then Fergus bowed and left the solar, calling for assistance in seeing her will done.

  Leila would make him a good wife.

  She would be the best wife possible.

  And even if he did not love her fully in a year and a day, Leila would ensure that Fergus could not imagine his life without her.

  She did not care what was required of her to make that so.

  * * *

  Fergus was astonished when Leila came down to the hall in the late afternoon.

  The keep had been turned upside down on this day, as if a new wind had blown through Killairic. The solar was cleaner than when it had been new, and Fergus felt a sense of new pride in the place. His father was clearly quite satisfied. The rushes on the floor of the hall had been changed and the tables had been set. The villagers had arrived and the smell from the kitchens made his belly growl. Candles and torches had been lit and there was mulled wine to be poured.

  All awaited the lady herself.

/>   When Leila appeared at the foot of the stairs, there was a collective gasp. She looked exotic and beautiful, so lovely that Fergus caught his breath. He was humbled that this woman would take him for her spouse and felt a lump in his throat as she crossed the floor to him. The purple hue suited her well, making her look like royalty, and the kirtle highlighted her delicate figure. The golden embroidery gleamed in the light, as did the circlet in her hair. The silken veil shimmered behind her, seeming to float as she walked. The villagers seemed to be struck dumb in their awe, but Leila smiled and halted before Fergus, tipping back her head to meet his gaze.

  He smiled at her and took her right hand in his. The slight weight of her tiny hand made him feel protective of her in a most welcome way. Fergus took Leila’s left hand in his, their hands crossing between them. She watched him with bright eyes.

  “Are you certain?” he murmured in French.

  Her smile was brilliant. “Aye. Are you?”

  “Aye.”

  “Then let us not delay,” she said.

  His father welcomed the villagers to the hall then and spoke warmly of the inclination of his son to wed. They were all invited to stand witness to the union and they gathered in a circle around Fergus and Leila.

  When it was time to pledge to each other, Fergus spoke slowly, pausing at intervals. Leila would have to repeat the vows in Gaelic so all would understand and he wanted to ensure that she made no inadvertent errors. “And so I vow to you, Leila binte Qadir lufti al-Ramm, that I will treat you with honor from this day forth, for a year and a day.”

  “And so I vow to you, Fergus of Killairic, that I will treat you with honor from this day forth, for a year and a day,” Leila said.

  “That I will hold you in my heart when we are apart and treat you well when we are together,” Fergus continued.

  Leila held his gaze. “That I will hold you in my heart when we are apart and treat you well when we are together.”

  Several of the women from the village sighed with delight and Fergus heard one sniffle.

  “I will take responsibility for any child of our union, whether our vows are renewed or not,” he pledged.