The Crusader’s Vow: A Medieval Romance

by Claire Delacroix

  Not Fergus.

  She felt the key to the solar beneath her fingers and guessed that Fergus had left the door unlocked. The hair prickled on the back of her neck, as if she was being closely watched, and she smelled straw. There was no straw in this fine bed. She smelled onions, as well. Raw ones. She opened her eyes ever so slightly to find Agnes examining the trunks and making her way to the door to the treasury.

  The girl slept on a straw pallet and had likely cut onions in the kitchen.

  Leila rolled to her back with a sigh, as if she moved in her sleep, but kept a wary gaze upon the girl. Agnes started and glanced toward the bed, then stepped toward the treasury door. She ran a fingertip over the lock and bit her lip, glanced back at the bed, then silently tried the latch. Leila’s eyes narrowed, her resolve to limit the girl’s access to anything of import redoubled.

  She did not blame Fergus for his trust of those welcomed in his father’s hall, but she did not share it either.

  She yawned noisily and stretched, hearing Agnes hasten back to the door. When Leila opened her eyes and sat up, the girl gave every appearance of just arriving at the threshold with a bucket of steaming water. She smiled and curtsied, but Leila was not fooled.

  She made sure the girl saw the lace around her neck with the key, and how she added the second key to it before she replaced it around her neck and rose from the bed.

  “Good morning, my lady,” Agnes said, curtseying again.

  Leila decided to disguise her understanding of Gaelic. She could have replied in kind, but instead bowed her head once and answered in French. Agnes would not be the sole one with secrets in this keep.

  She pointed to the door and shooed Agnes in that direction. When the girl stepped over the threshold, Leila closed and locked the door, ensuring that the girl heard the lock tumble. Then she washed and dressed alone. The laces were at the sides of the kirtle, so she did not need assistance. She swept the floor and shook out the linens, hanging the coverlets and pelts to air. She left the shutters open then unlocked the door.

  Agnes was sitting upon the step, waiting for her, and quickly hid her mutinous expression. Her gaze flicked past Leila to the cleaned solar and her surprise showed. Leila gave her the bucket of water and the one of slops, then pointed down the stairs. “Today, we will clean the hall,” she told the girl in French, who clearly did not understand but was leery of whatever Leila had planned.

  Her lips tightened when Leila locked the solar door, and Leila held the girl’s gaze as she dropped the key down the front of her chemise. She gestured then and the girl preceded her, her mood most clear.

  Duncan sat alone at the board, amusement lighting his eyes when he watched Agnes stalk across the hall with her burden. Leila was glad to have the chance to speak to him before his departure and took the seat beside him. Iain brought her a piece of warm bread and some honey, and she accepted his offer of ale and an apple.

  “I am glad to see you more settled,” Duncan said and Leila smiled.

  “Only for a year and day, Duncan. I am certain that Fergus intends to find me a husband.”

  “And I would hope that you intend to keep the one you have.”

  She smiled. “I hope to show him that I am a good wife.”

  “And if the lad is fool enough to cast aside the gem that has come so easily to his hand, then you must remember my offer.”

  Leila smiled and kissed his cheek. “I will, Duncan. Thank you.”

  He finished his ale and nodded, his gaze lingering upon her. “The anniversary of my handfast with Radegunde is the sixth of September. I hope to see you before then, either as I journey to collect her from Châmont-sur-Maine or as we return to Scotland together.”

  “You must send word,” Leila said. “We could meet at Haynesdale, if it is more convenient. I am certain that Bartholomew would welcome us all.”

  “As am I.” Duncan stood and bowed. “Until we meet again, Lady Leila, farewell.”

  “Journey safely, Duncan,” she said, rising to take his hands and kiss his cheeks in turn. “Radegunde is relying upon you.”

  He smiled and touched the braid of Radegunde’s hair upon his wrist briefly before donning his gloves, bowing once again, and striding away. Leila blinked back a tear, and hoped that their paths would cross again, then she sat down to finish her meal. Murdoch was in the hall and watching her once again, but she ignored the way he saluted her with his cup.

  Iain paused before her, bowing low. His French was almost as careful as Calum’s and certainly was more formal. “My lady, I am instructed to show you whatever you would like to see and to put myself at your disposal on this day.”

  “Thank you so much, Iain. I should like to see the kitchens and the stores this morning, then the garden this afternoon. I must also visit Margaret in the village after the midday meal and would ask directions to her home.”

  The older man nodded approval of this scheme. “We should perhaps choose a location for the dovecote while in the garden,” he suggested. “I have sent word to Dumfries this morning to engage the man who builds such structures. Xavier dispatched a boy to buy fish at the morning market and it seemed a good opportunity.”

  “Thank you, Iain. That was an excellent notion. I know a little of the requirements of such birds, but both the weather and sunlight is different here. I remember, for example, that it was key to ensure that they had shade for part of the day, but that might not be the case here where the air is colder. Perhaps we should choose several alternatives and let the builder share his advice.”

  “A most excellent plan, my lady.”

  “Did my laird husband send word to Haynesdale?”

  “He did, my lady. I sent it with the boy and bade him find a messenger in Dumfries. It should be readily done.”

  “Thank you, Iain.” Leila set aside her napkin and rose to her feet. She beckoned to Agnes. “I should like to give Agnes the task of sweeping the hall and removing the rushes. The dogs can spend the day in the stables and the hearth can be cleaned as well.”

  Iain nodded and gave rapid instructions in Gaelic to Agnes.

  “Would you like to meet the cook, my lady? I hope that Xavier is not in foul temper this morning...” Iain continued, taking great pains to warn Leila of the perils of the fiend who commanded the kitchens. She understood immediately that the two older men who had vied for Calum’s approval for years now battled for her own.

  The kitchen, to her delight, was immaculately clean. Two boys were scrubbing the wooden tables with great gusto, urged on by the dark-haired man with silver at his temples. He chided them as he chopped onions, casting them with perfect aim into a great cauldron that hung over the fire.

  Iain cleared his throat pointedly.

  Xavier turned, as if to shake his knife at the intruder, then he evidently saw Leila.

  “This is Xavier,” Iain said.

  “I am most pleased to make the acquaintance of the master of this domain,” Leila said, remembering that cooks often were proud. “The meal last evening was delicious.”

  Xavier smiled and bowed deeply, then erupted a rapid stream of French. “My lady! I am enchanted and honored by your presence in the kitchen, my small domain as you so graciously acknowledge, and would offer my felicitations upon your marriage to Laird Fergus.” He bowed again. “I can only apologize that it was impossible to create your own favorite dishes for your wedding feast last evening as we knew nothing of you in advance...”

  “Of course, you could not, Xavier. You had so little warning. I thought the venison was particularly marvelous.”

  “Ah!” Xavier’s eyes lit. “But that was due to the return of your lady and his lordship, for I had no cloves before noon yesterday and they are the key to that particular sauce. You answered my dreams, my lady, and so the meal benefitted greatly from your arrival.”

  He bowed again, and Leila instinctively liked him. It was clear to her that his enthusiasm was bound to the creations of his kitchen and that was a trait she could both a
dmire and encourage.

  “If there is a dish I can prepare to tempt your palate, my lady, you have only to tell me of it. If there are recipes you remember and would have served in the hall, you have only to tell me of them.”

  Leila doubted that Xavier would have access to many of the ingredients she recalled but she appreciated the offer. “I thank you. I would not meddle in the administration of your domain, Xavier, but perhaps I can be of aid to you with the inventories.”

  “But of course, my lady. It is your right to approve all expenditures in the kitchen.” Xavier offered a pair of keys to her, gesturing to a storeroom. Within it, there were sacks of dried peas and of flour. A small trunk was built into a wooden shelf, and the smaller key opened it. The spices were kept there, and Xavier showed her the inventory Hamish had created the day before. A quick glance proved to Leila that all was in order and she smiled to dismiss Xavier’s concern.

  “And you were pleased with the spices Laird Fergus brought?”

  “Of course, my lady. It is only sad that we will use them so quickly.”

  Leila nodded. “My lord husband and I journeyed from Outremer with a company of Templars.”

  “So, I understand, my lady.”

  “One of his friends, a former Templar, now commands his father’s holding in France, to the west of Paris. We stopped there on our return.”

  “I am told those lands are most beautiful. My own origin is in the north and east of Paris.”

  “I anticipate that my husband may communicate regularly with his friend in France, who might well maintain his connections with the Templars. It thus seems likely to me that when a spice is diminishing in our stores, we might be able to request the assistance of these friends in purchasing more.” She smiled at Xavier. “And you might never lack for cloves again.”

  Xavier was clearly delighted. “This is most generous, my lady, and most kind.” He frowned, thinking of this. “I wish I could devise a way to better anticipate a shortage or even the use of our last stores.”

  “We have an inventory made already,” Leila noted. “Let us keep a record of the use of each spice. Then we shall best know how much of each is consumed by the household over time, which can inform our purchases.”

  “And by season!” Xavier added. “For winter meals should have more spice than summer ones, and the Yule uses the most of all.” He nodded with satisfaction. “This is an improvement, to be sure.”

  Leila turned to Iain, who had been trying to follow the conversation and by his expression had not gleaned all of the details. She explained her intention to him more slowly and he beamed with pleasure at her. “I shall see that there is a ledger prepared for this very task, my lady. I can use the inventory compiled by Hamish and can make that the first entry.” He dropped his voice. “For I should not see such wealth wasted.”

  Xavier glared at him, then gestured to the kitchen once more. Leila preceded him, as indicated, and raised a brow to find the two boys chatting with Agnes. The girl had evidently brought some of the rushes through the kitchen and saw fit to jest with the boys rather than complete her task.

  Xavier yelled at the pair of boys and they hastened back to their labor. Agnes swept the rushes into the bailey as Xavier bellowed at her to use another portal and keep such mess from his kitchen. He swept the floor furiously in her wake, muttering curses beneath his breath as he restored all to rights.

  “He does not appreciate the girl,” Iain sniffed and went to the hall in search of a ledger.

  Xavier glared after him. “He does not see what is before his eyes. I am glad to have that one out of my kitchen, but regret that she now is assigned to serve you, my lady.” The cook dropped his voice to a confidential whisper. “Do not trust her overmuch. She came from Dunnisbrae and I cannot think any good of that holding since Laird Fergus was treated so poorly by Lady Isobel.”

  Leila was aware that the boys were watching, but secretly liked the cook a little more. Not only did they share a view of Agnes, but one of Isobel.

  How curious that Agnes had arrived from Dunnisbrae. Was that a coincidence, or something more?

  “I thank you for your counsel, Xavier,” she said smoothly. “I understand that you sent to Dumfries for fish this morning. What kind of fish do you find here? And how do you intend to prepare them?”

  “There will be fresh salmon at the market this morning, my lady, and Laird Calum favors the filets fried in a little butter. He tires of the eels from the millpond, no matter how I prepare them. I like to tempt his appetite, but perhaps he will eat better now that Lord Fergus is returned. Worry, as I am certain you know, my lady, is a great destroyer of the appetite.” Leila nodded as the cook continued to enthuse and she had the sense that he had been waiting for a patient ear. “I thought the last of the wine could be made into a sauce for eggs...”

  * * *

  It was past noon when Fergus and Hamish reached Dunnisbrae and a gentle rain had begun to fall. It was not a heavy onslaught but it was persistent, and the back of Fergus’ cloak was soaked through by the time the keep came into sight.

  They had been compelled to take a longer route, since spring rains had washed out some of the fords and narrow bridges on the shortest path. As a result, they arrived later than Fergus had hoped. The clouds were darker in the west and he doubted their ride home would be pleasant.

  He dared not linger. A mere word with Isobel, a glimpse of her beauty, a cup of ale, and a piece of bread, then he and Hamish would return to Killairic.

  He noted that the keep looked less prosperous than he recalled, or perhaps it had not flourished since he had last journeyed this way. It was still a single tower, wrought of timber like the surrounding walls, but Fergus had a sense of decay. There was a fine portcullis on the gate to the bailey, though, which was a surprise. Did Isobel’s father still draw breath? His own father had not said.

  Dunnisbrae was to the south and west of Killairic, perched on the southernmost tip of the Mull of Galloway. The isle of Mann was to the south, Galloway and the rest of the Kingdom of the Isles to the north, the lands of the English king veiled in the mist to the south.

  Hamish had been quiet on their journey, and Fergus had guessed the reason why. “There will be a fire and a cup of ale soon enough,” he said to Hamish with forced cheer and the boy nodded with a semblance of enthusiasm.

  “Aye, my lord.”

  “Are you thinking of Kerr?”

  Hamish nodded and wiped the rain from his face. “He had good qualities, my lord, as well as bad.”

  It was a kindly concession from the one who had probably endured the greatest torment from Kerr, and Fergus took that as a measure of Hamish’s character. “Which is why the truth of his nature will not be revealed by any of us,” Fergus reminded him. “I think Duncan’s counsel most wise in this matter.”

  “Aye, my lord.”

  “I will tell them of his death, Hamish,” Fergus said and the boy’s relief was obvious. “You will not need to answer questions about it.”

  “Thank you, my lord.”

  They were clearly spied and identified, for the portcullis creaked as it was raised. A man stepped into the middle of the opening. He folded his arms across his chest, braced his feet against the ground, and watched their approach.

  It was Stewart himself, his posture indicating that he anticipated a challenge.

  Fergus took this as an indication that Isobel had not been so willing to wed the other man. His heart skipped at the possibility that she might have been loyal to him, if she had been granted the choice.

  Not that it mattered now. Duncan had been right in that. It would be a balm to his pride, though, and proof that he was a good judge of character. No more than that.

  Though he had always been Fergus’ senior, Stewart looked much older now, his hair silver-gray and his expression harder than once it had been. He wore a mail hauberk with his plaid and his boots, adding to Fergus’ impression that the other man was prepared for battle.

 
“The crusader returns,” Stewart said by way of greeting, a hint of mockery in his tone. He walked toward Fergus when the arrivals paused outside the gate. His smile was cold and his gaze assessing. “I trust the Saracens have been routed from Outremer with your aid?”

  “Just the opposite,” Fergus acknowledged as he dismounted. He strove to keep his tone light, even friendly. “You must have heard that Jerusalem itself was lost in October.”

  “We did,” Stewart said. His ostler came forward to take the reins of Tempest and a boy reached for those of Hamish’s palfrey, but Stewart waved them both off. “I doubt my neighbor will linger,” he said, surprising Fergus with such a lack of hospitality. Man and boy retreated and Fergus noted that the boy shared Agnes’ striking coloring. This must be her brother, Nolan.

  Stewart smirked. “I apologize for this greeting, but I will not have my lady wife disturbed.”

  “I have tidings I would like to give to Isobel myself,” Fergus said, for he imagined she might find the news of Kerr troubling.

  “But it is my obligation to defend my lady wife.”

  “Surely not from a friend?”

  “Particularly so, when that friend is returned after years away,” Stewart replied evenly. “Isobel is with child, again, and is in need of calm and rest during her time.”

  “I see.”

  “You may grant any message intended for her to me.”

  Fergus understood that he would not be permitted to see the lady himself. The realization irked him but he hid his reaction. “Of course. She had asked me to take her nephew, Kerr, in our company as a squire, and I regret that he has not returned.”

  Stewart arched a brow. “Did you sell him in a Saracen slave market?”

  Fergus tempered his reply. “He was killed, when we were attacked by brigands west of Venice. We laid him to rest in a cemetery there.”

  Stewart flicked a look at Hamish. “And yet the boy from Killairic returns with you.”

  “Hamish did very well in defending himself.”

  “While Kerr did not?” Stewart scoffed. “I suspect there is more to this tale than you are sharing, but Kerr is dead either way.”