The Crusader’s Vow: A Medieval Romance

by Claire Delacroix

  He roared in his fury and tried again to reach the portal to the keep. The dark cold waters rolled over him and drove him beneath the surface. When he rose sputtering, he had been swept downstream and the water was carrying him onward. He could not even touch the bottom, and he could not swim in the deluge. He was flung against some obstacle with such vigor that the breath was forced from him, then he took a mouthful of river water. Someone hauled him to the shore, someone with a fierce grip. He shook the water out of his eyes to find Isobel bending over him, her eyes shining with triumph.

  “Mine,” she said with force, then opened her mouth. He saw her tongue become an asp and she laughed at his horror. She gestured to the sky and another bolt of lightning struck distant Killairic, setting the protective wall afire before Fergus’ eyes.

  “A man can only love once,” she told him, her eyes shining in a way he did not trust. “And you swore to love me.”

  Then she kissed him, her mouth locking over his as if she would claim his very soul. Fergus fought against her unholy grip and flung her aside, astonished that he could have erred so greatly.

  “Isobel!” he shouted in anguish, wishing he could change the past.

  He awakened, cold sweat on his back and his heart racing, the linens clenched in his fists.

  “Fergus,” Leila whispered, her small hands upon his shoulders. She shook him. “Fergus! You are safe.”

  She was right.

  Fergus exhaled. He was in the solar at Killairic, safe and warm, the candles gutted and the fires in the braziers burning low. The rain pattered lightly on the roof, the fury of the earlier storm passed, and he took a steadying breath.

  And his wife was beside him, concern in her eyes. Fergus took Leila’s hand in his and kissed her knuckles, willing his heart to slow. “It was only a dream,” he said with relief. “I am sorry I awakened you.”

  Leila smiled and said that it was naught. Still shaken, Fergus drew her against his warmth and nestled them both beneath the covers and pelts, savoring the sweet curve of her against him. He remembered his dream with perfect clarity and wondered what it meant. How could Isobel put Killairic at risk? She was no sorceress and he could not dispel the image of the snake.

  His dream—or perhaps his guardian angel—was telling him that Isobel was untrustworthy and Fergus knew better than to ignore a warning such as that.

  * * *

  Leila could not sleep after Fergus’ dream. She lay with him, his arm around her waist, listening as his breathing slowed.

  Isobel.

  He had called out for Isobel.

  Which meant that Leila had hoped for too much too soon. She thought Fergus had changed his thinking about his former betrothed, that his journey to Dunnisbrae had strengthened his resolve to make their handfast a success. She assumed that Isobel was happy in her match, or that she had spurned him, or that something had occurred to dismiss Fergus’ regard for the other woman upon seeing her again.

  But still Isobel claimed his dreams.

  Perhaps his passion this night had been fueled by the sight of his beloved and was not prompted by Leila. The notion was a disturbing one, as was the possibility that she was mistaken in her understanding of her husband. She felt in the darkness of the night that she had wedded a stranger and cast her life down a path fraught with uncertainties.

  Sleep was impossible. Leila recalled every observation, every word, every gesture, seeking a solution to the riddle of winning her husband’s heart. What was the root of Fergus’ terror? That he would lose his beloved forever? Leila could not bear to think about it, and yet she could not cease to think of it. It seemed that her efforts to gain allies at Killairic and make a new home in this place were doomed to failure, if Fergus could not see her merit.

  Would she win the loyalty of his father, of his smith, of those in his village, but not his own regard? It was an unreasonable possibility. What if she was already with child? Leila considered her future and did not care for the view.

  Leila had never been one overly inclined to prayer and certainly she had been remiss in her routine on the journey from Jerusalem. But she had to believe that Calum’s gift had been a timely reminder. She would continue to fight for her desire and to take steps toward its achievement, but she had need of strength for the battle.

  When the sky began to lighten in the east, she slipped from the bed. She washed and dressed, quickly and in silence, then took the small rug Calum had given to her and left the solar. She hesitated a moment, then locked the door behind herself, reasoning that she would be back before Fergus awakened.

  She was glad of her choice, for she saw Agnes sleeping on a pallet in the kitchens. She continued to the garden, where the plants were lush and wet after the rain.

  There was a stone bench there, aligned with the rising sun. Leila spread her small rug over it and kneeled to pray. With all her heart, she hoped that her husband would come to love her, though on this morning, it seemed that a miracle would be required for that to occur.

  * * *

  Fergus awakened to a knocking upon the solar door. Leila was gone and he was alone in the great bed.

  “My lady?” Agnes said from the other side of the door. “Would you like to bathe, my lady?”

  Fergus swung out of bed and dug in his baggage for fresh braies. “Agnes?” he asked as he went to the door.

  “Aye, my lord. I am sorry for I did not mean to disturb you...”

  Fergus tried the latch but the door was locked.

  Of course. He sighed and pushed a hand through his hair. “My lady has taken the key with her, Agnes. Could you find her, please?”

  “Of course, my lord. Right away, my lord.”

  Fergus leaned back against the door as Agnes’ steps sounded on the stairs. He appreciated that Leila was protective of the reliquary, but they were home, not forced to take shelter in an inn where they knew none of the other occupants. Even so, it was locked securely in the treasury, so there was little need for the solar to be locked as well.

  He had seen Leila’s resolve, though, and wanted her to have time to gain confidence in those who lived at Killairic. Doubtless, she was winning hearts already this morn, while he lingered abed. Had he ever met a woman of such determination? Fergus smiled, knowing he had not and feeling blessed that Leila was his wife. He would have the silversmith copy the keys this very day and surrender one to his father’s care.

  Leila should find that acceptable.

  In the meantime, he yawned mightily and returned to bed. It was too early to rise after his ride of the day before, so Fergus burrowed beneath the pelts and covers. He thought fleetingly of his nightmare, but then he smelled the scent of Leila’s pleasure, smiled and fell asleep with contentment.

  Leila.

  * * *

  By the time she finished her prayers, Leila was aware that she was no longer alone.

  She stood and rolled up the small rug, before turning. It was Murdoch who leaned against the wall of the keep, his gaze bright and watchful. He stepped out of the shadows and bowed, clearly not wishing to surprise her.

  But surprise her, he did, for he addressed her in Arabic.

  “Good morning, Lady Leila.”

  Leila was struck by a bout of yearning for her uncle’s home that nearly took her to her knees again. She straightened and returned the warrior’s greeting, reminding herself that Killairic would now be her home.

  She stifled her doubts.

  “At the risk of impertinence, I would suggest you turn a little more to the right. Mecca is further south than you seem to believe.”

  Leila blinked, then remembered Calum’s story. “You journeyed from Palestine with my lord husband’s father.”

  “I did, though I was there many more years than he.” His expression lightened but he did not exactly smile. “Long enough to learn your tongue.”

  “You speak it well.”

  “And yet I fear I have forgotten much. I beg your indulgence.”

  “You have it, sur
ely.” Leila made to return to the keep, but Murdoch stepped forward. Her gaze flew to his face, though she found his expression inscrutable.

  “In truth, I sought the opportunity to speak with you.”

  Leila had a moment to realize that they were alone, that no one knew her location and that she knew little of this man before Murdoch cleared his throat and continued.

  “Calum is a good man and a better laird,” he said quietly. “But his health is not what it was.”

  “I would not think of his demise,” Leila said. “He has been good to me, and I like him well.”

  “As do many, yet his passing will come. I do not wish for it, either, but I would have you know the challenge before you.”

  “Challenge?” Leila did not understand.

  “What do you believe will happen to Killairic when Calum leaves this world?”

  Leila frowned. “Surely it is the legacy of my lord husband...” She fell silent when Murdoch shook his head, his gaze unswerving.

  “Killairic was granted to Calum by the king.”

  “And now it is his, surely?”

  “It is the king’s,” Murdoch said, his expression intent.

  “Then it is not my husband’s legacy?”

  “It might be, or it might not.” The warrior looked over the hills to the firth and England beyond, his eyes narrowed. “Is it true that Jerusalem is fallen?”

  “Saladin reclaimed it, aye.”

  “And the King of England would call for a crusade to retrieve it?”

  “We heard that rumor in France and England as well. The French king means to join him in that effort, by all accounts.”

  Murdoch nodded. “Do you think it likely that a king who called for a crusade to evict the infidels from Jerusalem would entrust a holding upon his borders...”

  “To a man wedded to the enemy,” Leila finished, then sat down upon the bench. She knotted her hands together in her lap, hating that she could be the obstacle to Fergus keeping his home.

  “I do not,” Murdoch said softly.

  “Nor do I,” Leila agreed.

  She watched him look past her to the village, his gaze sharpening on something there. She twisted on the bench and saw the priest outside the chapel, sweeping the steps free of the debris that must have gathered there in the storm. The sunlight seemed to touch the cross on the roof of the building as she watched the priest and Leila made up her mind.

  She turned back to Murdoch, who appeared to be waiting for her decision. “I was born and raised in one of the villages claimed by King Godfroi and surrendered to the command of the Holy Sepulchre after his death. More importantly, I grew up in a household much concerned with tolerance. There were Christians serving in my uncle’s household.”

  “Rūm not Franj,” Murdoch guessed.

  “Aye, their kin were from Constantinople and Antioch. The wife of one told stories that were common to both faiths, like the Seven Sleepers, to my cousin and me. My uncle was much enamored of the works of Abū Alī ibn Sīnā, both in matters of medicine and the nature of the soul.”

  “They call him Avicenna here. His works are known in some circles.”

  “I understand that it would be of aid to Fergus if I changed faith,” Leila said with care. “But I would not imperil my immortal soul without understanding fully what I do.” She gestured to the priest. “It is unlikely that I can speak to this man, or understand him with sufficient accuracy to discuss such matters.”

  Murdoch bowed. “I would be delighted to be your servant in this, my lady. Though I am not a religious man myself, I believe I could translate for you.”

  “This is what you came to propose to me,” Leila guessed, seeing that he was not surprised.

  Murdoch nodded and the barest smile curved his lips. “I would see the succession of Killairic assured, my lady. It is possible that you will soon conceive a child, which would be good, but I would not have such a detail put all at risk.”

  Leila nodded. “I thank you, Murdoch. Yours is good counsel and I appreciate that you dared to offer it, though I cannot say what the result will be. Not yet.”

  He bowed again. “Inshallah,” he said and Leila smiled.

  “Inshallah,” she agreed. She hastened back to the solar then, intent upon leaving her rug there and greeting her husband.

  * * *

  There was no doubt that Fergus had married well.

  Everywhere he went that day in the village, praise of his lady was in the air. The smith, Farquar, was uncharacteristically fulsome in his admiration and showed Fergus how the dapple plow horse, Nellie, already improved her gait. Leila had evidently been there before Fergus to check on her charge, as well, a circumstance that impressed Farquar as much as the lady’s knowledge.

  He had the keys copied by the silversmith, lingering with that man while a mold was made and the metal poured. He chatted with the silversmith, who had always possessed an excellent memory, and caught up on births, deaths, and gossip in the village. The miller had died after the marriage of his son, and the silversmith hinted that the younger man was overwhelmed with his responsibilities. His wife had borne a son and was with child again, and the silversmith noted the demands of infants. Fergus resolved to send Hamish to assist him, under the guise of learning more about the milling of grain.

  He then made a visited to Margaret, only to hear more praise of his wife. Margaret was very happy with the needles and thanked him for his gift. Margaret and her girls were busily sewing and he was pleased to see the cloth he had brought home being so expertly shaped into garments for Leila. They agreed upon the suitability of the colors and how they would flatter his wife, and Margaret reminded him that the old midwife had died in his absence.

  “I would wager, my lord, that you might wish to find another before the winter,” Margaret said, keeping her gaze fixed upon her work. Fergus knew she felt she was speaking out of turn.

  “Because my lady may conceive?” he asked gently.

  Margaret nodded. “She is such a wee thing, my lord, and so kind. I would not see her welfare at risk.”

  “Nor would I.”

  “I beg your pardon, my lord, for speaking so boldly, but men do not always think of these matters.”

  “You are right, Margaret, and your counsel is welcome. Do you have any notion of where a midwife of skill might be found?”

  “There are two in Dumfries, my lord, the younger being the daughter and apprentice of the older. She might welcome the opportunity to leave her mother’s tutelage.”

  “So long as she knows all she must.”

  Margaret scoffed. “At thirty summers, I doubt she will learn much more. She was to wed, my lord, and have a family of her own, but her betrothed died before the nuptials were celebrated.”

  “Tell me her name, Margaret, and where she might be found. I will seek her out when next I am in Dumfries.”

  “I think that would be wise, my lord. Some folk need time to make such a choice as this.”

  From there, Fergus visited the mill and admired the children of the miller’s son. He asked if the younger man might offer some tutelage to Hamish, as a favor, and the offer was gratefully accepted. He collected the finished keys from the silversmith then, feeling that his morning had been well spent. Fergus was returning to the hall for the midday meal, thinking that he should hunt this week to ensure there was sufficient meat, when he saw Leila and Murdoch leaving the chapel together.

  They were unexpected companions, to his thinking, but Leila smiled and hurried to his side. He bent to kiss her, knowing that many eyes watched them. “I begin my lessons with the priest,” she said, her words falling in a rush. “Murdoch aids in the translation of more subtle notions.”

  “I could assist you in the same way.”

  “But you have obligations, Fergus,” Leila said, smiling up at him. “And Murdoch has offered most kindly to do this for me.”

  “Are you sure it is not too much of a burden, Murdoch?” Fergus asked the warrior, who he would have n
amed the most unlikely assistant for any studying matters of faith.

  Murdoch smiled, his gaze flicking to Leila with admiration. “I would aid my lady to find her footing in this land, sir. It is not a simple task she has undertaken, and I would see her succeed.”

  “It is most appreciated,” Fergus said, wondering if he saw too much in this new union. He had no reason to be suspicious of Leila, and little more to doubt Murdoch’s intent. He did not like how openly the warrior admired his wife.

  Still, he felt uneasy but could see no elegant way to change the arrangement. Leila was clearly pleased with it and he did not wish to tamper her enthusiasm. Matters would be much simpler if she changed faith, but he knew it was a delicate matter. He was glad she had embarked on the quest of learning more, and that without his prompting, and reasoned that Murdoch’s assistance was a compromise he would tolerate.

  Just as Leila would tolerate the duplication of the keys. Fergus had learned from his parents that marriage was challenged by differences of opinion and the trick lay in negotiating a balance between both views.

  He would not criticize her scheme.

  They reached the hall to find his father still in his chamber. Enguerrand and Yvan were playing chess in one corner while Iain arranged the midday meal.

  “I will take the duplicated keys to my father,” Fergus said to Leila, showing her that they were already upon a lace. He surrendered the original to her once more, noting how her fingers closed over them protectively. Her lips tightened, but he smiled at her. “There must be a second set,” he whispered. “And I saw the silversmith destroy the mold.”

  She nodded reluctant agreement.

  “My father will not surrender them to any other.”

  Leila nodded again. “If he is tired from our vigil last night, I could take a meal to him.”