The Crusader’s Vow: A Medieval Romance

by Claire Delacroix

  “All the couples in your tales are much in love,” Fergus noted, even as his hand slid from Leila’s breast to her stomach.

  Leila smiled. “Why should stories not mirror the most ideal of marriages?”

  “I will guess that the merchant confided the truth in his wife.” He held her gaze as his fingers slid ever lower and he smiled when she flushed a little. He touched her gently and she gasped, then parted her thighs to welcome his caress.

  “Of course!” she said, her voice a little more husky than was usual. “And she was much distressed, though she could not find a solution either. The merchant then began to arrange his affairs. He made his will and paid his debts. He set his slaves at liberty and divided his property amongst his children. He appointed guardians for those who were young and saw his eligible daughters married well. There was much to do, but to him, the day that he had to depart to keep his appointment with the djinn arrived all too soon. His wife wished to accompany him but he could not bear for her to see him so struck down. He embraced her and took his leave, his heart heavy with the knowledge that he would not return.”

  “Let us consider for a moment as to how they might have spent that last night together,” Fergus said, then bent and kissed Leila.

  She sighed, winding her hands into his hair, and arched against him, her tongue slipping between his teeth to tease him. “Like this, I would think,” she whispered when he gave her a chance, then caught his nape to pull his head down again. “Since they must have believed they would never meet again.”

  Fergus gave her a long and languid kiss. “But did they?” He kissed her ear, her throat, and the hollow of her shoulder.

  Leila sighed. “I cannot tell you the end of the story before the middle.”

  “I come to think this story has no end,” he complained and she laughed. He caressed her slowly and any reply died on her lips. She whispered his name and Fergus liked the breathless sound very well. “Aye, she must have begged him to please her,” he said and Leila did the very same. “She must have tried to convince him to remain.”

  “But no woman of merit would truly want to convince the man she loved to break his word,” Leila protested. She rolled suddenly atop Fergus, and he was content to be her captive. The covers fell away and the light from candles and braziers made her skin look even more golden than it was. “Perhaps she held him down and took her pleasure from him,” she whispered, her eyes sparkling.

  “Perhaps he willingly surrendered to her,” Fergus replied. “For he wanted naught more than to see her delight.”

  “Perhaps you do not truly wish to hear the tale.”

  “Perhaps I would be satisfied first,” Fergus replied. Leila laughed, then knelt above him and he was surprised to realize how prepared she was to welcome him. He had intended to pleasure her first but she sat upon him, the sweet heat of her making him dizzy. She moved slowly, casting a spell of her own, and Fergus knew he never wished to be freed of this enchantment.

  “I would wager they did not sleep at all that night,” he murmured and she smiled. “After all, they believed it to be their last night together.”

  “Is it possible to love more than once or even twice a night?” Leila asked and Fergus grinned.

  “Aye,” he said, pulling her down for a thorough kiss. “Let me show you.”

  * * *

  Thrice Fergus seduced her before they doused the candles to sleep. When the solar was dark, save for the burning coals in the brazier, he gave Leila a squeeze. “Do not go to sleep before you tell me the merchant’s fate,” he growled and she smiled in the darkness.

  “Well, after a sweet farewell from his wife, he left his home to keep his word to the djinn.”

  “Of course, he did, for he was a man of honor.”

  “Of course. That was why his wife loved him so well,” Leila agreed. “The merchant arrived at the designated spot and sat down to await the arrival of the djinn. While he sat there alone, he saw an old man came into view, leading a hind. The old man halted in surprise when he noted the merchant. He warned the merchant immediately to leave the area, for he said it was infested with evil djinn and a dangerous place to rest. The merchant confessed that it was too late and told the old man his tale. The old man lamented with him and admired his honor in keeping his word. He asked if he might remain to witness the merchant’s meeting with the djinn. The merchant thought the old man might be able to take word to his family of his fate, so he agreed.”

  “That seems a sensible arrangement,” Fergus murmured.

  “The pair sat together until they saw a huge cloud of dust rise in the distance. It swirled into a tall column and spun to the spot right before them. The djinn with the white beard appeared in the midst of the dust and made to seize the merchant. ‘Wait!’ cried the old man with the hind. He threw himself at the djinn’s feet and begged for him to show mercy to the merchant. ‘He has kept his oath and shows himself to be of more merit than most.’ The djinn agreed with that, but refused to surrender his right to take the merchant’s life in retaliation for the loss of his own son.”

  Leila lifted a finger. “But the old man indicated the hind and asked the djinn why he thought he kept it with him. The djinn did not know why any man would keep a deer, and the merchant quickly saw that the old man had caught the djinn’s attention. ‘I will tell you the tale,’ offered the old man. ‘If you will consider releasing this merchant if you find my tale to be wonderful.’ The djinn considered this offer, then agreed and seated himself to listen.”

  Fergus chuckled. “Another tale nested with the tale. I tell you this saga knows no end.”

  Leila ignored him. “The old man then began his tale. He confided that the hind was not truly a hind, that it was his wife and she had been enchanted. The djinn was clearly intrigued by this detail and begged the old man to explain. He confessed that he had married his wife when she was very young and that he had fallen deeply in love with her.”

  “More loving couples,” Fergus teased and Leila smiled before she continued.

  “They were married for thirty years without her bearing a child, which gave them both considerable grief. Because he had need of an heir, the old man bought a female slave, and she soon bore to him a son, just as he had hoped. The boy was clever and handsome, and the old man was glad to have an heir. His wife, though, was unhappy in her jealousy and feared that her husband would prefer the slave over herself. She hid her fears well, though, so well that the old man had no awareness of them. When the boy was ten summers of age, the old man had been obliged to undertake a journey and leave his family behind. He knew he would be gone for a year. He left both slave and son in the custody of his wife, entreating her to take care of them both, then he departed.”

  “I will guess that all went awry,” Fergus said. “I think you mean to teach me a lesson about spurned women and their jealousy.”

  Leila did not reply to that. She had not considered how well these tales echoed the truth they were living. “The wife had spent those years studying the arts of magic. Soon after the old man had departed on his journey, she cast a spell upon the son, turning him into a calf. She gave the creature to the steward, as if she had bought it in the market. Her jealousy was not sated by this, though. Next, she turned the slave into a cow, which she also surrendered to the care of the steward. When the old man finally returned home, his wife pretended to be contrite. She told him that his slave had died and that his son had disappeared. The old man was much troubled by this, for not only was he without an heir, but he had loved both slave and son dearly.”

  “A liar, though she was beloved,” Fergus murmured. “How interesting.”

  “He knew his duty, though, and called for a celebration of his return. In this place and time, it was customary to sacrifice a cow for such a feast, and the wife ensured that the enchanted slave was the cow so chosen. The old man himself was to make the sacrifice, but the cow wept at the sight of him and made a mournful sound. He found this so curious that he could no
t strike the killing blow. His wife chastised him for his whimsy and he tried again, but again failed to complete the deed. His wife had much to say about this and the shame that would come upon the house if the guests were given no meat. The old man asked his steward to perform the sacrifice. It was done, but the cow did not have sufficient meat for the feast when she was skinned and prepared. Though she had looked fat, in truth, she had not been.”

  “Not all is as it appears,” Fergus noted.

  “The wife insisted they had need of more meat, and commanded the steward to bring the calf that was the enchanted son. This calf, too, acted most oddly, weeping before the old man and putting its head upon the old man’s feet. He thought it also meant to entreat him to spare it and again found he could not strike the blow. Once more, his wife chastised him, but the old man would not be swayed. He bade the cook add dishes for the guests that were without meat and sent the calf back to the stables. The wife was livid, and finally, he agreed that the steward could kill the calf the next day.”

  Fergus was drawing little circles upon her belly but Leila continued, despite the distraction he offered. “When the steward led the calf back into the stables, his daughter was there. She laughed at the sight of the calf, then burst into tears. He thought this a most curious reaction so asked her to explain. The daughter had some skill with magic herself and told her father that the calf was the enchanted son of the master who had just returned, just as the cow that had been sacrificed had been the enchanted slave who was the son’s mother. She named the wife as the one responsible for the spells, and the steward was so astonished that he immediately told the master about this. The master came to the stable and asked the girl to tell the tale herself. He wept that his faithful slave and mother of his son had been killed.”

  “For he had been deceived,” Fergus said.

  “Then he asked the daughter if she could break the spell upon his son. She said she would, but in exchange, she wished to marry the son and that her sorcery required that the wife be punished for her deed. The master gladly agreed. The daughter then took a bucket of water and murmured some words neither master nor steward could hear, then cast the water over the calf. The son was restored to his usual form and embraced his father with joy. He professed himself pleased to marry the daughter of the steward, and there was much merriment. Before their vows were exchanged, though, the daughter cast a spell upon the wife, turning her into the hind. ‘It has been many years since these events, and my son was widowed,’ the old man concluded. ‘He left our home to travel with his sons and it is long since I have had word of them. I left in my turn to seek him out, and thought it proper to take my wife with me.’ The old man smiled at the djinn and the merchant watched with hope. ‘Do you not think this a most remarkable tale?’ The djinn nodded agreement, thanked the old man for sharing his tale and patted the hind. He forgave the merchant, then disappeared in a swirl of white dust. The merchant was most thankful and embraced the old man, inviting him to journey home with him and enjoy the hospitality of his family, for they would rejoice that he was returned.”

  “One tale ends, at least,” Fergus noted.

  “The king, Shahriar, applauded the conclusion of Scheherazade’s tale, but Dinarzade shook her head. ‘It was a fine tale,’ she told her sister. ‘But not my favorite of the ones you recount so beautifully. Do you not think, my lord king, that the tale of the fisherman and the djinn is a better one?’ Shahriar was compelled to admit that he did not know the tale of the fisherman and the djinn and entreated his new wife to tell it. Scheherazade, though, gestured to the pink in the morning sky, and apologized that there would not be sufficient time to share the tale before she was to be executed. The king fingered his beard, considering the matter, then promised Dinarzade that her sister could live another day, if only to share the tale of the fisherman and the djinn.”

  Fergus laughed. “I will wager that it was not recounted in a single night,” he said.

  “I could not spoil the tale by admitting any such detail,” Leila said, then yawned. “Do you not wish to sleep this night?”

  “How long did Scheherazade beguile the king with her stories?”

  “The story is called the Hazar Afsan, or the thousand stories. Scheherazade entertained the king for a thousand and one nights, until he could not bear to be without her. In some versions, they have a son by then, while in others, they have two.”

  “And what is your design in telling me this story.”

  “To tempt you to return to this bed each night.”

  “I need no further temptation than you, Leila,” Fergus said, kissing her most thoroughly.

  Leila was reassured, even though she wished for even more. She had only three hundred and sixty-three nights to win Fergus’ heart, but his words made her dare to hope that she might succeed.

  Tuesday, May 3, 1188

  Feast Day of Saint James the Less

  11

  It happened again.

  Leila was awakened in the night by Fergus’ agitation. As every night thus far, they had loved sweetly and afterward she had told him more of Scheherazade’s tale. As had happened once before, he had shouted Isobel’s name in the darkness.

  On this occasion, he turned away from her when she would have consoled him. His action left Leila awake and filled with dread. Did his gesture reveal the truth of his heart? She could not say.

  She rose early and said her prayers in the garden, striving to keep from making much of little. Like every other day thus far, she went to her lesson with the priest afterward, Murdoch by her side. When she returned to the hall, Fergus was breaking his fast with his father. His mood was good and she wondered if he even recalled his dream of Isobel.

  Or if it pleased him to so dream of her.

  The notion was like a knife twisted in a wound and added to Leila’s sense of discontent. It irked her that Hamish had not yet found the reliquary and began to fear it would be lost forever. What if Agnes had somehow sent it away?

  Fergus had sent Hamish to the miller’s son after two days of the boy watching Agnes, for it seemed that the girl grew suspicious. She had challenged Hamish about his interest in her after mass on the Sunday, so Fergus had bidden Hamish to be more subtle.

  The lack of resolution troubled Leila beyond all else. She feared the reliquary might be journeying ever farther away from Killairic and worried about the repercussions of its loss. That could be the meaning of Fergus’s sense of doom. She had no doubt that as an infidel, she would be blamed for the reliquary’s loss, no matter what Fergus said in her defense. The Templars had no greater fondness for women than for Muslims. She wanted to solve the riddle, lock the reliquary where it belonged, and be rid of the scheming Agnes—and she wished to do it immediately. Fergus had more patience than she.

  Leila forced a smile as Fergus surrendered the key to the solar to her, then continued up the stairs to put the rug away. Murdoch remained in the hall.

  She opened the shutters on the windows before leaving the solar, for the wind was crisp this morning and the sun was already warming the air in a most pleasant way. She took a deep breath of the scent of growth and greenery, then went to the last window. This one faced away from the village, to the north and west of the keep, and she was not certain she should open it. The wind from this direction was often chilly, though she supposed it might offer some relief in summer.

  Leila could not wait to feel the sun’s heat again. She had just moved the shutter an increment when she spied a movement in the forest below. Some instinct encouraged her to freeze and watch.

  It was Agnes. She carried a bucket of slops, presumably to dump it in the river on the quiet side of the keep. Leila was surprised to find the girl actually performing her labor in a timely manner, but perhaps Iain had chided her. She was about to open the shutter all the way, when Agnes did the most curious thing. She put down the bucket on the bank of the river, then looked up at the keep.

  As if she feared to be observed.

 
Leila could not imagine why the girl would be afraid to be seen dumping slops, which was one of her tasks. She remained motionless and watched.

  Apparently reassured, Agnes abandoned the bucket. She crossed the river on a number of stones, then leaped to the opposite bank. Leila caught only a glimpse of her running through the forest, for the trees were coming into leaf and obscured Agnes from view.

  She waited, watching and counting steadily. She reached eighty-two before the maid reappeared.

  Agnes carried nothing, though again, she spared a glance at the keep.

  Had she been checking on her prize?

  Leila intended to find out. She left the solar in haste, locking it quickly, and fleeing down the stairs so that she could appear to have been there all along when Agnes returned to the hall. She took her place beside Fergus who spared her a questioning glance. She smiled at him and took his half-eaten piece of bread, feigning it was her own just as Agnes appeared in the portal.

  The girl seemed to check that all were present before continuing up the stairs with the empty bucket.

  “I believe she visited her prize,” Leila murmured to Fergus.

  “Indeed.” He took the bread back from her with a smile and gave her another, as well as a comb of honey.

  “I saw her from the window. She went to empty the slops, but left the bucket. She crossed the river and ran into the forest. I counted to eighty-six before she returned.”

  “At what speed?”

  “The speed of my heart.” Leila tapped her rhythm on his thigh, her hand hidden from view, and he nodded.

  “I will speak to Hamish,” he vowed. “Let us put an end to this.” He kissed her brow and left her at the board.

  Leila ate her breakfast with leisure, hoping against hope that Hamish would find the reliquary. She realized that she wished even more for Agnes to be shown for what she was. The girl reappeared at the base of the stairs in search of a broom and Leila ignored her, speaking instead to Calum, as if she were more calm than she felt.