The Crusader’s Vow: A Medieval Romance

by Claire Delacroix

  A storm was brewing, to be sure, and she could only hope that she could outwit the maid.

  * * *

  Hamish had used the days since Laird Fergus’ assignment to make preparations to hide the reliquary again once it was found. His scheme gave him great pride. Recalling how Lady Ysmaine had made a substitution for the prize on their journey, he had devised a means of doing much the same. He had found a block of wood at the carpenter’s shop of suitable size and shape, then purchased a half sack of barley from the miller. This last he left hidden beneath his own bed at his aunt and uncle’s home.

  It was vexing that he had not been able to find the reliquary, though. He had learned that Agnes spent many an evening with the ostler in the stables when Stephen’s wife awaited him at home. He had learned that Agnes was inclined to chat instead of do her labor. If naught else, he had no illusions about her nature and thought her to have more in common with Lady Isobel than might have been expected.

  Indeed, he held the miller’s wife, Inge, in higher esteem than Agnes or Isobel. She reminded him of Lady Ysmaine, of Radegunde, and of Leila. He knew what manner of woman he would take to wife, when the time came.

  When Laird Fergus told him of Leila’s observation, Hamish shared his scheme with his knight.

  “That is clever,” Fergus said with approval. “Now, let us see if we can retrieve the prize.”

  Hamish set off to find for the place where Agnes dumped the slops, carrying a sack with the block of wood. He paused outside the kitchens of the keep and quickly discerned a path that led around the back of the keep. He knew the slops were dumped on this side of the hall, but had never gone to do it himself. Those from his aunt and uncle’s house were dumped downriver of the village, as were those from the stables.

  Hamish was stealthy for he feared to be spied where he did not belong. He found the spot in question—there could be no mistaking the smell—and glanced up. Sure enough, he could see a single window high on the tower of the keep, though the shutters were closed over it. There were stones at reasonable gaps in the water, and he used them to cross the river, needing to make one last leap to the other shore. Fortunately, it was not as muddy as it had been and his boots left no visible impression.

  He broke into a run, counting in a rhythm as Laird Fergus had shared with him, and following what looked to be a path. He halted at thirty-five, pausing to look about himself. There was a footstep in the dirt ahead of him and it looked to be fresh. It also looked to be the right size for Agnes’ foot and was deep as if she had hit the ground hard. The next one was at a long interval, as if she had been running. Hamish walked in the brush to one side of her path, ensuring that his own boots left no mark.

  Agnes’ trail ended at a large old tree. It was split and charred, as if it had been struck by lightning years before. Only a part of it was coming into leaf and there was a hollow within its trunk.

  Hamish considered the situation for a few moments, for he wished to leave no hint of his presence. He found a bough of evergreen, recalling how Duncan had hidden their path at Haynesdale, and laid boughs to the hollow of the tree so they would cushion his steps.

  Once there, he reached within the dark space and smiled when he felt a familiar round shape. The reliquary was wrapped in a chemise. Hamish noted the way it was bundled and its position, then carefully replaced the reliquary with the wooden block.

  He ensured that there was no hint that he had been there, and returned to the village by another route. Once at his aunt’s cottage, he retrieved the sack of barley and pushed the reliquary deep into the grain so it could not be seen.

  He then took it to his aunt’s kitchen.

  “And what have you there, lad?”

  Hamish did not like to tell a fiction to his aunt and uncle, but in this situation, there was no choice. Laird Fergus had insisted upon secrecy. “I had a commission from Laird Fergus that had to fulfilled with all speed.”

  “Is that why he sought you out so early? And what task would he grant you on this day?”

  Hamish put the sack on the table and lowered his voice, aware that both uncle and aunt listened avidly. “The laird has had a dream.”

  “Aye, he was born to the caul,” Mhairi acknowledged. “A dream of what? And how can it involve you?”

  “He dreamed of famine coming to Killairic, because the crops failed in the rain.”

  “It has been a wet spring, to be sure.”

  Hamish patted the sack. “So, he asked me to hide a sack of barley somewhere safe, and tell no one of it. I had to go to the mill to fetch it, for he was most insistent it be done this day.”

  “In secret?” Mhairi echoed.

  “When there is famine, there is theft of seed, Mhairi, and you know it was well as I do,” Rodney contributed. “Lock it into your stores. No one will know it is there but we three, and no one can steal it when you hold the only key.”

  “That is a fine idea, Uncle.” Hamish was relieved that it would be locked away.

  “I trust it is good barley and not wet from the rain,” Mhairi said then and he feared she would dump the sack. “It achieves little to save grain that is going to rot.”

  “The boy has learned a thing or two, Mhairi.”

  His aunt was not reassured by this. She propped her hands on her hips and Hamish untied the top of the sack, glad he had pushed the reliquary down so far. His heart nearly stopped when Mhairi pushed her hand into the grain.

  She lifted out a handful of barley and let it slide through her fingers with satisfaction. Hamish thought his knees might give out.

  “It is good and dry,” she announced with a nod, then lifted the key from her belt. “Come along then and lock it away. We will not question the laird’s whimsy, not when he seeks to ensure the welfare of all.”

  “It will not go to waste, even if he is wrong,” Rodney said.

  “Indeed,” his wife agreed. “Though you may have stewed barley thrice a day after the harvest, given the size of that sack.” They laughed together as the sack was locked away and Hamish was relieved when it was done.

  “I must tell him that the task is fulfilled,” he said.

  “Indeed, you must,” Rodney agreed. “A laird must know who he can rely upon.”

  “Of course, he can rely upon our Hamish,” Mhairi said, smiling he departed. “What a good boy he is,” Hamish heard her say. “Do you think Laird Fergus truly will see him trained for knighthood?”

  “If the laird sees sufficient promise in our Hamish, he will do as much,” Rodney said, winking at Hamish. “I have no doubt he will ensure the boy’s future in one way or another. He is a man of merit in that way.” He gestured to Hamish. “Now, go, and prove to him that you can be relied upon.”

  Hamish needed no further encouragement to do just that.

  * * *

  The theft had not been discovered, and Agnes grew impatient. What manner of person did not verify the safety of his prize? Especially such a treasure of such value as this one? She had been twice to her hiding place to confirm that it had not been removed.

  It showed a trust in the world that Agnes did not share.

  She was skeptical of all who surrounded her. She had even thought that Hamish might have been following her until mass on Sunday, but his interest had proven to be more personal. Once she had commented on his apparent infatuation and teased him about his youth, he had abandoned his pursuit.

  Agnes could not understand why the Templars did not wish to see the treasure she assumed they defended, but they played chess as if there was naught else to be done.

  It was time she provoked someone’s curiosity and prompted a search.

  The Templars were playing chess in the hall again that afternoon, while the laird and his whore had gone to the garden with Iain and the man from Dumfries who would build the dovecote. Agnes was left to sweep the hall, which she did without enthusiasm. The old laird was watching the chess game and dozing a little by the fire. Murdoch had joined the party in the gardens.
r />   This was her chance.

  Agnes swept toward the table where the knights bent over their game. They spoke seldom and usually in French, but she knew the taller one understood Gaelic. Enguerrand was his name and he had a great hooked nose as well as a piercing stare.

  He glared at her when she swept beside him. “Must you do that now?” he demanded. “We are at our leisure.”

  “I have been told to do it, sir, and I must follow my lady’s commands.”

  Enguerrand made a comment to his fellow, who smiled, then returned to his game. The old laird stirred himself and spoke to her. “I hope there will soon be matters of greater interest to attend than a dirty floor, Agnes.”

  “Indeed, my lord?”

  His smile broadened. “Perhaps Fergus will share tidings of a babe soon.”

  Agnes bit her lip, thinking of the abomination of a brown son standing heir to Killairic. She also thought it best to keep from commenting upon Laird Fergus’ enthusiasm for his wife each night. “I hope the tidings are as you hope, my lord, and delivered as soon as you desire.”

  His gaze landed upon her, his expression knowing. “It is not evil to be different, Agnes,” he said gently and she was startled that he had any inclination of her thoughts. “You will learn that there is good in every kind. Lady Leila has a good heart, and that is of the greatest import of all.”

  “Of course, my lord.” Agnes took a breath and dared to say more. “I only hope your trust and generosity is returned in kind, sir.” She was proud that she let a little doubt color her tone. It had been perfectly uttered, to her thinking, and she knew she was right when Enguerrand turned his head slightly to listen to her.

  The old laird’s gaze brightened. “What do you imply, Agnes?” he asked.

  “Naught, my lord. I simply found it curious that the lady had the key to the treasury upon their arrival and not my lord Fergus.”

  The old laird fingered the keys on the cord about his neck. “Indeed?”

  “Indeed, my lord. Laird Fergus is your son and heir, as well, while Lady Leila is newly arrived.” She was aware that Enguerrand watched her closely, and shrugged. “I wish I had your capacity for trust, my lord. But then, it is not for me to know what is sheltered in your treasury. Perhaps there is little of value there.” She smiled and bobbed her head, turning back to her sweeping. Her heart was thundering and she hoped that her hint would be acted upon.

  Agnes was not to be disappointed.

  Enguerrand made a sharp demand in French, but the old laird shook his head. He closed his hand over the keys upon the cord and resolve lit his eyes.

  Of course, he would defend the infidel.

  But the Templars were not so inclined to trust as their host.

  The second muttered something but Enguerrand snapped at him, saying something fast in French. Agnes guessed that one of them would pay if the treasure was gone, probably Enguerrand.

  “What have you seen?” he demanded of Agnes, his manner so fierce that she did not have to pretend to be afraid of him.

  She retreated hastily. “Naught, sir. I only wonder, though it is not my place to do so.”

  Both Templars got to their feet in unison, moving so abruptly that the chess pieces were toppled. Enguerrand’s fists were clenched. “What have you seen, girl?” he repeated.

  “I dare not make a false accusation,” Agnes said, dropping her gaze as if she were demure. “Although it seemed most odd to me that my lady left her chamber in such haste that morning, with a burden I could not see. It was only natural to wonder what it might be.”

  The old laird inhaled sharply.

  “A bundle?” echoed Enguerrand.

  Agnes described a shape with her hands, of about the size of the reliquary. “It looked to be dirty linens, but that could not be.” She strove to appear mystified as to what it might be.

  “Why not?”

  “My lady did not have so much garb until Margaret completed her new kirtles. And, if it was but laundry, sir, why be secretive about its removal from the solar?”

  The Templar caught his breath. “What morning?” he demanded.

  “The one after my laird swore his handfast to her. I had completed my labor in the solar and was taking out the slops, sir.” It was remarkable how easy it was to fashion a lie and have it believed. Agnes thrilled at her easy triumph.

  “That was the day Fergus rode to Dunnisbrae,” muttered the Templar.

  “Before he had the second keys made,” Agnes noted and the old laird gave her a hard look.

  The other Templar said something about “Saracen,” which was perfect, in Agnes’ view. The old laird took exception to the comment, which indicated that it had not been kind, and they argued briefly in French. Agnes returned to her sweeping, hoping for the result she desired.

  “Where did she go?” Enguerrand asked Agnes, his eyes flashing.

  “I regret, sir, that I do not know.” Agnes looked Enguerrand right in the eye. “I had duties to attend and was not at liberty to follow my lady.” She bowed her head. “Nor would I show such disrespect as to question her, sir.”

  “You question her now,” the old laird noted.

  “And rightly so,” whispered Enguerrand. He studied Agnes for a long moment, then his lips thinned. He turned to the old laird and made a demand. The old laird appeared to be vexed by whatever Enguerrand asked him and did not relinquish his grip upon his keys. The pair exchanged a few harsh words in French, and it was evident the old laird would defend the infidel to the last.

  Enguerrand barked a command to his comrade, then marched out of the hall. The Templar set a course for the garden, and Agnes resumed her sweeping, well content with the results of a few well-chosen words.

  “Agnes, Agnes,” the old laird murmured, his tone chiding. “What have you done?”

  “I, my lord? Naught at all.” Agnes held his gaze, striving to look as innocent as might be. “Laird Fergus says it is best to always tell the truth, sir.”

  “Indeed,” the old laird said, then his lips tightened. He toyed with the keys, his expression troubled, and Agnes let him fret about the fate of the infidel.

  She would get what she deserved, in Agnes’ view, and soon Laird Fergus would be in need of another wife. Laird Stewart had not arrived at the gates, nor had he sent Nolan to learn what she knew, so evidently he had neither the wits nor the desire to respond to her message. More fool him. Agnes had repaid her debt to Laird Stewart, in her estimation, and was thus released from any obligation.

  At any rate, she liked the look of Laird Fergus much more than that of Laird Stewart. Let Lady Isobel keep her husband. Agnes had chosen another finer one.

  She could scarce hold her pace steady as she swept the floor, for anticipation made her heart pound. But an appearance of innocence and honesty was key to the success of her scheme.

  Agnes even managed to look startled when Laird Fergus and Enguerrand appeared in the hall and hastened past her to the stairs. She stumbled a little and Laird Fergus caught her elbow, ensuring that she had found her balance, before he charged toward the solar with the Templar, the second trailing behind them.

  She smiled, pleased by his attention, and felt the weight of the old laird’s assessing gaze upon her. It mattered little what he thought of her now.

  Indeed, his opinion might not be of import for much longer. Laird Calum was aged and feeble. If he defended the infidel whore too much, Agnes might be compelled to hasten his demise.

  It would be in pursuit of a good cause, after all.

  * * *

  In a way, Leila was glad to have the truth revealed.

  Enguerrand and Yvan appeared suddenly in the garden, and Enguerrand was intent upon interrupting the discussion about the dovecote. Fergus squeezed her hand, then took the Templars aside. Iain meanwhile, escorted the mason to the gates, finalizing the arrangement for the construction of the dovecote.

  “I must see the prize entrusted to us!” Enguerrand declared, making no effort to keep his voice down
. “I must verify its safety.” The Templar’s demand to be given the key to the treasury was clearly heard by all, for both Iain and the mason glanced back from the other end of the garden.

  Murdoch folded his arms across his chest and watched.

  Leila hoped they did not all understand French.

  She feared otherwise.

  The men conferred more quietly for a moment. Then, Enguerrand marched back into the keep with Fergus and she knew they would ascend the stairs, unlock both doors, and find the reliquary missing.

  And she would be blamed.

  Praise be that Hamish had found the reliquary and ensured its safety.

  She sank down to that stone bench, feeling the urge to pray all the same.

  What if Agnes had guessed the location and stolen it again?

  “What is amiss, my lady?” Murdoch asked from her side, but Leila did not reply. In this moment, she was uncertain who to trust fully and chose to trust no one. She intended to be a good wife to Fergus, because she loved him, but as the cries of outrage rose from within the hall, Leila realized that being a good wife might not prove sufficient.

  When she was forbidden to climb to the solar, she feared the worst. She returned to the stone bench and reminded herself to trust Fergus in this matter.

  But there was no disguising the fact that Leila felt very much alone.

  * * *

  Fergus hated that he had to let Leila appear to be guilty in order to keep the reliquary safe. Enguerrand was furious about the apparent loss but probably more concerned with his own status. For that reason, Fergus did not confide in him.

  He had a lingering sense of malaise this morning, as if the dark cloud drew closer. He feared that he had said something in his sleep, for Leila had been less happy this morning than was her inclination.

  Could it be that more than the reliquary was in peril?