The Crusader’s Vow: A Medieval Romance

by Claire Delacroix

  Bartholomew had sent word that he had a missive from Duncan, and that Gaston and Ysmaine would escort Radegunde the north to rejoin Duncan. They intended to halt at Killairic, and Leila could not wait to see her friend again.

  Given the flurry of messages that had been exchanged over the summer, she anticipated that her plan with the pigeons would be well received. She was excited by the prospect of sharing that, as well.

  The Templar knights, Enguerrand and Yvan, had returned to Paris, after escorting Karayan back to Châmont-sur-Maine. It was only under protest that Enguerrand agreed to pretend the relic in his custody had been lost, and Leila hoped that Lord Gaston, with his experience of diplomacy, had been more persuasive. Fergus thought that knight would write to the Master of the Temple in Paris to ensure that the two knights did not believe they had failed in their duty. She hoped the party brought tidings of the Grand Master’s plan for the reliquary.

  Bartholomew and Anna had arrived at Killairic the day before and they were already in the bailey by the time Leila and Fergus reached it. Lord Gaston shouted from the gates, waving from the back of his destrier, and Fergus cried a welcome in return. Leila wished she were taller and could see better over the crowd of villagers come to greet the arrivals.

  Lady Ysmaine followed her husband through the gates on a mount of her own. Radegunde’s brother, Michel, was in the small party, which surprised Leila, then she saw Radegunde and shouted a welcome of her own. She ran and the two met in the middle of the village, each embracing the other with force.

  Then Radegunde pulled back, her eyes wide. “You are with child!” she declared then hugged Leila again, but more gently. “Since when? You must tell me all.”

  Leila smiled, anticipating the kind of discussion she had missed so much. “Since the end of April, I think. Fergus and I swore a handfast as soon as we arrived.”

  “And when does your year and a day conclude?”

  Leila smiled. “It matters little, for we were wed in June.”

  Radegunde congratulated her, then kissed her cheeks in succession. Leila looked up to find Gaston smiling at the pair of them.

  “I did not tell her,” he whispered with a wink. “Though Karayan told me.”

  Radegunde gasped in outrage and Lady Ysmaine chuckled. “Gaston! How cruel!”

  “How is a welcome surprise unkind?” that man protested. “It is Leila’s news and should be hers to share.” He shook a finger. “If she had sent a missive to Radegunde, that would be another matter.”

  “I apologize that I did not,” Leila said, but Radegunde was not distressed. “And how can you speak of surprises, when you have planned one for Duncan?”

  Radegunde smiled and blushed, her anticipation of their reunion clear. “How was he when last you saw him?”

  “Missing you.” Leila seized her friend’s hand. “Come to the garden with me. I have a surprise for you all.”

  “Before they even have a cup of ale?” Bartholomew said.

  “It is not that far from Dumfries, which is undoubtedly where they halted for the night,” Fergus noted, his eyes twinkling at Leila. He knew her scheme, of course, for he had helped her in ensuring all was ready.

  “Fergus is right in that,” Gaston acknowledged. “And I confess to be curious.”

  Once in the garden, they all turned naturally to the dovecote. It was as if they guessed its import, though they still did not know why they were there. “I saw yesterday that you raised birds,” Bartholomew said. “Doves?”

  “Pigeons,” Leila corrected, taking one of the adults from the dovecote into her hands.

  “Ah!” said Lord Gaston and smiled, evidence that he had guessed.

  Lady Ysmaine looked from her husband to Leila, clearly mystified. “Is there a reason why?”

  “I will wager that they are homing pigeons,” Lord Gaston said.

  Leila nodded. “They are. And I intend to give each of you a mating pair.”

  “But why?” Anna asked, looking as if the last thing she desired was a pair of birds.

  “Leila intends to share some wisdom from the east with us,” Lord Gaston said.

  The others looked at her in confusion.

  “It took some time for us to discern how the Saracens knew of our military actions, and did so faster than any man could ride to tell them,” Lord Gaston said. He took the bird from Leila’s hands gently, then showed its leg to his wife. Leila had tied a red cord upon it. “Red for Killairic?” he asked and she nodded.

  “I do not understand, Gaston,” Lady Ysmaine said and the others concurred. The former Templar nodded at Leila.

  “The homing pigeon is distinct in that it will always return to the place it was born. The distance does not appear to matter. They do not fail in this marvel, and so, they are used to send messages in Palestine and Syria.”

  “How can that be?” Bartholomew asked. “If you release this bird, will it not return to the dovecote there?”

  “Aye, it will,” Leila agreed. She showed the baskets that Fergus had ordered to be made. “But if I give it to you along with its mate and you take them to Haynesdale with you, when you release it, it will return here.”

  “And you can tie a message to its leg when you do,” Fergus added.

  “And the ones born at Haynesdale will return from here to there,” Leila said. “So, I thought that we could breed homing pigeons at all of our abodes and tie cords to their legs to indicate where they were born. When we visit each other, we can bring the birds.”

  “And in between,” Fergus concluded. “We can send messages to each other as needed.” He smiled at Radegunde. “You can send us word when you rejoin Duncan.”

  “I will help you write the missive,” Lady Ysmaine said gently to her maid, which pleased Radegunde.

  “It is a scheme that is clever beyond compare,” Lord Gaston said with satisfaction, stroking the bird’s breast before returning it to Leila’s care. “Just think of how we could have conferred about Karayan before I revealed your location to him.” He lowered his voice. “I was right in that, was I not?”

  “Aye, and thank you,” Leila said. The others had broken out into chatter, discussing how they could house the birds and how many they would need to breed. “Take two pair each when you depart,” Leila said. “Two for Haynesdale and two for Radegunde to take north. I have more breeding and will send two more pair to Haynesdale that you might take a pair to Châmont-sur-Maine upon your return, as well as a pair for Altesburg.”

  “We will choose a color for each holding,” Fergus said. “And be able to share tidings.”

  “This is a marvel of an idea,” Bartholomew said and all congratulated Leila on the notion.

  Lord Gaston raised a hand. “I must tell you that we just had word from Wulfe. Christina bore twin sons at the end of May. Their names are Bertrand and Konrad. He waited until they were thriving until he sent word of the good news.”

  “Twins,” Radegunde murmured with a shake of her head. “They can be so fragile.”

  Lord Gaston smiled. “I sense that Wulfe is a protective father.”

  “You mean Ulric and Juliana,” Lady Ysmaine corrected and Lord Gaston shook his head.

  “They will always be Wulfe and Christina to me.”

  “To me, as well,” Bartholomew agreed and the others laughed. Neither Bartholomew nor Fergus knew of the births, so they vowed to send congratulations. Leila was pleased to hear the news, as well. She was glad that Wulfe had found both the love and the home he desired—just as she had.

  Fergus winked at her and claimed her hand. “Now, come to the hall and meet my father,” he said, ushering them back inside. “I wish to hear more of this missive you have had from Duncan and your plans for this journey.”

  “Shall we go to the solar?” Radegunde asked Leila in a whisper. “I would put your fears at ease with all haste.”

  “Thank you!” Leila said and embraced her friend once more. She caught Fergus’ gaze and nodded. “Perhaps you should keep your cloa
k tight around yourself,” she counseled Radegunde in an undertone. “As you will appear to be in similar state by the time we join the others in the hall.”

  “I had forgotten,” Radegunde said, then smiled. “Your suggestion was most clever.”

  “It was you and Lady Ysmaine who thought of it first,” Leila replied, as the two friends climbed to the solar together. The others had gone on to the hall, but Fergus lingered at the bottom of the stairs.

  “Not too fast!” he cried and Leila smiled.

  “He fusses so,” she whispered to Radegunde.

  “For he loves you,” that maid replied. “And there is no better fate for any of us than that.”

  Thursday, December 22, 1188

  Feast Day of the martyr Saint Ischyrion

  Epilogue

  Leila was looking forward to her first celebration of the Yule. She liked the celebratory mood that had seized both Killairic’s village and hall. The air was cool but not so very cold during the daylight hours—and she had Fergus to keep her warm each night. Her belly grew rounder and the new midwife from Dumfries declared herself pleased with the progress of Leila’s pregnancy. Radegunde had advised her not to worry and she tried not to do as much. They expected the child in the new year, although all was already prepared.

  Leila walked a little more slowly and tired a little more quickly, but those were small prices to pay when she knew the child—boy or girl—would make her husband and his father so happy. She still feared that Stewart’s savagery might have left a mark, but the midwife assured her that the babe was vigorous and seemingly hale. Would the babe have blue eyes as Fergus had once foretold? She could not imagine how the babe would have red hair, but Leila could not wait to know for certain.

  Ever since Karayan’s departure, Fergus had returned to the solar to sleep each night. They made love or cuddled and she continued to tell him Scheherazade’s tales. Leila could not imagine a greater contentment than living by this man’s side.

  She was leaving the chapel after discussing the arrangements for Christmas Eve and making her way back to the hall when she noticed the visitor enter the village gates. He was older and dressed warmly but simply. Indeed, he looked to have walked, for he had no steed, but only a great heavy walking stick. He glanced up when she passed and Leila smiled at him, assuming he was a friend or relation of someone in the village. No doubt she would be introduced to him over the holidays. At this moment, she was late for the midday meal.

  Instead of smiling in return, his mouth dropped open and he paled. “Saffirah?” he whispered, his tone incredulous.

  Leila halted and looked at the new arrival, puzzled by his address. How could he know her mother’s name?

  “I beg your pardon?” she said, thinking she must have heard him incorrectly.

  He apologized as he approached, his gaze roving over her face as if he could not believe his eyes. “I am sorry, my lady, for my eyes must deceive me. You remind me greatly of a lady I once knew, but she would be many years your senior by now.” His smile was sad. “It has been a long time.”

  “A woman named Saffirah?” Leila said with care. “I did not know there were any so named here.”

  “It was not here.” The man ran a hand over his brow and looked suddenly fatigued. “So many years,” he whispered, then seemed to recover himself. He inclined his head. “I am Alasdair Campbell, the comrade of Laird Calum. I hope he is yet sufficiently hale to greet an old friend.” His gaze sharpened, and she noticed the vivid blue of his eyes. “Unless I am mistaken, you are far from home.”

  Leila did not return his smile. Could it be? Her heart fluttered. She could not bear to think that the Franj who had broken her mother’s heart stood beside her now, speaking her mother’s name with such ease. “Nay, sir, I am at home. Calum’s son, Fergus, is my husband and now is Laird of Killairic.”

  “Ah!” Alasdair said. “And so the details come together. Fergus was due to return from Outremer, and Calum hoped for his appearance last Yule.”

  “Our party arrived in the spring, sir.”

  Alasdair nodded approval. “He is wed, then, and wed well, I would wager.” He indicated her belly. “For it cannot be long before your child is born.”

  She had to ask. “You then are the comrade who journeyed to Jerusalem with Calum,” she said, recalling every word of her uncle’s missive. It seemed unlikely that this kindly man would use a woman as Hakim had declared the knight had mistreated her mother.

  Perhaps he had repented of his former ways.

  “I am, though I lingered there longer than he did.”

  “Why?” Her question was too sharp and Leila knew it.

  “I was in love,” Alasdair said. “I suppose there is no cause to hide it. I was assigned to a post in one of the villages granted by King Godfroi to the care of the Holy Sepulchre...”

  “Al-Ramm,” Leila said, her heart in her throat.

  Alasdair stared at her. “How could you guess that?”

  “I would ask you to continue your tale first, sir.”

  His features softened. “Al-Ramm. That is where I met my Saffirah. She was the sister of the blacksmith there and talented with the administration of herbs. Both she and her brother admired the work of Ibn Sīnā, she for the pursuit of healing in people and he for the healing of horses.”

  “You were in their home?”

  “Nay, never. I was struck with affection for Saffirah when first we met and was astonished to find my admiration returned. We met secretly, only to talk, though I would have wed her in a heartbeat. She insisted that such a match could not survive, and truly, we saw the hatred between our kinds each and every day. She told me of her family, as I told her of mine, so I knew much of Hakim though I only met him briefly.” He swallowed and shook his head. “The day came that I was released from my post and another man sent to take my place. I would have stayed. She told me to go.” His voice turned husky. “I might have defied her command if I had not loved her so.”

  This was a vastly different version of the tale than her uncle had shared with Leila and she hoped it was true. She could find no hint in Alasdair’s manner that he deceived her and wondered if it had been another Franj who had violated her mother.

  “And you were never intimate, despite this love?” she dared to ask.

  He smiled, taking her elbow for the steps to the keep. “So, you might well ask, for passion is so often taken as the full expression of love. I was concerned for her future, should we be intimate, for if we were not to wed, I would not have wished for her to be shamed. Much less to be left with a child. I was stalwart, until our last night together. We were more amorous than we had been yet, for we knew we should never see each other again.” He frowned. “I was weak, though she insisted that we enchanted each other. It was marvelous. As perfect as she was.”

  He seemed to be overcome for a long moment, but then finally cleared his throat. “I hated to leave. She practically cast me out. I begged her to send me word if she had need of me, but she wept and kissed my cheeks, telling me that her heart was mine forever but that we should not see each other again. I have prayed for many years that she found good fortune, that she wed a good man, that she had many children and a long life.” He sighed and Leila saw how it grieved him. “I will never know.”

  Alasdair would have continued to the hall, but Leila laid a hand upon his arm to halt him. “There is a reason I resemble the Saffirah you loved so well,” she said softly. “And I can tell you that she had one child, a daughter.”

  He stared at her, aghast. “She did wed, then...”

  “Nay, she did not. She told her brother that she had been abandoned by her lover, no doubt to win his mercy. He took her into his home but she died in the bearing of her child.”

  Alasdair crossed himself, obviously struck with grief.

  “Hakim moved us all to Jerusalem. He raised me along with his own daughter and called me his little flower.”

  Alasdair was clearly astonished. “Saffirah,” he
whispered.

  “She never wed,” Leila said with a smile. “She told Hakim that my father would hold her heart forever, but I was never told that man’s name.”

  Their gazes locked and held, so much joy and hope in the eyes of Alasdair that Leila could scarce take a breath. “You did not tell me your name, little flower.”

  “Leila. Leila binte Qadir lufti al-Ramm.”

  “Leila. Lady Leila.” Alasdair wiped a tear, then bowed low over her hand. He kissed her knuckles and she felt him tremble. “And so God’s mercy is shown to an old man in his winter years. I wish you every joy, my daughter.”

  “And I am slow in offering you hospitality, my father,” she said with a smile. “Come, come into the hall, for Calum will be glad of these tidings.”

  “Perhaps not,” Alasdair acknowledged with a laugh. “For he will see far more of me now, and have competition to dote upon that child you carry.”

  They laughed together and entered the hall arm in arm, Leila’s heart full with the unexpected joy the older man’s arrival had brought. Fergus glanced up from a discussion with his father and smiled at her, the sight of her beloved making Leila feel that she was fortunate indeed.

  Then she felt a contraction, a hard wrench of her womb, and caught her breath. Alasdair seized her arm to steady her and Fergus hastened to her side. It was only a few moments before she felt the pain again, and she gripped Fergus’ sleeve. “I believe, sir, that there may be a babe in hall for the Yule,” she said, trying to make a jest.

  Fergus’ eyes lit and he swept her into his arms, carrying her to the solar even as he shouted for the midwife.

  “It will not come so quickly as that,” Leila chided, but Fergus would not heed her.

  “The babe will come when it chooses, but we shall be prepared,” he said with resolve. “And if there is so much time, you can tell me how you made old Alasdair smile.”