The Crusader's Handfast

by Claire Delacroix

  “Aye, she has the last hut on the distant side, the one closest to Lord Amaury’s forests,” Michel supplied readily.

  “That would be of convenience to her,” Duncan said and the younger man cast him a puzzled glance. “Radegunde said her mother was both midwife and wise woman. I assume that there are useful plants to be found in the forest.”

  Relief touched Michel’s features. “You speak aright in that.” The younger man showed Duncan where he might find all he needed, his manner keeping Duncan from asking more.

  He could not help but think that the distant side of the village, near the forest, would leave Radegunde with a long walk upon her return. He doubted she would remain with her mother for the night, for Lady Ysmaine might have need of her service and Radegunde was most loyal.

  By the time he reached the hall, Duncan was resolved. He would find this mother’s abode when darkness fell and ensure that Radegunde was escorted safely back to the hall.

  It would give him the opportunity to pay his debt of a secret to her.

  And if that merry lass felt inclined to surrender a kiss to keep him warm this night in exchange, Duncan would have no argument with that.

  * * *

  It was late when Mathilde put a cup of ale before Radegunde, then sat opposite her daughter with a second cup for herself. A single wax candle burned on the board between them and the boys were already snoring in the loft overhead. Night’s darkness slipped between the shutters and Radegunde could hear the singing of crickets.

  “Winter comes,” she said, as her mother always did when the crickets became louder at the end of each summer.

  “And the harvest,” Mathilde agreed and smiled. “It is a year of bounty and blessing, to be sure.” She sipped of the ale. “And so Lady Ysmaine is wedded to a knight formerly in the service of the Templars.”

  “Aye. Lord Gaston is a fine man,” Radegunde said, then bit back a smile in recollection of Duncan’s reaction to her mischievous comment. Her mother arched a brow. “With fine legs.”

  “And how would you know such a thing?”

  “I saw him nude in Venice. He was cast into the canal and brought back to the house insensible. My lady stripped him to see him warm and to ensure the wound was treated.”

  “And was it?”

  “He had been struck from behind. We washed the wound and she sat vigil with him.”

  “She has a good memory, but then her grandmother could have been a wise woman herself, had she not been a nobleman’s wife.” She lifted her cup of ale, looking over the rim at Radegunde. “And there is one adventure you did not share.”

  “Is there?”

  “You have fallen in love, daughter mine.”

  Radegunde felt herself flush.

  “Is he a good man?”

  “I think so.” Radegunde smiled. “I shocked him when I told him of Lord Gaston’s legs.”

  Her mother laughed at that. “And what of his legs?”

  “Most fine.”

  They laughed together, and Radegunde felt a communion with her mother that was newfound. “Can he fight?”

  “Aye, he is quick with a knife when that is warranted.”

  “And his nature?”

  “Noble indeed.” Radegunde sighed and fell silent.

  Of course, Mathilde saw to the nut of the matter. “Yet you do not bring him to meet me,” she said softly. “Does he not see the merit of my sole daughter?”

  “He vows to not take more than is his right,” she admitted. “And I believe he is yet beholden to his liege lord. He returns to Scotland in his service.”

  “Ah.” Mathilde swirled the ale in her cup, her thoughts disguised from Radegunde. “It says much good of a man, to my thinking, if he is so concerned with honor.”

  Radegunde nodded reluctant agreement.

  Her mother straightened and smiled, changing the subject so they might converse readily again. “And soon you will go with Lady Ysmaine to her new abode, of course. Is it far? You did not tell me the name of her husband’s holding.”

  Radegunde was only too glad to speak of happier matters. “Lord Gaston is to take custody of his inheritance, Châmont-sur-Maine. It is not far at all, Maman. Indeed, I believe Lady Ysmaine would hope for you to assist in the arrival of any child she bears…”

  “Châmont-sur-Maine?” her mother asked, interrupting her. Her tone was unnaturally sharp.

  “Aye.” Radegunde was surprised by her mother’s reaction. “His older brother Bayard died and he is heir. He left the order of the Templars to assume his title.”

  Mathilde rose to her feet and paced the width of the cottage.

  Radegunde was confused. “Are these bad tidings, Maman? Has something gone awry at that holding?”

  Mathilde waved a hand and paced more quickly. Though her mother’s agitation was clear, Radegunde could not explain it. She knew better than to ask further, though, for her mother was evidently deciding upon how much to confide in her.

  It was best to simply wait.

  When her mother sat opposite her again, she drained the cup of ale. She met Radegunde’s gaze steadily. “This is a matter of secrets, and is a confidence that is not mine to share. You must ask Lady Ysmaine for permission to visit Lord Gaston’s mother.”

  Radegunde blinked. “She spoke to me of her intent to do as much herself.”

  “When?”

  “She has said little of it since. Her wrist was broken in Paris and I believe the wound fatigues her, though she does not complain. I suspect we will ride to Châmont-sur-Maine first…”

  “Nay,” her mother interrupted. “Someone must learn what Eudaline knows before you depart Valeroy.” Mathilde leaned across the board. “Lady Eudaline was Fulk’s third wife and bore Gaston to him. When I tended Lady Richildis for the birth of her second child, Jehanne, Fulk had just died.” She leaned back, her eyes darting back and forth as she recalled the past. “It was nigh Easter, an early Easter that year, and the wind was bitterly cold. There was much chatter in Lord Amaury’s hall, for Châmont-sur-Maine is close enough for its lord to be considered a neighbor. I thought little of it, for the aged oft die just before the most foul winter turns to spring.”

  “But it was not so simple as that?”

  “I am not certain. There was much agitation. To be sure, my greater concern was with lady and babe, and I did not trouble myself overmuch with distant matters then.” She looked at Radegunde and smiled. “You had just been born, on the day after Epiphany, and I had brought you with me, the better to nurse you as required.”

  “It sounds most busy.”

  “It was, but it was merely days before Fulk’s widow Eudaline retired to a convent.”

  “Did you know her?”

  “I had heard tell of her. A most forthright woman, by all accounts, certainly not one inclined to quiet reflection.”

  “It seemed unlikely that she would choose the convent, then?”

  “One can never account for the choices of widows and noblewomen, but it did seem odd. Then Lord Bayard assumed the lordship and wed, and all thought well of him, so it seemed any suspicion must be groundless.”

  Suspicion?

  Radegunde leaned forward. “Lord Gaston, I believe, was most astonished that his brother died.”

  Her mother’s gaze was level. “Aye. So were many others.”

  “But how…”

  Radegunde’s mother interrupted her. “Tell Lady Ysmaine and Lady Richildis that I advise you to seek out Lady Eudaline. Since Lady Ysmaine has been injured, it will be better for her to rest and for you to undertake this errand. I do not know the convent Eudaline chose, or I do not remember, but Lady Richildis will know. Whatever Eudaline knows or suspects, it would be best for Lady Ysmaine to learn of it before she and her new husband arrive at his father’s holding.”

  It was cursedly mysterious, but Mathilde would not elaborate. She insisted again that she could not do as much.

  It was only when Radegunde rose from the board to retire that her
mother added one more piece of advice. “Take your man with you,” Mathilde said with quiet urgency. “No matter what skills you have learned, Radegunde, you may have need of a man who is swift with a knife.”

  “What do you know?”

  Mathilde smiled. “There are brigands in these parts. Any soul traveling alone cannot show too much care.”

  That was not the fullness of the truth, and Radegunde knew it, just as she recognized that her mother would not explain further.

  She would have to visit Eudaline to learn more.

  If that woman chose to confide in her.

  But first she had to contrive a way for Duncan to accompany her.

  She might have kissed her mother and retired, but there was a cry from outside the hut. Something heavy fell to the ground. Her gaze flew to that of Mathilde, who picked up a knife and flung open the door to the hut, her posture fearless.

  “Who comes?” she bellowed into the darkness.

  Radegunde stood behind her mother, holding the candle high. The light did not penetrate far into the shadows. She could hear distant music from the keep and lights burned brightly from that structure. There were few lanterns alight in the village, for many had gone to the lord’s hall to celebrate the return of his daughter.

  She narrowed her eyes, thinking she saw a figure duck into the forest but it disappeared so quickly that she was unsure. Then she saw the silhouette of fallen figure on the path, the path that led to her mother’s door.

  Mathilde made to step out of the cottage.

  “It might be a trick, Maman,” Radegunde counseled, halting her mother with a touch.

  She left the candle and took her mother’s knife before creeping out of the hut. Mathilde remained on the threshold. Radegunde strained to hear any sound as she crept toward the still figure, but she heard only the barest crackle of fleeing footsteps and the thunder of her heart. She eased closer, wondering whether the person on the path was truly injured or meant to trick her. She lifted her knife as she drew closer.

  It was a man, lying on his stomach, his face hidden. In the darkness, it was hard to be certain, but Radegunde feared she recognized his boots and tabard.

  “Maman!” she cried, even as she eased him to his back with one hand.

  It was Duncan. He rolled over without resistance and she could see the dark stain on his chemise and jerkin even without a light. Something glimmered on the ground, and she realized that he had drawn his knife, then dropped it.

  Because he had been assaulted. To Radegunde’s dismay, he had abandoned his hauberk this night, undoubtedly believing Valeroy village to be safe.

  “Nay!” she whispered and fell to her knees beside him. Her mother was there in a moment, her expression revealing her concern. She touched the dark stain and lifted her fingers away, and Radegunde saw that they were stained red with blood. Radegunde pressed her fingers to Duncan’s throat, and to her relief his pulse still could be felt.

  “You know him,” Mathilde said, no real question in her voice.

  “It seems he is not as quick with a knife as I had believed,” Radegunde admitted.

  Her mother spared her the barest glance, then unlaced Duncan’s jerkin and opened his chemise in search of the wound. It was in his shoulder and looked deep, but her mother ran her fingers over the wound and the tension in her expression eased.

  “It may not be as bad as it appears,” she murmured and Radegunde hoped it was so. “Let us get him inside.” They hefted him together and carried him into the hut. Once there, Radegunde saw his pallor and feared for him anew. Her mother dispatched her with a gesture and Radegunde returned for his blade.

  She returned to the hut to find her mother unlacing Duncan’s jerkin and pulling him free of it. She tore his chemise to reveal the wound and a small red square fell to the floor. Both women glanced at it, and Radegunde picked it up as her mother examined Duncan’s wound.

  It was not a square, but a small bag, made with careful stitches and closed with a drawstring. It was wrought of fine silk, silk fit for a queen’s kirtle.

  Radegunde’s curiosity knew no bounds, but she set the treasure aside for the moment. She fetched and carried for her mother, bringing water and herbs and cloth.

  When Mathilde finally urged her aside and Duncan appeared to be sleeping, she could not resist. She peeked inside the small red bag and at first thought it was empty. Then she realized there was a long thin thread within it.

  Nay, it was three red-gold hairs braided into a fine plait and coiled with care inside the silken bag.

  Radegunde’s mouth went dry. He carried a lock of hair from a lady.

  The silken bag made her conclude the woman in question was a noblewoman.

  That Duncan carried this prize so close could only mean it was from a lady he loved. Indeed, it looked like a gift, wrought by the lady for the man who held her own heart, a token and a talisman to bring him home safely.

  He said he would not promise what he could not give.

  She felt the weight of her mother’s gaze upon her and saw Mathilde look from her face to the silken bag and its gossamer contents. A shadow touched Mathilde’s expression and she turned her attention back to the wounded man.

  She did not have to say a word. Radegunde understood her mother’s conclusion and shared it. Duncan was a man of honor in truth, and one who surrendered his secrets with care. She found herself wishing that this one might have remained hidden.

  Too late she recalled his promise to confess a secret of his own. Was this the one he had meant to surrender to her? Or was the lock of hair only a part of the tale?

  Radegunde could only hope that Duncan had the opportunity to tell her more.

  Wednesday, September 2, 1187

  Feast Day of Saint Margaret and Saint Antoninus

  Chapter Eight

  Duncan awakened with no clear sense of where he was. He was in a hut, by his best guess, laid by the hearth. The fire had burned down to embers that glowed in the shadows and cast a welcome heat. Darkness gathered in the corners and the shutters were closed, so it was night. He smelled venison stew and his shoulder hurt.

  He raised a hand to check the wound, but someone caught at his wrist.

  “Leave it be,” a woman said, her instruction firm for all the softness of her voice. Her grip was strong, and he realized only then that his jerkin was gone, as was his belt and knife. He made to sit up at this but she planted the weight of her hand in the middle of his chest. “You are safe here. Do not make the injury worse.”

  He settled back with reluctance and surveyed her. The woman’s hair had been dark and now was heavily threaded with silver. It was plaited back from her face, which showed the mark of experience. Her gaze was steady, her confidence as familiar as their shape and hue. Given his destination earlier, he guessed her to be Radegunde’s mother.

  The healer and midwife.

  Duncan exhaled, relieved at this. He must be within her hut. Where was Radegunde? A quick glance revealed that she sat behind her mother, more deeply cloaked in shadows, and watched him avidly. She was uncharacteristically silent and he wondered at that.

  Duncan was relieved that she had not attempted to return to the hall. The women must have discovered him and brought him inside. He compelled himself to relax, for he was amongst allies.

  “Better,” Radegunde’s mother acknowledged beneath her breath.

  Duncan guessed that she was of an age with him. It was an unwelcome reminder of his own folly in encouraging Radegunde’s attentions at all. He had been irresponsible to even come in pursuit of that kiss, much less to plan to share a secret. Secrets bound people together and he had no right to forge such a link with Radegunde. To do as much, when she was destined to wed another, could interfere with her happiness.

  There was naught like a taste of death to clarify a man’s thinking, to be sure. Duncan had been unscathed, by and large, in Outremer. It had been long since he had been assaulted like this, and longer yet since he had feared for his own su
rvival.

  But his days were not endless, and his means of earning his way was not without its peril. He should not be tempted to take any more from Radegunde. Another kiss would not mitigate his own desire—it would only tempt him further. He frowned in impatience that he wanted all and despised his own selfishness in this moment.

  He must think of Radegunde’s future, not his own! That was the course of an honorable man. What if he despoiled her, then was killed, and she was left alone with a bastard child to raise? He would not so sully her future to sate his own desire. It would be reprehensible.

  Duncan made to sit up again, despite the warning of the healer. She let him do as he willed, sitting back on her heels to watch him as he leaned against the wall beside the hearth. “You do not stop me this time,” he noted and she smiled.

  “A man can only be given good counsel. He cannot be compelled to take it. I am of an age that I no longer cast my words to the wind.” She rose to her feet then, and he saw Radegunde more clearly as her mother stepped aside.

  His heart sank that his most precious treasure, the red silken bag, was in her hand. There was the reason for her silence.

  She desired an answer, to be sure, and he would not be able to deny her request.

  Indeed, should he not seize this opportunity to destroy her interest in him, for the greater good?

  Duncan scowled anew and tentatively touched the injury on his shoulder. The bleeding had stopped and there was a newly formed scab on the wound. Though he could not see it, he could feel that the skin was not enflamed, at least not as yet. He also felt that his movement had resulted in a new trickle of blood from the corner of the wound.

  Radegunde’s mother halted before him, offering a wet cloth. He could smell the pungency of herbs and gave her a questioning glance. “I am a healer, Duncan MacDonald,” she said with some asperity. “This compress will speed the healing of your injury, as will following my counsel.”

  He accepted the cloth and pressed it to the wound, wincing at the stab of pain from the pressure. “And I thank you for both. Is the wound clean? How deep?”