The Crusader's Handfast

by Claire Delacroix

  Duncan’s lips tightened and his gaze locked with hers. She could fairly feel his determination to convince her. “That she would love me forever, and I vowed that I would do the same.”

  Radegunde saw that he wanted her to believe that his heart was surrendered and beyond retrieval, buried with the woman who had first laid claim to it. But what manner of woman would expect the man she loved to live alone in her absence? Not one who loved as Radegunde believed people should love.

  On impulse, she leaned closer to Duncan.

  “And what did Gwyneth say to that?” she asked. “Did she truly wish for you, her beloved, to spend all your days and nights alone?”

  Duncan appeared to be discomfited. His lips set and the back of his neck turned ruddy. Aye, he was a fine man, a man who did not utter falsehoods with ease, and she had caught him. “It does not matter what she said,” he said gruffly, and Radegunde knew she was right.

  “I say it does.”

  “She was dying, lass! She did not know what she said!”

  Radegunde scoffed. “You cannot pick and choose. Either you believe all she said on her deathbed or none of it. You cannot sift through it, and believe the words that suit you best, while discarding the rest.”

  Mathilde smothered a smile and turned away. Radegunde felt her mother’s amusement more than saw it, but she witnessed the sharp glance Duncan cast at her mother.

  “Of course, she would insist that I should wed again and be happy. Gwyneth was generous of nature…”

  “And so you tried to see yourself killed, and then you lived for twenty years as if you had been killed,” Radegunde said, interrupting his protest. “I would wager that your Gwyneth will have words for you when next you meet. Any man of mine who behaved thus would earn a fair scolding from me.”

  “You do not understand!”

  “I do understand, Duncan MacDonald.” Radegunde swept to her feet and shook a finger at him. “You are afraid. You have loved and you have lost and the pain has left you in fear of loving again. I thought you a bold warrior as well as a man of honor, not one afraid to live his life and savor every moment as if it might be his last. I wish to live my life to the fullest and I desire a man to take my hand in his who will be my equal match in that.” She shrugged, goading him a little more, for his eyes were as dark as a stormy sky. “I thought that man was you, but it appears I erred.”

  “Radegunde!” he began furiously, but she strolled to her mother’s door, knowing he was not sufficiently hale to follow her.

  She pivoted on the threshold to face him. “I challenge you, Duncan, to change my view of you, if I have the matter wrong.” Radegunde did not grant him time to reply. She kissed her mother and left the hut, knowing he glared after her, fuming.

  Her step was light for she was certain Duncan would take her dare.

  * * *

  Duncan found himself wanting to take Radegunde’s challenge with a vigor that surprised him.

  Her argument was all too reasonable. He had mourned Gwyneth long enough. He had behaved like a man passing through his life instead of savoring it. It would not be unsuitable for him to take another wife, particularly after he fulfilled his duty to Fergus’ father. Still, he believed it should not be Radegunde, as alluring as she was, because of the difference in age between them.

  The gift Radegunde granted him was an awakening, but it did not change his resolve to deny his desire for her.

  Duncan had been able to convince Mathilde to send the two older boys after their sister, although in daylight, he did not imagine there was much risk. Still he would see her safe, and he knew that Mathilde savored his concern for her daughter. He sat in silence by the fire and considered his course.

  Why had he been assaulted? By Mathilde’s reckoning, some brigand had thought he carried items of value. Telling Radegunde of his past had conjured memories though, and matters left undone, and that made him uneasy.

  Did the past stalk him?

  Perhaps the fiend had wanted his weapons or any coin. Duncan could not account for the fact that his knife had been left beside him on the ground, for it was a fine blade and of an ilk most men would be glad to possess. His purse was yet full, as well, but perhaps Mathilde and Radegunde had disturbed the thief before he could complete his crime.

  Had he simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time? Or had he been targeted? Why? Duncan shook his head, fighting the answer he did not wish to accept, then looked up to realize that Mathilde watched him steadily.

  He was discomfited to realize that her gaze was locked upon his face not his wound. Indeed, her expression was resolute and she did not seem to blink. He was not a man who was readily daunted, but something chilled within him to be the focus of this woman’s attention. It was more than her being a wise woman, more than her being Radegunde’s mother, more even than her having taught Radegunde how to hold secrets close.

  He recalled then Michel’s confession that his mother had the Sight.

  Duncan feared what she might perceive about him.

  Or in Radegunde’s future.

  She poured ale into a pair of cups, pushing one toward him. Duncan had no intention of drinking it. He moved to join her at the board out of courtesy, grimacing a little at the pain when he sat down opposite her. She put the pitcher down between them. “Shall there be honesty between us, Duncan MacDonald?”

  “Why should there not be?”

  “Indeed.” Mathilde seemed to approve of that. “My daughter speaks well of you, of your loyalty to your lord and of your skill with a knife.”

  “She is a fine lass.”

  A glint lit in the depths of her dark eyes. “Lass? If you think to dismiss my daughter as a foolish young woman, then you are less observant than I imagine you to be.”

  “She possesses a welcome merriment.”

  Mathilde cocked her head, inviting more.

  “And is most perceptive.”

  Duncan felt cornered when Mathilde arched a brow.

  “And indeed, is a most fetching maiden.”

  “Maiden?”

  “Maiden.” Their gazes held for a long moment.

  Then Mathilde sat back and sipped her ale, her gaze assessing. “I thought her sting had more reason than pride.” When Duncan shook his head, she set the cup aside. “Perhaps you are not so tempted as I imagined. Perhaps you do not see the fullness of her merit.”

  “What I see is a woman deserving of far more than I can grant to her,” Duncan replied.

  “How so?” Mathilde challenged. “Your wife and son are dead by your own admission. Unless you have another?”

  Duncan shook his head. “Radegunde should be wedded to a man who not only holds her in high regard but surrenders his heart fully to her. She has too joyous a temper to be compelled to satisfy herself with less.”

  Mathilde inhaled and nodded. “I see. Because your wife died in the birthing of your son, you decline to surrender your affection again.”

  “It is not mine to surrender!”

  “Is it not? If desire was all that drove your choices, you would have had Radegunde by now and been sated. She must be right. You must be afraid.”

  Duncan’s temper flared at that. “She deserves better.”

  “She desires you.”

  “She will forget me.”

  “Because she is young, and so her interest must be a passing whim.” Mathilde laughed heartily at the notion, then restored herself with ale, her eyes twinkling. “Let me tell you something of my Radegunde, something you have evidently not learned for yourself. You see her joy and think her simple.”

  “I do not.” Duncan found himself taking a swig of the ale.

  “You think her life has been simple, then. You think she has always been blessed, and like so many we have known and served of such good fortune, you fear that she has no resolve.”

  “I do not understand your point,” Duncan protested, though he believed he did.

  “The nobles we serve, they have come of age with eve
ry advantage. Their lives are comparatively easy, and so, their will is like gossamer. Just as a mere leaf in the wind will shred a fine spider’s web, their will can be broken by a single stroke of ill fortune. You think Radegunde’s cheerfulness is the result of her never having been tested.” Mathilde shook her head. “But nay. Her merry heart was God’s gift to her that she might be better able to overcome adversity.”

  Duncan was intrigued.

  “Not for Radegunde the easy conquest.” Mathilde saluted Duncan with her cup, evidently including him in that company. “She was born on the coldest night of the winter, in the darkest moment of my own life.” She stared into the depths of the cup, lost in memories, and this time, it was Duncan who lifted the pitcher and filled their cups. “She came early, and I was alone. She was small, so small, and she did not cry as babes so often do.” Mathilde bit her lip. “I feared for her life, for the first time but not for the last.”

  Duncan was rapt. He wished to know more of Radegunde.

  If not all there was to know.

  “I should have learned that night all I needed to know of this child.” Mathilde lifted her gaze. “She never cried, not then or any other time. I came to understand that she saw no point to it. To weep was futile. A waste of strength when she had little. She waited with uncommon patience and confidence. She smiled when I lifted her to feed her, smiled with such radiance that the sun itself could not compare. She won with charm what other babes demanded with their cries. In but a month, all in this village would have done any deed for her.”

  Duncan found himself smiling at this tale. He could well understand that impulse.

  Mathilde lifted her brows. “By the time she was a year of age, we were lost in truth.”

  Duncan chuckled.

  Mathilde shook a finger at him. “But here is the meat of the matter, Duncan. Naught was easy for my Radegunde. Not only was she small for her age, not only did she manage to contract every illness ever known, not only did she lie at death’s door time and again, but—”

  “But she always recovered?”

  “Clearly, for she was at this board but moments ago. The key, however, is that she is persistent beyond all. It is her nature to identify what she can change and to set her will upon that quest.”

  “Her will is formidable.”

  “You have not seen the half of it. Her foot was not right, from the first. It was turned, so that the weight landed upon the outside of it. It was formed well enough, but twisted. I feared she would never walk well, but Radegunde came honestly by her determination. Her father constructed a harness for that foot, one that compelled her to walk correctly. I know it gave her pain, but he aided her, every night.”

  Duncan thought of Radegunde limping in Paris and regretted that he had danced so much with her, in his ignorance.

  But then, he wagered that she thought it fair exchange for the night of dancing she desired, even if it caused her pain later. His heart tightened with admiration.

  And something more.

  “What is it?”

  “I took her dancing in Paris, at her request, and now know why she limped. I should not have so indulged her.”

  “I invite you to try to halt her.” Mathilde gestured to the space behind her. “She and her father went back and forth across this very hut, night after night. At first, she could not manage three steps, but neither of them surrendered. Cursed stubborn pair,” she said with affection. “Soon she made one width, then two, then they were counting dozens each night. By the time she was four, she walked without the harness.”

  “And never a tear.”

  “Never a tear.” Mathilde smiled. “What purpose would it serve? We knew the foot gave her pain. She knew we could do naught to eliminate the pain. She chose a course to see her circumstance changed.”

  Duncan lifted his cup to salute the maiden in question, and both he and Mathilde drained their cups. It was only then he realized that something Radegunde had told him did not make sense.

  “What?” Mathilde prompted, noting the change of his expression. He had to remember the perceptiveness of this pair.

  “You said you were alone when Radegunde was born.”

  “Aye, her father had left.” Mathilde appeared to be fascinated by her cup. Duncan sensed that she told him only part of the truth. “After she was born, he returned, I think to look upon her, but she stole his heart and he stayed.”

  “She said he was dead.”

  “Aye?”

  “But you have sons, younger than Radegunde.”

  Mathilde took a breath, her eyes flashing with a familiar fire. “He did leave again, and then he did return at intervals.” She held Duncan’s gaze with defiance. “Do you imagine that my children have different fathers? For they do not.”

  Duncan could believe that, for the resemblance between the siblings was strong, though neither Michel nor Radegunde had Mathilde’s green eyes.

  “I do not understand,” he admitted. “Radegunde spoke as if she scarce knew her father. I understood that he had died without her knowing him at all.”

  “I know.” Mathilde sighed. “And therein lies a tale. By the time I see you next, you will understand much more.”

  “Not all?” He could not help but jest.

  Mathilde smiled. “Only God Himself ever knows all, Duncan.” She drained her cup and set it aside, her manner indicating to Duncan that he should remain seated. “But God in His wisdom granted Radegunde a merry heart that she could better face the challenges before her. Consider the power of that joy before you decide that she has not the fortitude to be with you.”

  “There are too many years between us,” Duncan protested. “She would spend too long alone after my demise.”

  Mathilde scoffed. “And who are you to be so certain that you will die first? Did you not survive your wife?”

  Duncan winced.

  “And what of the babes you would give her? Even if she does survive you, those children will warm her heart and ensure her welfare, for they will be your children.”

  “But…”

  “Make no mistake, Duncan. It shows your merit that this loss has scarred you and that you would hold a vow true. But it should not keep you from opening your heart to another, to welcoming Radegunde, should you desire her as she desires you. My own mother oft said that we were granted life that we might live it well.” She arched a brow. “Would your Gwyneth have wanted you to remain always alone? I suspect that Radegunde speaks the truth and that the notion would sadden her.”

  Duncan could not summon a word, for he knew this was so.

  Mathilde smiled fully. “There are no gossamer webs for your kind, Duncan, just as there are none for Radegunde. She would be a valiant partner, whatever lies ahead for you. You are alive as is she. Make each other happy.”

  He heard a warning in her tone and considered her. “What does your gift show you of the future?” he asked quietly. “Your son Michel told me that you had dreams of what might be, a gift that I would call the Sight.”

  Mathilde’s manner turned coy. Duncan recognized the evasiveness for what it was: he had oft seen Fergus avoid a question in like manner. She turned the cup in the wet mark on the board, avoiding his gaze. “I cannot speak of it.” She swallowed. “It would not be right.”

  “It has been said that abuse of the Sight means its loss,” he said and Mathilde smiled.

  “There is more in common in our beliefs than one might expect, given the distances between our countries.”

  There was that. Duncan recalled Radegunde’s tales of the Breton March and its defiant border lords and knew they shared many convictions.

  “I will tell you this, Duncan MacDonald,” Mathilde said in a voice that made him shiver. “Your past is not so forgotten as you would have it be.” She lifted her gaze to his. “And you are yet your father’s son.”

  Duncan caught his breath at this reminder.

  Could she truly see what he had left behind? He had abandoned it willingly. Was that n
ot sufficient?

  Duncan felt a shadow pass over him. He feared then that the assailant of the previous night had been hunting for him, and was not some brigand in the forest.

  “I thank you for your aid and your counsel,” he said, his words heartfelt. “Can you tell me what I can I do for you in return?” He fully anticipated that she would insist upon him seeing her daughter happy, but Mathilde surprised him.

  “I have told Radegunde that she must seek out Lord Gaston’s mother, Lady Eudaline, on behalf of Lady Ysmaine and her husband, and do so before the party journeys to Châmont-sur-Maine. I have told her to entreat Lady Ysmaine to dispatch her to the abbey where Lady Eudaline lives, and to do so without delay.”

  “Why?”

  “It is a matter of secrets, Duncan, and this one is not mine to share. I have only suspicions. Lady Eudaline knows the truth, but I believe Lord Gaston should know more before his return home.”

  “I see.” It was easy for Duncan to recall Gaston’s doubts about Millard de Saint-Roux and that man’s intentions. Had he come by those doubts from his mother’s counsel?

  “It could be a matter of his survival,” Mathilde added, taking his pause for reluctance.

  “Indeed.” Duncan frowned. “Lady Ysmaine was injured in Paris…”

  “So Radegunde tells me and I will visit her this day to ensure that the bone was set correctly. I will also advise her to rest for several days before riding on.”

  “Regardless of her condition,” Duncan guessed.

  Mathilde’s smile was fleeting. “Her family will not protest, and then she can send Radegunde on this quest.” She sobered. “I would have you accompany Radegunde.”

  “My path is not mine to choose,” Duncan reminded her gently, but Mathilde only smiled.

  “You can influence the choice of the knight you accompany, and you know that as well as I do.” She leaned closer. “Radegunde will need you. I have dreamed of this, and so I ask it of you.”

  Duncan’s heart skipped. “What did you dream?”

  “There was peril, peril you can only conquer together.” Mathilde’s breath caught and Duncan thought her eyes misted with tears, before she blinked rapidly and shook her head. “And more.” She swallowed. “When you meet the wild man of the woods, tell him that I miss him.” The corner of her mouth lifted. “He believes otherwise, but I know his fine legs are not marred, and his heart is as true as ever it was.”