The Crusader's Handfast

by Claire Delacroix

  Lady Ysmaine commented that Lord Gaston had been too generous with the wine the night before, for it seemed all had slept too well. Radegunde’s father had undertaken the quest for justice and ridden in pursuit of the pair. It had been thought that they would seek out the family who had raised Lady Marie and seek refuge there. Lord Gaston had written a missive to Roquelle to advise them of the truth, as well as another to the king. The book and piece of vellum had been secured in the treasury.

  In November, Thierry and Michel had returned with a courier from the king and Millard’s blood on Thierry’s blade. The villain was dead, the king held Marie in captivity awaiting his justice, and Rohese enjoyed the pleasures of the king’s court. Radegunde hoped she found a suitor there. Two of the Templars had escorted the courier to the king’s court, two had returned to the Paris Temple and the final two of the six who had escorted the party from Paris were to journey with Fergus to his home in Scotland.

  Radegunde’s father, Thierry, had indeed been made heir of the holding of his former guardian, and Mathilde had left her hut at Valeroy to become lady of that holding. Michel remained at Valeroy, though now Lord Amaury trained him for his spurs. Her other brothers were with their parents, and she did not doubt they savored the change in their circumstances. Radegunde had been invited, as well, but chose to remain with Lady Ysmaine, who had been most ill with her pregnancy. It was right and good that she would remain in Lady Ysmaine’s service until her child was born.

  Surely Duncan would return to her soon after that. The closer his departure, the more Radegunde worried about his fate.

  Bartholomew had been knighted earlier in December and looked most fine in his new raiment. To the surprise of Radegunde’s lord and lady, he was determined to ride north with Fergus after the Yule. Radegunde did not fully understand his purpose, but Duncan said Bartholomew was intent upon a particular route through England and that Fergus saw no reason to challenge it, though it made the route home longer.

  She wondered what future Fergus saw.

  Radegunde had given Leila a gift this Yule, for they had become friends and she knew that Leila would remain with Fergus. A kirtle of green wool and a simple black belt, both women’s garb, had been offered in secret and welcomed by Leila most heartily. Radegunde wished she could have summoned word from Leila’s cousin in Outremer, but there was no way that might be done. Instead, she listened to Leila’s memories and consoled her when she missed what she had left behind.

  Wulfe and Christina had arrived for Bartholomew’s knighting and brought tidings that Everard had been defeated—but more surprisingly, Wulfe had left the Templars and been named his father’s heir. Christina had been restored to her noble family, then courted by Wulfe. Her name proved to be Juliana in truth, and his to be Sir Ulric von Altesburg, but Radegunde had frequently called both by the names she knew better. Juliana was with child.

  Radegunde, to her disappointment, was not.

  She rose that morning with a heavy heart, knowing that Lord Fergus would ride out soon. There was blood on her thighs, which meant both that she did not bear Duncan’s son and that they would not be intimate when they were so close to parting.

  It seemed most unfair.

  She felt Duncan’s gaze upon her as she dressed, but could not bring herself to look at him. She did not want to weep during their last days together, and knew he faced uncertainty. Despite her hope for the future, it felt like his departure would mark the end of all they had shared.

  Duncan caught her shoulders in his hands and kissed her nape, before he turned her to face him. His gaze was solemn, and Radegunde suspected that he could read her thoughts.

  “It will be a merry meal this day,” he said, as if trying to coax her to smile. “There will be venison aplenty, which should please you.”

  “Aye, it does.” Radegunde tried to smile and failed. “Summer seems so distant!”

  Duncan frowned and his grip tightened on her shoulders. “I am not convinced I will see you even then,” he admitted, and she realized what had been troubling him.

  “Do not insist that I wait here for you, Duncan. Lady Ysmaine and Lord Gaston will ride north for the wedding, to be sure. I will find a nursemaid for the babe and…”

  “I fear that Fergus will not wed his betrothed.”

  Radegunde was astonished. “But he loves her so! He has bought so many gifts for Lady Isobel.”

  Duncan frowned. “Yet I was never certain his regard was returned.” He held her gaze. “I think Fergus dreads his reception as well.”

  “Then what shall we do?”

  “I will return Fergus to Killairic as promised, and request release from his father’s service. I will ride north then and end my father’s quest to have me killed.”

  “I could aid you,” she began but Duncan’s finger fell across her lips to silence her.

  “I will not put you in such peril and you know it well. Trust me, Radegunde. I will return to you by the last day of our handfast if I am alive to do so.”

  She sighed, knowing his decision was made. “You know his plans, do you not?” He nodded. “When do you depart?”

  “At first light on the morrow.”

  Radegunde caught her breath.

  “I wanted us to have this Yuletide together, without fears for the future.”

  “How can there be no fears for the future?” she demanded and once she began, Radegunde could not halt. “You will leave and I may never see you again! I may never even know your fate, if it is dire!” She caught her breath, then gestured to her own thighs. “And I will not even have your child to comfort me.” Her voice faltered. “Oh, Duncan.”

  He caught her close and kissed her temple. “It might be better thus,” he reminded her gently.

  Radegunde tears rose and she did not try to stop them. “I love you, Duncan. I wish that I would bear your child.”

  “And I love you, sweet Radegunde.”

  She caught her breath and met his gaze. “You have never made that confession.”

  “Did my deeds not tell you the truth?”

  That his words echoed the assurances of her mother made Radegunde feel that she had been blind. “I feared you loved only Gwyneth.”

  “Nay!” He gripped her shoulders more tightly and held her gaze, his resolve bearing down on her. “I did love Gwyneth and still I honor her memory. She died in the bearing of my son, and I can never forget that.” The corner of his mouth lifted and he surveyed her with wonder. “But you, my Radegunde, are a joy beyond all expectation. It is you who have taught me to hope again, you who have claimed my heart for your own.”

  “Oh, Duncan.” She was going to cry after all. Radegunde sniffled.

  He caught her chin in his hand then and tipped her face upward, surveying her with such love in his eyes that her heart raced. “It will test me truly to leave you behind, though I know ’tis my duty,” he whispered, his gaze intent. “I loved Gwyneth but that love was a faint shadow of what I feel for you. You are the blood of my heart, Radegunde. Never doubt otherwise.”

  Before she could reply, he kissed her with a sweet fervor that reassured her completely. She wrapped her arms around his neck and surrendered to his touch, welcoming him with all she had to give. Duncan broke their kiss with such obvious reluctance that she prayed anew that he would return quickly.

  “And now your gift this Yule,” he said, his tone teasing.

  “I have no gift for you!”

  “Do not be so certain of that. I have a gift for you and would request one from you in return.”

  Radegunde eyed him, uncertain what he schemed. There was a glint in his eyes that she liked well, though.

  Duncan turned away then, to his saddlebag, which she saw he had packed while she slept. He pulled a familiar red silk bag from its depths and her heart clenched. He no longer carried the token within his chemise or even his purse, but he yet had the braided plait of Gwyneth’s hair.

  Radegunde said naught but trusted and waited.

&nb
sp; Duncan rekindled the fire in the brazier and when the flames were leaping, he removed the braid of red-gold hair. “The past is as ash, my Radegunde, and I will prove it to you,” he said softly. “I would leave you in no doubt of your claim upon me.” He dropped the hair into the fire and let it burn, the last token of his dead wife.

  He straightened and watched it burn to naught, his manner solemn. “There are those who say the Yule is the darkest night of the year, and thus the beginning of our journey toward light again. It can be a time for rebirth and for renewal.” He cast the bag into the flames after it, and the silk smoked as it was devoured. When he turned, her heart thundered. “And so I would begin anew, Radegunde, with my heart securely in your possession.”

  “Just as mine is securely in yours,” she said, blinking rapidly to dismiss her tears.

  “Will you give me a braid of your hair, blood of my heart?” he asked, his gaze filled with love and his voice husky.

  “But the bag is gone.”

  Duncan smiled and offered his hand. “I would wear it around my wrist, if you will bind it there.”

  Radegunde did weep then, happy tears that did not obstruct her ability to surrender the gift he requested. She pulled three of her own hairs and braided them as Duncan held the end. It took a few moments, for her hair was long, but she felt cherished as he watched her. When she had wrapped it around his wrist and bound the ends, he kissed her once more.

  She felt the tension in him when he lifted his head and drew back to survey him. “What is it? Is there something you have not told me?”

  Duncan winced. His fingers tangled in the hair at her nape, his touch making her tingle.

  “Do not protect me from the truth, Duncan!”

  “The man I killed all those years ago,” he admitted. “The man who had spoken first for Gwyneth, was both my friend and my father’s most loyal warrior. My father, as chieftain, pardoned me, but there were those who said he showed favor to his son, that had I been the son of another, I would have been condemned. My younger brother Guthred was of that company.”

  “So you can not rely upon Guthred for mercy, even if your father was inclined to grant it.”

  “I cannot.”

  “How can it be that your father pardoned you then but hunts you now?”

  Duncan grimaced. “Perhaps he thought to gain my loyalty to his cause by showing me mercy.” His gaze locked with hers. “Perhaps he is not truly the one who hunts me.”

  Radegunde caught her breath.

  He frowned. “I must claim the amethyst pin to see this matter put to rest, Radegunde. I may be compelled to kill my brother to see that end achieved.” He held her gaze. “I may not succeed.”

  “You will,” she said with vigor. “Justice will prevail, as it did with my father and Millard.”

  Duncan smiled then, his fingertips slipping over her cheek and his eyes glowing. “Then we shall triumph, as well, and build the future we desire above all else.”

  “Aye, we shall,” she vowed and believed it with all her heart.

  Even before Duncan kissed her once again.

  Saturday, May 1, 1188

  Feast Day of the apostles Saint Philip and Saint James the Less

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Something was amiss.

  Radegunde saw it in Lord Gaston’s thoughtful manner. He had a new habit of standing on the ramparts of Châmont-sur-Maine and watching the land in all directions. It would have taken a less observant person than Radegunde to fail to note that correspondence between Lord Amaury and Lord Gaston was exchanged more frequently, often daily. Once or twice there had been smoke on the horizon, and Lord Gaston had been pensive when he came to the solar. Just the day before, a missive had been delivered from Paris by a Templar, though Lord Gaston had not spoken of it.

  Radegunde did not think he had confided in Lady Ysmaine, for she struggled more with her pregnancy as she neared her time. Indeed, Lady Ysmaine had been not been blessed with an easy pregnancy, but she was resolute and strong. The babe kicked with increasing frequency and though her lady was tired, Radegunde hoped all would end well.

  Lord Gaston was considerate of his wife and constantly tried to ensure her comfort. For this reason as much as any words she had overheard, Radegunde suspected that he hid his concerns about other matters from his lady wife.

  Radegunde was lonely without Duncan’s presence, although she savored the tidings that Bartholomew had brought on his return the previous month to be invested with his holding in England. Even he had a wife, which made Radegunde feel even more alone. She asked him repeatedly for every detail about Duncan but he had been indulgent.

  Perhaps Bartholomew had learned the yearning of love.

  She counted the days until the anniversary of her handfast with Duncan. It seemed an eternity away. There was, as yet, no invitation to nuptials in Scotland, which made her believe Duncan had been right about Lady Isobel.

  Radegunde was both relieved and filled with trepidation when Lady Ysmaine faltered on the stairs that night. She was retiring early, at Lord Gaston’s insistence, for she had been uncomfortable all the day long and had slept poorly the night before. Radegunde accompanied her, and Lady Ysmaine clutched at her hand. Radegunde felt her shaking and saw the ripple of the first convulsion.

  “Radegunde! It is time!”

  “Aye, my lady,” Radegunde said with brisk confidence. “Time ’tis and soon all will be done. I doubt it will be as quickly done as you might prefer, for this is merely the beginning.” She smiled and took her lady’s elbow, urging her to the solar. Lady Ysmaine visibly took reassurance from her maid’s confident mood, and Radegunde shouted that Lord Gaston be summoned.

  In a trice, Lady Ysmaine was sitting on the side of the great bed, wearing only her shift, her hair unpinned. The shutters had been drawn, the candles and brazier lit, and the drapes on the great bed drawn on the other sides that she might be warmer. Radegunde meant to comb her hair and braid it into a plait, for the attention might calm her. The lady bared her teeth as another contraction rolled through her body, and was breathing quickly when Lord Gaston crossed the threshold.

  Two contractions so quickly in succession and so early. Radegunde was surprised and a little fearful at the import of that.

  Lord Gaston claimed his wife’s hand and she clutched at him until the contraction passed. Radegunde wiped Lady Ysmaine’s brow as she smiled for her concerned spouse.

  “So, will you take this moment to tell me what troubles you?” Lady Ysmaine asked lightly and Radegunde saw that Lord Gaston was startled by the request. “Oh, Gaston, I know you ponder some course of action, and while I appreciate that you do not wish to trouble me with worldly concerns, I would welcome the distraction in this moment.”

  “I should send for Mathilde,” he said instead.

  “I suspect there will not be time,” Radegunde informed him, keeping her voice calm with an effort. “My mother intended to come for the middle of the month, as did Lady Richildis, but it seems that this babe means to arrive early. It is rare for a firstborn to be so determined to leave the womb.”

  “He has not his father’s patience, then,” Lady Ysmaine jested.

  But Lord Gaston eyed Radegunde. “Should I send for the midwife in the village?”

  “There is no need,” Lady Ysmaine said. “I have Radegunde and you, and all will be well.” She caught her breath and paled, clearly feeling another contraction. Radegunde was astonished and a little concerned that the child arrived with such haste.

  Surely it would not be stillborn? This labor showed the vigor of a miscarriage and she feared the result.

  But the babe had kicked only that afternoon.

  There was naught to be done but to attend her lady herself. Mathilde could not be fetched in less than a day and a night, and Radegunde believed this babe would arrive—one way or the other—by the dawn. Indeed, it might arrive sooner than that.

  Radegunde swiftly finished the plait of her lady’s hair and bound the
end. When Lady Ysmaine nodded that she was at ease, Radegunde left her side that the couple might confer. Still, she could hear their words.

  Lord Gaston murmured to his wife. “It is Richard’s doings that concern me,” he confided.

  “He has taken the cross. You told me this.” Lady Ysmaine was very intent upon her husband’s words.

  “Before the Yule, at Tours, as soon as the tidings from Outremer were widely known.”

  “So, he will depart on crusade.”

  “As will his father. You know that Henry took the cross in January at Gisors, when tidings of Jerusalem’s surrender to Saladin were received.”

  “Aye, so he told us when he was here to grant Haynesdale to Bartholomew. What will happen to Aquitaine in Richard’s absence?”

  “I believe Queen Eleanor will rule it again, in lieu of her preferred son, although the king would prefer to grant it to their younger son, John. The Angevin will not relinquish Queen Eleanor’s dowry readily, to be sure.”

  “Can Henry take it from one son and give it to another?”

  “Not if Richard will not relinquish the holding. And truly, Henry’s demand that he do as much has created a rift between them. Richard paid homage to Philip II of France before the Yule, as well, for while the divide between father and son is grown wider, it is not new. He and Philip will undoubtedly join forces against Henry.”

  Radegunde straightened at that.

  “There will be war?” Lady Ysmaine asked, clearly hoping that would not be the case.

  “There will, at the very least, be battles for supremacy, and for control of Anjou, Normandy, and Aquitaine.”