Templar Knight, Forbidden Bride

by Lynna Banning

  Baudoin nodded. ‘Just so.’

  ‘They, however…’ Leonor gestured down the long table where Andreas and Brian hunched over their shared trencher ‘…can sing whether stuffed or starving. Such is the uncertain life of a troubadour, they tell me. They usually eat the sweetmeats first, I notice.’

  De Beziers’s lips twitched into a rare smile. ‘Not only are you beautiful, lady, you are observant as well.’ Blushing scarlet at his own audacity, he ducked his head and stared into his wine cup.

  She resisted the impulse to gently tease the gallant old man. Like as not it would embarrass him, and from the look on his face he was uncomfortable enough. She tipped her head towards him and spoke under her breath.

  ‘I am alive this night, Sir Baudoin, and that makes me notice and savour each small thing I see. I give thanks that my eyes are open and not lidded with death coins, that my flesh craves sustenance to go on living. And,’ she added more softly, ‘that you spoke for me, as my champion.’

  De Beziers nodded. ‘I spoke. The Templar fought.’

  ‘Nonetheless, I am grateful. The song I will sing tonight is for you.’

  The knight raised his head. As she watched, the grey eyes filled with tears. Slowly he lifted her hand to his lips. ‘Much is lost when one grows old.’

  Her heart squeezed. Thanks to Baudoin, she was alive and hungry for life. Mayhap in days past he had felt the same.

  Her body throbbed with awareness. Her blood sang. But it was Reynaud she longed for. She hoped Baudoin in his youth had also loved someone. One should not leave this life without knowing, at least once, the peace of another’s touch upon one’s soul.

  Today she had faced death. Tonight she wanted to revel in life. She wanted Reynaud. Now. Tonight. Her veins burned with it. Let him be well. Let him come to me…take me, before I die of desire. Ah, I will never again feel truly alive without him.

  Later, Leonor rested her harp against her shoulder and let her voice rise and float out over the great hall. She sang for Baudoin de Beziers, for youth left behind. For Count Roger and the loss of his son. And for Reynaud. What a precious gift God gave when He breathed life into a man.

  A hand gripped her shoulder so hard the harp teetered in her lap. ‘Cease!’ a voice cracked.

  Bernard de Rodez loomed before her, his face crimson, his breathing ragged. She shrank away, but his fingers bit into her flesh.

  Over his shoulder she glimpsed Count Roger, half-risen from his chair, his face pale but for the jagged purple scar tracing a line across his cheek. Beside him at the high table, Jannet laid her hand on her husband’s arm, then rose quietly and moved towards the kitchen.

  ‘Do not play so sweet a song, lady,’ de Rodez hissed. ‘It grates upon me.’ A strange light shone in the Hospitaller’s eyes, like the black, unblinking gaze of a falcon trained on a morsel of meat.

  Her blood turned cold. Without thinking she made a hurried sign of the cross over her breast.

  ‘God will not help you,’ de Rodez thundered. ‘Nay, lady, you will burn in hell for what you have done.’

  She struggled to control her voice. ‘I have done nothing. And so it was proved this day by trial of combat. I am innocent of your charges. My champion’s sword proved this to be so.’

  ‘You are a woman,’ he snorted. ‘A woman is never “innocent”, no matter what a sword decides.’

  He was mad, she realised. And dangerous. That was what Baudoin had tried to warn her about Bernard de Rodez. He had gone out of his wits.

  Very gradually she let her harp slide down until it touched the floor. Then she rose to her feet, flinching as his hand crushed her shoulder.

  ‘It is not the sword that proves my innocence. It is my own word and deed. By your own admission, no longer do I stand accused.’

  ‘Nevertheless,’ de Rodez breathed, ‘I am not finished with you. Not yet.’

  Leonor’s limbs turned to wood.

  ‘Ah, but you are indeed finished,’ a voice rang from the back of the hall.

  Benjamin! What was he doing here? Why was he not tending Reynaud’s wounds?

  The Hospitaller whirled. His sword scraped as he slid it from the belt hidden under his surcoat. Benjamin’s black-robed figure moved forwards.

  ‘You cannot kill me before I have spoken,’ the old man called. ‘And speak I will, if this company will allow me to tell a truth.’

  ‘Tell! Tell! Let him speak,’ a hundred voices echoed about the hushed room. From the corner of her eye, she watched Benjamin advance another unsteady step.

  ‘You are armed,’ Benjamin observed. ‘I had thought swords were not permitted at Count Roger’s table.’

  More murmurs from the assembled diners.

  ‘But,’ Benjamin’s penetrating voice continued, ‘perhaps you have your reasons?’

  De Rodez shrugged. Benjamin moved another step towards him. ‘I would arm myself also, were I you and the truth were known.’

  ‘Truth?’ the Hospitaller rasped. ‘What would an old man know of truth?’

  ‘A great deal, I fear. About young Galeran, the count’s son.’

  At the mention of his son’s name, Count Roger made a muffled sound and started towards de Rodez. ‘What about my son?’

  Benjamin shifted his black eyes towards the count. ‘Galeran has been missing from Castle Moyanne these many days. Ran away to Carcassonne, so we thought. To his father, Count Roger. At least that is what all at Moyanne believe.’

  De Rodez went suddenly rigid.

  ‘But that is not so, is it, Bernard de Rodez?’

  Speechless the Hospitaller confronted the old man. Benjamin’s voice rose in a battle cry. ‘Is it?’

  Leonor stared at the two men. Benjamin took another step forwards. Mother Mary, he must stop! De Rodez will kill him!

  ‘You accused the Lady Leonor of murder.’ Benjamin’s voice rang against the stone walls. ‘You insisted the boy was buried near Castle Moyanne, under a pile of leaves in back of the stables, you said.’

  De Rodez’s sword arm twitched.

  Benjamin stepped between the Hospitaller and Leonor, drawing de Rodez’s sword to himself. ‘How,’ he pursued, ‘did you know that to be true, eh?’

  De Rodez remained silent.

  ‘It is true,’ Benjamin continued. He turned his head towards Count Roger. ‘There was an eyewitness to the deed.’

  Cries of outrage rose from the horrified onlookers.

  ‘There was no witness,’ de Rodez snarled.

  Benjamin pinned the knight with his sharp, black eyes. ‘There was. I discovered it only this afternoon, during the trial by combat.’

  De Rodez scowled at him. ‘Where is this witness, then?’

  Benjamin chuckled. ‘Here with me now, at Carcassonne. Hiding under a pallet, quaking in fear.’

  A muffled groan drew Leonor’s gaze to the back of the hall where a small robed figure stiffened against the stone wall.

  Benjamin’s voice carried over the buzz of questions. ‘And now the witness will speak.’

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  ‘Tell them!’ Benjamin called over his shoulder to the motionless figure huddled near the kitchen entrance. ‘Tell them what happened at Castle Moyanne.’

  Silence. Benjamin’s brilliant black eyes held those of the Hospitaller. ‘Say what you know of this man, Bernard de Rodez.’

  A quickly indrawn breath broke the hush in the hall, but no one spoke.

  ‘Come forwards,’ Benjamin called. ‘Speak the truth, as you spoke it to me this very afternoon.’

  A small pale face appeared in the light flickering from the candle sconces along the wall, the visage seeming to float above the dark robe.

  Galeran! The young squire looked like a frightened hare caught in a willow trap. Count Roger stumbled in his haste to reach the boy, caught the small figure up in his arms and buried his face against his son’s neck.

  Benjamin raised his voice. ‘Galeran, I know you fear Bernard de Rodez’s sword if you reveal what you know.
But so help me, if you do not speak, and soon, I will save the Hospitaller the trouble and thrash you myself!’

  The small figure jerked. ‘W-what shall I say, Benjamin? About the ditch, or—’ He snuggled his face against his father’s broad shoulder.

  ‘Tell them,’ Benjamin said through gritted teeth, ‘about what Bernard de Rodez did to you.’

  Silence fell, so prolonged Leonor thought she would scream. Benjamin moved a step closer, positioning himself within range of the blade, yet too close for the powerfully built knight to manoeuvre for a thrust. The Hospitaller gripped his sword hilt with both hands, his arms trembling.

  ‘He…’ Galeran’s high, thin voice wailed. ‘He…That man, the Hospitaller, he put his hands about my throat and choked me until I could not breathe, and…and then everything went dark. I woke up under a pile of leaves in the ditch behind the stables.’

  ‘The boy lies!’ de Rodez barked. ‘I know naught of this. It is but the rambling of a foolish lad, and I will kill any who say otherwise.’

  Leonor took a step forwards. ‘Then you will have to kill me, as well, since it was you who falsely accused me of this deed. You described the very grave in which Galeran lay. Only one who laid him there could have known of it, de Rodez. You have given yourself away.’

  De Rodez’s eyes widened, filmy and unfocused. ‘He did it. The Jew.’

  ‘Nay, he did not,’ she replied, her voice trembling. ‘You did it.’

  Murmurs rose from the diners who crowded forwards. Benches scraped, tables were vacated as the men retrieved weapons hung from hooks embedded in the stone wall. A grim Baudoin de Beziers buckled on his sword belt. The knights of Toulouse gathered in a knot at one end of the hall. One by one, they turned towards Bernard de Rodez.

  Oh, no, not more bloodshed? Horrified, she caught Benjamin’s eye. An almost imperceptible shake of his head told her what she wanted to know. Benjamin would press for the truth, but would not compromise the boy’s safety.

  The ominous quiet stretched until the only sounds were the rough breathing of every man in the hall and the thrum of her own heartbeat. Tension sizzled until she could smell it, sharp and yeasty. The smell of fear.

  The fine hair on her forearms lifted. She had to do something, anything, to break the thick silence. In desperation, she looked to Count Roger. The count stared back at her with anguished eyes, his face white as ground oats. A moment passed, then two. No one moved, as if a spell had been cast over the entire hall.

  Bernard de Rodez’s strange, cold eyes held hers, the dark pupils dilated, a hot, malevolent light kindling in their depths. Without moving a muscle, he spoke. ‘I will destroy any who speak against me. Even you, lady.’ His beefy hand tightened about his sword hilt.

  She swallowed hard. ‘You will never destroy the truth, Bernard de Rodez. You must live with it, always. And die with it staining your soul.’

  ‘That I will not,’ he shouted. His left hand shot out, pinning her wrist. He jerked her forwards and savagely twisted her arm behind her back. Pain shot through her shoulder. She bit her lip to keep from crying out.

  The Hospitaller moved forwards a step, propelling her ahead of him as a shield, gesturing with his sword to clear a path.

  What could he hope to do in a hall full of armed knights? She stumbled over an uneven plank in the floor. De Rodez dragged her upright and she yelped in agony.

  In the next instant a man stepped from the shadows, his sword drawn. ‘Release her!’

  Reynaud! A thick pad of towelling was tied around his neck and one shoulder. Dark bloodstains marked his tunic. He strode towards her, the garnet-studded hilt of his weapon gleaming in the candlelight. Whispers circled the hall like wind among dry leaves.

  ‘That sword!’ someone called out. ‘It was the sword of Arnaud of Toulouse!’

  Behind her another voice shouted and Benjamin moved forwards, his dagger drawn. ‘Manus haec inimica tyrannis!’ he intoned to Reynaud. She groaned aloud. Benjamin’s small knife would be useless against de Rodez’s heavy double-edged sword.

  ‘Macte!’ Reynaud answered.

  The Hospitaller yanked hard on her arm. ‘Move, damn you!’

  She closed her eyes against the bolt of pain that stabbed between her shoulder blades. ‘Nay,’ she gasped. ‘I will not.’

  Then Reynaud was before them, his face pale, but his blade flashing, searching for an opening between her torso and de Rodez’s bulky form. Instinctively she tried to twist to one side, but de Rodez wrenched her arm so hard her knees buckled.

  ‘Release her!’ Reynaud’s voice rang like hardened steel. ‘Then, dog of a dog, you will face me like a man.’

  Instead, de Rodez pulled her in front of him, forcing her body to protect his. White-hot pain knifed through her shoulder socket, and with a cry she flung herself to the right.

  Reynaud launched himself towards de Rodez, but the Hospitaller thrust his sword tip past her shoulder, slicing into Reynaud’s chest. Blood welled through the fabric of his tunic.

  Reynaud smashed his rigid hand against de Rodez’s throat, breaking his grip on Leonor. She sagged towards him. He pivoted, caught her shoulder with his free hand and dragged her out of sword range.

  A scream of rage broke from de Rodez. He grasped his sword with both hands and raised it over his head, his gaze intent on Reynaud’s unprotected back.

  Someone moved forwards. ‘Rey!’

  Too late. De Rodez’s blade struck Reynaud’s wounded shoulder.

  Shouts of outrage echoed through the hall. With a hoarse cry, Reynaud released her. Shoving her behind him, he turned to face his opponent, his injured sword arm drooping.

  With an animal-like growl, de Rodez again seized his weapon in both hands. He took his time, aiming carefully at Reynaud’s bare neck above the bloodstained tunic. Leonor willed herself not to scream. Such a blow would take his head off.

  She threw herself towards de Rodez.

  Reynaud shouted a war cry, slapped his sword into his left hand and lunged forwards. His blade caught de Rodez’s exposed throat and drove through the flesh. With a gurgling sound, the Hospitaller pitched forwards and lay still.

  Reynaud stood over the unmoving form, his chest heaving. Sweat poured down his face, dripped on to his tunic. He wiped his sleeve across his forehead and a tumult of shouts erupted.

  ‘Leonor.’ His hoarse voice caught. ‘My sword is recognised. Toulouse harbours no love for its bearer, and I must flee. Meet me—’

  ‘No! I will come with you.’

  He groaned. ‘There is not time.’

  She caught his gaze and held it. His eyes looked weary, full of pain. Her heart twisted. By sheer force of will she stifled the sob that closed her throat.

  ‘There is time.’

  Baudoin de Beziers, his sword clamped in his grip, strode to Reynaud and shoved him towards the doorway. ‘Ride away, Templar, before these Toulouse upstarts slaughter you. And your lady, as well.’

  Reynaud nodded. The anguish she saw in his green eyes tore at her insides. Behind her a sword scraped out of its scabbard and at once a dozen knights surged towards Reynaud. He must abandon her or be killed.

  Baudoin de Beziers’s brusque voice spoke at her elbow. ‘Get you gone, lady!’ He raised his sword and turned towards the advancing knights, speaking to her over his shoulder. ‘Fly with him, Leonor, else he will not leave. Saddled horses wait in the yard. Take them and go!’

  Before she could reply, a blade flashed. Deftly, Baudoin blocked the blow. ‘Go!’ he ordered. ‘Up the stairs. There is a passage. He knows of it.’

  He broke off, besieged by three knights wearing the blue-and-gold colours of Toulouse. A path opened through the mêlée of slashing weapons, but still Reynaud hesitated.

  Leonor pivoted and flew past him towards the staircase. Heart pounding in her throat, she measured the distance to safety. Ten more steps. Five. The sound of Reynaud’s laboured breathing at her back told her he was following.

  She reached the first step, but
a hoarse cry stopped her in her tracks. She whirled to see Baudoin de Beziers crumple to the floor. Without thinking, she brushed past Reynaud and ran towards the knight’s motionless form.

  Benjamin shielded her from the crowd of angry knights with his own lanky body. ‘Run!’ he shouted in her ear. He pushed her towards the stairs. ‘Save yourself.’

  With a last look at de Beziers’s lifeless body, she caught up her gown in one hand and raced towards the staircase and Reynaud.

  In the dark bailey, two saddled horses stamped impatiently. Hurriedly Reynaud mounted his grey destrier, then bent to lift her up and settled her in front of him. He grabbed the lead of her palfrey and dug his heels into his own mount.

  Raucous shouts rose behind the inner gate, and both animals jolted forwards, clattered across the drawbridge and over the cobbled yard towards the north fortress gate.

  Why the north gate? she wondered. Surely they must head west, towards Moyanne? Before she could voice the question, Reynaud spoke at her temple.

  ‘They will not think to come this direction, towards Toulouse, since I am known there. And unwelcome.’

  She nodded. Then they were through the gate in a thunder of hooves and out into the enveloping black night. Behind them another horse thundered over the planks, then veered off in the opposite direction. Reynaud chuckled deep in his throat.

  Safe.

  Or perhaps not safe, since they now rode towards Toulouse.

  ‘I know of a place,’ Reynaud said as if reading her mind. ‘A Cathar fortress hidden in the mountains.’ Brother Pierre—no, Bishop Pierre—had slipped into his hand the gate key to the abandoned Cathar refuge. One of God’s miracles.

  He cradled Leonor against his chest. They were out of danger for the moment, thanks to the foresight of Baudoin de Beziers, who had known of the grudge the knights of Toulouse bore him. Before supper, the gallant older knight had ‘misplaced’ the saddles of all the knights of Toulouse.

  His wounded shoulder throbbed, and blood oozed from his chest where de Rodez’s sword had sliced through his tunic.