Rage and Redemption (Rebel Angels)

by Cyndi Friberg

  She put her elbows on the table and rested her chin on her folded hands. “You’re a spy.”

  He chuckled at the mischief twinkling in her eyes. “I am many things.”

  Her attention turned back to the items she had set on the table. First she opened the box and withdrew ragged scraps of vellum in various shapes and sizes. “I drew most of these when I was quite young so you must not laugh or you will hurt my feelings.”

  Though her technique had improved greatly over the years, her talent showed in even the first drawings. Gideon looked at each sketch she handed him, determined to remain unmoved by her work. The first group depicted boys and girls, most of them about five or six.

  “Where were you when you drew these?” he asked.

  “Jerusalem. Brother Gabriel had not yet been transferred here. Some of these were my friends. Some were other orphans whom I cared for. I was twelve when we came to the Krak.”

  “This is primarily a military outpost. Why did you not remain in Jerusalem? Surely you were less isolated there.”

  She returned the loose sketches to the box and put it back on the shelf beneath the table. “I didn’t want to be separated from Brother Gabriel. Besides, he had allowed me to assist him with his work by then and I became nearly obsessed with improving my craft. I began with simple borders and progressed until we were working side by side.”

  Motioning him back to her side of the table, she was obviously relieved when Gideon obliged. She slowly unrolled the first section of the scroll and Gideon’s breath caught in his throat.

  “I began this two years past,” she said softly. “It is rather self-indulgent, but it chronicles life from my perspective.”

  The first person she had drawn was the castellan, Gideon saw. She had perfectly captured his subtle arrogance and the sharp intelligence in his eyes. There were many people Gideon didn’t recognize, but he paused when he came to the depiction of a young woman.

  “Who is this? What caused the sadness in her eyes?”

  “Sadness is often in her eyes. She lost her husband and now her son has no father. Her name is Zarrah.”

  He offered a stiff nod and shifted the scroll. She had drawn Zarrah again, but this time she was with a dark-haired boy. Pride and affection radiated from her expression.

  “That is Benjamin, her son.”

  Next she had drawn a grouping of people. An elderly man had joined Zarrah and Benjamin. Gideon studied their expressions, denying the knot of emotion forming deep in his chest.

  War had exposed him to brutality and ruthlessness. These sketches radiated all of the emotions Gabriel had named—loyalty, joy, tenderness and—love.

  He quickly worked his way through the scroll until the drawings stopped and the surface was blank, ready for her next entry.

  “You have not drawn Gabriel,” he said, handing it back to her.

  She carefully tightened the scroll and secured it with smooth leather thongs. “I have tried. I cannot capture his…” She paused, searching for the right word. “Illumination.”

  Gideon made a derisive sound and walked to the window. Bright stars dotted the vast darkness of the sky. He felt restless. He felt empty.

  He could hear her shuffling things, moving around, but he didn’t turn and look. Her innocent beauty was more than he could endure right now. Why had she shown him those sketches? Why did she want him to feel? Why should she care…?

  Her scent interrupted his discontent. She stepped up beside him but said nothing.

  They stared out into the night. He didn’t touch her and she didn’t speak. She simply shared his isolation. And for the first time in nearly a century Gideon was not alone.

  Chapter Seven

  Naomi paused outside the castellan’s chamber to gather her composure. Smoothing the plush velvet surcoat down over her hips, she adjusted the angle of her chain-link girdle and took a deep breath.

  Leon of Le Puy waited on the other side of the door. Every instinct she possessed warned that he held her future in his hands. The past few days had given Naomi a confidence she had never known before. If she could face down the likes of Gideon, what had she to fear from a mere mortal?

  Amused by the thought, she knocked firmly on the door and offered Brother Seth a quick smile as he pulled open the barrier. Brother Aaron stood beside Brother Gabriel. They faced a third man, whose back was to the door.

  “Here is Naomi, my lord,” Brother Aaron said as she moved farther into the room.

  The stranger turned and her steps faltered. Breath lodged in her lungs, refusing to be expelled. His rich garments and sparkling jewelry bespoke his station in life. She squared her shoulders and reinforced her determination.

  I’ll not be intimidated by his regal bearing. He has come looking for me.

  “My lord.” She greeted him softly, even managing a small curtsy.

  She noticed his eyes next. They were a bright, true green, fringed by thick, dark lashes. His straight brown hair had been neatly trimmed over his ears with the back only slightly longer. Devoid of beard or mustache, the clean planes of his cheeks and jaw made him look almost boyish, but his skin was creased at the corners of his eyes and deep brackets framed his mouth.

  “I am Leon,” he introduced himself without formality. “And I have reason to believe you are my niece.”

  “Shall we sit?” Brother Aaron suggested. “I believe we’ll all be more comfortable.” He moved behind his desk. Three high-backed chairs had been arranged in front.

  Naomi waited until everyone was settled before she asked, “What led you to this belief, sir?” She watched his expression closely.

  “I had suspicions before but you are Esther’s image.” His gaze moved over her face then gradually focused in on her eyes. “Your hair, your features, everything except your eyes—and they are doubtless a gift from your grandfather.”

  His eagerness to claim her sent suspicion tumbling through Naomi. “If I have living family, why has it taken you nineteen years to find me?”

  “Let me explain.”

  “Please do,” she said.

  “Roderick of Monthamn is your grandfather.”

  “Only if I am indeed your niece.”

  “Let him speak, Naomi.” There was warning in Brother Aaron’s eyes.

  “My father and Roderick went on crusade together.” Apparently undaunted by her objections, Leon continued. “They spent four years here and became fast friends. When Roderick returned to England, he decided to foster his son with my family.”

  “You have holdings in England as well as France?”

  “Nay. Malcolm was sent to France. We grew up together. Malcolm was as much a brother to me as a friend.”

  She noticed that he used the past tense. “Please go on.”

  “Esther was my youngest sister. She fancied herself in love with Malcolm long before he saw her as anything more than an annoying child. As she matured, we all noticed the change in Malcolm’s attitude toward her.”

  “He began to return her affection?” Brother Gabriel guessed.

  “To say the least. Malcolm was a zealot. He dedicated himself wholeheartedly to whatever caught his attention. So when Esther caught his attention, no power on earth could have kept them apart.”

  He paused and Naomi fidgeted. “I still do not understand.”

  He smiled. “You will. My father welcomed a match between our families but felt Esther was too young and Malcolm too immature to allow more than a betrothal. Then he sent us here to the Holy Land. My family was granted a fiefdom in the county of Tripoli and my uncle was overseeing the construction of a castle. Father thought some time apart would serve to slow the attraction between Esther and Malcolm.”

  “How did Esther come to be here?” Naomi asked.

  “We had been gone for several weeks before she began to suspect that she was increasing. None of us realized that their relationship had progressed so far of course. Esther was headstrong and determined to be with the man she loved. Without my parents�
�� permission, she made her way to Tripoli.”

  Naomi folded her hands in her lap and looked at him askance. “How did she accomplish such a voyage without the support of her parents?”

  “Our family owns a small fleet of ships, my dear. She simply boarded a vessel bound for Tripoli. All of our captains are well used to transporting family members.”

  Such a thing seemed inconceivable to Naomi but she didn’t question him further. Instead she asked, “How did Malcolm react to her arrival?”

  He sighed and his mouth pressed into a grim line. “Malcolm met a member of the Knights Templar and as was his wont, he dove into his new passion with his whole heart. He took vows of poverty, chastity and unrelenting dedication to the order. He had moved to Jerusalem by the time Esther arrived in Tripoli.

  “I sent word to Malcolm and his response was shocking to say the least. He sent a missive documenting his marriage by proxy to Esther and naming her child his sole heir, but he said his calling was genuine and his past life no longer existed for him. He refused to leave the order.”

  Shocked by her father’s selfishness, she could barely speak. “What if my mother had survived? What if she had wanted to marry?”

  “An annulment was out of the question with offspring but divorce—”

  “Is an abomination,” Brother Aaron muttered.

  Sparing the pious castellan only a quick glare, Leon continued the tale. “Needless to say, she was devastated. I arranged an escort and scheduled passage back to France but again without telling anyone, Esther changed the itinerary.”

  “Why would you send her away after such demoralizing news?”

  Naomi could picture her mother frightened and alone, abandoned by those she loved most. Her heart ached and she closed her hands into fists.

  “I’m a soldier, Naomi. Esther needed the support and understanding of our mother and other women. Besides, my orders took me into battle within a fortnight of her arrival. It was not safe to leave her unprotected.”

  She nodded but pity still tugged at her heart. “How did you learn what she had done? And what became of this missive?”

  “I sent a message home inquiring after her wellbeing, but instead of receiving a written reply, my parents arrived in Tripoli. We went immediately to Jerusalem, figuring she had gone after Malcolm, but he had not seen her, so we worked our way backward from Jerusalem to Tripoli. The closest we ever came to locating her was finding out that she had made arrangements with one of our captains in Jaffa. She never arrived to make the voyage and no one knew what had become of her.”

  Naomi looked at Brother Gabriel. The pieces of the puzzle were beginning to fit but parts of the story were still jumbled. “Did you not send word about the woman who had come to you?”

  “Aye,” Brother Gabriel said. “But we had no idea who she was. We couldn’t begin to guess whom to notify.”

  “When Malcolm told us she hadn’t contacted him, we believed she had never made it as far as Jerusalem,” Leon continued. “We organized our efforts believing she was headed home from some port before Jerusalem.”

  Naomi scooted to the edge of the chair, tucking her hands beneath her skirts to hide their trembling. Was it possible? Could all this be true? “And this document still exists?”

  “The document never left my mother’s keeping. But at the time we all believed Esther and her child were lost to us.”

  “And what brought you here now? After all these years, what led you to Brother Gabriel?”

  “A minstrel.” Leon chuckled softly before he explained. “A minstrel came to Monthamn Keep and sang a tragic ballad about a mysterious flame-haired damsel who came upon a gallant Knight Hospitaller in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. She pressed her newborn babe into his arms and then died from a broken heart. When Roderick questioned the minstrel, he explained that his brother was a Knight Templar and had witnessed the events himself. Esther’s hair was more brown than red but the ballad originated in the Year of Our Lord 1129, the same year Ester disappeared.

  “The coincidence was too intriguing to ignore. Roderick sent for me. He asked that I return to Jerusalem and continue the search we had abandoned nineteen years ago.”

  “You have been to Jerusalem?”

  “Nay. I encountered King Louis’ entourage as I traveled and he agreed to use his influence to assist me in my quest. He contacted someone within the Order of St. John and they sent word to the Krak des Chevaliers, and here we are.”

  Naomi felt control over her life slipping away. With nobility came responsibilities and obligations. She was free to do as she pleased, free to pursue her work and…she didn’t want to reshape her life according to this stranger’s expectations.

  “Surely I was not the only child orphaned in Jerusalem that year,” she objected. “What proof do you have that my mother was Esther of Le Puy?”

  “Beyond your physical appearance?” he asked with a patient smile. “There is one way to be sure.” He turned to Brother Gabriel. “When Esther was seven she was scalded while helping my mother make soap. She had a scar on her hip and thigh. Did the woman you tend have such a mark upon her person?”

  “Aye,” Brother Gabriel said. “She had a rather large scar on her right hip and thigh. It was faded, but it could well have been the scar left behind by a burn.”

  Leon simply nodded.

  Naomi knew that Brother Gabriel would never lie to her. Leon had no reason to establish a relationship if none existed, but still she held herself back.

  “You’re overwhelmed,” Leon said softly. “That was not my intention. I’ll leave you now. Think over what I have said and we will speak again on the morrow.”

  “What do you want from me?” she asked as he reached the door.

  “I want nothing from you, Naomi. I want only to restore to you what is rightfully yours.”

  He bowed and took his leave.

  Time stood still. So many thoughts and emotions inundated her mind that she could absorb none of them.

  “Are you all right?”

  She glanced up, drawn from her shocked stupor by Brother Gabriel’s voice. He stood in front of her, his hands folded together, his expression compassionate and concerned.

  “I do not know,” she answered honestly.

  “He has no reason to concoct such a tale,” Brother Aaron said, echoing her thoughts. “You are clearly this man’s niece.”

  Pressing a hand over her pounding heart, Naomi cleared her throat. “Will he expect me to return with him to France? Or was it England?”

  Brother Aaron shrugged. “It sounds as if you have ties to both. Why does this dishearten you? Anyone else I know would be thrilled.”

  Naomi didn’t miss the snap of annoyance in the castellan’s tone. “I am…”

  “Overwhelmed as Leon said,” Brother Gabriel repeated.

  “Have I no choice but to do this man’s bidding?” Worry awakened her numbed senses. “What if I do not wish to leave? I have a life here. I have friends and a purpose. Do I still have a place within the Order of St. John?”

  “Are you ready to join the Order of St. John?” Brother Aaron challenged. “You have avoided the commitment for too long already. If you choose to remain, Naomi, we will expect you to take your vows.”

  She felt her jaw go slack and snapped it shut.

  Men! Why must she be controlled by these men?

  Slowly pushing to her feet, she glanced at Brother Gabriel. Turmoil churned within his gaze but he held his peace.

  “I understand,” Naomi said stiffly, and left the room.”

  Chapter Eight

  “Naomi, I can pass through the door,” Brother Gabriel said. “Bolting it against me serves no purpose.”

  Naomi glared at the locked portal and turned back to the scroll she had just secured to the surface of her drawing table. “If it were your intention to intrude upon my privacy, you would have done so by now.”

  “You have hidden away since you left us this morning. You need food and you need
to speak with someone about your feelings.”

  “I have no appetite and my feelings are obviously irrelevant. I will see you on the morrow.”

  She heard nothing more for a long moment. Had he finally abandoned his post? Good. The more she thought about Brother Aaron’s ultimatum, the angrier she became.

  Turning back to the scroll, she puffed out a frustrated breath. Anything she drew in her present state of mind was bound to be macabre. She interlaced her fingers, put her elbows on the table and rested her chin on her hands.

  “If you do not wish to speak to me, I cannot force you. But you need to eat.”

  She pivoted on the stool and found Brother Gabriel standing a step back from her table. He proffered a shallow woven bowl.

  “Can you walk through walls or is it only wooden doors that prove no barrier?”

  “I am able to go where I am needed,” he said.

  “You are not needed here.”

  “I may not be welcomed but I am needed.”

  She took the basket, more because he looked uncomfortable than from any real interest in the food. “What can you do? What can I do? I must make a choice. It is as simple as that.”

  “You do not find the choice simple or you would not be upset. Let us move to the supply table. You could spill something on the scroll.”

  She laughed at the parental suggestion but followed him across the room. He’d cleared a small space for her basket by the time she reached the table. He quickly brought two stools and in moments they sat facing each other.

  Naomi blew a loose lock of hair out of her eyes and looked dispassionately at the contents of the basket. A roasted chicken leg, two thick slices of brown bread and a chunk of yellow cheese.

  “Did you bring wine?” she asked.

  “Cider.” He nodded toward an earthen pitcher she hadn’t noticed before.

  She poured the murky beverage into a cup and waited for his lecture to begin.

  “I have no speech prepared. I just know you’re in pain.”

  Raising her gaze to his, she asked, “Can you read my thoughts? Can Gideon?”