Queen's Guard 01 The Queen's Guard: Violet Read online

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  ”Traci E. Hall’s The Queen’s Guard: Violet has all the elements that make for a fantastic and sexy historical read. As always, Ms. Hall manages to beautifully convey real characters—and the human emotion that rules us through all time. I love her work!”

  —Heather Graham, New York Times best-selling author of Bride of the Night

  “An exciting blend of historical fiction and historical romance that sweeps the reader into the medieval world of court intrigue, hidden passions, and forbidden love, with a hero who’s emotionally torn by his past and struggling to trust and a heroine who’s willing to risk her life for her queen but who is never braver than when she risks her heart for the man she loves. Wonderfully researched, with details that bring the period vividly to life!”

  —Allison Chase, award-winning author of Recklessly Yours

  To Greg, my heart.

  And to my mom, Judi,

  who showed me how to be a strong woman

  in a family of strong women.

  Published 2012 by Medallion Press, Inc.

  The MEDALLION PRESS LOGO

  is a registered trademark of Medallion Press, Inc.

  Copyright © 2012 by Traci E. Hall

  Cover design by Arturo Delgado

  Edited by Emily Steele

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law.

  Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Typeset in Adobe Garamond Pro

  Printed in the United States of America

  ISBN# 978-160542401-9

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  This book could never have been plotted without Rhon, Cherry, and Leanne. Thanks, ladies. I relied on sites from the Internet for actual dates of events. I studied Alison Weir’s Eleanor of Aquitaine: A Life and Polly Shoyer Brooks’ Queen Eleanor: Independent Spirit of the Medieval World.

  To Helen, Emily, and the Medallion staff—thank you.

  Second Crusade,

  1147

  CHAPTER 1

  The relentless October sun beat down on Isabella de Lacey’s head, and for a fleeting moment she wished she’d never left France. Though barely twenty, she felt as old as Methuselah. Oui, she was a tired husk of a woman who couldn’t spare the moisture to cry.

  In the past four months she’d traversed France, Hungary, Bulgaria, and now Greece with King Louis and his strong army of Crusaders as a member of the Queen’s Guard. Bella squinted ahead to see the king’s standard, but the limp banners were indistinguishable from her position so far back in line.

  She and the other ladies in the queen’s retinue had discovered crusading was less of a romantic adventure to save the Holy Land from the heathen Turks and more of a pain in the derriere. Adventure promised; blisters gained.

  Shifting uncomfortably in her saddle, Bella thought longingly of a violet-scented bath and a cup of spiced Bordeaux wine. She licked her dry lips and urged her mare onward, letting her mind wander to past pleasures. Honeyed almonds. Crisp, tart apple slices. Whispers with a would-be lover beneath the oak tree in Queen Eleanor’s castle garden.

  A familiar masculine voice intruded on her thoughts. “Not long now, Bella,” Jonathon said as he rode toward her from the front of the caravan.

  “You lie, monsieur.” Isabella attempted a smile, but it tugged at the sensitive skin around her mouth. Grit crusted her brows and lashes, yet Jonathon seemed impervious to the dirt. Not a single smudge of road dust marred his handsome flesh.

  She glanced at his lean, muscled form as he turned his mount, taking his place at her right. His blond hair shone in the sun, and his hazel eyes crinkled with laugh lines at the corners. “I would never lie to a lady,” the knight said in exaggerated chivalric tones.

  She laughed despite her dry throat. There was much to admire about Jonathon. “What news then?” Bella’s stomach tightened with anticipation. Adventure was one thing; danger another. She’d walk if it would hasten the end of this journey. “Are we close?”

  On behalf of the Pope, Abbot Bernard of Clairvaux had convincingly called for France to take up arms against the Turks to save Edessa. So convincing was his call that it was unsurprising King Louis and Queen Eleanor had agreed to wear the red cross and gather an army of vassals and soldiers.

  What was surprising was how fast Bella herself had gotten caught up in the whirlwind of it all, pledging her loyalty to Jerusalem and God and, above all, Queen Eleanor. She would give her life for the queen, although she hoped it would not come to that. At the moment, she hadn’t the strength to save a kitten from drowning.

  “Oui,” Jonathon said, “we’re close. Breathe deep, and you will catch the scent of ocean water instead of foul corpses.”

  Isabella took a hesitant sniff. Their army had the misfortune of following the land route behind Emperor Conrad III. The devastation the German Crusaders had wrought left the inhabitants of the Eastern Roman Empire wary of soldiers, no matter what banner they bore. Some Greek towns had barred the French Crusaders completely, while others charged exorbitantly for what food and water they would sell, not honoring the even exchange rate promised by Emperor Manuel Comnenus.

  Worse, as a sign of their contempt, the Greek natives had killed straggling German soldiers and left the bodies by the roadside. Queen Eleanor had said during her evening wine with her ladies that the king’s chaplain, Odo de Deuil, feared sickness along the route and possible treachery. Yet King Louis remained faithful as he led them toward Constantinople and Emperor Manuel, whom he hoped would remain an ally in his holy cause.

  “Doubtless the emperor has cleared the stench away from the city walls,” Bella said. “Did King Louis send someone ahead to announce our arrival?”

  “No need. Just wait until you see the city, Bella. The towers on the wall are so high that the guards have most likely been watching our caravan since yesterday.”

  Isabella shielded her eyes and stared toward the front of the slow-moving line as if a miracle would appear in the form of shade trees and a picnic. “Would that we were there already.”

  “My beautiful petite belle,” Jonathon whispered for her ears alone, sending a delicious shiver up her tired spine. “Your courage will soon be rewarded with a bath, fresh food and drink, and a real bed.”

  “I’m not brave,” she scoffed. “Determined, perhaps.” Her life in the preceding years had never been about beauty or courage but about survival. She found it ironic to be praised for what amounted to a roll of destiny’s dice.

  “You guard the queen with skill and beauty.”
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  Bella glanced at Jonathon and acknowledged the gallant knight’s pretty words with a self-deprecatory smile. “I am one of five guards, and we but complement the queen’s strength.” Before meeting Eleanor, Bella had honed her ability to hit any target in her deceased husband’s dungeon, where she’d thrown rocks at mice before they could nibble her toes. Now she proudly carried a quiver of arrows at her back.

  “Calling you tenacious isn’t romantic,” her attentive knight teased.

  Bella’s hand immediately went to her parched cheek as she remembered the quick kiss he’d placed there a month before but not since. “Romance?” She fidgeted in her saddle. “Now is not the time for it.” Besides, she’d been given a duty more important than playing at love.

  “Ah, but does the queen not advise chivalrous behavior at all times?” Jonathon angled closer so that his leg brushed hers. “A knight must always honor his lady fair.”

  Bella decided a subject change was prudent. Jonathon’s words led to confusion, when she had need of a clear head. “Why do you think the king is so certain Emperor Manuel can be trusted? If the king’s advisors seem suspicious, should he not listen? What will happen if Manuel changes his mind? After what Emperor Conrad did to his country, he could imprison us or, worse, have us killed.”

  “Stop worrying, pretty one.” Jonathon briefly took her hand. “Emperor Manuel is renowned for his diplomacy and generosity.” He snapped and smiled. “Do you know that he lets tamed leopards roam freely inside the city?”

  Bella sat up for the first time all day, the joints in her spine popping. “I don’t believe you.” Queen Eleanor had told them of Emperor Manuel Comnenus and his opulent tastes. The queen counted on his desire for beautiful things to get them information for the king as well as for her uncle Raymond of Antioch. “What if they attack?”

  “Who attacks?” Mamie of Rou asked as her brown horse trotted to Bella’s left side. “The Germans? The Turks? I’m almost ready to surrender.”

  “Leopards.” Bella laughed, accidentally taking a deep breath of the hot, dusty air. She coughed. “Mamie, have you any wine left? Mine is finished, and Jonathon has not asked after my welfare since we broke bread at dawn.” She poked his arm so he would know she jested.

  “Had I known you were thirsty, I would have wrestled a goat herder to the ground and stolen his water skin just for you, Bella.” Jonathon managed a look that was both contrite and charming as he patted his saddle roll. “To my sorrow, I have no water or wine to offer.”

  Bella’s lips curved in a half smile. Their flirtations stayed well within the acceptable courtly love boundaries of shared poetry and the occasional lingering touch of his hand—and that one stolen kiss. Eleanor’s teachings on honor and chivalry had gilded many a knight’s tongue, though Bella stayed chaste, desire teased but never woken.

  Bella owed Queen Eleanor fealty as a woman of Aquitaine, but their tie went beyond that. Eleanor had saved Bella from a second ancient, flaccid, and abusive husband after the first one had cocked up his toes during dinner at King Louis’s castle. Sweeping Bella into her select group of personal companions, Eleanor promised her protection and Louis agreed to leave Bella’s small fortune alone.

  If any woman knew how to forge her way in a man’s world, it was Eleanor. Queen of France, duchess of Aquitaine, she had an instinct for mystery, passion, secrets. And she was sharing some of what she knew with the ladies in her private guard.

  “Remember,” Jonathon said, moving as close to her as his horse would allow, “that Empress Irene has been sending letters to the queen, expressing her joy at our arrival. Surely she wouldn’t bother if she were not sincere.”

  “Perhaps.” The queen always brought out letters of good cheer when the army was at its lowest ebb. Wily woman. And now Bella saw plots thickening where before she would see only a kind gesture. Royalty, Eleanor, and intrigue all went hand in hand.

  Mamie chuckled, her gap-toothed smile wide as she unhooked the wine horn from her saddle. “Bella, I suspect you like to worry. As soon as we get settled, we shall find Fay and beg her for some of her rosemary lotion. It soothes from the outside.” She lifted her rounded shoulders and, with a sigh, let them drop. “After a stimulating tingle all over your skin.”

  Bella accepted the wine with a hurried, “Bless you.” The warm liquid eased her throat. Handing it back, she could not help but notice that Mamie’s red hair had escaped the confines of braids and that bright locks of copper stuck to her damp cheeks. Her green eyes sparkled with mischief. Despite the hardships of their journey, she remained vibrant and feminine.

  Men swarmed to Mamie like bees to honey. She made no secret of her liking for male flesh, and since Mamie was thrice widowed, Eleanor usually looked the other way. The slightly older lady had taken Bella under her wing, quickly becoming a treasured confidante.

  Bella smiled her thanks. “Fay and Catherine are riding with the queen, but did either of you see Sarah?”

  Jonathon quickly shook his head, as did Mamie.

  “I looked for her after this morning’s prayers.” Sarah wasn’t sleeping well on the journey. Though she never complained, Bella noticed the dark circles beneath her eyes. They were opposites in every way. While Bella contained her thoughts, tall, blonde Sarah spoke her mind and apologized later. Bella admired her friend’s confidence.

  “I’m sure she’s fine.” Mamie reached to touch Bella’s arm.

  ”Look!” Jonathon pointed ahead. “Do you see?”

  The high walls of Constantinople loomed in the distance.

  Her heart raced as she recalled the true reason she’d risked everything to come on Crusade. I, Isabella de Lacey, pledge my life to Eleanor, queen of France, duchess of Aquitaine, countess of Poitou. Bella silently renewed the oath she’d proudly sworn during the secret moonlit ceremony, the exhaustion of four months of travel shedding like old skin.

  After a nice, long bath, buckets of watered wine, and a soak in rosemary lotion, she would be ready to commit her first act as the queen’s spy. Her target was a man named Raoul Laskaris, Emperor Manuel’s closest guard. Bella had been chosen because, according to Queen Eleanor’s sources, Raoul had a penchant for petite, dark-haired ladies with shy smiles.

  I’m coming, my lord. I’m coming. And you will tell me all you know of your emperor and what he really wants from our king.

  Raoul Laskaris kicked the bitch from his bed, ignoring her yelp of indignation.

  She stood, her fair skin bearing the marks of their sex play.

  “Coin is on the table. You know the way out.” He deepened his voice to a growl, ensuring her speedy departure. “Go.” A whore’s business was to see to a man’s lust and then get the hell out of his sight. Not snuggle while his eyes were closed.

  Raoul didn’t stir from the mattress until she’d slammed the door behind her; then he arose, washed, and dressed in thin black leggings and tunic. Black matched his mood. Always. His liege, Emperor Manuel, had ordered him to greet King Louis and his army. Pah.

  Raoul kept his hand on the hilt of his sword as he strode down the hall of the imperial palace. If he had his way, he’d feed the French army to the Turks, just as he’d suggested they do with the ill-mannered Germans.

  Emperor Conrad might have been his country’s leader, but he was no leader of men. Not only had his army raped the Greek countryside, but they’d also vandalized Emperor Manuel’s hunting lodge. Three days had barely been enough time to get the residence cleaned for the French.

  Raoul wouldn’t have bothered.

  He pushed through the heavy doors leading outside. Emperor Manuel waited impatiently on the top stair, a true Roman in his robes of purple and gold. To his left stood John Axuch, grand domestic and military commander of the emperor’s armies.

  Manuel pointed to his right. “Where have you been? I told you I would have you at my side to welcome the French king and queen. You, Raoul, are not welcoming. Your visage says death.”

  John, dressed in thin beige linen, grinn
ed. “Perhaps they’ll leave screaming for mercy at one glance of Raoul’s scowling face.”

  Raoul jerked his head at John but kept his gaze on Manuel. He’d argued loudly to be left out of the ceremonial kiss of peace. He didn’t deserve and didn’t want to be raised high. “Our emperor forgets he needs our sword arms more than our false smiles and pretty words.”

  Manuel huffed. “I don’t forget. Why else would you stand here?” The emperor’s shoulders relaxed as he gestured toward the royal couple approaching. “What do you think? Eleanor’s beauty is legendary.”

  “She’s a woman,” Raoul said dismissively, eyeing the auburn-haired female from head to toe. She wore thick robes of ivory and gold, her heels clicking against each stone step as she and her husband ascended the many stairs from the ground to the landing. Her hand lay possessively on King Louis’s forearm. “How old is she? Twenty-five? And leading her altar boy of a husband around by the balls.”

  In truth, the king barely had a beard, and Raoul could hear his sharp breaths as if he was already tired from the climb. Raoul had no patience for inbred royalty. With his wild pride, he could only serve a man he felt was worthy: a man like Emperor Manuel.

  When Manuel’s eyes narrowed, Raoul wondered if he’d gone too far. “Be careful what you say,” his liege warned. “Louis had thought to go into the church before his older brother, Philip, died and left him to be king. Now it is time to greet our guests.”

  “Quit frowning,” John said to Raoul, chuckling low. “We can’t have the queen fainting at the sight of you.”

  “I don’t frown—or scowl.” Raoul looked away from the queen and faced the people in the courtyard below. “Are those women sitting astride their horses as men? Dressed as warriors, by Christ?”

  Manuel raised a forbidding brow at Raoul. “Do not dishonor me,” he whispered.

  Raoul’s jaw tightened at the reprimand. He’d pledged Manuel his life, and his life he would gladly give. But welcoming words to a king who allowed women to dress like men and carry weapons? He exhaled and forced his hand away from his sword.