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  “Touched by God?” Everard asked somewhat sweetly, Mamie thought.

  “Tortured, in my humble opinion.” Bartholomew rose from his seat. “Thank you for sharing this meal. May God bless you on your adventure tomorrow. Good night.”

  He left, and Mamie risked a peek at Dominus. The knight watched the commander go, his brow furrowed.

  Mamie cleared her throat. “You have permission to stay for a while. Shall we continue our conversation closer to the dais? We can slide the bench over and let the servers take down our table.”

  “Ah, yes, you must keep your queen in sight,” Dominus said. “She looks very lively this eve.”

  “She has missed her family home in Aquitaine, which is much different than Paris.”

  “I understand. I am also from a sunnier coast.” Dominus ran a hand over his hair, ruffling the curls. “Paris is not all gray, though. It can be amusing.”

  “If you don’t mind a church on every corner,” Fay countered, then sighed. “Which, of course, neither of you would.”

  Everard stood. “There are many universities there too. Man questing for answers, in one form or another.”

  Dominus also got to his feet, then lifted the long bench they’d been sitting on as if it were a bushel of apples. He set the bench away from the servers but within eyesight of Eleanor. There was enough room for them all to sit.

  “Will you receive a reprimand for sitting with the enemy?” Mamie longed to find out how Dominus had avoided his penance.

  “Women are not the enemy,” Dominus said.

  “Our own willpower is what we fight,” Everard clarified. “In the face of such beauty, the battle is constant.”

  “You have a courtier’s tongue.” Fay giggled. “Where was that on the boat?”

  “As tangled as the net I tossed.” He shrugged, his eyes laughing. “The wine has made me a poet.”

  “Look,” Mamie said, gesturing with her chin toward the dais. “Eleanor is finished and the king too.” The royal pair were standing. “Are they going to lead a dance?” That would do the king’s pride some good.

  “The king does not like dancing,” Fay said. “But perhaps tonight he will make an exception.”

  “Does any man truly like dancing?” Everard made a whistling noise. “Step one, two, three. Step one, two, three.”

  Fay stretched around Mamie so she could see the young knight. “It is an opportunity to flirt harmlessly, allowing men and women to get to know one another in a protected environment.”

  Everard tucked his knees to the side of the bench, out of the way of a passerby. “God does not need my dips and bows.”

  “Nor does my horse,” Dominus said. “God and steed. No games, just honor.”

  Mamie gave a false shiver. “How dreadfully boring,” she drawled. Heaven help her, but she could imagine many ways dancing was enjoyable. Naked, dipping, bowing, hand-to-hand, cheek-to-cheek. It had been so long since her last romantic encounter, she feared she’d lost her touch. It would be cruel to practice on Dominus or Everard. Though she had a thought that Dominus could take it.

  “I plan on dancing tonight,” she declared. “Until I cannot dance another step.”

  Dominus’s brows drew forward above his strong nose. How had he broken it? A fight with an enemy?

  “What?” she asked, warming at his perusal before his expression closed.

  “Nothing. Enjoy your dancing. When would you like to leave in the morning?” His long white tunic hitched to his ankles as he shifted on the bench.

  “You do not have to accompany us.” Mamie looked into his eyes, seeing the shadows beneath them. “Rest tomorrow.” She tapped his knee, unthinking, and said, “I only stopped arguing so that you would not have to explain to your commander that Fay and I are capable of riding alone. Walking alone, too, for that matter.”

  “I want to go.”

  “Why?” Mamie crossed her arms at her waist. “What do you care about an ancient grove?”

  “I enjoy history.”

  “And do you think God will approve two of his men, warrior-monks cavorting around a grotto where there might be the remains of a pagan temple?”

  Everard looked uncertain, but not Dominus. No, he grinned. “I would wager God already knows that it exists.”

  Fay snorted, while Everard went from uncertain to concerned.

  “A temple, where hordes of people worshipped the god of love.” Mamie let her hand graze Dominus’s knee once more.

  “Not the god of love,” Dominus corrected. “That was Eros. Apollo is in charge of music and light. Pulling the sun across the sky with his chariot. Oh, and archery. He supposedly had a silver bow. Idols, each one.”

  “I am surprised that you know this.” Mamie’s intellect warmed as she readied for a long debate. Roman gods, Greek gods, God. Good conversation was almost as good as . . . Well, almost.

  “Me too,” Everard said. “I barely know how to read the prayer books.”

  “A temple where people prayed to an ancient god.” She leaned closer. “They must still go there if the locals talk about it. Will that interfere with your beliefs?”

  “No,” Dominus answered with conviction. “I believe that God is the only God, the true God. It is man that is fallible. It has always been so.”

  Everard exhaled with obvious relief.

  “And what do you pray for, Dominus?”

  “A man prays in private.” He jerked his chin toward her. “What about you?”

  “Oh, yes, I do my praying in private too.” She’d had no idea he could converse so well. A strong man with intelligence and wit. The Templar became more dangerous to her peace of mind the longer she stayed with him.

  Everard held his arms loose at his sides. “I pray every day that the Christians hold Outremer. That my failings as a man will be forgiven.”

  Fay shook her head. “Everard, you are a pure soul. A good man. You have done nothing wrong that I have seen.”

  His face clouded. “I wish that were true. It is not.”

  “No man is perfect. Or woman,” Mamie added, to be fair. “Fay?”

  “I pray daily for the safety of the queen. For my friends.” She kept her smile in place, but Mamie could see she was not interested in the subject. “You?”

  Mamie considered. “We have come so far. I want to live to see Jerusalem. Not for absolution but to touch the most holiest of ground.”

  “There is nothing else you want?” Dominus asked, searching her face.

  “No.” She had lied to herself for so long it almost sounded like the truth.

  Fay tilted her head but just blinked in her enigmatic way. “The queen is waving. I think she requires our assistance.” She stood, tugging at her vest to make sure the points were even. “Until tomorrow.”

  Mamie reluctantly stood. “Tomorrow.”

  Chapter Eight

  Dominus watched Everard watch Fay and saw the beginnings of admiration in the young man’s eyes. “She’s not for you,” he said, giving him a light punch in the arm. “Remember?”

  “I was not . . . I just . . .” Everard clamped his lips together. “I know. I pledged an oath to be a warrior for justice, for God. I told you—I try, but I fail.”

  “Do not consider yourself unworthy over natural urges.” He should have been giving himself this lecture, steadfastly refusing to look in Mamie’s direction. He thought she was too fine a woman to spend a night alone, but there was not much he could do about that either.

  Watching her reaction to Sarah’s death had changed something in him. He had cared for her already—from afar, where it was allowed. In the past few days, he had come to see her as more than a temptation.

  Mamie walked up the five stairs toward the queen, nodding and smiling at everyone. She went out of her way to speak to King Louis, including him in the circle.

  She was kind, in ways that mattered. Strong. The sort of woman a man could trust at his side. Dominus’s half-brothers had all adopted their father’s sentiment: the more
women and children, the merrier. They’d laughed at his self-restraint the last time he’d gone home—what, five years ago? They’d laughed until the keep could no longer sustain them, leaving Dominus a bitter medicine to swallow after they’d gone.

  Enough of the memories.

  Dominus could be there, upon the dais, if he chose.

  Born the second son of a minor duchy meant nothing without the means to support his obligations. If he cared to be Duke Dominus Brochard, he could mill about with the other noble folk. He was more comfortable as a knight. He’d earned the right to wear his own colors, to fly his own banner. Hard work, dedication.

  Until his father had the last laugh, dying. His brothers, dead. In debt to the bishop, his family’s keep was nothing unless he finished this quest. When the bishop suggested a barter, Dominus honestly had not thought it would be difficult spending a year without a woman’s company or being free to act as his own man. As a knight, he fought for a man of his choosing, building his reputation, affixed to that of his lord. Working for another, like this.

  He’d had no notion he would meet Mamille of Rou or that he would be stymied by the Templar rules. He’d promised, made a bargain that he could not go back on, even if it killed him.

  Seeing Count Jocelyn eye Mamie’s assets over the remains of a peacock tail almost dealt the final blow to his self-control.

  He had to do his duty. He stared down at his hands and thought of what the bishop might want to know. He had not heard the knights or gentry speak of Edessa, and why not? If they were to be prepared for battle, there should at least be plans somewhere.

  The king’s advisors knew plenty. Odo. And the tall eunuch. Thierry.

  He searched the room, finding them in conversation with some of the other priests, on a bench along the far wall.

  What were they discussing so adamantly?

  “Come, let us stretch our legs, Everard.” He rose, as did his fellow knight.

  “Where? Outside?”

  “Non. Do you know that priest, there? Talking with Odo?”

  Everard squinted into shadow. “I hate to gossip,” he said.

  Dominus suspected this was not quite true and waited a moment.

  “But,” Everard continued, “the shorter priest is new to Antioch, and the only reason I know this is because he was kind enough to show me how to find my room. I was turned around in the hall.”

  “Kind,” Dominus agreed. It had to be the layout of the palace, if everyone kept getting lost.

  “He asked about the Turks shooting arrows into our party at the boat. I told him that we were very blessed to be with the queen and shield her from the attack.”

  We were fortunate not to be killed ourselves, Dominus thought but kept the words to himself. The truth as he remembered was that Mamie had caught the glint of metal in the distance and hadn’t forgotten their experiences on the caravan. She’d whistled, Fay stepped in front of the queen, Eleanor stopped, and Mamie took the queen’s right, shoving him and Everard into the square around Queen Eleanor.

  As neatly as a drill sergeant.

  It made him wonder what else she might do for the queen. How could he use that information?

  Mamie stood on the dais, waiting for the queen to decide what she wanted to do. Her stomach was full, her mind quickened with Dominus’s rhetoric, but her body was exhausted after the months of hardship. She sipped her wine and avoided another leering grin from Jocelyn, the Count of Edessa.

  “Can you believe there is to be a tournament in our honor, Louis?” Eleanor asked, her eyes bright and her cheeks rosy. Done with their food, the nobles stood around the table to talk. “Who shall we have fight for us?”

  “I would have Lord Payen de Montfer, but he is gone.” The king’s tone bordered on petulant, but the queen brought his hand to her mouth and kissed his knuckles.

  “You miss your friend, I know. I miss mine too.”

  Catherine, a fellow guard, had married the king’s best friend, Payen de Montfer. They’d done a secret service for the queen and king and been rewarded by becoming the Baron and Baroness of Bidlieux.

  The royal couple shared a commiserating smile, and Mamie hoped that the shared memory might bring the queen back to the here and now. What was important? Jerusalem.

  “We will see them again, when we return to France,” Eleanor said.

  The king’s smile brightened his face. “Thank you for the reminder that not all is lost.” He brought the queen’s fingers to his lips and gave each digit a tender kiss.

  Mamie blinked tears from her eyes and looked away. She’d been fortunate to love three husbands, three times. And three times she’d lost her heart. No more.

  “So who, then? We need someone strong and valiant.” The queen turned to Mamie. “What about that Templar, Dominus?”

  Mamie’s breath caught. She did not want Dominus endangered in a tournament. The games could be fatal, if the rules were not followed properly. “Can a Templar fight for the king?”

  “No, I do not believe so,” Constance said. “Can you choose someone else from your army?” The princess looked at Eleanor, then Louis and finally Mamie and Fay.

  Eleanor lifted her shoulder. “I prefer Dominus. Perhaps an exception could be made this once? He saved my life. I would show him favor.”

  “I do not believe a man of God needs such things,” the king dared.

  The twitch of the queen’s finger gave away her anger, though she smiled and shrugged as if it were of no import.

  Constance understood something had changed and reached out to touch the queen’s forearm. “I am sure we can have an archery contest, if your ladies would like to participate.”

  While Louis’s expression closed, Eleanor’s opened like a flower in bloom. “How thoughtful you are, Constance. Mamie and Fay are gifted archers, though our Catherine was the best. I think it better, though, if they rest while we are here.”

  Louis released a breath, clearly relieved. Poor man.

  “But, Eleanor!” Raymond reached around a tray piled high with sweets. “I wanted to see your ladies in action. From all you’ve written, they are wonderful.”

  Mamie did not miss the stiffening of Louis’s shoulders. He’d asked her, after Constantinople, to stop corresponding privately with her uncle.

  If Eleanor felt the rebuff, she continued on as if nothing were the matter. “They are magnificent, but they are only two. We need five for the best effect.”

  “So you’ve disbanded your lady guard?” Raymond popped a nut in his mouth and chewed.

  “Never,” Eleanor said. “We just don’t do performances.”

  Constance discreetly rubbed her side. “Will you add new ladies?”

  The queen hesitated, as if pondering. She patted Louis on the hand. “My husband would prefer if I did not.”

  The king, agitated, rose. “Your ladies were at your side this morning and kept you from harm. Your guard has my undying respect and affection.” He searched the crowd, stopping once his gaze settled on Odo. “I am tired.”

  Eleanor noticed and put her hand on his sleeve. “Won’t you stay for the dancing? The music? You enjoy the lute.”

  “It has been a long day.” He chuckled, the sound hollow. “A long year. I would like to sleep.” Louis turned to Raymond and Constance, offering each a kiss of peace. “My gratitude for the welcome you’ve given us. I will not forget your generosity.”

  “Sleep well, King Louis,” Constance said.

  Raymond repeated the wish.

  Eleanor stood next to her husband. “I will leave with you.”

  Louis leaned over to kiss his wife’s cheek. “No need. Enjoy your evening. I know you like to dance.”

  The words were cold and dismissive, though he said them quietly enough that Mamie hoped nobody else would hear them.

  Now forced to stay, Eleanor said good night.

  Later, after more wine, Fay and Mamie alternately dancing with the queen or sitting with her, Eleanor confessed, “Mamie, this is the most
fun I have had since . . .”

  “Aquitaine?” Fay guessed.

  “Imp.”

  Fay grinned.

  Constance and Raymond danced together on the dais, until Constance yawned midstep. “Pardon me. I am suddenly so tired that I cannot keep my eyes open.”

  “When will the tournament be tomorrow?” Mamie asked.

  “Not tomorrow.” Constance smiled and shook her head. “I am an efficient organizer but not that fast. The day after, perhaps.”

  Fay said, “We sat with Lady Hortencia during the meal. She told us about a grove near here dedicated to the old goddess Daphne. With a waterfall.”

  Eleanor sat up. “I want to go.”

  “I thought you might.” Mamie laughed. “We’ve made arrangements for tomorrow morning.”

  Constance brought her hands to her flushed cheeks. “I wish I could join you, but I have much to do to plan the tournament. I will have my steward give you exact directions. Be open to the possibilities.”

  “Is there really a waterfall?” Eleanor asked, her eyes bright despite the hour.

  “Yes. You must make a wish,” Constance said with a shake of her finger and a grin. “Even the air feels magical. “We will dine together tomorrow evening, and you can tell me about your adventure. It is said that a water nymph caught the eye of the great god Apollo but spurned his advances, so he turned her into a daphne, or laurel, tree. It is a spot for love.”

  “As you created a garden for love.” Fay turned to the queen.

  Eleanor waved dismissively. “I cannot compete with an ancient Greek god.”

  “Just as well,” Constance laughed, finishing her wine. “Love should not be a competition.”

  Raymond, stumbling a bit, took Constance by the wrist. “Come, mon chéri, and speak to me of love,” he said. “We will see you ladies tomorrow.”

  He waved, and the pair left.

  Eleanor chuckled. “I remember a time when he did not seek his bed until dawn.”

  “No doubt his pretty wife will keep him there,” Fay said. “Should we, too, seek our chamber?”