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  “Oh-ho!” Jacques held his hand over his heart. “That’s the first I’m hearing of that, Monsieur Know-It-All.”

  Payen looked away for a moment, hiding his smirk. “You are a squire’s apprentice, Gaston. Jacques will teach you a trade that can make your fortune if you listen properly.”

  “What do I want with a fortune? I’ve enough to eat.” Gaston crossed his arms over his scrawny chest.

  Jacques snorted.

  “I think you both did very well today.” Payen’s father had never considered anything he accomplished enough. He coughed into his fist. “I am very proud. Now get to setting the pallets. I’ll want the one closest to the front of the tent. Gaston, you make sure we have two full buckets of water from the river.”

  The boy, his shoulders slumped, nodded and followed Jacques to the row of tents.

  “A squire’s apprentice?”

  Payen turned toward Catherine’s voice. She walked from the trees with Fay and Mamie, their arms full of kindling. It was the first time she’d acknowledged him since the night before.

  “He needed a title,” Payen said, uncertain if he should offer to take the small pieces of wood. They were guards, not ladies. Or were they both?

  Mamie solved his dilemma. “We are charged with starting the fire. It seems we’ve gained a reputation. Nobody starts a fire like we do.” She winked.

  Fay laughed. “Ignore Mamie, Lord de Montfer. She likes to get the flames going and then say she’s done her chores for the night.”

  “True,” Mamie said. “I would rather roam the woods searching for sticks than debone fish.” She made a disgusted face.

  Payen turned to Catherine, who blushed. Dear God, he’d kissed her until his head spun, then run like a virgin. They would have to get beyond the incident and work together. “What is your favorite part of the evening duties?”

  “I sit by the fire.”

  “She does not just sit by the fire,” Fay called over her shoulder, her eyes the same gray as the dusky sky. “She plays her fiddle, and it’s the most beautiful music I’ve ever heard.”

  Catherine swept past him to take the lead as she went to the fire pit.

  Her hips swayed as she strode away. Her silky brown hair reached the back of her knees. Had it loosened from her braid?

  He felt he was seeing something meant to be seen in private, and he looked away.

  He pressed a fist to his thigh. If her unbound hair makes me hard, how am I to look her in the eye? He would avoid her.

  He walked toward the tent, wondering if Jacques had set out a clean tunic.

  “Lord de Montfer?”

  He turned hopefully to the feminine voice but knew it wasn’t Lady Catherine.

  “Yes, Queen Eleanor?” He gave a short bow from the waist. The sun disappeared beyond the hills, streaking pinks and purples across the clouds.

  She stood alone in front of him. “I would speak with you,” she said softly.

  Hadn’t they spoken enough? He tensed, remembering quite well the rumors of her voracious sensual appetite. Surely, she did not think he, her husband’s closest friend, would succumb to her wiles?

  “In private.” She gestured toward the line of trees, away from the fire and the frolic of a group of people camping together.

  “As you wish.” His first thought, political survival, came second to acknowledging that tales of Eleanor’s multiple lovers were true. Did he dare tell the king? More important, how could he extricate himself from the queen’s bed?

  Chapter Nine

  “Last load,” Fay said, her arms so full of kindling the sticks brushed her chin.

  “Good.” Catherine followed her friends, her body longing for sleep. She’d tried dozing in the saddle. Ragenard had haunted her as soon as she had closed her eyes, images falling one atop the other: memories of their time together, of their lovemaking and laughter.

  In an effort to ward off melancholy, she remembered their nomadic lifestyle. The occasional empty belly, the running from angry landlords when they had no money for rent. Her dead husband had refused to take the hint. Perhaps it was her guilt for leaving him unburied, for accidentally killing his brother, but everywhere she looked she saw Ragenard: his broad shoulders, his soft brown hair, his dignified nose.

  Her eyes misted. Lack of sleep made her emotional when she wished for strength.

  She had to withstand her attraction to Payen de Montfer. The memory of his kiss rose in lip-warming detail, and now she wanted more but dared not. She had thought her emotions dead.

  “I hope you meant it when you said you didn’t want de Montfer.” Mamie was so close that their arms brushed as they neared the woodpile.

  “What do you mean? Do you desire him?” Catherine’s throat closed.

  “No, goose. Until now, I would swear he only had eyes for you.”

  “Hmm?” Catherine dropped the wood, which clattered onto the pile.

  “I just saw de Montfer go into the trees with the queen,” Mamie whispered, picking a few stray wood pieces from her cloak. “Should we follow them?”

  Her breath caught. “Lord de Montfer would never harm the queen.” He was entirely too honorable. So what other reason could they have to—? She pressed her fingers to her lips.

  Fay studied Catherine, then Mamie, then the line of trees where Eleanor had disappeared with Payen. Her mouth formed an O. “We are supposed to protect her.”

  “King Louis sent de Montfer to Eleanor.” Mamie lifted a shoulder. “I am sorry, Catherine.”

  Catherine’s heart hammered. Somehow she didn’t see King Louis picking out his wife’s lovers. But what did she know of royalty?

  “He and I work together because of Gaston,” she said evenly. “We can have no other connection.” She pressed her hands to her stomach to keep it from roiling.

  “Are you all right?” Fay said.

  “Fine.” She blinked, blaming the blur on the smoke pouring from the beginning flames of the fire pit. She spun toward the river. “I have something in my eye.” It was in her throat, too, and her nose . . .

  She walked to the water and knelt, plunging her hands into the river, so frigid it made her teeth chatter.

  Payen de Montfer, while a wonderful kisser, belonged to the queen now. The only thing they needed to discuss was Gaston. No more getting to know one another. Asking questions. Caring. She dripped water down her neck, cooling her temper.

  She owed Eleanor a debt impossible to repay. Without the queen’s intercession, she would be dead.

  It was a blessing, truly, that de Montfer was off-limits. She was unworthy of love.

  She vowed to think only of Jerusalem and the absolution promised for crusaders. It was her only chance to free them all.

  By the time she made her way to the fire pit, it had built from a smoking pile of damp wood to a crackling blaze. She extended her cold hands, absorbing the warmth.

  Sarah and Jonathon stood close to one another but visibly bristled with anger and hurt. Stubborn chins, set mouths, and stiff postures alerted the others to their ongoing argument. Catherine hoped the couple found their way to love again.

  Fay juggled four apples while balancing another on her head. Hector and Mamie clapped, cheering her on. When Mamie noticed Catherine, she tilted her head.

  Catherine turned. Gaston and Jacques flanked de Montfer as he sat on a stool and carved a stick for roasting. Three others, already sharpened, were by his side. He hadn’t been long in the woods. Surely not long enough for an assignation with a new lover. Despite her intentions, her heart lightened.

  “Queen Eleanor asks for you,” de Montfer said, the fire turning his tanned skin a deep rose. “She is in her tent. Shall I walk with you?”

  “I don’t require an escort. I am a guard. Unless you are afraid?”

  The boys snickered.

  She refused to apologize. The sooner he remembered to treat her with respect, the easier they would get along.

  “Afraid of what?” De Montfer scraped the end of the
stick, not meeting her eyes. “You? Never.”

  Yet he’d run like a coward last night. She pointed to the sticks he shaped. “I like mine sharp enough to spear a boar.” She turned on her heel, then strode toward the queen’s crimson-and-white tent. Payen could be the most infuriating man. Arrogant. Oui, and smug.

  The army captain talked with Larissa, who was dressed in a fur-lined cloak, boots, and gloves. She glanced at Catherine. “Go in. Tie the flap behind you.”

  Catherine nodded. Did this meeting have something to do with de Montfer’s counsel with the queen? What if he’d relayed a private message from King Louis? She had no business being jealous. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but following orders. Reaching Jerusalem.

  “Catherine,” Queen Eleanor sang in greeting. “How was your first day back in the saddle?”

  Green silk curtains covered the canvas walls, and embroidered tapestries added colorful accents. Eleanor reclined on a velvet chaise wearing nothing but a sheer chemise, her long auburn hair falling in gentle waves to the carpeted floor. By contrast, Catherine felt travel worn and in need of clean clothes. She hated to step on the thick woolen rugs after walking on dirt.

  “I spoke with Sarah,” the queen said, “and the poor darling is miserable.”

  “She worries you will release her from duty.”

  “It would be for her health if I did. She looks thinner instead of rosy cheeked.”

  “This pregnancy is hard for her.”

  “I will see what I can do.” She paused. “It was some surprise last evening when you brought those poor children to the inn. You have a kind heart, Catherine. Sit.”

  Catherine knelt next to the queen, keeping her gaze on the plush carpet’s green and gold.

  “It turns out that the boy isn’t Greek but from Sordet. He is one of my people, and I thank you for finding him. God guided your hand, your heart.”

  “He is a good boy. A mixture of tough and innocent.” Catherine sighed. “He is polite but then swears like an unschooled farmer.”

  “I see now that my husband was correct. Let de Montfer train him. He will need better skills in life than those of a thief. You were not fond of de Montfer a few days ago. Will you be able to work together?”

  It didn’t sound like Eleanor had romantic interests in Payen. Which meant they’d only had a private conversation, just as she and Eleanor did now. “He has compassion beneath his arrogance, which helps. Gaston is fortunate, and that is what matters most.” She would think about France when the time came. So much depended on the end of this journey.

  “And how are you sleeping?”

  “Fine.”

  “Catherine. Be honest with me, mon fleur.”

  Catherine empathized with Sarah, resenting something that kept her from being her best. For Sarah, a babe; for Catherine, a ghost.

  “I worry I might wake the others with my tossing about.”

  “Nobody has complained. Rest, I order you. Riding horseback in the fresh air leads to a clear head. Perhaps you will find peace.” Eleanor lightly tapped Catherine’s shoulder. “I would have you whole and on the mend. France needs you.”

  Catherine chewed her lower lip. “I miss flying falcons with my brothers.” And sharing a cup of wine with her sisters or a biscuit with her grandmother . . .

  “Have you thought of sending a letter? I know you write. I’ve read some of your poetry, and I would gladly give you parchment. We could send a missive from Pergamum.”

  Her heart constricted. “But . . .” She shook her head. “I couldn’t.” They wouldn’t want to hear from me.

  “I love receiving correspondence.” Eleanor gazed at the basket in the corner next to Larissa’s pallet. “I tend to read my favorite letters over and over. In truth, I finally got a chance to read my latest news from home.”

  Meaning that the queen had read the letter Catherine stole from Emperor Conrad’s trunks, concealed in Larissa’s basket of herbs. She pushed thoughts of her family aside. “All is well, I hope?”

  Eleanor smoothed Catherine’s hair. “Very. Did you know they are related?”

  They. Conrad and Irene? “Really?” Catherine paused. “Though in the old families, it seems everyone is related.”

  “Excellent observation,” Eleanor mused. “In this case, they are related through his wife.”

  Catherine bowed her head and stifled a frown. If Emperor Conrad and Empress Irene were family, why had Emperor Manuel treated Emperor Conrad so poorly? Rumor said Conrad hadn’t even been allowed inside Constantinople but forced to camp outside the city’s great walls, though King Louis had been welcomed. The German army traveled ahead of the Franks, so Catherine heard the accounts second or third hand, diluting the truth.

  Were they cousins or siblings? Did Irene have power now over Conrad, because she was married to Manuel? It would be best if Eleanor wrote to Irene and asked for clarification of familial bloodlines. “Have you considered adding a personal note to the correspondence?” Catherine glanced upward and noticed the tightening of Eleanor’s pink mouth.

  No.

  Too obvious. And King Louis would not approve. Catherine snapped her fingers. “It is interesting, who is related to who. I find ancestry fascinating.” Conrad might speak freely of his wife’s connection to the Byzantine court, if she guided the conversation well. “I could ask. Discreetly, of course.”

  “That would be wonderful. You are an amusing companion.” Eleanor rose, holding out her arms, and Catherine stood as well. “My robe, s’il vous plaît?”

  Catherine helped Eleanor into a quilted ivory robe embroidered with her husband’s blue and gold. “I sent word for Louis and Conrad to join us tonight by the fire.” Because the caravan was thousands strong, there were multiple fires along the route. One at the rear with the king, one at the front with the queen, and a few in the center.

  Eleanor glanced at Catherine. “Does this look pretty? Louis likes it best.”

  A happy husband was a malleable husband, Eleanor had been known to say. In Catherine’s experience, a happy husband was an irresponsible one.

  Catherine smoothed the back of the robe. “You are beautiful. King Louis adores you.” She stepped away, but Eleanor took her wrist and pulled her close.

  “Have you ever met Pope Eugene III?”

  Her heart fluttered. “Non!”

  “Would you like to?”

  To actually meet the most holy of all men, perhaps kiss his ring? Dear God, he would see her for a murderess and refuse to absolve her of her sins. “I don’t think it wise.”

  “You are too good of a soul to harbor evil. Fear no man.” Eleanor tilted her head. “Have you ever seen his likeness?” She hummed and danced them around the room, as if having the most innocent of conversations.

  Catherine wasn’t fooled. Her instincts warned that intrigue was in the air. This air. Inside this tent.

  Catherine discreetly looked to see if there was a painting of the pope that she’d somehow missed among the gold goblets and watercolors.

  “He started out in the world as Bernardo.” The queen shrugged and spun, her hair flying behind her. At twenty-five, she was beautiful and as free-spirited as a girl.

  “Bernardo?” The hairs on her nape raised. Such an ordinary name for an extraordinary man.

  “Of Pisa. He studied with the Bishop of Clairvaux.” Eleanor dipped, then spun again. “There were stories of Bernardo admiring the pretty girls. Rumors, certainly.” She waved dismissively but smiled as if it was indeed quite possible the pope indulged on rare occasion. “We all know the bishop is discreet. The two men formed a strong friendship.”

  Catherine’s stomach knotted. The Bishop of Clairvaux was responsible for generating the excitement among the Franks for the Crusade. “Because they rose together in power in the church at the same pace?”

  “Oui,” Eleanor said, twirling her close.

  Catherine met the dancing queen’s gaze and whispered, “They would keep one another’s secrets.”

&nbs
p; Eleanor nodded and smiled, as if proud of her conjecture.

  Catherine had no clue where the queen led her, despite the merry chase. She listened intently.

  “As it turns out, Bishop Clairvaux has a great interest in all monasteries in France, including Aquitaine. And a protégé. Roberto.”

  Catherine looked away for a moment, feeling dizzy and unsure. “Gaston’s father was at a monastery in Aquitaine. Sordet.”

  “Oui.”

  Everything came together at once.

  “Gaston is . . .” Catherine folded her hands, her entire body trembling.

  The queen held her finger to her lips, dancing closer, then taking Catherine for a twirl around the tent. When Eleanor dipped her, she whispered in Catherine’s ear, “That young child you saved from begging in Nicaea is the illegitimate grandson of Pope Eugene III. Well done, Peony.”

  By the blazing fire, Payen kept watch on Eleanor’s red-and-white tent, noticing that the queen’s handmaiden and the king’s captain paraded around the canvas walls. Each wore a heavy cloak against the cool night air. Dark had taken over while the ladies were inside, leaving Payen to speculate what they discussed. He thought he saw dancing.

  His mission to report to the king might entertain the monarch, while slowly killing Payen in the process. Lady Catherine’s barbs aside, he’d assumed they would find a way to work in tandem for Gaston’s sake. He would do his duty by the king as she did hers for the queen. He would observe, report, and keep his opinions to himself.

  When the queen had asked him to walk in the woods, he’d foolishly believed she would ask him to be her lover. Rumors of her appetite swirled, and he prayed for Louis’s sake they were wrong. Instead of paying attention, he’d practiced ways of turning her aside without Louis finding out. Would he tell his friend or protect him from the knowledge?

  She’d placed her delicate hand on his forearm. “I have a favor,” she whispered, then smashed his vanity. What she wanted was far worse than an illicit affair.

  “I need you to discreetly watch over Lady Catherine. She doesn’t sleep at night and tends to wander the grounds.”

  It was begging the fox to guard the chicken.