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  Certain the rest of the staff was behind him, she jumped up and ran toward him, ducking into his unsuspecting belly. He flew backward, and she escaped, running, running down the hall, out the front door, to the cart and Ragenard’s body. “Ragenard, why?”

  “Wake up, Catherine,” Payen whispered. Because of Eleanor’s request, he knew where she’d fallen asleep and listened for her from his nearby tent. He knelt by her prone body.

  “Ragenard,” she said before mumbling something incomprehensible.

  No wonder the lady fought their attraction so hard. She grieved for her deceased husband.

  He brushed his thumb over her plump lower lip. “Wake, Catherine, before you alert the others. Do you want people to think we are under attack?”

  There. That was a joke. A fine one, and yet she’d slept through it.

  He gently shook her shoulder. “Catherine.”

  Her pale green eyes opened, and he saw the same emotions he’d seen in Louis’s eyes when he’d wakened him from a nightmare brought on by the massacre at Vitry: confusion, terror, bloodlust.

  What disturbed the lady so?

  She sat up. Looking around, she scooted back, her heels scuffing the dirt. “What happened?” Her voice was higher than normal. “Why are you here?”

  As he had with the king, Payen centered her with details. “We are camped along the river on our way to Pergamum. You must have fallen asleep.”

  Her charcoal-smudged cheek and the twig in her hair did nothing to mar her beauty. “I had a bad dream.”

  Payen sat back on his heels. He had to assume the dream was worse than bad, judging by the scream. “Beset by demons?”

  She looked away before a smile teased her lips. “Are you trying to be amusing?”

  He raised his palms and shrugged. “I went in search of a sense of humor.”

  “I have none to spare.” She gathered her knees to her chest.

  “Would you like my cloak?” He stood, then realized he wasn’t wearing it.

  “Was that a jest?”

  “No. Poor planning.” He had come running once he’d heard her scream. He knelt and turned away to point toward the trees. “If you come back a little more, there is shelter. The trees will block the wind.” And privacy, so he could find out what drove her from restful sleep.

  His heel crunched something, and he lifted his boot. A piece of charcoal. And a long stretch of bark. With markings on it. He discreetly tucked the bark inside his boot.

  “I am not kissing you again.” She shook her head, her sable hair falling loose from its plaited bun. His fingers itched to smooth the soft strands.

  She lifted her chin. Her porcelain skin made the charcoal smudge stand out.

  He reached out and wiped the mark free.

  Would she let him kiss her?

  She watched him warily.

  Payen dipped down, scooping his hand under her elbow, lifting her with him. “Come. I know what an awful storyteller you are, so I will entertain you.”

  Glaring at him, she snapped her fingers and looked down, searching for something on the ground. After a moment or two, she gave up with an exasperated sigh.

  What did he have secured in his boot? Should he give it to her now or find out more about the mysterious Lady Catherine? He could always return it later. His curiosity piqued, he kept his voice modulated. “Afraid, Catherine?”

  “Never.”

  “I will keep you safe,” he said, though she seemed fine now.

  “How many times do I have to tell you—I can take care of myself.”

  “Night terrors don’t play fair, do they? King Louis has them too.”

  She stilled.

  “You’ve been attacked, haven’t you? And that is what keeps you from sleeping. I’ve seen it in soldiers but never thought to look for the signs in a woman.”

  It was the wrong thing to say.

  The lady spun from his hold and ran toward the line of tents. She slipped into the one shared with her fellow ladies of the guard.

  He waited for the rest of the night.

  Chapter Eleven

  The next morning, Catherine went to extreme measures to avoid de Montfer. She had to protect her secret at all costs. If it meant walking the other direction whenever he was near, so be it. If it meant pretending sudden hearing loss as he called her name, oh well. To play the part of a fool? Or a coward? Oui, her tattered pride could take it. But why, oh why couldn’t he return to the rear guard with King Louis?

  De Montfer and Eleanor spent their time on horseback conversing like old friends. She had every faith that strategically Eleanor was three steps ahead of him at all times. What did he hope to gain?

  De Montfer and his beast of a horse approached her place in line. “This game is reaching ridiculous lows.” Had he heard her thinking of him? “How many times must I apologize if I somehow offended you?”

  Catherine stared straight ahead. It seemed hiding a secret from a man she desired made everything sharper. Including her senses. He exhaled and her skin pebbled. He swallowed, and she felt drawn to the strong line of his throat.

  He muttered a curse at her stubborn silence and cantered on.

  “Whew,” Mamie said, turning to watch him ride away. “I don’t know what happened between you, but on my oath, I swear I saw sparks.”

  “It’s the light through the trees playing tricks on you.”

  She knew when Payen was nearby. Even before she saw him, she identified his sandalwood scent. Her traitorous body yearned to lay her head against the strong breadth of his chest and, sad to say, sleep. He seemed strong enough to keep her nightmares at bay.

  Fatigue clouded her judgment. Which didn’t stop her from fantasizing as they reached the river Caicus, three miles out of Pergamum.

  She and Mamie, still mounted on their matching white horses, joined Sarah and Fay by a cluster of trees.

  “The best bathhouses were in Constantinople, though I never want to go back,” Fay said.

  “Hot enough for the steam to rise, with extra lavender to cover the scent of horse manure.” Sarah’s eyes were half closed as if she were dreaming.

  Catherine sighed, her body slumping over the saddle horn. “I would stay in until my toes pruned.”

  “I don’t care what wrinkled. I’d call for more hot water,” Mamie said. “And a gorgeous knight to wash my back.”

  Queen Eleanor’s arrival ended the reverie. De Montfer was at her side. Eleanor had taken to wearing more blue and gold on the journey than crimson and white. Was it to match de Montfer, to make her husband happy, or to hide the dirt of travel?

  “This city has much biblical history to offer,” Eleanor declared. “But I would have you all come with me to the Goddess Athena’s Sanctuary.”

  Catherine tightened her grip on the reins, surprised at the queen’s choice of a goddess over Christ.

  Payen winced. If it made him uncomfortable, she would happily go along for the ride.

  “Athena is a woman of ancient feminine might.” Eleanor turned to de Montfer. “Do you know of her, monsieur?”

  “Of course,” de Montfer, atop his black stallion, said. “A virginal war goddess.”

  The queen’s expression hid laughter. Eleanor turned her mount toward the road to the city. “By the time we are through, we will be thoroughly educated on all that Pergamum has to offer regarding Athena, for she was very powerful here as well.”

  Payen smiled, though Catherine sensed his trepidation.

  “Did you decide how long we are staying?” Mamie said. “The last I heard we might stay a week. There would be time for a bath.”

  “King Louis wishes to keep moving,” Eleanor said. “If I had a say, I would stay longer than it takes to refresh our supplies. But it is not my decision. It is up to the king’s advisors and army captain.”

  “Not even a night?” Mamie’s shoulders drooped. “Too bad.”

  “Non. We will make our way to Athena’s sanctuary and stretch our muscles. Invigorating.” The qu
een cantered forward, her spine ramrod straight.

  A sense of doom hovered, but Catherine couldn’t tell if it pertained to the expedition. She looked for Gaston, who waved from his seat with Jacques. He’s fine. Then what? She touched her necklace. Ragenard?

  They reached the huge Byzantine wall of Pergamum, the excitement tangible as the hundred or so members of the queen’s retinue gathered close inside the city.

  Catherine breathed deeply. “It smells ancient.”

  “It stinks,” Mamie said with a wink.

  The guards and nobles dismounted and tethered their horses.

  “Be careful,” Catherine said to Jacques and Gaston, who were in charge of the beasts.

  “The only danger is them falling asleep from boredom,” Payen said. “Besides, King Louis will be arriving soon.”

  It was getting harder to ignore him. Catherine hid her smile and took her place at the queen’s side. They walked through the north end of the city toward the upper acropolis.

  “It’s bigger than Nicaea,” Mamie said, looking around at the old homes of stone and wood. “But feels abandoned.”

  “We trod the same path of Christ and His disciples,” Sarah said.

  The thought caught Catherine off guard. She stumbled backward, twisting her ankle on a loose paver.

  Payen caught her by the arm. “Are you all right?” He looked into her eyes. “These stones are old.”

  She swallowed. Was she to be indebted to him for the entire journey? Jerking her arm free so she could think, for the Virgin’s sake, she said, “Oui. Old.”

  He looked away, jaw clenched.

  Explaining her situation was not a possibility. Someday she would be free to do so, but until then she had to keep away from him.

  In groups, they passed the ruins of the old acropolis at the base of the hill. Catherine looked back, shivering, as if a ghost tapped her shoulder. Between the broken columns and fallen ruins, she swore she saw shadowy movement. Ragenard. She squinted, shielding her eyes with her palm.

  Blessed Virgin! Was that even the same golden brown of Ragenard’s hair? Dear God.

  What if she never received forgiveness? Her punishment: a haunted life.

  She gasped for air. Eleanor, Mamie, and, curse him anyway, Payen all turned toward her as she desperately sucked in a breath.

  Payen pounded her back, which doubled her over but allowed her to take in sips of air.

  “What’s wrong, Catherine?” Eleanor’s breath warmed her cheek, but she couldn’t answer her liege.

  Mamie rubbed the middle of her back, somehow finding the tension and kneading it loose.

  She stood, trembling.

  “What happened?” De Montfer crossed his arms, no doubt judging her.

  “I saw”—she lowered her voice and spoke to the queen and Mamie, rather than the observant lord—“Ragenard.”

  The queen released a sympathetic sigh, her hand on Catherine’s shoulder.

  Mamie, Fay, and Sarah nodded.

  “Have you ever had such a reaction before?” the queen said.

  “Never.” Catherine exhaled, her lungs hurting.

  “What about when you sleep?” de Montfer said, his gaze probing her soul. “Or is this why you don’t?”

  “True,” Fay said. “You never sleep sound when you dream of Ragenard.”

  Catherine faced de Montfer, glaring at him for forcing her confession. “As you all know, I don’t sleep well. My dead husband haunts my dreams, and now he creeps into my waking moments. I can’t rest.” Tears welled, and her throat ached. “It is the reason I don’t sleep with you all for longer than a few hours at most. I don’t want to wake you. It keeps getting worse. And now . . .” She shrugged and looked at the ruins, where there was no trace of a man. Now I am losing my mind.

  Payen looked taken aback before regaining his aloofness.

  “We knew it was bad,” Sarah said. “Have you asked Larissa for a sleeping powder?”

  “I am afraid of what might happen if I can’t wake up.”

  “We will watch you sleep,” Mamie said.

  “Take turns, gladly,” Fay said.

  “Yes.” Sarah pressed her hand against her stomach and winced. “Although sleep has been evasive for me, aussi.”

  “I know,” Eleanor said. “Find the well of Athena, and we shall ask a boon. Let us continue.”

  Payen coughed behind his gloved fist.

  Now that the worst of the pain was over, Catherine was embarrassed. She bowed her head and followed the queen on the arduous path to the top of the giant hill. If only Athena would grant her one night’s solid rest.

  As Payen walked with them, Catherine wondered if her destiny was to learn humiliation. Or to suffer the consequences of her own bad decisions.

  The past two years would have been entirely different had she married George. She would be safely home with her family and perhaps a child of her own. Clemont Manor would be filled with laughter, not death.

  Warming enough to loosen her cloak, she looked at the sky, which went on forever and seemed bluer, brighter than at home. The ground—gritty yellow-gold dirt, white rock, and gravel—was quite different from the moist, brown dirt of France.

  “What do you think of all this?” Payen gestured toward the mountain across from them, where small homes had been carved from the cliffs. Stone steps created an uneven, winding road from the mountain’s base to the very top.

  “It is difficult to believe people live like that! From so far away, they look like ants darting around a mound of dirt.”

  “A thousand years ago, Pergamum was considered the center of learning. There was a large library filled with Roman scrolls.” De Montfer’s enthusiasm was obvious. “Did you know this is where parchment was first created?”

  “Here?” She looked around, noticing the Roman ruins mixed with Byzantine expansion. “I can’t imagine it a thriving city. It is abandoned and sad now.”

  “The bones of something wonderful. See?” He pointed beyond the mountain. “That is the Aegean Sea. The Caicus River provides access. Pergamum was a military stronghold before the Byzantine Empire gained power. Emperor Manuel moved the center to Constantinople.”

  She considered his words, thinking of the violent heathens impeding their pilgrimage. “And the Turks want Constantinople?”

  “The Turks want everything.” Payen laughed.

  Catherine could not let herself relax and enjoy Payen’s company. Because it was so tempting, she picked up her pace to walk next to the queen. There was no room for a third person on the narrow path. He fell behind.

  “Are you feeling better?” The queen’s shoulder brushed hers.

  “Yes, thank you.” She whispered, “Although I didn’t want de Montfer to know about my poor sleeping habits. He sees everything as it is.”

  The queen kept a brisk pace, unmindful of the steep edge. “But I asked him to be aware that you sometimes walk around on your own at night. To keep you from harm.”

  Catherine bit her cheek. Her own queen had set the wolf upon her.

  “Catherine, you are safe within my retinue. Nobody can harm you. Mon fleur,” the queen whispered, “you must ask Goddess Athena to give you the strength to find your own peace. As our disbelieving de Montfer said, she is the virgin goddess and, as such, defends herself and women.”

  “But . . .” Eleanor didn’t know the entire truth. She knew Ragenard was mortally wounded in a forbidden joust. That there was an altercation between her and Ragenard’s brother, resulting in the townspeople clamoring for her neck. Eleanor had found her running for her life, bloodied and torn. The queen had accepted her dazed story of being late on rent. She had never pressed for details.

  “Haven’t I always championed women?”

  Catherine nodded.

  “Women used to be revered, and there will come a time when they are again. Until then, we must use our wits and courage. The mighty oak breaks in a windstorm. The willow bends and survives.”

  Calmed by Eleanor�
��s company, Catherine sighed. She stepped ahead, reaching the top of the mountain. She closed her eyes and let the sun bless her with warmth.

  “I hope this sanctuary is worth the blister on the bottom of my foot,” Sarah said, walking up from behind. She held her hand to her side. “Why couldn’t we take our horses?”

  “Because,” Eleanor said with a slight wheeze, “this gives us time to stretch. Besides, the city council doesn’t want foreign riders going up to the acropolis. We could have hired mules.” She waved her hand. “Pah.”

  “I would be grateful for a mule, my queen,” Fay said, catching her breath as she reached the summit, followed by the last of the noblewomen.

  “Perhaps on the way down.” Eleanor took in the view. “Such beauty. Look. Well worth blisters, Sarah.”

  “Stunning.” Catherine blinked into focus the tableau from the upper acropolis. Panoramic views showing the sea, the city at the base of the hill, the river, the plains, and the stands of trees.

  Warmed from the walk up the mountain, nobody complained of a chill.

  Fay looped her arm through Catherine’s. “What are those?”

  “Olive trees?” Catherine guessed. Traces of ancient power remained beneath the grassy ruins. Her sensitivity hummed to awareness.

  “They were another sign for Athena, along with a huge spear.” Eleanor extended her hand over her head to signify how long the goddess’s weapon might be. She wandered the ruins, inspecting old columns and ruined friezes. “She almost always is portrayed wearing a helmet and breastplate, with an owl and a snake.”

  “Isn’t that Zeus with her?” De Montfer pointed to one of the chipped carvings.

  “Oui,” Eleanor said, taking off a glove to touch the white stone. “The myth goes that she was born from her father Zeus’s head, wearing full armor and calling a battle cry.”

  Fay walked beside Catherine. “It is magical here,” she said softly. “I feel it. Do you feel it?”

  “See how red my hands are? They are warm too.” Catherine’s feet tapped the earth, anxious to dance or run. The energy in this ancient place called to her soul. She looked to Payen, who appeared unaffected. She sauntered closer to him, her hand on her hip. “You don’t believe, de Montfer?” Catherine challenged.