Peony Read online

“What would be the point? All know it to be true.” Payen sat closer to her, making room for Gaston at their feet. She felt the solid muscle of Payen’s thigh through their cloaks.

  Catherine realized she felt safer than she had in a very long time. Payen, Gaston, and Jacques were like family.

  Her eyes welled. What would happen if her past was revealed now? What if she lost them? Her heart hammered painfully in her chest. She imagined Payen’s disappointment.

  She’d been stupid. A fool to let anyone close. Was she falling in love with Payen? Non. She confused love and desire.

  She jumped up, heading for the clearing.

  “Where are you going?” Gaston scrambled onto the wooden stump as soon as she left.

  “To walk off all that delicious food.” She attempted to keep her tone light even while her heart shattered.

  “In the dark?” Jacques said.

  “I will stay within sight of the fire.” She waved them back and kept walking, fighting tears.

  “Catherine?” Payen called.

  How could Payen love a murderess? He was so honorable. He would never be able to forgive her grave sin.

  Payen followed, as she’d known he would. He grasped her from behind and twirled her beneath the stars.

  Could she hold him without sharing the truth? It wasn’t fair. “We must talk,” she said, her throat tight.

  He kissed her. “You sound serious. Usually, I am the one accused of that, and you always have a smile. Are you scared?” He took a deep breath. “I’ve never felt this way before. It’s irrational, and I don’t care.”

  “Payen, please listen.”

  He dipped her, kissing the length of her throat before attempting to capture her mouth. “I am.”

  She turned away, praying for strength to do what was right. “It’s about Ragenard.”

  His arms loosened around her, as though he would drop her. “I don’t believe in ghosts, and I will help you stand against yours.” He brought her up, and they stood facing one another.

  “I know why Ragenard haunts me.”

  “And why is that?”

  “I killed his brother.” Already her heart mourned the loss of him.

  He didn’t say anything.

  “I—” She choked and started again. “I am a murderess.”

  There was no feeling of relief, no outpouring of forgiveness as she shared her deepest secret.

  Payen resembled a marble Roman statue, expressionless.

  “I go to Jerusalem for absolution from the pope, as he promised all crusaders would receive if they made the pilgrimage. I need it.” She pounded her heart with her fist. “To sleep at night. God’s forgiveness.”

  His eyes narrowed. “I don’t understand.”

  Catherine’s chest ached like the time she’d been thrown off the back of a racing horse and landed on the dirt, breaking a rib. She held her breath to ease the pain.

  He took her hands, then dropped them as if he could see the bloodstains.

  Catherine didn’t blame him for his reaction. “Nobody knows. I started to tell Queen Eleanor the details, but she bade me hold my tongue. She saved my life as I ran from the authorities. George. He strangled me, and I bludgeoned him with a candlestick. Then ran.” Shame buckled her knees.

  “You defended yourself. Why didn’t you stay and clear your name?”

  Of course he would wonder that. Honorable Payen. “The butler walked in, the candlestick was in my hand, and George was bloody and very dead at my feet. I panicked. I ran past Ragenard’s coffin, was chased by the townspeople, and didn’t stop running until Queen Eleanor picked me up from the road.”

  Payen turned his back on her, staring at the moon and stars that glittered like diamonds, though not as bright as the diamond in her pendant: her offering to the church in exchange for the blessing of Ragenard’s and George’s souls.

  “I am so sorry,” she said, her throat closing.

  When he turned, his features were twisted in anguish. How had she ever thought him unfeeling?

  He crossed his arms, deliberately putting space between them, when an hour before they couldn’t get close enough.

  “My brother was with young King Philip the day he died. Henri had the same reckless eyes as your Ragenard. I swore a solemn oath”—his voice broke—“that I would never disgrace my family. I wish I wouldn’t have made that vow, for I would run away with you. Take you someplace safe. But I can’t do it. I can’t. I promised.”

  Catherine wiped her tears. “You are a better man.”

  “I am not better than anyone. I have spent my entire life trying not to be worse.” He dropped his hands to his sides. “Now what?”

  She breathed in, though it hurt. “I should have tried harder to keep you away.”

  “I pursued you. I have never felt more alive.”

  Catherine stung all over, an open wound with salt rubbed in. “We work together for Gaston. That is all we can share.” If only he’d listened to her. If only she’d been strong enough to say no.

  “I regret nothing.” Payen stepped back. “Thank you for telling me your secret. I will not share it with the king. It stays between you and me.” He bowed and left.

  Watching him walk away, Catherine was certain she would never smile again.

  Every step Payen took away from her deepened the ache in his chest. He needed her. She was the other half of his soul. This was the devil’s trick, showing him love and not letting him keep it.

  Rain began to fall, pelting his face. Payen made his way to the tent to ensure the boys were inside and the gear stowed safely.

  Was Catherine still kneeling in the grass, alone?

  He would be a man about his business, putting one boot in front of the other, until he could bear the pain of losing Catherine. Knowing it was his choice to walk away. As hard as it had been for her to say, for him to hear, it was the right choice. The honorable choice.

  Near the fire, Eleanor and Louis stood arm in arm under an awning to stay dry. Eleanor gestured for him to come speak with them. He did so reluctantly, masking his expression.

  “Bonsoir,” he said. “Better it rain at night than during the day?”

  “It will make the rivers more difficult to cross in the morning,” Louis said. “My captain was speaking to Conrad, suggesting we might have been better off taking the mountain range. This winding coastal road still has mountains but deep valleys too. And we are coming into the worst of it.”

  “It has been pleasant so far,” Eleanor opined. “The Turks have stayed back. A few of the Greek villages haven’t wanted to give us food at a fair price, but all in all . . .” She shrugged. “After what happened to Conrad and his men, I worried we would have a more difficult time.”

  “We have been fortunate.” Payen kept a firm grip on his emotions, not allowing them to surface. He would focus on the king’s issues instead. “It is always easier to tell the future once it has occurred.”

  Louis chuckled. “True.”

  “And how is Lady Catherine?” Eleanor said, her smile easy.

  Pain lanced his heart. “She is in the clearing. Fine.” He bowed his head. “Queen Eleanor, I ask to be relieved of the favor you asked.”

  “Favor?” King Louis echoed.

  “Just a small thing, really: to be aware that Catherine sometimes doesn’t sleep at night. I was hoping Payen would be her champion.” Eleanor’s words grew clipped toward the end of the sentence.

  “Is there a reason you wished to be relieved, de Montfer?” King Louis said.

  Could he explain that seeing Catherine without holding her would be a slow death? That his broken soul needed time to mourn? No. “It is nothing.” He cleared his throat, his strength of will the only thing keeping him upright. Nor could he ask the king to release him from being the queen’s invisible shadow. The royal pair needed him, and his duty outweighed his grief. “I spoke too soon.” All these damned promises! When would he choose for himself?

  Eleanor nodded, and King Louis smiled, co
ntent.

  “If there is nothing else, I would like to see to my squire and young Gaston.” Another oath sworn, the boy’s safety.

  “How is he?” Louis looked at Eleanor and lifted a brow.

  “He isn’t cursing as much, which makes Jacques happy. He feels responsible for the boy’s behavior.”

  Eleanor nodded at Louis as she spoke to Payen. “Do you know who the boy is?”

  “A priest’s bastard?” His skin pebbled, damp and cold.

  “Pope Eugene III’s illegitimate grandson,” Eleanor said, her eyes dancing. “He is to be taken care of—with your life, if necessary. Although, one hopes it doesn’t come to that.”

  “Now, Eleanor, that is a touch melodramatic, even for you, mon cher. Payen, see to the boy as you have been doing. It is our intent to get him to Rome once this journey is over.”

  “It is imperative,” Eleanor added, “that the pope know we found him and cared for him in utmost secrecy. It could ruin a man, these little indiscretions.”

  Stunned, Payen could only nod. What did the queen have in mind? Blackmail? “Does Lady Catherine know?”

  Eleanor slowly dipped her head.

  Catherine had known something of that magnitude and hadn’t shared it? At first he felt anger before realizing she owed him nothing.

  It left him wanting to uncover all her secrets.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The dream journey was over. Catherine hunched forward on her horse, her hooded cloak sodden. She’d added oil to help resist water saturation, but with the steady drizzling, it didn’t help. Add to that the cold wind from the ocean, and the entire caravan was miserable.

  Mamie, riding beside her, resembled a drowned pup. Her ringlets dripped, the end of her pert nose was red, and she couldn’t stop trembling. She sneezed loudly.

  “Bless you,” Catherine said.

  They didn’t dare stop because, while the caravan suffered, the Turks had finally decided to squeeze in closer. Their arrows made the pilgrims aware of the escalating danger. Three of the pack horses had gone down but no people.

  Eleanor, with de Montfer at her left and Larissa to her right, was surrounded by Mamie, Catherine, Fay, and Sarah. Also Jonathon, Dominus, and the king’s captain. They all looked like wet rats, so there was no way of knowing who was royal. So far, the arrows had been farther down the line at the rear.

  Catherine’s sword was easily accessible, though her fingers were numb. What good did the weapon do if she couldn’t hold it? She needed both hands on the reins because of the muddy, treacherous road.

  It had been raining nonstop for three days, adding to the travel time by more than half of what they’d hoped. The rivers surged with white-capped brown water, and the trails were slippery. Slow.

  Catherine’s respect for the Knights Templar rose as she watched them patrol the lines, never relaxing their guard as they rode up and back. After one circuit, Dominus paused by her mount. He seemed impervious to the rain. His helmeted head showcased eyes a brilliant, turquoise blue. Catherine wondered how he’d come to be a religious knight.

  One of these evenings around the fire, she would find out—if it ever stopped raining.

  “How are you faring, Lady Catherine?” His gaze slid to Mamie’s appearance, and his lips twitched before he controlled his smile.

  She could feel Mamie’s ire toward the soldier.

  “We are wet, as you can see,” Catherine answered pertly. “Have you seen any Turks?”

  “No.” He held his sword and patted his quiver of arrows, guiding his horse with his knees. “You ladies are safe.” He gestured to Catherine’s arrows, which she had attached to the front of her horse so she could reach them easily. “You won’t need those.”

  It was easier not to argue and do what she wanted anyway. She changed the subject. “It will be difficult to travel all the way to Ephesus like this. Another week and we’ll all mildew.”

  “We must pray for better weather,” Dominus said, dipping his head before cantering down the line.

  “Pray for better weather? That was his answer?” Mamie huffed. “A knight that spills blood for God and who vows abstinence? It isn’t right he should be so good-looking.”

  What wasn’t right was the fact that not once had de Montfer ridden back to see how Catherine fared, a simple act of kindness that one might offer a stranger. Yet he asked after the other ladies. He’d even helped Sarah down from her horse so she could puke in the woods.

  Gaston had ridden pillion with Catherine for a few hours yesterday and earlier this morning. Now he rode in the cart. He hadn’t been feeling well. Another crack in her already fractured heart. If anything happened to the pope’s grandson, Eleanor would not be pleased.

  She vowed to feed him hot soup herself once they stopped for the night. They didn’t dare stay and wait out the bad weather. A caravan such as this went through a large amount of food, and there hadn’t been extra to begin with.

  Her horse slipped on the wet leaves and mud, and Catherine almost fell, her quick reflexes preventing a nasty spill. She kept a better eye on the trail and soothed the horse with a scratch behind the ear. She twitched her mane.

  “None of us look pretty,” she told the mare in a commiserating tone.

  “Amen,” Mamie added. “Do you think that is why a certain dark-haired gentleman no longer comes around?”

  Catherine straightened, and a raindrop fell beside her eye. She wiped at it, which just added more water. “We have decided we are not right for one another.”

  “What? What nonsense. You radiate togetherness just being in the same room. And the other night? You floated like an angel from the woods.”

  Uncomfortable with the conversation, Catherine looked up at the line of trees, her body immediately alert. Was that a man in the treetop? With a bow and arrow? “Mamie, go to the queen!”

  Her friend immediately complied, urging her mare forward.

  Catherine directed her horse to the left, shrugging out of her damp cloak in less time than it took to think of it, pulling an arrow from the quiver, nocking it in the bow, and letting it fly. The man in the tree cursed but didn’t fall.

  Mamie halted the front of the caravan, and Catherine thanked all the heavens that Payen’s shoulders were so broad. He easily shielded the queen as Sarah, Fay, and Mamie formed a triangle around them. Nothing would reach Eleanor.

  All of this happened in mere seconds, and by the time she’d nocked her second arrow, Dominus joined her, as did de Montfer’s men and the French captain.

  “He’s gone,” she said, squinting against the rain. “I think I hit him, but I don’t know.”

  “You did well,” Dominus said. “How did the heathen slip past our defenses? Don’t blame yourself for not hitting him square. If you didn’t notice, the weather is a bit off.”

  Thunder roared, and a fresh deluge poured from the sky.

  Oui, she thought. Men seemed to have a dryer sense of humor. She could learn to appreciate it.

  Mamie and Fay rode toward her as the captain whistled the signal to keep moving.

  “Shall I start calling you Eagle Eye?” Mamie teased. She was no longer slouching.

  “Excellent shot,” Fay said. “What if you hadn’t seen him up there?” She gestured to the trees that followed the river trail.

  “I did.” Catherine shuddered. She had one duty that preceded all others: guard the queen. “That is what matters. Have we been lax, letting de Montfer and his men closer to the queen?”

  “It is what the king wants. Besides, he shielded her body with his,” Fay said. “And his men integrated with us. They didn’t fight us for position.”

  Catherine wished she could find a way to get de Montfer sent back to the rear of the caravan, but it wouldn’t happen, especially now when he’d proven his worth. Nodding, she moved her horse into line, a horse length behind Eleanor.

  Payen looked back, studying her before nodding once and turning away.

  She lifted her chin and ignored the
tears mingling with the rain.

  Payen clenched his jaw. Thank God Catherine noticed the man in the trees. The Turk was not after the queen specifically but targeting the crusaders. Catherine’s quick thinking saved someone from injury or death.

  What had he been doing?

  Riding his horse next to the queen and thinking of the woman he couldn’t have.

  “Well! That brought excitement to a previously dull day. What an excellent shot. You know, though, that Lady Catherine is something of a mystery,” Eleanor said, intruding on his thoughts.

  “And yet she is part of your inner circle?” Did the queen know Catherine had killed someone before joining her court? Catherine’s ability to defend herself and the queen made her an asset. A woman who spied danger in a rainstorm and shot menace from the trees. He’d promised Catherine he would keep her secret, though if the queen was endangered by it, Payen would have to force Catherine to confess.

  “We found her running from a mob, actually,” the queen said. “We were returning from a hunt outside of Pascon, where she sprang from the fields like a frightened deer. Lo and behold she was being chased by angry, tool-wielding peasants, all calling for blood! I could see she was a lady.” Eleanor smiled prettily and wiped the rain from her eyes. “I had my driver pull the horses over, and we invited her inside the carriage. She jumped in and said she couldn’t go home. Charming, amusing. When we arrived at the manor, I ordered her a bath and invited her to be part of my court, training her for my private guard.”

  “She could have been running from anything,” Payen said, studying the queen’s expression.

  “Oui. She was fortunate and fast enough to escape a terrible situation. Lord de Montfer, people are not simply good or bad. That is what makes us stronger in the eyes of God. We all have personal trials to overcome. The strongest learn and grow; the weak never change.”

  She knows. It was a relief because he hadn’t wanted to share Catherine’s secret and depose her from a position she deserved, skilled with her bow and arrow and easily knocking rocks from the sky.

  How to convince his father to accept Catherine despite her bloodied history?