Peony Page 19

  “I remember camping here by the river.” Jacques smiled at Catherine. “It curved around a bunch of rocks. You drew the trees perfectly.” He looked at the sketch again. “Who is that fellow?”

  “I’ve seen him.” Gaston swallowed a spoonful of soup, oblivious to the chaos caused by his observation.

  “What?” Payen said, hearing Catherine echo him.

  “Sure.” Gaston took another bite, unaware of the effect he had on everyone else in the small room.

  Catherine looked as if she might faint. Larissa set down her almonds and walked to her. Jacques, too, went to her side. Her body visibly trembled.

  Payen was sorry he’d brought the sketch out of the pack.

  “But how could that be?” Catherine left her protectors and shuffled to the side of the bed, sinking to the edge. “Gaston, are you certain? Could you look again?” She tapped the drawing with her fingernail.

  “I’m certain. I just saw him when Jacques and I were looking out the window. He wore a dark cloak but no hat. He has brown hair, lighter than mine.”

  “I wrapped his body, fitted him into his coffin. Ragenard is dead. You can’t have seen him, Gaston. Though I thank you for your devotion.”

  Payen hated the raw emotion on Catherine’s face and stepped forward to touch her shoulder.

  She pulled away from him, then marched toward the box of food. Resolute, she lifted a stick of meat. “Lamb kebob?”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Catherine knocked on the boys’ door just after dawn. A sense of urgency that had nothing to do with their previous night’s dissension made her restless.

  “Come in,” Payen called.

  Payen, Jacques, and Gaston were already awake.

  “How is he?” She said, looking at Gaston.

  “Slept through the night. We all did.” Payen looked as if he’d just gotten out of bed. His hair needed to be combed.

  Her blood heated, and she had to turn away. The feelings she had for him wouldn’t disappear, no matter how hard she tried to ignore them or how angry she was at him for being so . . . Lord de Montfer. What she remembered was the firmness of his mouth as it fit over hers and his—

  His oath.

  Her vow.

  “And you?” he said.

  Her gaze moved from his inviting lips to his dark eyes.

  “Larissa snores.” She shrugged and moved away from the threshold, the heels of her brown boots clicking against the wooden floor. “If we leave now, we can probably reach the caravan before they make camp tonight. Five people travel much faster than thousands.”

  Payen tied his hair back with a thin leather strap. No comb necessary: another thing men had easier than women. “We will take care of the horses and meet you ladies downstairs.”

  “Larissa went to the market for rolls. She should be right back.” She saved her smile for Jacques and Gaston, then returned to her empty room.

  She and Larissa had already packed, so it was a simple matter of gathering their things and paying for the rooms.

  The portly Greek inn owner wordlessly took her coin and left the office, as if glad to see the last of the crusaders.

  His wife, a middle-aged, dark-haired woman with sharp eyes, gestured for Catherine to wait. “I have fruit for your journey. A gift for your queen,” she offered in French.

  Catherine murmured her thanks, masking her surprise at the parchment slipped to her along with the oranges.

  “I was about to leave.” The woman lowered her eyes and left after her husband.

  “Merci.” Catherine pretended to have forgotten something upstairs and went back to the room she’d shared with Larissa, studying the folded missive. The rough texture indicated an inexpensive parchment that could be bought anywhere. It had been sealed with red wax, imprinted with the letter A.

  For the queen. Catherine buried her curiosity and tucked the letter away in a concealed pouch inside her cloak. From whom? Someone in Aquitaine?

  “Here you are. I thought I’d heard you downstairs.”

  Catherine turned at the sound of Payen’s voice, her heart racing. “One last look to see if we left anything behind.” She had no more personal secrets for him to uncover, but spying for the queen would top them all.

  “My apologies for my behavior last night.” Payen’s shoulders filled the doorway. A lock of hair had escaped the leather tie, and he shoved it back. “Talk of apparitions and spirits, ghosts . . . Ragenard is gone, Catherine.”

  Softening, she nodded. They had to ride together, care for Gaston. It would be easier if they could get along. Besides, her emotional state was far from stable. The necklace, her oath to Ragenard, and her lack of sleep didn’t help.

  “I wanted you to be reasonable, especially in front of the boys. They are very impressionable.”

  She bristled like a cat with her fur rubbed the wrong way. “You just insulted me again.” Catherine held up her hand to stave off his words. “I believe in ghosts. I’ve seen them. I don’t call you narrow-minded or arrogant just because you haven’t. I am tired of being deemed unreasonable.”

  Sighing loudly, as if that would clear the air, Catherine stepped forward. “You gave a convincing argument last night. People can look enough alike to be twins, even though they aren’t related.” She raised a finger and narrowed her eyes. “Your way of thinking is not the only way of thinking, de Montfer.”

  “Jacques hasn’t forgiven me yet for upsetting you.” His lips curved in a half smile that charmed her. “Deliberately gave me cold oats to break my fast.”

  “Good. And Gaston?”

  “He remains convinced that he’s seen the fellow you sketched.”

  My champion, coming to my defense because I saved him too. “I will stay clear of the subject. We don’t want his fever returning.” Oui, Payen’s belittling attitude stung, but it was a small thing compared to the aching desolation of their doomed love.

  “Catherine.” He drew out her name.

  She deliberately exuded confident independence. “Lord de Montfer. We have custody of Gaston until the royal couple releases us. I suggest we keep our business focused on him and not discuss any personal desires.”

  His amber eyes turned almost black.

  “Neither of us is free to do anything other than serve our king and queen.” She strode out the door, careful they didn’t touch. Not even the slightest brush of cloth against cloth. The illusion was all that held her together.

  Gaston, looking slightly better but still wan, held her white mare’s reins. He smiled, then quickly cupped his hands to assist her atop her horse.

  “My thanks,” she said, careful not to tousle his hair since he was acting as the mature assistant to the squire.

  Jacques helped Larissa, while Payen easily vaulted to the top of his giant black stallion. He reached for Gaston, lifting the boy by the arm to ride pillion.

  Avoiding eye contact with Payen, Catherine adjusted the reins.

  Larissa wore a puzzled frown as she looked at Catherine and then Payen.

  Catherine couldn’t explain what she didn’t understand.

  Larissa and Jacques were good riders too, and they traveled all day without incident. Gaston hardly coughed, dozing against the security of Payen’s broad chest. The gray of dusk loomed when Catherine finally saw the rear guard of the caravan.

  “I see the French flag and German too!” Catherine waved toward the soldiers, knowing their blue and gold would announce them as fellow crusaders. They rode directly to the king.

  King Louis exchanged a look with Payen. “I wasn’t certain you would return so soon.” The king studied them from the back of his russet horse. “The queen will be pleased.”

  What had that look meant between the two men?

  It didn’t matter. She had a mysterious message to deliver. She waved to Gaston, who slumped in front of Payen. When Payen nodded, she wanted to tell him the wave was not for him.

  “My liege,” she said, “we would like to find Queen Eleanor.”

>   “Of course.” Louis dismissed them with a flick of his fingers before turning his mount toward Payen.

  Catherine maneuvered past the long, slow caravan, Larissa right behind. “We started out this crusade thirteen thousand strong,” Catherine mused aloud when they were blocked by a cart on the thinner part of the dirt road. “Not that we had that many traveling together. The Germans had a separate army, though now they are mostly gone, as well as the Danes. Look at our line.” She gestured to the long ribbon of horses, knights, and carts. “We have perhaps five thousand left.”

  “Still seems an awful lot,” Larissa observed. “What happened to the others? Besides the Germans.”

  “Sickness. The road is hard, and some would rather continue their prayers from the comfort of home.” A trail of chills sped down Catherine’s spine. A warning, perhaps? Of what? If she was to guess, and that is all it would be, the dark feeling had to do with the success of the crusade. Powerless to change anything, Catherine wondered why she had these feelings at all.

  The way cleared at last, and she and Larissa were able to get their horses by.

  When they reached the vanguard, Eleanor’s crimson and white tent was already up. One knight patrolled the outside. The setting sun cast beautiful colors along the mountain.

  She was tired. Catherine jumped down, then helped Larissa. They walked inside with a nod from the soldier to find Eleanor resting on the chaise, dressed in clean clothes, wearing slippers and sipping wine from a jeweled goblet.

  Mamie, Sarah, and Fay drank from silver goblets. Suddenly she suffered a powerful thirst. “May I?” Catherine stole Mamie’s cup, drinking it dry before handing it back.

  “Welcome home.” Mamie laughed, walking to the decanter for a refill.

  Sarah, whose thin cheeks were pale, gave a wan wave.

  Fay held her goblet protectively to her chest, her gray eyes twinkling.

  “No greeting for your liege, mon fleur?” Eleanor stood, her smile wide.

  Catherine dropped to her knees before the queen, taking her hand and kissing the knuckles with a resounding smack, too tired to play the game with any degree of seriousness.

  “You need to practice your servitude.” Eleanor laughed, leaning down to whisper against Catherine’s ear, “I’ve missed you, Peony. Do you have something for me?”

  Catherine nodded, wondering if the queen wanted the missive now in front of the others or in private.

  The queen beckoned to Larissa. “I’ve missed you sorely. Would you please get the decent red wine from the cart? Nobody but Catherine here can stand this drivel.”

  She opened her mouth to protest, then realized Eleanor was setting the scene.

  Larissa gave a salute and left the tent, securing the flap behind her.

  Eleanor perched on the chaise and held out her hand, her palm turned up with her fingers gesturing for Catherine to hurry.

  Catherine dug inside her pouch, withdrawing the sealed letter. “Here. Do you need my knife?”

  “Oui.”

  Catherine handed over her peony-engraved dagger. “Take care. I just had it sharpened.”

  As Eleanor read, all remained quiet. Finally, Eleanor crumpled the parchment and tossed it into the brazier. The paper danced in a small flurry of flame before becoming ash.

  “Disappointing.” Eleanor beckoned them all closer.

  Catherine wondered if the letter had been from Eleanor’s uncle Raymond from Antioch, which might explain the A. Though the king disapproved of the messages between uncle and niece, Eleanor still corresponded. In secret.

  “I have given each of you small duties while we’ve been traveling. Word has come to me, not from that,” Eleanor said softly, waving toward the ashes, “that the Turkish army is gaining allies with the Greek towns that are supposed to be supplying us with food. The pope, bless him, is under the impression that just because the Greeks and Franks share a religion, we can get along. Not true. The Greeks don’t like us, not that I can blame them. We shout peace while taking their food and ruining their land. What’s to love?” She drained her wine. “What we need is unity beneath one king of all four holy crusader states.”

  Catherine kept her gaze on the floor, certain her eyes would give her away. What the queen wanted was treason, and despite the king’s disapproval, it was obvious Eleanor formed her own plans.

  Eleanor’s plans were Catherine’s plans. She’d sworn an oath. All the guards had.

  “Catherine, how do you fare with Conrad?”

  She set her features and met the queen’s eyes. “I have not witnessed him behaving in a manner that sparks suspicion.” She took a deep breath, conscious they shared secrets that had to remain within these four canvas walls. “Nor could I get him to speak of his wife and Empress Irene.”

  “But?”

  She kept her voice low, glancing at the other guards too. “What could Emperor Manuel offer German Emperor Conrad to entice him away from his friendship with France?” She shrugged. “Nothing grand enough for Conrad to justify cutting off his relationship with not only Louis but also Rome. It does not make sense for Manuel and Conrad to work together against Louis.”

  Eleanor nodded. “So what do the letters between Conrad and Irene mean?”

  Catherine thought of life before Eleanor’s Court of Love, before intrigue played a daily role. “Sometimes a letter is just what it appears to be.”

  From the corner of her eye, she saw Mamie smile.

  “I don’t want to give up on that tangent,” Eleanor ordered. “I understand what you are saying, but I ask you to keep vigilant.”

  “Of course.” Catherine looked down at the chaise, disliking being the center of attention.

  “How is Gaston?” Eleanor said.

  “His cough is gone.” She would keep the cause of his miracle to herself.

  “You are charged with his well-being over any other task I give you. Is this understood?”

  Catherine surmised from Eleanor’s discretion that the other guards didn’t know Gaston was the pope’s grandson. She felt as if Gaston was a gift to her, if only for a short time. “Oui.”

  “Mamie, how do you fare with Conrad?”

  Catherine stifled a smile at the queen’s question.

  “He is, as I supposed, a lot of talk in the lover department. He does not mumble secrets in his sleep, and he snores terribly. I was unable to search his trunks.”

  “Hmm. You can move on or stay, as you wish. Fay, have you discovered any possible information leaks in our caravan?”

  “I am investigating Count of Fender, but despite what Odo suspects, your Geoffrey de Rancon is loyal to you.”

  Eleanor smiled. “A duchess can trust her people. Sarah?”

  “I have made intimate acquaintance with every known species of bush or tree but not made any human contacts this segment of our journey. I am so sorry.” Two tears spilled over Sarah’s cheeks, and the queen took her hand.

  “Do not apologize, Lily. I have a plan for you, when you are well again.” The queen leaned down, meeting each of their gazes. “Ephesus is our next big port. We will be able to buy from the Greek ships, if Manuel keeps his promise and sends them from Constantinople. If all goes well, we will celebrate Christ’s birth in the Valley of Decervion. We must beat the weather or risk entrapment in the mountains. I have no intention of dying on this crusade.”

  Catherine rubbed the nape of her neck, where the fine hairs stood on end.

  If she shared secrets with the queen, what was Payen telling Louis?

  Payen stood in the king’s plain tent, where Louis washed his hands and face from a basin of water.

  “We hope to arrive in Ephesus at Christmas and rest over the holy days,” Louis said. “I knew we were blessed on this pilgrimage, but to have passed through all the mountains and valleys so far without mishap?” He made the sign of the cross. “Our only loss of life has been a few pack animals. The Turks are full of bluster.”

  Payen remembered his promise to Catherine to be awar
e of secret alliances. “Where is Emperor Conrad? I thought you two were good friends. Yet you are alone?” Odo and Thierry left once he’d arrived, allowing him privacy with the king.

  “Oh, well, we are. I prefer to pray and listen to my advisors and council, while he prefers doing . . . Mamie, among other things.” Louis laughed uncomfortably.

  Payen chuckled. “She is enticing.” But not to him. How to phrase the question? His only purpose was to reassure Catherine that Conrad was no danger to Louis. “How is he, after losing most of his men in the Turkish ambush? He must hold a grudge against Emperor Manuel. His aide, Hector, did say the guide sent was directed by Manuel personally.”

  Louis sat at last. “We touched on the subject but briefly. Conrad fights with Manuel, but it is a personal matter. I don’t think Conrad really believes Manuel would set him up for failure—or death.”

  “What do you think?” Payen hadn’t realized Louis had given the matter any thought. Catherine was closest to the truth after all.

  “When you have two men in power, bickering over land that isn’t part of our crusade, it is a waste of time promised to God.”

  Because they were friends, Payen folded his hands over his knee. “Empress Irene’s dowager lands?”

  “Oui.” Louis scrubbed his hand over his forehead. “Conrad doesn’t want to hand over the property. Irene pleaded with me to speak to Conrad about it while we were in Constantinople.”

  Did Eleanor know? “I take it he wasn’t amenable to reason.”

  “I’ve learned people dislike being called unreasonable.”

  No wonder Catherine was always so mad at him.

  Louis continued, “Another cause for the distance between Conrad and me. It is possible that I shouldn’t have offered my opinion. I believe the land Irene wants for Manuel belongs to her.” He looked around. “It’s so dim in here.”

  “You have only one lamp.”

  “That’s all I thought I needed.” Louis sighed.

  “You and the queen are complete opposites,” he said. “She has plenty of light in her tent. And wine. Where is your wine?”