Peony Page 2

  “She cannot marry a Greek stranger,” Queen Eleanor said. “Royal bastard she may be, but Louis adores her. What does my husband intend?”

  “An escape.” Payen did not agree with the king’s plan, but Louis hadn’t asked, so Payen simply relayed the message. “He asks your private guard to get Lady Abigail to safety. Tomorrow night, if possible. King Louis can’t come here until she is safely away from Emperor Manuel’s demand of marriage. I will lend my assistance.” He’d added this last piece on his own, certain they would appreciate his offer to share the danger.

  Instead, their agitation seemed to rise. Sarah sharply inhaled, and Catherine tapped a fingernail against the iron of her blade.

  “We will not need your assistance,” the queen replied. “My women are capable of more than you know.”

  Before he could offer a rebuttal, the door to the inn flew open, catching the wind and slamming into the wall. A German soldier entered with a loud clatter before he fell to the wooden floor.

  Alarmed, Payen rose, staying at the queen’s side, his hand on his sword.

  Or he tried to.

  Mamie wedged between them, while Catherine flanked the queen’s right. Sarah and Fay stood alert with their small, sharp daggers in hand.

  He looked at the man lying on the floor, obviously wounded, two Frank soldiers at his side. “Conrad left weeks ago. Why would his soldier be here?” Payen did not expect an answer.

  “Tales of his victories seemed too impressive to be true,” Eleanor said. “Either the man had the powers of ancient Roman gods, or his stories were built with words instead of deeds. But whose words?” She arched a brow. “Greek or German?”

  An agile mind, quick to point out the possibility of a Byzantine traitor.

  Intrigued, Payen nodded but did not digress further.

  Dominus made his way to the fallen soldier, leaning down to speak with him. When he was through, he walked to the queen. She was yet shielded innocently among her ladies, who had tucked away their small knives.

  “What is it, Dominus?” She stepped forward.

  “His name is Hector, and he claims Emperor Conrad lies close to death across the lake in hiding from the Turks. He begs for aid for his liege.” Dominus’s mouth twisted, and he added softly, “He says the German army is broken.”

  The queen beckoned him closer to the dais so the others in the hall couldn’t hear. “Hmm. Conrad should have waited for King Louis, but he was determined to find German glory instead of presenting a united front. I will go at once.” She lifted an elegant shoulder, then let it drop.

  “What if this is a trap?” Dominus said. “I should go.” He patted the sword at his hip.

  “And I.” Payen would see for himself what happened and report back to King Louis.

  Thwarted by necessity, the queen tapped a jeweled finger to her chin, her frenetic energy emanating like a fever. “If I cannot go, then I will send a qualified nurse. Catherine, run upstairs to my room. Get the basket of medicinal herbs from Larissa. If possible, make Conrad comfortable and bring him here for the night.”

  Payen’s jaw clenched at the thought of being so near Catherine. “What about a doctor?”

  “My royal physician died en route to Constantinople. My handmaiden, Larissa, and Lady Catherine have treated illnesses since then. I assure you, Lord de Montfer, that Lady Catherine is capable of tending to Conrad’s wounds.”

  Payen quickly assessed the situation. The last information the Franks received was that Emperor Conrad took his fighting men through the mountains, where they celebrated a great victory against the Turks. To learn this was untrue raised his suspicion. He knew the king would forgive Conrad’s impetuous behavior and offer assistance.

  The only aid available? Lady Catherine, his secret temptation. Lord, have mercy.

  She stood like a soldier in her pink gown with a silver kirtle. Her hair was in a thick, long braid down her back, escaping tendrils curling around her oval face. Her ivory veil did little to cover the mane for modesty.

  Catherine swept him with her cool gaze. “I will do whatever I can to ensure his health.” She curtsied, gliding down the stairs of the dais and through the silent royal court to the opposite stairs leading to the queen’s rooms.

  “I will protect her,” he told Queen Eleanor, uncertain as to the lady’s true talents. The queen treated her like a guard, but Payen would swear on the Holy Bible that Lady Catherine was all woman.

  “She can take care of herself,” Eleanor answered, her tone laced with amusement. “And you and the emperor. We will continue our discussion of the other matter later.”

  Catherine quickly returned to the dining hall, a closed wicker basket over her arm. Where before she’d been clothed in pink, her long gown lay hidden beneath the Aquitaine red-and-white cloak trimmed with gold. A hint of pink showed at the floral silk scarf tucked around her throat. Her gloves were black, as were her boots, and her hood securely covered her dark hair.

  “I am ready,” she assured him in polite tones, not rude but not friendly. “Larissa replenished the supplies.”

  He reached out to take the basket, but she shook her head, tightening her hold on the handle. “I can carry this, monsieur. Shall I follow you?”

  His curiosity was piqued, but he nodded and turned toward the door.

  Outside, Payen’s squire appeared. “Will you need your horse, my lord?” He offered him his sheathed long battle sword.

  “Non. I want you to stay here, Jacques.” He pushed the sword back, patting the short blade at his side. “We travel across the lake. There will be no danger.”

  “I listened at the door.” Jacques shrugged without apology. His duty to protect Payen de Montfer held more importance than propriety. “What if the German soldier lies?”

  Payen silenced Jacques with a look. He considered his squire a man, though young at sixteen. The skirmishes they’d experienced with the Turks so far were no example of proper warfare. Sixteen. The age his brother, Henri, was when he had run away.

  He exhaled and returned to the subject before him. Did the German lie? “We do not know, which is why the queen stays here.” What could the soldier gain by telling a falsehood? “Stable the horses. Buy a meal in the inn.” He handed the young man a coin. “If all goes well, I will return to the king before it gets too late.”

  Jacques nodded, masking his disappointment as a good squire should.

  He clapped the boy on the shoulder and turned to leave.

  Looking for Dominus, Payen found Lady Catherine instead. She showed no emotion as she waited for the men to get organized. No impatience, no annoyance. For his own well-being, he had to stay clear of the beautiful widow.

  She looked up, as if she’d felt his stare. Her eyes flashed, and she held his gaze.

  He quickly broke free, his gut twisted. He relaxed only when he located the giant shoulders of the Knight Templar above the others outside the inn.

  The injured soldier leaned heavily against Dominus.

  “Ready?” Dominus asked.

  Payen nodded.

  The silent Lady Catherine walked a pace behind as they made their way around the market toward the water and the waiting boat. She seemed comfortable with quiet. Unusual for a female. What to make of her?

  Catherine le Rochefort shivered her way across Lake Nicaea, though she did her best to hide her reaction to the cold. The wind whipped the water into foamy peaks. The gray clouds hovered, thickening the air.

  Intensely aware of Payen de Montfer, Catherine caught him studying her from hooded eyes. As a spy for the queen, she gave no clue to her thoughts. She wished for such command over her chattering teeth.

  The wounded German soldier directed them, silently suffering. He refused Catherine’s offer of aid until after she saw his emperor. She recognized the self-punishment of the guilty. She understood Dominus, too, with his scowling face and red cross emblazed on his cloak. On a quest, driven by God and a ghost. Just like her.

  What drove Payen de Mont
fer?

  Since leaving France on the pilgrimage she’d noticed him, a handsome man with amber eyes and a serious expression, quietly observing all from the king’s side. Trusted confidant, ferrying private messages between king and queen, husband and wife. Honorable to the bone. Though polite, he never flirted with the ladies. A man bred to the somber life of the French court.

  Dull.

  And yet she sensed there was more to him.

  The boat bumped into the rocky shore and Catherine rose, anxious to get out of the wind.

  Payen leaped from the bow, obviously eager to be off the confined watercraft. Away from her? His movement rocked the boat, and he splashed into a few inches of water.

  She kept her balance and looped the basket securely over her arm.

  “Watch your step, my lady.” Dominus took her hand, frowning at Payen’s back.

  They’d not gone far from the water when she noticed the stench. Sweat, blood, excrement, and vomit hung in the air, making her stomach roil as they walked toward the remnants of the German camp. Wounded men stank, and that was God’s truth. Her heart ached to help each one.

  Her duty to attend Emperor Conrad, however, came first. Secondly, she was to observe what men, like Payen, might ignore. The queen’s female guard often suited the task, as women were overlooked, especially in times of duress.

  Like now. Payen de Montfer, behaving as if she didn’t exist, strode toward the only tent erected on the shore. He’d jumped away from her like a scalded cat, for a reason known only to him. It was none of her concern if the man was a loon.

  One of her brother’s friends had cried every time he’d set eyes on her. Yes, she’d stuck frogs down his chausses after he’d tried to kiss her, but they’d been ten, for the Virgin’s sake.

  Payen didn’t seem the sort to cry over a frog or a woman. Her necklace warmed, something she associated with Ragenard’s disapproval. Even dead, he had a jealous streak.

  She kept her hood pulled over her face and followed the men inside the tent. The emperor’s weaponry and shield were tossed in a pile, pushed to the side of the room, as if whoever brought the emperor here had been rushed.

  Worried.

  She surmised he had not been here long. A day, possibly two. Water in a basin, a bloodied cloth.

  Next she sought Emperor Conrad, who lay on a cot, his forehead beaded with perspiration. Hector’s concern bore merit. The emperor’s bare chest glistened with sweat. At the announcement of visitors, he looked up with gratitude on his worn face.

  When he realized neither king nor queen was with them, his eyes dimmed. “I should have waited for Louis. Instead, my impatience lost me my noble knights and a man I thought a friend.”

  Catherine pushed her hood back and kept quiet, uncertain what to say. Ragenard had looked as pale just before he’d died. She swallowed her fear and stepped forward.

  Payen brushed past her, kneeling at the emperor’s side, clasping his hands. “On behalf of King Louis,” he said, dipping his head. “Let us pray.”

  She bowed her head as well. King Louis, known for his dedication and piety, would approve of Payen’s empathetic act. Her thoughts circled one another as she worried, certain that if Conrad died, his German soldiers would forsake Jerusalem in favor of going home. King Louis might choose to end the pilgrimage. Her nape tingled with apprehension. Will the crusade be over before I gain forgiveness?

  Dominus, standing at her shoulder, coughed into his fist when Payen finished. “If that prayer does not compel the angels . . .”

  Conrad weakly gripped Payen’s hands, his eyes bright with fever. “I thank you.”

  Now for human intervention. “Queen Eleanor sent me to care for your wounds.” She lifted the basket.

  Conrad peered over Payen’s shoulder. His clouded eyes cleared for a moment. “My gratitude is not enough. My shame is tenfold for not waiting to face the Turks together, as we’d agreed.”

  Catherine walked toward him, her smile serene. “The queen would have you well again, to fight at King Louis’s side another day. May I?”

  “You look like an angel. Ja.”

  “Is there anything I can do?” Dominus asked.

  “Yes.” She looked at him and smiled. “Clean water and dry linen. Thank you.”

  The large knight left right away.

  She felt Payen’s appraising glance and wondered at his antagonism. Was it she or the queen’s guard that set him on edge?

  Brushing the thought aside, Catherine studied Conrad, placing the back of her hand against his forehead. Hot.

  Medicine. Then a dry sheet and a cool cloth bath.

  She’d taken turns with her family caring for her grandfather—bless his heart for not haunting her—before he’d passed on.

  Catherine opened the basket, looking for the packet of herbs to place on the emperor’s tongue, as Larissa had instructed.

  “What is that?” Payen’s brows drew together, though his voice remained even.

  “Yes, what is it?” Emperor Conrad struggled to a sitting position.

  “Herbs to reduce swelling. We use a pinch right away, but later you drink the mixture with water.”

  Payen took the pouch and sniffed, then handed it back. “I smell willow bark,” he told the emperor, then turned to her. “Go ahead.”

  Annoyed at his arrogant display of distrust, she turned her shoulder and focused on the sick man. Willow bark would ease his pain, and All-Heal would make him sleep. Deeply. She rubbed Conrad’s hands until he fell asleep, then wiped his brow and chest. Only then did Catherine begin the process of cleaning his wounds.

  Dominus brought the basin and another bucket of water from the lake. “Here. I looked for Hector, but he melted away before I could find him. I think he fears the worst.” Dominus pointed his chin toward Conrad.

  “This gash on his side is at least a week old, if not more,” she said in a low voice. Payen knelt next to her by the cot, offering a second pair of hands to assist, though careful to keep space between them. “How long has the German army been here? Why didn’t they come to Nicaea for help?”

  A muscle ticked at Payen’s jaw. “Excellent questions. Dominus?” He turned his head. “We need answers.”

  “Of course.” The knight stepped outside the tent, shouting for a soldier to find Hector, then returned to his post at the flap.

  So long as she kept Ragenard from her thoughts, her fingers remained steady. Her husband’s ghost had yet to offer comfort in times of need. “Will you lift his body for me? There, just hold him.” She cleaned the raw, red, festering wound on the emperor’s back with a salt wash.

  “We should use leeches.” Payen’s shoulder brushed hers, and he tensed.

  What is the matter with him? “And where would you find leeches?” Catherine said, hoping a conversation might calm his obvious apprehension.

  “By the lake? I once saw a man die from an infection like this. On the battlefield. The physician used leeches.” He pointed at the red edges of Conrad’s wound.

  “So you are trying to kill the emperor?” Catherine bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing at Payen’s appalled expression. He must not have had siblings around to tease him. The thought made her miss her family.

  “Are you finished?” He sent her a discouraging look.

  “Let me put the ointment on and cover it with a loose scrap of linen. There.” She nodded, satisfied she had done her best.

  Payen lowered the emperor onto the makeshift bed, taking great care not to disturb the wound.

  “I can do no more for now,” she said. Sitting back on her heels, she looked at the sleeping, flushed Conrad. “He is not well enough to travel across the lake before nightfall. We will need to stay here.”

  Payen stilled. “All of us?”

  “I think so.” Catherine stood, discreetly stretching her lower back.

  Did he fear being in the tent with her? There were men who didn’t care for women, and she wondered if he was one of them. How else to explain h
is reactions to her? “Pray that the emperor responds to the herbs. We will know by morning.”

  He rose to his full height, his limber body slim but muscular. “I will arrange other sleeping accommodations.”

  “We have the only tent on the beach. Or didn’t you notice? I thought you saw everything.” Catherine walked to the basin of water and rinsed her hands. The instruments too. “Never fear,” she tsked, unable to resist poking at his serious demeanor. “Your modesty is safe with me.”

  Payen’s eyes flashed with annoyance, not humor. “I was thinking of you, mademoiselle.”

  “Madame,” she corrected. “I am a widow, not a girl.” She held up her hand. “Non, please call me Catherine. Our circumstances forgo formality.” She’d never been one for rules anyway. “Do you see soap? Larissa insists everything be scrubbed clean.”

  Payen patted his leather belt. “None with me. I hadn’t expected to stay overnight.”

  “Dominus? Do you?”

  “A small piece,” the Knight Templar said, handing her a sliver from a mysterious side pouch on his thick belt.

  She waved her hand beneath her nose, holding the piece in her palm. “Where did you get this? It reeks like old fish.”

  “From the Nicaean market. Where else?” The knight shrugged.

  “After all the queen’s complaints, the market vendors never changed their ways.” Catherine shook her head and faced Payen. “Perhaps you can tell the king?”

  “He has more on his mind than soap.”

  Catherine, privy to confidential conversations with the queen about Emperor Manuel and his trickery, sighed impatiently. “We were promised fair trade.”

  “Empty promises,” Dominus huffed.

  She groaned as the last of the soap dissolved. “Gone. I will buy you another.”

  “Don’t bother,” Dominus said. “I would rather use sand.”

  Chuckling, Catherine looked to Payen, who remained unamused. Did he even know how to have fun?

  When was the last time she’d enjoyed a good laugh, for that matter?

  “What?” Payen said, leaning against a stack of trunks. “Why do you look at me like that?”

  “It is nothing.” Eager to be away, she lifted the basin of dirty water, balancing it on her hip. She had no business feeling pity, or anything, for a man of his intensity. “I’ll fetch fresh water from the lake.” Like a hound on the scent of a wild boar, if she let him close, he’d discover her secrets. She could not let that happen under any circumstance.