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  “Let me,” he offered.

  “I said I can do it.” Catherine heard the stubborn tone of her own voice and winced. He would think her rude. Which might be for the best.

  His amber eyes darkened to black as he held her gaze. “You’ll need your cloak.”

  Suddenly Catherine forgot how to breathe. Dear God, a year has passed since a man looked at me like that.

  What foul turn of events was this?

  She whirled directly into Dominus, and the water splashed onto his arm.

  “My apologies.” She steadied the basin, her pulse skipping at her throat.

  “None needed.” Dominus took it out of her hands. “It is raining, my lady. I will do this later. How fares the emperor?”

  “Resting.” Grateful to the knight for allowing her to break free of the spell binding her and Payen, Catherine hid her shaking hand in the folds of her gown. “Perhaps Lord de Montfer should return to the inn and give the queen news of Emperor Conrad.”

  “It rains too hard for any of us to leave.” Dominus pulled back the tent flap, showing a steady stream of water from the sky. “We are stranded here for the night.”

  Chapter Two

  Payen scowled. “We will take turns sitting with Emperor Conrad.”

  “I don’t require much sleep,” Catherine said. Memories of Ragenard disturbed her dreams. She rubbed her hands together. “I will take the first shift.”

  “It looks dark outside because of the storm, but it’s too early to rest.” Dominus peered out the tent. “Where is that fool Hector?”

  “Is anybody hungry?” Payen said, looking about the haphazard stacks of trunks and straightening them as he went, gaze ever averted. “Once it stops pouring, I can fish.”

  “I am fine.” Catherine tapped her thumbnail to her teeth. Ridiculous to be afraid to breathe, cognizant of the rise of her breasts, of her heart pounding in her ears. She pressed her lips together, uncertain where to rest her gaze. Looking at Payen made her pulse jump.

  Payen picked up the emperor’s shield and leaned it against the tent wall. Following his lead, she too began cleaning. Straightening. With every move de Montfer made, she noticed the stretch of fabric over the line of his back. The curve of muscle at his calf. The soft fall of a mahogany wave at his jaw. Appalled, she pressed her hands to her cheeks and hurried toward the tent opening.

  “It is stuffy in here,” she told Dominus, pushing her face outside. “Ah, that’s better.” The splash of cool rain against her flesh returned her sanity. Starting immediately, Payen de Montfer meant nothing to her. She touched the diamond pendant as a reminder that she had other things to do.

  “Better?” Dominus laughed. “You have a raindrop on your nose.”

  She wiped it free, liking the knight well enough. “Much better. I would say let the breeze in,” she added quietly, “but the draft might harm Emperor Conrad.” She turned and noticed the tent had been organized into a sitting area with blankets spread out for sleep. How unlike her deceased husband Payen was. It wouldn’t have occurred to Ragenard to see to anyone’s comfort but his own.

  She shook off the thought and walked to the cot, pressing her hand to the emperor’s forehead. “Cooler.”

  “Queen Eleanor did not exaggerate your healing skills,” Payen said. “The king will be pleased at your efforts.”

  Startled, she nodded her thanks. “It is clear you know him well.” An idea occurred to her. “Were you in the church together?”

  “No. Childhood companions, before he began his religious studies.” He tugged his smooth chin, as if he hid a secret or two himself. “He showed my family great honor, choosing me to be on his council once he became king.”

  Catherine hid her smile. Honor. It formed de Montfer. “He trusts you, perhaps because of your time together as boys?” Gathering information, tucking it away to share with the queen. Oui, that was her purpose.

  “I have never given him reason to doubt me.” Payen sat on a trunk and gestured toward the three-legged stool. “Come, sit. Dominus? Join us?”

  “I’ll stay here.” Standing by the tent entrance, the knight folded his arms. “If Hector does not arrive soon, I will go find him myself.”

  Uneasy, Catherine perched on the edge of the stool. What did de Montfer want from her? What did she want from him? “One of the most difficult things for a monarch must be choosing those around you. Trust is hard when people are so different. Queen Eleanor”—she hesitated half a breath, hoping to draw information from the stoic lord—“is the opposite of King Louis. Raised in Aquitaine with wine and dancing, poetry and pageantry.”

  “Hmm.” He sent her a nod, half-lidded eyes studying her.

  “King Louis, reared for the church, or so I heard?” She knew as well as anyone that Louis was second choice for the throne. What would his friend say about it?

  “He was, but then young King Philip died.” Payen gritted his teeth as if the subject were painful. “Louis accepted the honor of the crown with grace and pride, as he has shown every day since.”

  No details. His loyalty to Louis went as deep as hers to Eleanor. She was right to keep him at a distance, and she would warn the queen to do the same.

  “Do you think Louis will forgive Emperor Conrad”—she lowered her voice—“even though he chose to go ahead?”

  Payen finally answered, “Emperor Conrad has paid a high price for his impatience. If he chooses to join his forces with ours, I believe King Louis will welcome him as a brother, as a friend.” He glanced at Dominus.

  A reminder to Catherine that they were not alone.

  How to use this situation to the queen’s advantage? She looked at the trunks in the tent. What did they hold?

  “At last!” Dominus pulled back the tent flap. “Hector, where did you go?”

  “I found clothes. Survivors.” The wounded soldier entered the tent, carefully looking from the emperor to Dominus to Payen while his gaze lightly skipped over Catherine. He’d changed into a slightly cleaner tunic and allowed someone to wrap a bandage around his arm.

  “Welcome.” Catherine rose.

  Payen stood as well.

  Hector’s teeth chattered. From fever? Cold? She sensed fear.

  “How many men do you have?” Dominus asked.

  “Less than ten,” he answered in a grim voice. “That’s all that remains from close to a thousand. I . . . I am Emperor Conrad’s aide-de-camp.”

  “Why did you not introduce yourself as such from the beginning?” Payen walked toward the soldier, stopping directly in front of him.

  Catherine knew. It was obvious the aide felt guilt over leaving his liege. If the worst happened and Conrad died, it would be better if nobody found the man who hadn’t saved the emperor. Payen clearly did not understand as she did.

  Hector paled and stared at the tent floor. “I—”

  “Why did you wait so long to come to us?” Payen spoke casually, invitingly.

  Deceptive.

  “I lost consciousness from a blade to the head. I woke this morning and made my way to Nicaea for assistance. I thought the king would be there. The surviving soldiers brought us all to camp here, hidden from the Turks but also from any who might have helped us. They didn’t know what else to do.”

  “What happened, man?” Dominus clasped the soldier’s shoulder.

  “We were betrayed.” His gaunt cheeks seemed to sink further. “Turkish heathens poured from behind the hills, where they’d been waiting to ambush our army as we stopped to water our horses.” He gestured toward the heavily breathing emperor. “Will he live?” Hector’s voice broke. “I will never forgive myself if anything happens.” He bowed his head. “It was a nightmare, waking to find my liege fighting for his life in this hovel.”

  Payen coughed into his fist. “We will do all we can, mon ami.”

  Hector faced them, his damp hair curling at the temples. “We thought we’d beaten the Turks back. It was a ruse. We pushed forward through the mountains. Once we stopped to rest, th
ere were Turks everywhere. They leaped from the trees, like monkeys!” He caught his breath. “We were slaughtered.”

  He weaved on his feet.

  She left the emperor’s side to guide Hector to a stool. “Water?”

  “My thanks.” He drained the cup and handed it back without bothering to look at her, speaking only to Dominus and Payen. “I would send a report to the pope. Emperor Manuel has betrayed us.”

  “You have proof?” Catherine felt Payen’s careful control as he questioned the aide and encouraged him to talk. Payen was very good at listening.

  “The guide Emperor Manuel gave us turned and fought for the Turks.” Hector stood, his strength returning with righteous anger. “I’d say that’s proof enough. Emperor Manuel is a threat to Christianity. We should join with our allies and take Constantinople.”

  What? Catherine made herself inconspicuous as Hector spoke his mind. Dominus pounded his left fist into his right palm, anger in the thinning of his mouth. Payen remained calm as Hector suggested war against Constantinople. All of King Louis’s barons had urged Louis to take the city while inside, but the king had remained stalwart and focused on regaining Edessa, as promised. Not even Queen Eleanor could alter his decision.

  Would this latest Byzantine deceit change the king’s course?

  “Take care,” de Montfer suggested. “You are still weak. When did you eat last?”

  “I don’t remember. There is dried food in one of these trunks.” Hector opened two before finding the one he wanted.

  Catherine noted the contents of the trunks. What would the queen prefer? Correspondence?

  “These few were all the men brought back. Not much.”

  Most likely important, though, Catherine thought. Or why bother?

  They shared a quick supper of dates, nuts, and sausage. Catherine listened intently to the talk centering on Emperor Manuel’s latest lie. This would add fuel to the queen’s fire. Eleanor wanted Louis to take a prominent role in the crusade, while Louis seemed driven by the pope’s blessing.

  Dominus and Hector, with renewed purpose toward the holy cause, left to rally the other men to leave for Nicaea in the morning.

  “We should take turns resting,” Payen said, gesturing toward a pile of blankets he’d made into a pallet. “Are you tired?”

  She was exhausted. “No. You go first.” She looked toward the feverish Conrad. “I will wake you when I get drowsy.”

  Payen studied her face. “Are you sure? If each of us takes a few hours, it will be morning before we know it.”

  Emperor Conrad moaned.

  “I am happy to do this. Really.”

  Payen nodded and lay on the pallet.

  She gave all of her attention to Conrad, giving him a few sips of water, bathing his head, and slipping another pinch of powdered herbs beneath his tongue to make him sleep deeply.

  When she finished, she turned to look over her shoulder and assure de Montfer that Conrad’s fever would break. He was sound asleep.

  Knowing she had just moments before Dominus and Hector returned, Catherine quietly opened the nearest trunk.

  Payen realized Catherine was about to speak and quickly shut his eyes, slowing his breathing. Her feminine wiles affected his common sense. Her flushed cheeks, her delicate breaths. Her slender, curvaceous form as she bent over the emperor . . . Christ’s blood, he’d almost swallowed his tongue when she’d shifted her hips.

  Wasn’t this how women sought the upper hand? Using their beauty to bring a man low. Even though his mind knew the ruse, his body responded.

  This was why Odo and Thierry, the king’s advisors, conspired to keep the queen at the opposite end of the caravan. Louis claimed to love Eleanor, but emotion weakened the man. Why would he pretend Eleanor’s guards served a purpose? Louis seemed to think the ladies capable of saving Lady Abigail.

  He secretly peered at Catherine as she straightened the thin blanket over Conrad’s body. Humility, compassion. He had to admit the lady had fine qualities one normally found only in a plain woman.

  He closed his eyes, determined to sleep. Payen shifted, his shoulder digging into the ground despite his well-made pallet.

  He heard the barest squeak of a leather hinge. What would make that noise? A trunk. But why would Catherine open one? Hunger?

  Curiosity drove him to peek.

  Treacherous.

  Catherine le Rochefort sifted through Emperor Conrad’s papers.

  Careful to keep his breaths even, he watched as she read some of the correspondence and laid others aside.

  Dominus’s and Hector’s voices neared the tent.

  Catherine looked up, quickly putting everything back in its place, with the exception of one letter, which she tucked in a fold of her gown. Touching her throat, she went back to Emperor Conrad’s side.

  It took all his internal fortitude to keep from shouting, but he’d learned that quiet observation often netted a larger truth.

  The men came inside, and Catherine greeted them in a sleepy tone. “De Montfer piled some blankets in case you want to rest.”

  “I would be glad to sit by my emperor’s side,” Hector offered.

  “You look like you need a healer as much as he,” she chided gently, giving away no sign of her perfidy. “Please allow me to serve your liege.”

  “She’s right, Hector,” Dominus said. “Lay down before you fall down.”

  Payen wished he’d not pretended to sleep so quickly, but what he’d witnessed would definitely interest the king. The innocent-looking Lady Catherine was a thief.

  He fell asleep wondering what she’d taken.

  He woke to the gentle touch of a soft hand against his brow, his shoulder. He blinked, wondering if he dreamed as Catherine smiled her greeting, her dark braid falling forward to brush his cheek as she bent down. “Dawn is breaking,” she said in a honeyed whisper. “The rain has stopped.”

  “The emperor?” He rolled to his side, his body willing to greet the lady in a friendlier fashion than the situation warranted.

  Dark shadows circled her eyes. Not a lover. Thief.

  “He, too, is awake,” she said, standing back as he stumbled to his feet. “I worry his fever will return if we travel this morning.”

  “Lady Catherine,” Dominus said, “you think to overrule the wishes of an emperor?”

  “Oui, when it is for his own good.” Catherine put her hands on her hips, looking like an overzealous nursemaid. She was not backing down even from the giant Knight Templar.

  Now he understood why she’d woken him so sweetly. She’d wanted him to take her side. Games played by a beautiful woman. No surprise there.

  He bent to pick up the blankets, folding them before walking toward the emperor. He asked over his shoulder, “Why didn’t you wake me?”

  “Dominus and I shared the duty. I dozed on the stool. You can’t be angry about that.” Catherine shook her head. “Emperor Conrad’s health is the issue.”

  “Fever?” he said.

  She brought her thumbnail to her lower lip. “It’s gone. But—”

  “No more fever, and he wants to go,” Payen said in cool tones. “We travel across the lake, not horseback over the mountains, my lady.”

  Dominus chuckled.

  Red slashed Catherine’s cheekbones. He’d never seen her temper before. He counted the night a twofold miracle for opening his eyes. A termagant and a thief. All he wanted was to get across the lake, grab his squire and horse, and ride for the king.

  From the opposite side of the tent, Conrad’s voice cracked. “I’m not a child. I want to see my friend the king.”

  “King Louis will not be in Nicaea for another day or two.” Catherine tapped her toe and raised her brow as if she expected them to do as she wished.

  In the past, such things may have worked for the beauty, but Payen was immune to her dubious charms. He looked to Dominus. “Can we make good time?”

  “I am the emperor.” Conrad pushed the blankets aside as he struggled
to sit up. “And I insist.”

  The Knight Templar nodded. “I’ll send Hector for the boat.”

  “Pardon me.” Catherine glared at each of them. “Look at the perspiration on the emperor’s upper lip and forehead, just from the effort used to sit! You explain to the queen why you bring her a man on his deathbed, and I will surely explain how he was well until you interfered.”

  Payen and Dominus, with the help of Hector, got Conrad in the boat. He ignored the chill emanating from Catherine as they crossed the lake. Lady Catherine le Rochefort was not his problem, and once he shared with the king what he’d witnessed, he’d wager the queen might have another opening at her table.

  Catherine jumped from the boat, her boots crunching on the rocky shore. She kept the basket tight to her chest and waved good riddance to the men. Payen de Montfer was stubborn. If anything happened to Conrad because he’d been moved too soon, the shame did not lie on her shoulders.

  She carried plenty already.

  Hurrying past the market to the inn on the opposite side, she almost bumped into Payen’s squire. He paced in front of the stables, his expression earnest.

  “My lady!”

  “Your lord is on his way, squire,” she said.

  “Merci,” he shyly answered, running to open the inn’s door.

  Hmm. A gentle lad with manners. How long, she wondered, before de Montfer ruined a good thing?

  She rushed inside, seeing the hall mostly empty. The dais, specifically. Full to bursting with news, she somehow walked up the stairs rather than run and at last knocked on the queen’s door.

  Larissa answered. “Wondered if you’d ever come back.” The handmaiden reached for the basket.

  “Wait.” Catherine pulled the parchment free before releasing the handle.

  Larissa cocked a brow. “Busy night?”