Peony Page 4

  “Very.” She walked into the room. “Where is the queen?”

  “Here, Peony!”

  Catherine blushed with pleasure at the queen’s use of her secret name for her. All the queen’s ladies had one.

  Eleanor came from behind a screen, tying her thin blue robe around her slender waist, her long auburn hair waving down her shoulders. “How is Conrad?”

  “He survived the evening. Whether or not he survived the crossing this morning we will have to see.” She huffed. “All night I bathed the man’s forehead. Well, Dominus and I took turns. This morning, dawn breaks, as does the fever, and Payen de Montfer thinks he knows best!”

  Queen Eleanor patted her bed. “Come sit, mon fleur, and tell me everything. What is that in your hand?”

  Catherine gave the missive to her. “I took it when Payen and Conrad slept. I hope it helps but—”

  “We will get back to this. I sense it comes out of order from the night’s events?”

  “Oui.” She took a deep breath, looking around the queen’s organized chamber. Filled with gowns, gloves, jewelry, hose, shoes, everything organized by object. Larissa had her hands full trying to keep the place tidy.

  Payen also preferred a neat space. What did she care about that man?

  “Off to the kitchen for refreshments,” Larissa announced without asking permission. “Anything special for the royal sweet tooth?”

  Eleanor laughed at the woman’s impertinence. “Raspberries.”

  “In November? We are not in France or Aquitaine, my queen,” Larissa said, hand on her hip. “I will see if there are honeyed almonds. That will have to suffice.” She left, locking the door behind her.

  “That woman is worth her weight in gold, though I would never tell her so,” Eleanor whispered. “I will miss her when we return to France and she weds her farmer.”

  “Offer her a permanent position,” Catherine said. “How fortunate you chose her rather than a royal cousin for this journey.”

  “Larissa would be torn apart by court scandal just for being peasant born. Non, I wish her to be happy. But let us talk about you. I am concerned for your happiness as well. You and de Montfer do not suit?”

  “How anyone can tolerate his noble, honorable arrogance I will never understand. Yet he seems to be bosom friends with King Louis.” Catherine sighed. “One good man recognizing another?”

  “Such a species is scarce, I know,” Eleanor said. “In women too. We all have a little of the devil in us, I think. Now, tell me of Conrad. I’d wondered if the rain kept you away or if it was Conrad’s illness.”

  “Both. His fever raged, and the weather ensured we stayed inside his tent. The wounded soldier from yesterday is actually Conrad’s aide-de-camp.”

  “Why did he wait so long to come for help?” Eleanor brushed her fingers through her hair, separating the tangles.

  Catherine touched the diamond pendant beneath the neck of her gown. “Hector said the Varangian guardsman whom Emperor Manuel sent to be their guide turned against the Germans.”

  “Betrayed,” Eleanor whispered, her eyes glittering. “I knew it.”

  “His word exactly. And that the few survivors tried to tend Conrad while hiding from the Turks. Hector himself was unconscious.” She met Eleanor’s probing gaze. “But here is what I found most interesting.”

  “More?” Eleanor braided a section of hair. “I knew I was right to send you.”

  “Hector told Dominus and Payen he needed to send correspondence to the pope.”

  Eleanor’s eyes widened.

  “Suggesting, my queen, that the pope urge King Louis to ally with the other Holy States against Constantinople.”

  “Dear God.” Eleanor sucked in a breath, her white teeth catching her lower lip. “Very well done, Peony. What is in these letters?” She spoke quietly, though they were alone. “Will they be missed?”

  “They are from Emperor Manuel’s wife, in private correspondence to Emperor Conrad. I was looking for anything connecting Conrad and the pope but only had time to pilfer one trunk.” The prospect of returning the letters seemed more dangerous than taking them. “I skimmed them only. I hope they are something you can use.”

  Eleanor tucked them in her robe. “Where is de Montfer now?”

  “I left him at the shore. He and Dominus should arrive any moment with the emperor. I wanted to see you first.”

  “You did the right thing.” Eleanor patted her hand. “We must coordinate Lady Abigail’s freedom. I’ve warned her to be ready to move.”

  “We don’t need de Montfer’s help.” Catherine held the queen’s gaze.

  “I know.” Eleanor sighed. “Diplomacy requires that I allow my husband certain favors. If he wishes for his trusted friend’s assistance in the matter, I cannot say no.”

  Bowing her head, Catherine bit her tongue. Marriage bound a woman tighter than chains, but what other options did they have? The church? She thanked God every day for Eleanor’s saving grace. Without her liege’s timely intervention, she wouldn’t even be in a nunnery. She’d be as dead as Ragenard and his older brother, George. Hanged, most likely, for murder.

  Larissa returned with a tray of refreshments. Apple cider steamed from a ceramic pot, and a shallow bowl of honeyed almonds glistened.

  Catherine rose unsteadily, her stomach too knotted for food or drink. “Do you need me to stay?”

  Eleanor shook her head. “I have no need of you this morning. Larissa is here, and the king’s soldiers guard the inn. Where are you going?”

  “The market. I owe Dominus some soap.” Catherine recounted the stinky incident, to Larissa’s delight and the queen’s horror.

  Eleanor handed her a heavy purse. “Buy the best supplies you can. I fear our journey will not be as easy as it has been until now.”

  “My thanks.” Catherine left with a lighter heart, knocking on the door to the room she shared with the other guards.

  Fay answered immediately and pulled her across the threshold. While Eleanor’s room held royal clothing and accessories, this room overflowed with four women’s trunks and clothes. Brushes, creams, and cosmetics dusted the tall table by the window; gowns and cloaks hung on the hooks by the door. Pink, yellow, orange, and red. Colorful and chaotic.

  “Catherine! We worried for you last night. How is the German emperor?”

  “He will live.” She lifted a shoulder, knowing she sounded harsh. Payen agitated her senses. He seemed attracted to her and at the same time repulsed by her. “It is the king’s messenger you should worry for. Payen de Montfer has got to be the most infuriating man I’ve ever met.”

  “Take off your cloak,” Fay said. “Let me fix your hair.”

  “I need to go to the market,” Catherine said.

  “I will walk with you, if you are in the mood for company. Queen Eleanor told us this morning we could have the day free for ourselves. Sit first.” Fay quickly smoothed Catherine’s hair with an ivory comb, agilely rebraiding the mass. “There.”

  “Thank you.”

  Fay’s shining gray eyes brimmed with happiness Catherine hoped to feel again one day. She wore a daisy chain of glass flowers and gold links with her yellow gown and a gold circlet over her thin, ivory veil. Fay had the gift of being a chameleon, and while she looked the part of a lady now, she could be anything.

  Catherine lifted the pouch of coins. “We are searching for supplies. I am ready to travel again.” She’d spent her year of marriage to Ragenard on the move from one village to another. The past six months she’d been mostly on horseback.

  Growing up as the youngest child, she’d been active, too, preferring outdoor activities with her brothers to the embroidery her mother and sisters enjoyed. She’d learned to flirt, paint, read, and ride: suitable skills for a young lady expected to marry well and bring her family honor and joy. Instead, she’d brought them pain.

  “Ready?” she asked too brightly, handing Fay her cloak.

  The two women put on their gloves as they walked
down the stairs. “There’s Mamie,” Catherine said, pointing and waving at their cloaked friend across the dining hall. “Flirting with a handsome knight, of course.”

  “Sarah and Jonathon are there in the corner.” Fay lowered her voice. “They haven’t been getting along very well.”

  “Relationships run hot and cold. They will see their way.” Catherine wished Sarah nothing but happiness, but her friend and fellow guard hadn’t smiled in days. She wondered if the babe weighed so heavily or if it was the looming marriage that brought Sarah low.

  Fay opened the door, and the two women walked outside, immediately pulling their hoods up against the brisk wind.

  “It was not so chilly earlier.” Catherine shivered. “I hope it doesn’t rain again. I’d planned to practice with the new arrows I bought.”

  “You don’t want to warp the wood,” Fay warned.

  “Wait!” Mamie’s voice carried along the wind, and they turned. She hustled toward them, smiling wide. “Tell me everything,” she said, looping her arms between them both so she was in the middle.

  Catherine admired Mamie’s infectious appetite for life. “You first,” she shouted over the clanging blacksmith. “Who were you talking to?”

  “Just a man.” She waved a hand dismissively. “I am so hungry I could eat a horse.”

  “That sounds awful!” Fay wrinkled her nose. “How about a pastry instead?”

  Catherine scanned the tables squeezed together in the crowded market. Mountains and a lake as large as the sea surrounded the gated city. Only a day’s travel on horseback to Constantinople, Nicaea burst with visitors. Though most spoke Greek, many other languages were heard, such as her native French, German, and Latin. The bright colors of the tented stalls provided a cheerful contrast to the gray day.

  They neared the center of the bustling market. Stalls and shops lined five roads, ending at the water with the tanner. “Food. Gossip. After we shop,” Catherine said, putting her gloved finger to her lips.

  Mamie arched her red brow. “Oh, secrets. I love secrets.”

  “Look.” Catherine stopped, bringing Mamie and Fay to an abrupt halt. “There’s that boy again.” Her body tensed; her emotions flared. Sensitive to a fault, Catherine wished she understood what these feelings meant. Her grandmother suffered the affliction as well, sometimes knowing things without reason.

  “Give him a coin and be done with it,” Fay said.

  “I did.” He’d taken it and run.

  The dirty, dark-haired boy, who looked seven or eight, palmed an apple, slipping the fruit inside the many folds of his too-large tunic.

  Catherine’s heart ached.

  “We could bring him to the church.” Mamie released Catherine’s arm. “Ask if they will take another mouth to feed.” She pursed her lips, eyes narrowed in thought. “You’ve been fascinated with this child since we got here. Beggars are everywhere, Catherine. Why don’t you champion one closer to home?”

  “I feel . . .” She shook her head, unable to clearly identify her own mind’s prompting. “Never mind. I think this weather is affecting my mood.”

  The boy disappeared behind an olive barrel, watching. He lifted his gaze, perhaps drawn to her stare, and she shifted away. He had no cloak. No food. They were leaving in two days. Who would slip him coins when she left for crusade?

  She changed the subject to something possible. “Shopping.”

  “Here’s bread.” Mamie picked up a loaf partially wrapped in paper, inspecting the underside. “Moldy.” She set it down and clicked her tongue.

  “Watch for rocks.” Fay sniffed with disdain. “Poor Sarah almost broke her tooth. Do you think the markets will be like this all the way to Antioch?”

  “Emperor Manuel is enforcing fair prices, angering the merchants who want a bigger profit. They see us as the infidel and don’t care we are on a quest for God. Leaving us no choice but to buy inferior goods.” Catherine gave the sullen stall owner a glare and kept her pouch in her hand. “The answer to your question, Fay, is yes. Choose carefully in what we buy. I think we will have better luck getting supplies from the smaller towns.”

  “Moi aussi.” Mamie went to the next stall, where the merchant sold dried fruit.

  Catherine saw the boy from the corner of her eye as he darted to the bread stall. Was he following her? Hoping for another coin? None of her friends within the queen’s retinue knew it, but she’d once known hunger and hadn’t been too proud to filch a bite here and there. The boy stayed at the edges of the stall, waiting until the merchant looked away before daring to pinch a small bun. He must be new, she thought with a stab of sympathy. He wasn’t very good.

  “To the left? Under the green awning.” Fay led the way.

  The bun and apple would see he didn’t starve today. She focused on the task at hand, buying supplies. At the least, soap.

  Mamie picked up a bar wrapped in stiff cloth, sniffed, then set it down, wrinkling her nose. “Use that and smell worse than before your bath.”

  Fay giggled softly, and Catherine smiled.

  “Did you just insult my wares?” The black-haired man with oily curls escaping beneath his hat leaned over the table of ill-shapen soaps and smacked the wood next to Mamie’s hand.

  Catherine jumped. With a few exceptions, the Greeks held no respect for the crusaders and didn’t bother to pretend otherwise. Still, the gesture was rude.

  “Were you eavesdropping?” Mamie tapped her chest. “I was having a private conversation with my friends.”

  The man’s nostrils flared as he continued to glare, heavy black brows crowding above his eyes. “Women,’” he muttered.

  “Do you want to know what I said?” Mamie straightened her shoulders.

  Please say no. Please say no. Catherine exchanged a glance with Fay. Though trained as guards, they did not always wear their weapons. In this instance, the lack saved the merchant’s neck from Mamie’s sword.

  “If you don’t like my soap, pah.” He spat to the side.

  “I said”—Mamie made a show of wiping her hands on her cloak—“I wouldn’t wash my goat with that soap.”

  Her goat? The merchant’s brows rose to his hairline, and his face turned crimson.

  Catherine swallowed her startled laugh and tugged Mamie backward, but her friend refused to budge.

  “You insult my business!” The Greek’s raised voice drew the support of the other merchants. “What do you know of quality? Infidel.” He put his hands on the table and leaned toward Mamie. “Frank.”

  Catherine’s apprehension soared. She stared at the merchant, then over Mamie’s head at Fay while pulling Mamie’s cloak. “Come on, Mamie. We can shop elsewhere.” What would Queen Eleanor say if they found trouble in the market?

  “Is there a problem here?”

  With relief, Catherine turned toward the sound of the deep, French-speaking voice, then immediately realized her mistake.

  Lord Payen de Montfer, dressed in snug hose and a blue-and-gold tunic, his cloak casually thrown over one shoulder as if he did not feel the cold, stood behind them. His loose brown hair fell in waves to his chin, while his amber eyes seemed to absorb the scene at once: Fay, Mamie, and Catherine herself in a public altercation.

  “We are fine, monsieur.” She gripped Mamie’s straining arm.

  “So I see.” De Montfer spoke in an even tone that commanded attention over the shouting. In fluent Greek, he demanded of the man, “What is this about?”

  “This woman”—the man gave another loud hawk and then spit—“insults my soap. What does she know of perfection?”

  “If soap smells like the arse end of a camel, chances are it is made from camel dung.” Mamie pinched the tip of her nose, refusing to back down despite the growing crowd of Greeks.

  The merchant’s face turned dark purple as he leaped toward Mamie.

  Fay and Catherine yanked their friend backward, allowing de Montfer between them.

  “Mademoiselle,” the king’s messenger interjected smooth
ly, bowing his head toward Mamie. “Your lady’s skin is no doubt too delicate for a warrior’s soap such as this.” He turned and gave a commiserating nod to the merchant. “However, my men will be grateful for something to cleanse off the dust of travel. I will take a dozen.”

  Chapter Three

  Payen mouthed go, and Catherine thought it best to follow his advice. She, Mamie, and Fay walked to the inn, Mamie’s passionate nature denouncing the merchant the entire way.

  Just as well or else she might voice an opinion or two of de Montfer. He’d eased himself into their business and no doubt he’d return to the queen and king with tales of the women’s transgressions.

  “Queen Eleanor warned us to behave.” Fay twisted her fingers together. “King Louis told her if we even hinted at scandal—”

  “We’d get sent back to France.” Mamie sighed. “I know. It was my fault. I should have kept my temper.”

  “Blame the rude merchant for calling you an infidel.” Catherine’s chest ached with trepidation. “I made a vow to finish this pilgrimage. I cannot go back.” Not without making things right.

  “Isabella’s pretending to be the queen in Constantinople is fresh in King Louis’s mind. The queen could have been accused of treason.” Fay shuddered.

  The debacle remained vivid in Catherine’s memories too. Eleanor thrived on intrigue, and their fellow guard had almost died because of it. “Isabella’s quick wit, taking the queen’s place to meet with Emperor Manuel, saved our liege.”

  “King Louis moved many mountains to gain her banishment to England instead of hanging.” Mamie pursed her lips. “It is no wonder he is suspicious of us now.”

  Fay slowed as they neared the front door, her cheeks rosy. “King Louis needs time to forget.”

  Mamie pushed her hood from her head, her curls shimmering like burnished copper. “What the queen should do is get the king alone, where she can end the disagreement with a kiss—and more.”

  “Mamie, that is your answer to everything.” Catherine laughed and took off her gloves. “King Louis’s advisors guard him from her as if she were a succubus and not his wife. She doesn’t stand a chance.”