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  What was he doing?

  More importantly, where was he going, leaving Nicaea? Narrowing her eyes, she made her way to the stables and looked for de Montfer’s big, black stallion. She tread quietly, not wanting to wake the squires, who habitually slept with the horses.

  Payen de Montfer’s stall was empty, as was the next, where his squire’s horse used to be tethered. She would wager her peony-engraved dagger that the squire waited with the horses outside the city somewhere.

  She crept to the inn, staying near the wall, her steps inaudible as she hurried to the second floor. Once she reached her room, she inched the door open to let her eyes adjust to the dark.

  Sarah and Fay slept like cherubs.

  Mamie was missing. Surely she enjoyed an evening of sport, as Mamie always did when the opportunity arose, and Catherine didn’t begrudge her friend’s brief happiness.

  She disrobed to her undergown, slipping between the covers, curling her toes into the warm blanket as she waited for the rest of her body to catch up. Drowsy, Catherine knew to stay on the edge of deep sleep. But last night she’d nursed Emperor Conrad, and tonight she’d had her fill of fresh air. Her eyelids weighed heavily. Who was Payen de Montfer? Friend or foe? The diamond pendant at her neck heated.

  Her nerves jittered the closer she came to Clemont Manor, terrified of telling George about Ragenard. At last, she pulled the wagon to the front steps. The grounds seemed cared for, the cobbled walk swept.

  She hadn’t known George when her family had accepted his betrothal on her behalf, love not something she’d thought to marry for. Security, a family, land close to her father’s—she’d happily accepted the offer. And they might have been content together, except that when George had come to meet her, he’d brought his younger brother.

  It was love so bright it burned.

  Tucking her bleeding palms inside the folds of her gown, she prayed for forgiveness. From God but mostly from George.

  She knocked. Waited. Was there a large service staff? The stone mansion sprawled back and back, the front steps as wide as a barn. In the year since Ragenard and she had run away to wed, she had wondered if George had married another. Started the family he wanted.

  He’d heard of her beauty and known her family name and decided she was good enough. She had been about as discerning.

  Until Ragenard. Her stomach coiled as she remembered the passion springing to life between them. It was a third person, a tangible thing, a ghost.

  Hinges creaked as the huge door pulled back.

  Her mouth dried.

  Her pulse flittered ineffectually against her wrists. A familiar masculine voice whispered inside her mind, Be strong, Cat.

  The door opened all the way. She expected a wizened face of a slow servant. Not George.

  Handsome, shadow-eyed George with the same golden-brown hair, the same broad shoulders as Ragenard’s, looked at her, trying to place her face.

  “It is I. Catherine,” she spoke gently. Tears burned the back of her throat as she stood before the man she’d wronged. She’d never meant to be cruel.

  “Catherine?” Understanding dawned, and he looked over her shoulder to the wagon outside on the gravel. “Ragenard?”

  His voice grated like a rake scraping rock. Harsh, pain-filled tones that blamed her still. She knew right away there would be no forgiveness.

  Chapter Four

  Payen rode as if the devil chased him, following the route between Nicaea and the camp on the Bosporus, across from Constantinople. He evaded rogues and soldiers alike, determined to reach the king before dawn with news of Lady Abigail. He’d sent Jacques ahead hours before.

  He entered camp, and the soldiers waved him toward the tent of King Louis. Plain, serviceable, a humble ruler. The two knights guarding the royal entrance were there at Odo’s insistence.

  “The king asks that you wake him,” one said, pulling back the flap.

  Payen ducked, narrowing his gaze against the dim interior of the tent. King Louis lay on a pallet barely larger than a cot, two thin blankets drawn up to his chin. A smaller bed to the side waited for him.

  He held back a sigh as his tired bones grew heavier. A few hours of rest would restore his strength.

  But first, the king.

  Payen removed his cloak, rattling his sword as he pulled it from the sheath. He didn’t want to outright wake Louis; however, his friend wanted immediate answers. He scuffed his boot against the stool leg.

  Finally Louis stirred, his fine, light hair mussed to the side.

  Payen cleared his throat.

  Louis sat up. “At last.”

  “At last?” Payen humphed. “I rode here straightaway.”

  Louis beckoned him. “My sister?”

  “Away, with her count.”

  A rare smile of contentment crossed Louis’s face, and he crossed himself with thanks to God. “I told Odo and Thierry to prepare our departure in the morning. They argued with me. Fools.” He scratched his beard and beamed. “I knew Eleanor’s guards would see to the matter without incident.”

  The king’s advisors rarely agreed with anything involving Queen Eleanor. Payen shifted his weight. He’d been skeptical as well, until learning differently during the rescue of the king’s half sister. “About that.”

  Louis’s smile dropped. “Eleanor refused to help you?”

  “Non,” Payen quickly said. “But once there, I realized it would be simpler to handle the matter myself. The women are just so . . .” Bright, talkative. Beautiful. He remembered Catherine’s stealth in the dark. Her theft. “So I involved myself in the plan.”

  Louis fought a smile. “And how did that go over?”

  “It did not,” Payen said ruefully.

  Chuckling, Louis gestured to a small wooden stool next to a trunk used as a table. “Sit. Tell me, friend. You are here. Dear Abigail is safe. Let me know the details before the others wake.” He slipped his feet from the bed and put them on the floor, bracing his elbows on his robed legs. “What did Eleanor think?” King Louis’s voice resonated with love for his wife.

  Payen believed the emotion a rare weakness in the king but kept his thoughts to himself. “She approved the plan to snatch Lady Abigail from Emperor Manuel’s grasp, admiring your assessment.”

  “I thought she might. The queen has a keen intellect. Quick.” Louis tapped the side of his head. “I fear I came down on her rather harshly after her interference in Constantinople. I hoped to offer a chance to tweak Manuel’s nose, though he could never know it, and she would understand.”

  Payen’s curiosity had lain dormant until now. Why had Lady Isabella been exiled? Had Catherine been involved? He disagreed with women crusading for God, wearing armor, and carrying swords like trained soldiers when they so clearly were not. But the king’s opinion is what counted, and Louis gave his blessing to the queen’s guard. The king’s council suffered in muted protest.

  “I am ignorant of the details, and perhaps it is for the best.” If Payen hypothesized correctly, the king protected the queen’s less-than-snowy-white reputation. “I didn’t realize you had an ulterior motive for asking Queen Eleanor’s aid. I just thought of the simplest way to solve the problem.” He put his arms behind his back, hoping he hadn’t overstepped his bounds.

  Louis poked his finger at Payen. “I appreciate your ability to see the meat, but sometimes the side dish is just as important.”

  “Food, Louis? I am famished.” Payen preferred to ignore the deeper meaning inferred. He sighed, acknowledging his mistake. “I apologize for not following your direction completely.”

  Louis waved the apology away. “I should have shared my reasoning.”

  Payen disagreed and shook his head, his stomach rumbling. Roasted duck, game hens, deer. Boar. Meat.

  All Louis had on the table was a withered apple that did nothing to tempt Payen. Next to the apple sat a letter and a quill.

  “Forgive me again, my friend. My exhaustion makes me forgetful.” Lady Catherine,
intrigue, riding back and forth on little sleep. “Emperor Conrad is in Nicaea, near death. Ambushed. He and his aide-de-camp swear that Emperor Manuel is behind the foul deed.”

  Louis stumbled to his feet. “I thought they defeated the Turks! Will he live?”

  “Oui. Lady Catherine nursed him to health.”

  “Isn’t she one of Eleanor’s guards?” Louis put his hand up high. “The tall one resembling the Madonna?”

  “She’s no Virgin Mother, no saint.” Payen cleared his throat, denying any softening toward her. Saving a beggar from the streets? She needed a good shaking to rattle some sense into her head. His loyalty remained fully to King Louis. “I saw her steal a letter, cool as you please, from Emperor Conrad’s trunk. She thought I slept, and Hector and Dominus had left the tent.”

  Louis straightened his shoulders, alert. “And you said nothing?”

  “I thought it best to watch.”

  “You have infinite patience.” Louis exhaled before sitting on the cot. “Dawn is near, and you need an hour or so of sleep. Let me think on this, and we will talk later as we ride toward Nicaea.” He gestured toward the other bed. “Well done. I trust you, Payen, as I trust no other.”

  “Thank you.” It was a heavy thing, a king’s trust. With his family honor at stake, Payen could make no errors. He lay down, certain sleep would dance away. The moment he closed his eyes, he swept toward nothingness.

  Too soon, Jacques shook his shoulder. “Wake up, my lord. Odo has your knapsack. And that broken short sword from the market.”

  Payen went from deep sleep to fully awake with no pause between. “Where is the weasel?” He had no love for the king’s advisor, though the man cared for Louis with all his being. As one loyal subject to another, he granted Odo respect for that reason alone.

  But to search his personal belongings?

  “Merci.” Ingrained habit forced him to fold his blanket and set it on the foot of the cot before following his indignant squire out of the tent and into the bright autumn morning.

  Odo held the leather strap of Payen’s bag in his bony grip, the defective short sword tight in the other hand.

  Payen cleared his throat. “Were you looking for something?”

  Guilt played across Odo’s pinched features as he looked up.

  “I suggest the soap.”

  “Is this yours?” Odo handed the pack over.

  “If you got it off the back of my horse, then yes.” Payen stared until the small advisor gulped. “Black stallion, nasty temper?” His gaze closed in on the purple mark above Odo’s eye. “Did he kick you?”

  Odo stammered, “I ran into a tree.”

  “You document the happenings of our pilgrimage but cross the line going through my pack.” He hitched the strap up to his shoulder. “If you have questions, ask.” Snooping and thievery seemed to be rampant this journey. He looked at his vigilant squire. “Well done.”

  King Louis and Thierry the eunuch joined them.

  “Good morning.” The king clapped Payen on the arm. “What is the matter here, Odo?”

  “Good morning to you, my king.” Odo bowed, evading the question.

  Payen gritted his teeth and turned to Louis. “How soon before we depart?”

  “My tent is the last to dismantle. You deserved some rest.” King Louis pointed toward the caravan. Comprised of fighting men, nobles, and Knights Templar, the rear guard carried their own weapons and gear. The waiting wagons burst with bedding, foodstuffs, and royal accouterment.

  Payen left France for crusade leading fifty men. Turkish skirmishes, raiding, and illness after months of travel had left him with forty. All had their own horses and most their own squires. He pledged their pay for loyal service to the king and the holy pilgrimage. They fought together as a unit, though all wore the king’s blue and gold.

  The king’s servants quickly took down the tent and loaded it in the rear wagon, while Payen, King Louis, Odo, and Thierry watched the ship of goods pull anchor to return home to Manuel. The wind carried a bitter cold bite from the water, and King Louis tightened the cord, keeping his cloak on his shoulders.

  “My heart sings at finishing with Constantinople.” Thierry scowled. “God willing, we will never set foot on her treacherous shores again.”

  “I never thought I’d be grateful to sit on a horse after so long in the saddle, but I am, my liege. I am.” Odo looked from the king to Payen. “What of the goods available in Nicaea? They have to be better than what we are offered here! Salty meat, rocks in the bread.”

  “It is less than suitable.” Payen reached into his pack and pulled out the soap he’d purchased.

  King Louis crushed the foul soap in his hand, letting the pieces crumble to the ground.

  “This pitiful excuse for supplies is costly and inferior.” Odo jabbed his finger at the mess. He lifted the short sword Payen had bought, the blade nicked and tarnished. “Who wants a weapon that will break before severing a Turkish neck?”

  King Louis frowned at his advisor, then questioned Payen with a look.

  Payen, upset with Odo for adding to the tension, held his temper close. The Byzantine ruler was more at fault. “Just as Emperor Manuel played you false here, so it is in Nicaea. He orders his people to be fair, but they know there will be no retribution.”

  Odo kicked at a bag of grain, the toe of his boot tearing a hole in the thinly woven sack, allowing some of the grain to spill.

  “That stinks worse than the soap,” the king growled.

  “Mold and rot. You have good reason to curse that traitorous emperor. Delay after delay and then broken oaths. Where are the guides that were promised with the ship of goods?” Odo sniffed, answering his own question. “Safe back in the palace with Emperor Manuel; that’s where. Leaving us to make our way through a Turkish war zone, like babes to be slaughtered in the woods.”

  Payen stepped closer to the king, who pinched the bridge of his nose.

  Odo saw treachery behind every corner and trusted nobody. In this instance, he’d been correct in his assessment of Emperor Manuel, but it was too late to do anything more than change tactics.

  “I beg you, my king. Allow me to set fire to those ships and send a message the emperor will not misunderstand.” Thierry grasped the handle of his sword, lifting it from the sheath at his side.

  Letting emotion rule weakened any plan, something Payen observed time and again. He shook his head.

  Louis rubbed his gloved hands together, the wind lifting a lock of hair. “What is your opinion of this disaster, de Montfer? I am close to letting the barons loose.”

  Payen ignored Odo and Thierry, though he felt their desire for revenge. He and King Louis had a friendship forged from childhood and sealed by the poisonous partnership of their brothers. He knew what drove the king as well as the man. Louis counted on him to retain balance.

  “My liege, you have sworn an oath to God to rescue Edessa, as the pope requested. In pursuing that oath, you have always forsaken personal ego.”

  “This is too much.” The king blew out a breath. “Manuel mocks me and our treaties. He would not have honored Lady Abigail.”

  “Oui.” Burying his own thirst for vengeance, Payen added, “And you wisely sent her away. If you took the time from your quest and joined with allies willing to attack Constantinople, you would win, I have no doubt.”

  “See?” Odo said. “Even de Montfer tells you it is time for war!”

  “But,” Payen interjected, turning so he could look Louis directly in the eye, “in doing this you would delay gaining God’s favor, as you have so sworn.” It would be satisfying to make the Byzantine ruler pay, but it would not bring Louis the absolution driving him, and as his closest friend, Payen had to ensure Louis acted with reason.

  “Merde.” Odo kicked the rotten grain all the way over.

  “You are correct to remind me of this.” The king released a long breath. “It is difficult to let these insults go, but I must. I owe God and France a debt that can on
ly be forgiven in Jerusalem.”

  “I understand.” Payen shook Louis’s hand. He knew how Louis suffered over the massacre in Vitry, a war fought against innocents, at Eleanor’s urging. Louis was too tenderhearted to be ruthless, though sometimes a king needed to be. Payen would be that sword for Louis, if the king but said the word. “Remember Emperor Conrad now pledges the remnant of his army too.”

  “Tell all the barons they owe nothing to Manuel. Their allegiance is to me alone, no matter what the Byzantine emperor wants.” The king stared at the retreating ships, the early morning light illuminating his fatigued face.

  “And the food? The slop?” Odo said.

  “Any man who doesn’t have coin to provision himself for a minimum of three days may borrow from me. I will be the man God needs me to be. Right now, it appears I must be humble.” Louis bowed his head and closed his eyes for a moment before turning toward his horse. “Does the queen know we arrive today?”

  “Yes. We wait on your decision to leave once you speak to Emperor Conrad,” Payen said as Jacques readied his stallion.

  Thierry rubbed his hands together for warmth. “I thought the Germans victorious near Laodicea.”

  Payen looked to Louis for an explanation, leaving it to the king to decide what to share of the news he’d given earlier.

  The king waved his hand. “It seems Emperor Conrad was injured in battle and made his way to Nicaea to join his remaining forces with ours.”

  Payen admired Louis’s giftedness as king. Louis made it seem as if Conrad held an army and not a handful of men and suffered a scrape instead of a life-threatening wound.

  King Louis mounted his russet horse, signaling the other men to do the same. “I am eager to see the queen again.” He kept his horse back and gestured for Payen to wait with him. “I know you disagree with Eleanor and her guard, but the women are capable. To a point.” The king smiled wryly. “It is their leader I worry over more.”

  The last was meant for Payen alone. Odo and Thierry rode ahead, and the squires ignored the private conversation as they’d been trained.