Chapter Eight

The following morning, Catherine avoided looking Payen in the eye. He’d fled after starting an inferno of desire, leaving her to agonize over every action. She never, ever should have welcomed his kiss. Too restless to risk waking the other guards, she’d spent the remainder of the night stretched out on the bench, pinching herself awake. She was afraid of what message Ragenard might bring to her dreams.

Now, dressed warmly in her rabbit fur–lined cloak, gloves, and peony-embroidered scarf, she patted her mare’s velvety nose and wished they were already in Jerusalem. Having to spend the next months in close proximity to Payen was going to be a living hell.

Had she thought him passionless? She’d never been so wrong. His cool, observant exterior was the lid on a kettle, only now the lid had blown, and she knew what delicious spices brewed inside.

“Bonjour,” Mamie called, waving an arrowhead beneath Catherine’s nose. Her mare nuzzled Catherine’s. “I’ve been calling your name, yet you don’t even blink.”

“Sorry.” She blushed.

Mamie adjusted the brim of her crimson hat so it sat at an angle, flattering her curls. “Do I know him?”

“Mamie, Mamie.” Catherine shook her head. “You never met my husband. You would have liked him, I think.”

“He was handsome, I wager. I know I would have gotten along with him just fine.”

Laughing, Catherine turned.

Sarah walked past them to her horse. Her blonde braids fell on either side of her face, making her look like a Viking.

They all wore their crimson hose and white tunics beneath their cloaks. Leather boots with thick soles protected their feet. Sarah had her sword and her flail attached to the saddle within easy reach and, most importantly as they faced Turkish skirmishing, her quiver and arrows.

“Have you seen Fay?” Sarah said.

“No,” Catherine answered.

“Find that handsome Hector, and I’m sure you will find our Fay.” Mamie grinned. Not only did she enjoy a good affair; she approved of one for others as well.

De Montfer could judge her friends all he liked. She found them caring and steadfast. His stinging observations meant nothing to her.

Payen had to mean nothing to her. She should thank him for leaving before they went too far.

“I miss Fay,” Sarah said. “Men. They enter a girl’s life, and the next thing you know, they no longer have time for their friends.” She smiled.

Sarah had been just as guilty in the first flush of love with her Jonathon.

“She should arrive soon.” Mamie looked around. “The queen likes us all in order during the march.”

“The same as before, do you think?” Catherine said. They usually marched two by two, with the queen in the center.

“Non. Lord de Montfer’s men have changed the formation. Which reminds me. I saw Lord de Montfer’s squire assisting your new charge.” Sarah had a twinkle in her eye. “He has quite the knowledge of Greek curse words.”

Catherine groaned, hoping the queen had not heard. “Gaston? Not Jacques?” she said, though she knew the truth. De Montfer’s earnest young squire would not dare curse in any language.

Sarah laughed as she patted her horse. “I am not looking forward to the next week of riding. Though Pergamum is supposed to be beautiful. I keep telling myself that over and over, as if it will be my reward at the end of a distasteful task.”

“I heard there is a special wishing well made to Athena, goddess of love.” Mamie poked Catherine’s arm. “Perhaps you can see the future in that.” She rode ahead, her crimson velvet cloak settling around the mare’s hindquarters. “Will you look for me?”

Chuckling, Catherine nodded. “But don’t blame me for what I see.” Mamie’s friendship warmed her heart, but what would Mamie think of her when she learned the truth? If God had mercy, her friends would never need to know.

Payen called her a rebel. Perhaps there was truth in the statement. She enjoyed riding astride rather than sidesaddle. Rules were made to be broken.

Her hair was knotted at the back of her head, and she wore a hat to keep the November sun from her eyes and freckles from her nose. She peered ahead, anxious for the procession to begin.

Moving forward to catch up to Mamie, she found the queen atop a white horse next to Larissa on her light brown one. Most of the royal baggage was packed in the cart, but Larissa’s horse carried three rolled packs instead of the average two. Only one was filled with Larissa’s necessities, Catherine knew; the others belonged to the queen.

“A certain lord de Montfer has become a quick favorite,” Mamie whispered to Catherine. “Then again, our liege has an eye for gorgeous men. And women. Anything beautiful, she collects.” She winked. “How do you feel about his attention to the queen?”

Catherine kept a straight face. Payen watched everything through sharp eyes. It would be disastrous if anyone uncovered the queen’s secrets, and her duty to the queen made it imperative for her to stop him if he came too close.

“Shh,” she said as Payen, comfortable on his monstrous black stallion, cantered to the other side of the queen. Her belly clenched with nerves. Apprehension? Agitation?

Payen counted the men and women on horseback as they waited for the signal to begin. His men, dressed in the king’s blue and gold for the crusade, joined the other nobility in the queen’s retinue. He would be a good leader. Dependable.

Her horse danced, impatient. She soothed the white mare, though she too wanted to break rank and run wild.

Payen drew back in line. She’d been a fool to welcome his kiss.

She sat behind, gazing her fill of his shoulders, his hair, and his quiet strength as he organized and directed without seeming to take over. An excellent skill to have when one befriended royalty. Would Eleanor take him as a lover? She swallowed hard. “Good fortune for him,” she whispered to Mamie, hoping she kept her feelings hidden.

“Emperor Conrad asked about you,” Mamie said, her green eyes bright.

Catherine turned to Mamie. “You were with Emperor Conrad?”

Mamie flushed. “Not like that. Yet. Although if the man is as good as he brags, I might give him a tumble. Unfortunately, I’ve found the more bragging a man does, the more work it is for me.”

Bringing her gloved knuckles to her lips to hide her grin, Catherine shook her head. “You must share how this conversation came about.”

“While you and de Montfer were doing God’s work”—she cleared her throat—“I enjoyed my mead and bread. I’d sent the men for more and sat alone at the table. The emperor asked if he could join me. Do I look like a fool?” Mamie’s lips twitched. “I scooted over, and he sat very close, so that our legs touched, even as he asked about you.”

“I can’t imagine why.”

“Because you look like an angel? Because you saved him from death?” Mamie shrugged, her seat easy on her white mare’s back. “I told him you grieved for a dead husband but that I was free of any encumbrance.”

Catherine tossed back her head and laughed. “Thank you, my friend. Thank you.”

“Now if I am wrong and your heart’s desire is a roll in the hay with the German emperor, then I will arrange it, but I didn’t think he was to your taste.”

Catherine stilled, her pulse jumping at her throat. “Oh? What do you mean?”

“If you are going to kiss the braies off a man, you should probably find a darker corner.” Mamie smiled, her cheeks rosy in the cool air.

Catherine blew out a slow breath. “I, well, we—”

Mamie raised a gloved hand. “No explanations needed. You’ve never so much as looked at a man since I’ve known you, yet de Montfer makes you tremble.”

Oh no. “It can’t happen again. I am not free.”

Mamie tugged Catherine’s cloak until Catherine met her gaze. “Ragenard is dead, and unless you killed him, you have every right to grab happiness with both hands.”

Unexpected tears sprang to her eyes.

“Saint Mary’s toes, you didn’t kill him, did you?”

“No!”

“Who did you kill, Catherine?” de Montfer said, guiding his horse to her left.

The blood drained from her face. “Nobody yet.” She forced a smile and pointed toward the front of the caravan. “If we don’t start soon, we may as well wait until tomorrow. We are sitting targets for the Turks.”

“I agree.” De Montfer hadn’t bothered with a helmet, tying his dark hair back with a black leather strap. His sun-bronzed skin complemented the honeyed amber of his eyes.

Hell’s bells, she’d looked.

“Do you need anything?” he said, meeting her gaze.

She averted her eyes, cheeks hot, mind filled with the sensory memory of his shoulders, his chest, his mouth. “Just to get going.”

As he left, she moved her horse ahead, avoiding conversation. She had to be more careful. No more kisses with a certain handsome lord.

The first day with the queen’s retinue had gone well, Payen thought as he dismounted, then lowered Queen Eleanor from her mare. She smiled her thanks and went to speak to the captain.

The sky was overcast as they set up camp by a flowing river sheltered with a stand of trees. The area had obviously been used by pilgrims, who had even left chopped wood for fires.

Payen had been part of the discussion with King Louis, Odo, and the other council members about whether to use a Byzantine guide for the journey. Thankfully, everyone agreed to trust the Knights Templar, who had made the journey before. The knights would not lead; King Louis wanted his captain to do that, but they would point them in the proper direction.

At last, King Louis had stopped putting his faith in Emperor Manuel.

The route wasn’t complicated. The only real danger were the Turkish renegades, who so far had been absent. He hated to admit it, but the ride had been pleasant. Eleanor had talked of her childhood in Aquitaine. A gifted orator, she had held his interest. Charming, but she wasn’t Catherine.

Payen searched for the elusive lady, his mind and body attuned to her against his wishes. He saw her helping young Gaston and moved his gaze to the rest of the caravan.

The caravan was split into sections for ease of delegating responsibilities. He himself reported to the queen and the king’s trusted captain.

He helped his men set up tents, careful to pitch his apart from theirs. Jacques and Gaston would stay with him. Though the queen hadn’t said so, he got the impression that Gaston, the thieving bastard child, was someone important.

A chess piece.

“Jacques, how did it go today?”

His squire’s gaze beseeched him. “I don’t know why I’ve got to be minding the brat; I should be riding at your side, carrying your weapons. Not protecting this child from himself.”

“You don’t remember when you first came into my service? You weren’t much older. Twelve.”

“He’s not even eight. I knew how to clean a horse’s hooves without getting kicked in the face.” Jacques jerked his thumb at Gaston.

The scowling boy sported a purplish bruise on his cheekbone.

Payen rested a hand on Gaston’s slight shoulder. “And how do you feel you did today?”

Gaston’s nose scrunched. Between gritted teeth, he said, “I might have a few things to learn.”

“Oh-ho!” Jacques held his hand over his heart. “That’s the first I’m hearing of that, Monsieur Know-It-All.”

Payen looked away for a moment, hiding his smirk. “You are a squire’s apprentice, Gaston. Jacques will teach you a trade that can make your fortune if you listen properly.”

“What do I want with a fortune? I’ve enough to eat.” Gaston crossed his arms over his scrawny chest.

Jacques snorted.

“I think you both did very well today.” Payen’s father had never considered anything he accomplished enough. He coughed into his fist. “I am very proud. Now get to setting the pallets. I’ll want the one closest to the front of the tent. Gaston, you make sure we have two full buckets of water from the river.”

The boy, his shoulders slumped, nodded and followed Jacques to the row of tents.

“A squire’s apprentice?”

Payen turned toward Catherine’s voice. She walked from the trees with Fay and Mamie, their arms full of kindling. It was the first time she’d acknowledged him since the night before.

“He needed a title,” Payen said, uncertain if he should offer to take the small pieces of wood. They were guards, not ladies. Or were they both?

Mamie solved his dilemma. “We are charged with starting the fire. It seems we’ve gained a reputation. Nobody starts a fire like we do.” She winked.

Fay laughed. “Ignore Mamie, Lord de Montfer. She likes to get the flames going and then say she’s done her chores for the night.”

“True,” Mamie said. “I would rather roam the woods searching for sticks than debone fish.” She made a disgusted face.

Payen turned to Catherine, who blushed. Dear God, he’d kissed her until his head spun, then run like a virgin. They would have to get beyond the incident and work together. “What is your favorite part of the evening duties?”

“I sit by the fire.”

“She does not just sit by the fire,” Fay called over her shoulder, her eyes the same gray as the dusky sky. “She plays her fiddle, and it’s the most beautiful music I’ve ever heard.”

Catherine swept past him to take the lead as she went to the fire pit.

Her hips swayed as she strode away. Her silky brown hair reached the back of her knees. Had it loosened from her braid?

He felt he was seeing something meant to be seen in private, and he looked away.

He pressed a fist to his thigh. If her unbound hair makes me hard, how am I to look her in the eye? He would avoid her.

He walked toward the tent, wondering if Jacques had set out a clean tunic.

“Lord de Montfer?”

He turned hopefully to the feminine voice but knew it wasn’t Lady Catherine.

“Yes, Queen Eleanor?” He gave a short bow from the waist. The sun disappeared beyond the hills, streaking pinks and purples across the clouds.

She stood alone in front of him. “I would speak with you,” she said softly.

Hadn’t they spoken enough? He tensed, remembering quite well the rumors of her voracious sensual appetite. Surely, she did not think he, her husband’s closest friend, would succumb to her wiles?

“In private.” She gestured toward the line of trees, away from the fire and the frolic of a group of people camping together.

“As you wish.” His first thought, political survival, came second to acknowledging that tales of Eleanor’s multiple lovers were true. Did he dare tell the king? More important, how could he extricate himself from the queen’s bed?