Chapter Twenty-One

Thunder woke Catherine from the first sound sleep she’d had in almost a year. A crack of lightning illuminated a dark morning. Frightened squirrels chattered as they hopped from branch to branch, and Catherine realized it wouldn’t be long before their cozy love nest became a pool of mud.

“Wake up, Payen.” Catherine leaned over to kiss his forehead. She felt like a new woman.

Another crack of lightning. The ground shook.

“Did you hear that?” She sat up, naked and now chilled without Payen’s warmth.

He half-opened an eye. “I don’t hear anything.”

Thunder clapped.

“That, I heard. We should go.”

Lightning struck again. Close. The smell of burning wood got each of them moving.

Catherine had to make do with her cloak, her gown torn in two.

She turned for the cloth serving as their bed, only to find Payen folding it neatly before rolling it into the bag.

They were so opposite in many ways, but last night they’d fit together perfectly. Love like this went directly to the soul.

It wasn’t fair to pretend this might have a happy ending.

“Quick!” She ducked from beneath their hidden nest, then turned around, thumping into Payen’s broad chest. “I forgot my necklace.”

“Here.” He pulled it from the bag, draping it over her head and kissing the pulse at her neck. “I knew you’d want to wear it.”

“Thank you for understanding.”

Just because she was in love with Payen didn’t mean she was through with her obligation to Ragenard.

“Once we reach Jerusalem, we will know.” He kissed her, his mouth warm, loving, possessing.

Another roar of thunder, a flash of lightning.

Real fear tickled her shoulders. “It feels like morning but looks like midnight.”

“The air is heavy.” Payen took her hand.

They ran without words back toward camp. The stream seemed a little wider.

When they reached the row of tents, most everybody was still in bed.

“You find the boys,” she said. “I will dress and meet you at your tent.”

“They’re with the horses, remember?” Payen grabbed her for a last kiss before she dashed inside her tent. “With the other squires. Protecting our mounts from the Turks. They were probably up all night telling stories.”

“Fine. I will get them on my way to you. But if you make one remark about my poor storytelling, I won’t come back out.” She pulled away from his arms. “Remember, we are not a couple. For both of our sakes.” She patted her heart and slipped inside the tent flap.

“You aren’t a couple, but you stayed out all night?” Mamie shook her curly red hair and grinned from her pallet in the dim light. She was the only guard in the tent. “Am I influencing you for the better?”

Catherine sighed. “I have my reasons.” She took off her slippers.

“I know.” Mamie sat up, tucking the cover close. “Dear dead Ragenard. How was the necklace?”

“I didn’t wear it.” Guilt stabbed her.

“Smart girl. And?”

“I slept through the night.”

With sudden clarity, she realized wearing the necklace signified her own guilt, the ghost haunting her. She had to let it go. Ragenard’s death was not her fault.

George’s death gnawed on her conscience.

“Please tell me you did not waste hours snoring when you had that beautiful man all to yourself tucked away in the forest?” Mamie rose.

Catherine slipped off her cloak, reaching for another tunic and her hose.

“You are naked! Where is your gown?” She laughed. “Never mind. I am happy you were well served.”

“Dress warm.” Catherine smiled as she donned her own clothing. She considered taking the necklace off and putting it away, but she couldn’t. It just didn’t feel right. Now that she acknowledged the cause of the heated gold, perhaps it would stop. “I want to find the boys before it starts to pour.”

“Do what you like. I am going in search of food.”

Catherine followed Mamie out, then headed toward the makeshift stables. The Franks patrolled the area.

She found the boys snoring, curled up between Payen’s black stallion and the wall.

“Wake up.” She laughed nervously. “Couldn’t you have picked a nice fat mare? Have you seen the size of that beast’s hooves?” Catherine sighed. “Hurry.”

She took Gaston by the hand while Jacques led the way to Payen’s tent.

He was inside, dressed in fresh clothes, freshly shaved, hair brushed. Catherine swallowed and looked away. His sleeping pallet didn’t have a single crease, but that didn’t stop Gaston from falling onto it, still half-asleep.

Jacques, wide awake, stared out at the lightning. “What would happen if that hit us?”

“We would catch fire,” Gaston mumbled. “My father said lightning was God’s way of punishing the guilty. He thought it funny that the church was hit more often than any peasant home.” Gaston sat up, his mouth downturned with sadness. “He said God knew what He was about.”

“We must be in a lot of trouble then,” Jacques said.

A bright streak shot across the sky, followed by a series of roars. “He raised you from birth, Gaston?” Catherine wondered if there was any chance the pope knew of his lost lamb of a grandson.

“Oui. He paid an old woman to care for me. We lived outside the monastery in a hut with a garden. She taught me to weed and say my prayers.”

She and Payen exchanged a glance. Chances were the pope had no idea his son had a son.

Thunder cracked and Jacques jumped, his skin pale. “Could it hit us? Would we burn?”

Catherine stood next to him just as rain sputtered, then poured. “We will be fine,” she said as reassuring as possible.

It rained all morning, saturating the ground.

By noon, Payen spoke with the king and queen, suggesting they move their tents to higher ground.

It took hours to dismantle the royal tent while trying to keep the contents dry in other smaller tents.

Catherine could see Payen’s frustration of not being able to make the simple chore go faster. Each time he voiced an opinion, Odo and Thierry were louder.

At the end of the second day, the ground was soggy and the tents at the bottom of the valley flooded. The stream, which had seemed so idyllic and harmless, was now a torrent raging down the hill. There was no way to build a fire or dry anything.

Catherine and the ladies of the guard stayed with Queen Eleanor in her tent, where it was safe but still cold. Catherine worried about Payen and the boys.

On the third day, Catherine stepped outside of the queen’s tent, which was soaked through. She trudged through the mud to find Payen, Gaston, and Jacques digging a small ditch around their tent to divert rainwater from the tent floor. They were covered in mud.

“You look like bears.” She crossed her arms, wishing she had it in her power to make the rain stop. “This is awful.”

“It snowed overnight,” Payen said, pointing at the white mountaintops. “We are fortunate we weren’t crossing them before the storm.”

“You found the best in the situation.” Catherine touched his arm. His cloak was sodden, his hair a mass of wet, dark ringlets. It was all she could do to keep from kissing a raindrop away from his cheek.

“Truthfully, I fear what will happen if we have even one more storm. The ground can’t absorb any more. I spoke to the king. We’re trapped. We can’t move anything because of the mud. Two different soldiers lost horses trying to haul themselves up the hill. We have to wait until it stops.”

A roaring crested the hill. Catherine turned to see brown water surge over, tearing out trees and bushes as it rushed toward them.

Catherine screamed, grabbing Gaston’s arm as she ran, slipping in the mud.

The brownish river carved a wider and wider path down the hill.

She pushed Gaston up the opposite hill, her heart pounding as she heard the crashing of trees, the sucking down of tents, and the screams of the horses. Soon people’s cries joined in.

King Louis, along with a dozen of the Knight Templars, tied a rope to a giant pine up the opposite slope and threw it down to Payen. He grabbed it, then guided Jacques before taking Gaston. She felt useless watching from near the middle of the hill, but Payen’s strength was greater. All that mattered was their safety. The boys climbed with the aid of the rope and scrambled the rest of the way.

Catherine breathed a sigh of relief.

“Give me your hand, Catherine.” Payen reached down.

She did, but then she heard a shout.

Behind her, a woman struggled, her boots thick with mud. Catherine stretched out her opposite hand to help her, lifting the woman until her feet found purchase. Others hauled her up to safety.

Catherine’s hand slipped out of Payen’s grip, and she tumbled down, down, down until she swallowed muddy water. Inhaling, she choked on thick silt.

The raging water sucked her into the torrent. She strained for something, anything to hold on to. Keeping her nose above water, stealing breaths, she reached out and realized she wasn’t the only person in the raging river.

She grabbed the knight’s forearm, pale, limp. Dead. Catherine let go, too stunned to do anything but react.

React. Which is how she’d killed George.

Survival. His life. Or her life. The most primitive need to live rather than die. Think!

What would Payen do?

A rock struck an elbow, the sharp pain clearing her head.

Catherine relaxed her body as well as her mind. She knew how to swim. When caught in a current, the first rule was not to panic.

She floated, swept along at dizzying speeds, hearing Gaston calling for her.

Jacques.

Eleanor and Mamie.

But it was Payen she saw.

The man, braced on an overhanging tree branch at the curve ahead, tossed down a rope. “Catherine!”

Catherine would have one chance to catch the rope and hold on. Conserving her energy, Catherine looked up, waited, and then shot her hand out of the water, clutching the knotted rope.

Using the last of her strength, she fought the pull of the current and lifted her other arm out of the water. She gripped the rope with both hands.

Payen reached down and covered Catherine’s hands. The limb cracked, threatening to give under their combined weight.

“I’m going to pull you back,” Payen shouted.

Catherine’s arms were numb as Payen slowly, carefully maneuvered her until they reached the sturdier fork in the tree. Suddenly, Payen yanked her all the way from the frigid, filthy, raging water.

The branch ahead snapped, broke, and fell into the current.

Payen tucked her against his chest, his arms wrapped around her. She rested against him as he leaned on the trunk.

The water churned below.

“We have to wait here for it to recede.” He held her hands between his, rubbing them. He kissed her knuckles, the top of her head.

She nodded, shivering, unable to speak.

They sat in silence, stunned by the destruction swirling below. The tree swayed, but the roots held firm.

The once pretty valley was ravaged with teeming water. The crusaders who reached higher ground huddled on the upper slopes.

“We lost everything.” She tasted mud.

Payen rested his chin on her head. “Not everything.”

She was too tired to argue.

“I thought you were dead.”

“I remembered not to panic. Asked myself what you would do and stopped reacting. That’s what I do, you know. I rush forward without thinking and end up in predicaments I’m not prepared for.”

“It’s what I love about you.” Payen tightened his hold on her. “You are so passionate. You make no plan, and yet it somehow works out.”

Catherine warmed. Would he really wait for her? She just had to get the necklace to Jerusalem.

The necklace. Her hand flew to her throat, and she heaved a sigh of relief to find the chain and pendant tucked beneath her tunic. To have come so far and not atone for her sin would be devastating.

“If it had flooded at night while we were sleeping, we all would have died.” Catherine rested her head on Payen’s shoulder.

“Was it part of your guard training to look for gloom?” Payen chuckled, nuzzling her neck.

Catherine looked over her shoulder at Payen, overwhelmed by her love for this man. How could he want her? “I am no prize. I like traveling and adventures. I might never want to settle down.”

Payen nodded, turning her face so he could claim her lips. “You obviously need me to save you.”

“I do not.”

“We need to get out of this tree before we argue over our next adventure,” Payen said. “When the water is slow enough, I can get down, catch you, and we can walk across together until we reach the bank.”

“Well done,” King Louis announced, clasping Payen’s arm when he and Catherine arrived safely. “Although I worried the tree might take you both down the current.” The king looked from Catherine to Payen, concern in his eyes. “This was not how I imagined our celebration of Christ’s birth. I’ve prayed about it, and I think God wanted to cleanse the area of heathen blood. This is a holy place. The Turks dared to fight Christian soldiers and lost.”

The rains had finally stopped, allowing the crusaders to have a smoking fire where they attempted to dry their clothing. A majority of the tents were ruined. However, they’d moved the tents of the royals and nobles in time to save them.

Payen glanced at Catherine, who quietly studied the devastation. She had an arm around Gaston’s shoulders, Jacques on her other side. She exuded beauty, despite the large bruise on her cheek, the welt on her forehead, and the gash on her elbow. She was alive. Payen sighed.

“Have you counted our losses yet?” Payen looked at Louis, who took personal responsibility for each soul in his caravan.

“Three men. About a dozen horses. A good portion of the supplies we bought from the Greek ships.” Louis stood with his hands clasped behind his back. “We will have to make the mountain trek on limited provisions, but once we reach Laodicea, we will be able to replenish our stores.”

Payen heard the slightest tremor in Louis’s voice.

“We will make it so,” Payen replied, determined to assist his friend in remaining strong against self-doubt.

“And did you lose your tent and goods?”

“Oui. But I can get funds in Laodicea.”

“Money is no issue. I can loan you a small amount. I imagine most of the army will require clothes and food.” He gestured toward the sputtering fire. “The sooner we leave the better.”

“As always, you think of everyone.”

“I am king. It is my duty.” Louis cleared his throat. “Their loss is mine.”

“I will start organizing crews to search for anything worth salvaging. Will we leave the valley before nightfall?”

“The captain thinks we should camp in the village—fish and eat what we catch and travel on full stomachs in the morning. Odo feels we need to leave Ephesus and head away from the water toward the mountains now. Thierry believes we could stay here one more night and leave at dawn.”

One of the things Payen most respected about King Louis was his ability to listen to all of his advisors.

“What do you think, Payen?”

He considered. “I agree with the captain. Full stomachs go a long way toward people’s happiness. Even though it means a longer trek to the mountains in the morning, it is not by much.”

Louis pursed his lips and nodded. “My thoughts as well. Now to tell Eleanor. She won’t be happy. Anything that delays her reunion with Raymond makes her very upset, and she doesn’t mind letting me know.”

Payen didn’t envy Louis’s mission. “Good luck.”

As the king left, Payen turned toward Catherine and the boys. “Jacques, we need to find five groups of people willing to comb the debris for anything we can use. Tools, pots and pans, swords, and clothing. Boots.”

“I can help,” Gaston said.

Payen noticed the exhaustion around the boy’s eyes and worried his illness might return.

“I want to.”

Catherine tightened her arm around the boy’s shoulders, but she didn’t say anything.

“Okay, but stay with Jacques,” he said. “I don’t want either of you in the river.”

“I would offer to sift through mud,” Catherine said, walking close to him. “I must see the queen. If she has no need of me, I will find you.”

“I understand.” Payen lowered his voice as they passed a group of knights gathering pieces of a wagon. “We lost a good portion of the caravan and supplies. Louis doesn’t want me to worry, which means he is worried.” Why am I sharing this? Because I want her to prepare for the worst. It took nothing away from the king.

“I shared a tent with the other ladies, and it is all gone. Everything I owned was swept away in the flood.”

He tapped the diamond pendant at her throat. “You have that.”

She jerked away. “The necklace is not mine. I thought you understood how important this is!”

Trying to get the unity back, Payen said, “I am sure Ragenard wouldn’t want you to starve to death. What about Gaston? Or the queen?”

She reeled backward as if he had slapped her. “You are cruel. This necklace belongs to the Clemont family, but both sons are dead. One directly because of me.”

“So you would rather suffer than use the only thing of value you have.”

“I would rather die than lose this necklace.” She quickly blinked tears away, her fists at her sides.

“That does not make any sense.” He crossed his arms. She showed passion for a dead man’s gift.

It was passion, however, that he admired about her. “My apologies, Catherine. I am trying to understand.”

She relaxed her posture. “I am sorry too. This necklace has been a burden but one I will amend.”

Though they each apologized, Payen felt the familiar rift between them. Would it always be him, her, and Ragenard?