Rose (2 page)

Mamie knew that Fay's quiet strength would have found a way to manage the deed without drawing attention to her suffering.

Me? I like to let everyone know.

“I commandeered two of the Knights Templar,” the captain said. “They are bringing her body to the stern.” He lowered his voice, black eyes filled with sympathy. “Some say the water is the most peaceful grave of all. We will make it so for your friend and her babe.”

Mamie bit her tongue, her mind refuting the image.

The captain clasped his hands together. “We return to the womb of life.”

Tears gathered in Mamie's eyes.
Bastard
. Why did he have to go on about it?

Dominus Brochard and his fellow knight Everard de Charney examined the stiffening corpse of the pregnant lady-in-waiting, wrapped in a heavy hemp fabric made for sailing, sewn tight with a sailor's neat rope stitching. Her silhouette was clearly visible—including the bump from the baby.

“Why are we doing this, again?” Everard asked. His brown eyes held sorrow and uncertainty. The younger knight wore his white robe with the red cross on a shoulder with the appropriate balance of pride and humility.

“The captain asked us to,” Dominus said, wondering how to respectfully handle the body. “We are strong and sworn to aid where needed.”

“A pregnant woman,” Everard said, hushed.

“Her name is Sarah, and she was a loyal guard to the queen.” Dominus lifted her by the shoulders.

“A slut,” Everard argued, his gaze averted from Sarah's stomach. “That is what Odo said when he saw that we were to help. We are not supposed to touch a woman's body, he reminded me.”

“Take her feet.” Dominus gritted his teeth. He had no liking for the king's chaplain, though they had not come to cross-purposes.
Until now. “The rules apply to the living, not a corpse.”

Everard's voice dropped to a whisper. “I feel sorry for her. Is that wrong?”

“Compassion is not wrong.” Dominus shifted so he had a better grip on the corpse. He recalled her from the days on the caravan. She'd ridden with the queen, sometimes in a uniform of crimson and white, sometimes blue and gold. Blonde hair, cornflower-blue eyes. A tight jaw that hinted at stubbornness.

Her lover, a fair-haired Apollo, snipped at her heels. He'd died of an infected arrow wound in Laodicea, before they'd gotten the boats.

Dominus knew the Templar rules regarding women. He had no issue following them most of the time. He was a man with a practical nature and found another way to ease his longing for female company when the need arose. On the scale of rule breaking, abusing oneself did not rank as high as actual fornication.

They walked to the narrow stairs leading up from the belly of the ship.

“Turn sideways. Watch your step. Good.”

Even when he was turned, Dominus's shoulders brushed the walls. Everard lifted the hatch, awkwardly holding Sarah's feet while pushing upward. The wood fell back with a clatter, and Everard led the way on deck. Dominus followed, a gust of salty ocean spray smacking him in the face. The past few weeks aboard the galley had inundated him with memories of home: the snap of sails in the briny wind, the grit of salt in his teeth. All things he avoided when possible.

Everard sneezed. “Too musty down there. And dark. I pray the rain will stop for a while.” His brown hair, straight and fine, plastered to his bearded cheeks. His beard had grown in rough, and neither of the men had kept up with tonsuring their heads.

When the bishop had taken Dominus's oath, he'd told him to follow the Templar rules as best as he could. The rest?

Eh.

Dominus's secret jaunts to the deck as he'd shadowed Lady Mamille had given him respite from the confined space below. She and the queen took on the elements, as if together they had the power to keep their vessels afloat. Heaven help him, but she'd fascinated him since he'd first noticed her, in France before the expedition started. She had ridden next to the queen, each woman on a white horse as they challenged knights and lords to pledge their lives to the cause.

Mamie moved through life as if it were meant to be savored. He'd watched her seduce men with her come-hither smile, enthrall them with off-colored jokes, ensnare them as she matched them drink for drink. She laughed like it mattered. Her unwavering bravery as she rode in the caravan against the Turkish infidel made her his ideal woman. Just a year ago, he'd have claimed her for his own.

Now Dominus was forced to stay away. Templar rules dictated limited conversation—and no touching, if it could be helped. He poured his stymied affections into protecting her from afar. It was pure torture, but he had to be in her presence.

“Dominus? Everard?”

Dominus paused at hearing Mamie say his name, his grip on the shroud tight.

“Are you all right, brother?” Everard asked with concern.

“Dominus, this way,” Mamie said in a husky voice. “At least it stopped raining. And the wind does not howl like a caged wolf.”

She stood near the side of the stern, the wooden railing coming to her waist. Her hair, a sinful shade of copper flame that had caused many a night's temptation, flew in coiled curls in the breeze.

“Not howling,” Dominus agreed. “But not absent either.”

“You would argue such a point now?” She spread out her arms, her expression pained.

He wished for the right to grab her hair in his fist and wind the curls around his fingers. He'd tuck it all away and cover her beauty beneath a black veil. Such flights of fancy served him not at all, and he brushed by her as if he did not see her.

She made a garbled sound of anger in her throat.

Her dark brown cloak, the hood down instead of rightfully hiding her hair, was almost black with damp. She would catch a chill if she insisted on staying out in the rain.

Her eyes, round and bright in her pale face, focused on his forehead instead of what he and Everard carried. He understood loss and wished he could shoulder some of her pain. Dominus could not offer a hug of compassion without breaking the Templar oath or, worse, revealing his feelings—but Mamie needed holding. Where were her friends?

Fay, the most angelic of all the queen's ladies, had a spiritual essence that shone around her, like gold in the painting of
a saint. She came from the other side of the deck, with Eleanor's arm looped around hers. The queen carried a book in her hands. She wasn't wearing gloves, and her long fingers had a purplish hue.

Even though Eleanor was dressed as simply as Fay and Mamie, without a crown or royal scepter, her regal bearing declared her status. She walked with bred-in-the-bone assurance that her voice would be heard. Dominus wondered if she taught this confidence to her ladies of the guard. In her garden of love.

No wonder the king's advisors despised her.

The queen raised her hand, regarding Mamie, Fay, Dominus, and Everard. “Thank you, sirs, for bringing our Sarah to the deck and assisting us in mourning her death.” She shook the book. “I have the Office of the Dead. I could read from Psalms and follow tradition.” Eleanor bowed her head, as if asking for aid from the Almighty. “But I will not. Sarah found the routines that offer most of us comfort to be binding.”

Mamie inched closer to Fay. Neither woman looked at the sewn shroud holding the body of their friend.

The captain ambled forward, his hands loosely before him, his head tilted as he listened quietly to the queen. Offering his support.

Word spread quickly that the queen was speaking, and people
came up from below. King Louis, Odo, and Thierry also arrived on the deck. The two advisors wore black robes and looked like a short version—Odo—and a taller version—Thierry—of Death.

The queen spoke eloquently, her words resonating with power and easily heard. “I could offer a prayer to Athena. Greek Goddess of Love.”

Louis watched with compassion as his wife struggled to find the correct way to send off her lady. Dominus wondered why he did not join her.

“I will not.” Eleanor looked up and met each person's gaze. “Sarah de Lockeheart deserves something that only I, her sometimes friend, sometimes enemy, can give her.”

Intrigued, Dominus looked at Everard, who kept glancing at Fay.

“It is true that Sarah had the visage of a goddess. That she carried the spirit of Athena. She loved the hunt, and her loyalty to those she cared about or protected was unparalleled. She did not let me win a race just because I was duchess or queen. Out of all the women in my life, she treated me as an equal.” Eleanor wiped an eye. “That she was peasant born did not matter to her.”

Sarah a peasant? She'd never carried herself that way. Dominus felt a reluctant respect.

“She challenged me, bested me, just as at times I bested her.” Eleanor pulled an orange cloth flower from her cloak.

“Lily. Peasant or noble born, your heart is pure, your soul
unblemished despite the judgments of others. Go with God, Sarah. Go in peace. You and your babe are free of all restrictions.”

Dominus looked at Mamie and almost dropped Sarah's corpse. His temptation, Mamie, held herself rigid. Straight back, stiff shoulders. She lifted her gaze, unseeing as she stared over the wrapped body. He shivered, spooked by the terror he'd glimpsed in Mamie's eyes. It was one thing to mourn a loved one, but this was something more.

The captain removed his hat and said, “Amen.”

By rote, the watching mourners responded with the same, whether they agreed with the sentiment or not. Odo seemed repulsed, but Louis shrugged free of his advisor's hand and went to Eleanor. Louis nodded at the lily, then the shroud.

“
Oui
,” Eleanor whispered. “
Mon fleurs
?”

Mamie shook free from whatever fear held her captive, joining Fay and Eleanor around Sarah's covered body. The captain's men had added small rounded weights so it would sink, making
her much heavier in death than in life. Dominus felt the strain in his arms and saw the beginnings of fatigue in Everard's set mouth.

The women bowed their heads over Sarah.

The queen tucked the orange flower into the seam. “You are released from duty,” the queen whispered. “Free.”

Mamie reached down, touching Sarah's head through the sailcloth. Sarah's protruding belly. She drew her hand back with shock, as if realizing how pregnant her friend had been.

The captain nodded at Dominus. He and Everard counted to three, then tossed the body over the edge of the ship. Feet down, the figure seemed to glide gracefully into the deep blue of the sea. As they'd been told, the rowers were at rest. They would wait for a few minutes and then begin rowing once more.

The crowd dispersed, though Mamie, Fay, and Eleanor along with Louis, stayed at the railing. Dominus and Everard waited too.

“She's gone,” Eleanor said, bringing her knuckles to her lips.

“Her soul was already free,” Fay clarified with a sigh. “This was only her body. A clay jar. She will find a way to heaven, my queen. I believe that, no matter what the church decrees.”

Louis stepped back. “My condolences.” He gave a short bow, his discomfort clear.

It was impossible to ignore rumors of the royal pair at odds. Would Eleanor accept his kindness?

Mamie coughed into her fist, her eyes dry, her mouth strained. He would have accepted these as signs of grieving, until he saw the way her hand strayed to the sword at her hip—hidden beneath her cloak.

The captain dared to step closer, as if to offer comfort. She delivered a scathing look, and the man quickly backed away.

Relieved, Dominus accepted that he could not have her for himself. But he did not want anyone else to have her either. How to let her know she was not alone?

He gestured for Everard to go below. “I will find you. Now that the rain has stopped, we can train with our swords.”

Everard nodded and left. The knight would go far, following orders without question. Fay, Eleanor, and Louis wandered
to the other side of the captain's quarters, leaving him with Mamie.

He watched from a safe distance—there were rules.

Dominus had sacrificed much to be here on this stinking ship, and part of that meant observing life instead of partaking in its wonders. He'd promised, and so far he had kept his word.

A harsh sob sounded as Mamie stood at the rail. Her shoulders
started to shake, and she gripped the edge of the ship as if she would jump over and join Sarah in a watery grave. Driven by passionate emotion, Mamie might do it before she realized it was too late and there was no coming back from the sea.

Dominus sprinted the hundred paces it took to reach her. He grabbed her by the arm and spun her around, away from the rail and into his arms. “Stop!”

She pushed away from him, scowling. “What are you doing?”
Her hair stuck on the toggle of his cloak, and she yanked it free, leaving behind a few fiery strands.

“Saving you,” Dominus said, looking at her glassy eyes and
hard mouth. She seemed like the angry version of his temptation.
Was this how she dealt with her grief?

“From what?” She glared at him, blinking in quick succession.

“I know you are sad,” he said, keeping his arms stiff at his sides instead of pulling her into an embrace. “But suicide is a sin.” He would wait for her emotions to calm, then appeal to her reason.

“Su—? Are you serious? I would not jump! I am furious, Dominus.” Her gaze snagged on the cross at his shoulder, and she tapped the cloak with her forefinger. “Perhaps you can answer this, since you and God are so close. Why would He take a woman in her prime? Why would He call back to heaven an innocent babe? And do not tell me that baby committed any sin, whether or not his mother had—which I would debate, if I could.”