Rose (3 page)

Mamie resisted falling apart and throwing herself into Dominus's embrace, choosing instead to give him a solid push backward, so she could breathe. The Templar, entirely too handsome to vow chastity, rarely said a word. He studied her now, his blue eyes filled with empathy.

“Why are you here?” she said.

He carried himself like a soldier, his voice gruff. “My intent was consolation.”

Sarah, dead, the baby a mound wrapped in cloth. In the sea. Her stomach pitched, and she gritted her teeth, wanting to fight. Or make love. Or pretend that nothing had changed. “You have feelings of compassion behind that white tunic?”

“It is not so white, madame. A warrior has blood staining his hands.”

Mamie sniffed, quarrelsome. Her skin itched from the inside, and she had no source for relief. “Forgiven by God.” Where was the damned wind now, when she could use something to mask her anguish? She felt as fragile as blown glass.

Dominus shifted his weight, hands at his sides. “Once we reach Jerusalem, all of our sins will be forgiven.”

She took a last look into the water as the rowers got the vessel
moving. Lurching forward, within two strokes, they'd found a rhythm—leaving Sarah behind.

God.
“Absolution was Catherine's concern, not mine. I welcome
my so-called sin. It lets me know that I am alive.” She dared him to disagree. His eyes, the blue of the Mediterranean on a clear day, held her gaze.

His brow twitched, though the rest of his face remained expressionless. Hmm. What would it take to unsettle the knight of God?

From emperors to burghers, Mamie reveled in male attention.
Eleanor had harnessed that power, asking Mamie to swear an oath of fealty and, in return, granting her freedom to do as she pleased. Discreetly,
naturellement
.

“Have you been to Antioch before?” she said.

Dominus could be anywhere from thirty years of age to
forty, a man in his prime, she thought. It was possible he'd traveled
back and forth, fulfilling his oath to keep pilgrims safe as they traveled toward Jerusalem.

“I have not.”

So it was his first time with the Greeks too. “What did you do, before swearing your soul to God?”

He scowled, which did not, unfortunately, detract from his handsomeness. “Your question is impertinent.”

With a wry chuckle, Mamie leaned back, her elbows against the railing. “True.” The spray off the ocean settled around her like a soft mist.
No more tears, please
. “I would like to know anyway.”

“No.”

Another spray washed over the side, and she laughed as she wiped her face clear of water. “I am tired of death and rain and sickness.” God's will seemed cruel, and she had no heart for it. She had no desire for absolution, but she had a few things to say to Almighty God and his Holy Ghost.

“It is part of life,” Dominus said.

“Hmm.” She'd loved, been loved and betrayed. Widowed and saved from poverty—she knew to count her blessings. The Master gave with one hand while dealing a ringing blow with the other. “What do you know of life's bounty? You've given up everything. For what? You watch from the side. I suppose you do a lot of praying.”

His eyes narrowed.

“I do not fear my own death.” She smiled wide, determined to keep her pain at arm's length. “Which is why I live every moment. Sarah is gone”—Mamie snapped her fingers—“like that. I say, enjoy the wine, the rich velvets, and the lovers. Death comes soon enough.” Damn her watering eyes. She looked away, the ocean a calm sheet of bluish gray behind them. White clouds skittered across a soft sky.
Au revoir, Sarah.

Dominus cleared his throat. “And what of your soul? If you do not take care of your spiritual duties on earth, then what happens when you die?”

“I will know soon enough.”

“But not yet,” he said, his tone demanding. What right did he have to behave as if he cared?

She knew one sure way to remember she was alive.
Skin to skin.
“Thank you, Sir Dominus, for your concern over whether or not I jumped. I would not have, but I appreciate your regard.”

Touching Dominus's sleeve, she met his gaze with a sultry question in hers. He inched back. “A warrior, I dare guess, your entire life. Your shoulders are as broad as the sail.” Mamie slid her glance across his tanned face. He had a nose that had been broken at least once. His beard, thick and light brown, the same color as his brows, furrowed into a single strip as he watched her study him. His dark blond hair curled close to his head. What would he do if she ran her fingers through the curls?

She reached up, and he grabbed her wrist.

“You think to tempt me into forgetting my oath?” His voice held strength, something that appealed to her more than the size of his forearms. “I am sworn to chastity.”

Mamie dropped her hand, though she kept the honey in her tones. “It is not so with all men of the cloth. Is the reward worth being chaste?”

His voice deepened, affected by her seduction. “I hope so. Until then, it is for me to honor my promise and control my baser urges.”

Mamie straightened at the rebuke, adjusting her cloak around her shoulders. Her hair whipped over her cheeks and mouth. She needed a comb, a bath. What she would give for a bath. “I respect that. Honor is a rare thing. I have finished here, Dominus. Thank you.”

Her hair smacked his cloak as she passed by, slowly giving his back and shoulders an appraising glance. “If you ever decide to dabble in those base urges, find me. I would see what lies beneath that tunic.”

She could've sworn he grinned before looking down.

“I will pray for you,” he said to her back.

Waving a hand to show her gratitude, she kept walking, knowing he watched. She added a slight sway to her hips, as if she wore a clean gown instead of mildewing clothes. Ah well. There was always the captain's invitation.

Dominus thanked all the saints for his iron will. Mamie of Rou was Jezebel and Delilah and Eve all in one. She was made to tempt a man, which despite his donning of the Knights Templar robe, he was. Full-blooded and fighting a hardened cock with no relief to be found. Privacy was impossible on board the crowded vessel.

Everard joined him later as he leaned far out over the rail, searching for answers to his dilemma in the white-capped waves. Funny how just a few hours ago, he'd wondered if the galley would stay in one piece.

“Are you sad because of the dead woman?” Everard asked. “Sarah? I said my own prayer for her soul.”

Dominus gave half a nod. Not because of the woman so much, though he cared about how Sarah's death seemed to affect Mamie. He'd turned the strands of her hair into a sailor's knot and stowed it in his wallet. “I am contemplating life.”

“A philosopher?” Everard chuckled. “We spend enough time in quiet. But we are supposed to be praying.”

“I do. Most of the time.” He said his prayers and then allowed
his mind to wander. How to keep Mamie from joining with anyone else, now that they were so near Jerusalem and the completion of his assignment?

Everard glanced around to ensure they were alone. The slap of the water against the wood of the ship made it difficult to be discreet. “I saw you speaking with the redheaded woman, and so did a few others. Odo, for one. Take care. He is not in charge of our conduct, but I am certain he will speak to the commander once we reach Antioch.”

Dominus pushed himself back from the rail. “There is no cause for concern. I know my duty.”

“You are a brave soldier, Dominus.” He hesitated, then said, “A few of the other knights say we are cursed because the king refused to take control of Constantinople.”

Dominus squeezed Everard's shoulder. “We are men of God and do not listen to idle gossip. This caravan is gathered at the bequest of the king, who has shown himself to be a man of integrity. He has followed the rules of conduct, though his advisors urged him otherwise.”

Everard shrugged off Dominus's grip, his eyes flashing. “Message received, Brother Dominus.” He adjusted his cloak, slipping his hood up to thwart an oncoming drizzle. “I will keep my own counsel. Does talking to you constitute gossip?”

Dominus exhaled. “I am here to listen, whenever you need a friend.” Or not. His mission was to listen. To everything. For what purpose, only the bishop knew.

“Praise be to God, and he shall see us through.” Everard bowed his head.

“Praise be to God,” Dominus answered. He watched the young knight cross the deck, pausing now and again to offer comfort or prayers to some of the soldiers who'd had coin
enough to buy passage. The poor souls who had no silver were forced to make the land journey through the mountains, fighting hunger and Turks to, God willing, meet with them in Antioch.

Was this pilgrimage cursed?

He searched the horizon for land. Dominus did not believe in omens or portents of fortune. He believed in muscle and the strength of man. He believed in God, though he wasn't completely sold on the Templar doctrine. It had been his life experience that too strict a diet caused a man to gorge.

Dominus, committing a sacrilegious thought, wondered if God gave a shit. He turned toward the queen's small tent at the front of the ship. What was Odo doing there? He did not care for the king's watchdog.

“I don't know why I teased Dominus,” Mamie told Fay. She didn't share that he thought she was going to jump into the ocean. He'd shown true concern, which was not something to poke fun at. His compassion confused her.

Larissa and Eleanor sat upright on the narrow bed, as if it were a couch. Fay sat on a stack of pillows on the floor, while Mamie perched, cross-legged, on a trunk. “But I could not stop myself once he'd given me that challenge.”

“He reminded you he was chaste!” Eleanor laughed. “That is not a challenge, my dearest Rose. Be kind. There are plenty of men on board this ship. Do not cause a crisis of faith in a man we need to help us win against the Turks. I have seen him fight, and he is competent at wielding a sword.”

“I would like to find out,” Mamie admitted with a shrug. Stripped down to leggings and a loose tunic so that she could dry without the added layer of drenched clothes, Mamie stretched out a leg, pointing bare toes toward Fay.

Fay took a pillow and smacked the foot down. “Your feet smell.”

Larissa chuckled. “We all smell.”

“We must find enough fresh water to bathe before we meet my uncle. I will not go to him as salted as a herring.” Eleanor waved her hand beneath her nose. “I look like the Queen of Nothing—and you know how important appearances are when greeting the public.”

“I wish we had our crimson-and-white uniforms. I loved the laces on the knee boots.” Mamie wiggled her toes.

Larissa clicked her tongue against her teeth. “You wish for clothes; the queen wants to smell nice. None of that can happen unless it starts to rain soap and vinegar. Everything needs a good washing, and so I suggest the royal accoutrement be chosen according to what is cleanest. The blue velvet, my queen, is in the best condition.”

“Blue,” Eleanor said. “Louis will think I chose it to support him.”

“Is that such a bad thing?” Fay asked. “It is not my place”—she paused until the queen gave her a nod—“but considering how strained your relationship has become, thanks to awful Odo and Thierry, keeping you apart as if they were nursemaids and the king a child! Oh . . .” Fay shook her head.

Mamie finished her friend's thought. “It might be a point of concession that your husband would appreciate. At no cost to you.”

Eleanor's eyes brightened, with tears or a new plan, Mamie was not quite certain.

“The blue velvet it is. Add the gold trim, Larissa. If I am going
to do it, I will do it right.”

“Of course,” Larissa said. “We have a sliver of perfumed soap and a small bottle of oil for your hair.”

“You will be ravishing,” Mamie teased. “I look forward to meeting your handsome uncle.”

“Do not even give him a wink, Mamie.” The queen shook her finger. “Or I will . . . I will come up with a suitable punishment. Raymond is handsome and amusing and strong. He can
bend an iron bar in his hands. And, oh, how he captivates with a story. You know my grandfather was a troubadour,” she said, smiling.

“Which is what gave you the idea to form a garden of refined chivalry, with knights and ladies fair,” Fay added, a dreamy expression on her face. Mamie thought it made her look innocent rather than deadly.

“I imagine Antioch will have all of the amenities of home, or as close as possible to our southern clime. Raymond's wife, Constance, writes of a beautiful land on the water—an oasis against the Turkish enemy who would destroy it all rather than honor God.”

Mamie had visited Aquitaine with Eleanor once. The country
was lush and green, bountiful in orchards and fields, more vibrant
even than her hometown of Troyes.

The stark gray misery of Paris had come as an unpleasant surprise to Mamie. She could easily imagine the young queen's shock when she'd left her home in Aquitaine for the drafty castle and a boy-husband who had been raised for the church.

Eleanor's creation of the garden was her way of expressing her views on art, literature, and joie de vivre. Men and women conversed, danced, and spoke poetry, looking for beauty rather than disappointment in life. Mamie had found her place among Eleanor's court with ease.