The Spymaster's Protection (13 page)

She shuddered to think what it would
happen to her if she returned to Kerak or Montreal. She’d be mocked,
threatened, and whipped or beaten for the slightest offense, the slightest
demonstration of defiance. And inside either fortress, she would be easy prey.
No one would come to her aid, not even Silvia, who had probably joined Reynald
in plotting her death. Certainly, Brother Lucien would be unable to protect her
there. Both fortresses were virtually impregnable. And Reynald would never
allow him admittance.

In the seven years she had lived
under Reynald’s cruel, vicious thumb, he had nearly destroyed her— mind, body
and soul! If not for Brother Lucien’s intervention, she’d be on her way back to
Kerak now. God forgive her! She would take her own life, like her mother may
have, before returning to that horror again!

But her life might be forfeit anyway
if a fida’i had truly been hired to murder her. They called the leader of the
Syrian Assassin sect the Old Man of the Mountain because of his isolated
mountain fortress to the north. Their reputation in Outremer was legendary.
They struck terror into all, Christian and Muslim alike, for their fanatical
beliefs and their radical tactics. Very important men on both sides had been
murdered by them. It was reputed that even Saladin had been targeted by them.
Unless a contract was called back, they were relentless in pursuit of their victim.
If not for Lucien de Aubric, she would have died, alone and forsaken, on that
dark street a fortnight ago. The attack had been haunting her dreams ever
since.

Chilled by that dark thought,
Gabrielle turned her mind to the man who had so recently come into her life.
She had not seen Brother Lucien since he had arranged for her protection here.
Brother Giles told her he had been in and out of Jerusalem the past few weeks.
War was brewing again, and he was busy.

Gabrielle had learned what he did for
the Knights Templar. From the beginning, she had thought he moved with
extraordinary freedom for a Templar. Now she knew why. As Chief of Intelligence
for the Order, he had to be free to come and go when and where he needed.

The fact that he was taking time from
his duties during this time of crisis in the kingdom in order to help her
astonished her. Gabrielle was a stranger to that kind of personal
consideration. And, despite his duties, she knew he had been monitoring her
continued safety and been in regular contact with the Patriarch of Jerusalem,
Archbishop Heraclius.

The archbishop had been to see her
twice. Within a day after she had arrived at the convent, he had come to
demonstrate his support of her sanctuary and to question her about the
annulment. Reynald had badgered him for years for one, but Heraclius had never
approved or initiated one for him.

But upon hearing that Lady Silvia had
attempted to have her killed, Heraclius had decided there was a more legitimate
and urgent reason. Gabrielle thought the archbishop had undergone a change of
heart primarily due to Lucien de Aubric’s intervention, although the patriarch
had told her the queen was now actively supporting her request for an
annulment.

Reynald’s outrageous conduct militarily,
politically, and personally had always angered the queen. And she hated his
influence over her husband. The fact that her own parent’s annulment had made
her and her brother technically illegitimate didn’t turn her against Gabrielle
seeking such an end to her marriage. Annulments were frequently politically
motivated by the nobility, and it was the only release from marriage the church
allowed.

As long as Reynald had left Gabrielle
alone, she had never wanted to give him the satisfaction of agreeing to one. It
seemed a fitting bit of revenge to thwart his plans to marry Silvia and gain
her inheritance. But if getting the dissolution of their marriage would protect
her life and free her completely from Reynald once and for all, she would cast
aside her unholy desire for retribution.

And it was what Lucien de Aubric
wanted for her. He had gone to a great deal of trouble to ensure her freedom
and her safety. He had become her champion when he could have simply walked
away from her complicated, lamentable life. He probably should have, for
Gabrielle was certain his involvement with her would only bring him trouble,
despite the fact that everyone, from Hazir to Brother Giles, had told her that
Lucien was the best thing to happen to her.

And he was a man like no other.

Thinking of him always filled her
with such pleasure. While he might appear dark and dangerous to others, to her,
he was disarmingly handsome and remarkably empathetic. He treated her with
respect, care, and concern, all things she had never experienced from a man.

Like she’d done a dozen of times in
the past fortnight, she closed her eyes and recalled how wonderful it had felt
to be held in his arms, surrounded by his strength the night of her attack.
Reynald had repulsed to a man’s attention, and it was a surprise to her that
she had felt none of the repulsion she had expected in Lucien de Aubric’s arms.
Not only had she tolerated it, she’d reveled in it and wished for more.

And she would never forget how he had
moved in front of her and shielded her against her violent husband. His lack of
fear of Reynald still amazed her. When her husband was in one of his towering
rages, men cowered before him as they frantically searched for some way to
escape him. What woman would not be deeply moved by the kind of chivalry and
valor Brother de Aubric had shown?

But he had not been to see her since
he had escorted her here. She understood, of course. He was busy and he was a
monk, a Templar monk. He was forbidden to have regular discourse with her
because of his vows. He could not treat her as anything other than a woman in
need of his Christian protection. And his embrace that night had no doubt
simply been intended for comfort. What a shame it was, though, for if ever
there was a man that she would like to be more than a benefactor, it was the
Templar.

+++

Two days later, he surprised her with
a visit. A Hospitaller sergeant escorted him into the orphanage courtyard that
served as a playground for the children. Gabrielle was playing stickball with
the children again. They all recognized him immediately and begged him to join
their game.

A dozen brown faces and big dark eyes
circled him with eager grins.

Brother Lucien exchanged a look with
Gabrielle, then laughingly accepted the children’s invitation as she exchanged
her long stout stick for his billowing white mantle.

“It’s been a long time,” he warned
his small audience. “You will have to remind me how to play.”

They were only too eager to offer
instructions as they swarmed around his legs, all talking at once. The fact
that he could speak fluently in their native tongue delighted them.
Overwhelmed, Lucien finally chose an older, taller boy to be his teacher. After
a brief coaching, the game began.

Gabrielle carried his Templar mantle
to a bench under a shade tree and sat down to watch. While she did, she dusted
off her tunic and trousers, slipped into her sandals, and attempted to
rearrange all the hair that had come loose from the long braid that fell over
her shoulder.

Brother Lucien was no stranger to the
game, she discovered. It was a pleasure to see him laugh and play with the
children. She doubted he’d done anything like it in a long time. He had the
agility
of a natural athlete. He certainly had more energy
than she had after playing under the midday sun. His rigorous play even wore
the children out after a while.

Gabrielle smiled as they dropped one
by one onto the grass under the tree around her. Finally, even the eldest ones
grew tired enough to call a halt to the game. After sending them to the well
for water, she led Brother Lucien inside, to a small sitting room off the
children’s dormitory. Once he was seated, she let him rest while she went for a
pitcher of the cool well water.

When she returned, she handed him a
wooden cup, then poured them both an ample amount of water.

Seated across from him at the small
oak table, she stared at him beneath her lashes as she drank her water.
Gabrielle thought he looked even more handsome than the last time she had seen
him. He also looked tired, as if he had been working non-stop.

When he set his cup on the table, he
looked over at her and smiled. It took her breath away. He had such a fierce
dark beauty. His gaze was so penetrating and intensely observant. She
remembered how fearsome and uncompromising he had looked that day in her room
with her father and husband. He had no need to lose his temper with either man.
The severity of his piercing dark expression had been intimidating enough.

His long brown fingers toyed with his
cup and she refilled it, draining the pitcher. The domestic endeavor gave her a
few moments to gather her composure. Other than the night she’d been attacked,
this was the first time she’d been alone with him, and she couldn’t stop
herself from feeling ridiculously happy about the fact.

“How have you been Brother Lucien?”
she asked in order to break their prolonged silence. “Brother Giles tells me
you have been quite busy trying to find out if we are on the verge of war. Is
it as inevitable as everyone says?”

“It appears more and more that way.”
The frown that crossed his striking features creased his brow and narrowed his
dark brown eyes. “Saladin has issued a call to jihad. Your husband’s raid on
the Egyptian caravan this past winter has enraged the Sultan and broken the
truce he established with the Christians in ’85. Reynald rubbed salt on the
wounds by selling all the captives from the raid at a slave auction in Acre a
fortnight ago. It is rumored Saladin had family in the caravan. All were sold
to buyers from Italy and the Byzantine empire, so there could be no chance of
rescue or ransom.”

“My God!” Gabrielle did not try to
hide her angry contempt. “Reynald is such a monster! He has been trading in
slaves since being released from Aleppo. He often threatened to sell me,” she
revealed bitterly. “You’d think that after having had his own freedom
curtailed….”

“Your husband has no empathy,
mi’lady, but he did gain much plunder from the raid, and he is loyally served
by men who get wealthy serving him.”

“Men like my despicable father,” she snapped.
“How I hate hearing the terms husband and father linked to me! I am ashamed to
say that I have secretly prayed for their demise many times. So many lives
would be saved if the Good Lord brought them to justice!”

“I can understand your prayers, and
do not blame you for them. Men like Reynald and Armand are a greater threat to
the kingdom than the Sultan.”

“Sometimes I think God has long ago
abandoned us in our Christian cause because of men like my husband and father.
No doubt they are happily anticipating war.”

Lucien gave her a look that
demonstrated his agreement as well as his concern. “Has either one of them
bothered you here?”

“Both of them came by at the
beginning. I think Reynald wanted to test the strength of my sanctuary. He was
well met by Brother Giles and some of his brethren. My father came by a
sennight later, but he left without incident.”

“They will soon be too busy to bother
with you. Saladin is moving into Oultrejourdan as we speak. He is going there
to protect the pilgrim roads, but I have learned that he intends to attack
Kerak as well. He will not be satisfied until he has destroyed Reynald and his
little kingdom.”

Gabrielle could not find any sympathy
for her husband or her father. “Reynald has brought it upon himself.”

Lucien silently agreed with her. It
had been too long since he’d last seen her. He had discovered that he had
missed her more than he should. He’d kept close tabs on her, but he’d stayed
away purposely. He’d been busy, as she had said. He’d had duties to fulfill and
contacts that demanded his time, but through it all, she had occupied his
thoughts.

She was dressed in loose sky blue
silk pants and a matching tunic again today. Her veil hung around her
shoulders, leaving her dark head uncovered. Once again, it was
plaited
in a thick braid down her back. The heat and
activity had released a multitude of fine silky strands which framed her face
and hung down her neck in baby soft curls. Her lips were parted very slightly,
giving him a peak of her pearly white teeth. They captured his attention. God
help him! He’d spent an uncountable number of restless nights dreaming about
claiming her lips with his own.

The memory of her in his arms the
night she’d been attacked was as strong today as it had been a fortnight ago. Soft
and pliant, sweet and enchanting. He could still smell her and feel her as she
pressed, frightened against his chest. He’d crossed the line that night. He’d
broken his vows, and he knew it. He’d wanted her then and now with a hunger
that denied all restraint. He’d been so damned afraid for her that night when
he’d realized it had been a fida’i after her. His desire to protect her was all
mixed up with his need to be with her, to hold her in his arms again. It was
unraveling him inside.

Her vulnerability before her bastard
of a husband disturbed him deeply. But she had shown great courage in refusing
to be bullied by him. It was yet one more thing to admire about her.

He had to help her. He wanted to help
her. God’s blood! If anyone needed a champion, it was Gabrielle de Châtillon.

She was inexorably becoming the most
important thing in his life. He’d thought he might be able to purge his growing
feelings for her if he simply stayed away from her for a while. But while he
had kept tabs on her, he had been unable, in the end, to stay away. The need to
see her again had been building like a water pipe ready to burst.