The Spymaster's Protection (30 page)

He’d been disillusioned and unhappy for too long. He lived and
labored in a brutally violent world. The years of bloodshed, cruelty, and
disappointment had destroyed the young idealistic knight and monk he’d once
been. He’d lost too many friends to this conflict over religion and land; knelt
beside them on the desert sand as their life’s blood drained from their
stalwart bodies. He’d become completely disenchanted with the greedy, inept,
vainglorious men he served.

Gabrielle de Châtillon reminded him that there still was
beauty and goodness in the world. Her noble compassionate heart lent solace to
his battered soul. She eased his disappointment, his sorrow, his
disillusionment. She lent hope to his lost dreams. In truth, she was a wonder.
She had suffered so much. He could barely imagine how a person could stand
strong in the face of such heartache and cruelty. He admired her greatly.

And he loved her.

Shifting her, he lifted her onto his lap. The water came just
above the tips of her beautiful breasts, but he did not let himself become
distracted by their tempting curves. Instead, he watched the way the ends of
her hair floated on the surface of the water. It calmed his desire for her and
helped clear his thoughts.

He stared into the sapphire depths of her fathomless eyes. Her
lashes were wet and spiky, and it made them look even larger than they were. He
had to narrow his own not to become lost in them. “Gabrielle, I can’t promise
you a future yet. I shouldn’t even try, knowing what’s coming, but I want to.”
He’d been thinking of talking to her about these things all day, and he wanted
to tell her how he felt about her while they were not making love.

“I love you, Gabrielle. I want to be with you for the rest of
my life, always, if God allows it.”

He could see his declaration took her back, but she did not
look displeased, only worried. “But what if you cannot be released from your
vows? You are given to God, Lucien.”

He took one hand and lifted it to his lips as he smiled softly
at her. “I am given to you, my heart.”

Her hand moved out of his to rest against his cheek. “And I am
still married….”

“There are many obstacles. I won’t deny that. But I believe we
can overcome them. I doubt it would have come to this between us had God not
willed it.”

“Think you so?”

“Aye, I do think so.” He turned her hand and kissed her soft
wet palm. “Love is the greatest of all gifts. Do you not recall that from the
scriptures?”

Gabrielle hooked an arm behind his neck. “Aye, I do. And,
Lucien, I also love you.”

His smile was exultant. “Then when we are beyond all this, you
will marry me?”

“In a heartbeat!” Her smile was just as joyous.

“We may have little at first,” he warned her, wishing he did
not have to. “I am not sure yet what I will do now than I am no longer a
Templar. I have no home to return to.”

“It matters not,” she said, easing his concern. “Those things
mean nothing compared to love.”

“I will find a way to take good care of you, Gabi,” he vowed
solemnly.

“You already do, Lucien. I know you will continue to do so.
And I will take good care of you also,” she promised happily.

“Then we are given to one another, my love.”

“Yes,” she whispered in agreement against his lips as he
wrapped his arms around her and lifted her from the pool. With their lips
locked in an unbroken kiss, he sure-footedly strode to the blanket he had set
upon the ground and lowered her beneath him.

+++

They spent a few more days in the cave, but that was the only
day Lucien spent completely with Gabrielle. He still had a job to do, and he
pursued it over the remainder of the week. One evening they heard men and
horses outside the cavern, on the other side of the waterfall.

Lucien immediately doused their small fire and their single
torch. Both he and Gabrielle crept carefully to the outer grotto to look and
listen. Beyond the cascading water, a dozen Arabian soldiers had stopped to
water their horses and fill their gourds from the small pond below the falls.

They conversed in Arabic to one another, and Lucien and
Gabrielle listened to their talk of home and their speculations about when they
might return to it. When they were finished, they remounted and rode away,
never suspecting that they had been watched the entire time.

The next morning, Lucien was gone for most of the day. When he
returned, he announced that they would be leaving the following morning. He
advised Gabrielle to dress in her unbleached muslin tunic, pants, and kufiyya.
The native attire was practical for travel, and she’d blend into their
surroundings much better than if she wore her more brightly colored tunics and
pants. Before they resumed their journey to Damascus, he was going to show her
what he had discovered so far.

By noon, she was perched on a sandy hilltop, flat on her
stomach. Beside her, Lucien pointed out the immense encampment in the valley
below. Both of them were clothed in tan robes. Gabrielle imagined they blended
in very well to the desert hillock. Even their dark heads were covered by
unbleached muslin head scarves, banded across their foreheads by strips of
braided silk. A swath of thin muslin cloth was also draped across the lower
half of their faces.

Below them there was a huge Arab encampment. Gabrielle guessed
more than a thousand men. Colorful silk pavilions sat alongside dingy canvas
tents. Horses and camels were tethered and corralled behind them, while
campfires in the front lay dormant, waiting for preparation of the evening
meal.

Since it was the middle of the day and seasonably warm for
early June, the encampment was relatively deserted. Gabrielle imagined most men
were either inside their tents resting or off patrolling the area. A few were
training in small groups, on horseback and on foot.

“There are so many!” she whispered in awe.

“This is just one encampment. I have discovered three more
north of here. I suspect there may be more yet between here and Damascus.”

“How many men have you estimated so far?”

“Possibly over five thousand.”

Gabrielle blew out an audible breath. “And this is just the
beginning of Saladin’s call to arms. How many more will respond in the months
to come?”

“That is what I intend to find out, but I suspect four to five
times as many. I think Saladin himself is still in the south, at Kerak, but
that, too, I will have to discover. Depending on who answers his call to jihad,
men will probably come from northern Syria, Jazira, Egypt, and from the Kurd’s
territory in Iraq. We may even see some from Turkey and Afghanistan. Saladin
has won dominion over many lands, and he has put out his call for war, far and
wide.”

Gabrielle was visibly alarmed. “Oh, Lucien, how can the
Christian army hope to prevail against such numbers?”

“By refusing to be drawn out into open set battles that require
an army marching across the desert. The Arab bowmen are very good at harassing
such a formation. If we stay behind the walls of our fortresses, we may have a
chance to defend ourselves successfully against such enormous odds. Luck and
prayer might also help,” he added grimly.

She reached for his hand and held it tightly, worried beyond
description for their future.

He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, then added a kiss on
her muslin covered cheek for extra reassurance. “Come, mi’lady, we must be on our
way to Damascus. I will uncover more there.”

+++

Because Lucien often took detours to scout the region, it took
longer than normal to travel to Damascus. One day out from the city, they
stopped for the night near an outcrop of boulders and a pair of towering date
palms. The lonely sentinels provided a scant bit of shade, while the granite
monoliths provided protection from the desert wind in the waning light of the
setting sun.

Gabrielle sat down on her bedroll and tiredly leaned back
against one of the stones as she watched Lucien get their foodstuffs from their
tethered horses, then gather a few scraps of dried brush for their nightly
cooking fire.

Closing her eyes, she told herself she simply needed a few
moments of rest before she got up and assisted Lucien with their evening tasks.
When he came to shake her awake, she thought she had only been asleep a few
moments. She was surprised to find he had prepared their evening meal all by
himself. A mortified apology left her lips as she accepted his offering.

"I fear I have been keeping you awake too much these past
few nights," he told her with a dark flush that thoroughly enchanted
Gabrielle.

She scooted closer to him as he sank down beside her against
the boulder. "I am not complaining. I was simply a bit more tired
today." She set her bowl in her lap and swiveled to cup her hand around
his bearded cheek. Her lips played along his cheekbone, then the hollow beneath
it before leisurely journeying to his ear, where she had to sweep aside his
head scarf before she could let her tongue tease him.

Lucien chuckled, then laughed as she cleverly tormented and
tickled the shell of his ear. "Eat, mi'lady," he finally implored,
lifting her bowl back into her hands. "This is much better hot than
cold."

“As you are, sir.” Gabrielle relented with a disgruntled pout
that quickly disappeared with his descriptive promises of what he would do to
her later.

While she ate, she watched the man beside her, lingering long
and lovingly upon his handsome, darkly etched face.

There were so many reasons beside his physical attributes that
made her love this disavowed monk. She had never known such a caring and tender
man. Except for her mother, she had been unloved all her life. Lucien de
Aubric's love for her was like rain falling on parched earth. It was a precious
gift of grace to a woman who had despaired of anyone ever caring for her.

She had long ago decided she must be unworthy of love and
happiness. Then this cynical spy with his tarnished idealism and uncompromising
chivalry had walked into her life and changed it profoundly. He had sacrificed
much to champion her. He’d stood up to her powerful husband, her abusive
father, and his own commanding officer to protect her, and then he had
miraculously fallen in love with her.

The day he had revealed that to her was the most joyous of her
life. His declaration had literally restored her soul, not to mention her
self-worth. For the first time ever, she felt whole and happy.

And his tender passion had healed her fear of intimacy. Reynald
had never made love to her. He had sexually abused and bullied her. But
Lucien’s gentle touch and tender concern for her pleasure was erasing all those
terrible memories. She was even learning how to please him; how to touch him in
ways that she never would have dared with her husband, for fear of inciting
Reynald’s brutal lust to an even greater degree.

And, dear God, never would she have trusted a man the way she
had come to trust Lucien de Aubric! How vulnerable she had always felt! With
Lucien, she felt herself growing stronger and more confident daily.

The only thing that terrified her anymore was the impending
threat of war that surrounded them. Seeing all of those men who had answered
Saladin’s call to arms chilled her to the bone. It did not appear that war
could be averted, and she knew that soon, Lucien would have to return and
answer his king’s muster. Every day, she prayed for his safety and survival.
Would God be so cruel as to take him from her when she had finally found such
joy and happiness?

When their meal was finished, Lucien dropped a bit more brush
on the sputtering fire, then pushed to his feet.

“I’m going to check the horses,” he informed her as he
extended a hand to help her to her feet.

Gabrielle understood that he also wanted to give her a bit of
privacy if she needed to relieve herself before going to bed. “Once I’ve taken
care of a bit of personal business, I’ll clean up since I was no help earlier.”

“Do not go far,” he warned, sweeping the darkness with a
worried scan.

Her smile reassured him she would not. “Just on the other side
of the clearing.”

When Gabrielle finished with her private ablutions, she
returned to their campsite, coming to a sudden halt in the shadow of the
boulders. Lucien stood near the fire pit, confronted by two strangers. One had
a scimitar drawn, pointed at his midsection, and one was ruffling through their
belongings, looking for valuables, Gabrielle assumed.

She looked around, but failed to see any horses or camels. It
appeared they had just walked into their campsite, probably drawn by the light
of the fire in the moonless night.

To her dismay, she was quickly spotted.

“Aha, what have we here?” the bandit with the scimitar
snickered in Arabic. “It seems we have stumbled upon two fine horses and an
even finer woman.”

Gabrielle looked toward Lucien and saw his jaw clench. “Genna,
come here.”

They had agreed to call one another by Arabic names when they
were in front of strangers. Lucien had become Latif. Keeping the initial letter
of their Christian names made them easier to recall.

As she walked toward him, the brigand standing before Lucien
reached out to grab her, but Gabrielle nimbly danced out of his grasp. Lucien
instantly pulled her to stand behind him. When the Arab rummaging through their
bedrolls and packs found something he deemed worthwhile, he called out to his
companion.

The momentary lapse of attention allowed Lucien to whisper the
word
mercenaries
to Gabrielle. She flinched. Simple bandits would have
been preferable. They might have robbed them and left them alone. Mercenaries
were not likely to leave them anything but dead.

When the thief kneeling on their blankets held up the gold
chain and necklace Gabrielle’s mother had given her, she cried out softly. The
pendant dangling from his dirty fingers was a crescent moon carved delicately
out of gold, set with a brilliantly clear stone that Simone had told her was
very rare and priceless. Because of its worth, both monetarily and
sentimentally, she usually wore it around her neck, beneath her clothing. Its
loss would break her heart!