Rose (40 page)

“Quite,” Larissa snipped, biting into a bun. “I hate cats.”

Dominus, drawn to her by an invisible force, walked closer. “What are you doing here, madame?”

Mamie turned white as snow. She lifted her face, searching the deck. The sun behind him kept him in shadow.

“Dominus?”

She stood, her hands trembling at her waist.

“
Oui
.” His heart thumped behind his tunic. How was it that she was here? On the same boat home as he?

Swallowing, Mamie took a step forward, ever brave. “Why are you not with the queen?”

“I would ask you the same thing.”

She bowed her head, gesturing him to come closer.

He did, breathing in the scent of her hair, the faintest aroma of roses. She wore a gown the emerald of her eyes, a thin rose-colored belt around her hips.

“I am running from the prince before he finds out the ruse
played against him.” Her breath smelled of cinnamon and honey
as she confessed her sin into his ear.

He kept quiet, wondering exactly what she meant. “Are you in danger?”

“Not I. The queen, perhaps.”

His head spun, not understanding what could have happened that the queen's fierce bodyguard could be sent away from the fray.

“Should we go now? You and I? Toward Jerusalem?”

Her sad eyes glimmered. “What? Steal horses and save the queen from her own husband?” Her shoulders slumped, and she leaned closer to him. “Thierry is dead. Fay killed him when he attacked the queen. He'd been trying to murder her all along. Was it you who warned Louis in time?”

“I suspected danger, but I had no way to reach you.” He closed his eyes, surprised that the incident had resulted in the eunuch's death.

“He went crazy. Blaming the queen for the failure of the Crusade.”

“I am sorry,” Dominus said, touching her arm—knowing the action broke the rules of proper conduct but unable to stop himself. He had to touch her, to reassure himself that she was real. “I wish I had been there.”

“You did enough.” She sighed, the warm rush of air brushing his cheek like the stroke of a feather.

“Mamie. Where are you going now?” He steered her away from Larissa, from other people, toward the rail of the galley.

“Home,” she said, too brightly. “I told you I have a manor near Troyes. And you, dressed as a nobleman?”

He put a hand against the small of her back and felt her shiver. “I am going home.”

“Good.” She nodded her approval, not meeting his eyes—choosing to look out over the water instead. “Your family needs you.” He felt her body tighten with words she left unspoken.

“My brother's children require more than I can give, though I will do my best. Meggie died, Mamie. Waiting for me to come home. I am the bastard. I may not be able to give them much, but the terrors are welcome to my skin and bones.”

“You have a heart as big as the ocean, Dominus. They will need your love more than your money. You do have coin?” She slid her gaze toward him.

“The bishop wrote that my debt is forgiven. My penance for being a selfish prick absolved.”

“You must forgive yourself. You left to become a man, which you could not do under your father's shadow. It is the way of men, to find their own road.”

He looked at her directly. “And it seems some women. I should have gone home when my brothers asked.”

“We all have things in our past that we wish we had done differently.” Mamie edged closer to him so that their shoulders brushed. “Move on, Dominus. I have found out that forgiving oneself is a powerful thing. We are reminded to love one another, but rarely are we told to love ourselves.”

He watched her draw strength and was reminded of their time together in the grove. “And you, Mamie? Have you found happiness?”

If he expected her to fall apart and cry in his arms, he was
mistaken. Instead, she stepped away from the railing and nodded.
“I have a plan. I may not be able to have children of my own.”
Her eyes stayed clear and steady. “But there are children who need a home, and I have one. My maternal heart will find a way.”

He felt like a fool. “I have been afraid to ask how you might feel about the ocean.”

A red brow arched. “You know I love the water. Especially the storms.”

“And children. A dozen children, ranging in ages. The only common factor: the Brochard blood.” He covered his eyes. “I have the smallest duchy,” he said. “My plan was to find your manor in Troyes and convince you to keep me on as your lover. As I traveled back and forth between Byronne and Troyes.”

“And how often would I see you? Three times a year? During
the peak fishing season?” She sniffed.

“I cannot be without you. I am trying, Mamie, to find a way for us to be together. There is no way that you, worldly and wise, could ever be happy in my small duchy. The entire village could fit in the palace. The keep is falling down, rotting. I have to get these boys grown, to help rebuild the damn thing.”

She stared out over the water. “You do not know me.”

“I love you.”

He reached into his wallet, pulling out the sailor's knot of Mamie's hair he'd kept all this time.

“If you loved me, you would know that all of the glitter does not impress me, that I—”

“I was a fool.” He showed her the intricately braided knot in his palm. “I have loved you for so long, but you were unattainable. Please let me spend the next few weeks showing you all of the reasons you might grow to love a moldy keep in a beautiful blue bay, filled with brats. And gulls.”

She picked up the knot. “When did you do this?”

“You brushed by me after Sarah's death. Your hair caught on the toggle of my cloak.” He paused. “But I have loved you since France, when you rode next to the queen on the hill, calling for brave knights to save Edessa.”

A smile played at the corners of her mouth before she handed
the knot back. “How do I know you won't leave me? That you aren't asking me to come with you to be your nursemaid?”

Dominus knew she'd been dishonored and hurt in the past, which had been part of his certainty that she would never agree to be his wife. “I couldn't imagine you as that. Mamie, will you marry me?”

She choked on her surprise, her face reddening in alarm.

“I knew you would say no. It is better for you to be free.” He patted her back as she struggled to breathe in. “My family affairs are a mess. You have a plan.”

At last, she calmed enough to speak. “You are right. You are a fool.”

He turned away. “I am.”

She remained quiet, staring out at the water. The galley finally
left the port, heading toward the ocean. When the river met the salt water, she tossed something into the waves, murmuring what sounded like a prayer. Then she tapped his back, gaining his attention as he faced her.

“You have until we reach France to convince me to marry you. Until then, tell me about your nieces and nephews.”

One year later

Mamie surveyed the crystalline blue water. Today, the waves were miniscule, which meant no wind for the sailboats. Domi
nus had built a two-person craft with his own hands, and she loved
nothing more than escaping with him for a morning of solace.

“Momma! Momma,” a toddler's voice cried, careening around the corner of the solar. The great room had been rebuilt, using imported teak and local stone to make something that might last. As the Romans might have built, one partial wall could be opened to the elements, allowing the feeling of being on board a ship while comfortable inside.

She and Dominus sat next to one another on a padded bench at a low table, fruit and jams before them.

“He wants you,” Dominus said. He tore a corner from his biscuit and handed it to Mamie.

“Because he's in trouble.” Mamie laughed, putting the buttery
morsel in her mouth.

“You are beautiful.” His eyes darkened with desire as he stared at her lower lip.

“Charmer.” She brought his hand to her mouth and kissed the knuckles. “It must be in the Brochard blood.”

He smiled and pushed away the remnants of his breakfast. “We could go upstairs . . .”

“We just left our bed,” Mamie said, her body humming with joy.

“Momma!” Graydon made the turn, grinning, his stocky three-year-old body on the run for safety.

Five-year-old Cayla was next around the bend.

Graydon reached her first, grabbing fists full of her skirt and burying his face. “Up!”

“Not fair, Momma,” Cayla said. “He gets to you and cries, and what am I to do with my broken doll?”

Mamie reached out, brushing a lock of reddish-blonde hair from Cayla's eyes. “Did he break your doll?”

Graydon giggled, then remembered he was supposed to be crying.

“
Oui
,” Cayla said. “Took her arm right off.”

“Accident. I'm sorry.” Graydon peered from Mamie's lap toward Cayla.

“I saw you, Graydon.” Cayla crossed her arms.

Mamie sighed. “Graydon, you have your own things to play with. Why would you ruin Cayla's? Would you like her to break your toys?”

“No!” He turned, his plump cheeks red.

“Cayla, go get one of Graydon's favorite toys. If you like, you may ruin it as he did yours.”

Cayla's eyes welled with tears. “But I—”

“Go.”

Graydon started crying in earnest. “I am sorry, Cayla.”

“Graydon, can you fix Cayla's doll?” Mamie brushed the toddler's dark curls from his cheek. She looked at Cayla. “Would you like to bring it here, so we can see?”

The two nodded, Graydon grasping Cayla's hand. “Sorry.”

“Be careful,” Cayla said.

They left the solar, and Dominus pulled Mamie into his lap. “The children are fortunate to have a fair judge at hand. I am too. Are you sorry to be away from court, Mamie?” He kissed her mouth, and despite their early-morning lovemaking, she wanted him again.

She looked around her home. The toys, the dust, the salt that permeated everything. The husband who loved her well.

“I did not choose to leave the queen, but fate, my angels, or the magic of Daphne's Grove, pervaded. I wished for happiness and, Dominus, my love, I could not be happier.”

Writing a historical novel takes a lot of research, most of which I did on the Internet. Surfing from one site to the next makes it difficult to give credit where it is due, so I offer a general thank-you to those who share their pictures, videos, and expertise. I searched ancient maps, watched boat making on YouTube, and studied old essays for what temperature Antioch would have been a thousand years ago. Any mistakes are my own. Thank you to my fabulous editor, Emily, for making this a stronger book. Christopher and Sheryl, thank, thank, thank you for the last-hour reads.

Award-winning and
USA Today
best-selling author Traci Hall writes genre fiction for both adults and teens. Believing in happy ever after, she pens stories guaranteed to touch the heart while transporting the reader to another time and place.