Unicorn Vengeance (23 page)

“Aye. A sorry bit of business that was, but the seneschal would hear no protest. Orders from the king's own hand, he said, and naught was there to do but fulfill them.”

“But they burned the Temple, as well?” Odo asked with politely expressed surprise. Genevieve was startled when the shopkeeper shook his burly head.

“Nay, ‘twas not the seneschal responsible for that,” he said. “‘Twas some of the boys down at the tavern that night. Got to talking, they did, about the treasury of the Temple. How I hear it, the more ale in their bellies, the more convinced were they that they should claim its contents for themselves, seeing as the days of the Order were about to come to an end. ‘Twas a cache of coin, after all, to which they had contributed through their tithes, and they saw it as no more than their due to reclaim it.”

“And they burned the Temple for it?” Odo demanded with less well concealed incredulity. The shopkeeper shook his head once more, as though he too found the very idea dismaying.

“Nay, ‘twas not like that. Seems as they sauntered on down to the Temple in the wee hours, but the sergeant at the gate did not see fit to admit them. A right-thinking man was he, to my mind, seeing as they were in such a state, but they threatened him and somehow a flint was struck. In the muddle that followed, the flame ended up somehow in the straw strewn about the Temple courtyard.” The keeper spared the ruins a sad glance. “‘Twas gone afore anyone was roused to douse the flames. Two days did it burn afore the rain washed out the last.”

“And the ‘boys' responsible?” Odo asked.

The shopkeeper's lips twisted wryly and he sighed once afore responding. “Seems as the seneschal was too busy to meddle in the affairs of the townsfolk that day, and now none can recall precisely who was where and when.”

“So they escaped unscathed?” Genevieve interjected indignantly, unable to hold her tongue any longer. She knew not whence her anger issued, but it mattered naught, even if ‘twas from sympathy for Wolfram's plight that she was outraged. Such a travesty of justice was inexcusable! The Order was esteemed, ‘twas respected, ‘twas under the jurisdiction of the Pope alone. Beyond belief ‘twas that such an establishment could be razed by a mob.

The shopkeeper raised bushy eyebrows as he regarded her, his gaze steady. “Well it seems that that will be the way of it,” he admitted softly.

An awkward silence settled over the troupe as they stared once more at the charred Temple, this recent revelation making the sight all the more horrifying.

“And the sergeant at the gate?” Wolfram asked hoarsely, his voice sounding curiously distant. In that instant, any vestige of doubt about his allegiance to the Order was swept from Genevieve's mind. Something about Wolfram's tone revealed him to her, and she knew full well that he was one of the brethren of the Order. And she guessed that his rank had been sergeant. Her heart twisted for him, but he kept his back to them all.

The shopkeeper slanted him an assessing glance, but Wolfram did not turn to face them. “I know not exactly,” he confessed heavily, and Genevieve dreaded his next words. “Bodies there were found within once the flames had done their damage, and whispers there were of some of the men of the house fleeing town with naught but was on their backs.”

This time Genevieve knew she did not imagine the shudder that swept over Wolfram's tall frame. Still it seemed that he could not turn away from the wreckage. The light faded around them and the perfectly typical evening quiet possessing the town seemed suddenly rather ominous. A few stray dry leaves scuttled down the street as the troupe watched Wolfram warily.

He moved not, though his companions grew restive.

The shopkeeper cleared his throat abruptly and seemed to look at the troupe for the first time. “Minstrels, are you?” he asked conversationally, with no hint of censure in his tone.

“Aye, that we are, and well in need of a suitable venue this night,” Odo answered promptly. Genevieve ignored the purposeful undercurrent to his words, her entire being focused on Wolfram.

Alone he looked.

“Verily?” the shopkeeper asked, his words so remote to Genevieve that they might have come from another world. “A tavern have I, just down the way, and well would I welcome your entertainment this night. Naught can I offer you when all is said and done but a place afore the hearth, a hot bowl of soup and mayhap a bit of silver from the patrons.”

The troupe twittered in excitement at the promise of shelter from the elements and Odo sketched a deep bow.

“Deeply honored would we be, sir, and well can you expect a fine show for your generosity.”

The shopkeeper's eyes gleamed with mingled pride and pleasure. “Aye, a good while it has been since we have had the luck of entertainment. Hurry along, would you, for the night is growing cold. Just on the left ‘tis, you cannot miss it.”

Odo nodded gratefully, and several of the members of the troupe called their thanks to the shopkeeper as he bustled away in the indicated direction. Some of the troupe skipped in his wake, some sauntered, Odo hesitated after taking a few steps to glance back to Wolfram and Genevieve. Plump white flakes of snow began to drift out of the deep indigo sky above, though Wolfram did not yet move.

Again, Genevieve was struck by how solitary he looked, his posture not unlike that of a lost child who knows none search for him. He said naught. Still he stood proudly, but there was an air of defeat about him that had not been there afore.

‘Twas Genevieve who finally stepped forward to stand by his side. She waved Odo away and that man turned after the troupe with but a nod. Wolfram glanced not in her direction, even when she stood but a handspan away from him, but she knew full well that he was aware of her presence even so. She hesitated but a heartbeat, then reached down and folded his hand within hers. His fingers trembled, and she gripped his hand yet tighter as the weight of his pain rolled through her.

Aye, he was hurting sorely indeed. Genevieve did not dare close her eyes and surrender to the torment swirling within him, lest it overwhelm her and leave her naught with which to reassure him.

“‘Tis gone,” he whispered hoarsely. His voice was flat and toneless, tinged with disbelief and no small measure of defeat. “‘Tis all gone.”

“The Order will rebuild it, surely?” Genevieve asked, forcing a false brightness into her voice. Wolfram shook his head slowly, and when he turned to her, she knew not whether the pain in his eyes or the tears glistening there surprised her more.

“Nay,” he whispered unevenly.

“What rank do you hold?” she asked quietly. Wolfram's gaze drifted over the ruins once more.

“A sergeant am I,” he admitted. “But now the Order to which I am pledged is gone.”

Genevieve could not begin to imagine what such a passing might mean to him. A lone tear spilled over his cheek and splashed onto their entwined hands, leaving Genevieve aching with the rawness of his pain. All that he knew and relied upon had been swept away, though she could not imagine that such a powerful Order would not rise again from the ashes.

She reached up and laid one hand against his cheek. Wolfram glanced down to her, and she longed in that instant to gather him close. “‘Twill be fine in the end,” she murmured, unable to restrain herself from pressing a single kiss to his cheek. To her astonishment, he did not turn away. “Come with us to find some shelter this night. You will see that all will look brighter in the morn.” Genevieve gave his hand a little tug, and he turned after her to follow her to the troupe.

Something altered in his manner when he looked away from the ruins, and Genevieve knew the very moment that the change occurred. He stood taller suddenly, as though long years of discipline had suddenly been recalled to him, and his grip grew firmer before he released her hand.

Genevieve thought he meant to stand alone, but ‘twas not to be, for he folded her elbow into his resolute grip. Escorted her like a lady nobly born he did, and with that Genevieve knew he appreciated her few words, though she doubted he would ever say as much.

“My pledge to you yet stands,” he murmured to her as they gained the entry to the tavern. Genevieve looked to him in surprise at his resolute tone, and his eyes burned with determination. “I vowed to see you safe. That the Order is gone changes naught, for I am a man of my word.”

“Aye,” Genevieve agreed weakly, unable to fathom his insistence. Though Wolfram might well be certain the Templars were doomed to fade from this earth, she was not in the least convinced that they would fail to triumph again.

Yet if he insisted on seeing her safe in the interim, she supposed she had no cause for complaint. ‘Twas the least the man owed her, after all, though even that reasoning could not explain the curious way her stomach lurched when his gaze locked with hers. She stared up at him and fancied he smiled slightly. He opened the tavern door with a flourish she might have thought uncharacteristic, releasing a warm bevy of scents before ushering her into the tavern's redolent shadows.

Until Metz, then, she would enjoy his protection. She still held a dream of returning home somehow or in some way, but undoubtedly Genevieve would return there alone. She pushed her doubts aside and stepped into the welcoming warmth of the tavern.

Until Metz.

* * *

‘Twas late that night afore Genevieve played, the tumblers having astounded the patrons, a mute conjurer having prompted chuckles from many a merry mouth and even Odo's clear voice having been heard. The crowd had thinned when Genevieve lifted her lute into her lap and bent over it to play.

All night she had sat pressed against Wolfram, and for the first time since the loss of her grandparents a year past, Genevieve had not felt so alone. Warm he was, the rumble of his rare chuckle enough to produce her own smile. The past meant naught to her this night—they were but two amid a troupe of twenty, all bent upon the same path. Wolfram hurt, and Genevieve knew that she had consoled him.

What threat was there after all to consoling a man pledged to a monastic order? Naught had she to risk by following her impulse, for no ill-begotten ideas could such a man have of her intent. And no doubt had Genevieve that as soon as they gained Metz, both Wolfram and Odo would abandon this curious conviction that they were safer together.

She would be alone then, as she never had been alone before, for she would not even have the drunken companionship of Alzeu. On this night, Genevieve could not chastise herself for counting her blessings, such as they were.

The music she summoned from her lute, as always, bore evidence of all these thoughts and feelings. It swirled with a richness Genevieve had never yet found. Though she heard the patrons fall silent in wonder, she could do naught but savor the fruit of her own hands, even as she marveled at its beauty.

She closed her eyes and rocked with the rhythm, letting the music take the tune where it would, her fingers naught but a means for it to gain its voice. The tune was cajoling, it soothed and eased, it spoke of gentle compassion and understanding, it uplifted and induced each and every one present to savor the sweetness of this night.

‘Twas only after considerable time that Genevieve realized she played for Wolfram.

Her eyes opened and she looked to him before she could check her response, her fingers faltering not a whit on the strings. He gazed at her with a fixedness that made her heart skip a beat. In that enchanted moment, it seemed there was naught but the two of them in this smoky and crowded tavern.

The music surged forth as if to invite him closer, and his eyes blazed in the shadows with an intensity that made Genevieve shiver. Still she could not turn away. In some refuge of her mind, she knew this night would not pass without incident, yet she welcomed the revelation wholeheartedly. A glimmer there was within Wolfram's eyes that he had not permitted her to see before. Indeed Genevieve wondered whether any had glimpsed this flicker of longing within him.

A heat she found in the silver she had long thought cold, and Genevieve knew that the tentative dawning she had sensed within him had blossomed yet further. Wolfram's fettered heart had been unleashed, and with that knowledge, her own heart leapt in response.

Genevieve wanted to console him. She wanted there to be just the two of them this night. She wanted this moment when their gazes locked and all else faded to naught to endure as long as she could make it so.

Alone Genevieve would be within a matter of weeks. Pledged to his Order for life was Wolfram. And should their paths be destined to part, as Genevieve knew they must be, then she would have the passion of one more kiss to call her own.

She did not fool herself that Wolfram would ever abandon his vows for her, nor did she even expect him to return her regard. She but wanted to taste him again, to feel his lips pressed against hers, to feel the thump of his heart beneath her fingertips. So lost was she in the mists wrought by her own music that she did not think to question the fervor with which she wanted that kiss.

* * *

Wolfram was powerless against the allure of the lute that night.

Indeed, he had hoped Genevieve would not play, even as he wanted naught else, his emotions warring throughout the evening with unprecedented vigor. When Odo nodded and she picked up the lute lovingly, it had been almost a relief to have the matter resolved.

But then the sweetness had unfolded from her fingertips. The music made Wolfram ache as it never had before, but he could not even protest its invasion. Recollections were unleashed with an abandon he could not check.

‘Twas the shock of seeing a Temple desecrated that had undone him. Faith had Wolfram nurtured all the way from Paris, even after seeing his brethren arrested. Faith had he cultivated within himself that the Order would rise up and survive this miscarriage of justice. Certainty had he built within himself that the king's misguided rule would be overturned, that the Pope would arrive triumphant and the Templars would ride again.