My Beloved (20 page)

The Mass of Separation would be uttered over
him. She'd had to transcribe it once, and the words seemed etched in the air before her.

I forbid you to ever enter the church or monastery, fair, mill, marketplace, or company of persons. I forbid you to ever leave your abode without your leper's costume in order that one recognize you and that you never go barefoot. I forbid you to wash your hands or anything about you in the stream or in the fountain and to ever drink. I forbid you to touch anything you bargain for or buy until someone gives it to you. I forbid you to live with any woman not your own
.

Not your own. But she was Sebastian's own. She was his, but he would never be able to claim her. Sometimes, she thought he was about to touch her, reach out his hand and allow his finger to graze her cheek, or take her hand, or touch her shoulder. But he always withdrew, always clenched his hand into a fist and looked away.

“You could find sanctuary at Langlinais, Sebastian.” Her gaze met his. In her look were all the words she could not say to him, words forbidden by the very nature of his courage. But in her mind, she begged him to stay.

“You once planned to remain there,” she said, her voice trembling despite her resolve. “There would be no one to disturb your peace.”

“No, Juliana. Because to be with you would be to bring you danger.” His voice lowered until it was but a soft whisper, no more substantial than a hint of breeze. “Because to be with you would bring me anguish.”

His words rang with truth.

She looked down at the floor, shamed by her weakness. “I cannot bear this Sebastian, losing you. I thought myself brave enough. I truly did. But I find I am as much a coward as ever.” She glanced up at
him, blinking back the tears. That much she could offer him.

“And I cannot ease your way, Juliana,” he tenderly said. “If I could, I would change the world for you. I would heal myself and come to you as a whole man. But those are dreams, Juliana, and we are not dreamers.” His tone was resolute, each word as strong and as brittle as if it had been chipped from stone. But his voice ended in a shuddering sigh, as if he'd done with courage. It was what stopped her from reaching for him.

“We are real, Juliana,” he said, his gaze never veering from her. Would he emblazon the memory of her on his lids as fervently as she did him? This moment was painful and stark, but it would be one of those that she recalled for the rest of her life. Because it was certain that he would not relent. The determination was there on his face, in his beautiful blue black eyes, in the firm set of his mouth.

“We are real,” he said again, “and the world is not as we would wish it to be.”

No. No, my dearest love, it is not.

But she said nothing as Sebastian left the room.

E
very night of their journey she had slept upon the ground surrounded by the circle of the men-at-arms. Sebastian had always remained within calling distance. A few days the gentle rains had soaked them and they'd sought shelter in more substantial places like a cave or a copse of trees. But for the most part, it had not been difficult to find rest.

Here at Montvichet where there was a chamber tidied for her use and a bed, she found it impossible to sleep. She could not even bring herself to lie down upon the thin straw mattress. Instead, she constantly thought about the people who had lived here. How had they borne grieving for those they loved?

She stood and donned her clothing, found her way in the darkness to the corridor and from there to the courtyard.

Sebastian turned at her approach. Moonlight streamed across the courtyard, well enough that she could see the horses at the farside, and between them, the sleeping figures of the men-at-arms. Even so, he held a kind of torch, a curved bowl that held a candle, and surrounding it, a piece of oiled parchment that magnified the light, diffusing it. She'd seen such a thing in a few of the illustrations in the
books she copied, but never one in person.

She reached out her hand and touched the shade, her curiosity satisfied when she noted the small clips held the parchment safely away from the candle flame, at a curving angle. Only then did she glance up to catch his smile, echoed in the deep night of his eyes.

“Could you not sleep?”

She shook her head.

The horses moved restlessly at the farside. Someone murmured. A snore, a gurgle, a cough, they were all normal sounds to her after weeks of traveling with these men. She knew a few of their names and a few details about their lives. Who had once been on crusade, who had served Sebastian's father, the location of a sweetheart, the number of children, the details about a person's life that is shared with another.

She stepped forward, looked down into the darkness. Instead of the moon-shadowed landscape, it seemed the valley was afire with torches. Small dots of light surrounded a larger encampment.

“They were faster than I anticipated,” Sebastian said, not turning his eyes from the scene.

“Who are they?”

“Templars.” He turned his back on them, faced the courtyard. “Who else?”

“What will they do, Sebastian?”

He glanced over his shoulder at her. “I've no doubt they wish to challenge us. They know our strength and know we are no match for their numbers.”

“But we have done nothing that they should wish to challenge us, Sebastian.”

His smile was oddly lit by the oil lamp. “It is not
necessary to be innocent. Only to stand between the Templars and something they want.”

The torches seemed to wink at her. “Will they besiege Montvichet again?”

He tilted his head back and looked at the sky. It was a harvest moon, yellow and bright. “I doubt it. It could not withstand another. They have only to ride through the open gates.”

“Then what shall we do, Sebastian?”

“Wait until morning. It is all we can do.”

 

“How long do you think it took them to build this place?” Juliana looked around her at the darkened fortress. She sat on the stone floor, her back against the wall. Sebastian sat beside her. Night was full upon them, the glittering stars like tiny eyes winking above, the air perfumed with a slight breeze that carried the scent of pine.

“It depends upon whom you mean,” Sebastian said. “I think the Romans came first, or perhaps built their fortress upon another earlier structure.”

“Have people always looked for protection, then?”

“In one form or another.” His voice was low, sounded like muted thunder. It had entranced her from the beginning.

She bit into a piece of cheese. “This is very good, isn't it?”

“Very good,” he said, a smile in his voice.

“The convent had a goat, but we did not make cheese. The abbess thought it a luxury we could do without.”

“She sounds like a very practical woman.”

“She was.”

Silence while Juliana tried to think of another topic of conversation. She'd never had difficulty speaking
to him before, but this solemn night was different. There was a paucity of subjects that did not touch, in some way, upon their lives. They had already said all that could be said about futures. His was immutable. Neither her wishes nor hopes could alter it. She could beg him to take her with him, but such words would only mar their parting; they would not sway Sebastian. So she spoke to him of the mundane, simple questions passed between casual acquaintances. All the while wishing to ask those that could not be voiced. Why and how and where, but most importantly, when was he leaving her?

“How do you think they brought the timbers here?”

He tilted his head back as if to count the beams that supported the roof of the sleeping chambers. “I suspect they carried them by wagon. Or perhaps they simply dragged them.”

She yawned, an unexpected gesture. Sebastian turned to her in the darkness.

“You should sleep, Juliana.”

She had fought off sleep all night, wishing to pass these hours until dawn beside him. Each moment they shared was like a precious bead collected and strung on a cord. But the silence conspired against her, along with the weariness of the journey.

She laid her head back against the stone, savoring the closeness of him. They sat merely a handbreadth apart. Too soon, she felt herself sliding into sleep. His voice spoke to her, a soft whisper of words. “Sleep, Juliana. I'll be here beside you.” Permission and protection, all in one.

Dreams haunted her. Not those of the long-dead inhabitants of Montvichet, or of the Templars waiting in the valley for the dawn she dreaded. They were of Sebastian, his words and smiles and laugh
ter. His hands touched her, his lips met hers in a kiss that scorched as it healed.
Intellige clamoren meum. My fingers would make your blood leap
. She awakened to her own soft cry. A sound of yearning.

Dawn had come too swiftly.

Sebastian was not beside her, but she did not seek him out. Instead, she found her way to the bathing room of the Cathars. When she'd first seen it, she'd marveled that they had devised such a chamber. A cistern on the roof, both still intact, held water that was piped down into a basin for washing. Langlinais had such an innovation, but the Cathars had refined it. A pipe led to a large stone bath. Removing a wooden plug at the bottom of the stone released the water, that then sluiced over the stone floor of the chamber and down through the privy hole.

She spent more time than usual on her morning ablutions. She placed a soft wet cloth over her eyes until the pain in them subsided. Tears had made them swell, and she had spent too much time in tears yesterday. She changed her clothes for a soft yellow surcoat she'd not worn before. She brushed her hair vigorously and left it unbraided. Her last act was to rewrap her hands as well as she was able. She would need Jerard's help to tie the trailing ends of the bandages at her wrists.

She hesitated at the doorway of the bathing chamber. Part of her wished to remain in this room, or barricade herself in another part of Montvichet.

The only time the world had truly been kind was when she'd tucked herself into her work and remained there, adrift in thoughts from great and learned minds. She had, like a mouse in its burrow, felt safe as long as she did not peer from her hole. But life was lived at places like Langlinais among the sounds of singing and laughter. It was lived, fi
nally, in each day. Whatever the location, whatever the circumstance.

She walked from the room, closing the door softly behind her.

What had she felt before coming to Langlinais? What emotions had she experienced? It was as if that girl had existed in a timeless limbo, waiting until the first glimpse of Langlinais before feeling anything other than fear. Yet, there was a full range of emotions to choose from now, all of them granted to her by Sebastian.

She did not know what love was, perhaps. But she knew its absence. It was what she would feel the moment Sebastian left her.

 

He watched as she walked into the courtyard. The sun bathed the yellow rock of Montvichet with a golden light, making the stone glitter. The glow surrounded Juliana as if it approved of her appearance. She smiled, an expression he stored away in his memory for later. For now, it had the power to make him stare at her and savor the picture of how she looked, her black hair shining, her cheeks pinked and her lips softly curved. A spike of pain slid easily through his soul. The price to pay, then, for knowing her and loving her.

She had matured in the past weeks. Her smile was still tentative, but then it had always been rare. But in her eyes was a look that had not been there before, an anticipation, not of excitement, but of pain. It was as if she'd told herself she must be wary, but still retained enough innocence to keep it at bay.

Her black hair was left unbraided, allowed to tumble down her back. The only adornment she wore was a small gold circlet upon her brow. She wore a half surcoat that fit at her shoulders and fell behind
her. The soft yellow folds seemed to accentuate the blackness of her hair, as if in her person night met with dawn.

When had he become enchanted by her? At their first meeting, of course. “Are you Death?” she'd asked.

His virgin bride. Of all the things he regretted in his life, it was not that they had not coupled. It was that he had never brought her joy, never brought her to ecstasy.

Perhaps one day she would find someone to love, marry again. A union in truth and not simply in name. There would be smiles again at Langlinais, and laughter there. Perhaps she would name one of her children for him, a sign of her fondness and memory. There might be brothers to play again on the bridge like he and Gregory had done.

He wished for her all that he had never given her.

The woman who greeted him this dawn was not the same one he had married. To this woman he'd relinquish his home without a hint of concern. She would, he knew, be able to maintain Langlinais, provide for the well-being of all those who would come to depend upon her. In her eyes he could see a hint of that woman to come. A woman of wisdom, who would stand at the east tower often and face the world. Would she think about him?

That was the source of the grief he felt. That he would not be able to share each of her days, that he would never see the changes time brought to her.

He saw her shock, her recoil, knew the moment she became aware of what he wore. Not armor, nor monk's robe, but the uniform of the leper. It was of reddish brown wool with a crimson L embroidered upon its back and front. Distinctive and frightening.
It was the first time he'd stood so before the world. Even now, it tasted of hell.

His men-at-arms did not know if such a garment was the stuff of jest, or a ruse to fool the Templars. They had, after all, traveled with him for weeks and had not seen that he was ill. But people will notice what they wish, and often ignore what they do not want to see. He did not doubt that after this morning they would cross themselves while cursing his name.

He wondered what the Templars would do. He would take the chalice to them, and hope that such a gesture would protect Juliana and his men from assault. Then, once he was assured of their safety, he would vanish. It did not matter his destination, only that it was as far away from Langlinais as he could travel.

Jerard brought Faeren to him, but he shook his head. He would ride one of the other horses into exile. Faeren would return to Langlinais and live out the rest of his life in peace. It was scant enough appreciation for the loyalty and skill with which the horse had served him.

Juliana walked toward him, her head held high, her face expressionless. Her eyes were deep pools of green. Soundless tears fell down her face. She did not even seem aware of them. “Need it be so soon, Sebastian?”

“What can time bring us, Juliana?” he asked gently. “Do not weep, my lady. Give me these last moments with you without sorrow.”

His words silenced her, but did not stop her tears. Did she know that only by the greatest of wills would he be able to walk away from her?

“The Cathars believed the soul lives again,” he softly said. “That our bodies are only vessels to be
discarded after a lifetime. Perhaps one day we will meet again, my Juliana. In a place where I might touch you, where I might enfold you in my arms.”

“Then let it come quickly, Sebastian,” she said, her voice tremulous through her tears. “Not a hundred years or a thousand, but soon. I will wend my way through eternity seeking you.”

He gave the signal and Jerard stepped forward, handing him the reins of his mount. He tied the chalice to the saddle. He did not mount, since the horse would need to be led over the bridge. He was nearly at the gateway before he turned. In a voice designed to carry, a declaration meant to be heard so that all of the Langlinais men would hear it and repeat it, he said, “Aristotle was once asked the definition of a friend. He answered that it was a single soul dwelling in two bodies. What is love? I think it is the same. Be my soul, my dearest Juliana.”