“He did, did he?”
“I would like to hear it.”
He ran his hand through his hair. “’Tis of no matter, really. Nothing you’d find of interest, I think.”
Catherine looked down at her lap. “If you don’t wish to tell me, I understand. ’Tis just that I so rarely heard news of the Holy Crusade, and I had hoped to learn more about it.”
Gray remained silent for a moment, and she felt his gaze on her. Finally he looked away. “I only hesitated to tell you, Elise, because this particular story is less than savory. I don’t object to your hearing of it if it is what you wish.”
She nodded. “Aye, please.”
“Very well. Alban and I were on our way home, passing through Turkey. We stayed for a while in a village not far from the border, thinking to give ourselves some rest before undertaking the rest of the journey home. Instead, we found trouble. A local man charged Alban with raping one of their women and getting her with child. Alban was arrested and brought to trial under Turkish law, which meant that he faced almost certain execution.”
“How terrible! What did you do?”
“’Twas a difficult case. Alban had never even seen the woman, and yet no matter what either of us said, the man who’d charged him refused to be dissuaded.” Gray took a swallow from his cup and shrugged. “So I made some inquiries, discovered the truth, and took care of it.”
Catherine waited for him to explain, but he remained silent. “Well?” she finally burst out. “What happened? How did you save Alban from execution?”
“Once I knew the truth I just tracked the—” Gray paused. Then he shook his head. “Nay, perhaps I’d better not say more. I fear the rest of the details are not fit for delicate ears.”
Catherine raised her brow. “We’re here because you’re training me to wield asword—hardly a delicate pastime. I think ’tis safe to say that I can endure the full telling of your story.”
A beat of silence passed. Still without comment, Gray reached into the basket and took out a leg of roasted fowl and a hunk of bread. He handed them to her, his generous mouth flirting with a smile. “I concede your point. But before I’ll go further, you must eat something. I’ll say no more until you do.” He gestured to the food, adding a plump yellow apple to the mound.
Seeing that it was hopeless unless she cooperated, Catherine picked up the chicken and took a bite. She chewed deliberately, tempted to glare at him for making her wait to hear the rest of his story. But after swallowing the first mouthful, she forgot her ire. The roasted bird was delicious. Perfectly seasoned and moist. Her stomach growled again, almost as if in thanks.
She took several bites of the bread and a few more of the chicken, interspersed with swallows of her wine, noticing that Gray polished off his portion as well.
When she’d finished the last bite of apple, she sighed and leaned back against the tree, patting the unusual fullness of her stomach. Contentment flowed through her like an elixir, enticing her to close her eyes for just a moment. Ah, if only she were a cat right now, free to nap in the warm caress of the sun…
With a groan, she forced herself to sit up and open her eyes. If she napped, she’d never hear the rest of the tale. She tidied the cloth that had served as their table, wiped her cup clean, placed it back into the frayed basket, and then faced Gray with an expectant look.
He’d tipped his head back to drink his cider, and he paused in mid-swallow, catching her stare from the corner of his eye. When his playful gaze met her far more stern one, he jerked the cup down and wiped a drop that trickled onto his chin. Then he coughed as if he were choking, but the effort was so feeble that she knew it was a performance for her benefit, and a weak one at that.
“Is something wrong?” He asked in a raspy, exaggerated voice.
Oh, but he was maddening. “Aye. You promised to finish the story about Alban once I ate something. I’ve done as you asked, and now I’m waiting to hear the rest.”
“Ah, yes. The tale.” He took his time using his small square of linen to wipe his fingers and his mouth, before swabbing his cup dry and tossing it and the soiled cloth back into the basket. Then he looked at her again. “I can’t remember where I left off.”
She almost rolled her eyes. “You were going to tell me how you freed Alban.”
“Well, I didn’t free him, exactly. That took care of itself, once I exposed the liar whose sin had brought evil down on Alban’s head.”
Liar. Sin. Evil.The words sent a jolt through Catherine. She stiffened, but he continued to talk, seemingly unaware of her agitation. “I told you that Alban was imprisoned, awaiting trial, and that he was certain to be convicted.” He paused. “This is where the story turns indelicate. Are you sure that you want to hear the rest?”
She managed to nod, not trusting that her voice wouldn’t give away her own guilt.
“As you wish.” He picked up a twig, twisting it in his fingers as he talked. “In many cases of deception, I’ve found that he who protests most loudly often bears the most fault. ’Tis a quirk of human nature. And this man who’d charged Alban was most vocal about the damage done to the young woman. Naturally, my search for the truth began with him.”
Catherine fiddled with the edge of the cloth. “How did you get him to admit his guilt?”
“I didn’t. I learned where he kept his liaisons with her, arranged for the village justices to come with me one night to the spot, and then quite literally, exposed the man with his braies down.” Gray frowned with the memory. “’Twas not pleasant, especially when the council sought justice against him. He was punished not only for defiling the woman, but for swearing to a falsehood on top of it.”
“He was executed?” Again, her voice seemed to come out in little more than a squeak.
“Nay,” he shook his head. “He was the child’s father, and so they let him live to provide for it. But they ensured that he’d never father another child again.”
