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leaving behind a few fiery strands.
    â€œSaving you,” Dominus said, looking at her glassy eyes and hard mouth. She seemed like the angry version of his temptation. Was this how she dealt with her grief?
    â€œFrom what?” She glared at him, blinking in quick succession.
    â€œI know you are sad,” he said, keeping his arms stiff at his sides instead of pulling her into an embrace. “But suicide is a sin.” He would wait for her emotions to calm, then appeal to her reason.
    â€œSu—? Are you serious? I would not jump! I am furious, Dominus.” Her gaze snagged on the cross at his shoulder, and she tapped the cloak with her forefinger. “Perhaps you can answer this, since you and God are so close. Why would He take a woman in her prime? Why would He call back to heaven an innocent babe? And do not tell me that baby committed any sin, whether or not his mother had—which I would debate, if I could.”
    Tears sped furiously down her cheeks. Other women cried like statues, marble relics leaking meekly from the eyes. Not Mamie. She cried with purpose and passion.
    â€œWe cannot know God’s will,” he said, walking the line between his oath and desire. When, he prayed, would he be free to hold her in his arms?
    Her face flushed with myriad emotions, from sorrow, to guilt, to anger. “Get away from me, Templar. Before I toss you overboard. Then you can hear what God has to say firsthand.”

Chapter Two

    Mamie resisted falling apart and throwing herself into Dominus’s embrace, choosing instead to give him a solid push backward, so she could breathe. The Templar, entirely too handsome to vow chastity, rarely said a word. He studied her now, his blue eyes filled with empathy.
    â€œWhy are you here?” she said.
    He carried himself like a soldier, his voice gruff. “My intent was consolation.”
    Sarah, dead, the baby a mound wrapped in cloth. In the sea. Her stomach pitched, and she gritted her teeth, wanting to fight. Or make love. Or pretend that nothing had changed. “You have feelings of compassion behind that white tunic?”
    â€œIt is not so white, madame. A warrior has blood staining his hands.”
    Mamie sniffed, quarrelsome. Her skin itched from the inside, and she had no source for relief. “Forgiven by God.” Where was the damned wind now, when she could use something to mask her anguish? She felt as fragile as blown glass.
    Dominus shifted his weight, hands at his sides. “Once we reach Jerusalem, all of our sins will be forgiven.”
    She took a last look into the water as the rowers got the vessel moving. Lurching forward, within two strokes, they’d found a rhythm—leaving Sarah behind.
    God. “Absolution was Catherine’s concern, not mine. I welcome my so-called sin. It lets me know that I am alive.” She dared him to disagree. His eyes, the blue of the Mediterranean on a clear day, held her gaze.
    His brow twitched, though the rest of his face remained expressionless. Hmm. What would it take to unsettle the knight of God?
    From emperors to burghers, Mamie reveled in male attention. Eleanor had harnessed that power, asking Mamie to swear an oath of fealty and, in return, granting her freedom to do as she pleased. Discreetly, naturellement .
    â€œHave you been to Antioch before?” she said.
    Dominus could be anywhere from thirty years of age to forty, a man in his prime, she thought. It was possible he’d traveled back and forth, fulfilling his oath to keep pilgrims safe as they traveled toward Jerusalem.
    â€œI have not.”
    So it was his first time with the Greeks too. “What did you do, before swearing your soul to God?”
    He scowled, which did not, unfortunately, detract from his handsomeness. “Your question is impertinent.”
    With a wry chuckle, Mamie leaned back, her elbows against the railing. “True.” The spray off the ocean settled around her like a