Old Soul Syndrome |ONC 2020|

Octobre 11, 1307

It was around the end of the day when I saw him. The Templar knight. 

His white tabard was bright against the dark trees that lined the field. He rode a great, black warhorse, and was slumped in the saddle, obviously weary with long travel. I straightened up from where I had been trying to coax a particularly stubborn turnip from the ground and watched his progress west, toward Paris.

The movement must have caught his eye, because the horse slowed, then turned toward me. I blinked in surprise when the Knight took pains to guide his mount between the rows of produce, so as not to crush any of the vegetables.

I shaded my eyes, peering up at him when he reined the animal in just a few feet away from me. His face was streaked with travel-grime, the white of his tabard marred by the dusty road. The red cross splayed across his chest was bright as blood in the light of the setting sun. My eyes couldn't help but wander to the sword and dagger set at his waist.

The Knight dismounted and gave me a short bow, shocking me. I was a mere peasant girl, no lady to be treated as such.

"Good evening, Knight," I said, dusting my hands on my skirt, aware of the dirt streaked across my own face and crusted beneath my fingernails.

"Maid." He bobbed his head, left hand wrapping around the reins near his horse's mouth. The animal watched me with what I fancied was a hopeful gleam in his dark eyes. The Knight glanced up. "Do you have any food to spare? My journey took me farther afield than I thought and neither my horse nor myself have had a proper meal in three days."

I bit my lip, staring thoughtfully toward my family's small cottage. Mother would be displeased, but I was in charge of keeping the larder filled. So I gave him a half-smile. "We do not have much, but what can be spared shall be."

The Knight smiled in return, teeth flashing beneath the dark hair of his neat beard. "You have my thanks." At that moment, the horse snorted and bobbed his head, making the both of us chuckle. "You have his thanks as well, it would seem."

I bent down, giving one more fruitless tug at the stubborn turnip, then snorted in disgust and turned toward the barrow already loaded with roots. Before I could grip the handles, the Knight stepped forward, blocking my path.

"If you will allow me?"

I shrugged and took the reins from his hand to lead his horse. If he would like to wheel the heavy load all the way back to the storage shed, I had no quarrel to offer. My body already ached from the dozen other loads I had moved from the fields today.

We walked in silence, his horse occasionally snuffing at my shoulder and trying to lip at my blonde hair. When we got to the cottage, I directed him toward the low doors of the storage shed then continued on toward the small barn to put his horse up.

He joined me and began to untack the beast as I poured as much grain as I thought we could spare into the feeding trough. Our old draft horse whinnied in protest and I grinned, sneaking him a few handfuls of grain as well.

The Knight watched me from where he stood near the door, a frown beginning to crease his brow. I joined him, sighing quietly as I glanced apprehensively toward the cottage. Mother had no use for crusaders or knights. Not since we had gotten word of Father's death in the Holy Land. A Templar showing up on her doorstep was unlikely to leave her in a charitable mood.

"Might I have the name of my host?" he asked, sounding slightly nervous. I wondered if he was beginning to doubt his decision to stop here, looking at the bare yard and the few chickens scratching for a meal.

"Eleanor," I said, once again scrubbing my hands on my apron. "My name is Eleanor."

A smile twitched at his mouth as he turned to face me. Again, he gave me a bow. "I am Gabriel."

I blinked, caught off guard. That...wasn't the name I had been expecting. He lifted a bemused brow, green eyes glowing like emeralds in the last vestiges of sunlight. We stood and stared at one another for longer than was strictly necessary. Sadness played across his face, but he didn't say anything.

He seemed familiar to Eleanor. He was definitely familiar to me—I knew those green eyes. But this was different. This was a feeling that came strictly from Eleanor. I opened my mouth to ask something, but stopped short.

Eleanor would have no reason to know a Templar.

Gabriel's eyes widened minutely, like he had seen that flash of recognition, but he just shook his head.

Suddenly feeling skittish, I stepped away from him and began to move toward the cottage door. "Come," I called over my shoulder. "Supper won't be long."

He followed sedately, weapons clinking gently with each step. That shuddering feeling of familiarity grew stronger, and my feet slowed. He stopped when I did, eyes widening when I whirled toward him, now absolutely sure that I knew him from somewhere.

Gabriel seemed to be holding his breath, looking completely astonished.

"Did you..." I worried at my lower lip, sure he would think me mad. "Did you grow up near here?"

Perhaps Eleanor was simply remembering him from her childhood. Some part of me didn't think that was the case.

"No," he said quietly, looking down. His hand rested on the plain pommel of his sword, his knuckles turning white as he clenched his fingers into a fist. "No, I was born in the south of France."

"Have you been to this village before?" I pressed, taking a step forward. At the same time, he stepped backward, white cloak swaying.

"No." His voice was flat now. "I'm afraid you must have me mistaken for another."

"I don't," I whispered. "I know you. Tell me how I know you."

"I cannot." He began to back toward the barn, suddenly looking like a fox at bay.

"But—"

"No," he said. "I'm sorry. This was a mistake. I should have turned around as soon as...as soon as I saw that you didn't have anything to spare here."

I wasn't about to give up that easily. Lunging forward, I grabbed his arm, halting his retreat. He tensed, looking seconds away from sprinting back to his horse. If I wanted answers, I would have to be much cleverer about how I went about getting them.

"Please, stay," I said. "I apologize. You're right. I must simply be mistaken."

He didn't look like he believed me, but his stomach growled and after a moment, he relented. "You have my thanks," he muttered again, his body relaxing.

I led the now-recalcitrant Knight into the house, preparing to do battle with my mother.