The Princess and the Templar (15 page)

He took her hand in his. Their hands were cold from the north wind and the chill sea spray. Even so, his touch sent ripples of honeyed warmth cascading through her.

She stared at their clasped hands. How pale her skin was against his. Two different worlds colliding. And yet, she couldn’t help but savor the tensile strength of his long fingers. And she marveled at how well her hand fit in his. For despite the gulf that separated them, ’twas as if their flesh had meant to be intertwined and joined.

Joined for now—but soon put asunder.

More fool was she, relishing his touch. She jerked her hand free and stepped onto the open deck. The wind had abated, and the rolling ship lulled her. Exhaustion seeped into her bones, and her legs were heavy, leaden things, as if anchors weighed them. Wanting him and knowing he wanted her, but realizing the yawning gulf separating them had sapped all her energy and strength. Her body burned and ached, passion unfulfilled dragging at her. All she wanted was to lie down and sleep.

She glimpsed the flash of hurt in his obsidian eyes. Then he scowled. Good, she thought, he should feel the same pain she did.

He inclined his head. “I apologize for offending you, milady. I had no right to talk of such things. I must do my duty and see you safely to the earl’s estate.” He shook his head. “But I fear you’re plotting escape, though you must know Scotland is a strange land. And a woman alone is—”

“Vulnerable,” she finished. She hadn’t been going to speak, but his insufferable attitude grated. She touched the scar on her cheek. “How vulnerable will I be as the earl’s chattel? What if he despises me because my face is no longer unblemished?”

He opened his mouth to speak, but she forestalled him by saying, “Mayhap I should do as you, Templar, hide from life.” She knew she went too far, but anger and raw desire commingled within her, making her blood simmer.

“If I do escape, I could go to a nunnery and take the veil. Then I could hide behind my Order as you do. I would be safe, and your precious earl would still hold my castle and lands.”

She straightened her shoulders and lifted her eyes. “Think upon it, Sir Templar. You’ve taken away my home and freedom. I have naught left to lose, and if I take sanctuary in the church, even the earl’s grasp won’t extend beyond an abbey’s walls.”

Saying the words out loud, she astonished herself. She hadn’t considered the church before, so intent had she been on protecting her legacy. But if she had no family and she couldn’t marry for love, mayhap ’twould be a better course. At least she would find peace in the church’s embrace.

Something flickered in his midnight eyes—surprise, alarm, even fury—she knew not—for the emotion was gone as quickly as it had come.

“That’s no reason to take the veil.” His tone was softly chiding, and the lines bracketing his mouth deepened as his lips turned downward. “You should have a calling.”

“Like yours?” she flung at him. “Is that why you joined the Templars? Because you have a calling? Or because you failed at fighting for pay?”

Her words had found their mark when he twisted his head away and gazed at a point over her shoulder. “You cannot understand what called me to the Order.”

“Oh, can’t I?” she said, driven by some insatiable need to thrust her point home. To hurt him as he’d injured her. “If I cannot understand your motives, Sir Raul, then you’d be hard pressed to know mine.”

Pivoting on her heel, she stalked away. Even so, she wasn’t satisfied, and she turned again to toss down the final gauntlet. “Hear my words and doubt me not. For even if I must enter a nunnery, I will not wed the Sinclair.”

****

Raul approached the Princess’ cabin door. He lifted his hand to knock but let it fall to his side. He folded his arms across his chest and paced the length of the gangway and back, muttering to himself and shaking his head. Six days had passed and still her words stung. She’d mocked his duty and reminded him he’d failed as a mercenary.

The captain of the ship, in deference to the princess’ noble lineage, had invited her to dine at his table. She’d declined, sending word she and her servant would take their meals in the cabin.

Raul had delivered the trays to her door and left them, though he was sorely tempted to wait until she opened the door. But when he returned for the dishes, he found the food mostly untouched. In truth the food on the ship was most foul, but he worried that in her anger and frustration, she would fast overmuch and be weak for the arduous journey overland.

Perhaps Cahira suffered from seasickness? She’d seemed well enough when they’d left port, but the sickness could have come upon her later. He must know how she fared, even if he had to endure a tongue lashing and be reminded of her resolve to escape. Foolish woman, if she fled while in Scotland where no one knew her, she would expose herself to all manner of dangers.

He had tried to explain, but she’d rebutted him by vowing to take sanctuary in an abbey. Her declaration had dumbfounded him. He’d never expected such. And she’d compared herself to him, saying she wanted to hide away as he’d done.

Was that what he’d done when he joined the Order?

Sometimes, he wondered. In truth he
had
been hiding, fleeing from bloodshed and fighting, wanting to escape to a more peaceful existence. There was no shame in that. Was there? Just because he’d joined the Templars, didn’t mean he couldn’t face life. Did it? He shook his head. She couldn’t possibly understand what it meant to be bastard born, possessing nothing.

Dismissing her condemnation as the tantrum of a spoiled child, he squared his shoulders and knocked on the cabin door.

But it was Cahira's voice and not her servant’s that answered, “Who is it?”

“Raul.”

Silence. He waited. More silence.

“Princess Cahira, I’ve come to see how you fare? Please let me in.”

“Go away.”

How dare she order him off when he was concerned for her welfare? Could she still be pouting? Frustrated, he fisted his hand and thought to pound the door down. Then he thought better and took several deep breaths. He loosed his fingers. Reason told him to stay calm, making her angry wouldn’t aid him.

“I cannot go away. I must know if you’re well. You’ve eaten very little these days past. If you don’t wish to speak to me, send Mildread with word of your health. I beg of you.”

He heard the rustle of skirts from within. Before he could speak again, the door flew open and Cahira stood on the threshold. Two bright spots of color painted her wan cheeks. Her brow was lined, and the emerald sparkle of her eyes dimmed.

And that smell!

He reeled back a step and covered his nose and mouth with his sleeve. Her room reeked of the most putrid stench, the likes of which he’d not smelled since his days on the battlefield.

“Milady, milady,” Mildread gasped, her voice so weak he could barely make out her plea.

Leaving him standing in the doorway, Cahira crossed the tiny room in one stride and kneeled beside her maidservant who was lying on a bunk. Smoothing back Mildread’s lank hair, she murmured soft words to the serving woman and squeezed her hand. Still talking quietly to Mildread, she took a rag and dipped it in a bucket of water. With the moistened cloth, she sponged off her maidservant’s greenish-cast face.

Mildread sighed and closed her eyes for a moment. Then her eyes fluttered open, and she moaned, clasping her stomach with both hands. “The bucket,” she gasped, “the bucket, please, milady.”

Grabbing an empty pail, Cahira held Mildread’s head while the serving woman heaved into it.

Raul shifted from one foot to the other, feeling distinctly out of place. He’d not thought Mildread would be the one taken with seasickness. Even more, he found it amazing Cahira would wait upon her serving woman, as tender and caring as any mother with her child.

If he’d not seen it with his own eyes, he would have scarce believed it. For him, Cahira inhabited a place high above the everyday concerns of common people. But that was a form of prejudice, the sudden insight swept him. For Cahira was a woman first and foremost, a flesh and blood woman, who hungered and thirsted like everyone else.

In truth, she was not just any woman, not Cahira O’Donnell. No, she was far more than that. She possessed the courage of a lion, tempered with the loving kindness of a dove.

For wasn’t this the same woman who’d ridden out to defend her castle with no thought of her own welfare? Could he forget the way she’d treated Loghan, giving the boy her brother’s boots? Or holding him in her arms while telling him he was braver than any knight?

Watching her serving Mildread, his eyes were opened to her true nature. She wasn’t some lofty being, but a human being. Nor was she but a piece of property to be bartered and sold to the highest bidder. She deserved a chance to shape her own destiny. The same chance he’d longed for, but his birth had precluded.

He possessed the power to give her that chance.

Transfixed by the idea, he watched as Cahira eased Mildread onto the berth and sponged her face again, talking softly until the maidservant fell into a fitful sleep.

She rocked back on her heels and sighed, glancing at him. “Don’t just stand there, Sir Raul.” The tone of her voice brooked no dissent. “You wanted to see how we fared. Now you can make yourself useful.”

She rose and thrust the bucket into his hands. “Empty and cleanse it. Then bring it back. Quickly.”

Chapter Nine

With clean bucket in hand, Raul returned to the cabin. He knocked to announce himself and when he pushed open the door, he found Cahira hadn’t left Mildread’s side. He handed her the bucket.

She didn’t look up when she took it. “Thank you.”

“Glad to be of service.”

Cahira glanced at him, a question in her eyes. Faint lines framed her full mouth and furrowed her brow. Her movements were jerky, and she held her back rigid as she leaned over Mildread. She appeared taut as a full sail straining before the wind. He couldn’t fault her for being short with him. How had she managed for six days without help? It was no wonder she’d eaten so little, and Mildread was obviously incapable of keeping anything down.

“I wish you would have sent for me sooner,” he said. “There’s no need for Mildread to suffer.”

“There’s a cure for this?”

He nodded. “I can make a solution that should settle her stomach. Then we’ll see if she can eat some wafers.”

At his mention of food, Mildread groaned loudly and started to babble. Cahira gently sponged her face, whispering calming words. “What are you waiting for, Sir Raul?” She glanced at him over her shoulder. “Fetch the medicine quickly.”

Nodding, he opened the door and went out. The white cliffs of Dover glowed off the port side of the ship. The north wind had abated and veered to blow from the west, hurrying them along. The ship was making good progress, but considering how ill Mildread felt and how exhausted Cahira must be, the harbor at Dornoch was still a long way off.

He went to his cabin and opened the chest with his medicine and instruments. After searching through its contents, he located some dried meadowsweet and slivers of ginger root. Taking mortar and pestle, he pounded the two ingredients into a fine powder and suspended them in fresh water. Then he filled a small pouch with a mixture of dried parsley and red sage.

Returning to the cabin, he entered and knelt beside Cahira. He lifted Mildread’s head while Cahira coaxed her servant to drink. Mildread managed to swallow the solution, and they settled her in the bunk again.

“Now what do we do?” Cahira asked.

“Wait and see.” He placed one finger across his lips. “In truth it would be well if she slept.”

Cahira rose and wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. “Aye, ’twould be a blessing as we’ve had little enough rest these past days and nights.”

He nodded and rose, too, pulling out his pouch and removing a handful of parsley and sage. He found an empty cup and filled it with the herbs. Using a stalk from the sage plant, he fetched a spark of fire from the sputtering lamp and lit the herbs. Blowing on them gently, they soon caught fire. The herbs smoldered, sending a tiny wisp of smoke into the air. Soon, the sweet-smelling aroma filled the cramped cabin, banishing the sick smell.

Lifting her head, Cahira sniffed and then sighed. Folding her hands together, she bent her head. The tension in her body melted away and she sagged, clutching at the frame of the bunk.

“Perhaps I should leave you both to rest,” Raul said.

She looked up. “Nay, I won’t rest until I know she’s better.” Despite the brave words, her chin quivered.

He opened his mouth to insist but then changed his mind. Hadn’t he just realized Cahira was a woman grown, not a child to be ordered about?

Still, he couldn’t help but worry for her health. Her seagreen eyes appeared faded, and her face was drawn and white. Her beautiful gown hung on her, creased and dingy. Even her glorious red-gold hair had loosed from its pins, tumbling about her shoulders in a tangled mass of curls.

And she’d never looked more beautiful.

He wanted to take her in his arms and cradle her against his chest while she slept. His arms ached with the longing, and his heart was bruised with the yearning. But she wasn’t his to be comforted. That knowledge was a bitterness that ate at his soul like acid.

He rose and strode toward the door, but she placed her hand on his arm. Her simple touch burned him through the fabric of his tunic. “Please, don’t go. I welcome your aid.” She released him and glanced at her sleeping maidservant. “You’ve worked wonders already.”

Then her eyes clouded, and she shook her head. “I should have sent for you. You’re a physician. I should have known you could help.” She wrung her hands. “I feel foolish, making Mildread suffer so.”

If before he’d ached to take her into his arms, her admission sent pangs of pure agony slicing through him. Clenching his hands into fists, he fought the urge to reach for her.

“Do you think Mildread will want to eat when she awakens?” she asked.

What about your rest and refreshment?

He nodded. “When she awakens, we’ll try some water and wafers.”