To Tempt a Knight (5 page)

She tried to block the sound of the surf, but the further darkness only made her more aware of her surroundings—especially the man sitting next to her, a sword gripped in his hands. “Why did you come to see my father today? Did you know de la Roche would come as well?”

He shifted, turning toward her in the darkness. His face was cast in complete darkness now. And for a moment she wondered if he’d planned that, secluding himself in darkness. “Nay. ’Tis mere coincidence that de la
Roche appeared when he did, although there were those of us who suspected he would show himself sooner or later.”

A gust of cool wind touched Siobhan’s cheeks. She pulled the cape he’d given her closer around herself. “Those of us?” she prompted.

She could feel his gaze upon her. “The Templars. Your father has information we desperately needed.”

“And now that he’s gone…?”

“I am hoping you have that information. Or that the scroll we saved from the fire contains something we can use to find what it is I need.”

Siobhan’s hands tightened on her father’s work. A surge of hope moved through her. Today’s events had taught her one thing: she needed this man’s help to rescue her father from de la Roche’s clutches. Could the scroll help her secure his aid?

“What do you need?” she asked, trying to temper her growing excitement. This man was still a stranger. His motives were unproved.

“The Holy Lance. It’s the one piece of the Templar treasure de la Roche wants above all the rest. Your father was the treasure’s guardian.”

A shiver rippled across her nape. Her father had told her stories of many legendary treasures over the years, but she’d had no idea he was so intimately connected to them.

“My father called it the Longinus Spear…” Her voice trailed off in wonder. She shifted, trying to see his face in the darkness. If only she could see his eyes. Then she’d know whether he was being honest or not. “How do you think I can help you?”

“It’s how we can help each other, Lady Siobhan.”

“Please, just call me Siobhan. No one ever refers to me as anything more.”

“Siobhan. Help me locate the Spear, and I’ll help you find your father and get you both to safety.”

She knew nothing about this man, except that he had saved her from de la Roche earlier and that he had gone back into her burning home to rescue the scroll without fear for his own life. Were those things enough to trust him with her father’s life? His deepest secrets?

“Do we have an agreement?” he asked, his voice deep, expectant.

She nodded. Then, realizing he could not see her any better in the dark than she could see him, she said, “Aye.”

“Then you had best try to get some sleep, because tomorrow will be another difficult day if I know de la Roche.”

Instantly, her mood sobered at the reminder of the dangers outside of their dark cave, no doubt the reason he’d drawn his sword. “Will you be able to sleep?” she asked.

“Nay.”

Siobhan released a soft sigh. She doubted she’d find sleep this night either. Her sleeplessness wouldn’t stem from the ever-present danger, even though she knew she should be more fearful of discovery than she was. Instead, her mind filled with a million possibilities of what secrets the scroll might reveal.

She shifted her gaze to what little she could make out of William. Did her father truly have something to do with the Knights Templar?

Coded text…Drawings…

What could her father be involved in?

Neither William nor Siobhan slept during the night. At one point, William was tempted to call his horse and continue their journey. Yet he knew that without light, travel near the ragged edges of the seaside cliffs would be far too dangerous. The rough terrain notwithstanding, de la Roche and his men could be anywhere.

Yet the hours of darkness had been well spent. Even without sleep, resting his exhausted body had cleared his head. He needed that focus to keep them alive.

With the first light of dawn, he took his cloak from her shoulders and repacked it in his saddlebag. It would do neither of them any good to be caught wearing the mark of a heretic. He gathered his saddlebag, and in silence they headed up the path. After checking that the way was clear, William helped Siobhan over the ledge, to more solid ground.

William whistled for his horse, but his gaze remained on Siobhan and the leather casing in her hands. “Aren’t you going to open it?”

Something that had been dead inside him for many years stirred when her eyes met his. A man could lose himself in their green depths.

“Suddenly, I’m frightened,” she said quietly, breaking into his thoughts. “Last night in the darkness I ran through so many possibilities about what the scroll would reveal. Yet now I almost fear what could be written there.”

Honesty.
It had been a long while since he’d been exposed to such openness outside of the Brotherhood. The fact that such things still existed in the world, even from one source, lightened his soul.

“What’s the worst thing that could happen if you open it?” he asked.

She frowned. “Pardon?”

He took a step closer. “’Tis a game I play with myself when I’m frightened. If you imagine the worst thing that could happen, then whatever is truly revealed will never be as bad as that.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but he silenced her with his hand. Siobhan tensed.

A sound. Hoofbeats.

The tension left his body when a splash of white appeared in the distance. Phantom. “What’s the worst that could happen?” he repeated.

“That I won’t understand what is in the scroll my father wanted me to protect.”

He nodded. “If so, you’re no better off but no worse either. Open it.”

She hesitated only a moment. Slowly she unfastened the lid and shook out the papyrus inside. She carefully unrolled the document. Her brow furrowed as she studied the scribblings. After several moments, she still hadn’t said a word.

“Is something amiss?” Tension flooded his body. His hand moved to his sword. He forced his fingers to relax. The scroll was no threat to them.

“I had hoped to find some meaning, but it’s indecipherable. My father always made his notations in code.” She turned the scroll toward him.

“Templars are famous for their coding.”

She nodded. Her look of desolation tore at his insides. He knew the kind of hopelessness she must be feeling.
He’d experienced such himself. Instead of the cliff’s edge and the ocean, William saw a battlefield, soaked red with blood. The blood of his brothers, defeated, undone.

Pain shot through his body as William clung to his sword. He dragged himself through the carnage, searching the jumbled mass of shredded and broken bodies—some Saracen, many more Scottish—for his brethren.

Ten of them, bonded in service to their king, each bearing a similar sword…How many survived? He wouldn’t die, he couldn’t. Not until he knew if others yet lived. They might be defeated, but there was still more that they might do, given time to perform the deeds.

William staggered through the dead, slipped on the blood-soaked turf, in a desperate search. He’d thought then, at that moment, of the worst that could happen—that he would be alone—when he saw a familiar sword glinting in the distance. He was not alone.

William gritted his teeth and pressed on, blinded, eyes burning, throat clogged by the smoke rolling across the fields. But he could still recognize his kinsman, his brother. For they had the same passion, the same fierce determination, the same oaths sworn and held to their country and their king.

Kenneth Moir, his longtime friend and mentor from the monastery, was sprawled on the ground but alive. The same hope that tightened William’s chest reflected in the older man’s eyes. That Kenneth lived was a great testimony to his strength and determination.

William reached Kenneth’s side and helped him to his feet. They clung to each other amidst the carnage and death. Kenneth’s flesh was torn, his bones shattered, blood seeping from a gaping slash in his chest. And yet he lived.

They both had lived.

Forcing the memory away, William said, “I may know someone who can help.” He lifted Siobhan onto his horse, then mounted behind her. With a flick of the reins, he
sent them racing across the open land, to the west. The monastery was their only hope.

He gave a short, bitter laugh. “It seems entirely appropriate that we’ll have to see the Reaper in order to begin our quest.”

At William’s odd words, Siobhan tensed. Her heart was pounding so hard, she was certain he could hear it. She wanted to ask him what he meant, but the seriousness of his expression warned her otherwise.

She had only been in his presence a short time, but already she knew he didn’t like to have his motives questioned. Besides, Siobhan thought as she clutched the scroll to her chest, she needed his help to decipher the code. If she could find the treasure before de la Roche, she could use the Spear of Destiny to ransom her father’s life.

Siobhan looked back at the man behind her. His expression was intent, his brow furrowed as he concentrated on the open ground. She became acutely aware of the arms that circled her, of the strength of his hands guiding his horse with exquisite care. She noted the way the muscles of his thighs bunched and relaxed with each stride of the horse beneath him.

She looked up to find him staring at her. Slowly, he brought one finger up to trace the outline of her jaw. “You shouldn’t look at me like that,” he said hoarsely.

A primal shudder went through her as her senses heightened. She could smell him—sandalwood mixed with the scents of smoke and sweat.

His gaze had moved to her lips when suddenly a shadow darkened his face. He made an incoherent sound, flicked his gaze away and kicked the horse into a faster gait.

As they flew over the land, uneasiness surged through Siobhan. Was it fear she experienced or something more? She knew so little about him. Yet she instinctively felt at
ease in his presence. But did her intuition tell her all she needed to know?

He slowed the horse, then came to a stop as they reached a line of rowan trees. Siobhan drew breath to ask him why, when he held up his hand, silencing her.

He tilted his head as though straining to hear something from the trees before them. A moment later he dismounted and drew his sword. He looked up at her. “Keep riding to the south. Not more than a league away you will come upon Crosswick Priory. At the iron gates, ring the bell and ask for Brother Kenneth, the abbot there. Tell him William Keith has sent you into his protection. He will understand.”

She didn’t move. “Why? What’s wrong?” she whispered.

“We’re being followed.” His gaze moved back to the trees. “De la Roche and his men.”

A flash of unnatural brown appeared among the trees. “What about you?”

He lifted his sword, poised for battle. “I stand a better chance of defeating them without you near to worry about.”

“There are too many.”

“The worst that can happen is that I die.”

“I cannot leave you—”

“Go!” The knight slapped the rump of his horse, sending Siobhan speeding away.

She tried to pull back on the reins, tried to stop the animal’s charge away from his master. The horse continued, regardless of her efforts. A cry of despair wrenched from her lips. She didn’t want to leave him. She feared what de la Roche would do to William—a Templar—if he was captured.

William.
Yesterday he was but a stranger. Today her life seemed intimately entwined with his.

She twisted in the saddle, looking back over her shoulder. Agony tore at her heart as a line of men in brown tunics advanced on William. She murmured a quick prayer for his safety as she abandoned the man who would risk his life for her, again.

The horse sped across the open territory as though it knew where it headed. Siobhan held tight to the saddle horn, giving up all hope of steering the beast. It seemed like forever before a stone building appeared in the distance, then grew ever closer.

At the iron gates of the monastery, the horse lurched to a stop. “Good boy, Phantom,” Siobhan breathed, grateful the ride had come to an end. She moved to dismount, then paused as she realized how far away the ground suddenly seemed.

She used one arm to steady herself and she clutched her father’s scroll with the other, then twisted onto her stomach and slid down the horse’s side.

When her feet hit the ground, she raced to the gate and reached for the bell. A peal of sound cut through the air. She was about to pull the rope once more when a robed man appeared. His face was cast in shadow by a dark hood. He paused behind the closed gates. “What may I do for you?” he asked in a low, gravelly voice, as though he were not used to talking.

Had she interrupted this man’s vow of silence? “I’m sorry to intrude, but I was sent here by William Keith.”

“Brother William?” The man slid his hood back, exposing his face. His skin was tan, as though he spent much of his days in the sun. It wasn’t his skin but his eyes that made her stiffen. Black eyes—the color of obsidian—probed hers with an intensity that frightened her.

Her heart raced. “He needs help.”

The man stepped forward and opened the gate.
“Where is he?” the monk asked when he spotted William’s horse.

“I don’t know,” Siobhan answered. “We were attacked. He forced me to flee.” She searched inside the gates. “Is there anyone here who we can send to help him?”

“Aye.” His voice held a grim note. “But we would never reach him in time.”

“Should we not try?” She felt as if someone had kicked her in the stomach and knocked the breath out of her. His brow arched. “You care about William?”

“Of course, I care.” She balled her fists at her sides. “He’s in trouble.” She paused before adding, “Because of me. I will not let him die.”

The man’s gaze narrowed. “Brother William is the best fighter I’ve ever known. I’d be more worried about the others, if I were you.” The man stepped back and waved her inside the gates. When she entered the small courtyard, he closed and locked the gates behind her. “I’ll send Brother Amos for William’s horse.”

“You’ll send no one to aid him?” Siobhan pleaded.

He turned his dark gaze on her once more. “Brother William has the grace of God on his side.”

Siobhan flinched. “He’s a monk?”

The abbot nodded. “A warrior monk.”

She frowned, not understanding. “Is he a man of war or a man of peace?”

“Sometimes it takes war to ensure peace.” Brother Kenneth waved her inside the monastery, then led Siobhan to a chamber down the corridor. At the door, he paused for her to precede him. “I shall send one of the brothers up with a meal shortly.” He handed her the lantern. “This should make you more comfortable.”

Siobhan offered her thanks and accepted the light. As she entered the small chamber, she wondered if anything would make her comfortable ever again. Too anxious to
sit on the small chair in the corner, she paced the windowless room. The air in the chamber was cool, but the lantern cast ample illumination around the small monk’s cell, making the wood flooring and stark stone walls appear warm.

This was a room meant for silent contemplation. A place to listen to one’s inner voice. It was that inner voice that troubled Siobhan now. William needed her. He would die without help. And yet what could she do? She could not fight. She didn’t know anyone she could call upon for assistance.

Because she’d let her father’s life become more important than her own. She had always wanted a life filled with excitement, exploring new places and experiencing exotic things. But she’d set her own desires aside to support her father while he finished yet one more bit of research, wrote his ciphers in one more document.

She paused in her pacing and dropped her gaze to the scroll in her hands. Supporting him was her duty as a daughter. Wasn’t it?

In the hush of the room, a slow prickle of understanding came over her. Was there a reason she could not be a good daughter and still get something out of this life for herself? Be something more than what she’d allowed herself to be over the course of her nineteen years?

Siobhan moved to the simple cot in the corner and sat down. She set the leather casing containing the scroll on the woolen blanket beside her. Something had to change, because she hated the feeling of absolute powerlessness that swelled inside her now.

Last night she’d lain awake worrying about de la Roche finding them. And as if that hadn’t terrified her enough, a growing anxiety had taken root inside her that she might never understand the importance of what her father
had entrusted her with. Siobhan looked at the scroll but didn’t touch it.

She’d always believed that things in her life had happened for a reason. It was how she’d explained her mother’s untimely death. It was how she’d justified the time she spent in isolation with her father. It was that thought that comforted her now. Her father’s abduction and William’s appearance in her life were not just random acts, but parts of a bigger whole.

The hush of the room pressed in upon her. But that larger purpose did not include sitting back and watching others. Siobhan stood. It was time for her to take charge of her life. She scooped up the scroll’s leather case and slid it beneath the ropes and the thin heather ticking that made up her bed before heading for the door.

She clenched her fists, remembering yesterday when she had defended herself against William with a hefty branch. Perhaps that skill would help her save him now. With a purposeful stride, she moved down the corridor, back toward the door.