To Tempt a Knight (9 page)

Hidden deep in the bowels of a Scottish castle, de la Roche stared down at his prisoner. Sir John Fraser kept his face remote. Showing any kind of fear would give his captor an advantage. At least de la Roche hadn’t found Siobhan, or the man wouldn’t have returned here to torture him again. Sir John took slight comfort in that knowledge.

“Where is the Spear?” De la Roche twisted the thumbscrews until a soft crunching sound filled the dark underground chamber where Sir John lay strapped to a table by the ankles, waist, shoulders and wrists. Despite his determination to remain unaffected by the torture, a gasp escaped his throat. A sharp stab of intense pain tore through his thumb, before a blessed numbness took hold.

The Frenchman’s assistant, Claude Lemar, smiled down at Sir John in the torchlight. The man was dressed in a mud-colored monk’s robe. His face was long and lean, with pockmarks dotting his cheeks. His lips were pouty like those of a sullen boy as his light eyes gazed at his subject. “Shall we move on to your other thumb?”

“Kill me now.” Sir John struggled to keep the fear from his voice. He had to stay in control. He didn’t fear dying, but the torture was wearing him down. “I’ll never tell you anything.”

De la Roche frowned. “Every moment of every day
will be filled with slow agony until I get what I want.” He reached for the torch and held it close to Sir John’s shackled bare feet. The stench of burning flesh filled the small chamber.

Sir John clenched his jaw, fighting the red-hot pain as it seared his heels. Sweat broke out on his forehead. He tried to control his breathing, but only succeeded in sucking in short, sharp breaths as agony rocked him.

“My men were forced to retreat.” De la Roche’s dark eyes glittered with a strange illumination cast upon his face by the torch. “We lost Keith and your daughter.”

Sir John sucked in a relieved breath at the news he already suspected.

De la Roche’s eyes narrowed. He ran the torch up to Sir John’s toes. “We’ll find them again. My spies are scouring the countryside now.” His voice was seductively gentle. “When we find them, they will suffer most horribly. Lemar will see to that.”

Beside him, Lemar grinned.

Fear shot through Sir John. What would they do to his daughter if they caught her? He struggled against his bonds. “Leave Siobhan alone.” He hadn’t realized he’d spoken aloud until he saw both men smile.

“Tell me what I want to know and I might spare her.” De la Roche’s voice grew gentler, almost tender. The torch against Sir John’s skin vanished. Stinging pain rippled across his feet as the cool air from the chamber replaced the heat.

Sir John closed his eyes, willing the pain away. He’d known this day was coming, that someone someday would come after him and the Templar treasure. He should have sent Siobhan away to a nunnery years ago. When he’d approached her about the idea, she’d insisted on staying with him. And he’d relented because of his love for his only child. In hindsight, he should have pressed her to go, no
matter how much he would have missed her. He should have insisted—for her own protection.

All he could do for his daughter now was pray. Pray that she could keep herself safe. Pray that she wouldn’t try to follow him.

No one could save him from this madman. De la Roche might be ruthless, but he was no match for Sir John’s own resolve. No amount of torture could pry the secrets of the treasure from him. And no force under Heaven would ever make him reveal that his daughter had the ability to find that treasure if she remembered the clues he’d given her all through her life. If the time ever came, she would remember. The treasure would find a new guardian. All would be well.

Sir John opened his eyes.

De la Roche gazed down at him, his pale eyes filled with anger. “Perhaps you need more persuasion.” All the gentleness vanished. “Lemar, see if the rack doesn’t loosen his tongue.”

Morning light pierced the opening of the cave, breaking Siobhan’s fitful slumber. Regretfully, she opened her eyes. It seemed only moments ago that she’d finally fallen asleep. The dawning rays stretched across the rocky floor with increasing brightness. Siobhan sat up and looked beside her. William was gone.

Coming fully awake, she stood and wrapped her cloak about her shoulders, then headed outside. The rain had stopped. Blue sky stretched overhead, dotted with fluffy white clouds.

Siobhan drew in a breath of the rain-soaked earth as she looked out upon the Cairngorms. The twittering of birds sounded all about her as she took in nature’s beauty. Beneath her feet the rich, red soil sported leathery green ferns and lacy, small-leafed shrubs.

Tall evergreens pushed toward the sky, and hearty rowan trees filled the space in between. The leaves of a tree off to her left rustled. Her heart raced. Instinctively, she darted back into the cave.

“Siobhan?” William’s voice called out to her.

She stepped forward once more to see him striding toward her. In one hand he clutched a silver fish by the jaw. His other arm curled around several tree branches. He raised the fish in salute. “To break our fast.” He laid the fish on a rock near the cave’s opening and dropped the wood to the ground. “It won’t be long before we eat, once I set a fire.”

“Can we risk a fire?” she asked, kneeling beside the salmon. Her stomach gurgled at the thought of a hot meal.

“I hiked to a vantage point earlier. There are no signs of de la Roche anywhere. It appears that we lost him.”

“For now,” she said in a low tone.

William must have heard her, because he stopped in the process of arranging the wood into a stack. “You’re right. He will come for us again, so prepare yourself.”

She pulled her cloak tighter about her shoulders. How did one prepare for a battle between life and death? She shuddered.

He stood, then strode into the cave, returning a moment later with his saddlebag. From the bag he withdrew a flint stone and a bit of wool. It only took a moment for him to catch the dry kindling with a spark. He bent toward the tiny flickering flame and with his breath coaxed it to life. Some minutes later, once the coals had turned red, he set the salmon on top. A rich, fragrant aroma filled the air while they waited for the fish to cook.

Siobhan moved away from the fire and slowly moved about their little campsite, exploring the spiky ferns and underbrush that she’d never seen up close. But even the
beauty that surrounded her couldn’t disguise the reality of their situation. They were in desperate trouble, thanks to de la Roche and his men.

“Can I ask you a question?” She returned to the roaring fire and knelt beside William.

“Anything.”

“We would have a better chance at survival if there were two of us fighting de la Roche’s men, wouldn’t we?”

He turned toward her. “Two of us?”

“Teach me to use a sword.”

His brow knitted. “Women shouldn’t have to fight in the battles of men.”

“From what I’ve seen so far, it doesn’t appear de la Roche is concerned about my gender.” She moved to the fire. “If I’m to die, I’d rather do it trying to defend myself than unprepared and filled with fear.”

William scoffed. “With any luck, neither of us will be dying today. But your point is taken.” He nodded. “I’ll teach you later this evening, when we stop for the night.” He reached into his saddlebag and withdrew two wooden bowls. Drawing a dagger from his boot, he deftly cut a wedge of the fish and placed it in the bowl. He handed the steaming pink meat to her. “As soon as we’ve eaten, we will begin our climb.”

As he cooked their meal, she noticed once again the sword at his side. “Does your sword have a name?” she asked, breaking the silence that had settled between them.

“Nay. Should it?” he asked with a frown.

“Some warriors name their swords. My father told me tales of Beowulf and his sword Naegling, then there was Arthur’s Excalibur and Lancelot’s Arondight, as well as Constantine’s Joyeuse.” She shrugged. “I just wondered if you had named yours, being that it came from the Bruce.”

He shook his head. “I don’t believe any Templars
named their swords. Perhaps we should have,” he said with a slight smile.

They finished their meal quickly and wrapped the remains of the fish in a spare length of cloth from his bag for their evening meal. William put out the fire, careful to bury the embers with dirt before dousing them with water.

In short order, he had packed his saddlebag and they were ready to proceed. As they left the cave behind, she noticed Phantom was nowhere in sight. “Where’s your horse?”

“I sent him back to the monastery earlier this morning. The climb would be far too dangerous for him. Besides, his hoofprints retreating from the mountains will also serve us well if anyone tries to track us.”

Siobhan followed William’s example as he picked his way up the ledge of rocks that formed their cave and onto a narrow trail no doubt formed by the deer that frequented the forest.

They spent the better part of the morning in silence as Siobhan concentrated on the breathtaking scenery around her and tried not to be distracted by the man in front of her. As they reached a particularly jagged patch of rocks, William turned to her and offered his hand. After they successfully reached the top of the ridge, he suggested they take a short break. He sat atop one of the large boulders and motioned for her to sit beside him.

Seated, she tipped her face up and let the slight wind dry the pearls of moisture from her forehead and neck.

“Here.” He offered her a bladder of water.

She was grateful for the cool liquid that slid across her tongue. After a few more minutes of rest, she asked, “How did the Templar treasure end up here in Scotland?”

He offered her a slight smile. “That is a long and sordid tale.”

She looked down at the distance they had covered so far today, then glanced up at the height they had yet to go. A lot of the mountain still remained before them. “It appears we have plenty of time.”

He laughed. “Too true.” His expression grew more serious. “Are you ready to continue? If you are, I’ll tell you what I can as we climb.”

“Aye.”

He stood and offered her a hand, pulling her easily to her feet. “How much do you know about the Templars?” he asked as they began to hike up the mountainside once more. This time they forged their own trail.

“I know what most people know. How they began as protectors of pilgrims to the Holy Land,” she said, falling into an easy stride beside him. “I’ve heard tales about their bravery in the Crusades and of their chivalry. And I remember my father talking about King Philip IV of France needing financing for his wars. When he asked the Templars for money, they refused him.”

“That’s where the trouble started for the Templars and when the treasure left France,” William explained. “When King Philip was refused, he then tried to get the pope to excommunicate the Templars, because we answer only to the Church.”

“The Templars were very powerful,” Siobhan admitted as she kept pace with William.

“Aye, they were. But the French king had the power to murder Pope Boniface VIII and his successor, Benedict XI, when neither would do as the king wanted. The next pope, Clement V, was brought into power with the help of the king.”

William turned to face her as they continued to hike. “Two days before the Templars were arrested in France under orders from the new pope, eighteen ships left the port of La Rochelle in the middle of the night, sailing
for Scotland with the treasure and as many men as possible.”

The features of his face softened. “It was your father who met those ships and instructed the men aboard where to take the treasure.”

A chill chased across Siobhan’s neck. “That was when my father was still a Templar.” She frowned. “He must have been very important to be in charge of hiding something so precious.”

“Aye, he was.” William’s voice was gentle.

“Why was he not arrested with all the other Templars?” Siobhan asked.

“Because Scotland was at war with England in October of 1307, and in the chaos, the papal bulls dissolving the Templar Order were never proclaimed in Scotland. So the Order was never dissolved. As a result, Scotland became a sanctuary for Templars. Robert the Bruce, being excommunicated himself, welcomed skilled warriors with open arms. Others, such as Archbishop Lamberton of Saint Andrews, gave the Knights Templar his protection. Archbishop Lamberton always believed in the Templar cause. He risked much to support us, and he has been a good friend to me.”

“If the Templars are protected here by the Crown and the Church, then why are you so secretive? Cannot the monks at the monastery admit who they are and live in peace?”

“With agents of the French Crown like de la Roche combing the country for them, there is no hope of that.”

Siobhan nodded her understanding. “Then why risk your life by staying in the Order?”

He offered her a pained smile. “Because it was divine intervention that led me to the Templar Order. They took me in when I needed them. My brothers have been con
stant companions as we fought to protect the faithful, then later our king and country.”

His explanation was simple, yet she realized there must be so much more that he hadn’t said. She longed to question him further about the things he’d passed over. Why did the Order take him in? Where was his family? How had he earned the right to protect the king himself? “Those men back at the monastery, they are your family?”

“Aye.”

She reached over and patted his arm, wanting to console him, but not knowing exactly what to say.

William stared down at his arm where her hand touched him. He cleared his throat and averted his gaze. “Come, let us pick up the pace a bit. We have much ground to cover before dusk.

His stride lengthened, and Siobhan had to push herself to match it. At this rate, she wouldn’t be able to talk, as her heart thumped in her chest at the extra effort. Is that what he wanted? To stop her pointed questions?

She frowned. They would have to rest eventually. Then she would ask more about his life. For she still was not certain why he was helping her. What would he gain, besides having the treasure for himself?