The old man glanced between them and sighed deeply, nodding his head.
‘Very well, follow me.’
He hobbled to the far wall with floor-to-ceiling wooden shelving, containing a few items. He pushed the second shelf, making the whole length of the false shelf click and slide open. It was actually a door that revealed a secret passage, which Father Gregor motioned for them to walk through. He led them down the dark, narrow passage which twisted around a corner, eventually opening out to the most mesmerising chamber that Isabel had ever seen.
Her jaw dropped as she spun on her heel, taking in the square-shaped room filled with an astonishing array of curiosities. There were fascinating items pickled in various-sized jars, many scrolls of papyrus tumbled on top of each other, big tomes and strange-looking apparatuses and tools that were probably used for alchemy. Isabel walked around the chamber, her fingers grazing the surfaces, her eyes drinking it in, trying to commit this wonderful place to memory.
At least coming here, meeting the scholarly priest and seeing his marvellous chamber was a welcome relief from the tumultuous feelings she had about William Geraint.
Good grief!
The more time Isabel spent in his company, the more she felt the pull of attraction. She had told herself time and again that he was just an escort, a friend, but it was apparent that Will was more than that. When had that happened? When had all of these feelings begun? Was it when she caught sight of him on the back of his horse that her heart leapt, or when he smiled at her in that teasing way of his? When had the ground started shifting beneath her feet as he fixed his gaze at her?
Isabel must come to terms with these confusing emotions and concentrate on the other more pressing matters—like unravelling the mystery surrounding the two pendants and the vellum they had found hidden inside.
Father Gregor searched among the many scrolls on the coffer before fetching what he had been looking for, as well a huge tome. He summoned them to his side and turned to face them.
‘Ah, here it is. Come, there are few things I want to show you.’
Will and Isabel flanked the older man as he spread out the scroll.
‘Now, do you see this?’ he said, pointing at a faint oval shape on its side with small tails at the end. ‘Have either of you seen this before and know what it could possibly mean?’
‘No but it looks a little like a fish.’
‘Very good, my lady.’ The older man nodded in approval. ‘That is precisely what it is, five interconnecting Greek letters used by our brothers and sisters of the early church to symbolise Christ. That’s what you have on your vellum, here and also here...do you see?’
‘Yes, I do. What about these four—no, five...flowers grouped together?’
He nodded. ‘They are roses, to symbolise the five wounds of Christ.’
‘And what about this symbol?’ Will asked, pointing at symbol in the shape of the letter ‘X’ with what looked like the letter ‘P’ in the centre, accompanied with the alpha and omega signs.
‘This is mayhap the most interesting part, because these, too, are early symbols—used from the time of Emperor Constantine to mean the Cross.’
‘And these tallies here?’ There were five marks—one at the top, another at the bottom, one in the middle and one on the left and right side. ‘If it wasn’t for this mark in the middle, it would also look like the cross.’
‘That’s true, but sadly I do not know what it is in reference to.’
‘What about this? Is this also a sign for the cross?’ Isabel said, pointing at the larger round motifs at the top and bottom of the vellum.
Will exchanged a look with Father Gregor before giving a single decisive nod and turning to Isabel. ‘That, my lady, is the Croix Celeste, the insignia of the Order of the Knights Templar.’
‘Oh... I see,’ Isabel said, digesting the information.
‘And this, here, is the emblem of Acre.’
‘Acre? In the Holy Lands?’
‘Yes.’ The old man sighed. ‘When the Holy City of Jerusalem was lost a century ago, many important relics and artefacts were moved to Acre, with the Knights Templar as their custodians. However, what this has to do with your vellum, I do not know.’
‘What would you suggest, Father?’
‘You must go the Cour de la Commanderie—the Templars’ base in La Rochelle,’ Father Gregor said, holding up the vellum. ‘They will, mayhap, assist with the translations quicker than I could and, more importantly, will be able to explain why their insignia is on this as well as the emblem of Acre.’
‘Thank you, we must go there anyway.’
‘Take heed, my lady. I cannot help feeling that what is written on the vellum could lead you to mortal danger.’
She covered his hands with hers and smiled solemnly. ‘We shall and thank you again for everything, Father.’
* * *
They had set off at dawn. Even though Isabel had once more slept on a pallet and not on the lumpy ground, she’d had a fretful night’s sleep, yet again. There was an ominous feeling the closer they got to La Rochelle, but she told herself it was nothing more than her imaginings. Father Gregor’s revelations about the symbols were both unsettling and exciting, giving her hope that they were close to finding out the truth about the pendants, the message in the vellum and her past.
Yet she could not shake this uneasiness away.
On top of her feelings of restlessness, there was also the lingering awkwardness with Will. It made her all the more annoyed with herself when her gaze would constantly wander to him. Isabel must stop these silly, reckless and frankly ill-advised feelings for the man. It was futile.
‘Is everything well, my lady?’
‘Yes, of course,’ she said, not able to meet his eyes.
‘I am glad.’ Will compressed his lips together. ‘But you have barely said a word since we left St Savinien and that was a long while ago now.’
She didn’t say anything.
‘I hope nothing untoward is troubling you, Lady Isabel.’
‘Thank you for your concern, but, no.’ She smiled faintly. ‘I have a lot on my mind, that’s all.’
That was not all.
The growing tension between them as they made their way to La Rochelle made it difficult to continue as they had before. For all her assertions that they were only companionable friends travelling to England, Isabel could no longer pretend that it was not actually more. Yet it was better to deny and conceal her feelings. It was prudent to protect herself from getting too attached to anyone—least of all a complicated man like Will. After all, she’d relied on no one but herself for so long as everyone she had ever cared for always ended up letting her down. No, she couldn’t allow anyone to get too close to her. Isabel should, instead, turn her thoughts to what they might find out in La Rochelle.
They rode along the River Charente, since Will believed it to be the best way to remain inconspicuous. The closer they got to the mouth of the sea, the wilder and more expansive the river became, with a rampant, tumbling noise as it gushed past. Strangely though, it was comforting, even though it was decidedly cooler beside the river. At least it filled the discomfiting silence.
‘Are you ready to take a short respite, my lady?’ Will asked quietly.
She sighed. ‘Whatever you think is best, but I do hope we’ll get to La Rochelle by eventide.’
‘We’ll get there earlier than that. I’m hoping to be there by twilight.’
Will brought his horse to a gradual stop and came around to help Isabel dismount. His hands wrapped around her waist as he brought her down easily and remained there, sparking a warmth throughout her body from where his fingers spread around her.
He realised that he was still holding her, removing his hands abruptly as though he had been burnt. Will moved away, tethering the horses to a nearby tree.
‘And when do you believe we can see someone at the Templars’ base?’
‘If we get to La Rochelle early, then I don’t see why we can’t go there tonight, but otherwise in the morn.’ He frowned slightly. ‘The only thing I should say, Isabel, is that they will not allow a woman, even one of the nobility, to enter the Cour de la Commanderie, but we’ll see once we get there what we can do.’
‘You seem to know much about the Knights Templar?’
Will took a sip of water from his flagon and nodded. ‘The Order certainly held a lot of appeal for a young, impressionable knight,’ he said with a faraway look. ‘My friend Hugh and I had always envisaged that it would be our calling one day. But it was not for him—not now that he is a married man with a family of his own.’
‘Does it still hold an appeal for you?’
He leant back against a tree, his eyes pinned to the surging waters of the river as he answered. ‘Yes—’ he shrugged ‘—as long as they can overlook my past.’
Isabel’s curiously got the better of her. ‘What would they need to overlook?’
He said nothing, then, just when she was convinced that he was not going to respond, he spoke. ‘Many things, Isabel...many things that I must atone for before I could even hope to be accepted.’
‘That’s what you’ll do once you take me back to England, isn’t it?’
‘Yes.’
‘Will?’ She walked towards him. ‘What would you need to atone for?’
She watched as his throat worked, his eyes not meeting hers.
‘I’m afraid I am not the man you take me for. There are things that I have done, that I’m responsible for...things that I must seek penance for.’
‘Is this what you were sent into exile for?’
‘Sent into exile?’ He laughed bitterly. ‘I haven’t been banished by the Crown, Isabel. Not any longer.’
‘But I thought that—’
‘You believed wrong. My exile in France for the last two years has been self-imposed.’
‘But why would you do that?’ She searched his eyes. ‘What is it, Will?’
He pushed away from the tree, walking to the riverbank, his back to her as he picked up a pebble and flicked it across the surface of the river. ‘The truth is that I should have known what would happen. I should have anticipated it.’
Isabel waited patiently for him to continue, knowing somehow that what he was relaying was incredibly painful. It made her aching heart go out to him, knowing he was confiding in her about his past.
‘I was made the Sergeant and Commander of the garrison at Portchester Castle by King John...which was a great honour,’ he said eventually. ‘After the Rebel Barons, who had by then invited Louis of France not only to join their cause but also to lead them, captured Winchester Castle, I knew it would not be long before they turned their attention to us.’ He picked up another pebble and swung it sideways, watching it dart across several times before it was swallowed up by the water.
‘Portchester is a strategic castle used to defend the Solent and the sea that separates us from France. We were ready and waiting. What we weren’t prepared for was trickery and dishonesty.’ He spat, shaking his head in dismay.
‘What happened?’
‘I was invited for a parley in the nearby Forest of Bere. With my suspicions heightened, I should have known better, but I assumed I was dealing with honourable men.’ He grimaced. ‘It was the oldest trick, Isabel, and I, with all my experience as a damned soldier, fell for it.’
She moved slowly to stand beside him, watching the river run past, as he continued. ‘By the time we made our way back, it was too late. The castle had been taken, but not before a huge amount of blood had been spilt unnecessarily.’
‘I’m so sorry, Will.’ She took his hand in hers.
‘One could almost admire it—the whole thing being so efficiently executed—if it wasn’t for the fact that it was all so unconscionable and wholly dishonourable,’ he said, clenching his jaw. ‘You know, I had always been sympathetic to the Rebels’ cause, but not after that blood-sodden summer’s eve. Not after what I witnessed.’
‘I can understand.’
‘Can you?’ he asked softly. ‘Because I never could. Not with the damn conflict tearing the kingdom apart—tearing families and friends apart.’
‘And that is when you went into self-exile?’
‘No, initially King John served the banishment himself, but after his death, after I...well, let us just say that the work I did gaining information led to the Crown’s victory at the Battle of Lincoln. I was given a full pardon by William Marshal.’
‘And yet you decided to remain in exile.’
‘Yes,’ he whispered.
‘Because you blamed yourself for what happened?’
‘How could I not, Isabel?’ he said indignantly. ‘I lost control of the castle, lost control of the keep. All those knights, villagers—they were all under my protection, were my responsibility, and I failed. Yes, the blame lies with me and me alone.’
‘But if you’ve received a full pardon, by the Lord Protector himself, then why would you continue to repudiate that decision?’
‘Because I could never forget what happened. I could never absolve myself from my failings on that day, Isabel.’ He turned, facing her. ‘I deserve to be in exile. Frankly I deserve far more than just banishment.’
‘I see. And you believe that punishing yourself with this self-flagellation might somehow lessen the pain?’
Will stared down at their joined hands as if he had only just noticed them entwined that instant. He lifted her hand and turned it round slowly, fanning open her fingers one by one and gently brushing his callused fingers along the open palm, up the length of each finger and back down again, reaching her wrist before caressing the sensitive skin there.
‘Nothing would lessen that, Isabel,’ he whispered as he met her stunned gaze, letting go of her hand. ‘Nothing ever could.’
‘But...’
‘If you’re ready, my lady, we should continue to La Rochelle.’
Chapter Twelve
They reached the bustling port town of La Rochelle by nightfall as Will had predicted they would and entered the walled citadel with caution. Concealed under their woollen hooded cloaks, they wandered through narrow cobbled streets with rows of white sandstone dwellings packed on either side, shielding them from the brisk breeze. A smell of the sea, mixed with the sweat and toil of ship workers, sailors and merchants as well as the musty smell of the port, wafted through. The chipped, weather-beaten shutters of the dwellings were closed despite the few stray revellers from the quayside. Will grabbed Isabel’s hand as she stumbled and nearly fell, placing his arm around her waist, guiding her forward. ‘You need to rest and take some sustenance, otherwise where will we be?’ His voice was muffled under his cloak.
‘Closer to where we need to be.’ She tilted her head up to peer at him from under her hood. ‘Please let’s not halt our progress on my account, I’m perfectly well.’
‘We have enough time, Isabel, and anyway I’m famished, even if you’re not. Come, let’s find somewhere discreet where we can have some repast and confer about what we need to do next.’
They entered a small tavern on the corner, set slightly apart from the harbour which was bursting with carousers.
Isabel threw him a sideways glance. ‘I thought you wanted to go somewhere discreet.’
‘We might be more inconspicuous and well hidden somewhere as busy as this.’
They secured a small table in the furthest corner out of view of the door. Will made sure that Isabel was sat on a stool with her back to the busy tavern, hiding her in a place crowded with mainly only men.
He sighed, dragging his hand through his hair and wondering why he had suggested Isabel dress in a few items of his clothing. It was a good notion to pass her o
ff as his young squire so that they could blend in and avoid being noticed, but when Will looked her up and down properly for the first time since she had changed her clothing, he felt his loins tighten uncomfortably. The thought of those long lean limbs encased in his braes and hose caused another wave of frustrated longing in him.
Damn!
The reason for her to dissemble was a good one, but the effect it had on him was not.
Not only that, but for some unknown reason Will had unburdened his shame to Isabel and earned her pity. No...not quite that, but certainly gained her understanding. What he had told her about his past should have earned him her censure, not her empathy, but then Isabel was like no other woman he had ever met before.
‘Wait here while I get a jug of wine and whatever food this place might serve,’ he said quietly. ‘Don’t make eye contact with anyone and try behaving and sitting a little more like a man.’
‘What...what do you mean?’
‘Slouch a bit more, look stoutly...that’s it.’ Will took in her appearance, knowing that her hair was tightly bound and hidden underneath the hood. He leaned in and tugged it forward more. ‘And sit with your legs apart, rather than that dainty, feminine way you’re sitting.’
‘Dainty?’ Confusion etched on her forehead.
His lips twitched at the corners. ‘Try for a masculine stance, Isabel, otherwise you shall not fool anyone.’
She widened her legs, making him swallow with difficulty, his mouth suddenly dry, annoyed that he couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from her.
‘Better?’
‘Yes,’ he said, gruffly. ‘Don’t go anywhere.’
Will ordered food, glad that he was doing something rather than think about Isabel’s long legs. Returning with a jug of wine, he sloshed a measure into one mug and then another, pressing one into her hand. ‘The Rochelais certainly know how to make excellent wine...but easy, Isabel. Sip slowly.’
‘Are you afraid that I might become as inebriated as I did that first night?’
Will couldn’t see her expression concealed under the hood, but her voice was laced with amusement.
Her Banished Knight's Redemption--The follow-up to award-winning story the Rebel Heiress and the Knight Page 12
