Table of Contents
Cover Page
By the same author:
Templar Prize
Copyright Page
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
‘There is no need to be afraid,’ he said in a deep voice that sounded as smooth as silk. For a second she had not realised that he had spoken to her in fluent French tinged with just the faintest of accents. Part of her was curious to see this man – after all she was expected to couple with him – yet a voice was nothing to judge someone by and she feared she might find him repulsive. ‘Will you not look at me?’ he asked as a firm hand took hold of her chin and turned her face towards him.
Very reluctantly, she opened her eyes and found herself staring at a young, surprisingly attractive man, probably about the same age as Stephen. Of course he looked like a Saracen, with dark olive skin, black hair and dark eyes, and like all Moslem men he wore a beard, but it was small and neatly trimmed. Edwina had not expected him to be this good-looking and, although his face was square jawed and his features inherently masculine, there was a gentleness in his expression that made her feel just a little less terrified. Nevertheless she knew that, like voices, looks could be deceiving.
By the same author:
Savage Surrender
Wild Kingdom
Doctor’s Orders
Barbarian Prize
TEMPLAR PRIZE
Deanna Ashford
This eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
Epub ISBN: 9780753536018
Version 1.0
www.randomhouse.co.uk
Black Lace books contain sexual fantasies.
In real life, always practise safe sex.
First published in 2007 by
Black Lace
Thames Wharf Studios
Rainville Rd
London W6 9HA
Copyright © Deanna Ashford 2007
The right of Deanna Ashford to be identified as the Author of the
Work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs
and Patents Act 1988.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
www.black-lace-books.com
Typeset by SetSystems Ltd, Saffron Walden, Essex
Printed in the UK by CPI Bookmarque, Croydon, CR0 4TD
The paper used in this book is a natural, recyclable product made
from wood grown in sustainable forests. The manufacturing process
conforms to the regulations of the country of origin.
ISBN 978 0 352 34137 2
Distributed in the USA by Holtzbrinck Publishers, LLC, 175 Fifth Avenue,
New York, NY 10010, USA
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance
to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of
trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated
without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding
or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar
condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent
purchaser.
1
1191 – Sicily
The candles lighting the small chamber flickered and spluttered as if they might expire at any moment. Edwina shuddered, not wanting to be trapped here in virtual darkness. With the heavy shutters tightly closed not even a small amount of light could creep in through the narrow window and the room was becoming steadily hotter. The stifling air was now tainted by a sweet sickly odour and the terrible smell drifted into her nostrils and slid insidiously down her throat, making her stomach churn. She swallowed anxiously, praying that she would not retch as she tried not to look at the corpulent form of Hugh de Moreville lying on the narrow bed covered by a white linen sheet.
Yet she could not ignore the corpse of the man she had been married to for almost three and a half years; somehow it managed to draw her eyes towards it time and time again. Determinedly she tried to pray for his eternal soul and ask that he rest in peace but however hard she struggled she could not find anything appropriate to say. If she were honest with herself, at present she felt nothing: not pain, regret, joy or even relief. It was as if her mind were totally numb and devoid of any emotions. Yet, as her thoughts became more and more clouded, she became acutely conscious of every part of her body. She was used to kneeling in prayer as her husband had not been a particularly religious man and, during their marriage, the chapel in their castle had become a refuge for her on numerous occasions. She had often spent extended periods of time on her knees praying to God to help her endure her loveless union to a man she loathed.
Despite those previous endless hours of devotion, kneeling here on this hard floor was now becoming acutely uncomfortable. Edwina could feel every nuance of the rough paving stones of the floor beneath her pain-wracked knees, while her back and shoulders ached with the strain of being in one position for a prolonged time. Even her arms felt amazingly heavy from being held in front of her as she kept her hands clasped together in an attitude of prayer, unable to relax her pose for even a moment. She had to remain where she was and retain the posture of a pious grieving widow.
Edwina tensed as the candles flickered again and a number of them died, leaving dark menacing shadows in every corner of the small room. She thought she detected a movement out of the corner of her eye and she feared, quite foolishly, that her husband would rise from his bed like some evil spectre and lurch frighteningly towards her. It appeared that she was not bereft of all emotion, she considered, as she told herself not to be so weak-minded. Tiredness had overtaken her senses and was making her imagine things that were not there. She could not even remember when she had last slept as she had spent the last few days nursing Hugh through his unexpected illness.
Once again, she forced herself to look at the corpse. His hard-featured face looked kinder in repose and she felt a sudden elation as she realised that he could no longer hurt her any more; her tribulations had at last come to an end.
There was a sudden scraping sound, followed by the creak of an unoiled hinge as the door of the chamber was pushed open. Remaining on her knees, she peeked through her lowered lashes and saw four Knights Templar enter the chamber. Edwina had always found something rather unsettling about the sight of these devout knights with their white surcoats, emblazoned on the front with large blood-red crosses. They had not come for her, of course, they had come to pay their respects to her husband. Hugh had often told her that he wanted to die in battle so it was ironic that he had instead died quite ignominiously from quartan fever, most probably contracted, so the Hospitaller who had first attended him claimed, by drinking water drawn from a contaminated well.
Totally ignoring her presence, the knights stood at the four corners of the bed. Edwina heard a rasping sound as they drew their swords, then a clatter as they positioned their weapons, holding them with the blade
s pointing downwards so that the tips rested on the stone floor. Bending their heads they stood in silent contemplation as they paid their respects to Hugh de Moreville.
Edwina wondered what she should do now, unsure whether she was expected to remain where she was or slip silently from the room. I am free now, but for how long, she wondered, very aware that her fate now lay in the hands of her sovereign lord King Richard the Lionheart.
Still all too concerned with her own physical discomfort, she wasn’t even aware that someone was standing beside her until she felt a gentle hand touch her shoulder.
‘My lady,’ William de Preaux, one of the king’s loyal retainers, said softly. ‘It is time for you to leave now.’
‘Leave?’
‘Yes. You look exhausted,’ he continued in a low voice. ‘Come. I’ll escort you to your chamber.’
‘I am obliged to you, my lord,’ she said wearily, as he took hold of her arm and helped her to her feet.
Edwina winced as the blood flowed freely into her cramped limbs and she was forced to lean heavily on William as he escorted her from the room. The narrow corridor was empty and she was relieved because she knew that she must look a terrible mess in her crumpled gown, her long hair untidily escaping its plait, with not even a veil to cover her head at present.
They had only walked a short distance when they came upon an open window that overlooked the garden. She glanced pleadingly at her escort. ‘A moment, if you would allow it, my lord.’
‘Of course.’ William de Preaux stopped and smiled understandingly at her. ‘Judging by the atmosphere in that damnable chamber, I can now understand why the Sicilians insist on such swift burials,’ he muttered, almost as if he were talking to himself rather than her.
Appreciating his kindness, she took a deep breath of fresh air, trying to ignore the sudden rush of emotions that unexpectedly filled her mind. It was as if a door had been opened to all the memories and feelings she had tried to ignore for so long. The experience left her feeling weak and helpless, while unbidden tears suddenly filled her eyes. ‘I am sorry,’ she murmured, keeping her face averted from her escort.
‘I quite understand,’ he said in a gentle voice. ‘It is a terrible time for you, is it not? You look pale and drawn. I fear you have made yourself sick, my lady. You should not have nursed your husband for so long without any help.’
‘He ordered it,’ she said flatly, so wanting to tell William de Preaux that even during his illness Hugh had continued to make her life a misery. She knew full well that it was a wife’s duty to care for her husband. Did not the marriage vows say both in sickness and in health? Even so, he could have allowed her to bring in some help and not bear the burden of his care alone. King Richard had offered Hugh the services of his own personal physicians but he had refused even that and, perhaps because of that very stubbornness, he had died of what was sometimes a recoverable illness.
‘I am aware, my lady, that you have no servants of your own to care for you now.’
She blinked back the tears, which she knew were prompted by the sudden turbulence of her emotions and had nothing really to do with the loss of her husband. ‘Hugh claimed that we could not afford such luxuries. Holy quests are expensive undertakings are they not, my lord?’
‘Indeed they are.’ He tenderly touched her hand and the brief gesture made her tremble. It was so long since a man had touched her with gentleness in his heart.
‘Forgive me for delaying you, my lord,’ she said, struggling to compose herself. ‘I do appreciate your kindness.’
‘Come,’ he urged her. ‘I have not much time. I have to meet with His Majesty as soon as I’ve conducted you to your chamber. Plans are already underway to at last set sail for the Holy Land.’
As he escorted her further up the corridor, Edwina wondered what would happen to her now: would she be expected to travel onwards with the king or would he provide her with an escort to return to her family home in France, or Hugh’s gloomy castle in northern England?
They entered the large hall which presently served as the royal audience chamber where the king held court. It was fuller than usual and she could sense a strange mood of anticipation in the air as she glanced briefly at the eager faces of the courtiers.
‘Is something amiss?’ she asked curiously.
‘You have not heard, then? The Dowager Queen Eleanor has arrived and she has brought the king’s betrothed, Princess Berengaria, with her.’
‘I was not aware of that. I have heard tell that the daughter of the King of Navarre is comely and sweet-natured.’
They had almost reached the far side of the hall, to her relief, as she was embarrassed at being seen in such a state of disarray.
‘She is indeed. I am sure that Princess Berengaria will be eager to get to know you and the other ladies as soon as possible,’ William said with a warm smile. ‘She has been resting since she arrived but it is expected that the king will present her to the senior members of his court today. Hence the crowd.’
‘I see.’ Edwina suddenly stiffened and she felt the blood drain from her face as for a brief second she thought she saw a tall dark-haired man who looked uncannily like Stephen. Then he disappeared behind a crowd of courtiers. Her heartbeat quickened and she feared for a moment that she might fall to the floor in a swoon.
‘My lady?’ William said as she clung even more tightly onto his arm.
‘It is nothing,’ she insisted, shaking her head. ‘I thought for a moment that I saw someone I knew. Someone I did not expect to see here of all places.’ She made a determined effort to recover her shaky composure. ‘No doubt I was mistaken. He couldn’t possibly be here.’
‘You are exhausted,’ he pointed out. ‘The mind easily plays tricks,’ he added, guiding her out of the crowded hall and up the wide staircase to the second floor of the palace.
Edwina’s limbs felt leaden and she was all but exhausted by the time they reached the door to the room she had so recently shared with her husband. ‘I’m obliged to you for your kindness, my lord.’
‘Just promise me that you will rest for as long as you need to. His Majesty does not expect you to attend the interment. As the climate necessitates, it will be carried out swiftly with little ceremony. I’m certain that your husband would have wished that.’
Edwina doubted that were true. Hugh had a high opinion of himself and would have expected a ceremony befitting his status as one of the premier knights of the realm. ‘I will do so willingly,’ she assured him with a weary smile.
He lifted her hand to his lips and then took a step back. ‘If there is anything you need, Lady Edwina, you have but to ask.’
‘Thank you, my lord,’ she acknowledged, and she watched him walk away.
Pleased to be alone with her confused thoughts, she stepped into her chamber, shut the door behind her and sat down shakily on the bed as her shattered emotions threatened to overwhelm her again.
It was only relief, she told herself; relief that she no longer had to bear the burden of a husband who had not cared one jot for her and had been uncommonly cruel and brutal to her at times. It was that emotion that had somehow made her believe for a second that she had caught sight of the one and only man she had ever truly cared for. She had thought that she’d seen Stephen because she had secretly wanted him to be here. Nevertheless, she knew full well that he’d not accompanied his king to Sicily and she had never dared to ask Hugh why. So she must have been mistaken. After all she had only caught a fleeting glimpse of the man and he had been some distance away from her. She knew from past experience that sometimes one saw precisely what one wanted to see. When she had been forced into marrying Hugh she had been convinced that she had caught sight of Stephen’s strained features among the crowd of people waiting outside the chapel where the wedding had taken place.
Edwina sniffed and wrinkled her nose; she stank of the sickroom. Once again she was reminded of the strange, sweet and yet noxious odour that had filled the small chamber. Not want
ing to dwell on such morbid thoughts, she unfastened her girdle and removed her crumpled linen gown, which was stiff with perspiration and soiled with all manner of unpleasant effluents. She did not have many clothes; her husband had never been generous with her. After their hasty marriage, he had even taken away many of the fine garments her brother had provided for her trousseau and she suspected, but had never been able to prove, that he had given them to one of his many mistresses. Nevertheless, this was one garment she would never wear again, she thought, as she threw it in a corner. There had been no time to wash, let alone bother about her own appearance while caring for her demanding, ill-tempered patient and she was too weary to do so now. She just wanted to rest.
It was odd, she thought. Now that she looked back on all that had happened in the last few days it had never crossed her mind that Hugh would actually perish from his fever and she would be left a widow.
She slipped off her soft leather shoes and undid the loose plait, letting her blonde hair spill around her shoulders. Then she lay down on the bed clad only in her sleeveless shift. Wearily, Edwina closed her eyes but she could not sleep; her mind was suddenly filled with memories of far happier times in her life, memories she had suppressed for so long.
The canopy of green in the forest protected them from the searing heat of summer as she and Stephen rode side by side along a little-used path. Edwina couldn’t resist glancing at the handsome features of the tall dark-haired man she adored. Her family was influential and as she was an heiress many young men had courted her, but she had only ever had eyes for Stephen.
‘I fear that I shall never be this happy again,’ she shyly confessed.
When she had first come to the Duke of Aquitaine’s court in Poitiers in the spring of the year of our Lord 1187 she had never expected to fall in love; such emotions rarely figured in unions between noble men and women. She had believed that her marriage would be one of convenience, arranged by her older brother, Fulk. Now, just five months later, she had been given this most precious of gifts and sometimes she felt her heart would explode with the strength of her happiness.
Templar Prize Page 1
