The young man nodded solemnly. “I know. It was my mother.” He flushed under Hugo’s frowning gaze. “My father told me, soon after she died. He said you had gone away because of her, so that there could be no disgrace, no sin. He could not tell you himself, for he was too proud, but he was grateful to you for that.”
“Can—can you forgive me, nephew?”
“You have paid for your sins, sir.”
“And what a price! Fourteen long years in the Holy Land, and another twenty in Templar strongholds of Europe, searching for God’s peace. I never found it, until I returned to Moreton last summer and your father welcomed me back…”
“Of course.” Young Hugh smiled. “He prayed often for your return, especially after my mother died. I am glad you were in time to see him again, I believe he was content to leave this life, knowing he had made his peace with you.”
Hugo closed his eyes.
“It was God’s will.”
He heard young Hugh’s voice, prompting him gently.
“Will you tell me, sir? Tell me again how you escaped death in the Holy Land.”
Hugo looked out the window, but his eyes no longer saw the river Fleetwater, or the chapel. He was looking much farther away.
“I wanted to stay, to fight to the death with my brothers, but it was an order—I was bound by my oath to obey. We were trapped. The heat was stifling and the hills—the Horns of Hattin—were at our backs. Saladin and his army stood before us, closing in on every side. Then the order came. I rode out—ran from the battle, for the first and last time—over horses, friends—over the relic of the True Cross. We were but a dozen. Saladin had a bigger victory in sight and did not send a party after us.” His fingers moved to his left shoulder, feeling the empty sleeve. “We fled north to Tyre, where the count’s own physicians treated us. And we sent word of the defeat to Rome.”
He fell silent and young Hugh shifted impatiently, as he always did at this point.
“And the countess—Raymond of Tripoli’s wife?”
“She was in Tiberias when it fell, but Saladin allowed her safe passage to join her husband.” He smiled. “He could be honourable, when he chose, but at the Horns of Hattin…the King of Jerusalem surrendered, of course. Raynald de Châtillon was executed by Saladin himself. I had heard stories that they were old enemies. The Master—well, Templars have a rule that we will not allow ourselves to be ransomed—de Ridefort thought himself beyond such laws. He saved his skin, but all the others—the Hospitallers and the Templars—they were executed there on the battlefield. All my friends, gone! Count Raymond died, you know, less than twelve months after the battle. Some say it was shame…perhaps. We should have stayed, I should have stayed. It was my duty to die with my brothers.”
Young Hugh leaned forward to cover Hugo’s gnarled fingers with his own.
“No, uncle. It was your duty to escape, to record the battle for those that come after you.”
“And I have done so, I have done so. And the building of my chapel on yonder hill eases my burden.” His hand turned to grip the young man’s fingers. “Promise me, Hugh, you will bury me in my chapel.”
“But, sir, we have the family vault, in the graveyard—”
The old man thought of Maude, lovely Maude, laid to rest beside her lawful husband, his brother Andrew. Their grave lay beneath the branches of the ancient yew. But it was not for him. His penance was that, even in death, he must remain apart from the one creature he loved above all others.
“It is better that I am buried alone, boy.”
“Then I promise you, uncle.” The young man’s voice was reassuring. “You have my word as a Moreton that your tomb will be in the chapel. It shall be covered by a stone likeness of you as you should be remembered—a Templar knight, strong and proud, with your sword and shield, and at your feet shall be the sign of the cross. And if it pleases God, you will not lie there alone. I, too, shall be buried there, when my time comes, and my sons after me.”
“You are a good boy, young Hugh.”
“Nay, uncle. I could do no less for my namesake.”
***
Outside in the churchyard Deborah brushed the loose grass clippings from her jeans. Bernard tried to hide his impatience.
“Come on, love. Let’s go and get your things. I want to be away before the rush.”
“You can get away whenever you like, Bernard. I’m not coming.”
A sudden stillness fell over them all.
Bernard frowned. “You what?”
She looked at him squarely. “I’m not coming with you.”
Behind her, Josh had risen to his feet.
“But—but you don’t mean that. What will you do—what is there here for you, for God’s sake?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. But I won’t go back to live with you, Bernard. It wouldn’t work.” Now she’d started, it suddenly seemed easier to put her thoughts into words.
She saw the pulse throbbing at the side of his neck, a sign that he was angry.
“Not what you want! You stupid cow! What about all my efforts here today—all that fucking playacting?”
“That was your decision, Bernard. I never asked you to get involved. In fact, I remember saying I didn’t think it was a good idea.”
His colour deepened and she saw his jaw working, as if he was trying to find the right words for his anger. For once it didn’t frighten her.
She said thoughtfully, “You know, Bernard, you shouldn’t wear lemon. It clashes with your colouring, especially when you’re angry. You go all red and blotchy.”
His flush deepened alarmingly. “Why, you bi—”
“Watch it!” Josh stepped up beside Deborah, tense and ready to fight.
She shook her head at Bernard. “I’m sorry. I told you it was over, but you didn’t believe me.”
“Yeah, well. I do now. Okay, I’ll go. Only don’t come running back to me when you realise you’ve made a mistake!”
Bernard turned on his heel and strode away.
“Well done, Debs!”
She let out a long sigh of relief.
“Hey, you’re shaking.” Josh put his hands on her shoulders. “You okay?”
She nodded. “Uh-huh. Just—not used to burning my bridges.”
“About time you burned that one. I can’t believe you ever considered going back with him.”
The confrontation with Bernard had surprised even her and now the reaction set in. She felt close to tears, and extremely sorry for herself. “With Mum and Dad moving to Bosham, and you leaving, I thought—”
“Me? I’m not going anywhere.”
“Yes, you are,” she said miserably. “Alan’s giving you one of his big restaurants over Swindon way.”
“Oh, no he’s not. Where on earth did you get that story from?”
“Everyone knows it.”
“So you don’t know what’s going on. Hasn’t your dad told you? I’m taking over the Yew Tree.” He laughed at her astonishment. “You idiot,” he told her fondly, “you didn’t really think I was going to leave you, did you? Alan is helping me to buy the Yew Tree from your dad. It’s a joint venture with an option for me to buy Alan out in three years’ time. He wanted it for a pub, originally, but the council have blocked that, so he’s offered me the chance to take it over, run it my way. I’ve already told your dad there won’t be a shamrock in sight.”
“But—but that’s marvellous.”
He kissed her nose. “I know. But I wasn’t planning to do it all alone, Debs. I want you to help me.”
“You mean, you want me to work for you? Are you offering me a job?”
“More than that. I want you to run it with me. What do you say?”
“You, you mean business partners?”
“That would do for starters, but then…” His dark eyes gleamed with amusement, but there was something else in their depths, a look that turned her insides to water.
Deborah stared at him. She had never fainted in her life, but now
she thought she might do just that. For a moment the world seemed to spin around her. She swallowed hard, scarcely daring to believe what he was saying.
“It will be hard work, Debs. Long hours, not much free time, but we’d be working together. I think I would like that.”
“I thought you said it wasn’t a good idea to mix business with pleasure.”
“I did, but your mum and dad ran the Yew Tree between them very successfully, so I don’t see why we couldn’t do the same. Well?” He was standing very close, his eyes smiling into hers. “What do you say?”
With a strangled cry she threw her arms around his neck. “Oh, yes, Josh, of course I will!”
He kissed her, pulling her against him, his lips warm on her mouth. The sound of voices brought them back to reality and they broke away, but Josh kept his arms around her.
Anne and Toby strolled into view, holding hands, and the look of happiness on Anne’s face mirrored perfectly Deborah’s feelings.
Anne waved at them. “Hi, you two! Do you want to be the first to hear the good news?”
Deborah thought for one crazy moment that they were going to announce their engagement.
“We’ve proved it! At least, we’re pretty sure now that the church is Templar.”
“Probably built as a Templar chapel.” Toby smiled at Anne. “I was planning a trip to the Middle East later this year, why don’t you come with me? We could trace Hugh’s movements, look at the crusader castles…”
“Sounds like heaven.” Anne wondered if she could take any more happiness in one day. She knew she was smiling too much, but she didn’t care.
“But what were you saying about the church here?” Josh interrupted them. “Is it Templar?”
Toby nodded. “Yes, I think so. Taking up the flagstones has uncovered an earlier floor of glazed tiles, several with a Templar motif. Of course we’ll have to consult the experts, but I’m pretty sure. Come and have a look.”
Deborah and Josh followed them back into the church, where they stood staring down at the old flooring tiles around the altar.
“So if the water pipe hadn’t broken, we might never have found it,” Deborah murmured, awed. “It’s spooky. Like it was meant to happen.”
“No, just good luck.” Toby stood with his arm resting lightly across Anne’s shoulders. “How about we all go and celebrate?”
“What about the disco?” Anne felt a shadow of guilt pass across her happiness as she thought about Alan, but it lasted only a second.
“We can always go there later, if you like.” Josh grinned. “The Yew Tree is open, isn’t it, Debs? Let’s go there and I’ll treat you all to dinner. I’ve a feeling we’ve all got something to celebrate tonight.”
As they turned to leave, Anne cast a last look at the stone figure of old Hugh on the wall of the Lady Chapel. Had the flood really been a lucky chance? She didn’t know, but she had the feeling that his worn stone face was smiling even more than usual, and by a sudden trick of the light—perhaps a bird passing the window and causing a fleeting shadow—she thought old Hugh winked at her.
About the Author
Melinda Hammond is a storyteller and as a teenager she fell in love with history and romantic adventures. She has published more than twenty books, mainly set in the Georgian and Regency periods, and in 2010 her Harlequin historical book The Earl’s Runaway Bride, written under pseudonym Sarah Mallory, won a coveted Cataromance Reviewers’ Choice Award. Melinda lives in an old farmhouse on the Yorkshire moors, where she finds inspiration in the wild and desolate landscape.
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