One Knight (Knights of Caerleon Book 2)

by Ines Johnson

  “You endured that suffering for only a few moments,” she said. “Those men have endured it for centuries.”

  “Which means they’re likely dead.” And good riddance. It meant the knights wouldn’t have to find somewhere to house a few hundred of their foes.

  "Not if they were magical kind." She sat up on his lap, her arms looped around his neck. "In fact, I don't think the spell would have worked unless they were magical kind. There have to be parameters on it. Why those two words; heart and stone?"

  Her gaze trailed off as she turned the words over in her head. Lance watched her for a moment. He marveled that their position was so comfortable; her sitting on his lap in a loose embrace as they conversed. It was as though they’d been lovers for decades.

  The truth is they had. They’d just never had occasion to touch in this manner.

  Gwin traced her fingers through his hair again and again as she gazed off into the distance, lost in thought. Lance might be ready for their adventure to be over. But he was now more than ready for their love story to begin in earnest.

  He leaned into her touch, feeling whole for the first time in his life. He’d felt her fingertips on him before. But she wasn’t trying to heal him now. Right now, she only wanted to touch him.

  Lance tilted his head up to see her face. Her gaze was focused on the strands of his hair slipping between her fingers. They’d spent so much time in close proximity but so far apart from each other.

  He thought back to the last time he was this close to her, the day they’d met. The day his life changed forever because he’d fallen so deeply, so completely in love with her.

  She turned back to him, focusing on the present instead of the past. He focused on her lips, waiting for words to form. None did. Neither of them had any protest left in them. They both knew this was inevitable. So why not right now?

  But Gwin didn’t take the last inch that would bring her to his hungry mouth. Somehow, his desire-addled brain remembered why. She said she wouldn’t be the one to make this move again. It was up to him.

  Lance rushed head first into this battle and won. He slanted his lips over Gwin’s. It was not a tentative kiss. It was not a seeking kiss. It was a kiss of victory, a kiss of ownership. This was a battle he’d won long ago, and now, finally, he took possession of his prize.

  Lance plundered Gwin’s mouth, and she let him in. Her lips parted like a drawbridge opening for the onslaught. Because it was an onslaught.

  Lance was so desperate for her that he nicked the top of her plump lips. He’d drawn first blood. Instead of stopping and pulling away to tend the wound, he sucked at her injury and pushed deeper. There was nothing and no one that would keep them apart any longer.

  The sound of a clearing throat didn’t tear him away from her. It was the shove against his shoulder that did.

  Lance looked up to see Sir Darvill glaring down at him as though he were the rat the cat dragged in. The look almost colored Lance’s vision to a guilty shade of gray. But the shade of remorse refused to fall.

  Lance held the woman he loved in his arms. The woman who loved him back. The woman that would soon, one day, after her husband died, of course, and then there would be a short period of mourning, and likely a period of courtship where he made his intentions plain, after all that, then she would wholly and completely be his.

  “Sorry to interrupt your tête-á-tête,” said the knight without any remorse. “I thought I was having a heart attack or a stroke a moment ago when I was rendered immobile.”

  “I’m so sorry, Sir Darvill,” said Gwin, coming to stand before the elder knight. Her hands already warming with her healing magic as she looked for a place to soothe his old bones. “That was my fault. I found a spell and—”

  “I figured it was a spell,” said Darvill, smiling kindly down upon her. “When a witch turns up looking for de Molay’s journals, I assumed you were searching for any evidence of the Stone Templars myth.”

  “So it is true?” Gwin breathed.

  Darvill shrugged. “I don’t know for sure. Only tales. But we have a bigger problem heading our way. When I came too, I saw a caravan coming down the road. Newer cars, military style. No one in the village drives anything fancier than a pickup truck.”

  Lance looked to Gwin. They both knew who had that style of cars. Malegant and his men.

  22

  Dust and gravel kicked up behind the two jeeps headed down the unpaved road toward the commandery. Magic itched in the center of Gwin’s palms at the approach of Malegant and his goons. Memories of what they’d done turned aside in her gut. It was instantly cooled as Lance laced his fingers with hers.

  With his other hand, Lance freed his sword from its adorned hiding place. He turned to Darvill. “Is there any other way out of here?”

  “You want to run?” Sir Darvill’s tone was indignant. “I’ll stand and face my adversaries.”

  “And put a witch’s life in danger? She is our priority.”

  That brought the elderly knight up short. Already, Malegant’s men had parked in front of the church and were filing out of their vehicles. Darvill looked left and right, just as Gwin had already done. She had to guess the older knight came away with the same conclusion. If the three of them tried to make a run for the church and the ley line, they would be spotted. Gwin might not be able to cast the spell quick enough to outrun their guns.

  “There is a passageway beneath the Hall,” Darvill said to Lance. “It leads to the church. We’ll need to provide a distraction so that she can get out.”

  “I’m not leaving without you,” Gwin said to Lance. She pressed her palm to his. With her free hand, she wound it around his bicep like a vise. “We run or stay together.”

  Lance’s eyes searched hers. Only a moment ago, the two of them had been locked in a passionate embrace. She’d been pliant in his hold, had yielded to every flick of his tongue, to his every nibble at her lip, to his groan demanding more of her. Gwin would not budge now. She knew he saw it in her eyes when he turned to Sir Darvill and motioned for the old man to precede them to the secret passageway.

  Lance’s hold on Gwin was iron-clad as they stole through the halls of the commandery. This place was a fortress. During its heyday, it would've been impenetrable by a cannon that could fire once or twice in an hour. But with modern-day armed forces, it would not hold for long. The inhabitants inside would soon turn into sitting ducks only good for target practice.

  The three went down into a lower level. The air got thinner, damper. But the magic got stronger. They were near the church.

  As they inched closer, the air thickened. The dark wetness dried up. Warmth flooded the small space. Not in a way that simply warmed the skin. Gwin began to feel like she was a pig on a roast.

  “They’ve set the church on fire,” said Darvill.

  They came to a dead halt. They couldn’t move forward. The ceiling of the cavern was the floor of the church. Already the stone walls were too hot to touch.

  Lance scooped Gwin into his arms. Before he could take too many steps she squirmed in his hold.

  “No,” she insisted. “Help Sir Darvill.”

  Conflict was fleeting on Lance’s face. He set Gwin down and turned to give his shoulder to the slower moving Darvill. The desire for life won out against pride in the old man and the two knights moved quickly through the caverns together with Gwin in the lead.

  Coming out the other end, they were at the back of the hall. But they weren't alone. Gwin heard voices coming toward them down the hall.

  Peering out the door, she saw that they were pushed up against the forest wall. She opened the door and stepped out into the cool air. She didn’t get far before Lance wrapped his arms around her and pulled her back inside.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” he demanded.

  “We can make a run for the tree line and hide until they’re gone.”

  Lance shook his head. Darvill came over his shoulder, his face set in a grim line that backed
up Lance’s stance on the matter.

  “It was fine to run to get you to safety,” said Lance. “Now that we’re cornered, we will stand and fight. It’s the only honorable thing to do.”

  “I stand at the ready to fight by your side sir,” said Sir Darvill. “And if today be the day I go to my glory, it has been my honor to be in your service, Lady Gwin.”

  The two were mad. They had a plausible getaway before them. But their egos got in their way and they preferred to rush into danger. For what? For honor!

  Darvill pulled this sword. The steel glinted and hummed. With all the magic running underfoot, Gwin hadn’t realized that Darvill’s sword was made of the same magical ore as the swords of Camelot. He had both the blood of a knight and the metal.

  Heart and stone.

  Before Lance had kissed her and he’d been only holding her in his arms for comfort, Gwin had been thinking. She’d been trying to understand how that spell had worked on him? She hadn’t aimed it at him, she’d only said the words.

  Most spells had to have a direction, an intention. She’d had no intention when she’d said the words aloud. But they went straight for him. And for Sir Darvill, who’d been some distance away.

  There was magic in the swords. There was also magic in the men. Could it be that the words of de Molay’s spell had woven together to affect anyone who held those two requirements?

  It was magic, unlike anything Gwin had ever witnessed. Magic she didn't even know was possible. It was magic that went against someone's will; a curse. Gwin had never uttered a curse in her life.

  Both men brandished their swords, preparing to rush into a battle that would definitely be the end of Sir Darvill, and at best, would maim Lance.

  God, sometimes she really hated the tenets of chivalry. That code would be the death of these men. It had been the death of many good men in the past.

  Why wouldn't they just run from the danger? Perhaps if she got them to stand still until the danger passed …

  Gwin spoke the words she didn’t think she would ever speak again. She didn’t see any other choice. The curse instantly shushed their bravado.

  Lance’s tan arms turned peat brown, then dull gray. The soft place where he’d held her turned hard. The last thing she saw was the spark of anger in Lance’s eyes before his body was encased in stone.

  For a moment, Gwin panicked, thinking she’d killed him. But her own heart still beat. That’s how she knew he lived. She still felt his energy and Darvill’s.

  They were alive. They looked like two boulders set apart from the forest. Hidden from the eyes of others.

  Could there be other men encased in this way? Hundreds of men. For hundreds of years. The poor souls. She had to find them.

  She couldn’t focus on that now. The Templars of today were entering the building. Gwin had been able to hide the knights. Because she had no sword, she was now the only sitting duck.

  She needed to duck inside the passageway. She took a step, but a figure moved into view. Gwin slipped behind the Lance-boulder, pressing her warm back to his stony face.

  “I’m getting tired of this guy,” came one of the voices of the Templars. He had an Eastern European accent. “We’ve been driving around for days, and we haven’t seen one of these stone men. I’m starting to think he’s full of shit.”

  “We did see that witch,” said the other man.

  The two men stood near the Darvill-stone. Gwin held her breath as the men continued to moan their grievances of knighthood.

  “Did we really? All we saw were books flying through the air. It could’ve been rigged. And where are these riches Malegant keeps talking about? Have you seen any gold or gems or treasure?”

  “What are you gonna do? Go back to your day job?”

  He kicked at the Darvill stone. “I don’t know, man? But I’m starting to think I’m wasting my time out here.”

  “You two,” yelled a booming voice.

  Gwin peered from behind the protection of the stone-faced Lance. She recognized the Templar as the brute from back in Champagne, the one who’d held the blade to Lance’s neck.

  “You find anyone out here?” the Brute called.

  “No,” said the Doubter. “Just us and some rocks.”

  “Whoever was here, they took off,” said the Brute. “Most likely through the church. There’s a ley line in there. So, we torched it.”

  “Great,” muttered The Doubter. “Signed on to be a knight and I’m reduced to an arsonist.”

  “What was that?” growled The Brute.

  “Nothing,” The Doubter said more clearly.

  In the tense silence that followed, Gwin imagined a stare-off between the two. She doubted the naysayer would come out victorious.

  “There’s nothing here,” said the Brute.

  Good. They hadn’t found the secret library.

  “The Stone Templars didn’t make it this far south,” said the Brute, breaking the tense silence. “Malegant found some kind of book. He thinks they were closer to Paris or closer to the north near the border. We’re taking off.”

  The men made their way across the path. Gwin still didn’t move until she heard the squeal of wheels tear out. Finally, she let out the breath she’d been holding. As the fire blazed from the church, she pulled magic from the ley energy and cast another spell.

  Lance fell into her arms, limbs shivering, his eyes burning bright. “Don’t you ever dare do that again!”

  23

  Lance fought through the stiffness and cold and reached for Gwin. Unlike his touches earlier where he brought her to him for a caress, or when he’d wrapped her in the protection of his embrace, he dug his fingers into her shoulders and gave her a shake.

  Her blue eyes widened. The light of love blinked out. When her eyes opened again, there was a tinge of fear.

  Good. He needed her to be afraid. He’d been terrified when he’d been encased in stone. He’d been petrified, literally. Those men had come so near her, and he couldn’t move. If they had harmed her …

  Lance pulled Gwin to him, crushing her body to his. He felt the quickening of her pulse, the pounding of her heart, the gush of her breath.

  “Don’t ever do that again.” His voice was a desperate plea whispered into her ear.

  “I only wanted to protect you, to keep you safe.”

  “I gave my solemn vow that I would protect you with my life,” he said. “You had no right to take that from me.”

  He pulled away, expecting an argument. Instead, her arms came around his neck and held. All of his fear and anger left his system under the touch of her warm hands.

  “Lance? Am I not your equal?”

  The double negative threw him. His reflexes were still lax having been bound in stone. He was also distracted by the rush of Gwin’s sweet scent surrounding him.

  “Yes?” he said.

  That must’ve been the right answer because she smiled at him. Danger signs blared somewhere in his mind. He registered the warning as a puissant gnat as this butterfly batted her wings at him.

  “I’m not fragile, or helpless, or a victim. I never have been, despite the choices I’ve made in my life. We’re not starting this relationship with me cast as some distressed damsel and you the dashing hero. Chivalry dies today. It’s done nothing but ruin our lives.”

  Lance exhaled. He felt three centuries old all of a sudden. Likely because he hadn’t slept a wink in the last twenty-four hours and he’d been running on adrenalin with mishap after disaster.

  He knew Gwin was strong and brave and capable. She was a Galahad girl. But she had a point.

  Their vows had kept them apart and miserable for decades. Was that the endgame of chivalry? Misery.

  They were each the most devout individuals in their town. They were also the most unhappy. That would change. But not right at this moment.

  “I’ll vow anything you want,” he said. “Once I get you home.”

  “Deal.”

  “We need to get out of her
e,” said Lance. “They may come back. Sir Darvill grab only what’s necessary and let’s go.”

  Darvill, who’d remained quiet during their whole intimate exchange, shook his head. “I’m not going anywhere. I will not leave my post.”

  Beside him, Lance felt Gwin sigh. The man was proving her point. Darvill had nothing left and still, he would remain.

  “You could have a new beginning, a new life, filled with others, like you,” said Gwin “It’s not too late for you.”

  “You’re right, my lady.” Darvill looked toward the horizon. “I may take a second look at the choices I’ve made in my life. Who knows? Perhaps my equal is somewhere beyond this fortress.”

  “So, you’ll come with us?”

  “Not until I see to the last of my duties.”

  They all looked over at the burning church.

  “At least let us help you put out the fire from the church,” said Lance.

  “No,” said Darvill. “Let it burn. The flames can be seen from miles. If it stops they’ll come back. Besides, we all know that God lives in the hearts and not in a building.”

  “But you’ll be cut off from us,” said Gwin.

  “With all due respect, my lady, I’ve been cut off all my life. I’m glad you came to visit. You are welcome back any time. I’ll never be too far from this place. It’s still my duty. But it will no longer be my life.”

  “How are we going to get out of here?” asked Lance.

  Darvill pulled keys from his pocket. “Take my truck. It’s parked on the other side of the forest. There’s a path through that cluster of trees there.”

  The men clasped forearms. Gwin planted a chaste kiss on Darvill’s cheek. Then she and Lance went through the cluster of trees.

  Gwin and Lance were silent on their trek through the forest. They came out the other end to a beat up truck that looked as old as Darvill.

  Lance opened the passenger door and helped Gwin in. He rounded the truck and climbed behind the wheel. It took a few tries before the jalopy turned over and they were off.