To Tempt a Knight

by Gerri Russell

  A chill rooted her to the spot, despite the inferno at her back. He was dead. She couldn’t breathe. The world before her blurred into swirls of orange and red. Blood red. Her knees gave way. Before she tumbled to the ground, William seized her and swung her up into his arms. A few short strides later, he mounted his horse with her in his arms and settled her before him. “This is no time for sentiment.” He kicked his horse into a run. The burning shell of what once was her home disappeared in the distance.

  Siobhan clutched the scroll, suddenly feeling heavy inside, so weighed down and full of tears. She’d lost everything that had ever mattered to her today—her father, her home, her way of life.

  What was there for her now? She clung to the scroll all the harder. Such thoughts would get her nowhere. She might not be the bravest of all, but she was not a quitter. Her father needed her now, more than ever.

  As they rode, Siobhan glanced down at the hands that steadily held the horse’s reins. They were tanned and scarred. Large and strong, well-shaped and masculine, the hands of a capable warrior. The thought comforted her as she settled back against his chest, heading for who knew where.

  They rode in silence for a long time until night began to fall. Finally William brought his horse to a stop along a seaside cliff. “We shall rest here tonight.” He dismounted first, then helped her down.

  “Where?” Siobhan saw nothing but the great expanse of ocean on one side of her and miles of open land on the other. There were no inns. No houses. No signs of life anywhere.

  He ignored her question as he removed the leather satchel from Phantom’s saddle and set it on the ground. He lifted the bit from the animal’s mouth, then rubbed the horse’s neck with a gentle touch, while cooing softly to the beast. She couldn’t seem to drag her gaze away from the pair. She was struck by William’s gentleness. How many times had she wished that someone would cosset her in that way?

  The knight was tall, taller than her father by at least a foot. The seriousness of his expression did nothing to hide his rugged handsomeness. Whether tending his horse or fending off a villain, he moved with a supple strength that exuded confidence. What would it be like to be that brave?

  When she realized he had stopped rubbing his horse and instead fixed his gaze on her, Siobhan looked away. In his gaze she had seen intelligence, curiosity and something else she couldn’t name. “Are we to sleep beneath the stars along with your horse?” she asked, hoping to turn his attention away from her blatant exploration.

  “Phantom will not be staying.” The words had barely been spoken before he patted the horse’s rump, sending him racing off along the cliff.

  Siobhan gasped. “How will we ever outdistance those men without a horse?” Suddenly the events of the day seemed to catch up with her. Siobhan swayed on her feet.

  In a heartbeat, he stood beside her, supporting her. “Trust me.”

  “But the horse…”

  “Phantom is well trained. We have used this ploy many times before. If de la Roche’s men are anywhere near, the horse will lead them away from our hideout. Then, when dawn approaches, he knows to make his way back to me.”

  The white horse vanished into the hazy darkness. Siobhan shivered as a slight breeze moved in off the ocean.

  “Come,” he said, guiding her to the saddlebag. He secured the load over his arm, then held his hand out for the scroll she carried. “Allow me. The next part of our journey could be a bit dangerous.”

  Siobhan held tight to the scroll. “I’ll manage,” she said, not willing to sacrifice the one small piece of her old life she still retained.

  “As you wish.” He turned toward the cliff and the almost obscured path that headed down into nothingness.

  The climb proved far more difficult than Siobhan had anticipated. The rutted, narrow path slanted steeply down and sometimes disappeared altogether. Clinging desperately to the scroll for fear that it would fall into the churning waves below them, Siobhan picked her way down the treacherous trail. When the large opening in the shale cliff came into view, she felt as though they’d been hiking down the cliff face forever. A pale moon pierced the darkness with silver light, creating an unearthly landscape of dark shapes rising from a luminous haze.

  At the cave’s opening, William held out his hand to assist her through the last few steps and onto the solid ledge. “Are you well, milady?” he asked.

  She nodded breathlessly as she stepped into the cool moisture of the cave.

  “Stay here while I take a look inside.” He disappeared into the darkness.

  The moonlight illuminated only the smallest portion of what appeared to be a rather large opening in the cliff face. She could see shadowy walls, with their slight glimmer of moisture, only a few yards back.

  When William reappeared, she asked, “How far back does it go?”

  “Only a few hundred yards. It’ll be drafty and wet, but at least we are safe here for tonight.” He set his satchel down near the wall and dug inside. A moment later he pulled out a light-colored cloak and wrapped it around her shoulders.

  Warmth enveloped her. “My thanks,” she said. “But what about you?”

  “I’m fine,” he said, turning from her.

  In the light of the moon, the pale woolen cloth nearly glowed. But it was the bloodred cross sewn onto the fabric at the side of the cloak that riveted her attention. A Templar’s cloak.

  Her gaze shot to his. “Yours?”

  He nodded as he settled himself on the ground next to the opening.

  “How long have you been…?” She hesitated, not quite certain how to phrase what she wanted to know.

  “Hiding?” he provided for her.

  She nodded.

  “It feels like a lifetime, but in reality it’s been only four years for me.”

  Sorrow lingered beneath his words. “Do you miss your home?”

  He averted his gaze, hiding any emotion the darkness might not conceal. “I never truly had a home. All my life I’ve lived by my sword. It shelters me, feeds me and protects me.”

  “It sounds very lonely,” she said, casting a glance at his profile in the darkness of the cave.

  “It gives me what I need.”

  Siobhan hesitated to ask more because of the dour tone of his voice. She’d touched on something that he didn’t want to discuss. As her eyes adjusted to the pale moonlight, Siobhan looked around the small cave. Nothing but bare, damp rock surrounded them. The soft surge and retreat of the waves sounded below. She crossed her arms over her chest, hugging the scroll close to her, trying to ward off the chill of the night.

  “We can’t risk a fire,” he said, as though he sensed the shudder that raced through her just then. “Come, sit beside me.”

  She sat, leaning back against the shale wall. With hesitant fingers, she brushed the smooth surface of the leather case on her lap.

  “What’s on the scroll?” he asked, his tone even now.

  “I’m not certain.”

  Despite the darkness she could see his puzzled frown. “You risked your life for that scroll, and you do not even know what it contains?”

  She frowned down at the leather that protected the contents inside. “My father sent me to retrieve this moments before he was abducted.” She turned toward William. In the half light his face was a study of dark planes and angles. “I can’t help wondering if he knew something would happen to him today.” She bit down on her lip as she fingered the container’s cap. “This is all I have left.” She didn’t expect him to understand.

  “Open it,” he said softly with no accusation in his tone. Did he understand? Or was he anxious for her to reveal the scroll’s secrets for another reason?

  Could she trust him? William had saved her life today…Her own curiosity forced doubts about William’s interest aside.

  She forgot about the cold. She forgot about the tragedy of the day. She forgot about everything as carefully, almost afraid to breathe, she opened the case and gently shook out the papyrus scroll ins
ide. She unrolled it. Straining her eyes in the dim light, she stared down at line after line of her father’s dense writing. Even if she’d been able to see it clearly, she doubted she could identify the words he’d hidden in the strange cipher. She angled the paper toward the cave’s opening, trying to catch what light she could. Dark shapes appeared. A map? She sighed. “It’s too dark. I can’t make anything out.”

  “Then any discoveries will have to wait until first light.” He shifted beside her and, with a rasp of sound, drew his sword. He set the weapon across his lap, his hand on the hilt. “Just in case,” he said as he settled back against the wall. “You had best sleep. Who knows what challenges tomorrow will bring?”

  She knew he was probably right. She rolled the scroll and placed it back in its case, then held the treasure close to her chest, protecting what she had left of her life with her father.

  She tried to block the sound of the surf, but the further darkness only made her more aware of her surroundings—especially the man sitting next to her, a sword gripped in his hands. “Why did you come to see my father today? Did you know de la Roche would come as well?”

  He shifted, turning toward her in the darkness. His face was cast in complete darkness now. And for a moment she wondered if he’d planned that, secluding himself in darkness. “Nay. ’Tis mere coincidence that de la Roche appeared when he did, although there were those of us who suspected he would show himself sooner or later.”

  A gust of cool wind touched Siobhan’s cheeks. She pulled the cape he’d given her closer around herself. “Those of us?” she prompted.

  She could feel his gaze upon her. “The Templars. Your father has information we desperately needed.”

  “And now that he’s gone…?”

  “I am hoping you have that information. Or that the scroll we saved from the fire contains something we can use to find what it is I need.”

  Siobhan’s hands tightened on her father’s work. A surge of hope moved through her. Today’s events had taught her one thing: she needed this man’s help to rescue her father from de la Roche’s clutches. Could the scroll help her secure his aid?

  “What do you need?” she asked, trying to temper her growing excitement. This man was still a stranger. His motives were unproved.

  “The Holy Lance. It’s the one piece of the Templar treasure de la Roche wants above all the rest. Your father was the treasure’s guardian.”

  A shiver rippled across her nape. Her father had told her stories of many legendary treasures over the years, but she’d had no idea he was so intimately connected to them.

  “My father called it the Longinus Spear…” Her voice trailed off in wonder. She shifted, trying to see his face in the darkness. If only she could see his eyes. Then she’d know whether he was being honest or not. “How do you think I can help you?”

  “It’s how we can help each other, Lady Siobhan.”

  “Please, just call me Siobhan. No one ever refers to me as anything more.”

  “Siobhan. Help me locate the Spear, and I’ll help you find your father and get you both to safety.”

  She knew nothing about this man, except that he had saved her from de la Roche earlier and that he had gone back into her burning home to rescue the scroll without fear for his own life. Were those things enough to trust him with her father’s life? His deepest secrets?

  “Do we have an agreement?” he asked, his voice deep, expectant.

  She nodded. Then, realizing he could not see her any better in the dark than she could see him, she said, “Aye.”

  “Then you had best try to get some sleep, because tomorrow will be another difficult day if I know de la Roche.”

  Instantly, her mood sobered at the reminder of the dangers outside of their dark cave, no doubt the reason he’d drawn his sword. “Will you be able to sleep?” she asked.

  “Nay.”

  Siobhan released a soft sigh. She doubted she’d find sleep this night either. Her sleeplessness wouldn’t stem from the ever-present danger, even though she knew she should be more fearful of discovery than she was. Instead, her mind filled with a million possibilities of what secrets the scroll might reveal.

  She shifted her gaze to what little she could make out of William. Did her father truly have something to do with the Knights Templar?

  Coded text…Drawings…

  What could her father be involved in?

  Chapter Five

  Neither William nor Siobhan slept during the night. At one point, William was tempted to call his horse and continue their journey. Yet he knew that without light, travel near the ragged edges of the seaside cliffs would be far too dangerous. The rough terrain notwithstanding, de la Roche and his men could be anywhere.

  Yet the hours of darkness had been well spent. Even without sleep, resting his exhausted body had cleared his head. He needed that focus to keep them alive.

  With the first light of dawn, he took his cloak from her shoulders and repacked it in his saddlebag. It would do neither of them any good to be caught wearing the mark of a heretic. He gathered his saddlebag, and in silence they headed up the path. After checking that the way was clear, William helped Siobhan over the ledge, to more solid ground.

  William whistled for his horse, but his gaze remained on Siobhan and the leather casing in her hands. “Aren’t you going to open it?”

  Something that had been dead inside him for many years stirred when her eyes met his. A man could lose himself in their green depths.

  “Suddenly, I’m frightened,” she said quietly, breaking into his thoughts. “Last night in the darkness I ran through so many possibilities about what the scroll would reveal. Yet now I almost fear what could be written there.”

  Honesty. It had been a long while since he’d been exposed to such openness outside of the Brotherhood. The fact that such things still existed in the world, even from one source, lightened his soul.

  “What’s the worst thing that could happen if you open it?” he asked.

  She frowned. “Pardon?”

  He took a step closer. “’Tis a game I play with myself when I’m frightened. If you imagine the worst thing that could happen, then whatever is truly revealed will never be as bad as that.”

  She opened her mouth to speak, but he silenced her with his hand. Siobhan tensed.

  A sound. Hoofbeats.

  The tension left his body when a splash of white appeared in the distance. Phantom. “What’s the worst that could happen?” he repeated.

  “That I won’t understand what is in the scroll my father wanted me to protect.”

  He nodded. “If so, you’re no better off but no worse either. Open it.”

  She hesitated only a moment. Slowly she unfastened the lid and shook out the papyrus inside. She carefully unrolled the document. Her brow furrowed as she studied the scribblings. After several moments, she still hadn’t said a word.

  “Is something amiss?” Tension flooded his body. His hand moved to his sword. He forced his fingers to relax. The scroll was no threat to them.

  “I had hoped to find some meaning, but it’s indecipherable. My father always made his notations in code.” She turned the scroll toward him.

  “Templars are famous for their coding.”

  She nodded. Her look of desolation tore at his insides. He knew the kind of hopelessness she must be feeling. He’d experienced such himself. Instead of the cliff’s edge and the ocean, William saw a battlefield, soaked red with blood. The blood of his brothers, defeated, undone.

  Pain shot through his body as William clung to his sword. He dragged himself through the carnage, searching the jumbled mass of shredded and broken bodies—some Saracen, many more Scottish—for his brethren.

  Ten of them, bonded in service to their king, each bearing a similar sword…How many survived? He wouldn’t die, he couldn’t. Not until he knew if others yet lived. They might be defeated, but there was still more that they might do, given time to perform the deeds.

  W
illiam staggered through the dead, slipped on the blood-soaked turf, in a desperate search. He’d thought then, at that moment, of the worst that could happen—that he would be alone—when he saw a familiar sword glinting in the distance. He was not alone.

  William gritted his teeth and pressed on, blinded, eyes burning, throat clogged by the smoke rolling across the fields. But he could still recognize his kinsman, his brother. For they had the same passion, the same fierce determination, the same oaths sworn and held to their country and their king.

  Kenneth Moir, his longtime friend and mentor from the monastery, was sprawled on the ground but alive. The same hope that tightened William’s chest reflected in the older man’s eyes. That Kenneth lived was a great testimony to his strength and determination.

  William reached Kenneth’s side and helped him to his feet. They clung to each other amidst the carnage and death. Kenneth’s flesh was torn, his bones shattered, blood seeping from a gaping slash in his chest. And yet he lived.

  They both had lived.

  Forcing the memory away, William said, “I may know someone who can help.” He lifted Siobhan onto his horse, then mounted behind her. With a flick of the reins, he sent them racing across the open land, to the west. The monastery was their only hope.

  He gave a short, bitter laugh. “It seems entirely appropriate that we’ll have to see the Reaper in order to begin our quest.”

  At William’s odd words, Siobhan tensed. Her heart was pounding so hard, she was certain he could hear it. She wanted to ask him what he meant, but the seriousness of his expression warned her otherwise.

  She had only been in his presence a short time, but already she knew he didn’t like to have his motives questioned. Besides, Siobhan thought as she clutched the scroll to her chest, she needed his help to decipher the code. If she could find the treasure before de la Roche, she could use the Spear of Destiny to ransom her father’s life.

  Siobhan looked back at the man behind her. His expression was intent, his brow furrowed as he concentrated on the open ground. She became acutely aware of the arms that circled her, of the strength of his hands guiding his horse with exquisite care. She noted the way the muscles of his thighs bunched and relaxed with each stride of the horse beneath him.