Siobhan nodded and willed herself to concentrate on the scenery before her and not on the entirely unavailable male who held her close. She focused her awareness on the terrain they crossed.
They traveled in silence for some time until chilling winds swept in from the north, bringing with them a rolling mass of black clouds that snuffed out the rosy glow of the sun along the eastern horizon. Droplets began to fall, first in a light sprinkling that washed the dust from the air and brought with it the sweet scent of rain. Then, without warning, a torrential downpour marched across the open land.
“We’ll have to find shelter before we are soaked.” William kicked Phantom into a gallop. The ground sped past. Siobhan’s grip tightened on the horse’s mane as she adjusted to the new rhythm.
The ends of her hair escaped her tight plait to whip behind her, until the rain plastered the heavy mass about her shoulders. A smile came to her lips. She’d experienced rainstorms before, but never outdoors with no shelter in sight. Siobhan tipped her head up to the sky. Large raindrops pelted her face and ran down her neck. Laughter bubbled up in her throat. “Oh my heavens!” She found herself laughing.
At an answering laugh from behind her, she twisted around. William’s eyes glowed with the same exhilaration. The blood pounded in her veins. Her senses heightened. The weight of her wet cloak pressed her garments against her flesh. The rhythm of the horse moved through her in time with her breathing, the very beat of her heart.
The world seemed to stop as William stared down at her. She was suddenly aware of the warmth of his body as it pressed against hers, his gaze intent on her lips.
If he were to lean forward, their lips would touch…
With an effort, she tore her gaze from his and turned around. She swallowed to ease the tightness in her throat. It didn’t help. She’d wanted him to kiss her.
A chaste monk. What was wrong with her? Did she not respect his vows? What of her own chastity? Was she ready to toss that aside all for the feel of William’s lips upon hers?
Siobhan forced back a groan and closed her eyes. Once again she turned her face up to the rain, hoping it would wash away the lust cascading through her. What was it about this man that turned her senses inside out?
She drew a deep breath and released it slowly. What was she going to do if every time he looked at her she felt these overwhelming sensations? What possessed her to act without reserve? She never had before. Or was that the heart of the matter? She had little if any experience in such things. She’d been raised by a father who had never remarried. When she was young, her nurse had never taught her about the happenings between a man and a woman. And the nurse had died before Siobhan had come into her womanhood.
Siobhan released a soft sigh. She wondered what her mother would advise. Should she do what she always did—hide from her feelings, close herself off? Or should she embrace her emotions, whether they were returned or not? Were the emotions that threw her off balance even real, or were they a result of the desperate situation she and William found themselves in?
Behind her, William sat perfectly still. She could feel the tension in his body radiate into her own. Siobhan held herself taut, trying not to touch any part of his body, as they raced through the storm.
They needed shelter.
He needed distance from the woman in his arms. Her complete joy in the downpour they found themselves in had taken him by surprise. Most of the women he’d known while at the Scottish court would never have taken such delight in the discomfort the rain usually brought.
Instead of shying away from the rain, Siobhan had embraced it. Her face had brightened and her musical laughter filled the air. Desire for her tightened every muscle in his body. The slashing rain continued to pelt them as William guided his horse toward the trees. He sucked in a deep breath. His body burned with needful heat. But it was a heat he could never sate.
There could never be anything between them. He had taken vows of piety, poverty, obedience and chastity. His future was with the Templar Brotherhood. His life belonged in the service of God. Yet even as the thought formed, his heart protested. The Church had granted permission for her father to leave the Order to pursue a secular life.
A different life. What would it be like to have a different life? To have someone who cared about him…for him? To have a home he could return to each night? To have a woman who would bear his children?
A family. Love. William tightened his hands on the reins. He had never let himself think about such things before. Warring left little time for fantasy.
But it was fantasy that filled his senses now. If he leaned forward ever so slightly, he could catch the scent of heather in her hair. His groin jerked in response. He’d been with women while at the Bruce’s court, before he’d taken his vows. He’d experienced passion, pleasure…but nothing like the temptation Siobhan held for him. What would it be like to indulge in her sweetness, experience her passion? Just once?
He set his jaw. Love, or even affection, had no place in a warrior’s life. Too many things could steal that love away. Then he’d be alone once more, having failed yet again to protect those he loved.
Nay. He was better off without such things.
The pelting rain slowed to a steady shower as they came to the forest surrounding the Cairngorms. Phantom gratefully dashed beneath the boughs of the rowans, heading deeper into the forest. Under the cover of the trees, the light shifted from gray to silver, and the rain slowed to a drizzle.
“We need to find somewhere protected from the rain and yet still defensible should de la Roche surprise us,” William said, forcing his thoughts away from his body’s cravings.
“We got lucky today, didn’t we?”
He frowned. “What do you mean?”
“That de la Roche and his men were nowhere in sight.”
“Luck.” He paused, feeling more in control of himself again. “I’d like to believe in such a thing, but I’ve been a warrior too long. We must stay alert and prepare for anything.” He stopped the horse when they came to a rocky area in the side of the mountain. They continued up a rutted path for some time until they reached a gaping hole in the hillside.
William stopped and slid from Phantom’s back. “Stay here. I’m going to take a look.” He disappeared inside the cave.
He returned a moment later. “Empty.” He reached for her waist and swung her down from the horse’s back. “Our new home, yet another cave, for the night.”
“I’m starting to think you like sleeping in caves.” She smiled up at him.
“Better than in the open during a Scottish rain.”
She stepped inside the cave, out of the rain. “It’s dry. That’s a blessing in itself.”
William guided Phantom inside the cave. He unfastened the saddlebag, then leaned it against the wall of the cave. It took only moments to find and light a tallow candle. He placed it into the lantern he pulled from his bag.
The golden glow illuminated the front part of the cave, revealing a ceiling that rose some thirty feet above their heads. The interior didn’t feel cool or drafty. Compared to the storm outside, it felt almost cozy in their dry little space. He held the lantern up to illuminate the large boulders at the back of the cave, sending eerie shadows to creep up the walls.
“Take off your cloak and set it against the boulders to dry. It will do you no good to sit about in wet clothes.” He set the lamp in the center of the cave and removed his own cloak.
He watched as she unfastened her cloak, slipped it from her shoulders, then plucked the scroll from its protected pocket with a smile. “Safe and dry.”
Her motions brought his attention to the front of her gown, where her cloak had failed to protect her from the driving rain. The wet fabric was molded to her breasts, her hips, her thighs, revealing a curvy feminine shape.
William forced himself to look away. She had no idea of the erotic picture she presented as she settled on the ground near the lantern and withdrew the scroll.
“The scroll is dry as well.” She set the papyrus on the dry earth, her finger outlining the drawing of what they’d decided were the Cairngorms. “Where do we go from here?”
William squatted beside her and peered down at the map. With his index finger he tapped the V between the two tallest mountain peaks. “First we must make our way here.”
He traced a complex series of dashes and markings near the middle of the peak on the left. “This is where we’ll find the Mother’s Cradle. If it has been used as a storehouse by the Templars, no doubt it will be well concealed. Finding it would be next to impossible without this map.”
A shadow of worry darkened her brow. Siobhan leaned closer to examine the drawing. “What if we can’t find it?”
“We will.” He set his jaw. Nothing would get in the way of his safeguarding the treasure and keeping the Spear out of de la Roche’s hands.
Chapter Nine
Hidden deep in the bowels of a Scottish castle, de la Roche stared down at his prisoner. Sir John Fraser kept his face remote. Showing any kind of fear would give his captor an advantage. At least de la Roche hadn’t found Siobhan, or the man wouldn’t have returned here to torture him again. Sir John took slight comfort in that knowledge.
“Where is the Spear?” De la Roche twisted the thumbscrews until a soft crunching sound filled the dark underground chamber where Sir John lay strapped to a table by the ankles, waist, shoulders and wrists. Despite his determination to remain unaffected by the torture, a gasp escaped his throat. A sharp stab of intense pain tore through his thumb, before a blessed numbness took hold.
The Frenchman’s assistant, Claude Lemar, smiled down at Sir John in the torchlight. The man was dressed in a mud-colored monk’s robe. His face was long and lean, with pockmarks dotting his cheeks. His lips were pouty like those of a sullen boy as his light eyes gazed at his subject. “Shall we move on to your other thumb?”
“Kill me now.” Sir John struggled to keep the fear from his voice. He had to stay in control. He didn’t fear dying, but the torture was wearing him down. “I’ll never tell you anything.”
De la Roche frowned. “Every moment of every day will be filled with slow agony until I get what I want.” He reached for the torch and held it close to Sir John’s shackled bare feet. The stench of burning flesh filled the small chamber.
Sir John clenched his jaw, fighting the red-hot pain as it seared his heels. Sweat broke out on his forehead. He tried to control his breathing, but only succeeded in sucking in short, sharp breaths as agony rocked him.
“My men were forced to retreat.” De la Roche’s dark eyes glittered with a strange illumination cast upon his face by the torch. “We lost Keith and your daughter.”
Sir John sucked in a relieved breath at the news he already suspected.
De la Roche’s eyes narrowed. He ran the torch up to Sir John’s toes. “We’ll find them again. My spies are scouring the countryside now.” His voice was seductively gentle. “When we find them, they will suffer most horribly. Lemar will see to that.”
Beside him, Lemar grinned.
Fear shot through Sir John. What would they do to his daughter if they caught her? He struggled against his bonds. “Leave Siobhan alone.” He hadn’t realized he’d spoken aloud until he saw both men smile.
“Tell me what I want to know and I might spare her.” De la Roche’s voice grew gentler, almost tender. The torch against Sir John’s skin vanished. Stinging pain rippled across his feet as the cool air from the chamber replaced the heat.
Sir John closed his eyes, willing the pain away. He’d known this day was coming, that someone someday would come after him and the Templar treasure. He should have sent Siobhan away to a nunnery years ago. When he’d approached her about the idea, she’d insisted on staying with him. And he’d relented because of his love for his only child. In hindsight, he should have pressed her to go, no matter how much he would have missed her. He should have insisted—for her own protection.
All he could do for his daughter now was pray. Pray that she could keep herself safe. Pray that she wouldn’t try to follow him.
No one could save him from this madman. De la Roche might be ruthless, but he was no match for Sir John’s own resolve. No amount of torture could pry the secrets of the treasure from him. And no force under Heaven would ever make him reveal that his daughter had the ability to find that treasure if she remembered the clues he’d given her all through her life. If the time ever came, she would remember. The treasure would find a new guardian. All would be well.
Sir John opened his eyes.
De la Roche gazed down at him, his pale eyes filled with anger. “Perhaps you need more persuasion.” All the gentleness vanished. “Lemar, see if the rack doesn’t loosen his tongue.”
Morning light pierced the opening of the cave, breaking Siobhan’s fitful slumber. Regretfully, she opened her eyes. It seemed only moments ago that she’d finally fallen asleep. The dawning rays stretched across the rocky floor with increasing brightness. Siobhan sat up and looked beside her. William was gone.
Coming fully awake, she stood and wrapped her cloak about her shoulders, then headed outside. The rain had stopped. Blue sky stretched overhead, dotted with fluffy white clouds.
Siobhan drew in a breath of the rain-soaked earth as she looked out upon the Cairngorms. The twittering of birds sounded all about her as she took in nature’s beauty. Beneath her feet the rich, red soil sported leathery green ferns and lacy, small-leafed shrubs.
Tall evergreens pushed toward the sky, and hearty rowan trees filled the space in between. The leaves of a tree off to her left rustled. Her heart raced. Instinctively, she darted back into the cave.
“Siobhan?” William’s voice called out to her.
She stepped forward once more to see him striding toward her. In one hand he clutched a silver fish by the jaw. His other arm curled around several tree branches. He raised the fish in salute. “To break our fast.” He laid the fish on a rock near the cave’s opening and dropped the wood to the ground. “It won’t be long before we eat, once I set a fire.”
“Can we risk a fire?” she asked, kneeling beside the salmon. Her stomach gurgled at the thought of a hot meal.
“I hiked to a vantage point earlier. There are no signs of de la Roche anywhere. It appears that we lost him.”
“For now,” she said in a low tone.
William must have heard her, because he stopped in the process of arranging the wood into a stack. “You’re right. He will come for us again, so prepare yourself.”
She pulled her cloak tighter about her shoulders. How did one prepare for a battle between life and death? She shuddered.
He stood, then strode into the cave, returning a moment later with his saddlebag. From the bag he withdrew a flint stone and a bit of wool. It only took a moment for him to catch the dry kindling with a spark. He bent toward the tiny flickering flame and with his breath coaxed it to life. Some minutes later, once the coals had turned red, he set the salmon on top. A rich, fragrant aroma filled the air while they waited for the fish to cook.
Siobhan moved away from the fire and slowly moved about their little campsite, exploring the spiky ferns and underbrush that she’d never seen up close. But even the beauty that surrounded her couldn’t disguise the reality of their situation. They were in desperate trouble, thanks to de la Roche and his men.
“Can I ask you a question?” She returned to the roaring fire and knelt beside William.
“Anything.”
“We would have a better chance at survival if there were two of us fighting de la Roche’s men, wouldn’t we?”
He turned toward her. “Two of us?”
“Teach me to use a sword.”
His brow knitted. “Women shouldn’t have to fight in the battles of men.”
“From what I’ve seen so far, it doesn’t appear de la Roche is concerned about my gender.” She moved to the fire. “If I’m to die, I’d rather do it trying to defend myself
than unprepared and filled with fear.”
William scoffed. “With any luck, neither of us will be dying today. But your point is taken.” He nodded. “I’ll teach you later this evening, when we stop for the night.” He reached into his saddlebag and withdrew two wooden bowls. Drawing a dagger from his boot, he deftly cut a wedge of the fish and placed it in the bowl. He handed the steaming pink meat to her. “As soon as we’ve eaten, we will begin our climb.”
As he cooked their meal, she noticed once again the sword at his side. “Does your sword have a name?” she asked, breaking the silence that had settled between them.
“Nay. Should it?” he asked with a frown.
“Some warriors name their swords. My father told me tales of Beowulf and his sword Naegling, then there was Arthur’s Excalibur and Lancelot’s Arondight, as well as Constantine’s Joyeuse.” She shrugged. “I just wondered if you had named yours, being that it came from the Bruce.”
He shook his head. “I don’t believe any Templars named their swords. Perhaps we should have,” he said with a slight smile.
They finished their meal quickly and wrapped the remains of the fish in a spare length of cloth from his bag for their evening meal. William put out the fire, careful to bury the embers with dirt before dousing them with water.
In short order, he had packed his saddlebag and they were ready to proceed. As they left the cave behind, she noticed Phantom was nowhere in sight. “Where’s your horse?”
“I sent him back to the monastery earlier this morning. The climb would be far too dangerous for him. Besides, his hoofprints retreating from the mountains will also serve us well if anyone tries to track us.”
Siobhan followed William’s example as he picked his way up the ledge of rocks that formed their cave and onto a narrow trail no doubt formed by the deer that frequented the forest.
They spent the better part of the morning in silence as Siobhan concentrated on the breathtaking scenery around her and tried not to be distracted by the man in front of her. As they reached a particularly jagged patch of rocks, William turned to her and offered his hand. After they successfully reached the top of the ridge, he suggested they take a short break. He sat atop one of the large boulders and motioned for her to sit beside him.
To Tempt a Knight Page 8
