“Were there any stories about a hidden, er, artifact? Something from the Holy Land?”
“You mean from the Crusades?”
“Exactly,” Jack said. Dorothea thought he sounded awfully self-satisfied.
“Well, there’s a tale of a lay brother who passed through,” Alice said.
“Go on,” Jack urged.
“They say he came to York from Jerusalem,” Alice said. “Stayed a fortnight at the abbey and went on to claim his rightful estate somewhere in Yorkshire.”
“Who was he?”
“Awk, it’s probably not true, but just a children’s tale,” she said with a shrug, “told on cold nights to amuse and pass the time.”
“But that’s all there is to it?”
“Dull, don’t you agree?” Alice asked. “Nothing as bold and daring as you dashing gunslingers from the West.” She lowered her voice and batted her lashes—for the last time, Dorothea decided.
Just as Alice laid her hand on Jack’s chest, Dorothea stood up. “The rain seems to have stopped,” she blurted. She slipped her arm through the crook of Jack’s elbow and pulled him away. “Shouldn’t we be on our way, darling?”
He was so startled, Dorothea almost laughed. Instead, she pressed her body against Jack’s in a gesture of pure female possession. “Thank you so much for tea, Miss Trevain,” she said, making her voice sickeningly sweet. “And for giving us such a warm and hospitable shelter from the storm.”
She continued to lead Jack to the door, actually pulling him through it once it was open. There were deep, muddy puddles everywhere, but Dorothea managed to step around them as she headed toward the barn.
“There was no need to rush, Dorrie,” he said. “I was just finding out—”
“There was nothing more to learn from Miss Trevain,” Dorothea said, and then muttered, “except how she tastes.”
Luckily, Jack did not hear her last words. They got into the carriage and drove toward the front of the house, where Miss Trevain waited. Her hungry eyes practically devoured Jack as they approached, and Dorothea reacted without thinking. She took Jack’s face in her hands. Meeting his startled gaze, she kissed him.
She had meant to give him a quick peck that would demonstrate to Alice Trevain that Jack was not available, in case she had any ideas about following them to Saint John’s Church. But the heat of his mouth seduced her. The carriage came to a halt and Jack slipped a hand around her waist, never breaking contact with her mouth. He took control of the kiss and Dorothea’s eyes drifted closed, while her bones melted.
He released her suddenly and flicked the reins, starting the carriage once again.
“You have quite an aptitude for theatrics,” he said once they were back in the lane. It was slow going now that there were muddy ruts to avoid.
“Don’t I?” she said, unwilling to admit just how seriously she’d been affected by that kiss.
Jack gave all his attention to steering around the pitfalls in the lane. He did not know what to think of that kiss, and it was best that he forget it for the time being. Otherwise, he might be compelled to drive the carriage into an isolated field and do what he’d been wanting to do from the moment he’d met her.
He had to get some breathing space.
Besides, there was a new location to consider. He’d thought the cross on the map was indicative of the church—Saint John the Baptist—but now he wasn’t so sure. The cross north of York indicated Rievaulx. The one to the south probably meant the abbey.
Holywake.
It must have been an insignificant little place in the twelfth or thirteenth century. Probably made of a combination of stone and timber, which is why fire had destroyed all but the foundation.
The story of the lay monk was interesting, too. Jack knew that many of the monasteries hosted lay brothers—men who had not taken the sacred vows of the brotherhood. If one of these men had actually arrived from Jerusalem, he might have carried the Mandylion with him. He may have had Templar connections in the Holy Land and could have brought the cloth to England for safekeeping.
Jack would bet it was hidden on the Holywake grounds.
He grinned and turned to look at Dorrie.
“What’s wrong?”
“Have you ever been to the American desert?” she asked.
He nodded. “I’ve been a lot of places. Why?”
“It just occurs to me that I don’t know much about you, Jack,” she said. “I know you have two sisters—”
“And three brothers,” he said.
She nodded. “And you travel.”
“All over,” he agreed. “Wherever there’s something of interest to see.”
He didn’t know what she was getting at. But if he knew Dorrie at all, he knew he’d never be able to predict her thoughts or actions.
He grinned. It sure made things interesting.
Chapter Fourteen
There was nothing at the Holywake site. Nothing but a few signs of a stone foundation, mostly overgrown by grass and weeds. Jack was disappointed, to say the least. Disgusted that he’d wasted his time.
“It’s, well, it’s old,” Dorrie said.
“There’s nothing here,” Jack remarked. “Not one single place to start looking.”
Dorrie walked quietly alongside him without offering empty sympathy or any other comfort. He appreciated that more than she could know.
“Look,” she said, pointing into the distance. A man was walking away from the hedgerow, carrying a walking stick. Jack glanced up, then returned his attention to the site.
They meandered all around, looking for something, although Jack knew it was useless. He would need a large team of men and plenty of equipment to excavate this kind of site. The same was true of Rievaulx.
He kicked a rock in the path. This search for the Mandylion was proving to be anything but simple.
“Maybe the cross on the map does mean the church, as you first thought, Jack,” Dorrie said.
“I suppose it’s possible,” he replied. “We can go tomorrow. When there’s good light. It’s getting late now.”
“Hullo,” the man with the walking stick said as he approached. His hair seemed nicely trimmed under his cap, and he wore his gray beard closely cropped.
Jack put out his hand and the other man took it.
“Interesting place here,” he said to Jack.
“Are you familiar with it?” Jack asked. “Know anything about it?”
“Well, it’s what’s left of Holywake Abbey,” the man replied. “Built in the year 1232 and burned to the ground in 1493.”
“Do you know if any records were kept?”
“Not a one,” he said. “They rotted and were discarded years ago. You’re American, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” Jack said, frustrated.
“I wouldn’t mind a ride back to the village,” the fellow said. “Tell you what I know about the old abbey and where to find more. You planning to stay the night?”
“Yes.”
“Elmswood Arms,” he said, climbing into the back of the carriage. “I’ll show you.”
The room was shabby. And Dorothea was going to have it all to herself.
For some reason, that thought wasn’t particularly comforting, even though she’d fussed every time Jack had insisted they share. She had gotten accustomed to having him near, even last night, when he’d been dead to the world and had not stirred in the least when she’d come to his bed.
Dorothea did not know what was wrong with her today. Early in the morning, she’d had ample opportunity to take the Mandylion map and the key and leave Jack. Instead, she’d left the documents where she found them and gone to the dining room to await Jack.
He’d been as unpleasant as a man could be, but she had ridden beside him, enjoying the day until they’d reached the Trevain farm. Dorothea did not know what had come over her then. Alice Trevain’s overt flirtation had embarrassed her. And the way Jack had played into the woman’s hands had annoyed her.
&
nbsp; Dorothea had to amend that. It did more than annoy her. It brought out feelings that were entirely unfamiliar to her. She had been angry and hurt all at once. She had felt belittled.
She guessed that was why she’d kissed Jack. The gesture had not been born of affection or lust. She’d wanted both of them to know that she was not a timid mouse who could be ignored.
She presumed Jack understood that now.
His disappointment in the Holywake site had been palpable, and Dorothea found herself sympathizing with him, even though they were rivals in the search.
Dorothea opened her bag and took out the items she would need for the night. Then she hung up the clothes she intended to wear in the morning, while she waited for Jack to collect her for supper. It would be difficult to face him now, after his disappointment, knowing that she had the clue to the Mandylion and would soon claim it for her father.
It only remained to be seen exactly how she was going to do it.
Should she leave him and strike out on her own toward the castle indicated on the map? Or remain with him and go through the motions of exploring Saint John the Baptist Church and the records of Holywake.
Dorothea felt very torn. Guilt was not something with which she felt very comfortable. In fact, she could not remember another time in her life when she’d felt so culpable. She had always been an obedient daughter and an honest scholar. Yet here she was, playing along with Jack Temple—actually helping him—as if she would meekly allow him to discover the location of the Mandylion and take it from her father.
Even though she was ashamed of herself, Dorothea knew there was no other way. She could not let Jack win. And, beyond that, she had to prove to him that her father was not the charlatan he believed. Alastair Bright might have been an unsuitable husband, but Dorothea’s mother always assured her that he was a reputable antiquarian. He had academic connections all over the world, Honoria had said many a time, and the respect of scholars on every continent.
Dorothea wondered if Jack Temple could say the same.
She answered a light tap at her door. “Ready?” Jack asked when she opened it.
Dorothea’s heart thudded in her throat. He had washed his face and combed his hair and, though she knew it was ridiculous, he seemed more devastatingly handsome than he’d ever been. She swallowed.
“Your room’s not too bad,” Jack said, glancing in behind her. “I think they gave me a closet, though.”
Dorothea did not want to discuss their rooming arrangements, or she might be tempted to offer to share. And that was out of the question.
“I’m famished,” she said. “Shall we go?”
She scooted around him and went to the stairs, leaving him to close the door. The less she talked to him, looked at him, the better it would be. She might be able to live with her guilt that way.
Jack took Dorrie’s elbow and wondered what had come over her. He couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was, but something was different.
They went down to the main room which was no more than a smoke-filled tavern. It was no place for a lady, but Jack didn’t see any alternative. The village was small and this seemed to be the only place a man could get a pint and a meal if he chose.
“Stay close,” Jack said, tucking Dorrie’s arm into the crook of his own.
Every man in the tavern turned and looked at them, eyeing them suspiciously. Jack had not expected anything less, but he knew it would make Dorrie uneasy. The smoke, the smells, the rough clothes—all were foreign to Dorrie Bright, in spite of the fact that she was Alastair’s daughter.
They found an empty table in a back corner and sat.
“Jack, can’t we have some food brought upstairs?”
“Not in a place like this,” he replied. “In fact, we’ll be lucky if anyone comes to the table for our order.”
Jack didn’t wait for the barkeep, but left Dorrie long enough to put in a request for food and get a pint for himself. The man behind the bar reluctantly agreed to brew some tea for Dorrie.
A few minutes later, a boy came with their food and a pot of tea. The mutton stew was nothing like the tasty meal they’d had at the Boar’s Head Inn near Rievaulx, but it was filling enough, taken with the coarse bread that was served.
“Hear you been looking at the old abbey,” one of the men said to Jack. He pulled up a chair and straddled it while he sipped his beer.
He did not appear threatening, but Jack knew better than to relax. He’d been caught off guard the day before when the three men had sneaked up on them, and he didn’t intend for anything like that to happen again.
“Interesting old place,” Jack remarked noncommittally.
“Been there for centuries,” the man said. “Burned down years ago.”
“Yes, that’s what we were told,” Jack said. “I also heard some story about a monk sniffing around the nunnery centuries ago…”
“American, aren’t you?”
Jack didn’t understand why it was necessary for everyone to state the obvious when they met him, but he gave a nod. “From New York. Just doing a little sight-seeing.”
“In our backward little part of the country?” the man asked sarcastically. “There’s better abbeys. You ought to go on up to Rievaulx or over to Fountains.”
“Thanks for the tip,” Jack said, grateful that Dorrie had decided to keep quiet. “We’ll do that.”
“Now, our abbey,” the man said, “Holywake, was a small place on the scale of things. Only housed about fifty nuns at most, late in the thirteenth century.”
“Any truth to the story of the monk?”
“Well, now,” the fellow said, “there may be. Nobody’s ever proved nothing, but the stories have gone round the district for many a year.”
Jack felt Dorrie take a breath, and he knew she planned to speak. He found her hand under the table and squeezed it to get her attention. He did not want anyone to take more notice of her than was absolutely necessary.
“They say he seduced one of the nuns,” Jack said, deliberately altering the story.
The man laughed. “Yeah, that’s one of the versions.”
“What’s the version you believe?” Jack asked.
“I think the simplest one is the true story,” he said. “That the monk was only passing through on his way home from the Holy Land. That he sought shelter from the weather and stayed a few days, then went on to his home.”
“Which was where? Rievaulx?”
“No, as the story goes, he was a lay brother,” the villager said, “and a fierce fighter.”
“In Jerusalem?”
“Most likely. He may have had something to do with the Knights of the Temple—no one knows.”
Dorrie grabbed Jack’s thigh. If his breath caught, it was because of the reference to the Templar Knights and not from the heat of her hand.
“But he only stayed at Holywake until he could travel to his home?”
The man nodded, but added nothing more. Jack wanted to know where this monk’s home was. That was the most important part of the story. If he’d had some connection with the Templars, then it was entirely possible he’d been given the cloth to carry safely to England. Once he returned to his home, he’d have found a secure place to hide it.
“Somewhere east of here,” the man said. “Nobody in these parts knows where.”
Jack took a drink of his beer. He did not want to appear too interested or ask pointed questions that would arouse the other man’s curiosity.
“What about the connection with Saint John’s Church?” he asked.
“Father Robson and the abbess?”
“You know his name, then?”
“We know plenty,” he replied. “A scandal it was…once the lovers were discovered.”
“What happened to them?”
The man tipped his mug and finished his drink, then stood. “Not fit for a lady’s ears, if you take my meaning,” he said. He turned and walked away.
Jack gave a knowing nod and tried to ignore the
way Dorrie’s hand had clamped around his thigh. He would be able to get a lot more information later, when she wasn’t with him. He would deposit her in her room, then come back to the tavern and drink with the locals and find out everything he could. It wouldn’t be difficult.
Getting Dorrie to cooperate with the plan would be the tough part.
“Go after him, Jack!” she said in an urgent whisper.
“Hush,” he replied, spooning another bite of stew into his mouth. “Finish eating.”
“I cannot believe you’re just going to sit here and—”
“Dorrie, the man doesn’t want to talk around you.”
“But—”
“Look at this place,” he said. “Do you see another woman in it?”
“Well, no,” she answered.
He put his spoon down. If she’d done any traveling with her father, as Jack suspected, she would be familiar with the concept of men wanting to socialize without women present. That’s why there were pubs and taverns.
“I’ll come back later and see what I can find out.”
“Jack—”
“You’re going to have to trust me on this one, Miss Bright,” he said.
They finished their meal, and Jack escorted Dorrie to her room. He followed her inside and lit the oil lamp that sat on the table next to the bed.
“Ugh. My clothes smell like smoke,” she said.
“Comes with the territory,” Jack remarked offhandedly. “Listen. I want you to keep your door bolted, and don’t let anyone in. My room is right next door, but I won’t be back for a while. Still, you’ll be safe enough here.”
But leaving her made him uneasy. They hadn’t been separated in days, and this little inn was far from ideal. She looked slightly forlorn.
“Will you knock on my door when you get back?”
“Sure,” he said. He would do anything to make her stop looking so worried. Gently, he cupped her cheek in his hand. “You’ll be all right.”
She’d thought he was going to kiss her before leaving, and Dorothea was surprised by how much she’d wanted it. Their kiss at the Trevain farm had only fueled her need for more, even though she had no business wanting any more intimacies with Jack. Within a day or two she would leave him and go on her own search for the Mandylion.
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