"Trust in me, Brianna."
She glanced back at him. She could almost believe him. Sweet heavens, she needed someone with whom she could talk who understood her need to pick up a sword. She was so alone.
Brianna shook herself. What was she thinking? After the turmoil she'd been through, had she learned nothing? She could trust no one. She smiled with an effort. "I need nothing from you, Simon."
A flicker of disappointment crossed his face. "Then if we have nothing to discuss, let us proceed."
Brianna shook her head. "You and Kaden will go alone. Abigail and I shall remain here and set up camp for the night. By the time you get back, darkness will be upon us."
Anger darkened Simon's features. "Have it your way then. Set up camp and, by the heavens, you had better prepare our evening meal before we return."
She looked directly into his eyes. "Good fortune with my father; and by the way, beware the dead wolfhound that haunts these grounds. Mauthe Doog has terrified many a man away from Rosslyn Castle with his eerie baying and sudden ghostly appearances."
His gaze narrowed. "I am not scared of ghosts, your father, or you, Brianna. Be forewarned yourself."
Brianna felt a gust of cold wind as he and Kaden sent their horses cantering over the bridge toward her one-time home. Her gaze followed Simon's broad, mailed back. Trust him? The last time she had trusted him, he had exposed her secret identity to the Templars, and broken her heart. She closed her eyes, blocking out the sight of the man's strength and power. A part of her realized he'd had no choice but to betray her. That perhaps things might be different between them now. What would it feel like to have an ally? She was terribly weary of battling her dreams and desires alone…
"He would be kinder to you than your father."
Brianna opened her eyes and glanced at Abigail. "Or he will tear me apart." She shook her head. "I don't want to think about my father or anything else right now except making camp." Brianna dismounted and drew her horse to a thicket of grass. She tied the reins loosely to a nearby branch so the animal could feed. "I will see to the shelter if you prepare a meal."
Abigail slid from her horse. "Or, you could allow me to teach you how to cook over a fire. There will be a day that you might need to know how to cook, Brianna."
She ignored, once again, Abigail's attempt to domesticate her. "I'll go find us a hare."
Abigail sighed, and handed Brianna her horse's reins. "All right, child. But someday…"
Brianna felt her lips pull up in a smile. Not if she could help it.
The sound of baying filled the night air.
Brianna stared up at the twisting shadows cast by the moonlight through the woven ferns and sticks overhead. The shelter she had built for herself and Abigail, and another further away for Simon and Kaden, protected them from the rain and mist, but not from the sounds of the night keeping her awake.
She wasn't scared of Mauthe Doog. She'd seen his apparition twice before in her life: Both times had been on nights before her father had sent her away, first to the abbey, then to the woods.
Darkness closed in on Brianna, wrapping around her like a shroud of black cloth. Thick, lifeless, and deceptively soft, it covered her nose and mouth, pressed against her lungs, suffocating her with memory. She drew a gasping breath and glanced around wildly, trying to see something, anything that would not feed her fear of being sent away again.
Her heart thudded in her chest, pounded against her rib cage as she lay against the ferns. She could only be hurt by rejection if she allowed herself to care. The problem was that she did care about Simon and about helping the Templars rid themselves of their enemy. Would he make her a knight as he'd promised? Or would he reject her in the end as her father always had?
Her mind raced with unanswered questions. Silently, she slipped out of the shelter. She grasped her sword, and securing it about her waist, made her way to the grassy field a hundred paces to the left. She needed to do something to clear her mind and bring the exhaustion her body needed if she were to dream as Simon had asked.
If only she could find sleep.
She drew her sword from her scabbard and balanced it in her hand. She gripped the hilt, feeling the grooves of the metal beneath her palm. It felt right having a sword in her hand. Natural.
Despite the darkness, her gaze drifted to where she knew Rosslyn Castle sat. She was a woman warrior. Why could her father not accept that? Simon had accepted her … eventually. He had accepted her quite readily when he'd thought she was a boy. He'd sparred with her and taught her many things. Until he'd discovered her secret.
That's when everything had changed between them.
Brianna concentrated on the blade in her hand. She drew a deep breath and felt the sword as though it were an extension of her arm. She brought the blade up in a slow, controlled movement, then down, releasing her breath as she did.
Breathing helped to center her as her blade came up, then down, over and over again in a punishing routine she'd developed for herself. She had to keep herself strong and keep her skills sharp, even if she hadn't had any use for them since her return from Teba.
From the shadows at the edge of the field, Simon watched the woman before him as she put her lean muscular body through the primal steps of a dance. Her battle dance. Despite the fact she wore heavy skirts now instead of breeches, he'd seen such movements before. Her lithe movements had captivated him as much then as they did now. Brianna, the woman, the warrior, and if he were honest with himself, his equal on the battlefield.
Simon narrowed his gaze upon her as she danced in and out of the moonlight, bringing her blade up with a swift, sure stroke, then down with the same proficiency. The simple cut of her dress did nothing to hide the curves hidden beneath. The fabric fluttered with each step, only to hug her body with each turn. He stared at her, transfixed. How could he have ever thought she was a boy?
Simon closed his eyes, bracing against the onslaught of emotion flooding him. Deep within himself he must have known the he was a she, for he had been attracted to her from the beginning. And yet he had not realized her deception on some level as well. The first time he'd touched her and a strange spark had passed between them, he'd thought he was going mad. Perhaps he'd taken too many blows to the head.
He had tried explaining his need to be near the new knight "Brendan" as his own desire to train the lad in the ways of the Templars. And when he'd discovered her deception, he had to admit his first thought had been that of gratitude a moment before the rage set in.
He'd been as angry at her as many of the other knights had been. They had wanted to abandon her in Spain, but he couldn't do that. He'd seen a raw vulnerability in her eyes that he'd connected with even then.
That vulnerability was back in her eyes now. Her concentration focused on her movements and on her technique. With all her efforts elsewhere, her guard had dropped, leaving her exposed. And along with the vulnerability he also saw hurt and betrayal. By her father?
"Simon?"
The sound of her voice brought him out of his reverie. "I did not mean to disturb you. I saw you slip from the camp and wanted to make certain you were well." What was it about her father that disturbed her so?
She lowered her sword and he could see her chest rise and fall from the effort of her movements. She batted at the sides of her face with the back of her hand. "I am done here." She stiffened and turned away, as though afraid to look at him.
Simon studied her downcast face. She was hanging on to her self-control by a thread, trying so hard to be invincible. But he could see past her facade. And the scared, lonely woman standing before him tore at his heart. He recalled his own moments of doubt as a young man who'd been sent away from home to learn how to become a warrior. He remembered the cold, lonely nights in the monastery, staring into the darkness, praying for something more.
The fear and painful loneliness was something he understood. An almost aching tenderness unfolded within him. He needed to reach out to her, to w
eave his fingers around hers. He wanted to take her into his arms and, without words, let her know she wasn't as alone as she thought.
"Brianna?" Her name, spoken so gently, hung between them.
Slowly, she lifted her gaze to his. In her eyes he saw a faint, hesitant stirring of hope. "Couldn't sleep?"
She shook her head as she sheathed her weapon. "I thought exhaustion might help."
He curled his fingers at his side, fighting the urge to draw her near. "Did it?"
She released a tired sigh and leaned back against a human-sized boulder at the edge of the field. "Not in the way I needed."
He strode toward her and positioned himself next to her with his back against the rock. Her nearness sent a jolt of warmth down his spine. He looked up at the night sky, seeking a distraction. Above him stretched an inky cloak speckled with thousands upon thousands of stars. "It seems we both failed to attain our goals this eve." He brought his gaze back to her.
She turned her face to him. Even in the meager moonlight he could see the paleness of her skin, the slight lines of worry that bracketed her mouth. "I am sorry my father refused to see you. What did you come to ask him?"
"Are there truly catacombs beneath Rosslyn Chapel?"
She nodded and her lips lifted in a partial smile. "They are deep and many. It's where I used to practice with my old iron sword as a young lady when my father and brothers stopped allowing me to train with them." Her smile faded. "That was until my father caught me and sent me away."
It was his turn to frown. "He sent you away?"
She nodded. "To a convent. He was determined to make me a lady, one way or another. When Abigail's teachings failed, he thought the sisters might have better luck." A lost, almost tortured expression passed through her eyes.
"I didn't know."
She shrugged and pushed away from the rock. "There are many things you don't know about me."
He stared into her huge, pain-darkened eyes and felt as if he were drowning in the need to hold her. She stood right beside him, so close and yet distinctly separate, alone as always, untouchable. And now he understood the pain that was ever-present in her eyes. She waited for the world to attack her, to blindside her, to betray her yet again.
He moved awkwardly toward her as pain snagged his heart. She expected him to betray her as well. "I didn't understand before, but I do now."
Even in the darkness he could see the shimmer of tears in her eyes. "I don't want to talk about this anymore."
Neither did he. He needed distance if he were to keep his thoughts focused on their mission. Simon drew a sharp breath of the cool night air into his lungs, the coolness reminding him with crystal clarity what his true purpose was: to locate de la Roche and stop him from harming anyone else. Both he and Brianna had a task to do. That duty allowed for no interference from their past. He straightened and pushed away from the rock. "Do you think you are tired enough to dream now?"
She turned away. "The only way to find out is to try to sleep."
"Then let's return to camp," he said, his words sharper than he'd meant them to be. Her dreams were the key to their success.
And nothing else besides finding de la Roche mattered. Nothing at all.
By dawn, Brianna had yet to fall asleep, let alone to dream. Simon forced back his disappointment as he, Brianna, Kaden, and Abigail prepared to ride out. They had only just mounted their horses when Simon noticed a haze of coiling gray smoke in the east that rose against the pink hues of dawn.
"What is that?" Kaden asked beside him.
Simon could only stare into the distance as he felt the color drain from his face. A knot of fear tightened his stomach. It couldn't be…
Brianna brought her horse alongside his, gazing at the black smoke rising in the distance. "The morning air carries the scent of—"
"Death," he filled in, as pain engulfed him. He knew what that smoke meant. He knew who was responsible. "We must hurry." He kicked his horse into a gallop.
Brianna kept pace beside him. Kaden and Abigail followed.
"What is it?" Brianna asked.
"De la Roche." Pain throbbed at the base of Simon's neck.
"How can you know that from the sight of smoke?"
His fingers tightened around the reins in his hand until his knuckles turned white from the force. "It's the scent of burning flesh that tells me it's him."
Her eyes went wide. "He's burning the countryside?"
"Nay, Templars."
Brianna fell silent as their four horses flew over the open terrain. Desperation constricted Simon's chest, yet he couldn't help but glance at the woman beside him. She rode with remarkable skill. And despite the horror he knew his words must have evoked in her mind, a look of determination settled across her delicate features.
They had reached the crest of a hill when the punishing flames came into sight against the backdrop of the small village of Roslin at the bottom of the hill. One figure stood erect, tied to a stake. Flames lapped cruelly at the human form engulfed within.
"Abigail and Brianna, stay back. Kaden and I shall—"
A cry of distress sounded beside him. Brianna bolted forward.
"Brianna, nay!" Simon's heart pounded wildly as he saw Brianna's slim form outlined against the red-orange flames. At her approach, seven men leapt from the bushes.
An ambush.
Simon spurred his horse toward those who would kill them.
Brianna must have sensed the danger. She drew her sword and expertly dispatched two men before they realized she'd drawn her weapon.
Simon joined the battle, his heart hammering as he watched Brianna engage the men with skill that was deadly and precise. He fought one attacker after another, yet despite the danger, his focus remained on her, on the way she and her horse moved as one, as though in the steps of a macabre dance. Five new opponents rushed forward on foot. Simon watched her back between a trio of trees. She'd cornered herself. His heart sank — until it buoyed again when he saw she'd made it impossible for more than two men to come at her at once. She deflected their blows with grace and ease. He'd never seen anything like it, like her, wild red hair catching the wind, the silver streak of her weapon as it slashed through the empty space to catch their foes. One by one the men fell. The echo of steel died away until the only sound remaining was their own harsh breathing as it mixed with that of the horses.
A heartbeat later, Brianna slid from her horse. She sheathed her weapon as she ran toward the flaming timbers.
"Where are you going?" Simon slid from his horse and in two steps he gained on her. He gripped her arm and pulled her back against his chest.
"We must help that poor man."
"Brianna," Simon whispered against her ear, holding her close. His gaze strayed to the blackened figure bound to the stake. His throat tightened and he couldn't swallow. "We are too late." Smoke stung his eyes, seared his lungs.
She stopped fighting as his words sank home. "De la Roche?" she asked, her voice raw with emotion.
"Aye. He tortures then burns the Templars he captures," Simon said as he studied the woman beside him. Her eyes glittered brightly in the glare of the fire.
Behind them, hoofbeats sounded. Simon's hand tightened on his weapon only to relax once again as he saw it was Kaden and Abigail who approached. "I'll retrieve the body," Kaden said.
"Do you have any idea who this poor man was?" Brianna asked over the pop and hiss of the flames.
Simon prepared to answer that he did not know when his gaze caught on the ground near the burning stake. Scratched into the earth were four words: You are next, Lockhart.
Chapter Seven
Brianna stared at the ground and the words etched there. "Simon?" The word was barely a whisper. "He is after you?"
"Aye. He's been after me and all the Templars for some time now. And he has two holy relics that may help him accomplish that task. He'll continue until he gets what he wants. That's why I need your help so desperately. Your visions are the only adva
ntage we have."
"I want to help." Simon studied her with a gentleness that brought a catch to her breath. She pushed out of his arms. She stepped away as guilt and anger consumed her over the senselessness of the deaths of all the men this day.
The pain of loss was nothing new to either one of them. They'd lost many warriors in the days they'd fought together. They would lose many more before this was over, if the ambush today were any indication. Her gaze swept the ground and the eleven men who lay dead. "De la Roche's men?"
Simon came to stand behind her. She could feel him, sense him standing there. As always, he was close enough to lend her comfort, yet kept a distance between them as well. "We must leave here, Brianna. Until we have reinforcements and know more about de la Roche's identity, we cannot risk anything happening to you."
"To me?"
He nodded. "You are everything. The edge we need to destroy de la Roche for good."
Before she could reply, Simon gripped her waist, then lifted her up onto the back of her horse. "This is no time for us to delay. De la Roche could be anywhere."
Simon assisted Abigail onto her horse before he mounted his own. Kaden bundled the charred remains of the Templar into his cloak then lashed the body to the back of his horse before mounting. "We must ride as far as we can this day. Only once we reach the priory and the other Templars there will we be safe." Simon turned his horse to the southeast. They all fell silent as they picked their way through the dense forest.
"How could de la Roche know you were on your way to find me, or that you'd head to Rosslyn Castle?"
Simon frowned. "I don't know, but from this moment forward we must proceed with absolute caution. It was probably best that Abigail came with us. I'd hate to have left her for de la Roche to use as bait to get to you."
Brianna twisted back toward Abigail. She was too far back to hear their conversation. Pain squeezed Brianna's chest. She loved Abigail and had never intended to put her in harm's way because of her own choices. "Will Abigail be safe at the priory?"
"As safe as any of us."
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