A Knight to Desire

by Gerri Russell

  "Not this time." Her heart skipped a beat and her muscles tensed as anger swept through her. She scooted off the bed. "I'm not going anywhere, Simon Lockhart. You swear by all that's holy that you will uphold your end of our bargain."

  Simon came off the bed and took an impulsive step toward her. "Brianna—"

  "Nay." She took a hasty step back. "I want no other words from you but your promise never to send me away again."

  "There is nothing I can do or say to change your mind?"

  "Nothing."

  His lips set in a grim line. "Then you have my oath that we battle together until the very end."

  "I feel my place is here, with Bella. Can you forgive me for that?" Abigail asked as she clasped Brianna's hand. In the courtyard around them, the men readied the horses for their departure from Lee Castle.

  "There is no need to apologize. You are doing the right thing. Bella needs you."

  "Then why do I feel so guilty about abandoning you?" Abigail said haltingly, her gaze on Briana's face.

  Brianna squeezed Abigail's hand and released it. "With her mother gone, you are all she has."

  "But our adventure?" Abigail's gaze wandered to the horses.

  In all the years she'd known Abigail, first as her nurse, then as her friend, she never would have guessed that the woman yearned anything other than the lot this life had given her. Brianna smiled. "This is just one of many that lay ahead for us all. There will be many others."

  A faint smile touched Abigail's lips. "You promise?"

  "I promise. When this adventure is through, Simon and I will take you anywhere you wish."

  Abigail's eyes misted and a single tear ran down her cheek. "I will hold you to that promise, and now I demand something of you."

  "Anything."

  "Do not fall beneath that evil man's sword."

  "Not if I can help it."

  A second tear joined the first on Abigail's cheek. "Promise me."

  Brianna knew she could not guarantee her return. She'd seen too many battles, watched too many men fall to make that hollow promise. But she knew what Abigail needed to hear. "I promise to do everything in my power to return here and to spend the rest of our days living out one adventure after another."

  Abigail drew Brianna into a quick embrace before stepping away. When she pulled back, her eyes were filled with both sadness and hope. "Then I await your return."

  Chapter Thirteen

  The warrior woman would have to die.

  Pierre de la Roche set down the tin cup that was the Grail on the table before him. With his hands free, he lifted from beneath his brown monk's robe the small pouch he wore extended from a long length of string about his neck. He opened the silken pouch and withdrew the thick lock of fiery red hair he kept there.

  He smoothed the strands of hair through his fingers. A smug sense of satisfaction rode through him. Lockhart would howl with pain at the sight of her dismembered body. Hearing that sound alone would be worth the extra time it would take to find the girl and abduct her. If he could snatch her right out from under Lockhart's nose, all the better it would be. The man's sense of duty and protection would be his ultimate downfall.

  De la Roche smiled at the thought of how frantic Lockhart would be when he couldn't find the girl. He would search the countryside, taking him away from his true purpose of finding him and protecting what was left of the Brotherhood of the Scottish Templars.

  "Monsieur, we must leave now. One of my scouts has sighted the Templar and his men crossing the Firth of Lorne. They will be here before nightfall," Philippe Batar said as he seated himself at the small wooden table in the corner of the Saracen Head Inn's common room.

  "Do not call me monsieur. I shall be known as Excellency." De la Roche glanced coldly at his captain.

  "As you wish, Excellency." The man swallowed roughly. "I must still advise you to leave here as quickly as possible."

  "How can I leave when I am the trap?"

  Philippe frowned. "I do not understand. You've been avoiding the Templars for weeks while you healed. Does this mean you are better now?"

  "I am healed." And he was, thanks to the Grail. His leg was still not straight and he walked with a definite limp, but his muscles were stronger than they'd ever been. He was ready to take on Lockhart and to exact his revenge upon the man through the girl's youthful flesh.

  Simon and Brianna and the men they'd gathered on their journey here would come to him like sheep to the slaughter. And this time, he'd be ready and waiting.

  Philippe's brow knitted with doubt. "You still seem weak at times, Excellency."

  The doubt in his captain's face suddenly filled de la Roche with fury. "I am not weak!" Did the man think he wanted to lie there helpless in this hell-hole of an inn for days on end? He muttered an obscenity and saw terror replace the doubt in the captain's eyes. De la Roche smiled. That was better. Philippe had to realize who was in control here.

  If de la Roche had learned anything over the past few weeks, it was the intoxicating feeling of being in control of another human being. He took great pleasure in subjugating Philippe and all the members of his army. That was why they remained loyal to him. They feared what would happen if they were not.

  That fear would see him triumph over these Scotsmen once and for all. He'd have everything he ever desired: he'd rid the earth of the vileness that was the Scottish Templars, and he'd have their Templar treasure to fund a new life and a new empire for himself — Scotland, England, then France. It was only the beginning of what was to be.

  De la Roche tucked the lock of hair back into his pouch and slipped it inside his robe once more. "Bring me my sword."

  Philippe's eyes widened nervously. "Your sword?"

  "Joyeuse. Hurry!"

  He moved quickly across the chamber, grabbed the sword that lay with the rest of their gear, and brought it to de la Roche. "What do you intend to do?"

  He gripped the hilt of the sword in his hands and felt the power of the ages rush through him. The Grail had healed him. Her hair had given him some sort of strange connection to the Sinclair woman. The sword, Joyeuse, would see that the coming battle turned his way. How could he fail with all those things in his favor?

  After two long days of travel, Simon, Brianna, Kaden, and the other warriors reached the eastern shores of the Isle of Mull. The hazy light of dusk settled over the land.

  "We ride for that hill." Simon motioned off into the distance as he led Brianna's horse to her. "We'll set up camp there for the night." Simon handed her the reins of her horse, but he did not move on to help as the others pulled their horses from the wooden barge that had ferried them across the Firth of Lorne.

  Instead, he leaned forward until his eyes were even with hers as though to kiss her. Would he kiss her here in front of the others? She tried to muster up a sense of indignation, but found she could not. All she could think about was being wrapped in his strong arms, and how his lips parted as he moved even closer. She cared only how his mouth would feel against her own. She held her breath and waited.

  She could feel his breath caress her cheek, could smell the soft scent of soap as it lured her into his sensual spell. "Thank you," he whispered.

  "Excuse me?" She went still. The sensuality of his tone and the proximity of his lips warred with his unexpected words.

  "Thank you for allowing Abigail to stay behind to nurse my sister." His eyes darkened.

  She clutched the leather reins in her hand, forcing herself to keep from reaching for him. If she shifted forward she would bring their lips into contact. "You're welcome." She must not touch him, or she'd be lost.

  Clearing her throat, she stepped back. "The others appear to be waiting for us."

  Disappointment flickered in his expression. "Then we should be on our way." His hands grasped her waist and he lifted her onto her horse, despite the fact he knew she could mount the beast on her own. He stood there, looking up at her. "Later, you will not escape so easily."

  Sh
e swallowed. She didn't want to escape him any longer. What had flared between them two nights ago was now a burning need. The muscles of her stomach knotted at the thought. How quickly could they ride to the hill and set up camp?

  A smile came to his lips as if had understood her thoughts. He mounted, and with a flick of his reins, set off toward the hill. Brianna followed, leaving the others to wonder what madness had possessed the two of them.

  A thrill of delight moved through Brianna as she and Simon disappeared over the hill away from the others. She followed Simon as he sped toward a small copse of trees. They entered the shadowed area below a large acacia tree. He dismounted and strode over to her.

  "Simon, I can…"

  "Allow me, please?"

  He reached up, his big hands encircling her waist, and lifted her off her horse.

  Her breath caught at the raw desire she read in his eyes. His expression held the same intense hunger she'd seen there when last they'd made love. The hands at her waist kneaded her flesh through the soft fabric of her gown. The heat of his body reached out to her, claiming her.

  "Simon." The word was a whisper and a promise as he backed her up against the giant tree.

  "I need you." His voice was hoarse as he smoothed her gown and her chemise from her shoulders to reveal her breasts. She gasped as his mouth enveloped her left nipple. He sucked avidly, possessively, while his hand cupped her other breast and began to squeeze rhythmically. The same liquid burning she'd experienced before tingled between her thighs.

  She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the tree. "I need you, too," she gasped, giving herself over to the urgency of the moment. It was so unexpected, and so delightfully decadent. "What about the others?"

  "We must be quick." His hand left her breast to release himself from his breeches. His arousal sprang free. His large hands slid down her thighs, and a raging fire neither she nor Simon were able to deny sparked until they both knew there was no going back.

  He lifted her skirts and chemise to her waist and set his hand to her firm flesh. She arched into him and sighed. So did he. For one long moment they savored the feel of each other's flesh — one against the other — until desire became a scorching heat that threatened to possess them both.

  "Follow my lead," he said, his voice raw.

  The sound of his need fueled her own. She arched back against the rough bark, releasing the pungent scent of earth and leaves. She drew in the heady scent, letting it wrap her in the primitive sensual plane they'd entered.

  Brianna released a soft cry as Simon's palms cupped her buttocks, raising her, adjusting her body against his manhood.

  "Put your legs around my waist."

  She obediently encircled him and released another cry as need flared deep inside. He entered her with one urgent stroke. Her head sank back against the rough bark of the tree as she felt every ridge, every inch of the length of him.

  He cried out and stopped, flexing inside her. His face held a pleasure and a relief that was nearly unbearable. "Brianna," he whispered, bringing his face to rest against her cheek. "I have never wanted anything more than I want you at this moment."

  She was trembling with her own unspent desire. "Then give us both what we want," she breathed into the graying light.

  The words were the catalyst he needed, or the permission he sought. A heartbeat later he was plunging, driving inside her with a force that rocked through her. Her shoulders were pushed back against the tree as she reveled in the sensation of him — so rigid and heavy, so incontestably male, moving within her. She met him and matched him, wound her legs more tightly around him, drawing him deeper still.

  She relinquished control of the battle between them and simply urged him on. She wanted only to touch the pinnacle they had reached before — that incredible, flaming peak they would soar over together, until finally they were one.

  Brianna cried out and arched up to him as wave after wave of pleasure radiated through her as his own release followed hers.

  She drew a shuddering breath and leaned back against the tree once more. She raised her hand to his hair and tenderly pushed a wayward lock behind one ear. A quiet tender moment passed between them as her heartrate slowed and his breathing eased.

  He stroked her back with one hand as he held her to him with the other, even now that their passion was spent, refusing to let her escape his possession. After another long moment, he slowly stepped back and lifted her off of him. "I did not mean to be so rough," he said haltingly.

  "You weren't." She smiled up at him. "I think we have unleashed a new sort of challenge between us. One that is infinitely more pleasurable than swordplay."

  "Agreed." His lips quirked a moment before he sobered. "I want you to know I have no desire to remain a monk any longer. It's not just because of you, or this," he said, stroking the exposed flesh of her shoulder and arm. "I miss the worldly ways of man, and I want so many more moments like this in your arms."

  "You like our new war games?" she asked with a smile.

  "'Tis a game you can win over me every time." He matched her grin. "I hate to bring this moment to an end, but we must get back to our true purpose for coming here." He adjusted his breeches before straightening her gown, setting them both back to rights.

  Heat filled her cheeks. She hoped when the others caught up to them they would assume it was merely the excitement of the moment that colored her features so. "To the horses, then?"

  "Aye. Let's go see what lies over that hill."

  At the top of the hill Simon brought his horse to a stop.

  Brianna skidded to a halt beside him. "What is it, Simon?" she asked, peering out at the darkening gloom.

  "Just below us." Simon couldn't say if he was pleased or disappointed at the sight of lamps hanging outside an inn that bordered the edge of a forest.

  "Do you think it is that inn? The Saracen Head from my vision?"

  "There is only one way to find out."

  They waited at the crest of the hill for the others to catch up before proceeding into the small town. The abbot had warned him about the thieves and outlaws that haunted the forested areas of Mull. The inn yard was bare of grass and the dirt was rutted and well-worn. Many travelers had been here before them, most likely because of the barge that shuttled travelers from the mainland to the isle.

  The ten of them and their horses filled the inn yard leading to the stone and thatched structure. Simon dismounted and stretched, then stepped up to the board that hung from iron hooks above the inn's door. The name of the inn was almost wiped away by years of wind and rain, but the image of a dark-skinned man with a white turban on his head left no doubt about where they were.

  "It is the Saracen Head," Brianna said from behind him, her voice taut with disbelief.

  He turned to see her staring at the sign, her eyes narrow with concern. "It appears so."

  She met his gaze. "That was too easy."

  "Perhaps someone is looking over us, and guiding our way."

  "Or perhaps it is a trap."

  He drew his sword. "Are you prepared?"

  The whisper of steel against leather was the only answer he needed.

  "Kaden." Simon motioned with his hand that the warrior take two men and go around the back while the others entered through the front.

  Kaden nodded and silently disappeared through the darkness around the side of the stone building.

  Someone was watching them. Simon's warrior instincts flared as he searched the thick underbrush at the edge of the inn yard. Nothing. No sign of anyone. Perhaps the abbot's words were playing tricks on his mind. Regardless, he tightened his grip on his sword.

  A soft rustle.

  God in heaven, it was not his imagination. Someone was there. "Brianna, whatever happens go into that inn and get the Grail."

  "And leave you?"

  "You must get the Grail. It must be here, just as your vision revealed."

  "Simon, I—"

  "Promise me, Brianna."


  He would have things no other way. "I promise." Brianna held her sword at the ready. She could be inside the inn and back out again in a heartbeat. Simon would not be alone for long.

  She turned to face the woods, Jacob, Alaric, Benton, Kendall, and Iain turned also, as they too sensed the presence of something in the woods.

  Shouts suddenly sounded all around them. A dozen men broke through the trees to surround them, their drawn swords glistened malevolently in the lamplight cast from the inn. A dark-haired man stepped forward and regarded them with a satisfied smile. "You were a fool to come here," the man said as he swaggered toward them. His words carried a heavily accented lilt. His tunic was stained with what might have been ale, as that scent wafted around him.

  "We are but travelers, searching for a place to rest," Simon said.

  The man's smile broadened as he leered at Brianna. "I know who you are, Brother Simon. My master de la Roche described you and the woman in perfect detail."

  A chill ran through Simon. "Is de la Roche here?"

  A bark of laughter filled the silence. "The man is everywhere. There is no stopping him. You are fortunate you deal with me and not him and his sword of death."

  Joyeuse.

  Both the Holy Grail and the sword of Charlemagne were here. They had to take advantage of the moment. Without the aid of the treasures, de la Roche would be easier to overcome. If they could only get the sword and the Grail away from him.

  "Brianna, Iain, stay together and make your way into the inn while the rest of us keep these men busy. We need those artifacts."

  Brianna and Iain nodded and positioned themselves at the back of the group of warriors, closest to the inn's doorway.

  The dark-haired man faced Simon, his features illuminated by the flickering light of the lanterns. Forcing his mind to clear, Simon held his sword at the ready and ducked into position. If it was a battle they wanted… Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the other men with their swords and targes, as every instinct, every muscle, waited for Simon to signal the strike.

  In the next instant, Simon's throat vibrated with the roar of a battle cry as savage and old as his Highland ancestry itself. The air echoed with the sound of the cath-ghairm as the warriors flung themselves into battle.