His ears rang. Pain streaked down his left cheekbone, but he shook his head to diminish the agony and punched Stephen back.
Over Stephen’s grunts and the smack of fists against flesh, Ryder heard Amelia running up the stairs. Thankfully, she was escaping…although he couldn’t be certain she’d be safe. Not if his men had been ambushed.
A blur of movement warned Ryder of another blow. He wrenched sideways, plowed his fist into Stephen’s jaw.
“You have bits of mortar on your garments,” Stephen leered. “Whatever you found will be ours.”
“Ours?” Ryder ducked as Stephen’s fist flew again. “You mean yours and Gladwin’s?”
With the rasp of steel against leather, Stephen drew his weapon.
Bloody hell. If Stephen had no qualms about spilling blood within sacred walls, his soul was not only corrupted, but lost.
***
Amelia raced toward the altar. She’d slip out the small vestry to the right, run down the alley, and get help.
Her throat was dry, and her legs were stiff, leaden, as she veered right. Through the vestry, she saw the closed door. Only a short distance to go.
How she hoped Ryder was all right. Surely Stephen wouldn’t harm a friend, although he’d seemed ready to use his sword.
The door was but a few paces ahead. She grabbed the handle, wrenched the door open, and dashed out into the afternoon sunlight.
A blond knight, who must have been expecting her to run out the rear door, grabbed her arm.
Gladwin.
Chapter Eleven
Exhaling on a pained grunt, Ryder slumped back against the church’s outside wall, a short distance from where Amelia stood. She was also a hostage, with Gladwin guarding her. Thankfully, she appeared unharmed. Gladwin and Stephen, the conniving bastards, wouldn’t be so lucky once Ryder was done with them.
Ryder fought the lulling urge to shut his eyes, his body’s response to his injuries. His head throbbed, his ribs hurt, and a cooling wetness on his left side—blood from where Stephen’s sword had slashed his ribcage—caused his shirt and tunic to cling to his skin. He’d seen and endured enough injuries in battle to know, though, that none of his wounds was life threatening: not right now, but the fight had yet to be won.
Tipping his head back against the rough stone, he glowered at Stephen, still wielding his sword, although the weapon wasn’t a direct threat for the moment. Ryder had surrendered in the crypt, deciding he wanted some answers before rallying for a final, deciding attack. Held at the point of Stephen’s sword, though, he’d had to watch as the younger brother searched the tomb and found the loose stone.
How Ryder regretted that Amelia hadn’t reached safety. He’d ensure—somehow—that she got a chance to do so.
“I ask you one last time, Amelia. Give me your lady’s dagger,” Gladwin said.
She glared.” Or what?”
“I will take it from you. I have no wish to fight you, but I will get that knife from between your breasts, however I must.”
Ryder fought not to curse. No chivalrous knight would lay hands upon the fairer sex; ’twas further proof of the extent of Gladwin and Stephen’s corruption.
“Very well,” Amelia said, “but I am not going to let you watch.” She turned her back and worked at her bodice before she faced Gladwin again and put the sheathed knife in his palm.
Ah, God, now she had no means to defend herself.
Gladwin tossed her knife aside; it landed near one of Ryder’s unconscious men. “Now, tell us what you discovered in the crypt.”
“We found naught.”
Ah, Amelia, you brave but foolish damsel.
“Not a single thing behind the stone you dug out?” Stephen demanded. “Not even a hiding place?”
“Leave her alone,” Ryder snarled, drawing the brothers’ gazes. “If you have questions, ask them of me.”
“Fine. We will.” Stephen shoved the tip of his sword against Ryder’s chest. Ignoring Amelia’s horrified cry, the brother asked, “Did you find a hiding place?”
“We did,” Ryder said, “but ’twas empty.”
Stephen frowned. “’Tis the truth?”
“Of course ’tis not the truth,” Gladwin muttered. “Amelia, tell us what you found. ’Tis all we want from you.”
“Is that so? Why do I not believe you?”
Ha. Just what I was thinking.
“I have always been honest with you and treated you with honor,” Gladwin said to her. “I wish to continue to do so.”
Amelia snorted in disgust and stared at the alley’s opposite wall. Admiration for her warmed Ryder’s gut as Gladwin’s expression hardened with disappointment.
Then Gladwin’s attention shifted to him. Resolve burned inside Ryder; he must get as much information as he could from the brothers, while he had the chance. “What were you expecting us to find in the crypt?” he asked.
“You know full well,” Stephen answered, “since you were involved in bringing it to England.”
“The Templar riches, then.”
The younger brother nodded. “We are entitled to those riches.”
God’s blood.
“We crossed oceans for King Richard. We gave up months of our lives to protect pilgrims and free Christendom and risked death in countless battles. What thanks did we get once we returned home?”
The responsibilities Stephen had mentioned were a Templar knight’s duty, to be fulfilled without expecting any gratitude or personal gain. “You and Gladwin were obligated to fight without receiving any rewards whatsoever. Even so, you received fortresses from the crown, ceded to you in honor of your valor on Crusade.”
The younger brother scowled. “We got run-down castles with inherited debts.”
“So did I, and so did other knights. As lords of estates, though, we have many privileges—”
“Not enough.” Stephen sneered. “I may never be able to pay off what is owed to the crown. Same with Gladwin.”
“That does not give you the right to rob the Order.”
Stephen scowled. “The Templars are more than wealthy enough; they will not miss a bit of treasure. With the money raised from selling the riches, we can eliminate our debts and live as we deserve.”
“Stephen—”
“We do not have to be enemies.” The younger brother adjusted his grip on his sword. “Agree to keep our secrets, to work with us, and you also can have a share of the coin.”
Ryder battled a flare of revulsion. Did Stephen not realize how immoral his words were, let alone flawed? “I will never be a part of such treachery,” Ryder said evenly. As the younger brother’s eyes flashed, Ryder added: “If your debt is as vast as you claim, selling a few pieces of treasure will never raise enough money to pay off what is owed.”
Stephen smirked. “We will have more than a few pieces.”
“Will you? How?” Did they know the list was in England? Did they know how many names and treasures were written on the parchment?
The two brothers exchanged another glance. Hellfire, if they hoped to end the discussion, Ryder wouldn’t let them off that easily.
“I see now why you conspired to steal the ring, and why Gladwin was eager that night weeks ago to keep our goblets full of wine.”
“Tilden took the ring,” Gladwin said, a little too quickly.
Amelia shook her head, as Ryder frowned. “How ungallant to blame a man who is dead.”
“You cannot prove either of us took it,” Stephen shot back.
“Not yet. You clearly worked hard, though, to convince me Tilden took the jewel,” Ryder said. “’Tis why you left the cord in the hidden passageway off the chamber he had slept in. I have ordered my steward to question the servants, and I expect we will find at least one who saw either of you enter or leave the secret passageways the morning after the ring was taken.”
Misgiving flickered in Gladwin’s eyes.
“As to what unfolded after the theft, I vow something like this happened: When Ti
lden learned that the ring had been stolen, he was determined to get it back, to ensure ’twould remain under Templar protection along with the other treasures. Meanwhile, I had told him I was leaving the Order. Thus, he could not share any Templar matters with me, not even the news that he had recovered the ring. Yet, he had also worked out that you two were responsible for the theft, so he took measures to keep you from getting hold of the ring, as well as the rest of the riches.”
“You always were too damned clever,” Stephen muttered. He tipped his head toward Amelia. As reluctance etched Gladwin’s features, a warning screamed in Ryder’s mind. They had better not harm her to try and coerce him into being part of their treachery.
“I will give you one last chance to tell us what you know,” Gladwin said to her.
“I thought you were my friend,” Amelia said, her voice catching. “Did you value our friendship, as I did, or were you just trying to glean information from me?”
Gladwin averted his gaze. “You were always—”
“—a means to get to the riches?”
A harsh sigh broke from Gladwin. “I did what I had to.”
“What does that mean?” Ryder demanded.
Gladwin hesitated, but then said: “Days before he died—between you telling us you were quitting the Order and the ring going missing—Tilden told us of a secret parchment he had recently received from London. He also revealed that months ago, he had secretly been assigned the task of securing a suitable spot to hide the Templar riches.”
“Is that why the four of us could not come to an agreement on the hiding spot?” If Ryder’s memory served him correctly, Tilden had been the one to find fault with every suggested location.
Nodding, Gladwin said: “Tilden admitted he had thwarted us reaching a decision, because he had already confirmed with London that he had found a place for the riches. He did not, however, tell us the location; ’twas also a secret. As fellow Templars, though, we would likely be taken into his confidence at some point, for he would need our help to fulfill the responsibilities of the parchment. We suspected the parchment was the list from Acre. We tried to persuade him to share his secrets, but after we stole the ring—”
“Why did you steal it?” Ryder asked.
Stephen scowled. “You were leaving the Order. We did not want you sending the jewel to London, where ’twould be beyond our reach.”
“Tilden suspected, right away, that you two had taken the ring,” Ryder said.
“Aye. He avoided us, refused to see or meet with us, but then he became sick. We were only able to get near him just before he died,” Stephen said, “but by then, ’twas too late.”
“The day he perished: Is that when he gave you the ring?” Gladwin asked her.
Amelia’s eyes narrowed. “I am not telling.”
“We know you have it,” Stephen challenged. “We have seen you wearing it.”
“Which is why you posed as outlaws and attacked her carriage,” Ryder added, as he mentally unraveled more of the mysteries of the past few days.
Gladwin sighed. “We hoped to get the ring from her another way, but never got the chance.”
Amelia’s face had gone white. Even as Ryder wondered if she was recalling the shock and fear of the attack, she said: “’Tis clear to me now.”
“Clear?” Stephen echoed.
“You killed him. You killed Tilden.”
Such anguish underscored her words.
Gladwin shook his head: “We did not—”
“You murdered my brother.”
***
The ghastly thought grabbed hold of her mind and refused to let go. The agony of losing Tilden crushed her soul, making it difficult for her to breathe.
“We did not kill him.” Gladwin obviously wanted her to believe him, but she couldn’t. Not after all she’d learned about the treasure.
She clenched her hands into her skirt. “I want the truth. How did you do it? Poison Tilden’s wine? His food?”
“Amelia.” Gladwin tried to set a hand on her shoulder, but she slapped him away.
“We did not make Tilden ill,” Stephen added with a smirk, “although the rabbit pies he enjoyed at the tavern might have encouraged sickness.”
“What was wrong with the pies?” she demanded.
Stephen shrugged. “The tavern owner does not use the freshest meat; ’tis why his pies are heavily spiced. For a small sum…. Well, I am sure you can figure out the rest.”
Amelia gasped.
“Why make him sick?” Ryder asked. “Did you believe ’twould force him to tell you his secrets?”
Gladwin’s gaze sharpened. “Did he tell you about the parchment from London?”
“Why would he?” Ryder countered.
“He trusted you.”
“I was resigning—”
“You found it.” Stephen pressed the sword against Ryder’s throat. Fear for him broke from Amelia in a shriek.
“Answer me,” the younger brother said between clenched teeth. “You found it. Aye?”
“Stop hurting him,” Amelia shouted.
Blood trickled down Ryder’s skin and ran under his shirt, but Stephen didn’t withdraw the blade. “Damnation! Answer me. In the crypt, behind that stone, did you find the list?”
Oh, Ryder. What can I say, or do, to keep you from harm?
“Very well.” Stephen’s tone was filled with menace.
Panic flared. Amelia lunged at Stephen, but Gladwin caught her arm and yanked her back, heedless of her flailing fists.
“Ryder cannot help you.” Amelia cried.
“And why is that?” Gladwin asked.
“He…does not have the list. I do.”
***
What in hellfire was she doing?
Ryder still had the list; he’d half expected the brothers to search him for it, but he’d managed to avoid that so far.
Shock tearing through him, Ryder longed to turn his head and catch her gaze, but he didn’t dare move with the sword touching his skin.
“Hand over the list, then,” Stephen said, not taking his attention from Ryder. With luck, the younger brother would become distracted; all Ryder needed was the briefest opportunity, and then, he’d send the sword flying.
“I will give you the list,” Amelia said. “But, ’tis in a…difficult place to reach.”
Just the right amount of hesitant embarrassment tinged her voice. Well done.
A flush darkened Stephen’s cheekbones. He looked flustered as he growled: “Help her, Gladwin.”
“Nay,” Amelia said, “I can get the list myself, if you—”
The sound of a running animal intruded, along with a ferocious snarl.
“Honor!” Amelia cried.
Gladwin screamed and stumbled into Ryder’s range of vision, Honor growling and snapping as he leapt at the brother. “Help me,” Gladwin yelled, trying to shove the dog away.
As Stephen stole a glance at his sibling, and the sword shifted a fraction away from Ryder’s throat, Ryder lunged sideways along the wall then hooked his right boot around Stephen’s calf. He yanked the younger brother’s foot out from under him. Stephen cursed and fought not to careen backward.
With a brisk shove, Ryder sent Stephen sprawling on the dirt. As soon as the younger brother hit the ground, he tried to heft his sword, but Ryder stood on his wrist and arm, preventing him from using the weapon.
His lip curling, Stephen struggled to sit up, but Ryder kicked him in the face. Stephen’s head snapped back, and he collapsed, eyes closing, the sword falling from his limp fingers.
“Stephen!” Gladwin stepped over one of Ryder’s fallen men to reach where his brother lay. Gladwin had drawn his sword, and as the wolfhound lunged at him again, he slashed out with the blade.
“Nay!” Amelia cried.
Honor yelped and dropped to all fours on the dirt. Blood welled along a gash on the dog’s right shoulder.
“Call off Honor,” Gladwin commanded. “I do not want to kill your hound.�
��
Ryder silently cursed, for he’d hoped to take advantage of the dog’s antics to catch Gladwin by surprise. Yet, he had no wish to see the pet he’d given Amelia years ago come to further harm.
“Honor,” she called. “To me.” The wolfhound growled at Gladwin again and then limped to Amelia’s side. She moved backward, to stand near another of Ryder’s downed guards.
Clearly ready to fight in an instant, Gladwin crouched and pressed his fingers to his brother’s neck to check for the pulse of life. Relief crossed his features when he confirmed his sibling was merely unconscious. After years of close friendship, though, Gladwin should have known Ryder would never take a man’s life unless he had no choice.
Anticipation rippled though Ryder as he drew his sword and readied to attack. Not just yet though. Not until he saw an opening.
As Gladwin began to rise, Honor crouched down and barked. Gladwin’s focus briefly shifted to the animal, and Ryder rushed forward. Gladwin swung his weapon to meet Ryder’s strike, and the blades clanged together. Again and again the swords clashed.
With each clang, pain shot through Ryder’s wounded side. Ignore the agony. Your higher purpose is to subdue Gladwin. You alone can protect Amelia, Honor, and the treasure.
“Yield,” Ryder bellowed.
Gladwin shook his head. “You should have joined us.”
“Not a chance.” Both hands on his sword, Ryder brought the weapon arcing down, forcing Gladwin backward. Again, Ryder lashed out, and the brother retreated…but stepped on the arm of one of the fallen guards.
Gladwin wobbled. Ryder barreled into him, knocking him off balance. The brother fell, his head hitting the ground. His eyes rolled, and his fingers relaxed for an instant. Ryder pried the sword from Gladwin’s hand and flung the weapon away.
As Gladwin struggled to get to his knees, Ryder heard the rustle of silk close by.
“Do not move,” Amelia ordered. She’d retrieved her lady’s knife and held the tip against Gladwin’s neck, while Honor snarled down into his face. Judging by Amelia’s expression, she was most sincere about her threat.
“Amelia,” Gladwin rasped.
“You betrayed my brother, you hurt and threatened Honor, and you used me. Give me the slightest reason, and I will use this knife on you.”
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