And Leonor! He stared at the doorway through which she had disappeared with de Rodez. What mischief was she up to? With a groan, he hailed the hovering wine server and lifted the pitcher out of his hands.
The man blinked. ‘Do you desire aught else, sir knight?’
‘No,’ Reynaud growled. He sloshed the liquid into Henri’s cup, then filled his own. The thought of Leonor and Henri’s son together made his blood run cold.
He turned to the count and raised his drinking vessel. ‘To families,’ he said, his tone dry. He downed the entire cup in three gulps and poured it full again.
Count Henri sighed. ‘It is understandable, my friend. What man would not prefer to spend time with a beautiful young woman instead of an old—’ His voice cracked. ‘Let us drink to something more constant.’ He lifted his cup. ‘To wine,’ the count proposed. ‘A God-given elixir for…’ his voice faltered ‘…easing heartache.’
‘To wine!’ Reynaud echoed. He tipped his cup and drank deeply, savouring the heady, fruity flavor of the crimson liquid. Over the rim of his cup he directed a glance at the count.
The older man’s gaze slid away, but not before Reynaud had glimpsed the shiny tears brimming in his hazel eyes.
‘Wine bearer!’ Reynaud shouted, his voice unexpectedly hoarse. ‘Bring us another pitcher!’
Chapter Nine
Leonor faced Bernard de Rodez, careful to stay within sight of the two men-at-arms keeping watch from the castle rampart. A chilly breeze blew across the rooftop, and she shivered.
‘You wished to speak with me?’
De Rodez seized her wrist. ‘Tell me, lady,’ he gritted out. ‘Now!’
Leonor drew in a long breath, willing her voice to remain calm. ‘Unhand me. I can tell you nothing if the guards…’ she inclined her head towards the two men pacing to and fro along the wall walk ‘…throw you in my uncle’s dungeon for assaulting me. And if you do not release me, I will call them to do just that.’
De Rodez swore and loosened his fingers. Deftly, Leonor stepped back, out of his grasp. ‘Explain yourself, sir, and be brief. I have duties elsewhere.’
De Rodez’s eyes glittered. ‘I would know the message you carry from Emir Yusef of Granada.’
Leonor stared at the scowling man who stood before her. Cold blue eyes, so emotionless they looked like polished stone, gazed back at her from under shaggy, sand-coloured eyebrows. His thin lips pursed as he awaited her answer.
Her stomach churned. Was this man indeed the intended recipient of Yusef’s message? Not Reynaud? Yusef himself had not known the identity of the recipient, else the emir would have communicated the information to Reynaud before they left Granada.
‘Answer me!’ de Rodez demanded. ‘And be quick about it.’ Her heart began to pound with a sick apprehension. Why had Reynaud spoken against this man, warned her not to trust him? Was de Rodez an imposter? Perhaps even a spy for the enemies of Granada’s emir?
Or was it Reynaud who was false?
The hard, unblinking eyes bored into hers. She shivered and suddenly her mind cleared. It mattered not whether Reynaud and Bernard de Rodez were allies or enemies. She had a message to deliver.
De Rodez grated his thumbnail back and forth on his sword hilt. ‘Lady, I grow impatient!’
For a long moment she studied the leather-booted feet planted before her. At last she raised her gaze to meet his. She would do what she must.
She nodded once. De Rodez grunted, then inclined his head towards her.
Quickly she spoke a few words in a low voice.
A plump serving maid sped past Reynaud, a steaming cup of spiced wine and some bread and cheese on a tray. He ducked back into the curtained recess cut in the stone wall and within minutes the girl hurried back along the passageway and disappeared down the staircase.
He breathed a sigh of relief. The other castle inhabitants lay sleeping, nobles within assigned private chambers, visiting knights and men-at-arms sprawled on pallets in the great hall. But a faint light shone under Leonor’s door.
Good. She was yet awake. She had much to answer for. He tapped softly on the heavy oak door.
The silence lengthened until he swore he could hear his own heartbeat. His head ached from the wine.
He tapped again.
The door cracked open, then swung inwards on its leather hinges. Leonor stood before him, the flickering candle in her hand sending shadows dancing into the corners of the tiny chamber. Before he could speak, she blew out the flame, plunging the room into inky blackness.
‘Reynaud,’ she whispered. ‘I thought you would never come.’
‘The devil himself could not keep me away,’ he said, keeping his voice low. He reached out and closed his hand around her forearm. ‘Though once this matter is finished, you may wish I had not come.’
She gasped and he tightened his grip until he could feel the slender bone under his fingers. Fury danced like hot coals in his veins. An hour ago he and Count Henri had watched in astonishment when Bernard de Rodez strode across the great hall and bid his father a curt farewell. An urgent matter pressed, he said. His horse was saddled and ready in the bailey; he would ride south this very night.
At that moment Reynaud knew Leonor had betrayed him, given the secret message to de Rodez instead of himself. Now he pinned her in a grip that would leave bruises. ‘Who sent you?’ he growled into the dark. ‘Answer me, damn you!’
‘I am sent by Yusef, Emir of Granada.’ The cool voice spoke just below his chin, her breath fanning his throat.
He stifled a groan. He did not know whether he wanted to kill her or ravish her. His cousin, his Leonor, had become his enemy.
‘You took the word of a false knight over mine? Why?’ he demanded. Anguish made his voice harsh. ‘And the message you gave him? What was it?’
‘None.’
‘You lie, Leonor. De Rodez rode out of the bailey scarce an hour ago, pleading “urgent business”. Your uncle is sick with grief. And I…’ He paused, feeling himself teeter on the brink of madness.
He yanked hard on her arm, pulling her forwards against his chest. ‘I could kill you with my bare hands for what you have done.’
Leonor said nothing. She stood motionless, her head tucked under his chin, her soft, warm body pressed against his. He inhaled the spicy-sweet scent of her hair and something inside him snapped.
‘Leonor, why did you do it?’
‘I did nothing, Reynaud.’
‘Nothing! Again you lie!’
‘Nothing,’ her low voice repeated.
Reynaud gave a short laugh. ‘Where, then, did Bernard de Rodez thunder off to?’
‘Where I sent him,’ Leonor replied, her tone cool. ‘Now, Rey, if you will release me…’
She stepped away from him, and in the next moment he heard the burr of wooden rings and the swish of a curtain being drawn aside. Moonlight spilled through the narrow-paned window, washing the chamber with silvery blue light.
She moved to a table, lifted the goblet of wine, and sipped from it. Then she held the cup out to him.
‘No. I have drunk too much already on your account this night.’
Leonor sighed. ‘Drink it, Rey,’ she ordered in a quiet voice. ‘You will need it when I tell you what I have done.’
He pushed aside the wine cup. ‘What, exactly, is it you have done?’ he said, his voice tight.
‘I told de Rodez where to travel.’
He stared at Leonor in disbelief. ‘Repeat that,’ he demanded. ‘You told de Rodez what?’
Leonor glanced up from the small table where she was wrapping the last of the bread and cheese in an oiled cloth. ‘I told him to ride south, to Saragossa. There he was to seek one Ramiro, at the house of Miguel de Alvaro.’
Reyaud’s equilibrium wobbled once again. ‘You sent him to the Templars’ secret holding?’ He paced the length of the small chamber, anger coiling in his belly. ‘This matter is not some child’s game.’ He spat the words at her. ‘The fate of Granad
a hangs in the balance. My God-given mission is to prevent the bloodbath that is to come.’
‘Of course,’ Leonor replied, her voice matter of fact. She moved to the carved oak chest in the far corner of the chamber and lifted the lid, propping it against the stone wall.
‘And I intend to help you. So naturally I sent de Rodez south.’ She sent him a long look. ‘We are riding north.’
‘North?’ Again he paced to the far wall and back. ‘By all the saints, who is “we”?’ In the dim light he watched her lips purse in exasperation.
‘North,’ she repeated. ‘Then east, to Carcassonne. Unless,’ she continued, her voice taking on a slight edge, ‘you are not, after all, the secret recipient I was sent to meet?’
She turned her back and bent over the open chest, tugged out a length of white fabric and tossed it on to the bed. ‘You and I, Rey,’ she said over her shoulder as she rummaged in the chest once more.
‘You and I what?’ he growled.
‘I am coming with you. To Carcassonne.’
He almost choked. ‘Never!’
She flung out another garment, a cloak he gathered from the way it sailed past him and settled like a shroud over the bed. Again she dove into the depths of the chest, and when she spoke her voice was muffled.
‘How soon will you be ready to leave?’
Reynaud stiffened. ‘I will ride now, before this night grows one hour older.’
‘As will I.’ Leonor straightened to face him, planting both hands on her hips. ‘At this very moment Galeran the squire waits in the bailey with my saddled mare. I have already taken leave of Aunt Alais. Benjamin and I made our farewells before supper. He was not pleased, poor man, but I—’
‘Talked him into it,’ Reynaud finished for her. ‘I cannot imagine what tale you told him.’
‘No tale but the truth, that I ride with you to further try my skill as a troubadour. You, of course…’ she leveled an odd look at him, curiosity mixed with something else. Respect? ‘…have other business there.’
‘That I do, lady,’ he growled. ‘And I do not take you with me. It is not safe.’ How could he stand being near her day and night, watching her, worrying over her safety? Aching to touch her. His throat tightened.
‘You must take me,’ Leonor said quietly. ‘You promised my father you would protect me. You cannot leave me here in Moyanne. Bernard de Rodez is sure to return to take vengeance for the goose chase I have sent him on.’
Without another word, she bent over the bed and began rolling the garments she had collected into a bundle.
Reynaud’s gut knotted. She was right. He could not leave her here unprotected.
He watched her secure the bundle with a leather thong and for the first time noted with a start what she was wearing. Not a silk gown, but a worn-looking forest-green linen tunic extended below her knees, split up the sides for riding. Underneath that a peasant’s cross-wrapped leggings covered her legs. She had coiled her hair up under a floppy cap of much-washed wool.
She stood waiting, the roll of clothing under one arm and the package of food under the other. ‘You had better have more of the wine, Rey. Your face is pale as a ghost.’
He jerked in barely suppressed fury. ‘By the saints, I feel like no ghost. More like a dragon!’
‘That,’ Leonor said with a hiccup of laughter, ‘is obvious. Ghosts are silent!’
Fear and anger pounded through his body. ‘Carcassonne is a hotbed of Christian heresy and rampaging, landless knights. It is no place for an unworldly maid.’
And now he knew it was also close to the secret headquarters of the Templars. He had urgent, dangerous business there, about which she knew nothing.
‘Come,’ she whispered. ‘We have not a moment to lose. It is only a matter of time before de Rodez realises the trick I have played.’
Reynaud studied the young woman who stood resolutely before him. ‘Who is this Ramiro in Saragossa?’ he snapped.
‘Ramiro?’ The moon’s silvery light played over her face, highlighting the high cheekbones, the full, downturned lips, the delicate skin visible through the opening at the neck of her tunic. She looked for all the world like a chess player who had just trounced her opponent.
‘I know not. There must a hundred Ramiros in Saragossa. I thought to keep de Rodez busy for a time.’
He stared at her. She was a djinn. And God knew he was caught in her thrall. Nay, not just caught. Drowning. This innocent creature, so enthralled with the outside world, could not possibly guess the peril she rushed towards.
Or the peril she presented to his immortal soul.
With an oath he turned away. The thought of Leonor as his constant companion day and night made him light-headed. It was both joy and agony to be near her.
But so be it. There was no other choice; he must take her with him.
He bowed his head. He could never assuage the hunger of his spirit. But until his last breath, he would fight the dark pull of desire she seeded in him.
The squire Galeran gripped the mare’s bit in his left hand as he struggled to control the restive grey stallion the Templar had left in his care. ‘Quiet, now,’ he whispered at the huge beast. ‘Thy master would not like it if you bit me.’
And, the boy groaned inwardly, would not pay him one denier if his horse were abused. ‘But,’ he muttered, eyeing the destrier with suspicion, ‘’tis tempting.’
In truth, the huge animal frightened him. Never had he seen so fine a mount, and caparisoned in white silk with a cross of scarlet samite stitched on each side. A handsome coat for such a horse!
Galeran drew off the silk trapper, folded it, and tied it behind the saddle, as the lady Leonor had ordered. If he lived to be as old as his Uncle Henri, he would never understand a woman. Not even in Carcassonne, at his father’s castle, did a knight’s mount go uncoated. Such a covering announced at a glance one’s heritage as well as one’s allegiance.
Galeran sighed. If he were skilled enough to be a Templar knight, the most respected, the most coveted of military orders, he would not hesitate to proclaim it to the world.
He led the stallion and the lady Leonor’s mare to a shadowed corner of the outer courtyard and settled down to wait.
If he were a Templar, just think how his companions in training at Moyanne would look up to him. And the ladies! His heartbeat quickened. All the ladies would admire him, would beg him to wear their favours in the lists. Would—
Ladies! What ladies? Was he dreaming? A Templar had naught to do with ladies. A Templar pledged his spirit and his body to God. A Templar was…Galeran groaned aloud with the realisation.
Chaste.
How did they stand it? Even now, at the thought of the lady Leonor, his body flushed with a strange heat. She had the most beautiful voice, the most exquisite breasts.
An owl hooted from the woods just across the drawbridge. The stallion tossed his mighty head and stepped backwards, jerking Galeran off balance. He stumbled and his toe stubbed against a protruding paving stone. He swore his most manly oath.
A low, lilting voice came from the shadows. ‘What, Galeran, are you not pleased by your task?’
The lady Leonor emerged from the narrow gateway and Galeran’s body went cold, then hot.
‘I—I wrapped your harp safe in a carpet, and I tied rags around the horses’ hooves, just as you directed, my lady.’
Lady Leonor stepped across the bailey and approached so close he could smell her perfume. ‘Thank you, Galeran. None should hear of our departure. Nor,’ she added, sending him a penetrating look, ‘should anyone know the direction in which we travel.’
‘Oh, aye, my lady. I swear none shall know it from my lips.’
She smiled at him and suddenly his lungs refused to take breath in or out.
‘Come, help me to mount. I must be ready the moment Lord Reynaud appears.’
‘Aye, my lady,’ he choked out. He released the grey stallion’s bit, laced his fingers together and cupped both hands for her
tiny foot.
‘And, Galeran,’ she murmured as she settled herself on the cream mare’s back, ‘if you do not mention to Reynaud that you have been waiting here with our horses since suppertime, I will be in your debt.’
Galeran grinned down at his throbbing toe. The thought of his beautiful lady being in his debt made his head spin. He would do anything for her. Anything.
The Templar strode through the gate, a bundle under one arm, and Galeran suddenly recalled his duties. The knight gave a sharp whistle, and when the destrier ambled up, he nestled the bundle under the cantle, stepped into the stirrup and swung himself into the saddle. The knight turned the horse to face Galeran, leaned down and pressed a coin into his palm.
‘My thanks, lad. That’s for your service. And this…’ a second coin clinked against the first ‘…is for your silence.’
Galeran nodded. ‘Yes, my lord. I understand.’ His heart nearly burst with pride. He had done his duty, and he had been richly rewarded.
The Templar stepped his destrier forwards, towards the drawbridge which had not yet been raised for the night. He dropped another coin into the gnarled hand of the old man huddled beside the iron-toothed winch, and Galeran heard some mumbled words of thanks. Then the knight rode out of the castle yard and over the bridge, the sound of the horse’s hooves muffled.
The lady Leonor stepped her mare after the stallion, then drew up the reins and leaned forwards, reaching her hand down to clasp Galeran’s. ‘You have done admirably, Galeran. Fare you well.’ She pressed his fingers lightly and was gone.
The squire brought his hand to his nostrils and sniffed at the elusive sweet scent of her skin. Indeed, he had been more than richly rewarded this night.
Ah, perhaps he would not be a Templar after all.
Chapter Ten
The two horses moved through the shadowy trees like wraiths, milk-pale in the moonlight. An owl called as they passed under a grey willow tree, and the hair on Leonor’s neck prickled. It was too quiet.
Reynaud reined in ahead of her and pointed in silence to the east, away from the village of Moyanne. Her heart hammering, she nodded and they stepped their mounts forwards.
Templar Knight, Forbidden Bride Page 6
