The Princess and the Templar

by Hebby Roman

  Fortunately, the Bruce outranked both Sutherland and Sinclair and could do as he pleased—if Raul could persuade him to go against his supporters. Raul shook his head, not wanting to think about the challenge or the consequences, for he could be dismissed from the Templars, imprisoned or even flogged by the Sinclair.

  It was a heavy price to pay. But for Cahira’s sake, he would risk all.

  Chapter Ten

  Raul reined in his mount and gazed at the looming Sutherland stronghold, Dunrobin Castle, perched on a hill overlooking Dornoch Firth. Above the turreted towers, the Sutherland’s scarlet banner fluttered in the breeze, confirming the earl was in residence.

  He scanned the horizon for the Bruce’s gold and blue pennant, but what he sought wasn’t to be found. Either the Bruce had already departed Dunrobin, or he didn’t want his banner flown announcing his presence to all that would pass. Why would the Bruce hide at Dunrobin when he’d already shown himself in town? Most likely, the Bruce had already quit the place or hadn’t gone to Dunrobin as planned.

  An odd sense of relief collided with the clenched fist of frustration in Raul’s gut. On the one hand, he’d dreaded to speak of his plan while the Bruce took shelter with the Sinclair’s ally. On the other, if the Bruce had already gone, they might not find him. At best it was a risky plan to secure Cahira’s future, based on the hope the Scottish monarch would have a noble relation or supporter who desired a wife. And the noble must be willing to face the Sinclair’s wrath for usurping the earl’s bride-to-be.

  Raul shook his head. If he started thinking of the difficulties, he’d never go through with it, and he had few alternatives.

  Nudging his horse with his spurs, he turned the beast around. A few yards off, Cahira rode beside Mildread, reining in her steed to match the short stride of the serving woman’s nag. Sean and Evan trailed behind, leading the packhorse laden with their supplies and Cahira’s trunks. Watching his party’s slow progress, he shook his head again.

  For a servant, Mildread had proven to be more trouble than she was worth. They’d tarried four days at the abbey so she could gather strength. When he’d gone to purchase mounts for the women and a packhorse, Mildread had begged to ride in a cart, saying she’d never ridden a horse.

  He’d not been surprised. Most servants only ventured as far as their two good feet could carry them. But the Northern Highlands was a vast wasteland of treacherous mountains and too few cart roads. Despite Mildread’s protests, he’d insisted she ride, so he’d searched for the gentlest nag he could find. That had created another problem. They needed to adjust their speed to match Mildread’s mount. It had taken three days to travel to Dunrobin. A week’s time had passed since they’d seen the Bruce in town.

  The two women finally drew alongside, their features shadowed by the flat-brimmed hats they wore as protection against the sun. Mildread reined in her horse and sat with her eyes downcast and her mouth soured in a frown.

  Cahira pointed to the keep perched on the cliff. “That’s Dunrobin?”

  “Yes, the Earl of Sutherland’s castle.”

  She dropped her reins and clapped her hands. “That means a bath and a real bed.”

  Her delight surprised him and threatened to upset his plans. If the Bruce wasn’t at Dunrobin, he wanted to press on. But it was obvious Cahira missed her womanly comforts. In the wilderness of the Northern Highlands, there were few roads and no public houses. They’d already spent two nights in rude farm cottages and had been glad enough for that.

  Cahira glanced at Mildread. “Did you hear that—a bed and bath? Don’t look so glum.”

  “No, milady,” Mildread replied but didn’t look up.

  Turning her back on the maidservant, Cahira lifted her head and shot Raul a cross-eyed look, whilst a grin tugged at the corners of her mouth.

  Taken unawares, he had to swallow the laughter that threatened to choke him. With glances and expressions, they’d formed what amounted to a wordless dialogue in the presence of their fellow travelers. Yet another bond between them—a bond he didn’t like to think about.

  How would he ever let her go?

  “We will have a bath and bed? Won’t we?” she asked.

  “Of that I’m not certain.”

  “But Dunrobin must be equipped for such. I thought we would shelter at the castle for at least one night.”

  “Yes, that was my plan.” It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her he wanted to catch up to the Bruce’s retinue. But what reason would he give? Angling a sideways glance at Mildread, he replied instead, “We’ve lost several days’ time, and I thought to press ahead.”

  Cahira frowned. “What could another day or two matter?”

  While they’d spoken, their mounts had ambled forward, and they'd descended into a small valley. Beside a meandering stream, he spied a crofter’s cottage. Perhaps the tenant would know if the Bruce tarried at Sutherland.

  He chose to ignore Cahira's question. “Let’s stop and water the horses.”

  “But we’re so close to the keep, and I thought you wanted to press ahead.”

  He didn’t reply, urging his mount forward. Upon entering the farmyard, he placed one hand on the hilt of his sword. It appeared to be a simple place, but wherever people were, caution was necessary, especially with two women to protect.

  A lad of about seven years darted in front of his horse, frightening the skittish destrier. The horse whinnied and pawed the air, one hoof barely missing the lad’s head. The boy shrieked and threw up his arm. Alarmed, Raul sawed on his mount’s reins and leaned his weight forward, bringing the beast under control. “Lad, have a care,” Raul called out. “Stay away from the horses.”

  The boy ducked his head and scampered off. He disappeared inside the thatch-roofed cottage.

  Cahira galloped up and leapt from the back of her horse. She flung her reins at Evan and planted her fists on her hips. “Sir Raul, it’s you who should have a care. You almost trampled a child.” She rushed to the cottage door but hesitated on the stoop, obviously wanting to go inside and see that the boy was unharmed.

  He couldn’t help but smile to himself, now the danger was past. Cahira possessed a motherly concern for children. First, Loghan and now a farmer’s lad. She might gainsay the need, not wanting to wed the Sinclair, but secretly, he believed she desired children.

  How he wished he could be the one to give them to her.

  Thinking thus, his heart twisted in his chest, and he glanced away. Mildread joined them, looking both confused and uncomfortable sitting atop her horse.

  His gaze swung back to Cahira. After a few moments of indecision, she knocked on the lintel. A man dressed as a yeoman farmer, who was most likely the lad’s father, emerged from the hut. Seeing the well-dressed lady on his stoop, his features registered amazement, and he took a step back. Lowering his head, he tugged on his forelock and bowed to show the proper respect.

  Wanting to ease the man’s confusion, Raul swung down from his horse and took Cahira’s elbow. She started to pull away, but he only tightened his grip. When she glanced at him, their gazes collided, locked and held.

  Raul inclined his head. “Let me present Princess O’Donnell of Eire. She’s concerned for your boy. She thought he might have been hurt. I’m Raul de Porcelos and I apologize for—”

  “Beggin’ yer pardon, Sir Knight,” the farmer blurted, “but the lad doesna know no better. ’E’s slow witted, ’e is, an’ thinks ’tis a great game to dodge ’orses.”

  A swift stab of pity lanced through Raul. The life of a yeoman farmer was harsh enough, even with a healthy family. “It’s a hazardous game that—running in front of horses,” Raul said.

  “Aye, I’ve tried to break ’im of it, but ’e won’t stop.” The yeoman glanced at Cahira. “The lady wants to go inside?”

  “If you’d be so kind. She means no disrespect, sir. I know she’s worried for the boy.”

  At his words, the farmer’s head jerked up, and he met Raul’s gaze for the first
time, but there was a wary gleam in his eye when he shook his head. “I wasna thinkin’ no disrespect, but me ’umble ’ome’s no place fer a lady.”

  Raul chose to ignore the man’s self-effacing comment. “Might I water our horses at your stream? And if you could spare a bit of bread, I’d pay you well.”

  “Nay, nay.” The yeoman spread his hands, and Raul was astonished that the man would refuse. “I’ll not take any coin from ye. Fer any lady who cares that much ’bout me lad, yer welcome to what we ’ave.”

  “Thank you, that’s very kind of you.”

  The crofter turned and called inside to his wife. “Odara, bring the boy out wit’ ye and some bread and ale fer our noble visitors.” He bowed again and stepped into the yard.

  Raul gave Cahira’s elbow a gentle squeeze and released her. He followed the yeoman into the farmyard and despite the man’s refusal, Raul wanted to give him some coins, but something in the farmer’s stance made him reconsider. Perhaps it was the way the man squared his shoulders and dared to look him directly in the eye. Pride was a fragile thing for any man, and Raul didn’t want to rob the yeoman of his spirit.

  “Thank you,” he repeated, gathering the reins of Cahira’s mount with his own. Turning to his knights, he took their reins as well and nodded at them. “Dismount and rest awhile.” His gaze fell upon Mildread, and he urged her to get down and rest, too. Then he offered his arm to assist her.

  The yeoman watched him carefully, his hands knotted behind his back. A light of approval shone in his eyes.

  Raul hadn’t thought how helping Mildread, a servant, would look to a lowborn peasant. But seeing his action through the farmer’s eyes gave him pause. Rank and privilege were central to his world, something he hadn’t been accorded at birth, and something he’d had to earn.

  But for a yeoman farmer, there was no way to attain rank. Even bastard born, Raul had been offered far more than this man, who had to bow and scrape every day of his life. Who appreciated even the smallest kindness and to be treated with respect.

  Raul took a deep breath. He should count his blessings for others had even less than he. Cahira had opened his eyes, shown him with her caring ways that every person counted, not just those of noble birth. And yet, she was a princess of high rank and station. Her kindness humbled him, and once again, just as he’d felt on board ship, he wanted to fall to his knees and thank Providence for having known her.

  “I’ll show ye to the stream.” The farmer took the reins of the knights’ mounts and the packhorse.

  Swallowing past the lump in his throat, Raul nodded. They walked side by side. When they reached the rushing water, they loosed the reins and allowed the horses to drink.

  “Goin’ to Dunrobin?” the yeoman asked.

  The man’s question opened the door, and Raul hoped he’d earned his confidence. “We’re in search of the Bruce,” he said. “At St. Andrew’s a monk told me he’d gone to shelter with the Earl of Sutherland. Have you seen him pass?”

  “Aye, ’e came this week’s past.”

  “But his pennant doesn’t fly from the keep.”

  “Nay, he left this morn ’afore the sun.”

  The knot of frustration in Raul’s stomach grew, and he felt like cursing. They’d missed the Bruce by only a few hours. But the news gave him hope. Despite Mildread’s slow progress, they could still overtake him.

  “Do you know where he went?”

  The yeoman lifted his head and pointed toward the swelling hillocks, covered with gray and purple heath. “’E went yon, into Glen Torridon.”

  Raul followed his pointing finger, registering the vast wilderness of the Torridon Mountains, having originally planned to skirt their untracked expanse by following the coast. Torridon was a brutal and unforgiving place with only a handful of farms and fewer villages still, but it was a shortcut to the Sinclair’s lair.

  The Bruce must be going to the earl to garner support. It was as Raul had feared; there was no time to waste. They must overtake the Scottish king before he reached Castletown, or Raul’s plan for Cahira would come to naught.

  ****

  Cahira took the reins and allowed the farmer to assist her to mount. For some strange reason, she felt loath to go. But the sun was setting, and Dunrobin Castle stood less than a mile away.

  In truth the yeoman and his family had shown them every kindness after Raul had almost trampled the farmer’s only son. Raul and the farmer had watered the horses while she’d become acquainted with the good wife and her children. Sean and Evan had napped under a withered apple tree that stood sentinel over the tiny cottage.

  The cottage was too small to accommodate them all, but they’d managed to sup with the family, seated at a trestle table the yeoman had placed in the farmyard.

  The lad, Goraidh, seemed young for his age. He didn’t say much, but his eyes lit up when Cahira told him stories, and he liked to laugh at nonsensical jokes.

  Sharing simple pleasures with the farmer’s family had helped to banish the icy dread enfolding her heart when she thought of the Sinclair’s lair. For a short time, she’d been a part of the crofters’ life and was glad Raul had decided to stop. At the same time, a kind of dreary sadness enveloped her, for she missed her people and wished she were at home with them, sharing a plain supper of bread and ale.

  They departed in a flurry of well wishing. Cahira had wanted to give the family some little gift as a token. She’d pulled out her purse, but Raul had stayed her hand. She’d read the meaning in his eyes and remembered the proud way the farmer had turned down his offer of payment.

  Riding beside Mildread, she followed Raul’s lead as she had these three days past while Sean and Evan flanked them. When they crossed the stream below the cottage, Raul veered to the left, away from Dunrobin Castle. Surprised, she murmured a word to Mildread and prodded her mount.

  When she’d overtaken Raul, she asked, “Where are you going?” Pointing to her right, she said, “The castle lies yonder.”

  He slowed his mount, and their horses matched strides for several yards before he replied, “We’re not going to Dunrobin.”

  “But eventide is upon us.”

  “We must catch the Bruce.” He lifted his head and pointed with his chin toward the darkening mountains. “We must follow where he’s gone.”

  “Why?”

  He hesitated, rearranging the reins in his hand. “I have an important message from my earl for the Bruce.”

  With those words, he applied spurs, and the great black beast surged forward, leaving her in the dust. She watched Raul’s broad back grow smaller in the dimming light, not believing he would lead them into the wilderness with night approaching. Not believing he had a message for the Bruce. For if he possessed such an urgent missive, why hadn’t he stopped the Bruce’s retinue in Dornoch and delivered it.

  Nay, she didn’t believe him.

  But believe him or not, she had no choice but to follow, especially with night coming. If she thought she could obtain aid at Dunrobin, she’d go there, but Raul had said the Earl of Sutherland was a close friend of the Sinclair’s. She’d find no succor at that castle.

  She needed to reach a town large enough where she could take ship or join a merchant’s caravan, as that was her plan. But Raul’s path led them away from the coast and the larger towns. On her map, all that lay ahead was wilderness. Shutting her eyes, she squeezed back tears of frustration and reluctantly trailed after him. As the wilderness swallowed them up, her dream of escape receded.

  ****

  Cahira settled the hat low on her forehead to shade her eyes from the rising sun. They were riding hard again, as they had last night. Raul had pushed them for hours before he’d stopped to make camp. And as soon as she’d fallen asleep on the rocky ground, he’d urged them awake.

  What madness was this, his pursuit of the Bruce?

  Against the bone-rattling trot of her mount, Cahira gritted her teeth. Every joint ached, and she was filthy, covered from head to toe with the d
ust of their journey. The pins had slipped from her hair, and the heavy curls tumbled down her back. In truth she was too weary to contemplate what he wanted with the Bruce, for all she cared about was a respite from this hellish journey.

  The hours dragged by and the sun rose in the sky, beating down on their heads and still Raul did not stop. She glanced at Mildread, who clung like a wooden statue to her saddle. Her serving woman was past the point of exhaustion. She must speak to Raul and demand they rest.

  As was his custom, the Templar had ranged far ahead of them, leaving her and Mildread with the two knights. She needed to catch Raul and make him call a halt. With that thought in mind, she nudged her gelding forward. The winded steed faltered and stumbled before breaking into a ragged gallop.

  She’d only covered a few yards when Raul turned and rode back to her. Mayhap he’d realized it was long past time to make their mid-day stop. Studying him as he approached, she couldn’t help but admire him despite her frustration with his high-handed ways.

  He’d removed his helm, and his blue-black hair shone in the bright sunlight. He’d not shaved since they’d left the abbey, and the stubble of his beard lay heavy on his cheeks, lending him a rakish air and framing the rich fullness of his mouth. His powerful thighs gripped the destrier’s sides, and his long-boned fingers held the reins with inbred authority and grace.

  When he joined her, a smile adorned his handsome face, his white teeth in bold contrast to his bronzed skin. Even tired and disheveled and frustrated, she couldn’t stop from returning his smile.

  “Over yon hill lies the Bruce’s camp,” he announced.

  So, he’d found the Bruce, driven them forward until he reached his objective. Her smile faded. Even though the Scottish monarch commanded a ragged and motley band of followers, she had no intention of riding into their midst with her hair streaming down her back and her face dirty.

  “I’m happy for you, Sir Raul,” she said, her tone dripping sarcasm. “And now we must rest and refresh ourselves.”