by Scott, B. J.
“What happened?” Lazarus asked.
“Branded a traitor for helping Templars to escape, he was killed by French soldiers,” Franc blurted. “He died because he helped me.”
“He knew the risks when he offered you a place to stay. His death isna your fault,” Lazarus reassured him. “If he dinna die while helping you, it most likely would have been while helping another.”
“Nothing you say can change what happened, Lazarus,” Franc snapped. “He was helping me when the bastards came for him, not someone else. I can never repay his sacrifice, or that of—” Franc bit down on his lower lip. He’d already said more than he intended.
“Sometimes it helps to talk about painful experiences with someone who fully understands what you were going through at the time, but I also understand the need to keep things to yourself until you are ready to do so. I am willing to listen, when you are ready to talk.” Lazarus handed Franc a length of plaid, then pointed to a spot at the base of a nearby tree. “You need to rest. I will wake you in an hour.”
Franc took the blanket and settled with his back pressed against the tree trunk. He closed his eyes, but after dredging up the past, and given the cacophony of emotions swamping him, sleep was the last thing on his mind.
Chapter 8
Franc watched in awe as Giselle stood beside the stream, the breeze gently lifting her flaxen hair, the sun illuminating her lovely features. He was breaking his oath as a Templar Knight by allowing himself to fall in love with this beautiful woman. But heaven help him, he was powerless to resist.
“You take my breath away,” he said as he approached her. “Lord help me, but you are the loveliest creature He ever created.” He moved closer. “I got your note.”
Giselle raced forward and launched herself into his arms. “I prayed you would come.” She feathered kisses along his neck and across his cheek, finally caressing his lips with a brief, passionate kiss.
He groaned against her mouth and wove his fingers through her hair with one hand, and snagged her slender waist with the other. He drew her against his chest, hugging her so tightly he could feel her heart beating in unison with his own. With their hips pressed together and her pert round breasts crushed against him, his blood heated, and his groin ached. He craved so much more. He wanted to undress her, explore every sensual curve, then lavish her body with kisses, before claiming her. But for now, he reveled in a moment of bliss he never dreamed he would experience, a moment he never wanted to end.
He lightly teased the seam of her lips, willing her to open her mouth. When she responded as he’d hoped, he kissed her deeply, their tongues tangling and tasting as his hands caressed the swell of her breasts until she whimpered with pleasure and melted into his embrace.
She fisted his tunic, then eased him away, peering up at him with passion-filled eyes. “I know it is wrong for us to be alone together, and I pray you do not think me a wanton woman. But when I overheard you tell my father that you are leaving soon, I had to see you. I hoped I might be able to persuade you to stay,” she said. “Ever since the day you came into the inn, I felt drawn to you like a bee to a flower. Make love to me, Francois. Please—”
He pressed two fingers to her lips. “Shhh, ma chéri. You are an amazing, beautiful, desirable woman. Heaven help me, but I want nothing more than to make you mine.” He released a heavy sigh as he stroked her cheek with his knuckles. “But I cannot sate my selfish needs, knowing I can offer you naught.” He gently grasped her shoulders and held her at arm’s length. “You see before you a hunted man, a fugitive who sleeps with one eye open, waiting for the moment to come when they will find me, and my life is ended.”
“Do not say such a thing,” she scolded. “I know that the charges against you and the other knights are false. Someday the world will know the truth, exonerating you. But until then, I cannot stand the thought of losing you.” Tears streamed down her cheeks and she stared up at him, her sapphire eyes dark with need and desire. “If you must go, take me with you.”
Her plea tugged at his heart, and nothing would make him happier than to spend the rest of his days with her nestled in his arms, but he could not put her at risk.
“Make love to me.” She lowered herself to the ground, clasped the sleeves of his tunic, and tugged him toward her.
His heart hammered and his breath caught. She rested in a patch of bluebells, her sultry smile melting the last of his reserve. Wondering how he could deny her or himself, and shoving all doubts aside, he rolled her beneath him and captured her lips, intent on making her his, this day, and forever.
~ ~ ~
“Wake up, it is time to leave.” Lazarus nudged Franc’s foot with the toe of his boot.
“Leave?” Stunned that Lazarus allowed him to sleep so long, Franc sat and stared up at his friend. “I thought you were going to rouse me after an hour so you could rest too.”
“You were sleeping so soundly, I decided not to wake you.” Lazarus motioned toward the already saddled horses. “If we want to stay one step ahead of the French agents, and reach our destination, we best be on our way.”
Franc rose and brushed the dirt and leaves from his clothing. “I want no special treatment, and you cannot go the distance without sleep.”
“Unlike you, I am na recovering from a brutal beating.” Lazarus handed Franc the reins to his horse, and wiggled a brow. “That must have been a verra good dream you were having.”
“Dream?”
“Aye. You were grinning from ear-to-ear and moaning in your sleep. If I dinna know better, I’d swear you were tasting something sweet. Or—”
“I do not have sweet dreams,” Franc snapped, then climbed atop his mount and leered at Lazarus. His memories of his time with Giselle were all he had left of her, and he would share them with no one. “Are you going to stand their spouting nonsense or are you ready to ride?”
Lazarus grasped the mane of his destrier and glowered back at Franc. “Ride.” He threw his leg over the back of his horse and hauled himself into the saddle in one smooth move.
Making better time than anticipated, they arrived at the monastery near Berwick upon Tweed by sundown on the third day. Franc peered up at the high stone wall, then back at Lazarus. “This is where you grew up?”
“I spent what I can recall of my early years here,” Lazarus replied. “Unfortunately, I have no recollection of my parents or of my time at Fraser Castle afore Longshank’s attack on Berwick, so memories of my time with the monks is all I have.”
Franc cast a wary glance over his shoulder in all directions, then lowered his voice. “And the chalice is here?”
“Aye.”
“There are no guards on the wall. What stops thieves and miscreants from entering?” Franc didn’t bother to hide the tone of concern in his voice.
“This is a holy place, run by a peaceful order. The brothers dinna believe in guards or weapons. A patrol of the King’s men circle by on a regular basis, warding off those who might decide to enter uninvited.” Lazarus dismounted and held out his hand in Franc’s direction. “Give me your sword and dirk.”
Franc could not believe what Lazarus was suggesting. The odds were already against them, and they didn’t stand a chance if forced to confront the murderous blackguards unarmed. “Relinquish my weapons with the French Guard on our heels? Are you daft?”
“If you wish to gain entry and to retrieve the chalice, then you will do as I ask.” Lazarus widened his stance and continued to hold out his hand. “Give them to me, or we will go back to Fraser Castle.”
“I do so with reservation, and pray we do not need them,” Franc grumbled, then did as Lazarus requested.
After retrieving his own weapons, and hiding them in the bushes by the doors, Lazarus grasped a rope and tugged, ringing the tower bell three times. After a moment’s pause, he repeated the act.
Puzzled, Franc asked, “The monks will grant entrance to anyone who rings the bell?”
“Nay. They only answer to those who know the proper signal.” Lazarus released the rope and returned to the shadows.
The door creaked open and a hooded figure emerged, carrying a torch. “Who goes there, and how may we be of service?” the monk asked.
Lazarus strode forward and addressed the man. “Brother Mathew, it is I, Lazarus Fraser. I have come to see Brother Simon.”
“By all that is holy, I canna believe my eyes.” Brother Mathew hugged Lazarus, then released him. “Simon will be thrilled to see you. What brings you here?”
“I have matters to tend to in Berwick,” he lied. “There is no way Brother Simon would forgive me if he found out I was so near and dinna stop in for a visit.” He glanced at Franc, then continued, “My friend and I would also appreciate lodging for the night.”
“You know you are welcome, brother.” Mathew stared at Franc, then returned his attention to Lazarus. “And I suppose if you are willing to speak on his behalf, your friend may enter as well. Follow me, I am sure we can arrange suitable accommodations.” He turned and headed inside.
Lazarus followed on his heels, but stopped and looked over his shoulder at Franc. “Are you coming?”
“Oui.” Franc moved to the door, but the wary glances Brother Mathew shot his way when he spoke relayed his disapproval. “I am not sure I am welcome here.”
“Dinna let Brother Mathew bother you. He doesna trust strangers, especially Frenchmen, and I canna say I blame him,” Lazarus said, grinning. “But he also knows I would never bring someone into their fold that posed a threat.”
“Lead the way.” Franc pointed toward the door.
Upon entry, they found themselves surrounded by monks, each offering a warm greeting to Lazarus. “Where can I find Brother Simon?”
“In the chapel. I am sure he will be both surprised and pleased to see you,” one of the older monks replied. “It is good to have you home, my son.”
“Thank you, Brother Paul. It is good to see you all again.” Lazarus bowed, then motioned to Franc. “This way.”
They strode down a long dark corridor, pausing at a set of ornately carved doors.
“The chapel,” Lazarus said, before making the sign of the cross in the air, then entered.
Franc dropped to one knee, and after showing his respect, he followed.
“Brother Simon,” Lazarus said.
The monk kneeling in front of the altar slowly rose and turned to face the men, his expression brightening when he met Lazarus’s gaze. “Lazarus. It does my heart good to see you. What brings you here? I hope all is well with Sheena and the bairns.” He moved in their direction, grasped Lazarus’s wrist, then hauled him into a tight embrace. “I have missed you.”
“And I you.” Lazarus returned the man’s hug, then eased out of his grasp and gestured toward Franc. “This is my good friend, Francois de Valier. We met in the Holy Land, and it is he who helped me to escape from the French prison. Without him, I wouldna have made it back to Scotland alive.”
Franc stepped forward and bowed. “Brother Simon. Lazarus has told me so much about you that I feel as if we have known each other for many years.” He waited for the monk to reply, but could tell by the frown on his face and his lack of words, he was not sure what to make of the stranger in their midst.
Obviously picking up on the uncomfortable silence, Lazarus spoke before Simon could respond. “We were passing through Berwick on some Clan business and I was hoping we might trouble you for a place to sleep. We plan to leave on the morrow.”
Simon studied Franc for a moment, before addressing Lazarus. “Your old cell is still empty. You are welcome to use it if you wish.” He headed out of the chapel, with the two men keeping in step behind him. After a short trek down a dark corridor, Simon stopped, slid a key into the lock, and opened the door. “Things are as you left them, my son. I know it isna as grand as your chamber at Fraser Castle, but it is the best we can offer.” He stepped aside, allowing the men to pass.
“It served me well for many summers when I was a lad, and again when I returned from France. It will do so now.” Lazarus entered the room.
The pungent odors of mildew, burnt ash, and spent candle tallow immediately assaulted Franc’s nostrils. “Puts me in mind of our old temple days,” he said as he picked up a bible from a small wooden table and leafed through the pages. He glanced around the cell that measured six feet wide and eight feet long at best. When fighting in the Holy Land, they’d taken refuge in some despicable places, often too cramped for a man to turn around. He closed his eyes and shuddered when memories of the dank, dismal French prison cells they occupied while awaiting execution flooded his mind.
“It does dredge up both good and bad memories.” Lazarus went to the window and shoved open the shutters. He faced Franc and Simon. “You can sleep on the raised pallet. I will lay some pelts on the floor and will be fine there.”
“I insist you take the bed, Lazarus, and let me sleep on the floor,” Franc countered. “I told you I want no special treatment.”
Brother Simon coughed, then cleared his throat. “I will leave you to decide who is sleeping where. I have things to tend to, but you missed the evening meal, so I will ask someone to bring you some food and drink.” He turned and headed to the door with Lazarus trailing close behind him.
“Thank you, Brother Simon. I appreciate you putting us up for the night,” Franc called after him, but he was not surprised that he didn’t reply. When he halted to speak privately with Lazarus, the old monk lowered his voice, but Franc could still hear him.
“You are most welcome here, Lazarus. This was your home, and always will be,” Brother Simon whispered. “But in future, I hope you will think carefully before bringing a fugitive into our midst. We will grant him sanctuary this night, but ask that you honor your promise and leave at first light.”
Lazarus nodded, then closed the door. “I am sorry you dinna receive a warmer welcome, but there are many who dinna come in peace, and the French Guard always pose a threat, so they canna be too careful.”
“There is no need to apologize, my friend. I do not blame him for being cautious. These are challenging times, and he must look out for the welfare of the other monks.” Franc moved to the window and inhaled a deep breath of crisp night air. “So, this is where you spent your childhood.”
“It is the only home I remember. After the English attacked Berwick, slaughtering everyone in their path, including my sire, Brother Simon found me while saying last rights to the dead,” Lazarus explained. “I was gravely injured, and fortunate he notice that I was still breathing. He took pity on me and brought me back with him to the friary, hoping that if I recovered, he could return me to my family. But when I awakened, I had no memory of who I was or where I belonged. I remained with the monks until called upon to go to the Holy Land.”
“It is a far cry from the fine castle in which you belonged,” Franc said.
“True, but I dinna recall any of my time there as a bairn. And you canna miss what you dinna know. I have no memory of my mother or my father either, so I only know what my brothers have told me about my early summers at Fraser Castle.”
“It is amazing that you managed to find your family after all those years.”
“It was by sheer fortune that I found my way home,” Lazarus said. “Following my return from France, I was in Berwick and ran into some trouble. A visitor to the village assisted me, and I repaid him with my only possession. A dirk that turned out to be a gift from my father. What was even more shocking, the man who came to my aid was my cousin Ian, who just happened to be in Berwick on Clan business.”
“That is an unusual turn of events,” Franc said.
“Aye.” Lazarus removed a je
wel-handled weapon from a sheath at his side and handed it to Franc. “I was told that my father made one for each of his sons, so when Ian showed it to my brothers, they suspected I was alive and not killed during the Berwick attack as they believed. I had no idea of its significance, only that I had it tucked in my boot when the monks found me. When I went to the Holy Land, I left it with Brother Simon and asked him to hold on to it for me. Now, I dinna go anywhere without it.”
“It is a miracle that it found its way to Fraser Castle and your brothers had the foresight to search for you.” Franc handed the dirk back to his friend.
“I would like to believe it was divine intervention.” He glanced skyward and smiled. “The Lord does work in mysterious ways.”
A loud rap interrupted their conversation. Lazarus padded to the door and opened it.
“It is good to have you home. Brother Simon asked me to bring you some food and wine.” A monk handed Lazarus a tray containing bannocks, cheese, two goblets, and a clay jug.
“Thank you, Brother Mark.” Lazarus closed the door and placed the tray of food on a table. He filled two goblets and handed one to Franc. “They make some of the finest wine you will ever taste at this monastery.” He lifted his cup and downed the content before picking up a piece of cheese, and popping it into his mouth.
