by Scott, B. J.
“He couldna spare you a minute of his time? I thought he was the contact you were told to see.”
“He is. Finlay told me to return to the shop at the hour of five today and he would speak to me then.”
“Then we must wait, and pray the French buggers dinna catch up with us before you can speak to him.”
“We have no other choice.” Franc released a heavy sigh and raked his fingers through his hair. “This day has been full of unexpected turns.”
“Something else troubles you, Franc. What is it?”
“Nothing,” Franc lied.
“I dinna believe you. I know you well enough to tell when something is amiss.”
What Lazarus said was true. When they fought shoulder-to-shoulder in the Holy Land, then spent countless days locked away in the dungeon of the French King, they had become so close they could almost read each other’s thoughts. They were closer than most brothers. Franc rested his forehead on his hand. “I fear I am losing my mind.”
“And you just came to that startling conclusion?” Lazarus threw back his head and laughed, then thumped Franc on the back. “For a man to risk his life for a goblet, to track across France, then to hop a ship headed for Scotland to deliver it to an unknown location, all the time staying just one step ahead of a mob of men who want to kill him, isna a testament to a man’s sanity.”
Franc pinned Lazarus with an angry scowl. “You know why I do this,” he said. “But it isna the quest, or running into the French Guard that troubles me.”
“Then, what is it?”
Franc sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly before he began. “When I was in the village, I saw a woman. And for a moment, I was sure it was Giselle.”
“The lass you love?” Lazarus’s eyes widened and his jaw slackened.
“Oui. The woman I saw had the same willowy build, the same flaxen hair, and carried herself in the same regal way as Giselle. When she spoke, she even sounded like her.”
“You talked to the lass?” Lazarus asked.
“No. I saw and heard her from a distance. But my heart raced the way it did whenever Giselle came near. My chest tightened, making it difficult to draw a breath. Only one woman has ever had that effect on me.” Franc cradled his face in his hands. “You see, I am losing my mind.”
“Stranger things have happened,” Lazarus said. “Mayhap it was her.”
“There is no way it could be my Giselle!” He rose and began to pace.
“How can you be certain unless you find the lass and speak to her? You are here in Scotland. It is not an impossibility for her to be here as well.”
Franc paused and glared down at Lazarus. “Were that possible, I would be speaking to a ghost,” he blurted. Once he started to tell Lazarus about Giselle, he was unable to stop.
“Like her father, Giselle is dead, and I am to blame.” Tears tracked down Franc’s cheeks and he scrubbed them away with the back of his hand. His heart ached as if ripped from his chest whenever he thought about her, but speaking about her gutted him. “I knew better than to give in to temptation. I let my own selfish needs overshadow the vows I made to God and the brotherhood of knights, and she paid dearly for my sins.”
His expression somber, Lazarus silently waited for Franc to go on.
“She was breathtaking, and I was captivated by her loveliness and sweet nature,” Franc said. “I tried to resist, but had seen so much pain and suffering over the years, and felt so alone.” He paused to suck in a gulp of air, then continued. “The way she made me feel so vibrant and alive, was impossible to ignore.”
“You are a man. Flesh and blood.” Lazarus cupped Franc’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze.
Franc stiffened. “I am also a Templar. I made sacred vows and am ashamed to say, I was willing to forsake my oath to satisfy my carnal needs.”
“A man can only witness and endure so much strife afore he breaks, and you have seen more than your share,” Lazarus reminded him. “Seeking solace in the arms of a woman, the way God intended, is not a sin, my friend. I know from experience that love can change a man, and how it can cloud his judgement.”
“I make no excuses for my actions,” Franc snapped, then began to pace again. “With no wealth or possessions, and aware I could not offer her marriage, I took from her what I had no right to possess.”
“You joined?”
Franc faced Lazarus and slowly bobbed his head. “Once. A bittersweet encounter I both cherish and regret,” he said. “I took her, knowing I was a fugitive and could offer her nothing in return for the precious gift she bestowed upon me. I forsook my vows, and for those indiscretions, I was punished.”
“It is true when we became Templars, we made many vows, but the order was disbanded and excommunicated from the church long before you bedded Giselle, so those promises were no longer valid or sinful.” Lazarus rested his hand on Franc’s back. “A man has no choice when, or if he falls in love.”
“That may be true, but he does have a choice to keep those forbidden feelings at bay, or to surrender to desire and temptation,” Franc argued. “Giselle and her father are dead. Had I not asked for Jean’s help, had I not stayed on longer than I should have because of my selfish needs and lustful thoughts, they would be alive, and I would not be haunted by her memory.”
“You canna be certain of that, Franc. The king’s men are ruthless and relentless. It was only a matter of time before Jean’s activities were discovered and he and those he loved paid the price.”
“That does not excuse my part in their demise,” Franc said. “I should have left sooner. I should have been there to save them from the blackguards who killed them. I knew the bastards planned to raid the inn. But I—”
Lazarus snagged Franc’s upper arm and caught his gaze. “You knew they were in danger and dinna do anything to warn them?”
“I tried, but dinna make it back in time,” Franc blurted.
“Back from where?”
“Jean sent me to fetch a case of whisky in a neighboring village. It was there I overheard men talking about the raid,” Franc explained. “I raced back as fast as my horse could carry me, but when I arrived, it was too late. The inn was set afire with Jean inside. I heard him cry out in agony, but the building was engulfed by flames and there was no way to get to him.” He hung his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. “The acrid odor of timbers burning remained with me for many months.”
Lazarus released Franc’s arm and took a step back. “And Giselle?”
“Men who witnessed the raid said she was taken prisoner. I was prepared to risk my life to rescue her, but before I could, I learned those arrested were tortured and executed when they arrived at the castle.”
Lazarus cupped Franc’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “I am sorry things turned out the way they did, but you are na to blame. The atrocities committed by the French crown following the disbandment of the Templar order was brutal and unjust. King Philip IV and his son Philip V are the ones who need to be held accountable.”
“Giselle is dead, and with her, she took my heart and soul. She left behind the shell of a man with no hope for the future and no desire to go on. If na for my vow to deliver the chalice, I would have turned myself over and welcomed death so we could be together.”
“Then I am glad you had something to live for, and I pray someday you will find love again,” Lazarus said. “I understand your anger and remorse. But while it may not seem like it now, mayhap seeing this woman today was a sign from the Almighty that things are na as bleak or as hopeless as you believe. There may be a new love in your future if you are willing to reopen your heart and accept it.”
Drained by the confession, and overcome with emotion and renewed grief, Franc finally found himself at a loss for words. No one could replace Giselle, and Lazarus was a fool to s
uggest otherwise. He believed a man received one chance at true love. He’d had his, and he didn’t deserve another. While he appreciated his friend’s attempt to ease his mind, nothing could purge him of the all-consuming sorrow and guilt he felt for allowing her to die. He wandered despondently toward the stream, then paused to take in its beauty and serenity.
Lazarus joined him. “You have several hours afore you need to go back to town. We have been pushing it, and you are still recovering from your injuries. Now is the opportune time to rest up.” He retrieved a length of plaid and handed it to Franc. “Try to catch some sleep and I will stand guard.”
While raised to believe that confession was good for one’s soul, Franc had to admit, his emotional outburst had done little to ease his grief, but it did leave him feeling weak. He accepted the plaid, then spread it out on the ground beneath a large oak tree. “I will rest a bit, but should I doze off, wake me after a short nap, and you can take my place.” When Lazarus nodded in agreement, Franc stretched out and closed his eyes. His mind immediately flooded with images of Giselle’s beautiful face.
“Wake up. It is nearly time to go.”
Franc awakened with a start and grabbed for his longsword when someone nudged his boot. He sprang to his feet and his gaze darted around the clearing. When Lazarus’s face came into view and his heartbeat slowed to a normal rhythm, he asked, “What time is it?”
“Nearly five,” Lazarus replied, then returned to a small cookfire.
Furious his friend allowed him to sleep so long, Franc stomped toward Lazarus. “I told you to wake me after a short nap, not to let me sleep the afternoon away.”
Lazarus shrugged. “You needed the rest.” He crouched beside the fire and began to stir the glowing embers with a stick.
Aware an argument would prove futile, Franc squatted beside his friend. “Thank you. I guess I was more exhausted than I thought.”
“You are most welcome.” Lazarus pointed at the fish cooking over the fire. “If you are hungry, help yourself. The stream is ripe with salmon.”
“I have no appetite right now. Perhaps when I return from my meeting with Finlay.” He gestured toward the fire. “Do you think that wise? I thought you feared it might draw unwanted attention to us.”
“Na so much at this time of day. I kept the flame low to limit the smoke. The idea of facing dried venison and oatcakes again was more than I could stomach.” Lazarus laughed.
Franc rose and stretched. “Best I think about heading back to town.”
“Will you unearth the chalice and take it with you?”
“No,” Franc said. “I will speak with Finlay and once I am certain the chalice will be safe, I will arrange to turn it over to him. If all goes well, I can return for it, and you can head home to Fraser Castle on the morrow.”
Lazarus frowned. “Are you na planning to accompany me?”
Franc shook his head. “It is not safe for me to do so with the French Guard on my tail. Instead, I will head deeper into the Highlands and lead them away, so you can journey in safety.”
“I am na leaving here without you, so any notion you have of saving my hide by sacrificing your own had best be forgotten.” Lazarus rose, crossed his arms over his chest, and glared at Franc. “Is that clear?”
“We will discuss it upon my return. But I must depart.” After checking his saddle, he climbed atop his horse and picked up the reins.
“I could accompany you to town,” Lazarus offered.
“No. I must do this alone. Stay here with the chalice, and follow the same instructions we discussed earlier today. If I am not back in two hours, you can assume something is amiss. Take the Chalice and head north to Rosslyn Castle.” He turned his horse in the direction of Kinloch.
Chapter 11
Franc arrived in the village a little before five, and after searching the street for French soldiers, he went directly to Finlay’s shop. As instructed, rather than attempt entry through the front door, he circled around back and jiggled the latch. Pleased to find the door unlocked, he entered, then quickly closed the wooden slab behind him.
After allowing his eyes to adjust to the dark storage room, he inhaled deeply, the smell of leather and the tallow renderings Finlay used to condition the footwear filling his nostrils. He quickly crossed the room and cracked opened a door he assumed led into the shop. Surprised to find the place empty, he hoped Finlay was merely running late and his visit would not be a wasted trip.
The brass bell hanging over the front entrance tinkled, alerting Franc to someone’s presence. Finlay advised him the shop would remain closed and told him to enter through the rear door, so it stood to reason that Finlay would do the same. When he heard the soft thud of something hitting the floor, Franc knew for certain he wasn’t alone, but he couldn’t be certain if the intruder posed a threat unless he checked.
French soldiers instantly sprang to mind and he prayed he was wrong. He fisted the hilt of his sword and opened the door wider, affording him a better view of the entire shop, and what appeared to be a woman bending over to pick up a pair of shoes. He couldn’t see her face, but who she was really didn’t concern him as much as her presence did. His visit to Finlay needed to remain a private matter, so he hoped that once she realized the shop was closed, she would leave the same way she entered. However, as she turned in his direction, he felt his heart clench and his mouth gaped open in utter disbelief. Uncertain if he could believe his eyes, he stared at the flaxen-haired beauty.
“Is anyone here?” she called out.
There was a familiar ring to her voice, so Franc squinted to get a better look at her lovely features, then gasped. “Giselle?”
She jumped when he spoke. Visibly startled by his presence, she clutched a hand to her throat and shot a quick glance in his direction. Her eyes widened and her face blanched. “Francois?” she exclaimed on a strangled breath. “Is that you?” She wavered on her feet as if she might faint and grasped a nearby chair for support.
His heart leapt when the familiar sweet lilt of her voice reached his ears. His beautiful Giselle was alive. Wasting no time, he dashed toward her, then snaked his arm around her waist. He gently cupped her chin and brushed the pad of his thumb across her rose-colored lips. “It really is you, mon chéri?”
She offered a hesitant nod. “What are you doing here? I thought you were dead.”
“As you can see, I am very much alive,” Franc said. “I thought the same about you, and am elated that we were both mistaken.”
“I too am pleased, but how can this be?” Her brow creased as she lightly stroked his cheek with her fingertips. “I searched for you after the attack on the inn, but you were nowhere to be found.” She sucked in a quick gulp of air, then continued, “I honestly believed you would never desert us in our time of need, so when one of my father’s friends told me you were captured and killed, I had no reason to doubt his claim.”
He lifted her hand to his lips, kissed the back of it, then clutched it to his chest. “I was in St. Burns when the attack took place. Jean sent me to pick up a crate of whisky.” He proceeded to tell her everything he’d overheard about the planned raid on her father’s inn, and how he’d raced back to warn them. Ashamed of his inability to stop the horrible tragedy from happening, he hung his head. “By the time I arrived, the inn was fully engulfed by flames and there was naught I could do to save your father.”
When she didn’t say anything, he continued, “When a bystander told me you were in the King’s dungeon awaiting trial, I was prepared to move heaven and earth to get you out of that hellhole. But before I could do so, I heard King Philip had you tortured, and executed upon your arrival at the castle. I—”
She pressed a finger to his lips. “I know if able, you would have tried to save Papa. Just as I believe you would have come for me,” she said. “Sadly, it was my cousin Suzan
na they arrested and killed, not me.” Giselle lowered her gaze and whispered a brief prayer. “I too had left the inn on an errand for my father. When the King’s agents arrived, they took my cousin by mistake.”
A tear rolled down her cheek and he caught it with his knuckle. “I am sorry about Suzanna, but I am grateful you are alive.” He raised Giselle’s hand to his lips again and kissed her palm. “How did you come to be in Scotland?”
“After the raid, I spent some time in hiding at a local priory. When my mother’s brother Harold learned of Papa’s death and that I was in danger, he sent for me. With nowhere else to go, and afraid for my life, I came to live here with him.”
Shocked by her declaration, he asked, “Are you saying that Harold Finlay is your uncle?”
She nodded.
“I thought you were French.”
“I am, but my mother was actually born and raised in Scotland. My Grandpapa, Duncan Finlay, was a merchant sailor. When he met my Grandmare in La Rochelle and they fell in love, he brought her to the Highlands to live. But when he died, Grandmare decided to go home to be with her family in France,” Giselle informed him. “She took my mother and her two younger sisters with her, but Uncle Harold was already a young man, and he did not want to leave Kinloch.”
“And your parents met in La Rochelle?”
“Oui, but Mama never lost contact with her brother. I was fortunate that when Papa died and I realized it was no longer safe for me to remain in France, my uncle took me in.”
“Praise the Lord he did.” Franc gently hooked her chin with his finger, then leaned in and brushed her lips with a kiss. “I still cannot believe you are alive and here in my arms. Perhaps in truth, I have died and have gone to heaven.” He encircled her waist and recaptured her mouth—this time plundering with the passion of a man so long deprived of the woman he loved. Savoring the taste of her desire, of her surrender, his tongue delved deeper.
