by Scott, B. J.
Grinning pompously, Bateau clucked his tongue. “I am sure we have met.”
“He is simply a crofter we came across along the way,” Franc cut in. “He too is unfamiliar with what you seek. Let him take Giselle and leave, then we will talk.”
“A crofter, you say.” Bateau circled Lazarus, carefully studying him from head to toe. “He appears too well-muscled to be a simple farmer. I have never known a crofter to carry a jeweled dagger either.” He slid Lazarus’s dirk from the sheath at his side and held the weapon in the air. “This will fetch a decent price, if I do not decide to keep it for myself.”
“Over my dead body,” Lazarus growled.
“That goes without saying.” Bateau tapped his finger against his brow. “I remember now,” he announced, grinning. “We have met before. Near Berwick about three years ago. We took a whore’s son prisoner, and you foolishly offered your life for his, playing right into our hands. If not for some meddlesome clansmen who happened along while some of my men were transporting you back to France to face punishment, you’d be long dead.”
Franc shot a quick glance at Lazarus, then glared at Bateau. “I told you he is a crofter and—”
“I remember you too well.” Lazarus cut Franc off before he could defend him further. “You were a merciless, bootlicking snake when first we met, and I see you are still kissing Philip’s arse now. I heard he prefers the company of men over women.”
Bateau answered with a brutal blow to Lazarus’s stomach, then fisted his hair and snapped his head back. “We will see who kisses whose ass. By the time I finish, you will do anything I command.” He rubbed his groin and pumped his hips, a menacing smirk crossing his lips. “Anything.”
“I bite,” Lazarus warned.
“Not if I rip out your teeth first,” Bateau hissed, then faced Franc. “You can make this easy and tell me where you hid the religious artifact you took from France, or we can do this the hard way. Maybe I will start with the woman.” He took a menacing step forward. “It has been a while since my men had free rein to do as they pleased with a wench.”
“Touch her, and I will kill you,” Franc warned.
Bateau laughed. “You are hardly in a position to give me orders or to make threats. But perhaps we can come to an agreement.”
“What sort of agreement?”
“Give me what I ask for and I will consider letting her go,” Bateau said.
“And Lazarus?”
“I am not going anywhere,” Lazarus bellowed. “Do as he asked and let the lass go. Then you can do with us as you wish.”
While he appreciated Lazarus’s loyalty, Franc wanted him alive, and free to get Giselle and Jean out of this safely. If he knew for sure that Bateau would honor his word and allow them to leave, he would gladly barter for their release. He prayed Jean would remain hidden until he had.
“Your quarrel is with me. Lazarus has nothing you want, but I do. Let him take Giselle away from here, and promise you will not go after them, and I will tell you what you want to know.”
Giselle clutched his upper arm, her nails digging into his flesh. “No, Francois. You know they will not listen to reason or keep their word. Once they have the information they seek, they will slaughter us all. I will not leave you.”
“A touching show of self-sacrifice and loyalty,” Bateau sniped. “However, I do not believe for one minute that any of you are innocent in this. Her uncle was a known Templar sympathizer, was he not? He aided fugitives here in Scotland and was directly involved with the transport of stolen goods belonging to the church. We also have it on good authority that he was once a high ranking official in the religious order.”
“These heartless bastards murdered my uncle and my father. Not to mention countless other innocents,” Giselle sobbed. “Their greed and evil knows no limits. Do not tell them anything, Francois.”
His mind racing, Franc tried to come up with a solution to their current situation—which at this moment looked bleak. What Giselle said was true. These blackguards would show no mercy, and if he gave them what they wanted, they’d not hesitate to kill them all, leaving no witnesses. But if he could convince them to let her and Lazarus leave before he told them where he hid the chalice, they might stand a chance.
If he only had himself to consider, Franc would remain steadfast to the cause and never surrender. But this was no longer about him alone. He had a son and his mother to think about, and Lazarus had family who depended on him as well. Choices were much simpler when they had only themselves to worry about. Giselle was right when she said enough people had died for the sake of the treasure and not even his word as a Templar was worth the lives of those he loved.
“Tell us where the treasure is hidden and where we can locate the other Templar fugitives and we will take care of this quickly,” Bateau said. “Refuse and it will not be pleasant. Of that I can assure you.”
Franc caught Lazarus’s gaze and the two men exchanged a quick nod. Aware that his friend had something planned, he did his best to maintain Bateau’s attention. “Let them go and I will tell you what you need to know,” Franc repeated.
With his fists balled, Bateau narrowed his gaze and leered at him. “You try my patience, Monsieur de Valier.”
While Bateau focused his interest on Franc, Lazarus twisted free of one of his captor’s grasp and elbowed him in the gut. Caught unprepared, the man doubled over, gasping for air. Before the other guard had a chance to react, he spun around and kneed him in the groin. When the man hit the ground, writhing in agony, Lazarus relieved him of his longsword and raced toward his friends. “Giselle is right. Dinna tell them anything.” He backed up until he stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Franc, and they had the lass tucked behind them.
“Buffoons. I will deal with you and your incompetence later.” Bateau snarled at the men who were holding Lazarus before glowering at Franc. “I am impressed with the Scotsman’s prowess, but two men are no match for more than a dozen of King Philip’s finest soldiers. Best you stop this foolishness and hand over your weapons.”
“If those two bampots are Philip’s finest, then our odds look much improved,” Lazarus said. “If you want my weapon, you will have to come and get it.”
“We faced worse odds on the battlefields in the Holy Land and against a much deadlier foe.” Franc raised his sword and widened his stance.
“You are not in the Holy Land, and I grow weary of this game. Tell us where we can find the treasure,” Bateau demanded. When Franc offered no reply, he motioned for the rest of his men. “Seize them.”
“You let my mam go!” Jean ran into the clearing with his wooden sword in hand. He charged toward Bateau, but one of his men intercepted the boy and scooped him up.
“What have we here?” Bateau grabbed Jean by the neck of his tunic, and held the flailing child in the air. He snatched the toy weapon from his hand and tossed it in the dirt a few feet away. “Does this varmint belong to you?”
With her hands steepled as if in prayer, Giselle stepped out from behind Franc. “Please do not hurt him. He is just a wee child and can do you no harm.”
Of all the dangerous, potentially deadly situations he’d been in during his association with the Templars, Franc had never faced a dilemma such as this. Normally, there would be no question, he would stand his ground and never surrender. But they were sorely outnumbered. And while he hated groveling before this swine, he would do whatever it took to ensure the safety of his child and Giselle. He lowered his weapon. “Spare the boy and his mother. Please.”
Chapter 18
Bateau glared at Lazarus who still had his weapon raised. “Lower your blade, or you will be first to die. After the woman and child of course.”
“I fear na for my own life, but will do as you request if we have your word that the lass and her son will be set free.” Lazarus stood his
ground, refusing to yield. “Swear upon your loyalty to the King of France and to the Almighty that no harm will come to them.”
Bateau stroked his bearded chin, then a menacing grin tugged at his lips. “It shall be as you request. Other than to get you to comply, they really serve no purpose. Once we have recovered a piece of the treasure and can present the king with two Templar knights, I am sure His Majesty will be most pleased.” He set Jean down, then motioned with a flip of his hand toward Giselle. “Go to your mother and be quick about it, boy, before I change my mind.”
Jean scrambled to his mother and launched himself into her waiting arms. He sniffled, then dragged his fist across his nose. “Was I a brave knight, Mama? Like my da and Uncle Harold?”
She hugged her son tightly and kissed his cheek. “You were very courageous, mon amour, and I am sure they would both be proud.” She shot a tearful glance at Franc.
Franc nodded. “I am certain your father and uncle are proud of you, Jean.” It nearly tore his heart out to know that he would never get to tell the boy he was his real father. He would not be there to see the child grow up or to share in his life.
He squared his shoulders and faced Bateau. “Give them a horse and let them leave. Then we will talk about the chalice.” Franc caught Lazarus’s wary stare. “Do as they ask, my friend, and lower your weapon.”
As soon as Lazarus complied, Bateau’s men closed in and relieved them of their swords. After dragging them into the clearing, the guards forced the two to kneel before Bateau.
“Let us not waste any more time. If you want me to let the woman and child go, tell me where I can find the treasure and the other fugitive knights,” Bateau ordered.
“That was not the agreement. You swore in God’s name and that of King Philip to set them free,” Franc reminded him. “Give them a horse and send them on their way, now.”
Franc needed to know that Giselle and Jean were safe before he told Bateau that he had no intention of breaking his oath to the other members of the Highland Covenant. Once they were out of harm’s way, Bateau’s men could beat and torture him, but he’d not tell them where the chalice was located or betray the whereabouts of his fellow knights. His only regret was that he’d gotten Lazarus mixed up in this and it was highly likely his friend would lose his life too. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“I knew the risk. Never surrender,” he mouthed so only Franc knew what he said, then he bowed his head and made the sign of the cross.
“Get her a horse,” Bateau ordered one of his men. “De Valier’s will do. When we have finished with him, he will no longer have need of it.”
“Oui. Take my horse, and be sure to bring along the plaids. The nights are cold, and you will need them for the boy.” Franc said to Giselle.
“May I take them?” she asked Bateau. “For the sake of my son,” she added.
“Take them,” Bateau snarled. “But best you leave before I change my mind.”
She hoisted Jean into her arms, then hurried toward the waiting destrier. Once mounted, she gazed at Franc, tears welling in her eyes. “I love you, Francois. Now and for all eternity.” She clucked her tongue, and pressed her heels into the horse’s sides, urging him onward.
Thankful he had the foresight to hide the Chalice in the plaid tied to the back of his saddle, and that Bateau never thought to check them before granting Giselle permission to leave, Franc released the breath he was holding. He had remembered what Lazarus told him in the friary about the best hiding spots being in plain sight where a foe would not think to look. Franc pensively watched them depart. Once they were out of his sight and they had a bit of time to put some distance between them and their enemy, he glared up at his nemesis. “Let us get on with it.”
With his hand fisted in Franc’s hair, Bateau snapped his head back, forcing him to look up at him. “Where is the treasure?”
“There is no treasure. It is a myth created by King Philip to justify his continued persecution of the Templars, and his reason for hunting us down like animals.”
Furious, Bateau delivered a backhanded slap that sent Franc plummeting to the ground. Once down, he kicked him several times in the ribs and abdomen. “Perhaps that will refresh your memory,” he growled, then booted Franc again.
When he raised his head, blood dripped from his split lower lip and nose. Franc swiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “There is no treasure,” he repeated.
“Perhaps your friend will be more cooperative,” Bateau spat as he moved to Lazarus and drew his sword. “If I lop off one of his ears, he may hear my message more clearly.” He raised his blade, prepared to strike.
“He will tell you the same thing that I just did.” Aware that Lazarus would not so much as flinch when tortured, Franc cringed inwardly. He’d known many brave men in his day, but none were as courageous and fearless as Lazarus. “Your quarrel is with me, not him.”
“We shall see what he has to say,” Bateau scoffed, then sneered at Lazarus. “But best he do it now, because if he does not tell me what I want to know, I will remove his tongue, after I take his ears.”
Franc managed to rise on all fours, and slowly climbed to his feet. “You are one sick bastard,” he sputtered, then collapsed to his knees.
Again, Bateau raised his sword, taking aim at Lazarus, but halted when the approaching thunder of many hooves caught his attention. He spun around in time to see at least a dozen men on horseback riding into the clearing with their weapons drawn—evening the odds.
They swiftly dismounted and engaged Bateau’s men in battle—the sounds of metal clashing against metal and men groaning in agony filling the air.
In the commotion, Lazarus hauled Franc to his feet, then took the sword from the hand of a dying French agent. “I dinna know where these men came from, but I am elated to see them,” he said before running off to join the fight.
Still feeling the results of his recent beating, Franc was not as quick to respond as Lazarus. Staying upright proved to be a chore, but he managed to stagger a few steps before coming face to face with Bateau. Unarmed, he stood before his enemy, certain he was about to die.
“You may have thought you were going to get away again, but as I promised, not this time.” Bateau brought his sword down in a wide arc, missing Franc by a hair as he ducked and dropped to the ground. Relentless, Bateau was swift to come up from behind, once again prepared to deliver the fatal blow, but hesitated. “I will give you time to pray, Templar,” he hissed.
Still winded from the blows, and momentarily drained of strength, he couldn’t get up. Franc cursed beneath his breath. The image of Giselle’s face flooded his mind, her sweet smile, delicate scent, and what it felt like to join with her again. He thought about Jean and prayed they would be safe. Unable to muster the strength to stand, he braced himself and was prepared to die when he felt something beneath his hand.
“Time is up,” Bateau said as he brought his sword down.
Franc closed his fingers around the object in the dirt, rolled to his side, and thrust it upward with all the force he could summon, plunging it into Bateau’s gut. “That is for Harold Finlay, and all the other men and women you have slaughtered.”
Bateau gasped and staggered backward. His eyes wide, he clutched at the small wooden sword protruding from his stomach, then crumpled to his knees—just as Lazarus came up from behind and ran him through with a broadsword, finishing what Franc started.
“That was close, my friend. We are getting too old for this.” Lazarus yanked his sword from Bateau’s back, then rolled him over to make sure he was dead, before snatching back his own dirk from Bateau’s belt.
“I agree. And thank you.” Franc managed to rise to his feet and allowed Lazarus to help him over to a large tree at the edge of the clearing. He sank to the ground with his back against the trunk. “Who are those men and w
here did they come from?” He surveyed the area, the ground now littered with the lifeless, bloody bodies of King Philip’s men.
A warrior dressed in armor and chain mail strode forward, then squatted beside Franc and offered him his wineskin. “You look like you could use some whisky.”
After drinking his fill, he handed the flagon back to the stranger. “I owe you my life, sir, but I have no idea who you are or why you came along when you did.”
“Hugh Sinclair.” He offered a curt nod. “My uncle and Harold Finlay were close friends in the Holy Land. He was a good man.” He lowered his gaze and said a quick prayer. “When word reached my uncle that the French buggers had captured Finlay in Kinloch and killed him, but that you had managed to escape with a piece of the treasure, he sent us to find you, and escort you to Rosslyn Castle.”
“You’re Templars?” Franc asked, then slowly climbed to his feet.
“Aye. When not accompanying fellow knights to Rosslyn Castle, we fight with King Robert the Bruce,” Hugh informed him.
“I heard rumors that Templars aided the Scottish in their victory over the English at Bannockburn, but thought it just that, rumors,” Franc said.
“We were there,” Hugh replied. “King Robert welcomed us when no one else would, so we fight with him as our way of saying thank you. He too is na in the Pope’s favor as you well know, and Scotland was one place the Templar Knights were na persecuted. My clan has long been associated with the order, so it made sense for those who escaped from France to come here.”
“Well I am most grateful you came along when you did. Though I have no idea how you knew where to look,” Franc concluded.
“We had some help.” Hugh pointed across the clearing at a figure running toward them. “We came across them on the trail and they told us where you were.”
