It wouldn’t be fair to Isabel or to himself.
He smiled absently at Isabel’s aloofness and her detached tone earlier when he had wanted to apologise. She had tried to make nothing of it, even though they both knew differently. The truth was that, however unwise it had been kissing Isabel, he could not regret it. Yet Will had to make sure that it never happened again.
He sighed as he glanced at Isabel who was crouched low, feeding the scruffy little dog that had attached himself to her. ‘If you keep feeding the little scamp, we’re never going to get rid of him.’
‘Ah but he’s hungry and lost, Will,’ she said, patting him. ‘And after the way he helped us earlier I feel a sense of gratitude towards him.’
‘For all you know it may be totally infested with fleas.’
‘I’ve already checked and, no, he isn’t.’ She picked up the dog by its front paws. ‘Yes, that’s right...who’s a good boy? Now, what are we going to call you?’
‘Oh, good grief!’ Will muttered, shaking his head. ‘Come, we must keep moving.’
‘What about Rochelais, since you came upon us here? But, no, I think not.’ She tapped her fingertips together. ‘Like me, little one, you could have come from somewhere entirely different, belonging nowhere and to no one in particular.’
Will’s throat constricted tightly at Isabel’s pensive words, revealing much about how she still felt.
‘What about Perdu?’ she said and the dog barked, wagging its tail enthusiastically. ‘Very well, Perdu it is and I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance.’ She gave dog another scrap of food before standing up and meeting Will’s bemused gaze at calling the dog...‘Lost’. She no doubt hoped the little mite might someday be found.
They continued walking side by side in silence, with the little dog following behind.
Will flicked her a quick glance. ‘Isabel, about what we were discussing—I just want to say that, although I was going to apologise earlier, I’m not sorry I kissed you.’ He could see a flush rise on her neck and cheeks.
‘And as I said before, it was a good ruse,’ she said shrugging, as though she were describing something inconsequential.
‘It may have been initially, but it certainly didn’t end that way.’
‘If you’re trying to say that you enjoyed it, Will, then let’s say that I did as well and leave it at that.’
He stopped in his tracks abruptly. ‘You’re right. I did.’ He dragged his fingers through his hair before continuing. ‘But nothing could ever come of it, Isabel.’
‘I didn’t say anything would.’ She straightened her spine and continued to walk away. Will watched her as a dull ache spread in his chest. He shook his head and caught up with her.
They descended into a silence which Isabel broke, eventually.
‘Do you not think it strange that Rolleston’s men seem to have disappeared?’
He threw a glance behind them before turning around. ‘Yes, but then we never did actually see any of them.’
‘What of the men who were following us and the pock-faced man you thought you saw?’
He nodded. ‘I believe I did.’
‘Good, because if you didn’t, you kissed me under false pretences, William Geraint,’ she said in feigned outrage.
A slow smile spread on his lips. ‘But you forget—I am a rogue knight after all.’
‘And there I was, thinking that you had gallantry and valour coursing through your veins.’
‘No, those epithets belong to another.’ He chuckled softly. ‘In all seriousness, though, I do believe it was his men, Isabel.’
‘Yet they seemed to have disappeared—’ she clicked her fingers ‘—just like that.’
‘Yes,’ he muttered, glad of the change of their discourse. ‘But we be must be ready for any eventuality.’
‘As always, Will. As always.’
He smiled despite himself. If anyone had courage and bravery coursing through their veins it was the beautiful woman by his side who was warm, witty and intelligent, as well.
Just then the church bells tolled, reminding them both of why they had been aimlessly ambling through the myriad of backstreets. Soon they’d meet with the old Templar Knight and find out whether he had the information they sought.
* * *
They made their way to the agreed meeting place, bringing them directly to the port side closest to the Tour de la Lanterne, a tall, grey, singular tower built only a handful of years before with crenulations around the edge topped with a steep conical spire.
The port was deserted by the time Will and Isabel grappled with the iron gate of the tower. It led to the heavy wooden door that had been left open, as Phillippe de Sens had promised. They slowly crept up the dank, spiral staircase, taking care not to misstep on the jagged, uneven stones as they made their way up. Streaks of moonlight poured through a few small square windows, providing the only source of light. An eerie, ominous undertone hung in the air. Catching his breath as they made their way to the top, Will pushed open the creaky wooden door with a foreboding sense of uneasiness. The hairs on the back of his arms rose. Something was very wrong here.
He entered the room slowly, with Isabel behind and the little dog pushing through to the front. Their four-legged friend began to sniff the wooden floor before beginning to bark and growl at something behind the door.
Everything happened quickly then. Will pushed Isabel behind him and stepped forward just as someone leapt from behind the door, ready to attack, jabbing a weapon in the air. His attack would have been devastating had it not been for the little dog, who had attached himself to the man’s ankle as Will and Isabel darted out of the way. Shaking the animal off, the unknown assailant rushed forward to the doorway, which was now clear, and scrambled out of the chamber. Will was about to follow the man when Isabel called out to him.
His heart hammered in his chest, drowning out her voice. ‘What did you say?’
‘It’s Sir Phillipe de Sens.’ She crouched down beside a man sprawled flat on his back on the floor. ‘He’s been stabbed.’
Will rushed over to the other side of the circular chamber and crouched down beside the old man, taking note of the blood seeping on to the floor. Gasping for breath, the old man beckoned Will close and whispered his last words to him. They spoke for a short time before the older man pressed two coins into Will’s hand, taking one last gulp of air. Isabel looked on in abject horror as the man went motionless, his eyes half closed.
‘Oh, God...oh, God,’ she cried, covering her mouth with a shaking hand. ‘He’s dead, isn’t he? And it’s all my fault.’
Will knew they had to act fast—they could not stay here. ‘Come, Isabel, we have to go.’
He practically dragged her out, clambering down the spiral staircase they had climbed only moments ago.
* * *
Somehow, they made their way back through the backroads of La Rochelle until they reached Cour de la Commanderie and miraculously they managed to arrive expediently, without notice. Isabel had been glad that Will had taken charge when they were ushered into an antechamber to speak with one of Sir Phillippe’s brethren. She stood still with her back straight, barely taking anything in as Will spoke quietly to the man, informing him of the old Templar’s demise and his last words.
She vaguely noticed Will present the coins that Sir Phillippe had given him along with the murmur of the secret message to this man—this other Templar Knight—who responded with a single nod. Words and agreements passed between them and before Isabel knew what was happening, they were led through a dark hallway and then into a series of chambers, until they were once again outside, walking through the ornate cloister that led to the chapterhouse. With her hood lowered over her head she walked a little behind Will and the Templar Knight with the little dog, Perdu, beside her.
Here, they were shown into a small, inconspicuou
s chamber that held miscellaneous objects and scrolls. Once inside, the Templar Knight, with Will’s help, moved a few bits of the furniture out of the way and rolled up the vibrantly coloured rug, uncovering a trapdoor. Will opened this, revealing a spiral staircase leading to the shadowy darkness beneath.
Isabel blinked, as though roused from a deep sleep, realising that they were leaving the Templar headquarters differently to the way in which they had arrived.
‘We need to go, Isabel.’ Will exchanged a few more words with the Templar Knight and grabbed the flaming torch that he held out for them.
‘I don’t understand.’ She frowned. ‘Where are we going now?’
He held out his hands to her. ‘Come, my lady, I’ll explain on the way.’
Isabel clasped Will’s hand as he guided them carefully down the slippery spiral staircase. She picked the little dog up and continued to descend further and further down until they reached the bottom. Setting Perdu on the ground, Isabel darted her gaze all around in surprise with what she saw—a large and well-constructed secret tunnel, complete with metal sconces holding unlit torches.
‘Well, are you going to tell me why we are leaving this way?’
‘It was the safest way to get out of the Templar headquarters without then being followed.’ Will lit the torches as they went along. ‘I believe that danger is too close and I just couldn’t take that chance.’
For that old Templar, it had been fatally close. She shook her head sadly. ‘I take it that Sir Phillippe was the one who advised us to come here. That’s what he told you before he died?’
Will lit the torch in the metal sconce, made from packed rushes, bound with hessian. ‘Yes, I believe he wanted to help protect us.’
Dear God, that made Isabel feel even worse. The fact that Sir Phillippe would be thinking about their safety as he lay dying made her feel even more culpable for his death. It all made her feel even more disgusted with herself.
She suddenly realised another thing. ‘On top of the poor man’s death, the vellum is now lost—mayhap for ever.’
‘I doubt that.’
‘Do you think that Rolleston’s men have it?’ she muttered under her breath.
‘No, Isabel. Phillippe de Sens was not as foolish as to bring it to the rendezvous.’
Confused, she grasped the edge of his sleeve, giving it a little tug. ‘How do you know?
‘Because he told me.’ Will stopped for a moment, turning to meet her eyes. ‘He...destroyed the vellum.’
‘What?’ Isabel’s jaw dropped. ‘Why...why would he do that?’
‘That he did not say, but before he died he made a bargain with me.’
Oh, Lord... Isabel did not like the sound of this. ‘Go on.’
‘He made me promise that if we do something for him than he would ensure our safe passage to England using the Templars’ vast influence, not to mention their fleet of ships, anchored right here in La Rochelle.’
‘What did you promise him, Will?’ she said slowly.
‘That if we ever were to find whatever the vellum alluded to—’ he swallowed ‘—we would hand it over to the Templars.’
‘What? You had no right to do that without asking me.’
‘I didn’t have the time to negotiate properly. The man was dying, Isabel...and needed some guarantee. I gave it to him by swearing on my sword.’
‘But why would he—?’
‘Whatever this is, means nothing, if I cannot ensure your safety.’ He moved closer, resting his forehead against hers, making her feel close to tears. ‘I’d make the same decision a thousand times again to ensure that. It’s all that matters to me.’
‘Oh...’ she whispered, feeling as though something was stuck in her throat.
He nodded, seemingly unable to say anything as well. After a long moment, he exhaled and grabbed her hand. ‘Come, we need to go.’
Isabel pulled his arm. ‘Where are we going?’
‘This should eventually lead to a safe haven. And tomorrow, God willing, we’ll leave this blasted port for England.’
‘You’re right.’ Isabel sighed deeply. ‘In the end that’s all that matters,’
‘Exactly.’
‘And in any case, I cannot imagine what this treasure could be, for it to be more valuable than silver and ruby pendants.’
‘Something of far greater value to men like Rolleston and the Templars.’
‘Well, whatever it is, it seems the secrets of the vellum have died with Sir Phillippe.’
‘Possibly...’ He slid her a glance. ‘But we know more than you realise. The question, however, is whether we want to keep digging for it.’
‘I don’t know, right now,’ she said with a frown, suddenly weary. ‘But thank you...for everything.’
He gave her hand a squeeze. ‘Come, we must go.’
Chapter Fourteen
They walked the remainder of the long passage in silence, both absorbed in their reflections on the night that had just passed.
It had been a turbulent night of extreme emotions, from the apprehensive excitement of their arrival, the chase through La Rochelle to that scorching kiss. But it had all given way to disaster and no matter how Isabel looked at it, she knew in the depth of her soul that the fault lay with her. If she hadn’t insisted that they go on the quest to find out the mystery of what was inscribed on that vellum, the Templar Knight—Sir Phillippe de Sens—would still be alive.
The tunnel came to an abrupt end and once again they had to climb the lengthy, steep spiral staircase to reach another trapdoor. Will pushed it above his head and jumped up, reaching down to pull Isabel out and on to a cold stone surface.
They were inside an interior very different to the austere opulence they had left behind.
Blinking, Isabel adjusted to the dim light, looking round, taking in the small chamber. Will clasped her hand, just as a stout man, who had obviously been awaiting their arrival, opened the door and ushered them outside.
Will pressed a Templar coin into his palm. ‘We received word, Sir William, that you and your companion would be arriving.’
‘That was quick.’ Will raised a brow. ‘And who may you be?’
‘You do not need to know who I am and, yes, we have our ways,’ the man said. ‘Now, if you’d follow me. We have made arrangements for you to stay somewhere no one can find you. Come along if you please.’
* * *
Isabel was ready to drop by the time they had reached the remote ramshackle wooden dwelling outside the town walls. They didn’t have long—only a few hours to sleep—before the break of dawn and before their nameless guide would return to take them back to the port at La Rochelle.
Isabel looked around the small, well-appointed chamber. There were a few pallet beds arranged side by side, a hearth with a trestle table nearby with a few plates and mugs resting on top, as well as a few stools and a bench arranged around it. It certainly gave the impression of a room that had in previous times been used for surreptitious meetings by Templars and their associates.
It seemed incredible that they had gone to this much trouble, to give this much assistance to them. Yet Will had made an honour-bound oath with Sir Phillippe. A promissory pledge that would guarantee their safety in return for something that now seemed out of their reach.
Every time Isabel thought about the old Templar Knight, a knot would coil and tighten in her stomach. Her vain attempt at finding out about the secrets hinted at on the vellum had led to Sir Phillippe’s violent death and it was all her fault. Will had tried to warn her, but she hadn’t listened...
‘Why don’t you rest for a while, Isabel?’ Will’s voice pierced through the bleakness of her mind.
‘Not yet.’ She lifted her head and swallowed, meeting his eyes. ‘I’ve thought about what you said, Will, and you’re right—it was always too dangerous.’
‘It’s finished, it’s over, I don’t care about the vellum...but that poor man... I wish I had listened to you Will. We should never have gone down this perilous path.’
‘You were not to know.’
The knot in the pit of her stomach was guilt and hopeless despair and it threatened to consume her. ‘No, but you did warn me.’
‘You mustn’t blame yourself.’
‘Who should I blame when it lies with me and me alone?’ She gulped. ‘The man would be alive if it weren’t for me.’
Will pulled her into his arms as the tears Isabel had been holding on to with difficulty began streaming down her face.
‘It’s all...all—’ she said between sobs ‘—my fault.’
‘Hush, sweetheart, easy now,’ Will ran his fingers up and down her spine. ‘You can’t blame yourself for something that was not in your control.’
‘But if we hadn’t gone to Sir Phillippe in the first place, if we hadn’t gone down this pointless, futile path that was already dangerous, he might still be—’
‘No, Isabel.’ Will pulled away slightly, wiping her tears with the pad of his thumb. ‘The men who are to blame for de Sen’s death are the ones who perpetrated it. The man who ordered it and the other who stuck a dagger in his chest...not you.’
‘I cannot help think that if we hadn’t asked about the vellum than he’d still be alive.’
‘Yes, but he knew what he was doing when he asked us to meet him later somewhere as deserted and isolated as that tower and outside the protection of Cour de la Commanderie. He knew the risks, yet he still made that decision.’
‘But why there? That’s what I cannot comprehend.’
‘Who knows? In light of the fact that he burnt the vellum he may have wanted to throw us off the scent, as it were. Naturally, once he was attacked and facing his demise, he was forced to change tactic. But that is purely speculation.’
Her Banished Knight's Redemption--The follow-up to award-winning story the Rebel Heiress and the Knight Page 14