Harlequin Historical February 2021--Box Set 1 of 2

by Virginia Heath

  ‘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.’

  ‘Isabel…’ He reached out for her.

  ‘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—’<
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  ‘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.’

  She stared at him blankly. ‘And now he’s dead because of his troubles.’

  ‘Remember, you’re talking about a hardened old warhorse who had seen many battles.’ Will gave her a steady gaze. ‘He died protecting what he had sworn on his sword to protect.’

  ‘So, not us?’

  He smiled faintly as he cupped her jaw. ‘Not exactly, sweetheart. That was my bargain.’

  ‘Oh, Will.’ She tried returning his smile, but it felt brittle on her lips. ‘I wish…oh, I wish that I never sought to find out about the vellum.’

  ‘Yes, I know all about regret, Isabel,’ he said quietly. ‘But however much you wish things to be different, you cannot change what happened.’

  ‘No…’

  ‘You have to accept that it has happened. And you have to live with it,’ he continued.

  ‘It’s not easy.’

  ‘It won’t be, but you can’t allow this bitterness, this regret, to eat away at you because one day you’ll come to realise that there’s nothing left, just an empty shell of the person you used to be.’

  Isabel tilted her head up as her fingers touched his jaw. ‘Is that what happened to you after…after Portchester?’

  She understood now much more than before—the pain, responsibility and regret that Will had felt and perpetually lived with. Understood how it must have almost ripped him apart.

  ‘Yes,’ he said softly, after a long moment.

  But he was wrong about one thing.

  He hadn’t become a shell of a person, as he thought he was, devoid of any feeling. Isabel watched him in the moonlight, her fingers caressing the hard contours of his face. Without realising what she was about to do, Isabel went up on her tiptoes and pressed her lips gently to his. When she paused he sucked his breath through his teeth and watched her, motionless, as she repeated the gesture again and again. Dear God, but she wanted his kiss—wanted to be wrapped by his warmth.

  She pulled away slightly. ‘You are so much more than the shell you believe you’ve become.’ Her words, a little breathless, needed to be said. For him, as well as for her. ‘The man you were—’ her fingers spread across his chest, tapping lightly ‘—is still here, Will.’

  He opened his mouth to say something, but after giving his head a quick shake, closed it. Their eyes locked. Heat flooded her veins and stained her skin. Her pulse surged and quickened as she felt her stomach clench in eager anticipation of something—something she’d never known to exist before this night. An unadulterated want to take away this burden of pain and replace it with pleasure.

  She watched the powerful muscles of his chest rise and fall rapidly, his eyes glittering with unbridled emotion before he swept down, covering her mouth with his own. This time he kissed her with so much desperate need and intensity that Isabel felt her knees might buckle under her.

  His large hands circled her waist, pulling her closer until she was pressed against the wall of his large body, her hands resting on his shoulders, feeling the tension beneath her fingers. His lips slanted over hers, his tongue pushing through her lips, inciting a moan from her mouth. Isabel followed his lead as their breaths merged together, their tongues tangling.

  Dear God, what was happening to her?

  Will lifted Isabel, kissing and devouring her mouth, before gently laying her down on the pallet. He nibbled the corners of her lips, his calloused fingers grazing up her neck, then diving into her hair before tilting her jaw upwards to gain better access to kiss, nip and taste the smooth tender skin there and down the column of her neck. He teased the opening of the linen tunic down using his teeth, his fingers touching and caressing her exposed skin. He moved back to her lips, pressing hot kisses a few more times before pulling away.

  ‘Isabel… We have to stop.’

  ‘No,’ she mumbled, pulling him down, fastening her lips to his, kissing him deeply. ‘We really don’t.’

  She loved the taste of him…

  ‘You need sleep.’ His voice was hoarse, ragged even.

  ‘I don’t…’ She needed much more than sleep. She needed him, needed this closeness, needed the touch of his hands and the feel of his kisses. She wanted to run her fingers all over him.

  ‘Please, Will.’ She pulled him to her, but he gently caught her hands and brought them to his mouth, kissing her fingers one by one.

  ‘You don’t know what you’re saying, sweetheart.’ His smile was faintly bemused. ‘I don’t want this to be another thing you regret.’

  She sat up, her knees bent with her feet tucked underneath her, and closed her eyes. Leaning close, she kissed and touched him along his jaw, the sharp, angled cheekbones and his lips again and again before licking his bottom lip with the tip of her tongue. ‘I…won’t. I promise I won’t.’

  ‘Oh, God, Isabel. What are you doing?’ Will growled, looking at her with so much intensity, so much suppressed longing, that it robbed her of breath. ‘We mustn’t get carried away like this.’

  His words stopped mid-flow, seemingly caught in his throat, and his eyes dropped to her shaking fingers in disbelief as she found the edge of the tunic she wore and pulled it up and over her head. Isabel watched him with a bold stare, perplexed to understand where this unknown confidence had come from as she sat on the pallet baring the nakedness of her upper body.

  ‘Don’t,’ she whispered softly. ‘Don’t you dare stop.’

  Slowly her confidence with her brazen behaviour began to ebb away, her hands sliding up her body, to cover her naked breasts.

  Oh, God, what foolishness…

  Will didn’t want her in the same way as she wanted him—either that or he had far more self-control than she had.

  How mortifying…

  Will’s expression slowly changed then. His gaze under his hooded eyes smouldered and blazed. His smile was inscrutable. He sat opposite Isabel, slowly prising one finger, then another away, his eyes piercing through her. With each finger he took away, he brushed his fingers along hers, in a sensual stroke, up and down, before holding both of her hands in his, caressing the inside of her palm with slow circular motion, moving to the tender skin on her wrists. He pressed slow, wet kisses to the inside of her hands, where his fingers had been, tracing the tip of his tongue along the length of her fingers. She gasped at this unexpected pleasure, from the featherlight touch of his lips, tongue and mouth on her fingers, which bloomed and dispersed through her entire body.

  It was only then that his eyes raked her up and down. He inhaled deeply before lifting the edge of his own tunic and echoed what she had done only moments ago, pulling it up and over his head. The corner of his lips lifted slightly, along with one arched brow, as he held it out before dropping it to the ground.

  They knelt in front of each other on the pallet, watching and drinking in the sight of one another disrobed, exposed and breathless.

  Isabel moved first, her fingers itching to touch the firm, taut skin of his magnificent chest dusted with a smattering of dark hair, up through to his powerful shoulders, taki
ng note of the recent scar she had sewn up and past wounds—a reminder that this man was a seasoned warrior.

  Her hands dragged round the bulging muscles of his arms to the hard planes of his back, feeling the smoothness as they made their way back around to his chest. She pressed her hands flat against his beating heart, feeling his pulse surge.

  He took in a sharp breath as he pushed her down gently, her head falling back to be nestled against the cushioned softness. He lay beside her, his elbow bent, one hand supporting the side of his head, while the other skimmed over the length of her body. She shivered under his touch as his fingers brushed from her shoulder around to the curve of her breast, down to her flat stomach and then back up again.

  The pad of his thumb circled round her nipple agonisingly slowly. So slowly that she almost screamed. He dipped his head low and flicked his tongue over one nipple in exactly the same way as his fingers continued to caress the other. And this time she did cry out.

  ‘Are you well, Isabel?’ he said sheepishly, knowing perfectly the effect he was having on her.

  Her whole body felt as though it was on fire and it was becoming difficult to think rationally. ‘Oh, yes, thank you,’ she ground out, her breathing ragged. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Never better.’ He grinned as his fingers grazed the underside of her breast, moving down further and further before they circled her navel, his lips, tongue and teeth following the trail.

  He moved back to her lips, catching her moan with his mouth. She felt his inquisitive tongue slip and slide along hers in a continuous dance, luscious and slow. His hand slipped down the side of her body, over the flare of her hips and around the curve of her back, drifting to her round bottom, giving it a squeeze, his fingers caressing and digging into her backside, learning the shape of her.

  Dear God!

  Her languid body didn’t seem as though it belonged to her any more. A knot of uncontrollable need—something unknown and unfathomable—was building in her core, begging to be unravelled.