Seducing the Knight

by Gerri Russell

  Instead of glancing at him, at the big broad chest displayed before her eyes, Jessamine looked beyond him to the haze of dust and smoke that rose above the desert below the town of Teba. They’d managed to escape the battle, but she was sure the conde had as well.

  Jessamine knew that the coastal village of Mijas lay just over the hills in the direction they rode. No doubt it would also be the first place the conde would search for her. It would take the better part of the day to reach that town on horseback. She had to keep the knight from bleeding to death until they could reach the town and find help. She also had to figure out a way to escape the conde when he pursued her. He would follow her to the village. Of that she had no doubt.

  “Thank you,” Jessamine said, breaking the silence.

  “For what?”

  “Now that we know we’re safe, I’d like to thank you for saving my life.”

  He inclined his head to acknowledge her words but didn’t speak. They rode on in silence, and as they did, Jessamine studied the flat, rocky desert that stretched before her, but eventually her gaze came back to the man who held her in his arms.

  Sir Alan Cathcart’s arms rested around her securely. She’d never been held so intimately by any man before, and an odd tingle of sensation passed between them where his arms rested against her.

  She could tell by his torso, broad shoulders, and well-muscled arms that he was a warrior. Her gaze moved back to his face, to the blue of his eyes—eyes that spoke of some deep pain as well as kindness and intelligence. His hair was dark and cropped close to his head, setting off his high cheekbones and strong nose. His was a compelling face. It was the kind of face a woman couldn’t help staring at with interest and desire.

  A fist tightened around her heart. Desire was the last thing she wanted in her life. Had her parents’ experiences not warned her of its dangers? They’d both been killed because of their desire: Her father, because his desire for her mother had threatened the Moors in Spain. Her mother, because even death had not dulled the desire she’d had for Jessamine’s father. When she’d refused to marry the conde, he’d had her poisoned.

  And now the man was after her. Jessamine shivered. Nothing could ever convince her to marry that man, or any man for that matter.

  The dream that filled her heart was to see the prophecy that had been made at her birth come true. The prophecy was the last link she had to her parents. Following its path would help her stay connected to them for just a while longer.

  She brought her gaze up to meet the knight’s dark eyes. Somehow this man was a part of that path. “Where are you headed after we reach Mijas?” she asked, suddenly needing to know about him and his plans.

  An awkward silence hung between them as his gaze became hard and assessing. “Why would you want to know that? Our association will end once we reach the first town along the coast.”

  Jessamine shifted uncomfortably, uneasy with his scrutiny. She was the one who usually studied people. It was disconcerting for him to look at her and see…what? What did he see? Because he didn’t look at her with the same cool calculation the Spanish courtiers did.

  He leaned forward. Jessamine felt the soft intake of his breath against her cheek. It was warm and strangely reassuring. She looked up into his compelling blue gaze. Her throat went dry. There was something in his eyes. It was as though he could see right through her pretense at bravery into the frightened yet determined woman within.

  She opened her mouth to speak but he shook his head, silencing her. She stared at him, stunned.

  “You and I will part ways the moment we reach the coast. Is that understood?”

  For the first time all day, Jessamine felt a glimmer of hope lighten her soul. The man was leaving Spain. She didn’t know why or how she knew that, but she did. She could see the red tile rooftops of Mijas in the distance. Mijas was a port town. Her heartbeat fluttered. He intended to board a ship—a ship she would be on.

  A shiver of nervous excitement pulsed through her. Not only would she leave the conde far behind, but boarding the ship figured in the first of the four parts of the prophecy. The Moorish seeress had predicted this day would come. A day that had started with turbans and crosses.

  The prophecy will rise when the turban and the cross come together in blood. Then shall a night of white and the holy waters of a deep blue sea reveal the things you cannot see.

  Never had the second line of the prophecy made any sense until this very moment, nor why the seeress had delivered the prophesy in English. A night of white. In English the words night and knight sounded the same, but held different meanings. Jessamine had always assumed the night sky would turn white for some unknown reason. She dropped her gaze to the blood-spattered tunic Sir Alan Cathcart wore. He was the knight predicted by the prophecy. He had to be.

  Had the seeress meant to confuse her? Or were her own assumptions at fault here? It hardly mattered now. She’d learned the information she’d needed when the time was right. Her thoughts returned to the prophecy.

  Holy waters of a deep blue sea. The words could only indicate the journey the man would soon embark upon. He’d sail toward the Mediterranean, to where the sea was a startling blue somewhere near the Holy Land. Was there a holier place upon this earth?

  Her thoughts returned to her knight in white and she smiled. The prophecy involved him as much as it did her. He’d never be able to leave her behind once she revealed the truth to him.

  Jessamine gazed up into his stony face. For a moment her enthusiasm faltered. Her mouth went dry. The words she longed to say lodged in her throat. Perhaps she should wait to tell him of the prophecy until they were safely on their way across that deep blue sea.

  Chapter Four

  Alan straightened on the horse as the red-tiled rooftops of the port town of Mijas appeared in the distance. His mission was about to begin—a mission with even worse odds than the battle he’d just survived.

  Despite his claims to the contrary, he could feel the energy drain from him in equal proportion to the blood that left his side. The cloth the girl pressed against his body with her bejeweled fingers was soaked through. He needed to stop, to find a barber who could mend his wound before he set foot aboard a ship.

  As the rooftops of Mijas grew closer, Alan shifted his gaze to the girl in his arms. He tried not to notice the softness of her thighs as they pressed against his legs or the gentle feminine scent that filled his head. He braced himself against the rush of warmth the thought brought to his groin. It’d been far too long since he’d had the pleasure of holding a woman this close.

  And this one in particular smelled of exotic mysteries. Intriguing and dangerous. Alan shifted slightly away from her. He could have nothing to do with this woman. His vows forbade it. All his efforts must be focused on getting to the Holy Land and finding the Ark of the Covenant.

  Robert the Bruce had wanted the artifact securely stowed with the rest of the Templar treasure. After living a lifetime of wars and fighting, the king had wanted to make certain no one could use the legendary holy relic as a weapon. Never once did the king talk of using the weapon for himself. He merely wanted the Scottish Templars, and Alan in particular, to make certain the countries of the world remained safe.

  I shall not fail. Alan steeled his resolve. It was his duty, his obligation, to see the task through.

  Robert the Bruce had been the first person ever to see something of worth inside Alan when the king had asked him to join the ranks of the brotherhood. Alan had always been different from the other boys when it came to fighting games and real combat. Other boys had charged into the conflict between the warring clans without fear and without thought. Yet Alan had always held back, wanting to reason things through before he proceeded. He wasn’t afraid of conflict; he simply had a different approach. He wanted to plan before he proceeded—a trait that had made him the object of ridicule and had left him isolated from the others in his clan.

  Yet it was his reasoning skills that had eventuall
y brought him to the notice of Robert the Bruce. His strategic approach to battle had helped the Scots win many recent conflicts against the English. The Bruce had rewarded him and encouraged his efforts by selecting him as one of the ten knights who made up the Brotherhood of the Scottish Templars. It was because of that faith and trust that Alan had to succeed. He must fulfill his promise to his dying king.

  Banishing a moment of doubt, Alan straightened and spurred the tired horse into a final run toward Mijas. It didn’t take long before they entered the city. The streets were crowded in the late afternoon. He and Jessamine, their clothes bloodied and torn, drew more attention than Alan would have liked. People scurried up and down the narrow cobbled streets, their bodies flowing and ebbing like the tide, brushing against his legs, then away. At the close contact and the open stares, Alan found his hand drifting to the hilt of his sword.

  He watched the crowd part and turned his horse into the opening and through to an inn yard off to his right. He brought the horse to a halt. “We are here,” he said as he lifted the girl to the ground.

  For a moment, he mourned the loss of her closeness before he slid from the horse himself. His feet hit the packed earth, and he swayed, suddenly realizing just how weak he’d become. He gripped the horse’s side for support, but his hand slipped against the blood his wound had left behind, and he found himself falling.

  A second later he was in Jessamine’s arms. “Careful,” she said, allowing him to find his feet once more.

  She was stronger than she looked. “My apologies.” He widened his stance and brought his gaze to hers. “This is where you and I must part ways.” He kept his tone low as others strode by, their gazes lingering on his white Templar tunic.

  Realizing he had better do something quickly, before someone challenged him about wearing the garment of a disbanded order, he released the hilt of his sword and unfastened his belt. He meant to pull the tunic up over his head, but in the next moment, the world swayed before his eyes. White edged his vision, narrowing to black. The black threatened to swallow him whole. A cold sickness knotted in his stomach as he hurtled into the darkness.

  Jessamine knew she shouldn’t be so pleased that the man had slipped into unconsciousness, but she was. She ignored the dip and sway of the boat as she tucked the blanket around the knight’s shoulders.

  It had taken some arranging to have him treated by a barber, then transferred to the docks. There they’d boarded a fishing ship under the pretense that they were husband and wife. In fact, it had taken all her jewelry except the locket with miniatures of her parents to make it happen.

  She had no idea where the knight was going, but the prophecy indicated holy waters that were a shade of deep blue. She smoothed the woolen blanket across the knight’s chest. She’d needed his protection from the conde as much as he’d needed her assistance in treating his wound.

  Her own wounds were superficial. She looked far more injured than she was, with her tattered clothing that bore the knight’s bloodstains. Perhaps it was her appearance that had finally convinced the barber and the fishermen that she needed their help. They’d been hesitant at first, but eventually bent to her wishes. If she’d been willing to identify herself as Princess Jessamine, she could have commanded their aid. Yet she’d accomplished the same thing on her own.

  Basking in her simple accomplishments, Jessamine stared down at the knight’s silent, pale features. Asleep, he didn’t look nearly as dangerous as he had before. Dangerous or not, the man would be furious at what she’d done. But his anger would come too late. They were heading east. The only way to rid himself of her would be to toss her overboard. Her fingers stilled. No honorable man would do such a thing. Would he?

  Jessamine looked across the deck of the fishing vessel they had boarded. The fishermen had allowed her to build a pallet for Alan on the deck just below the forecastle. Two men were stationed on the forecastle above—one at the wheel, the other bent over a small table filled with charts. The rest of the crew were several yards away from them, scattered upon the deck, checking netting or minding the sails. No one seemed to pay their two passengers much notice, except for the occasional curious glance darted her way.

  For that reason, Jessamine was grateful for the weapon she had removed from Alan’s scabbard and placed between the two of them. She couldn’t wield it effectively, but the sailors didn’t know that.

  Alan moaned.

  Jessamine tensed as the knight’s eyes fluttered open. “Jessamine.” Her name was a whisper on his lips.

  “Yes,” she replied, drawing closer.

  His hand snaked out, capturing her wrist. “We are at sea.” His eyes opened wide. “Why?” His tone was tight, tense.

  “We’re on the ship Media Noche en route to the Holy Land.”

  “The Holy Land,” he echoed, his grip lessening on her wrist. “How could you possibly know where I’m headed?”

  “I don’t.” Jessamine tensed, suddenly uneasy.

  “Then why?” His gaze pierced her. She tugged at her arm, feeling too close to him, too confined. He didn’t release her.

  He pushed himself up, attempting to sit. With a groan he fell back against his pallet of straw. “My side.”

  “You lost a lot of blood. I found a barber to sew you up, but he said you should rest. Your strength will return in time.”

  He released her. “Why’d you do it?”

  “Find you a healer?” She shrugged. “You needed one.”

  “People don’t usually go out of their way to help others. What’s in this for you?”

  “I need your help too.” A queer twisting sensation followed the admission. She needed to tell him the truth. Jessamine straightened. She’d lived with the prophecy for so many years, allowed it to give her hope that her fate would be different from her parents’. “You are part of a prophecy,” she explained. “A prophecy that has been guiding my life since birth.”

  His piercing blue gaze moved over her with skepticism. “Prophecies are few and far between. What makes you believe you’re the subject of one?”

  “The prophecy exists, whether you choose to believe me or not.” The wind sharpened, sending Jessamine’s hair cascading around her face. She gathered the length in her hands and twisted it across one shoulder. She didn’t return her gaze to his face. She might have started this journey because of the conde’s demands, but now she intended to make the most of it. The prophecy would guide what happened next. She turned to him. Preparing herself for more disbelief, she stated, “The first part of the prophecy says the turban and the cross will come together in blood.”

  He said nothing.

  Jessamine held her breath, hoping he wouldn’t turn away from the destiny that had brought them together.

  “What does that mean?” he finally asked.

  She smiled. He was interested. It was a start. “I didn’t know until I was on that battlefield surrounded by turbaned Moors,” she said in a rush. “Then you appeared out of nowhere, dressed all in white with a bloodred cross on your chest. You and I are part of this prophecy, whether we like it or not.”

  With a frown, his hand moved to his chest. “My Templar tunic?”

  “Is safely stowed.” She cast a quick glance at the fishermen. They seemed to be ignoring the conversation, but because of their proximity, she lowered her voice. “The looks of anger and scorn we received in the inn yard indicated that it might be wise to remove it. You tried to do so yourself before you lost consciousness.”

  A faraway look appeared in his eyes, as though he was trying to remember. “Again, what’s in this for you? Why were you on that battlefield?”

  “I was running from a future I didn’t want.”

  He pushed against the straw in an effort to sit. This time he managed to lean back against the rise of the forecastle at his back. “Running from what? Imprisonment? Your family? The king?”

  “Marriage.”

  Alan gazed at her incredulously. “You risked your life because you we
re too frightened to marry? Are you mad?”

  Heat flooded her cheeks. “Do not judge me,” she said fiercely. “You have no idea what I’ve suffered.” She stood and moved with stiff steps toward the nearby railing, where she stared out at the open sea. She shouldn’t have told him anything. Not about her plight, not about the prophecy.

  Jessamine closed her eyes, allowing the seaborne breeze to rush against her cheeks, cooling her anger. Somewhere deep inside herself, she knew without a doubt that the prophecy was vital, not just for herself, but for the world. The man, the knight, was a part of it, whether he chose to believe or not.

  “Tell me more about the prophecy.” His voice came from behind her.

  She spun around to find him disturbingly close. “What are you doing?” she demanded. “You’re injured.” His nearness caught her off guard. She pressed back into the wooden rail.

  “A warrior must heal quickly.” He leaned down, bringing his face closer to hers. “Tell me more.” When she hesitated, he said, “I promise to listen.”

  Still she hesitated.

  It took every bit of strength Alan possessed to remain standing. He leaned toward the girl and the rail that would provide him some support. Again, the soft scent of jasmine teased his senses. He drew in the soft scent, allowing it to give him strength. He needed to discover what she knew and why she had chosen to sail with him to the Holy Land. Would she stand in the way of his achieving his goal? Because he would allow no one, no matter how sweet she smelled, to stand between him and his mission.

  “Tell me about the prophecy.” Alan smiled faintly.

  “I really don’t know what any of it means. The first part only made sense because of you.” Her frown vanished and a spark of eagerness glowed in her eyes. “A Moorish seeress came to my parents a day after my birth, proclaiming, ‘The prophecy will rise when the turban and the cross come together in blood. Then shall a night of white and the holy water of a deep blue sea reveal the things you cannot see.’”