Seducing the Knight

by Gerri Russell

  “We might be stuck in this godforsaken land a while longer, thanks to this rockslide, but you’ll not escape your fate with me.”

  “I’d rather die.”

  “That can be arranged when I am done with you.” He gave a harsh laugh as he grabbed a fistful of her hair, then jerked her forward, twisting her head painfully to the side. Her cry of pain opened her lips to the revolting touch of his mouth on hers, sucking wetly. She gagged. She brought her bound fists up and tried to beat him away, but the conde reached down, caught them, and dragged her arms painfully over her head.

  “God’s blood, you’re going to be a worthwhile little treat when I finally do bed you, Princess. Until then…” His words broke off as he slammed his lips onto hers once more.

  This time, Jessamine twisted her head away. The soldiers nearby watched, laughed, and looked at her in a way that needed no verbal translation.

  In that moment the fourth stanza of the prophecy flashed through her mind. The fate of the parents will not be yours as a sacrifice heralds the start of a new war. A cold chill moved through her. Again, the word sacrifice stood out in her mind, as did the word war. She tried to wiggle free as the conde lifted her up and tossed her into the wagon, which was being repaired.

  She’d be no one’s sacrifice.

  After she righted herself in the wagon, she looked toward the woods. At least Will had managed to escape. Maybe, with a little help from whatever divine forces seemed to be aiding them, he would find Alan. Maybe, her heart whispered.

  It wasn’t much of a hope, but it was all she had, and she clung to the words like a lifeline. She could endure anything as long as there was hope of a maybe.

  Jessamine followed the conde into an old, dilapidated inn as darkness began to fall. Grasping her by her bound hands, he sliced through the ropes. “Try to escape again, and it’ll be more than your hands I bind.”

  With an iron grip on her arm, the conde forced Jessamine to remain at his side as the innkeeper approached them from the dining room.

  “How may I be o’ service, milord, milady?” The innkeeper smiled as he wiped his hands on the front of his dirty apron.

  “We need a church.” The conde’s voice was cold, his eyes colder.

  The man’s face went pale and his gaze shifted from the conde to Jessamine, then back again. “There be no church in these parts, I fear. We have tae travel half a day tae go tae the church two villages away.”

  “Mother of God! Will nothing go right this day?” the conde growled.

  The innkeeper blanched as he raced to a small black desk and withdrew two keys, which he handed to the conde. “Our finest rooms are yers, as long as ye have need, milord.”

  The conde snatched the keys and signaled for the men behind them to follow him up the stairs. He forced Jessamine up the steps so fast she tripped, then found herself dragged until she gained her feet once more.

  He kicked the door open and waved the men inside, instructing them to set the ark near the window. He pulled her inside behind him, then thrust her toward the bed.

  The shadows of the room scattered a little under the light of a single candle that sat upon a table in the corner. But it was the moonlight streaming through the window and onto the ark that seemed to banish most of the darkness. Pale silver light reflected off the tips of the angels’ wings where the mud had been scraped off.

  The light seemed to catch the conde’s eye as he drifted toward the partly concealed chest. He tugged the linen away, revealing brilliant gold in places.

  “Get over here,” the conde demanded. He thrust a tartan blanket from the base of the bed into her hands. “Clean the ark off. I want to see it in all its glory.”

  “Why don’t you clean it?”

  He laughed. “And touch the ark? I’ve read the tales, Princess. You won’t get rid of me so easily. Now, clean it!”

  She knelt beside the ark and rubbed at the chest’s sides until pure gold gleamed beneath the moonlight.

  “The Ark of the Covenant,” he breathed. “I never would have imagined it could be mine.”

  “The ark belongs to the world,” she offered boldly.

  “No, Jessamine, it is mine, just as you are.”

  “You might possess my body, but you will never have my heart or my soul.”

  He grinned and shifted his gaze to her. “Every part of you belongs to me, thanks to your uncle.”

  She frowned. “What do you mean? What have you done?”

  He reached inside his tunic to withdraw a folded sheet of paper sealed with red wax. He tossed the paper at her. “Our marriage documents, with your uncle’s blessing.”

  Jessamine stared at the bold red insignia pressed into the wax. Her uncle’s seal. “He would never—”

  “We came to an agreement. The king wants you back home where you belong.” The conde strode toward the spot where she hunkered near the ark. He reached out and stroked his fingers harshly over her cheek, leaving pain in their wake. “And as the only one who could bring you back, he gave me exactly what I wanted. You.”

  She turned her head away. “Marriage to me will not aid you in your quest for power.”

  “Oh, it already has, Princess. Look at me.” His fingers gripped her arm and tightened on her flesh until her gaze shifted back to him. “Your cousins, your uncle, and everyone in your royal circle are slowly being poisoned by their very own royal taster.”

  Jessamine gazed at him in helpless terror. “Explain yourself.”

  “Poison at every meal. Slow, but ultimately effective.” He smiled a terrible smile.

  The man was a monster. Jessamine could just imagine the pain and suffering everyone in the inner court was enduring now because of the conde’s need for power. “Why?”

  “Because my mother’s only desire is for me to be king.” The conde’s face hardened. “And I’ll do anything to make sure that she sees me as a success just once in this life.”

  She moved backward, up against the ark.

  His eyes narrowed. “Don’t look at me that way, or I’ll cut your eyes out.”

  Jessamine flinched and tried to make her face an empty slate.

  A knock sounded on the door.

  “Go away!”

  “Your Lordship, there is a messenger here for you,” a voice called through the door. “He says he has urgent news about the Templars and their movements.”

  With a grunt of disgust, the conde turned toward the door.

  Jessamine held her breath.

  “Enjoy your respite, Princess. It won’t last long.” He slammed the door, then locked it behind him.

  The stillness of the room wrapped itself around Jessamine, and a chill seeped into to her bones. The man would destroy her, the Spanish court, and the world, given half a chance.

  Her gaze moved to the ark. With a weapon such as this one, that very thing might be possible. Someone had to stop him.

  But who? Or what?

  Jessamine stood and hastened to the ark. Her hand hovered over one of the angels’ wings a moment before she drew a fortifying breath. She touched it. An immediate sense of peace moved through her, banishing her fears. She closed her eyes and allowed the sensation to move through her.

  “Please,” she prayed. “I beg you to do something, anything, to slow the conde so Alan can find me and put an end to his horrible plans.”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Alan opened his eyes, then shut them again as pain overwhelmed him. He allowed the pain to settle, then tried again to look around himself, this time with success. Slowly, he turned his head toward the light. A single tallow candle burned on the bedside table, and in the chair beside it sat the man who had been more a father to him than his own. “You’d better not be here for my soul, Reaper, because I’m not done with it yet.”

  “Alan,” Brother Kenneth’s big voice boomed in the small chamber. “You’re awake.”

  Alan squeezed his eyes shut again, trying to still the chaos in his head. “Not so loud.”

 
; “I see surviving a close brush with death hasn’t changed you at all,” came a second voice.

  “Simon?” A wave of relief washed over Alan. He drew a stuttering breath. So he hadn’t left all his men behind to die. His chest tightened with gratitude. Simon had lived through the battle at Teba? Alan opened his eyes again and pushed himself up on his elbows regardless of the pain. He had to see Simon for himself and make certain his ears weren’t playing tricks on him. He tried to sit up.

  “Easy.” Brother Simon came forward to sit on the edge of his cot. “We just patched your wounds. You need to go slowly.”

  “Simon.” Alan reached out and touched his brother’s shoulder in the way they’d always greeted each other. “You’re alive.”

  Simon’s face turned serious. “William, you, me and Brianna.” Simon shook his head, deep in thought. “She fooled us all with her disguise. Looking back now, she wasn’t very convincing as a Templar, but by the saints, that woman could fight.”

  “Four blessings out of the horror we endured,” Alan said, his voice as taut as his emotions.

  “ ’Tis another blessing you survived today. Now lie back and let yourself heal,” Brother Kenneth said.

  “I can’t,” Alan said as he tried to swing his leg over the side of the bed. “Jessamine needs me.”

  “Ah, yes, Jessamine.” Brother Kenneth leaned back in his chair and smiled. “You talked about her several times when we took you to the healing baths.”

  “Whatever it is I said, do not believe me.” He looked at both men in turn, hoping he’d said nothing that would cast Jessamine in a negative light.

  Brother Kenneth nodded, but Simon smiled. “I couldn’t believe you didn’t wake up when we soaked you in the cool bath. It was in the warm bath that you started talking.”

  Brother Kenneth batted at Simon. “You said nothing much. You merely spoke her name a few times. Who is she to you?”

  “The woman I’ve asked to marry me. Twice.”

  Brother Kenneth raised an eyebrow. “We need to talk about what happened, Alan. How did you come to us in such a—” He paused.

  “Who nearly killed you?” Simon interrupted.

  “Spanish soldiers. Jessamine is a Spanish and Moorish princess.” The words rolled off Alan’s tongue easily, but the knowledge still brought a stab of pain to his chest.

  “A princess?” Brother Simon frowned.

  Alan continued. “Her bridegroom followed her here. He sprang a trap on us when we docked at Dundee and took not only Jessamine but the Ark of the Covenant.”

  Both men turned pale.

  “The ark?” Kenneth breathed. “The real Ark of the Covenant?”

  “Aye. Robert the Bruce bade me take on an additional task on the way to the Holy Land. He asked that I use the Templar letters left to us by William of Tyre to find the ark. He wanted it stored away with the Templar treasure so that no one country would be able to use it against any other.”

  “And the Spanish have it?” Brother Kenneth’s voice was grave.

  “The Conde Salazar Mendoza, to be more specific,” Alan acknowledged, reaching for his satchel near the bed. He dipped his hand inside, then stretched out his fist to the other men and opened his fingers. “But the conde doesn’t have these.” He revealed eleven raw stones and one that he’d had set in Jaffa into a band of gold. The twelve stones of fire. “These stones are the power behind the ark. Only when the ark and the stones are wielded together does the ark manifest all its divine power.”

  “You’re certain of this?” the abbot asked in a harsh whisper.

  “Aye.”

  Brother Kenneth released a ragged sigh, but Simon’s face grew dark. “This is not good news. One enemy on our shores was bad enough.”

  Alan placed the stones back in his satchel. “What is it? What’s happened?”

  “The French, led by Pierre de la Roche, attacked while you were away. The man was determined to rid this earth of every Templar. He burned many at the stake and slew many others.”

  Alan’s jaw clenched. “He burned our brothers?”

  Simon nodded. “And stole our treasure for his own evil purposes. The temptation of the ark might be the very thing that will bring him out of hiding.”

  “Nay, the man is dead,” Kenneth said emphatically.

  “We never found a body.” Brother Simon visibly shuddered. “Does evil like that ever die?”

  “Yes, Simon, it does.” Kenneth crossed his arms over his chest.

  “We must continue the battle. I need men, as many as you can spare,” Alan said.

  Kenneth and Simon shared a glance that Alan didn’t understand. “Are there any men left?” Alan asked.

  Simon dropped his gaze to the floor before he glanced back at Alan. “Our numbers are few. Here at the monastery there are only myself and three others who are ready to fight.”

  “Nay.” Alan went still. “It would be like Teba all over again.” He fisted his hands. “I cannot, will not do that to any of the men.” He struggled to his feet. “I’ll go alone.”

  Simon stood beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “You’re not alone, Alan. You’ve returned to the fold. We took our oaths together. We stand together. Until the task is accomplished.”

  Alan forced a smile. “Our end could be in death.”

  Simon hesitated, then slowly nodded. “We’ve always known that risk. We’ll leave on the morrow for Dunaguel Abbey. Kaden Buchanan resides there. He is young, but he and his men are ready to battle for such a cause.”

  “We leave tonight.” Alan reached for his belt and sword.

  Brother Kenneth stalled his movements with his hand. “Tonight you rest. You’ll do Jessamine no good in your current condition. Let the healing waters work their holy magic. You’ll be fit for battle again by first light.”

  Alan knew Brother Kenneth was right. He could feel weariness creep into the core of his being, but he stiffened, and reached for his belt anyway. “Jessamine needs me.”

  With a sigh, Brother Kenneth headed for the door. “Give me an hour at least to prepare food and horses.”

  Alan nodded. “Thank you, Reaper. I could always count on you.”

  “You always can,” Brother Kenneth said before vanishing down the hallway.

  Simon stood in the doorway. “I’ll go prepare, and send word to William Keith that you’re alive and well and in need of his help.”

  “Thank you, Simon. I’ll be waiting in the courtyard.”

  Outside, Alan stared at the sky. Moonlight filtered through the trees and cast a thousand shards of white light upon the ground. A splash of blue invaded the white for a brief moment, followed by a rustling sound in the bushes beyond.

  Alan drew his sword. “Who’s there? Show yourself.”

  Will hobbled through the shrubs and hurried forward. “Sir Alan, I am so pleased to have found you.”

  The old man swayed on his feet. Alan reached out to grasp him, but Will steadied himself against a rock large enough to serve as a chair.

  “How did you find me?”

  “When you did not head to Trophichen Preceptory, I knew I’d find you here.”

  “What of Jessamine? You’ve seen her?” Alan knew he sounded frantic, but he didn’t care.

  The old man nodded. “I followed the conde and secreted myself in the wagon they used to transport the ark and Jessamine.”

  “Where are they? You must tell me.”

  “When I left them, they were headed for Marykirk.”

  “How long ago?”

  “Half a day.”

  Alan nodded. “Or half a night. I must go to her at once.”

  The old man frowned. “Shouldn’t you gather reinforcements first?”

  “Jessamine needs me.”

  “You’ll be no good to her without others to occupy the Spanish troops. Besides, the ark is taking care of Jessamine. Trust that it will continue to do so.”

  Alan stared at him. “Explain yourself.”

  Will coughed, then c
oughed again, the sound grating and harsh. “This old man needs some water, or better yet a mug of nice ale.” He hobbled toward the monastery. “Been a while since I’ve wet my whistle.” He fairly skipped inside the monastery doors and was gone.

  As though Alan didn’t already have enough to occupy his mind. How was the ark supposed to help Jessamine?

  Chapter Twenty-three

  The next morning, the conde escorted Jessamine from her chamber back to the wagon. When she hesitated, he lifted her in and set her down, none too gently, next to the ark.

  “You’ll not escape your fate today, Princess. We’ll make that church by nightfall, so prepare yourself for a night of wedded bliss…with me.”

  Fear and revulsion tightened her chest as Jessamine shifted her gaze from the conde to the ark. He wanted her fear, and she refused to let him see how it filled her.

  He left her with a biting laugh and mounted his waiting horse. His men gathered around him, ready to follow wherever he led them. Jessamine frowned. What spoils had the conde promised these men in order to gain their unfailing support? Her uncle’s document of marriage would not obligate them to obey his orders. There had to be something else.

  If she figured out what it was, perhaps she could offer them something more to change their allegiance.

  Jessamine’s hand moved to her chest, to the locket she kept hidden within the bodice of her gown. It was all she had left, and too precious to part with, even for her freedom. She had to think of some other inducement.

  The ark was the only other thing of value that she had access to. But it was far too dangerous to barter with. Yet she couldn’t help wondering if that was what the conde had done.

  She studied the ark as the wagon lurched forward. The gold seemed brighter today despite the gray skies overhead. She reached out and with one finger hesitantly traced the ornate scrollwork surrounding the base. The gold warmed to her touch. A sensation of peace moved through her, and she turned her gaze to the landscape.

  The wind swayed the tops of the rowan trees. And a purple gloom suddenly replaced the leaden skies of just a few moments ago. Jessamine knew an imminent storm when she saw one.