Simon nodded, as did the others behind him. “We stay together,” they repeated.
Alan shifted his gaze to the church in the distance. “Then we are ready.”
Simon nodded. “Until the end.”
Alan drew his weapon. He sent a shrill whistle into the air and signaled for the men to follow. Every instinct was tuned to the battle ahead. Forcing his mind to remain calm, he ducked low over his horse and charged toward the church.
“Wake up,” the conde’s voice was soothing, but his hands on her shoulders were not. He shook her over and over, rattling her teeth until she forced her eyelids open just to make him stop.
The conde gazed down at her. “Good, you’re awake. I was afraid I might have done some serious damage.” He offered her a malevolent smile. “Can’t have that…yet. The Spanish crown is just the start of what you and I will do together.” He bent down and effortlessly lifted her to her tingling feet. “The priest is waiting.”
The chill that had invaded her body made it hard to think or move. She swayed on her feet, then caught herself as she took in her surroundings. The church. They’d made it to the church.
When she hesitated, the conde gripped her arm and pulled her with him toward the priest waiting at the altar.
The ceremony passed in a blur. Jessamine stared straight ahead at the ornate gold designs on the sides of the Ark of the Covenant, which had been placed before them. As the dizziness and cold started to fade, she suddenly recalled the conde’s words. The Spanish crown is just the start of what you and I will do together. She tensed. He had something even bigger planned than marrying her and taking over the Spanish crown.
She tugged at the binding that rendered her hands useless. She cast a quick glance behind her, only to see men with swords waiting by the church doors. There was no escape this time.
Jessamine did the only thing she could. She closed her eyes and prayed for deliverance for her uncle and his family, if not for herself. When she opened her eyes a moment later, it was to see the priest mounting the three steps to the high altar.
The conde grasped her hand in what might look like an affectionate squeeze to some, but was actually a brutal clench. He was dressed in black, as always. Today he looked more like Lucifer than he ever had before.
The Spaniard would soon be her husband. She shuddered. In the deepest part of herself she’d hoped the church doors would open wide and Alan would appear to save her from this fate.
But the service was almost over, and he hadn’t come.
She swallowed against the raw ache in her throat and looked down at the green gown she wore. The hem was wet and dirty from the rain and the snow. Her only bridal touch was a lacy cloth covering her head that the conde had stolen from the bedside table in the inn.
She didn’t look much like a bride. She didn’t feel like one either. This moment should be filled with joy and hope and love, not fear and revulsion.
As soon as the priest said the blessing over them, she would be expected to obey her husband and offer her body when he so desired.
She drew a shaky breath as the priest made his way back to them, his face solemn as he continued to say the words of the ritual.
“Kneel.”
It was almost over. Any moment now, she would be bound to the conde for life. When she didn’t kneel, the conde jerked her down. Her knees hit the stone floor and she bit her lip to keep from crying out.
The priest’s voice droned on.
Alan hadn’t come for her.
A single tear spilled over her lashes and onto her cheek.
She was another man’s wife.
Chapter Twenty-five
As the first wave of Templars approached the snow-covered hedgerow, the Spanish troops erupted bearing swords, halberds, and pikes. The sound of steel on steel filled the evening air.
More Spaniards emerged, scores of them wearing breastplates and helms. Alan might have spent the past year away from Scotland, but he hadn’t forgotten Scottish ways. His throat vibrated with the roar of a battle cry, which was picked up by the others. All over the hillside the call of war echoed from his men as they, too, surged forward.
The odds were more in their favor this time than they had been at Teba. Following Alan’s plan, the first ten Templars charged together in a tight formation. Their strike of mounted warriors was as effective as always. Several of the Spaniards soon lay either dead or dying beneath the frenzy of panicked horses’ hooves.
A second wave of Templars charged forward, with Kaden leading his men. The young Templar had added a new strategy to the usual Templar battle fare: five archers with longbows, who released a volley of wickedly barbed arrows. The arrows streamed over the heads of the Templars and into the bodies of the Spanish, adding to the carnage of writhing bodies and screaming horses.
Seeing an opening through the Spanish, Alan charged forward anew, intent on reaching the door of the church. His men rode beside him, providing cover for him as he made his way to Jessamine.
While he kicked his horse toward the breach, the sound of bagpipes filled the air. He let the sound bolster him as his mind drifted to the smell of heather after a soft Scottish rain, the prickle of thistle as he ran through the open fields, the tang of pine and fir, the soft lilting sound of Gaelic—all memories, all things he wished to share with Jessamine.
He used those memories to fuel his spirit, calm his heartbeat, and focus his thoughts. He would reach his woman before the conde married her. He had to.
A Spanish horse and rider leaped toward Alan and his mount, bringing Alan’s thoughts back to the battle. Acting on instinct rather than thought, Alan swung his sword and dispatched the man with a whistling sound. Another man on horseback fell into the place of the first.
Once more, Alan’s blade came down, slashing the man’s throat. He tumbled to the ground. Alan guided his horse out of harm’s way as another man struck at him from the left. Alan’s blade cleanly severed the man’s arm at the elbow. The man’s sword, with his hand still attached to it, tumbled to the ground.
With the way clear, Alan dismounted and surged toward the closed church doors. He nearly made it to the doors before two more men charged from the side, swords slashing violently at his arms and chest. Alan whirled and lunged, avoiding their blows. He readied himself for another attack, but Simon and Bernard were there, clearing the way.
Alan forced the huge wooden doors open. A thunderous boom reverberated through the church as the doors hit the stone walls.
“Halt!” Alan rushed with his sword drawn toward the spot where Jessamine stood at the altar.
The conde twisted around and Alan could see Jessamine’s bound hands gripped cruelly in the Spaniard’s grasp. “You’re too late. We are married.”
Alan drew a sharp breath. Then Jessamine’s gaze met his. Her dark eyes were filled with emotion both rich and deep. He could see the truth of the conde’s words written there, but he saw something else as well. Something precious, something beautiful, something even marriage could not take away from them.
He saw love.
Alan’s chest tightened with pain and exhilaration. For a moment the sensations knocked him off kilter.
“Kill him!” The conde’s angry voice brought Alan back to the moment. The Spaniards surged forward from the front and sides of the nave, their swords drawn.
Alan had nowhere to go but back. Yet he held his ground. This battle would not end the way it had on the docks of Dundee. Alan’s hand tightened around the hilt of his sword, feeling the grooves of the intricate detailing fit themselves to the calluses of his palm. There were things worth fighting for, and dying for. All a man could do was choose his causes carefully, then follow the path of his heart.
And his heart and life were dedicated to protecting Jessamine. She deserved the freedom to choose her own destiny, not have it thrust upon her because of the station to which she was born.
Alan drew in a breath and held it, centering himself and his emotions. He exhaled, bre
athing out the turmoil that coiled within him.
He charged forward. Alan struck two of the conde’s men dead without so much as a break in his stride. In that moment, the conde’s eyes filled with doubt and fear. Simon and Kaden appeared at the doorway of the church and fought their way inside. Alan’s spirits soared. Their presence inside the church could only mean the Templars had control of the courtyard. Alan strode forward, but the Spaniards turned and fled past him, out the door of the church. Simon and Kaden followed. Alan set his jaw as he continued forward toward the conde and Jessamine. These men would not fight to avenge a leader who cared nothing for them.
The conde howled his disgust; then his dark eyes brightened as a new complication, dressed all in black, stepped from the shadows. Four assassins, the same assassins who’d attacked in the desert, sprang forward. Deadly hooked blades glinted in the glow of the candlelight. Silently they surged forward, like snakes toward their prey.
Alan kept his thoughts focused and his body loose, avoiding their blows again and again.
“We will leave you in peace if you give us back the ark and never come for it again,” one of the assassins said as he brought his blade down toward Alan’s chest.
Alan easily deflected the blow. He caught the hook of the man’s sword and sent it flying. “The ark needs protection from men such as the conde, who will only use it for evil purposes. The Templars can provide that protection.”
“We can care for the ark,” the man said as they circled each other.
Alan’s gaze narrowed. “The ark is not safe in the Holy Land. There is too much strife among the people who live there. The area has known little peace. In that environment, the dangers are many. The Templars offer a solution.”
The Arab assassin sent out a warbling call as he held up his hand. The fighting ceased. “Why should we trust you and your kind to keep it safe?”
Alan brought his sword hand with his weapon back to settle over his heart, over the Templar cross of fiery red that blazed there. “Because we are men of God, both you and I, and we want the same thing. To preserve and protect.”
The Arab’s eyebrows came together and he nodded his understanding. “And if in the future we find some way to keep the ark safe in the Holy Land?”
Alan paused for a long moment, then set his sword on the ground. He unfastened his scabbard and let it fall, then drew his tunic over his head to reveal the mail beneath. He extended the tunic to the Arab. “Take this. When and if the time ever comes, bring this back and return it to one of us. We’ll know what it signifies and we will return the ark to you for safekeeping.”
For a long moment, the two men’s eyes locked, each understanding what the other did not say. Then the Arab accepted the tunic and signaled his men to follow him out of the church, leaving Alan behind.
Alan stood alone in the aisle of the church and once again fixed his gaze on the conde.
“You’ve lost her,” the man growled when he realized there were no more distractions. “Leave us, now.”
“Never.”
With a growl, the conde shoved Jessamine backward into the ark, snatched his sword from its scabbard, and leaped forward.
Alan charged. Their blades came together with a thunderous crash that sent the priest scurrying behind the high altar, leaving Jessamine alone.
The conde lunged, Alan deflected his blade, and the momentum of their thrusts carried each man past the other, sending Alan to Jessamine’s side. He quickly cut through the bindings that held her captive a moment before he thrust at the conde.
The conde spun away.
Alan turned back to Jessamine. “Are you hurt?”
She rubbed her abused wrists. “Just married.”
“We’ll deal with that soon enough. Stay back.”
The conde lunged at them both, his sword held high. He slashed down. Alan blocked with his sword and pulled Jessamine away moments before the conde swung again. His blade sliced through empty space, then struck the lid of the ark instead.
Alan sprang forward, his sword at the ready. But out of the corner of his eye he saw Jessamine clamp a hand to her mouth. Her eyes went wide as she stared at the ark. A swirl of blue light formed between the two angels’ wings. Alan blocked out the sight, focusing on the conde.
“You’ve lost her,” the conde said with a snarl, leaping forward with a savage thrust. Alan was forced to leap sideways, away from Jessamine. He recovered in a heartbeat, but in that split second, the conde grasped Jessamine and drew her back against his chest, using her as a shield.
“You wanted me. Come get me. But you’ll have to go through her.” The conde raised his sword to Jessamine’s throat.
Icy fingers gripped Alan’s spine. “This is between you and me. Let her go.”
“Jessamine is my wife. My property.” He stepped back, pulling her with him down the three steps of the altar.
Alan froze. He couldn’t attack the conde with his sword, not with Jessamine’s life at stake. He could, however, use his words to cut the man down. “There is nowhere for you to go.” He took a step forward, waiting for the conde’s reaction.
The muscles of the Spaniard’s arm flexed as he tightened the grip on his sword. Jessamine swallowed visibly as the sword brushed against her skin.
Alan took another step down. “Your men have deserted you. Those Spaniards fighting in the churchyard aren’t faring well beneath Templar swords.” He took the final step down so that the two of them stood on equal ground. “They might have abandoned you too.”
The conde’s cheeks flushed red. “No one abandons the Conde Salazar Mendoza and lives. My mother’s dead body is proof of that.” At the admission, his eyes widened, then narrowed. “Damn you, Templar!”
The conde spun Jessamine around to face him. He gripped her throat with his free hand. She coughed and sputtered and brought her hands up, trying to free herself from his grasp.
Alan took two steps forward, but the conde tightened his grip on her throat.
“Marrying you was the one thing Mother told me I’d never be able to achieve,” he told Jessamine. “I wanted to bring you home to show her withered body that she was wrong. I’m your husband, your lord and master. I’ll take the crown of Spain in your name, even when you’re dead, and I’ll conquer the world with the help of the ark.”
Alan could see the blood drain from Jessamine’s face. The hands that fought the conde’s turned limp. Her lips turned blue.
Alan ran toward her. The conde’s gaze met Alan’s. An odd smile twisted his face as he raised his sword, pointing it at Jessamine’s chest.
A cry began in the pit of Alan’s stomach. The war cry of his clan erupted from him, the sound as untamed as the hills that gave it birth. The conde’s fingers tightened.
The pitch of Alan’s cry heightened as he lunged forward, taking the conde with him. Jessamine crumpled to the ground and gasped for air.
It was the most wonderful sound Alan had ever heard.
The Spaniard scrambled to his feet, and the two of them circled each other, each taking measure of the other. “Are you ready to die, Templar? For that is your destiny, just as mine is to conquer and rule over all. Do you see the ark? It’s preparing to strike you down, destroy you as it did the city of Jericho and Aaron’s sons. Its raw power will annihilate you!”
“What makes you so certain of that?” Alan asked.
The conde sneered. “I possess the ark. It is my tool.”
Even with his back to the ark, Alan could see what was happening. The conde’s dark eyes reflected the swirling blue light.
Suddenly the man lunged. Alan parried and spun to the right. The conde brought his sword around in a sideways sweep, but Alan was ready, his sword stopping the blade’s slice. As their swords collided, Alan kicked, catching the would-be usurper in the stomach and sending him staggering backward.
The conde kept his feet and grinned. “You are no match for me.”
Alan kept his focus on the Spaniard, watching for signs of a
ttack. When the conde’s shoulder dropped ever so slightly to deliver an upward cut, Alan parried and spun. Primed to strike, Alan’s sword cut deeply into the Spaniard’s arm.
He heard the conde’s gasp of pain. The man’s grin was gone. His face twisted into a mask of hate. The Spaniard’s blade arched toward Alan in a disemboweling sweep. The blood grooves on the blade whistled their deadly melody, but Alan ducked and let the blade slide through the space his body had just left.
Alan faced the conde. The two of them circled each other once more. The light in the church shifted from gold to blue, and ripples of light and darkness seemed to surround them.
The Spaniard’s sword swung wide, and with the motion came the opening Alan had waited for. He spun inside and drove his elbow into the man’s face as his razor-sharp sword sliced the conde’s thigh. The conde screamed in agony, his legs buckled, and he hit the floor with his knees.
Alan’s blade whipped to the Spaniard’s neck. “If I let you live, will you take your army and go—leave this land and Jessamine in peace?”
“No,” the conde growled. “I’ll live. The ark will see to that. Once you’re dead, this land and Jessamine will be mine.”
Before Alan could finish his strike, a mist as thick and white as a winter’s night crept through and around his legs to encompass the conde’s body. When the mist became fire, Alan surged backward. He swooped Jessamine’s body in his arms and carried her to the altar next to the ark. The blue light swirled and ebbed as the flames rippled across the conde’s flesh. He screamed a terrible scream.
In that moment, Simon and Kaden charged through the church doorway, but they halted almost as suddenly as they’d entered, no doubt startled by the glowing blue light.
A flash of light as bright as lightning from the sky pulsed through the room. Alan closed his eyes against the unearthly brightness and shielded Jessamine’s face with his chest. A prickle of heat touched his flesh, burning with an unstoppable wave of pain. Alan ground his teeth against the sensation and curled himself around Jessamine’s body. “Take me, if you must,” he said to the unnatural force. “But leave her here to find the peace she has searched for.”
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