by Jenna Kernan
Trust no one, Gerard had said. Gazing up at the great knight, Emery wondered whether her brother’s warning included this man, who appeared both kind and trustworthy. But, then, so seemingly would a Templar or the Hospitaller brethren, all sworn to serve God, yet Gerard had cautioned against them.
Emery blinked, uncertain, and she might have remained so indefinitely if not for the arrival of another, a young man who stepped out of the trees to give her a jaundiced look. ‘See here, you. My lord de Burgh was injured fighting a Templar who attacked this Hospitaller and you would do well to give him the courtesy of a reply. Are you Emery, or not?’
Emery blanched. The Templar! He would soon make his way to this place, whether directed so by the brethren at the commandery or not. And though Gerard hadn’t spoken of a de Burgh, he had warned about the Templar. Emery swallowed hard.
‘Yes, I am Emery. And Gerard was here, injured, but he was gone when I awoke,’ she said. ‘I was just going to search for him.’
‘On foot?’ the young man asked, his scepticism obvious.
‘He’s my brother,’ Emery answered.
While the young man continued to eye her suspiciously, Nicholas de Burgh nodded his approval of her statement and Emery felt a sudden kinship with the great knight. Uncomfortable, she glanced away, for she had nothing in common with such an exalted personage. Yet she would rather trust him than the Templar and she had little chance of helping Gerard on her own.
Emery cleared her throat. ‘Will you help me find him, my lord?’ She held her breath as she waited for the man’s answer, an eagerness that had nothing to do with Gerard seizing hold of her.
‘You may ride with my squire, Guy,’ he said and Emery loosed a low sigh of relief. Although Guy muttered a protest, after a quelling glance from his master he motioned for her to join him.
However, when Emery swung up behind the squire, she realised the problems inherent in joining the two males. Years ago when she had accompanied Gerard, he had been well aware of her disguise. Now she would be forced to hide the truth or forgo her place, for no man would condone such behaviour from a grown woman.
Despite these concerns, Emery felt her earlier fear and dread slip away, replaced by a certain anticipation. Uncomfortable once more, she reminded herself of
Gerard’s warning and resolved to trust no one, no matter how handsome and powerful. Yet, as Guy swung round towards the knight’s great destrier, Emery had the strange sensation that she would follow Nicholas de Burgh to the ends of the earth.
If only she could.
Chapter Two
Nicholas gazed out over the endless moor and swore to himself. The few paths that cut through the heather were barely discernible and seemed to lead nowhere, twisting back upon themselves, while carpets of green moss disguised treacherous bogs. The bleak landscape was a far cry from the gentle hills around Campion, and Nicholas felt a sudden longing for his home. Would he ever see those golden towers again?
The thought made him glance towards Guy, who made no secret of his wish to return. Their simple journey had turned into something else entirely, and Nicholas felt a stab of guilt for keeping the boy away for so long. But he told himself that sooner or later Guy would go home—with or without his master.
Nicholas looked away, unwilling to meet his squire’s gaze. Guy had been reluctant to take up the Hospitaller’s cause, claiming that whatever happened between two strange knights was no one’s business. But Nicholas was eager for the task, for it was an improvement over his recent recklessness. Aimless recklessness.
Even Nicholas had to admit to that truth. Their current search gave him a purpose which he sorely needed. And if he would like to prove himself after being bested by the Templar last night, who could blame him? Perhaps he could even banish the doubts that had assailed him these past months. But that possibility seemed slim now that he had lost Gerard’s trail.
Scowling at the empty moor, Nicholas wondered where to look. Loath to disappoint the Hospitaller’s brother, he glanced at the boy, only to find Emery’s gaze upon him, startling in its intensity. The boy’s eyes were blue and Nicholas felt an odd catch in his chest at their brightness. The sensation made him glance away, as though he had been caught ogling another man’s wife, and he saw his squire’s curious expression. Annoyed, Nicholas drew to a halt and dismounted, leading his horse to a narrow stream, but Guy, who soon joined him, was not fooled.
‘What is it, my lord? Have you lost the trail?’
Nicholas frowned. Once he would never have heard such a question, couched in tones of concern, from anyone, let alone his squire. But that was when everything had come easily to him and he took for granted the skills and privileges that he’d always possessed.
Things were different now.
Nodding, Nicholas scanned the area once more, as though he might spy something previously missed. But he saw nothing and his gaze returned once more to Emery, who was stroking the neck of Guy’s horse. For a long moment, Nicholas stared, transfixed by the gesture, before turning away to meet his squire’s inquisitive look. ‘Perhaps the boy can help,’ Nicholas said.
Guy snorted. ‘I think Emery is slow-witted, my lord. What’s more, I’m fairly certain—’
Nicholas held up a hand to stop his squire’s speech, having no patience for any further arguments. He had promised Emery’s brother aid, and he intended to honour his word, no matter what Guy might prefer.
His squire sputtered, but Nicholas paid him no heed and motioned for Emery to come closer. He hoped that Guy was wrong about the boy’s mental state. If the brother, Gerard, had left him near the Hospitaller commandery because he needed guidance, they had done ill by bringing him along.
‘Do you know this country, Emery?’ Nicholas asked, as gently as he could.
‘A little, my lord,’ the boy said, ducking as if afraid to meet Nicholas’s gaze. He was a handsome youth, quite striking really, with long lashes that hid those startling eyes...
Nicholas drew in a sharp breath. ‘Do you have any idea where your brother might have gone?’
The boy shook his head. He wore a snug-fitting hat that made it difficult to tell the colour of his hair, but his brows were nearly black and finely arched.
Nicholas glanced away, oddly uncomfortable. ‘Where do these paths lead?’
‘The moor is home to little except religious houses, the Hospitaller commandery, the Templar preceptory and—’
‘The Templars? Where?’ Nicholas asked. When Emery pointed towards a rise, Nicholas turned to Guy. ‘Perhaps we should enquire about our blackguard there.’
Guy’s frown made Nicholas swing back towards Emery. ‘Do you know of any such knight who would have a dispute with your brother?’
Emery shook his head, then spoke haltingly. ‘But last night Gerard warned me against a Templar, among others. I thought his ravings the product of fever until this morning, when a knight of the cross rode up to Clerkwell, the Hospitaller commandery that I...that is nearby.’
‘This morning? You saw a Templar and said nothing?’ Nicholas spoke more sharply than he intended, making Emery flinch. Immediately, Nicholas softened his expression, for the youth was just a stripling, slender and smooth-skinned. And he could not have known how eager Nicholas was to meet last night’s foe.
‘I was afraid and thought only of escaping, lest the Templar find me, my lord,’ Emery said and Nicholas felt churlish.
He eyed the boy thoughtfully. ‘You said the Templar went to the commandery, but if he was following your brother, he would have gone directly to your home. Perhaps the Templar simply went to the nearest Hospitaller commandery, hoping to find Gerard there.’
‘Wouldn’t these knights belong to the same house?’ Guy asked, sounding confused.
‘No,’ Nicholas said. ‘They are members of different religious orders, though, unlike most, b
oth are military orders.’
When Guy blinked, Emery spoke. ‘The Order of the Hospital of Saint John of Jerusalem was founded to provide medical care for pilgrims to the Holy Land, while the Poor Knights of the Temple of Solomon were founded to protect the pilgrims travelling there,’ he said. ‘The Hospitallers later became a military order, as well, so now both fight the infidels.’
‘Dangerous monks,’ Guy said, warily.
‘The monks themselves do not fight,’ Emery said. ‘Only the knights, the young and able, are sent east. Those who remain here are pious men who tend to their properties, raise the horses and provide equipment that is needed, while seeking donations to the cause.’
A cause that was failing, Nicholas thought. By most accounts, the Holy Land was all but lost and some blamed the military orders, charging that the once-
noble and selfless knights had become corrupt, arrogance and greed fuelling their decisions. But Nicholas knew that it was easy to pass judgement from the safety of England. And the privileges granted these orders, free from taxes and tithes, often drew resentment.
‘I thought the Templars were already rich as Midas, the New Temple in London being filled with the king’s gold,’ Guy said, as if confirming his thoughts.
‘At the king’s pleasure,’ Nicholas said. ‘The Templars act as bankers, guarding wealth and arranging the transfer of it over distances, for they have long handled the monies used to fund their battles. I doubt that they have amassed much of their own, as they must continue to support the fighting in the east.’
‘The rules of these orders do not allow for personal possessions and require selfless commitment,’ Emery said.
Guy seemed unconvinced. ‘If that is so, where did the phrase “drunk as a Templar” come from?’ he asked. ‘And I’ve heard worse about them, too, strange rumours of hidden hoards and secret meetings. Why, look at what that one did to you!’
Nicholas tried not to wince at the reminder. ‘Perhaps not all are what they should be. Still, they could hardly condone the actions of the man we saw: attempted theft, intimidation and assault,’ he said.
‘Or maybe our man is not what he seems,’ Guy said, with a sidelong glance towards Emery. ‘He might not be a Templar at all, but simply garbed as one.’
‘Well, there is only one way to find out,’ Nicholas said. ‘Let us go see what the good brothers have to say. And if Gwayne, as he called himself at the inn, makes his home there, he might well have returned already.’
Guy greeted the suggestion with alarm. ‘If so, then he will be in his element, with a host of others at his beck and call.’
Nicholas frowned. The day had not yet come when he couldn’t handle a houseful of monks, but he refused to be drawn into a discussion of his abilities. ‘I doubt that the entire preceptory is full of villains,’ he said, sending Guy back to his mount with a look.
However, his own steps were stayed by a light touch upon his arm. Emery, eyes downcast and slender face flushed, was standing at his elbow. Nicholas felt that odd hitch in his chest again, an unwanted sensation that made him speak more sharply than he ought. ‘Yes?’
But this time Emery held his ground. ‘Beware, my lord. This country is isolated and the religious houses even more so. They have little contact with the outside world and answer to none except the ecclesiastical authorities.’
Had no one faith in him? Nicholas wondered. They were not facing an army, but a monastery populated by men whose fighting days were long over. Yet the blue eyes gazing up at him were fraught with anxiety, making Nicholas glance away and choose his words carefully. Even if his abilities were suspect, the power of his family was not. ‘Do you really think they would dare make enemies of the de Burghs?’
Yet Emery was not reassured. ‘I don’t know, my lord.’ With a bow of his head, the boy headed towards the horses, leaving Nicholas to mull over his earnest warning.
Having done battle more than once, Nicholas had not been concerned with the prospect of facing a few elderly religious brethren, but he was not so arrogant as to dismiss Emery’s words. Although it was unlikely that this remote preceptory was the home of violent men intent upon harming visitors, he could not deny that one Templar in particular was dangerous. Should there be more like him, Guy hadn’t the strength or skills for much combat. And as for Emery...
Nicholas found himself watching the odd youth’s graceful gait before turning abruptly away to find Guy eyeing him with an odd expression.
‘See? He’s not slow-witted,’ Nicholas said, inclining his head towards Emery.
His squire snorted. ‘That’s not all he’s not.’
* * *
Nicholas approached Temple Roode cautiously, but there was little that was forbidding about the sheep grazing in fields and the cluster of neat buildings: two barns, a church and a small house. The property was more a manorial farm than a fortress; there was no keep, no moat, no gate and no guards. In fact, there was no sign of life, not even of the lay people who presumably worked the land, yet all was in good condition.
The stillness was eerie, broken only by the sound of the wind moving through the spindly trees that surrounded the manor, and Nicholas saw the look of unease on Emery’s face. He did not share it, fearing nothing any more except his own failure to protect Guy and the boy. In fact, his main concern was Emery because his squire seemed ill disposed towards their companion.
Guy did not seem to understand that, despite the events of the past year, Nicholas was still a knight, sworn to aid others. He had agreed to help Gerard, which meant that Emery was now his responsibility, and he refused to listen to his squire’s arguments otherwise. He could only be grateful that, after several attempts at discussing the boy, Guy had lapsed into moody silence, for he had more important matters to consider than his squire’s petty jealousies.
Dismounting, Nicholas glanced around and wondered whether the residents had been called away or if they were ill. He was reminded of his brother Reynold’s experience with an abandoned village. However, if this place was abandoned, it had been only recently.
‘Hello?’ Nicholas’s voice was loud in the stillness, but none answered his hail. The horses moved restlessly behind him and Nicholas motioned for Guy and Emery to remain mounted in case they needed to make a hurried escape. Striding forwards, he put his hand upon the hilt of his sword, sensing that something was not quite right.
As if to prove him wrong, a man appeared at the manor entrance. Short, squat and balding, he wore a brown mantle that suggested he was more devout than dangerous. Still, he said nothing, forcing Nicholas to introduce himself.
‘Good day, Brother, I am Nicholas de Burgh. I wonder if I might have a word with you and your brethren.’
‘My brothers are in seclusion, fasting and praying. Are you lost?’ the fellow asked. Although traditionally, monastic houses gave lodging to travellers, he tendered no such offer.
‘My lord de Burgh, shall I tether the horses?’ Guy said, as though to protest this treatment.
Nicholas shook his head, for he could not force his way into a man’s confidence. Instead, he spoke calmly and plainly. ‘We are seeking a Templar knight nearly as tall as I, but more slender and with light-coloured hair.’
‘There are no knights residing here, my lord,’ the brother said, his gaze shuttered, his speech short. Nicholas tried not to draw any conclusions from the man’s manner, for he might have been isolated from the world for so long that he did not deal well with outsiders.
However, Nicholas made sure his own manner was cordial and encouraging. ‘Although he does not reside here, perhaps the knight we seek is associated with this preceptory. He might have trained here or he could be returning home from the Holy Land.’
The brother shook his head, but did not elaborate, leaving Nicholas to guess at the monastery’s usual inhabitants. He longed to talk to someone a bit mo
re forthcoming. ‘Perhaps a brother who has been at Temple Roode longer might recall?’
Again, the man shook his head. If not vowed to silence, he certainly spoke as little as possible. But perhaps that was the way of the Templars. Their secrecy had led to much speculation about them, little of it good, and Nicholas’s opinion of the order was declining rapidly.
Although loath to distrust a holy man, he couldn’t help feeling that the brother was hiding something. Nicholas could claim few dealings with those in religious houses, but he had sought shelter in such places and never received this sort of treatment. Were the Templars so different, or was his search responsible for this reception?
He decided to change tactics. ‘Brother...?’
‘Gilbert,’ the man said, as though reluctant to part with that detail.
‘Brother Gilbert.’ Nicholas smiled. ‘My father, the Earl of Campion, is a generous contributor to your cause and I’m sure he would be most grateful for any information you can provide me.’
But the monk was unmoved. It seemed that the claims of Templars having become greedy and worldly did not apply to this remote area, or at least this member of the order. And Nicholas could not press him further. He could only watch carefully as he posed his next question.
‘You must have contact with other preceptories, so perhaps you have heard of this knight I seek,’ Nicholas said. ‘He gave his name as Gwayne.’
No flicker of recognition showed in Gilbert’s dour expression. ‘I know no Templar by that name.’
‘He attacked a Hospitaller knight,’ Nicholas said.
But even that news did not faze the man, who maintained his grim expression. ‘Then perhaps you should look to Clerkwell, the Hospitaller commandery, which is not far from here.’