by Jenna Kernan
The Hospitallers themselves would not ride, but she doubted that any would be waiting inside. Yet when they dismounted and walked closer, Emery saw the door standing open, which meant someone must have been here since her departure yesterday morning. Immediately, she thought of Gerard, who might have returned, perhaps even moments after she had gone or when the Templar had left the commandery.
With a low cry, she stepped forwards, but Lord de Burgh bid her stay back while he went ahead. Emery stood by Guy, impatient, but in the silence that followed, she realised that whoever had been here, whether Gerard or another, must have abandoned the place. Perhaps she had even left the door unlatched.
Her suspicions seemed confirmed when Lord de Burgh emerged alone, yet he motioned for her to join him while Guy kept watch. Emery hoped that he did not intend to question her as to the female clothing that she had left in plain sight and frantically tried to think of an explanation.
But when she entered, ’twas not a stray kirtle, but something far more dismaying that greeted her. Although the old gatehouse was not her choice of residence, it had been better than the alternative and Emery had done her best to make a home there. Now her efforts lay scattered and ruined at her feet.
Clothing, bedding and utensils were strewn everywhere, along with the straw that had once filled her bed. Even the loose tile that covered her hiding place had been pried up and broken, though the hole beneath was empty. Swallowing a cry of distress, Emery looked to Lord de Burgh, who was stepping carefully amongst the disarray. Stopping before a pile of bedding, he turned to eye her grimly.
‘Is this your uncle?’
For an instant, Emery did not know what he was talking about. She stared blankly at the worn blanket, only to realise that something lay beneath it. And when she moved closer, she saw what it was: a man lying upon his stomach, seemingly lifeless. Swaying upon her feet, Emery blinked at Lord de Burgh, as if to draw from him the strength necessary to look down.
When she did, Emery caught her breath. The man’s neck was twisted at an odd angle, but there was no mistaking Harold’s features. His eyes were wide, as if in terror, and a trickle of blood dripped from his open mouth. With a shudder, Emery turned to lean against the great knight beside her, grateful for his solid form.
‘Yes, that is my uncle,’ she murmured, trying to act more like a young man and less like a frightened female. Still, she swallowed a gasp as Lord de Burgh bent low, reaching towards the body.
He must have removed his gloves earlier to search for signs of life, for he did not touch Harold now, but plucked away something that lay upon the dead man’s back. Although Emery did not want to see, she forced herself to remain steady as he held out his prize to her: the same type of brightly coloured piece of parchment that Gerard had left behind in her bed.
With a groan, Emery swayed upon her feet, shutting her eyes, as though she might close out everything except the knight, her only anchor in a careening world. She longed to bury her face in the folds of his tunic, shutting out all ills, but she could hardly do so, for he was not her brother...
‘Gerard!’ Emery whispered, blinking suddenly. She eyed the knight in alarm. ‘You don’t think he...?’ Emery could not finish the sentence. Their uncle had done the family ill and perhaps Gerard had finally seen that. But he was a knight and a member of a holy order. He must have fought valiantly in the Holy Land before returning home, injured...and raving. Yet, surely he would not do murder. Emery backed away, shaking her head, as though distance would aid her denial.
‘No, I do not think that.’
The sound of Lord de Burgh’s deep voice, low and gentle, steadied her, then his big hands cupped her face. Startled at the touch of his fingers, warm and calloused, Emery glanced up, only to realise her mistake. His dark gaze locked with hers, stealing her breath and making her heart pound.
Although she had always rejected the connection between them, now Emery embraced it, welcoming his warmth and strength as a source of comfort—and something else she could not name. Lord de Burgh seemed caught up in their mysterious communion, as well, and, when she leaned towards him, Emery thought he might lower his head.
She lifted hers in response, but suddenly, his hands fell away, as though her very skin had burned the pads of his fingers. His normally open visage closed, shutting her out, and he strode to the door. Only when he had reached the threshold did he turn back to her.
‘We should not tarry here,’ he said. ‘If there is anything you would take, bring it with you.’
He stepped outside and Emery shivered, suddenly cold. Although she had spent the past months virtually alone, she had never felt so bereft as when this man turned away from her. Rubbing her arms, she watched him go, only to shiver again at the prospect of lingering here where her uncle lay dead.
Emery had known when she left yesterday morning that she would probably not be allowed to return, yet she still mourned the loss of her little home. She had been lonely here, but she had hung on to a small measure of independence that was not likely to be granted her in the future.
Standing amidst the ruins, not only of her possessions, but of the life she had made for herself, Emery said one last, bittersweet goodbye.
* * *
Nicholas’s jaw tightened as he strode towards his destrier, for Harold’s death upped the stakes. Theft and assault were bad enough, but murder was something else and would make their search for Gerard all the more difficult. Their presence in the area had been marked and to ask questions now would mean enforced delays, if not prosecution. Although the de Burgh name would stand him in good stead, Nicholas did not want to drag his family into this.
And he had Emery to consider.
Nicholas shook his head as he swung into the saddle. It seemed that he couldn’t stop worrying about Emery. Or staring at Emery. Or feeling...odd about Emery. Again he wondered what ailed him and whether whatever it was would affect his ability to complete his task and protect Guy and the boy. That concern gave him a new sense of urgency.
‘We must go,’ Nicholas said, glancing towards where his companions stood, deep in conversation. ‘Now.’
Both boys glanced up at him in alarm, and Nicholas noticed that Guy had a hand on Emery’s shoulder as if in comfort. Already tense, Nicholas felt a stab of something akin to... No, it definitely was not jealousy, he told himself.
‘Aren’t we going to bury him?’ Guy asked, apparently having been apprised of Harold’s condition.
‘No, we aren’t going to bury him, unless you want to be tied up with the authorities for ever,’ Nicholas said. ‘And we still have Gerard to find, a task that is all the more important after discovering his uncle’s death, though since Emery is missing, as well, they might lay the blame upon him.’
The boy blanched and Nicholas regretted his careless words.
‘Even if I would do murder, I could hardly...snap his neck like that,’ Emery said, with a shudder.
Nicholas shrugged. ‘Sometimes, those in charge seek the easiest explanation and he is lying dead in your house, having gone there seeking something, to which his household will attest.’
Nicholas could almost see the boy’s mind work. ‘But where are his men? Why would he come alone? And Harold would never have walked here. What of his horse?’
‘I don’t know,’ Nicholas said. ‘Perhaps he did not want anyone to see what he was about, or perhaps whoever he brought with him murdered him for the prize, once it was found. ’Twould be simple enough to take his horse or send it riderless across the moors.’
‘What prize?’ Emery asked, with a puzzled expression, but Nicholas stopped any further questions with a gesture.
‘We cannot linger here within sight of the commandery,’ Nicholas said. ‘We need a sanctuary, somewhere we can discuss our next move away from prying eyes.’
‘What of the church?’ Emery said
, taking Nicholas’s words literally.
‘Or the manor in Roode where we spent the night?’ Guy said, obviously anxious to avoid any place related to the Templars.
Nicholas frowned. ‘I hate to travel that far away.’ And yet, was Roode far enough? Their presence in the area was already noted. Sooner or later someone would wish to speak with them about the murder, if not the murderer himself...
‘There’s a ruin not far from Montbard Manor,’ Emery said. ‘’Tis an old wooden fort that was here before the house was built. Little is left, but it would provide some shelter and seclusion.’
Nicholas nodded. He just wanted to get out of sight long enough to discuss what they knew, though that seemed to be precious little. His efforts to save an unwary Hospitaller had escalated into he knew not what and he felt as though he were groping in the dark with both hands tied behind his back.
Emery led the way as they retraced their steps, while Nicholas watched for any signs of Harold’s men or a lone horse running free. But the area seemed desolate. It was almost too quiet, he thought, frowning. But silence was more welcome than sounds of pursuit, Nicholas admitted as they drew close to the copse where Emery had hidden. The boy had just headed into the cover of the trees when Nicholas saw horses standing at the front of the manor. And they were not riderless.
With a low word of warning, he urged Emery into the trees. ‘Take to the heights, as you did before, and send your mount off, if need be.’
‘But—’
Nicholas halted the boy’s protest with a grunt and swung his mount around. Although he would have preferred to have his squire tucked safely away, as well, he had no choice. There were two riders ahead. One wore the distinctive white robes of the Templar and Nicholas suspected the other was responsible for the knot upon his head. And he did not care to be ambushed from behind again by Gwayne’s henchman.
Taking advantage of whatever element of surprise he could, Nicholas drew his sword and charged. At the sound, Gwayne turned, the puzzlement on his face soon replaced by a flash of recognition and finally an evil glee at the opportunity to fight him again.
‘You!’ the Templar shouted, drawing his weapon. ‘Why do you bedevil me?’
‘Where is the Hospitaller?’ Nicholas asked, as their blades met.
‘And why does he concern you?’
‘I am concerned for any victim of yours,’ Nicholas said, refusing to give the villain any information.
‘If I’d known you would trouble me again, I would have killed you,’ Gwayne said, with a snarl. ‘But this time I will make sure you don’t return.’
‘And how will you manage that without help, coward?’ Nicholas asked. He nodded towards Gwayne’s confederate, against whom Guy was faring poorly. But Nicholas could spare no thoughts for his squire, for his taunt made the Templar surge forwards in anger—and the knight was an opponent to be reckoned with.
A year ago, Nicholas would have had little trouble subduing the Templar, but he had lost too much of his strength and his reactions were not what they used to be. Only his blade and his wits were as sharp as ever and they served him well, for Gwayne honoured no knightly code. Unable to overcome Nicholas’s defence, he swung his heavy weapon towards the destrier and only the animal’s dance kept them from going down.
Although Nicholas had avoided a spill, his squire was not so lucky. Riding away to circle back, Nicholas saw Guy knocked to the ground, an easy target for either villain. With a bellow, Nicholas kicked at his horse to hasten towards the boy, but an echoing cry rang out, making him glance over his shoulder
Knowing Gwayne’s methods, Nicholas had cause to be wary of some new menace, but ’twas no stranger who joined the fray. To Nicholas’s shock, Emery burst from the woods, swinging the short sword above his head and charging towards the fallen squire with surprising skill. For an instant, Nicholas was paralysed with fear for the boy, but thankfully, his opponents were caught off guard, as well, perhaps leery of more riders emerging from the copse.
Seizing his opportunity, Nicholas bore down on the distracted Templar with a vengeance, slicing his arm. The Templar howled in pain and switched his sword to his other hand, but he began backing his mount away as if to flee. When Nicholas refused to give him quarter, Gwayne swung round to gallop away, his squire on his heels.
Roaring in outrage, Nicholas gave chase. He called to Guy to do the same, but when he glanced behind him, he saw that his squire was still on the ground, bent anxiously over Emery’s prone form.
* * *
Emery drew a deep, shuddering breath and counted herself lucky that she wasn’t dead. It had been far too long since she’d wielded a blade and she hadn’t the strength to hold her own for long. In her younger years, her skills had equalled Gerard’s, but eventually he outweighed her, outreached her and outfought her with muscles she could not hope to match. One day she had given up trying and their paths diverged, leading them to separate duties and different futures.
‘Mistress Emery! Are you all right?’
Emery opened her eyes to see Guy’s face swimming before her. He had pulled her under the trees, out of harm’s way, it seemed, and she was grateful. But when she blinked up at him, the implication of his words sunk in. She drew another deep breath, flinching at its painful progress, before she could manage to speak.
‘How long have you known?’ she asked, not bothering with a denial.
‘Nearly since the beginning.’
Emery closed her eyes against the hard truth. But it explained much, including Guy’s wariness and resentment, along with his recent solicitousness. When she thought of his valiant protests over last night’s sleeping arrangements, Emery nearly smiled. But the ramifications of her discovery gave her little amusement, and, though she ached all over, ’twas the pain in her heart that took precedence. Now what would she do?
‘Why didn’t you tell him?’ she asked.
‘I tried at the beginning, but he wouldn’t listen,’ Guy said. ‘And, then, well, I realised that you...uh, your quest, that is...did him good.’
Emery might have questioned Guy more on that score, but the squire grinned. ‘And if he’s too dense to figure it out for himself, well, then it’s not my place to enlighten him, is it?’
Emery frowned in confusion. She hardly dared hope that Guy would continue to keep her secret. Why should he?
‘You saved my life,’ he said, as if in answer to her unspoken query. ‘I’ve never seen a braver act and I come from Campion, where the de Burghs are thought the most courageous in the land.’
Emery did smile then and tried to lift her head, but she felt too battered and bruised. She wasn’t accustomed to taking spills any more, or had she been wounded?
‘Are you hurt?’ Guy asked, in an anxious tone.
Emery tried to tell him she was just winded, but she could produce only a wheezing sound that did little to reassure the squire before she fell back, gasping.
‘I’m going to get help,’ he said.
Emery shook her head, panic forcing her to speak. ‘Lord de Burgh said—’
Guy cut her off. ‘Lord de Burgh isn’t here. And neither is your uncle. Surely, there must be someone in that house who can be trusted.’
Emery nodded. ‘Gytha. Fetch Gytha from Montbard Manor.’
Gytha would not approve, but the servant would recognise her, even in this guise, and would provide care, if given the time. With some measure of relief, Emery let her lashes flutter shut once more. She heard Guy’s footsteps as he hastened to the manor and then only the creak of the elms and the rustle of their leaves in the wind.
But it wasn’t long before she heard something else: the unmistakable sound of a horse nearby. From her position on the ground, Emery could see little, so she could not judge her chances of escape. The limbs above hung tantalisingly out of reach and she did not think she coul
d manage to scale them as she had earlier. She might crawl further into the undergrowth, but the thud of boots upon the ground told her it was too late.
All she could do was pretend to be dead already, which might convince the Templar, if not her uncle’s men. So Emery remained still, unflinching even when the footfalls approached. Although she steeled herself against a kick in the side, instead, the figure dropped down beside her. Would he take her sword? Her nearly empty purse?
‘Emery!’ Her name was uttered with such anguish that it took her a moment to recognise the speaker as Lord de Burgh.
Emery’s eyes flew open, relief swamping her at the knowledge that he had returned unharmed. For once, she looked eagerly to his face, welcoming his gaze. But his dark head was bent over her body, and, just as Emery would have spoken, he put his hands upon her.
Stunned, Emery could do nothing except lie prone as she felt him check for injuries. Although she had performed the same service for Gerard, this man was not her brother. And the feel of his warm hands as they ran up and down her legs, gently probing for breaks, made Emery forget her aches and pains and all else.
Closing her eyes, she groaned as warmth filled her, along with a strange sort of yearning. Had she struck her head? That would account for her sudden inability to think clearly. Or was she dreaming? She knew only that she wanted him to continue, even though her very identity hung in the balance.
That alarming thought finally forced Emery to act, for she could not afford to lose the great knight’s good will. She cleared her throat, but it was too late. His head lifted to reveal eyes wide with shock. And Emery’s heart lurched, for she knew what would follow: anger, accusations, abandonment...
She wanted to apologise for her deceit, but the intensity of his gaze robbed her of her wits and all she could manage was what she had intended to say moments ago. ‘I’m all right.’
‘You’re female!’
‘I’m sorry.’