The open terrain stretched endlessly before him. Rhythmic hoofbeats sounded from behind. He didn’t need to look to know Pierre de la Roche and his men pursued.
William’s heartbeat slowed. Calm descended over him. His senses heightened as they always did before a battle. If he and the girl were to find safety, they would have to hide.
He couldn’t let her fall into de la Roche’s hands. This woman was the last of her family’s bloodline. If she died, so would her heritage. William loosened his grip ever so slightly about her waist. He knew what it was like to be the last, to lose everything.
The girl had lost her father today, if William’s suspicions were right. De la Roche had abducted Sir John and had no doubt learned by now that the man wouldn’t give up his secrets so easily.
Was that why he’d come back? To use Siobhan to make her father talk? William’s presence would only be seen as a bonus—gaining de la Roche two prisoners instead of one.
And then there was the Spear, the most compelling reason he had for forcing her to come with him. If she knew its location, she would be hunted by de la Roche until he finally got what he wanted—absolute control over mankind.
William reversed his direction again and again, making it difficult for the men behind to gather speed. He and the girl flew across the peaty soil, heading for the ridge between the two hills. Arrows whizzed past them.
“Stay low,” William warned as he forced the girl farther down against his horse’s neck, then wrapped himself around her to protect her.
She tensed in his arms. “Those men—” Her words cut short as they headed for a creek bank that offered a more even path.
“I’ll keep you safe,” he replied tersely.
“I need no empty promises.”
Irritation coursed through him. Determined to ignore her response, he scanned the terrain. A sea of purple heather stretched out before them, rising up the sides of the hills and peaks. Their only hope lay in outmaneuvering de la Roche and his men between the jagged peaks.
Amongst the thunder of hoofbeats, they slipped onto the ridge. Now was the time for cleverness, if they were to escape.
“Your name, milady?” William asked. “I at least deserve to know whom I’m protecting.”
“Lady Siobhan Fraser.”
Lady Siobhan. At the simple sound of her name, an ache moved through him. Names were personal, a connection to another that he hadn’t allowed himself to experience with anyone but his Templar brothers for so long. He would love to reach out to her right now and take her hand in his, to feel a connection that went deeper than just words. But that would never happen, he realized with a self-deprecating smile.
Wind crept through the countryside, brushing across his cheeks in soft, cool waves. The chill helped focus his thoughts as he urged his horse not along the long and narrow ridge, but up the steep slope. He slowed their pace as they ascended, grateful that Phantom’s steps were steady and strong. Once they’d gained some height, he urged the horse to traverse the peak parallel to the valley below them, looping back to the ridge where they’d started.
They watched from the heights above as de la Roche and his men raced along the narrow ridge. Their pursuers would have to look up and back to catch sight of them now. As the men passed by, William guided his horse back down to the flat terrain, urging the horse into even greater speed as they headed back the way they had come. He would head for the eastern shoreline. They could hide in the seaside cliffs.
As they raced across the landscape, William listened, trying to hear something other than the sound of his own harsh breathing and the rhythm of his horse’s hooves. Nothing. “We lost them.”
“Please stop this horse. I wish to get off.”
“Pardon?” Had he heard her correctly?
“Stop this horse,” she demanded.
Filled with confusion at her strange request, William stopped at the base of another short, steep hill but did not release his hold on Siobhan. More hills dotted the land behind them. Before them lay an endless expanse of heather-covered moors. A soft breeze caught the loose wisps of the girl’s red hair that had escaped her tight plait.
“Where do you plan to go?” he asked, more tersely than he’d intended. The Highlands comprised endless miles of peaks, valleys and moors.
Silence descended as she scanned the landscape. “I must go back. There are important things I must gather.”
“The scroll you talked of earlier?”
She nodded.
William frowned. “Is a scroll more important than your life?”
“My father wanted me to protect it. At least I think that was what he wanted.” Her eyes snapped to his as though she just realized what she’d said aloud. “Who are you to ask me such a question?”
“I’m a friend. Sir William Keith.” He offered her a slight bow. “An associate of your father’s.”
Her gaze narrowed. “I’ve never seen you before.”
“We are known to each other through the Templar knights.”
“The Templars? They’re disbanded, gone.”
“Nay, we’re not gone. Scotland is a haven for many, including your father.” He took a huge risk telling her such things. Horrible things happened to those who admitted connections to the Templars. He divulged the secret he and her father shared because something inside him told him he could trust her. She was after all the daughter of Sir John Fraser.
Instead of appreciating his honesty, she scowled. “My father is no Templar.” Her chin came up. “He’s a historian for the Church.”
“For the Templars.”
Siobhan shook her head. “If such were true, my father would have told me.”
“Perhaps he wanted to protect you,” William offered, softening his tone. “After joining the order, he learned he had a child. He couldn’t leave you alone in the world, so the brothers gave him special permission to raise his motherless daughter while still serving a role for the Templars. Very few people are given such a gift.”
“My mother did die in childbirth, but my father was with her at the time.”
“Or did he just tell you that to make your life more comfortable?”
A look of confusion entered her eyes. “Nay. Why would he lie to me?”
“People do all kinds of things to protect those they love.” He thought the explanation sounded reasonable, yet his words didn’t have the effect he’d hoped. She turned away, facing forward on the horse, but not before he saw tears spill from beneath her dark lashes.
Suddenly William wished he were deep in the thick of battle, for then he’d know what to do. He had no experience comforting women, especially when he’d caused the upset with his words. William palmed his sword, allowing the hilt to warm beneath his palm.
Robert the Bruce had trusted him with the most sacred of secrets, and this woman’s father was part of that secret. William frowned. How could he gain her trust?
William steeled himself to do what must be done, no matter how innocent or frightened she appeared. He needed information about the Spear of Destiny. Her father had known its location. Did that mean she knew the Templar’s other secrets as well?
He relaxed his grip on his sword. He pulled her back against his chest. Her body stiffened. A soft sob escaped her. He remained silent, not knowing how else to comfort her. A moment later, she leaned back into his chest. “This day started so well. Where did it go wrong?” she whispered.
William allowed her body to sink back against his. He swallowed hard, trying not to notice the soft brush of her skin against his or the sweet feminine smell that filled his head. God’s mercy, it had been years since a woman had been in his arms. He drew in a long breath and let the scent of heather permeate his senses. Had a woman ever felt this soft before?
Something inside him that had been dormant for a very long time sputtered to life. Warmth filled him, then heat. But it was a heat he could never sate. He forced his thoughts back to the present. He needed information about her father to comp
lete his mission.
“We will find him, lass,” he said softly.
She turned to face him. “Do you know who did this?” she whispered.
“Aye.”
Her green eyes widened. He could see the cold, stark fear reflected there.
“It’s someone who wants certain information your father has.”
“I have to help him. All his research is back at our home. That would be the best place to start.”
He nodded. “I’ll take you back and continue to protect you from de la Roche if you, in turn, cooperate with me.”
Suspicion narrowed her gaze. “Why? How does this profit you?”
“The Templars need your father.” Their gazes met and held. “And you, Lady Siobhan, need me.”
She drew a breath, then nodded. “I accept your offer. Take me home, and let’s see what secrets the scroll contains.”
Pierre de la Roche’s company slowed their horses to a stop as they cleared the valley, coming back into the open once more. The landscape stretched for miles with no sign of the Templar or the girl. Anger flared. He needed that girl to make her father talk. The man had shown marked reserve until de la Roche had mentioned heading back for the daughter.
De la Roche clenched his gloved hands as Navarre Valois, his captain, brought his horse alongside de la Roche’s. “We were right behind them. How could they disappear into thin air?” the man asked.
“I’ll tell you how he slipped away,” de la Roche replied caustically. “That blasphemous Templar has been on the run for many years. He’s become very adept at secreting himself.” His gloved hand snaked out, connecting with the man’s cheek and jaw, nearly unseating Navarre from his horse.
“Let that be a lesson to be more careful,” de la Roche growled.
The captain rubbed the growing red mark that dominated the left side of his face. “Aye,” he mumbled.
Navarre had been with him for years, since long before strands of gray began threading his hair. The man had been competent at one time. Perhaps those days were gone.
De la Roche turned to his troops. All the others remained mounted and kept their distance. A sharp stab of annoyance brought a deep scowl to his face. “I’m gravely disappointed. Will none of you step up to the task at hand? Justice is at stake.”
“Let me go after him. I’ll find him.” Marcus Dumas brought his horse forward from the bunch. The youngest of all of them, his face still held the flush of youth. Similar to the flush that used to mark de la Roche’s own cheeks when he’d started his quest for revenge against the Templar Order over twenty-four years ago.
“I believe that you will,” said de la Roche. He signaled the young man to come forward and sent Navarre to the rear.
As Marcus came forward, memories swamped de la Roche. He saw himself as a young man, spurned by the preceptor of the Templar Order in France. As he had been an only son and heir to his father’s title, the Templars wouldn’t accept him amongst their ranks, no matter how much he’d pleaded.
De la Roche cast off the memories with a growl. Those old desires were left buried in the past. The future stretched before him—a future in which he held power over life and death.
He allowed his anger to fester, to swell until he could feel it pulsing through his veins. He’d destroyed hundreds of Templars since they’d been disbanded over two decades ago. He’d slain them, burned them, made examples of what happened to those who fell out of favor with God. And he’d been satisfied with his progress until he’d set his sights on bigger spoils.
The Templar treasure.
Something so precious could not belong to blasphemous swine. De la Roche intended to claim the treasure for his king, while keeping the Spear of Destiny—the Holy Lance—for himself. With the spear, nothing and no one could stop him in his quest for ultimate justice.
He knew the truth about the Spear. Whosoever possesses this Holy Lance and understands the powers it serves, holds in his hands the destiny of the world, for good or evil.
He wanted that power for himself. He wanted to fight battles without the fear of losing, to control men as he had never controlled them before, and to remake the world in a way that suited him. De la Roche’s hatred piled atop his anger. The Templar and the girl would not halt his sacred work.
I shall punish them both. De la Roche signaled his men to ride back through the valley. There was nowhere in Scotland the two who defied holy law could hide where he would not find them.
Nowhere.
Chapter Four
As Siobhan and her unwanted protector rounded a bend in the road, the countryside grew quiet. Absent even was the wind. An eerie white mist formed on the ground, and wraithlike fog twined around the low stone walls and thickets of bracken outlining the tenant plots that bordered the road to Bramble House, her home.
Now and again the fading sunlight pierced the broken, scudding clouds, casting a mottled array of golden light and darkened shadows. The strange combination sent a chill down Siobhan’s spine.
“Do you see anyone, sir?” Siobhan asked, breaking the silence that had fallen between her and the knight as the horse made steady progress toward her home.
He frowned. “Call me William. And nay, we appear to have left them far behind.”
Siobhan heard a soft hissing followed by an unearthly groan. “What was that?”
“I don’t know.”
She could feel his body tense behind her as they came to the road they had traveled not long ago. The house came into sight. An odd light appeared in the front room’s shuttered windows. The light brightened, intensified, until with a flash, flames appeared, licking hungrily at the wood. Within the span of a heartbeat, flames licked the north side of the house, as well as the upper shutters.
Her home was burning!
Siobhan stared in disbelief. “No!” The raw cry tore from her throat. “This can’t be happening. I have to save the scroll.”
“Why? What’s so important about that scroll?”
“It’s my father’s life’s work. Whatever information you need is most likely there. It’s all I have left…”
William hesitated a moment more, searching the area. For what? The house was on fire. Who would be lurking near such danger?
A moment later, he kicked his horse into a gallop. He raced up the path. The heat intensified as they approached. Something exploded, spraying chunks of wood and ash outward, allowing the flaming tongues to escape and lick upward over the walls and toward the roof.
Siobhan didn’t realize she was sliding from the horse until her feet hit the ground. She ran for the front door, desperate to save the scroll. Her body jerked to a stop.
“Are you mad?” William gripped her arm, pinning her in place.
“Let me go.” Siobhan brought her hand up to cover her mouth, shielding it from the smoke.
“Where is it?” he demanded.
“Inside the large clay urn at the turn in the stairs.” She coughed.
“Stay here.” He released her arm, tore up the front steps, and threw open the door.
Despite the heat, Siobhan shivered. How would he ever make it out alive? How could he expect her to stay outside and wait? She followed him up the steps. Heat and smoke blasted her lungs as she entered the hallway. “William!” Coughing, she fought her way through the smoke to the attic stairs.
“Get out of here,” William called from above.
She turned toward the kitchen. Hungry tongues of fire marched across the wide, wooden table that sat at the far side of the room. With monstrous ferocity, flames devoured the wooden counters and the dried herbs she’d hung in batches against the wall.
A figure surged down the stairs before her. The smoke had grown dense, and Siobhan could only dimly see William’s strained face. Then she noticed the leather casing in his hands and felt a profound rush of relief.
“Get out,” William said hoarsely as he handed her the scroll and forced her back toward the door.
They burst through the doorway,
then stumbled down the stairs. Turning back, Siobhan saw a reddish aura rise from the growing core of heat and flames that spread into the afternoon sky. A heavy rolling mass of choking gray billowed above what used to be her home. A constant roar of flames deadened her ears to any other sound. A dagger whizzed past her head, narrowly missing her. She gasped.
William drew his weapon, angling it at a shadowy figure who emerged from across the courtyard, his sword drawn. “De la Roche thought you may head back here. He left me to tend to you, Templar.”
Siobhan’s heart hammered in her chest. The stranger charged. William’s blade blocked the blow. The sound of steel on steel rang in the air, punctuating the crackle and roar of the flames behind them.
Siobhan had never seen a sword fight before. She’d imagined them in the darkest depths of her dreams. But in those imaginings, there was no blood and no death. Here the threat of both clanged with each sword stroke. William stepped back as his opponent swung his blade in powerful arcs toward William’s torso. He didn’t attack, but watched, seeming to wait for the moment to strike. The man’s blade arced up, and William’s blade followed, blocking the strike, then moved in, leaving a slash in the man’s sleeve that was soon replaced by a blossom of red that trailed down his sword arm.
Blood. Siobhan hitched a breath and stepped back toward the house, toward the heat and the smoke, not knowing which way safety lay.
She remained there as she watched the macabre dance that stretched out before her as the two men sought to kill each other. The crisp clang of steel echoed loudly, blending with the crackling of the flames.
Another slash from the attacker left a gash in William’s forearm. Siobhan gasped. The sound drew the attacker’s attention to her. His pale gaze fixed on her face.
With a sinister smile, he lunged toward her.
Siobhan jumped back into a wave of heat. William surged forward. Before she could draw breath, William caught the man with a blow to his back. The man crumpled to the ground at her feet.
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