He drew a sharp breath. “De la Roche is after the scroll. That’s why he attacked you, Brother William and Lady Siobhan.”
William nodded. “De la Roche is after all the Templars who hide in this country.” William paused before continuing, his expression grave. “He also wants the Holy Lance.”
Brother Kenneth paled. He leaned closer to the scroll. His mouth moved, but at first, no sound came forth. Finally he said, “The Spear of Destiny? Oh, Heaven help us all.”
Siobhan didn’t understand the man’s words or his fear. “What’s wrong?”
Brother Kenneth shook his head. “This is no ordinary spear that de la Roche wants. The Spear descends from the lineage of Adam, forged from a curious metal that came down from the heavens in a flash of bright light. The heavenly metal gives the Spear unique powers that can be used for either good or evil.”
“Did my father ever use the Spear?” she asked cautiously.
The old monk patted the back of her hand where it rested beside the scroll. “Be assured, milady, your father’s role with the Spear was only as its protector.”
A wave of relief washed over her. She still could hardly believe her isolated, introverted father was connected with this band of warrior monks. Had she truly been that blind to the things happening around her? Or had her father just been exceptionally clever at concealing his activities?
Siobhan turned to Brother Kenneth, studying his features. A sense of familiarity came over her. “Did you come to our house to meet with my father in the past?”
The old monk returned her gaze with a soft smile. “When you were a young girl, aye. But it has been many years, and you are much changed from that time. ’Tis why I didn’t recognize you at first glance.”
Siobhan straightened and stared at the scroll. At one corner, there was a drawing of an older man draped in robes with a crown of leaves circling his head, holding a long spear toward the sky. Her father had drawn all these sketches for a purpose, and he had entrusted them to her. She pointed to the string of letters below the drawing. “What does this say?”
Brother Kenneth leaned toward the scroll. He tapped his finger against the line of letters. “Your father’s usual code was something along the lines of every second letter, then the seventh, every third letter, then the seventh, every fourth letter, then the seventh, over and over again. Let us see what happens when we use that method.”
Slowly he read, ‘Whosoever possesses this Holy Lance and understands the powers it serves, holds in his hands the destiny of the world for good or evil.’
“My father would have wanted the Lance to be used for good,” Siobhan said.
“Agreed,” Simon and William said at the same time.
Siobhan shifted her gaze to the center of the scroll, which looked like a map. “Did my father leave directions for us to find the Holy Lance?”
Brother Kenneth frowned as he studied the text. “‘The mother cradles the Spear of Humanity.’”
“And over here.” Siobhan indicated the light text that appeared more like the ripples in a river than actual words.
The old monk startled. “How did you see that, milady?”
She shrugged. “All of a sudden it just stood out.” The monk narrowed his gaze and pulled the single tallow candle on the table closer to the scroll. After a slight pause, he read, “‘Only with faith and might can one leap the divide to part a mother’s tears.’”
Siobhan frowned. “What does it all mean?”
“A riddle,” William said.
Simon’s gaze darkened. “Why could it not have read, ‘Go here and you’ll find the Spear’?”
William raised an eyebrow. “When has anything to do with the Templars ever been simple and straightforward?”
“Never,” Simon replied, without a hint of humor.
“How do we decipher the meaning?”
William leaned back and grimaced, pained by his wounds. “We go to the Mother’s Cradle and figure it out.”
“Where is that?” Siobhan asked.
William’s gaze narrowed thoughtfully. “There is a cave in the Cairngorms known as the Mother’s Cradle. Seems like as good a place as any to start our search.”
“What if we are wrong?”
“Then we will know it when we find nothing there,”
William said without expression.
“My father—”
“De la Roche will not kill him,” William interrupted. “He needs your father to find the Spear.”
The thought did little to comfort her.
“We’ll leave at first light.” William stood, grimacing as he did.
Siobhan stood as well, noting the lines of tension around William’s mouth and eyes. When had she become so familiar with the expressions on his face? “Are you well enough to travel?”
“We must get to the Spear before de la Roche does. So, aye, I am well enough. Besides, I’ve no wish to see the monks here endangered by de la Roche.” William reached down and curled the scroll up. He placed it in its case, then handed it back to Siobhan. “We leave in the morning.”
Simon stayed seated along with the older monk. “You two find your beds. We will make certain you have all the provisions you need by morning.”
William nodded. He offered Siobhan his arm. “Come, milady.” He guided her out the door and down the long hallway.
Siobhan glanced at the man beside her. “Do you really think we have a chance of finding the treasure in the Cairngorms?”
“We’ll find it.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because I have to find it.”
“To save my father.”
He didn’t answer.
She stopped walking and turned toward him. “Why are you helping me? The real reason.”
His features hardened. He looked off in the distance, refusing to meet her gaze. “I’ve pledged to you my sword and my life until your father is safe.”
The look on his face told her she would get no further explanation. She didn’t understand why, but the realization hurt her. When she’d first accepted his help, she had done so because she’d had no other choice. She still had little choice but to accept what he offered.
But somehow she had hoped for more.
“I accept your sword, but I will never ask you to give your life for mine. The wounds you suffered today will be your last on my account.”
She strode off alone to her monk’s cell. Inside the room, she dropped down onto the simple cot, setting the scroll between herself and the wall, then stared at the ceiling.
A soft knock sounded on her door.
“Siobhan?” William called softly through the wooden barrier.
“Go away,” she groaned, not wanting to continue any conversation with him whereby she would end up with even more doubts.
The door opened. William stepped inside. His gaze traveled from her tousled hair to the flowing linen of her plain, homespun gown to her half boots. Instead of irritation in his sherry-colored eyes, she saw a fleeting moment of heat. She was suddenly acutely aware of the confined space. How alone they were.
She sat up, smoothing her skirts down over her legs. “I’d like to be alone.”
“You’re not responsible for my injuries or my pain,” he said in a soft voice. He came forward, then sat on the bed beside her. “That is no burden I wish you to carry.”
She closed her eyes, trying to shut out not the pain of his injuries, but her own loss. It had been easy to forget about the fire and her father while she’d been worried about William. Now that he was safe, her pain returned tenfold. “So much has happened,” she admitted, opening her eyes. His hand rested by her leg.
“Aye.” As though sensing her gaze upon him, he laced his fingers through hers, his grip strong, warm, excruciatingly intimate.
“Why did they burn the house?” she asked. “They had already taken my father.”
“I—don’t know.”
“They wanted me to know they could hurt me, t
oo—take everything away from me unless they got what they wanted.”
His hand tightened on hers. “No one can take away the things that are truly important, Siobhan.”
He understood. She could see it in his expression, feel it in his touch. He knew what it was like to lose everything.
“Tomorrow we head for the Cairngorms. And we will find the Spear.”
She swallowed, feeling fragile, vulnerable. “Everything is happening so fast.”
“Change usually does.” The pain they’d shared a moment ago shifted, took on a different tenor as his touch softened. He leisurely rubbed his thumb back and forth across her sensitive flesh. Her pulse accelerated.
She looked up at him, unable to pull her gaze away from those rich amber-colored eyes. She could feel her heart beat faster, her skin warming as the blood quickened in her veins. “It scares me.”
He leaned closer. “I’ll protect you.”
She swallowed. Who would protect her from him?
His lips were mere inches from hers. She could see the pulse drumming in his temple and watched the feathery curve of his dark lashes as they came down to hide his eyes. She caught the faint scent of sandalwood.
She willed herself to breathe slowly, to think of something to say that would end this tension between them.
The warmth of his breath caressed her throat. She began to tremble. The man was a monk, a man of the cloth. What did all of that truly mean? The way he looked at her, touched her…she could almost imagine he cared. But could he? Could he go beyond a look and a touch?
Could she?
Siobhan pulled her hand out of his grasp and brought her fingers to her cheeks to hide the flush she could feel burning there. “I’m safe enough here tonight,” she breathed.
He stood, his lowered lids still veiling his eyes. “Aye, you are safe within these walls.” When he lifted his gaze to hers, his eyes were cool. All evidence of what they’d shared had vanished.
How did he do it? He’d been as aroused as she only moments ago. She had seen the flare of his irises and noted the sudden shift in his breathing. Now he acted as cool as though he’d never touched her. She released a pent-up breath and was grateful for the distance between them. It gave her time to gather her composure. As her heartbeat almost returned to normal, she reached for the scroll.
“Will you sleep tonight?”
She shrugged. How could she sleep, knowing he slept nearby? “I’m going to study the scroll for a while, see if anything looks familiar to me.”
He nodded, turned, then closed the door behind him.
She hadn’t lied. She was frightened. But suddenly she wasn’t sure what scared her more, the thought of de la Roche finding them or of William’s continued presence by her side. Siobhan stared at the door.
What had passed between them had only been a momentary madness, best forgotten by them both. The man was celibate. Nothing could ever come of her desires.
William had evidently succeeded in forgetting his momentary passion. She must, too.
Lucius Carr hid in the shadows of the hallway outside Lady Siobhan’s chamber. He pressed himself to the wall, trying to disappear into the darkness, as Brother William left the chamber to go into his own across the hall.
As William closed his chamber door, Lucius released his breath. He hadn’t been detected, but he’d heard everything he needed to know. The Spear had to be in the Cairngorms. Why else would they go to those desolate mountains?
Lucius’s heart pounded in his chest, and his skin prickled with a cold sweat. Could he do it? Could he betray his Templar brother? Would his need for revenge justify such deceit?
An explosion of rage and loss consumed him as it had the moment he’d seen Peter’s charred body. He closed his eyes and tried to control the shudders that wracked his body. He would never get that vision out of his mind—Peter strapped to the stake, flames at his feet.
Thinking about Peter was unbearable. His throat clamped tight. He missed his brother.
All his life he’d tried so hard to be what Peter had wanted him to be. His brother set high ideals for the two of them—that they would go away together and fight for the causes of justice and freedom. They’d become Templars together and had dedicated themselves to their new lives.
They had helped to keep English invaders from crossing the Scottish border. They’d helped keep order amongst the clans, all while they waited for that big moment when they could change the face of the world together. But they would never get that chance. Not together anyway. Peter’s death had changed all that.
Lucius couldn’t think about Peter without thinking about de la Roche, who had robbed them of their dreams. And for that, the man deserved whatever ill came his way.
No one could rob a man of his dreams and walk away unscathed. Nay, de la Roche had to pay for what he’d done to Peter.
Lucius opened his eyes. The shaking was easing now. Thoughts of revenge kept the pain and the guilt at bay. He had no choice but to proceed. No matter what that made him, no matter whom he hurt.
Peter’s death demanded justice.
William could feel a familiar frustration welling up inside him. He moved restlessly around his small monk’s chamber, from the door to the tiny casement window, and peered out into the garden beyond. His hands clenched the wood of the sill as he gazed out blindly. He had thought this would be easier. He had thought he could remain remote and untouched, to manipulate events to his liking, to further his own goals without being affected.
Yet the past two days he’d been with Siobhan had been harder than he would have imagined. The heat of her presence touched him in places he had thought had grown too cold for embers to glow anew. When he looked upon her he felt…moved, concerned, guilty?
He had no reason to feel guilty. He might not have been completely open with her about why he needed the Spear, but he would do everything he’d promised. He would help her find her father. He would fight de la Roche’s men. He would make certain she and her father were safe before he…left them, taking the Spear with him.
His grip tightened on the windowsill as he remembered the feel of Siobhan’s hand in his. Something about her touch moved him, excited him. He could feel himself hardening at the thought.
He pushed away from the window, strode across the tiny monk’s cell and jerked open the door. Stewing in his chamber was no help at all. He had to keep himself busy, find something to occupy his mind and think only about what he would do once he found the Spear.
Chapter Eight
Siobhan stepped from the monastery into the gated courtyard that separated her from the rest of Scotland. Early morning light cast the world around her in hues of pink and gold. A soft breeze brushed her cheeks, her arms. She shivered. Today she would leave the safety of the monastery with William, and the next phase of their adventure would begin.
An odd mixture of fear and excitement swelled inside her. She gazed out at the open land before her and straightened her back, facing her future.
There was nothing for her anywhere but out there. The Cairngorms would be the start of her new life. Despite her resolve, she shivered again.
A blanket of warmth enveloped her.
“This should keep you warm,” the rich tones of William’s voice sounded from behind her. He smoothed the thick, luxurious animal pelt across her shoulders. The cloak fell to her calves, cocooning her in welcome heat.
“My thanks.” She turned and met his gaze. Cool composure tightened his features, calm and in control. Disappointment joined her other emotions. No hint of whatever it was that had passed between them last night seemed to remain with him this morn.
Why should it? To him, their adventure was all about duty. His duty to the Templars. His duty to keep her safe. She had to remember that. “Are you well enough to travel?” she asked, needing to redirect her thoughts.
“I’m quite recovered.”
She didn’t believe him, but did not argue the point.
“Do you have the
scroll?” he asked.
She’d used a small piece of the tartan he’d given her to sew a hidden pocket inside her gown. “Yes, it’s concealed here.” She patted the slight bump, feeling the protective leather beneath her fingers.
At her acknowledgment, he guided her to the courtyard where he placed her on Phantom’s back. The massive white beast remained steady as William mounted behind her.
“We’re only taking one horse?”
“Phantom is strong enough to carry us both,” he said, stroking the animal’s thick neck. “Besides, another horse would be unpredictable.” William spurred the horse toward the gates where Brother Kenneth stood waiting.
The old monk’s expression softened when he saw them. “I’m saddened by your departure. William’s been away too long, and, my dear, it’s been a pleasure to see what a fine woman you’ve become.”
Siobhan’s cheeks heated. “It was kind of you to offer us shelter,” she said in earnest.
A smile lit the old monk’s face and caused laugh lines to fan out around his eyes. “You may always find shelter here. Remember that.” He reached up and took Siobhan’s hand in his own larger one. She experienced an overwhelming sense of well-being. All her earlier fear melted away. “I offer you my blessing as you both go forward toward your destiny.” He released her hand and opened the iron gates.
“Guard yourselves well,” William warned as they started through the threshold. “De la Roche is capable of anything.”
Brother Kenneth nodded. “Simon is here. He’s all the advantage we need against such a foe. And I still know how to wield a sword with the best of you. God be with you both,” Brother Kenneth said before closing the heavy gate behind them.
The cool breeze stirred again. Siobhan turned her face into it and could feel the tingle of misty droplets against her cheeks.
William’s arm tightened around her waist. “It seems we are in for some weather.”
“A little rain never hurt anyone,” Siobhan replied.
He chuckled and pulled her back against the solid wall of his chest. She caught the scent of sandalwood and musk—earthy, male—a scent that she would always associate with him. “We’ll be riding in the open this morning and most of the afternoon, so keep alert to anything suspicious.”
To Tempt a Knight Page 7