To Tempt a Knight

by Gerri Russell

  He loved her.

  A part of his soul had died along with his parents, and half his heart had died on that battlefield in Spain with his Templar brothers—and then she’d entered his life. Something new had grown inside him, something he no longer wanted to turn away from.

  He was no longer afraid.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Death. Death was all around her. Siobhan knew her father was gone from this world, but she couldn’t let go of his body. She cradled him in her arms as she never had while he was alive. She felt heavy inside, weighed down with tears she couldn’t shed, not yet. If she started crying, she might not be able to stop.

  “Siobhan.” She lifted her gaze to William’s pale gaze. “Is he—?”

  “Dead.”

  “Let’s get you both out of here.”

  Siobhan hesitated as her gaze moved to the pile of ash that used to be the scroll. She hesitated.

  “You did what was right.” He strode to her side, extending his hand to help her up. She reached out with trembling fingers to grasp it. At his touch, the pain that pierced her soul receded.

  William released her, then bent down to retrieve her father’s body. Her father’s face was at peace. William took a moment to close the eyes before he lifted the older man, nestling the limp body in his strong and capable arms.

  Siobhan drew a shaky breath at the image. Her father must have cradled her in the same protective way when she was young. Now the roles were reversed. It was she who would care for and protect his body as it journeyed on to his final resting place.

  “What about the Spear?”

  “Leave it here. I’ll come back for it.”

  “I can carry it.” At William’s questioning gaze, she straightened her shoulders. “It wasn’t the Spear that killed my father. It was de la Roche.” She retrieved the weapon from where it lay on the dirt floor.

  Slowly, the three of them moved together up the stairs to join the others in the bailey. The sun overhead peeked down through scudding clouds, yet no warmth covered the land. Only a chilling wind rustled through the yard.

  William set her father’s body down next to all the others who had died. He came back to her, wrapping her in his arms. Gently, he stroked her hair. “You should rest.”

  She allowed herself a moment in his arms, taking what brief comfort she could from his touch. “Too much remains undone. We must bury the dead, and say good-bye to my father.” Her voice cracked.

  William pressed a kiss into her hair. “You’re right.” He held her tightly. “Sometimes it helps to keep busy.”

  She nodded, thankful he understood. She couldn’t stop moving, couldn’t let her emotions through the barrier she’d erected, because if she did, she would have to consider what came next for her. Life without her father was too difficult to fathom at the moment.

  Siobhan moved by instinct over the next several hours as she and other women of the castle helped wash the bodies of the dead. William and his warriors dug graves in the kirk yard. The men had given up their search for de la Roche’s body long ago. They’d found nothing—no sign of his survival or of his death.

  Dusk had fallen over the land when they placed the final dirt atop Sir John’s grave. Siobhan stood at his grave site, looking down at the freshly turned earth. It seemed right to leave him here, buried next to William’s parents.

  “Is there anything I can do?” William asked, gently touching her arm.

  Siobhan shook her head as she cast one last glance at the grave site. “There’s nothing anyone can do. He’s gone. Everything is gone.” She closed her eyes.

  “I’ll miss him too, Siobhan.”

  She opened her eyes and stared up at William. He still wore his blood-spattered clothes. The bandage she’d placed around the slash in his arm remained where she’d tied it. Dark shadows hovered beneath his eyes.

  “Thank you, William, for being so kind to me and my father.”

  “Kindness shouldn’t end in death.” His words were angry, hard.

  “Don’t blame yourself. That de la Roche did not kill him sooner was a miracle. At least, I got to see him one last time. To be with him in the end.”

  William groaned and pulled her into his arms. He held her there for several long moments as though nothing else in the world mattered, as the light of day faded all around them.

  He offered comfort to her, but as he drew several ragged breaths and tightened his arms around her, she realized he needed the comfort she could give.

  “William,” Siobhan said, interrupting the moment. “Everything will be all right, especially now that your uncle is dead. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

  He drew back to gaze into her face. “I hadn’t let myself think about that yet. So much has happened.”

  “Stonehyve Castle rightfully belongs to you.”

  William’s gaze shifted to the bailey, to the castle’s residents and the members of the Keith clan who had helped bury the dead and set the castle back into some semblance of order. “My parents were happy here… Their deaths have been avenged.”

  He returned his gaze to her face. “Things are as they should be, I suppose.”

  “Except with the Spear. What’s to come of it?”

  Gently, he brushed the long strands of her loose hair back from her cheek to tuck them behind her ear. “It must be taken somewhere safe.”

  Siobhan nodded, dropping her gaze to his chest. “Then you’ll be leaving soon.” She couldn’t let him see the sadness she knew must be reflected in her eyes. “With my father gone, it is only natural that you would step into his role as Keeper of the Holy Relics.”

  With a finger against her chin, he lifted her gaze to his. “I’m uncertain what role my future holds.”

  “What could be more important than the treasure?” she asked, breathless.

  “You.” He gave her a tender smile. “Come with me. Stay by my side while we rescue the others who were taken by de la Roche’s troops.”

  “And after that?”

  “Then I must go to Edinburgh to fulfill my duty with the Spear. Templars who must hide to protect themselves are no guardians for such a powerful weapon. There is a man there I trust, Archbishop Lamberton. I’ve met him many times while at the Bruce’s court and feel confident in his ability to assist the Templars with the task of keeping the Spear safe. Only Archbishop Lamberton can see the relic returned to the mother church in Rome. There, among other holy relics, the Spear will be safe from men like de la Roche.”

  “And the rest of the treasure?”

  “Simon will see that it is moved and secured once again.”

  Still she hesitated, though she wasn’t certain why.

  “Will you come with me? We started this adventure together. Let us end it that way as well.” He held out his hand.

  Siobhan stared at the calluses and silver-threaded scars that marked his palm. Strong and capable fingers waited patiently for her decision.

  So much had changed between them from the first time they’d met outside her father’s home. She’d been filled with dreams of adventure then. Over the last few weeks, those dreams had come true because of the man before her. But with those dreams came pain and loss. Never could she have imagined a life without her father. It had been just the two of them for so long.

  Everything changed, William had said. Her fingers drifted down to cover her belly. Her father’s life had ended. Would another life fill that void?

  Everything changed. Did it change for the better?

  She accepted his hand. His fingers curled around hers, enveloping them in warmth. “Yes, I’ll go with you.”

  With the Spear clutched in his hand, William rode out the following morning with Siobhan tucked safely in his arms. Not only did the Templars who’d helped defeat de la Roche at Stonehyve Castle follow him, but many of his clan members had joined their ranks as well.

  He still couldn’t believe how accepting they had been of him after he’d killed his own uncle. Revenge never made things
right. But his clan seemed eager to aid him and pleased to welcome him back into the fold, despite the fact he couldn’t promise them he would return to the castle or to them. He still had a lot to accomplish.

  William led the way along the shoreline to the first campsite of de la Roche’s men. His scouting parties had kept watch over the troops that had captured Templars trying to join the battle at Stonehyve Castle.

  William came to a halt at the top of a rise, just out of sight from de la Roche’s troops, who spread like a blight across the gently sloping land. Smoke from their camp-fires filled the air.

  His grip tightened around the Spear. For a fleeting moment, he felt a surge of power move through his body. Not malevolent power, but a calmness of spirit, of rightness, of hope.

  Siobhan turned to look at him. “What is it, William?”

  He returned her gaze. “I think I finally understand the power of the Spear.”

  Her gaze turned questioning. “In what way?”

  “The Spear is not an evil thing that hungers for blood. It longs for transformation within its carrier. The Spear triggered the original transformation with the resurrection of Christ. The weapon guided Herod in his rule over Judea. It helped Boadicea triumph over the Romans. It helped Constantine accept Christianity and brought triumph to Charlemagne in forty-seven battles.”

  She frowned. “What effect did it have over de la Roche? He did not triumph in the end.”

  “Nay,” William said. “Had he remained in possession of the Spear, terrible things could have happened here in Scotland and wherever else de la Roche carried it. We changed that outcome, along with your father.”

  “I’d like to believe that my father died for a noble reason,” she said softly.

  “He died for the noblest reason, Siobhan, even without the Spear. He died for the love of his child.”

  She swallowed roughly and nodded.

  “And I must protect you and our child.”

  “We don’t know—”

  “Hush,” he said placing a finger against her lips. “I know, and I want you safe. So I’ll leave you here with a contingent of men while I lead the others. Please don’t deny me this.”

  “I won’t,” she agreed.

  He kissed her gently, then set her off the horse. He signaled to ten men to stay back with her while the others rode down the gentle slope to engage their target, their war cries slicing through the silence of the morning.

  After three more conflicts with other factions of de la Roche’s men, all the Templars were freed from captivity, and de la Roche’s leaderless troops marched toward the shore and the ships they had moored there.

  In the aftermath, William stared at the Spear in his hand. The Templars hadn’t lost a single man in any of those battles. The Spear had to be the reason why.

  With their purpose complete, William thanked the men who’d joined him and sent them back to their homes. With the Templars still hunted by those like de la Roche, they had no other option than to keep their presence in Scotland secret.

  Only his own men followed him now. As they rode through the countryside on the morning of the third day since they’d left Stonehyve Castle, William looked fondly upon one warrior in particular: Lucius. The man had lived up to his declaration of change. He had become all that a warrior should be—faithful to his duty, dependable to his brothers and humble about his prowess. He had proved his worth, and William intended to recommend to Brother Kenneth that Lucius be allowed to assist in the relocation of the treasure when the time came.

  Returning his attention to the scenery around him, William reined Phantom to a stop at the top of a ridge. The rest of his men followed his lead. He tightened his hold around Siobhan’s waist as they took in the gorge below them. Sparkling, swift-flowing waters of the South Esk River cut across the land. To his right, the jagged crest and fertile glens of the Grampian Mountains stretched before them. To his left, set against the clear blue vaulted sky, were the Sidlaw Hills. Behind him lay the Firth of Tay.

  “Why are we stopping?” Simon asked, bringing his own horse alongside Phantom.

  “It is time for us to part ways,” William said.

  “Where do you go? Edinburgh?” Simon gazed thoughtfully at Siobhan.

  “The Spear must be placed safely into Archbishop Lamberton’s care.”

  “And after you finish there? Where will I find you? At Stonehyve Castle? At the monastery?”

  “I haven’t decided yet.”

  A sudden warm smile lit Simon’s face. “I have a feeling I know which way the wind blows for you.”

  William frowned. “If I do not—”

  “Farewell, my brother.” Simon turned his horse around and signaled for the men to follow him down the slope toward the fertile glens below.

  “You love him well,” Siobhan stated as they watched the others ride away.

  “I do. We’ve been through much together.”

  “He is the brother you never had.”

  William’s arms drew her back against his chest, against the sudden emptiness there at the thought of not seeing Simon on a frequent basis.

  “The wind is cold. Let us go,” he said, suddenly filled with the need to finish the rest of their journey. “To Edinburgh.”

  William turned Phantom toward the Firth of Tay. There, they would hire a ship and head for Edinburgh.

  From atop his horse, Navarre Valois, Pierre de la Roche’s captain, scowled at the retreating lines of his own men as they turned back from their mission and toward the Scottish coast. Three double-masted carracks waited there to take them back to France.

  De la Roche must be dead. In his place, Valois was now in charge. His lips twisted in anger. De la Roche’s failure to bring back the Templar treasure to their king would fall on his own aging shoulders.

  Navarre waited as the last man left the campsite to follow the others. He’d given de la Roche the best years of his life. He’d followed the man across miles of land and over seas to flush out the Templars. He’d thought his life had held a purpose until this morning, when he’d come face-to-face with William Keith bearing the Spear of Destiny. The Templar had been unstoppable in his efforts to free his men.

  Navarre’s men had had no option but to let them go. They had lost the treasure, the Spear and even their honor. None would return to a hero’s welcome.

  “Damn you, de la Roche, and your failure,” Navarre muttered through clenched teeth.

  Behind him a branch snapped.

  He twisted to peer behind him. The windblown trees at the edge of the incline appeared unchanged. He frowned at the sudden silence as the last of his troops moved in the distance. Putting his heels to his horse’s side, he began to join them.

  Another rustle sounded behind him.

  His hand slid to the hilt of his sword. He turned to look behind him once more.

  Nothing moved. Nothing stirred. Even the wind had died down for the moment.

  “Who are you to blame me?” A voice came from the tree to his left, but there was no one there.

  Navarre frowned. “Show yourself.”

  “I am everywhere, and I am nowhere,” the voice came again.

  Fear brought a chill to his flesh. “De la Roche?” he asked in a near whisper. How could it be? The men had reported their leader dead. Drowned in the moat of Stonehyve Castle, or broken by the fall beneath those waters.

  A ghost?

  Navarre shook himself. He did not believe in such things. There was no danger here. He turned back around and continued down the rise of the hill.

  A sting centered in his back. He arched against the pain, but it spread until it consumed him.

  Two heartbeats later, he fell off his horse.

  Dead.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Siobhan stared out over the ship’s edge, allowing the vigorous wind to brush her cheeks, to catch her hair and whirl it about her face. The wind, the water…She loved the sensations they carried and the newfound sense of freedom they brought to
her.

  Siobhan had never been on a ship before. It hadn’t taken but a moment for her to find her sea legs. She tipped her head back, up toward the rays of the afternoon sun. Vitality flowed through her, and joy.

  She’d had three days to adjust to the idea of her father’s death. And though she’d thought she would never be happy again, instead she found she looked forward to each day with William. Each day held a surprise she had never counted on, the constancy of his love. He had yet to tell her the words, but his every look, his every touch spoke volumes.

  Her hand drifted down to her abdomen, to the slight rise she would feel there soon. She was with child. The prospect suddenly didn’t seem so terrible. This wasn’t just any child she carried. It was William’s child. And she loved him.

  Her gaze fixed in the distance where the sea met the sky, and some of her excitement faded. She couldn’t tell William about the child until he’d decided the path his life would take. One path led to the Templars. The other to her and her child.

  The choice had to be William’s. She wouldn’t come between a man and his dreams. Not ever.

  The symmetry between her own situation and that of her mother’s brought a tightness to her chest. Was this what her parents had had to face? After their joining, her father had chosen to return to the Templars. And her mother had remained behind, silently bearing the burden of raising a child alone. Her mother’s death had been an unforeseen variable that had brought her father back into Siobhan’s life.

  Now that she knew the truth about her father, she could recall times in her past when she’d seen a deep sadness in his eyes, a longing she could do nothing about. He’d expressed feelings that had been stifled sometimes by their need to live in isolation. She’d known nothing else.

  Because of her, her father had been forced to live in a state of limbo—stuck with her in the secular world, with his heart firmly in the religious past.

  Siobhan gripped the edge of the railing. She could never do the same thing to William, baby or not. She would not sway him in any way. The decision he made had to come from his heart. And his heart alone.