A Knight to Desire

by Gerri Russell

  "All is not well." Lord Maclean motioned impatiently for one of his men to come forward with a rough cloth sack. The man opened the cloth and reached inside to pull out Iain's severed head.

  Brianna gasped and her eyes widened in alarm. "Iain…"

  Anger and pain rushed through Simon. "What happened?" he asked, his voice pinched.

  The battered-looking Maclean bowed his head, but not before Simon saw agony fill the young man's gaze. He'd been at the battle with Iain. "The Frenchman … his army … they killed them all. The man you are after, this de la Roche, he has the sword Joyeuse. He is invincible."

  "No one is invincible, not even de la Roche with that sword," Simon said with deadly softness. "If you and your men follow me, I will show you just how wrong you are. My men are gathering other clan members and all will converge on Pennyghael Abbey before sunset this eve. We will take de la Roche and his men down. Scotland will be freed of his tyranny once and for all."

  "Nay!" Lord Maclean's eyes blazed down at him. "We have sacrificed enough already. How many more of us would you have slain at that monster's hand?"

  "He will continue to terrorize this land if we do not stop him."

  Lord Maclean's body went rigid. "My clansmen cannot risk any more lives."

  "And if de la Roche lives, not just your men, but your wives and daughters will be at stake."

  "I am willing to take that risk."

  "I am not." He turned to Brianna. "Come. We will continue on our way."

  She stepped toward Lord Maclean's men. "Not without Iain. He was a good man, and he gave his life for what he believed in. We might only have this small part of him left, but even that part deserves a proper burial."

  With a look of sorrow, the man replaced Iain's head in the sack and handed it to Brianna. "All righteous men deserve a proper burial."

  "Then we will see to the proper burial of your slain men as soon as we are through with de la Roche."

  He nodded, but did not meet her eyes. "We thank you."

  "Come, Brianna, we have much to accomplish before this day is through," Simon said, reaching for the cloth sack. "I will ride with Iain." They mounted silently and he kicked his horse, sending the beast cantering down the path from which they had come.

  "Where do we go now?" Brianna asked when they'd cleared the gates of the castle.

  "Our last hope is to gather men from Lord MacDougall at Aros Castle farther up the western coast."

  "Will they help us?"

  He shrugged. "Only one way to find out." He encouraged his horse into a gallop. They had to keep up their frantic pace if they were to arrive at Pennyghael Abbey before nightfall.

  The sun continued its slow, inexorable trek into the sky. Quickly, warming rays slid across the ground, casting the lush, green landscape in morning light.

  A seagull glided effortlessly through the cloudless blue sky, then down along the sea cliffs off to their left. Simon turned his face toward the morning sun. A sigh-soft breeze ruffled his hair, caressed his cheeks. The normal joy he might have felt in the moment was gone, as Iain's head bumped the side of his horse with each step the beast took.

  Simon reined his horse to a stop.

  "Why are we stopping?" Brianna asked, as she came to a stop beside him.

  "We are going to bury Iain here."

  "This is nice," she said, surveying the view out across the water. "Iain would like it here."

  He forced a smile. She always found something hopeful in every situation. "Aye, he would." Simon slid off his horse and strode to the edge of a cliff. He set the sack down so that Iain's sightless eyes faced the view. "Let's build him a cairn. Help me collect rocks?"

  With Brianna working silently at his side, it did not take long to build the cairn to serve as Iain's resting place forever more.

  Simon took a shuddering breath as he knelt down beside the gravesite as he set the last rock. Iain had given up his life pretending to be Simon. He tightened his fists as he tried to think of something else, tried desperately not to let himself wallow in despair. He needed to remain strong and in control for the battle ahead.

  Brianna touched his shoulder.

  He jerked at her touch, then stilled, trying to silence the hammering of his heart.

  "It is just to mourn him." She rubbed his back in soothing circles.

  "He was a good friend to do what he did for me." He looked up at her. Their eyes met. Empathy drew her brows together and tightened her mouth. She leaned closer. The familiar scent of heather surrounded him, wrapped him in familiar warmth. She pushed back the unruly lock that fell over his brow, all while offering him her silent strength.

  She extended her hand. "And you will always remember the sacrifice he made."

  He took her hand and allowed her to pull him to his feet. "I fear others will sacrifice their lives if we cannot convince the MacDougalls to join us. I know of one MacDougall from my early days with the Templars. Let us pray he is still amongst his kin. He will be crucial in helping me convince the others that our cause is a worthy one."

  She did not release his hand, instead squeezing it affectionately and offering him a smile. "Then let us hope your friend is there."

  "Hector can be persuasive when offered the right motivation."

  "What can we offer him that might motivate him to help us?" Brianna asked. "We cannot give him the Grail, and we have nothing else of value."

  "We won't need to offer the man anything that is of this world. All we need offer is the chance at battle. The man craves excitement. No doubt these last years of the Templars' disbandment have been a sore test to his patience. Let's go offer that motivation, shall we?"

  Brianna and Simon arrived at Aros Castle later that morning. The gates were opened at their approach and a large well-muscled man with a Scottish claymore strapped to his back rode over the drawbridge to greet them. His gaze narrowed on them as he approached. "Stinger?" he said gruffly. "Is that you?" he asked in a thick, accented voice.

  "Aye, 'tis I, Hector."

  The man laughed as he slid off his horse. He came toward them with his arms outstretched. "God's blood, Stinger, it's been too long."

  Simon dismounted. "Indeed, old friend."

  Hector's gaze shifted from Simon to Brianna. "You are keeping different company than you have in the past."

  "More pleasant than your company," Simon said as he signaled for Brianna to dismount and come join them. "Allow me to introduce Brianna Sinclair."

  Hector raised one dark brow. "Are you still a Templar, man?"

  "Aye, my friend. That is why we are here. I need an army."

  "Sounds serious."

  "It is," Simon agreed.

  "Then we'd best do this inside the castle's walls." He let out a shrill whistle and two young boys came forward over the drawbridge to gather the horses. "Sam and Tate will care for the animals. Follow me." As he turned back toward the gatehouse, he clapped Simon on the shoulder. "Truly, 'tis good to see you, Simon. I've heard rumblings from other clans that things are not going well for the Templars in this land at present."

  "You've heard right." They crossed over the drawbridge and entered the square bailey where forty men stood in a single line, awaiting orders from someone.

  "Hector, are you in charge here?" Simon asked.

  The man smiled. "Aye. I had to do something to pass the time. I've been organizing not just the MacDougalls, but the MacKinnons as well."

  Brianna's eyes went wide. "Are these all of your men?"

  Hector laughed. "Nay, these are just a few of the knights. We have nearly a hundred and ten knights, three score of archers, as well as squires and servants to tend them all."

  Simon paused as he took in the numbers. "You never did do anything in a small way."

  Hector laughed again. "Why do you need an army?"

  "To battle a Frenchman named de la Roche."

  Hector nodded. "I've heard of the troubles he's caused the Templars recently."

  "He's attacking more than th
e Templars now. His army slaughtered over a hundred men yesterday — Templars and Highlanders both."

  Hector's gaze turned dark, dangerous. "Then my army is yours. I'll need a day to get them ready to move out."

  Brianna frowned. "We don't have a day. We must meet our enemy tonight at Pennyghael Abbey before he slays the other Templars who await us there."

  Hector looked to Simon for confirmation. At Simon's nod, he frowned. "Getting the men ready will take some time, but we can do our best to have the company ready in a few hours." He turned to his men. "Prepare for battle, men, and with all due haste!"

  The men turned to do his bidding.

  Simon nodded. "Thank you, my friend."

  Hector turned to Brianna. "While we wait for the men to prepare, would you like to have something to eat?"

  Brianna looked to Simon. "Do we have time? I am truly famished and your kindness would be most appreciated."

  "We have time," Simon agreed.

  "Then you can also meet my other guest." Hector's smile slipped as he turned to Brianna once more. "I didn't consider it before … when you were introduced … are you by some chance any relation to Lord Henry Sinclair? He arrived yesterday morning, seeking warriors for hire to protect his estate. I have a few I can spare him and still have plenty for our battle with de la Roche."

  Brianna's face paled.

  Simon went to her side and slipped his arm around her waist, steadying her. She trembled beneath his touch. Pain blazed in her eyes, turning them glassy and overbright.

  "Lord MacDougall," a thunderous voice boomed from across the bailey. Anger darkened the older man's expression as he strode forward. "What's this about you going to war?" He stopped before them. A ruddy flush came to his cheeks.

  At her sides, Brianna's hands curled into tight, white fists.

  "Brianna, what's wrong?" Simon asked, his own voice tight at the pain and anxiety he read on her face. "Is it him?" Simon reached for his sword.

  Brianna reached out and stayed his movement as the older man's gaze met hers.

  Dark, deep-set eyes widened, then narrowed as though measuring her. Lips which hinted at an intense, silent pride were drawn into a taut, disapproving line. "You should be dead."

  She straightened. "As you can see, I am not."

  "I suppose God has been merciful where I was not."

  Brianna's breath expelled in a gust of pain. "I did not know you were here or I would have spared you from thinking anything other than what you choose to believe."

  "Brianna." Simon's expression hardened. "Is this man your father?"

  She gave Simon a look that sliced right through him. "Aye, Lord Henry Sinclair is my father."

  Chapter Twenty

  "Why are you here?" Brianna asked her father. She couldn't believe it was him. She'd never expected to see him again. He looked as he always had — stern and angry, yet he'd aged as well in the last year since she'd seen him. Gray streaks peppered his once dark hair and lines wreathed his eyes and mouth.

  "My business matters not to you." His eyes filled with their usual disappointment. "You are nothing to me anymore."

  Brianna swallowed against the familiar pain that lodged in her throat. She took a step back, trying to pull a veil of numbness around her. But the pain of his rejection forced its way through.

  You'll never be a knight. You're a failure. You murdered your brothers with your ruse of being a knight. You are worthless to me. Leave now, before I kill you myself for your treachery.

  A suffocating feeling swamped her at the memory of her father's painful words. "I am glad to see you well, Father. Now if you'll excuse me, I must—" She never finished her sentence as she turned and ran for her horse. She kicked it into a headlong gallop over the drawbridge and into the valley beyond.

  She heard Simon call her name, but she didn't stop until she was well away from the castle. Then she slipped from her horse, staggered a few feet, and was violently sick.

  A failure. A murderer.

  "God's blood!" Simon dismounted beside her and drew her into his arms.

  "I will not go back there—"

  "No one is asking you to go back," Simon said softly. "If you'd told me about him … I don't understand. God's blood, Brianna, what happened between you and your father?"

  She staggered away from him to lean against a tree. "I tried not to think about him, about how he hurt me."

  Simon gripped his sword. "You know I would never allow him to harm you."

  She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the trunk. "He doesn't harm me physically, Simon. If he did, I could hold my own against him." The bitter hint of a smile pulled up her lips at the thought. "Nay, he hurts me with his disapproval and with his vicious tongue. I have never been the daughter he wanted. He wanted a sweet docile thing who would do as he bid. Instead, he got a daughter who longs to carry a sword and to fight for the injustices she sees in this world. And then there are my dreams…"

  She opened her eyes, looked at Simon. "He thinks I'm mad." She wrapped her arms around her stomach.

  "He dismisses your visions?"

  "He's always told me my visions are the work of the Devil. That I must repent and turn from my own folly." She started to shake. "When I was fifteen, he sent me away from Rosslyn Castle to a convent so that I could exercise the demons from my mind. He didn't understand that I couldn't stop the visions. They have always been a part of me."

  In a heartbeat, she was in his arms, her head pressed against his chest. "Tell me all of it, Brianna. For I know there is more."

  She couldn't stop the tremors wracking her body. She pressed herself against Simon, taking the warmth and security he offered her. He curled his hand around the nape of her neck and anchored her to him. His eyes fastened on hers. Now was the time to tell him the truth. The awful, humiliating, painful truth. She swallowed hard. Although she wanted to, she didn't turn away.

  "At the convent, the abbess was the first person to truly see my gift for what it was. She was the one who sent me to Brother Kenneth and the Templars. Her prayers had told her that my destiny was somehow linked to that Order, not to the nunnery."

  "What about Teba? What happened after I sent you home?"

  Anguish reflected in Simon's gaze, mirroring her own. "He blamed me for William and John's deaths. He sees me as their murderer."

  "They died alongside hundreds of others," Simon whispered. "There is nothing you could have done to save them."

  "I could have fought with them," she said softly.

  He drew a sharp breath. "I sent you away. I see now why you were so upset with me when I first came for you at Abigail's inn. Had I not sent you away, Brianna, you would most likely have died along with your brothers."

  "I know that now." She sighed. "I knew that then. I just felt so helpless."

  "We all did."

  She nodded jerkily. "When I came home, my father was filled with rage, then sorrow for the loss of his sons, and I became the focus of his anger once more. He disowned me, forced me to leave with only my sword and a horse. That's when I made my way to Abigail's where you found me."

  "Do you want revenge against your father? Revenge can be very sweet."

  "Nay! I could never do such a thing."

  "Then you are a better woman than he is a man."

  "The only thing I want to do is leave this place and him behind." She dropped her gaze to the earth at her feet.

  "We can leave now. I had a feeling that would be your preference. Before I came after you I told Lord MacDougall to follow with his men when they are ready."

  She looked up at Simon, at the understanding in his gaze. He bought her gaze to his with a finger beneath her chin. "Not all men are as your father, Brianna. I will never hurt you like he did. I respect your visions just as I have always respected your skill with a sword. It is not something that comes from the Devil. It is divinely sent. Never forget that."

  The pain in her chest eased. "Thank you, Simon."

  "Don't mov
e," he said, going to his horse.

  She didn't think she could move if she tried. Never in her life had she felt this lifeless and weak.

  He returned a moment later with a cloth and a bladder of water and washed her face as if she were a small child. He offered her the water to cleanse her mouth. "Better?"

  "Much," she replied.

  He helped her sit on the ground and drew her back into his arms, cradling her. "What happened to your mother?"

  "She died when I was very young." A smile came to her lips at the memory of her mother. "Even as a child I wanted to be a warrior. Each time I picked up a stick and used it as a sword, my father punished me. My mother, on the other hand, encouraged me to toddle after my brothers with that stick. Even then, I knew how to best them." Brianna drew a deep breath. "Had she lived, my life would have been very different."

  She could feel the muscles of his chest tense. "Brianna, had I known about your father, or even your brothers, I might have treated you differently myself."

  "You mean you would have let me stay in the battle?" Her throat tightened with unshed tears.

  "Never." He frowned down at her, but his eyes were soft. "But I would have treated you more kindly after I discovered you were a girl in the midst of the Templars."

  "I deserved no kindness for my deception." Tears burned behind her eyes.

  "You deserved understanding," Simon said. "I have seven sisters. Growing up, I saw them long for things they could never have in this world of men." His jaw tightened. "I did what I could for them at the time. Just as I tried to do what I could for you with the Templars."

  "I know you did." At his words, the last vestiges of her control shattered. A single tear slid down her cheek. Another tear fell, then another.

  She was crying, for goodness sake. She never cried. She wiped the tears from her cheeks, but they kept falling, faster than she could wipe.

  "Let them fall, Brianna. I'll take care of you." He gathered her closer.

  The sentiment made Brianna's breath catch and her tears fall harder. She cried for it all: she cried for her mother who had died too young; for the father who had thrown his daughter out into the world without remorse. She cried for the uncertainty that lay ahead of them, for her own unfulfilled dream of being a knight.