He brought the sword to her other shoulder and with a smile said, "Arise, Lady Brianna Sinclair, a knight of the Templars once more."
She stood and was instantly flooded with cheers and handshakes from Kaden and Alaric.
"We are honored to fight beside you, my lady," Kendall said.
She looked up at Simon then. Gratitude brightened her eyes, bathed him in its unfamiliar light, and something in his chest tightened. He felt special. Extraordinary, even. And there was something else in her eyes, something that filled him with longing, something he wanted so badly it made his stomach clench.
Images of their time together tumbled through his brain. He saw her bathed in sunlight as they travelled through the forest, wreathed in moonlight as they battled with quarterstaffs. He saw her lying against a bed of ferns with desire in her eyes, waiting for him to pull her into his arms, wrap her in warmth, and reveal the mysteries of life to her. He saw her battered and beaten after de la Roche had captured her, and he saw the strength in her eyes as she struggled to come back from the pain, learning to fight with her left hand.
An emotion both intense and primal surged inside him, erupting in a billow of breath. It was an emotion he had left behind him months ago on that battlefield in Teba. An emotion he had never expected to feel again. He let it form, let it swirl inside him, warm him in places that had long since dulled to anything but rote survival. It burst from him on a breath and seemed to fill the glorious space around him.
Hope.
For the first time in a long while, he felt a glimmer of hope even in this desperate situation.
All because of Brianna.
"Simon?"
He heard her voice through the pounding of his heart. He shook off the fog of memory, but clung to the feeling of hope. "Come," he said, reaching for her hand. "We have a battle to win."
Simon drew a fortifying breath as he appraised the battlefield. He, Brianna, Kaden, Alaric, and Kendall were all dressed in mail that lay beneath their Templar tunics. They would make their final stand against de la Roche here. In preparation, they'd set fires at intervals along the open field, with cauldrons set in the heart of the coals. The fires would help illuminate the battlefield as the day turned to night, and the tar within could be flung in hot, sputtering agony at the enemy as they advanced.
Next to the cauldrons were several bows and cloth-wound arrows that could be ignited by the flames and sent into the enemy's ranks as they thundered down the hill.
Brianna stood with the men with two swords at her back, one strapped to her side, and a dagger hidden in her boot. At her feet rested a stack of sharpened spears. The other men were similarly armed. They were few, but they were mighty. De la Roche should take heed.
"Where are the MacDougalls? Where are the monks? The five of us cannot hold de la Roche's masses back for long," Kaden said.
"They will be here. Give them time," Simon said with confidence.
"We have no more time if the tremors of the ground are any indication. De la Roche will appear over the ridge in only a matter of moments."
Simon, too had felt the tramping feet of a marching army, the heavy thud of horses and men come to attack. "Then we'd best take our places." Simon motioned toward the others, and he and Kaden took their positions. Kaden on the right flank, Simon beside Brianna. They lined themselves across the terrain. The five of them against an army of hundreds.
Simon swallowed roughly. The five of them could never hold the masses off until help arrived. He looked at each of the warriors beside him. He loved them all, and would proudly die beside them. "Until the end," he said, thrusting his sword into the air.
"To the end," they each shouted in reply, thrusting their swords high.
Simon held his sword at the ready. This was it.
The storm was not long in coming.
De la Roche appeared first, dressed in full armor. He and his men spilled over the rise and down the hillside. Simon had to admit, de la Roche was an impressive sight, riding forward, his hand curled around the hilt of Joyeuse. The late evening sun glinted off the blade, sending rays of orange and gold out before him.
De la Roche came to a halt two hundred paces from the five of them, forcing his army to stop behind him.
"Can we make this battle between the two of us?" Simon called across the divide.
Brianna drew a sharp breath beside him, but remained silent.
"Only if you sacrifice yourself to my sword. Perhaps then I might let the others live."
"He lies," Kaden growled. "Once you are dead he will continue his attack. Don't let him fool you."
Simon straightened. "I am aware of what de la Roche is capable." He had to stall for time.
Behind him, he heard the shuffle of footsteps as the monks of Pennyghael Abbey took their position behind the Templars. Twenty men stood with them, armed with swords and pitch forks and clubs. They wore no armor except for the crucifixes around their necks. Their faces wore looks of determination.
Before he could turn back to de la Roche, a loud cry of "Attack!" echoed around him.
He could delay no longer as de la Roche's army charged, thundering forward like a dark wave against the dirt.
Simon dove for the bow and arrows near him and let them fly into the massive army that approached. Before their arrows were spent, a roar of the ages erupted out of the chaos — the cath-ghairm — the call of the Highlanders. The MacDougalls had arrived. A hundred men on horseback swept across the field from behind where the Templars had taken their stand, surging with wrathful power toward de la Roche's men.
Everywhere, battle erupted. Tar was thrown, spears were tossed, and around them the clangor of steel against steel sounded above the shouts and cries of men and horses.
Simon fought alongside Brianna, the two of them making their way toward the Frenchman who now hovered at the rear of the fighting. A volley of arrows took down de la Roche's horse. The Frenchman jerked away before the beast could crush his legs. De la Roche rolled then gained his feet. His eerie gaze connected with Simon's over the fighting. Simon knew this was it. The final confrontation. Simon strode forward and raised his sword in salute.
De la Roche offered him a sneer of a smile and did the same.
They both dropped into position.
"You can leave this land in peace. Go back to where you came from and never darken the shores of Scotland again," Simon said as they began to circle each other slowly, each taking measure of the other.
De la Roche laughed. "I'll not walk away from my destiny to conquer and rule over all. Are you afraid of death, Lockhart? For that is your destiny this day."
"There is no destiny," Simon answered. "Nothing is written," or dreamed, he added in his mind, "that cannot be changed."
De la Roche lunged. As he moved he dropped his shoulder, focusing his action. The man was older than Simon and though he still walked with a limp, there was nothing but youthful strength in his motions.
If only he could knock the sword from de la Roche's hands…
Simon parried and spun to the right. De la Roche brought his sword around in a sideways sweep, but Simon was ready. His blade arced up and back, stopping Joyeuse's slice. As the swords collided, Simon kicked, catching de la Roche in the stomach and sending him staggering backward.
The Frenchman kept his feet. He grinned at Simon. "Good," he said. "Very good. A worthy opponent at last."
Simon didn't answer. He kept his body low as he watched de la Roche's body for the next attack.
Brianna clutched her sword in her left hand and faced her opponent. She could not keep her gaze on Simon for long; the Frenchman she'd come to know as Philippe leaped forward. Her breath hitched. This was it — the battle she had longed for and dreaded with equal fervor.
Gathering her strength, she blocked the man's blade and spun away. Her grip was firm, her strike confident. She could battle with her left hand just as effectively as her right.
"A girl," he said in a thick French accent. "This sho
uld be nothing more than child's play."
Brianna attacked, her steps quick and sure. The Frenchman parried, but he threw his weight off balance with his strike and Brianna slashed. Her opponent fell away, only to be replaced by another, and another.
She fought her way through the wave of men, keeping Simon in her peripheral vision at all times. She had to protect herself, but she also had to be ready to help if de la Roche gained the advantage.
Simon would not die.
Anguish filled her momentarily at the idea of him falling in this battle. She forced the thought away, giving no life to negative thoughts. She had to stay positive, think positively, in order to see this battle through.
The men who charged her fell like leaves against the wind. One after another, they came and fell. She looked out at the fighting. The monks were holding their own, as were Kaden, Alaric, and Kendall. Brianna's eyes slid across the fighting, to a familiar figure in the distance. Her heart seemed to freeze at the sight of her father. He fought against de la Roche's men.
Why? Why was he here? He'd come to the MacDougalls to gather his own protection. Why would he follow them into war? Without fully seeing them, Brianna slashed at the men who lunged at her as she fought her way to his side.
Crimson blood spilled from a wound on his chest down the front of his tunic. Icy fingers gripped Brianna's spine. Her father might not love her, but she still cared for him, still remembered happier times, times when he had cared for her. She took two steps forward then froze.
She couldn't leave Simon's side.
Her gaze shifted between the man she loved and the man who'd sired her. Simon appeared in control of the situation while her father's opponent raised his sword, turned it, and brought it down.
Brianna cried out. Her father's opponent hesitated at the sound, but for only a heartbeat. She surged forward. Threw herself onto the enemy, knocking him to the ground. Was she too late? She hadn't seen the strike, but her father lay on the ground beside her, horribly still.
Her eyes blinded by pain, her right hand shot forward, connected with the enemy's face. She felt bones cracking and the man went limp. She tossed him aside and crawled quickly to her father's side.
He lay with one hand covering the wound on his chest. Blood stained his fingers. Brianna's breath hitched once more as she felt the pain in her own body. She brushed the hair away from his face and his eyes fluttered open. His eyes were not filled with the disappointment she had grown used to seeing there. Instead, she saw pride.
"Brianna," he whispered. "I was so wrong."
"Father, don't waste your strength with talk," she said urgently. "I'll get you somewhere safe. I'll take care of you—"
"Brianna." He reached up and touched her face with cool, trembling fingers. "You are a warrior. Better than your brothers. I'm sorry."
"Hush," she said, feeling her throat tighten.
"Nay, 'tis time I told you what you need to hear, what I should have said after you returned from Teba." His voice was growing weaker. "I saw the pain I put into your eyes at Aros Castle and later by the tree. I followed the MacDougalls here to tell you I was wrong. I'd never considered that your birth had a different meaning than the one I always tried to force upon you. You saw that. I did not — until it was too late." His eyes glittered with tears. "Can you forgive an old fool?"
A single sob filled her, rose, caught in her throat. "I forgive you."
A smile came to his lips as his hand caressed her cheek. His eyelids fluttered closed and his hand fell away. His breath came in labored gasps.
"Nay!" Brianna's heart clenched. He couldn't die. Not when they had just—
Behind her she felt a presence. A slash fell against her left arm. Pain radiated. Instinct moved through her as she switched her sword to her right hand. Pain flared, then stilled as she whipped around, still crouched, and brought her sword up. The enemy fell.
She stood and sheathed her weapon. Ignoring the pain in her arm, she grasped her father's arms and dragged him back toward the open abbey doors. With her heart in her throat, she looked over at Simon to see he and de la Roche still fought. Her heart thundered in her chest as she pulled her father into the abbey.
At the doorway, she reached for the Grail she had tied to her belt and ran to the chapel entrance. She scooped holy water from the stoup near the door, then returned to her father's side. Kneeling beside him, she forced the blessed water past his lips. "Drink, father!" she pleaded. "The Grail can help you."
He swallowed roughly, taking the liquid inside himself.
"More!" she pleaded.
He took another swallow, then another, and his breathing became easier.
"I must leave you here," she whispered near his ear and placed a single kiss on his cheek. She took the final swallow of liquid in the cup to ease the pain in her injured arm then tucked the Grail back into her belt. Removing a dagger from her boot, she slid it into her father's hand. "Just in case," she said a moment before she raced for the door. She had to get back to the battle, and to Simon.
Simon. She prayed she wasn't too late.
Simon's battle went on. He lunged and parried, cut high, low, silently grateful to the Templars, and all his brothers, for all they had taught him. He would have to bring all his training to bear if he were to prevail against de la Roche and that sword.
The Frenchman's blade arced toward Simon in a disemboweling sweep, the blood grooves on the blade whistling their deadly melody as he dropped back, and let the blade swing through the empty space where his body had just been.
De la Roche was mighty, but Simon was quick. And most of all, de la Roche was arrogant, and too confident. Wielding a mighty sword was not all a warrior needed in battle. Wit and skill could never be taken away. Arrogance, however, could be exploited.
Simon gave a calculated stumble, testing his theory. He watched the arrogance, the certainty of success, flash across de la Roche's face. With it came the opening Simon had been waiting to find. De la Roche's sword swung wide. Simon jumped inside and drove his elbow into the Frenchman's face. With a half turn, the razor edge of his sword laid open de la Roche's arm and slid into his side.
De la Roche was not stopped. His sword flashed again, and slashed Simon's thigh. Simon fell to the ground on both knees.
Joyeuse flashed. The weapon arced upward, as de la Roche prepared to sever his head from his neck.
Simon tried to force all his strength into his good leg, tried to force himself up, but before he could, Brianna appeared beside him. She kicked out with her foot. The bones of de la Roche's knee shattered beneath her heel. The leg bent backward, and the Frenchman screamed with agony as his leg went out from under him. He dropped Joyeuse to the ground. The sword thumped against the earth and rolled an arm's length away.
De la Roche's face was cold — hard as iron. His eyes were burning coals of rage straight from the deepest pits of hell as Brianna took two steps forward and drove her sword deep into his body. He cried out and clutched at the sword, but his hands had no strength left. "No!" de la Roche growled. "This land is mine!"
Simon rolled and came up, ignoring the pain in his thigh. "You will leave Scotland in peace." He gripped his sword, prepared to strike again if the Frenchman so much as moved.
Brianna pulled her sword free and bent to retrieve Joyeuse from the ground. As she bent, the Grail glinted in the orange-red sunset that had fallen over the land.
"The Grail!" de la Roche panted in pain as he fell to the ground. "You must give it to me!"
"The Grail is to be used for good, not evil purposes." Brianna straightened and backed away. "If I gave you the 'water of life,' would you leave this country and stop your revenge against the Templars?"
His eyes narrowed. "If I live, this land will be mine."
"Then you leave us no choice," Simon said, bringing his sword down, severing the man's head from his shoulders. His head rolled two paces from Simon and landed face-down in the dirt.
De la Roche's body slumped, rema
ined still.
Simon released a ragged breath and looked around him. At the sight of their fallen leader, the other Frenchmen turned and fled.
"Follow them back to their boats," Simon called out to Hector MacDougall and his men.
"Consider it done," Hector replied with a bow of his head. The Scotsman kicked his horse into motion and along with several of his men, cleared the battlefield.
Simon ripped a length of fabric from the bottom of his own tunic and tied the cloth tightly about his wounded thigh. De la Roche had knocked him to the ground, but the wound he'd inflicted would not destroy him. He would heal and go on.
The monks had sheathed their swords and were already searching for survivors. Brianna signaled to Brother Michael to come to her. When he did, she released the Grail from her belt and handed the sacred vessel to him. "Use this to heal the injured."
The monk's eyes widened. "Is this what I think it is? The Holy Grail? The cup of Christ?" He gripped the vessel, the most precious gift he'd ever received.
"Aye," Brianna replied. "Use it well."
He nodded and hurried away, heading for the abbey.
Simon stared down at the body of de la Roche near his feet. In death, the man looked as any other. "I feel sorry for him, almost, and the greed that took over his soul."
Simon clenched his fists, fighting his first instinct to make the sign of the cross over the fallen man. The image of all the Templars the villain had slain and burned played across Simon's mind before he forced the memory away. It was time to move forward in all things. Reluctantly, he reached out and blessed the listless body. "May God be with you, and may He show you the mercy you never showed anyone else upon this earth."
"Does he deserve mercy?" Brianna asked beside him, her voice ragged.
Simon turned to face her. "All men, and women," he added, "deserve mercy. If we didn't think so, then we'd be no better than him."
Admiration shone in Brianna's eyes. "You're a good man, Simon Lockhart."
"And I'm a lucky man to have you fighting by my side. You saved me with your skilled swordsmanship." He reached for her hand and brought it to his lips, placing a kiss against her palm. She had saved his life, given him purpose, and renewed his faith that good could triumph over evil. "How are your fingers?"
A Knight to Desire Page 20