It was long—half a foot, she guessed—yet narrow, and was completely covered by a brightly coloured drawing such as those seen in manuscripts. In fact, at first she thought that it must have been cut from a book, yet the edges bore no trace of such abuse.
Eyeing the illustration itself, Emery realised that the pretty pattern surrounded a central figure that appeared to be a large black snake, curving ominously. Or was it a sword? Emery shivered at the vaguely threatening image. Had the object fallen from Gerard’s things, or had he left it there deliberately as some kind of message?
She studied it more carefully, looking for anything else that might be hidden amongst the depictions of flowers and leaves, and soon she found it. A phrase had been written beneath the snake that anyone else might think the part of the illustration, but Emery knew her brother’s hand and the words chilled her.
Trust no one.
Whether in his right mind or not, Gerard was in trouble and Emery sank down upon the bed, her hand shaking. Her first thought was to go to the Hospitallers, for they should take care of their own, but she could not ignore the warning held in her trembling fingers.
Who else could she turn to? She and Gerard had no relatives except their uncle and he could not be trusted to put the family’s interest before his own. Who, then? Who had the wherewithal to stand against unknown enemies that might include the ecclesiastical authorities? Precious few in all of England, Emery thought, her heart sinking.
She could think of no one and Gerard’s flight suggested that he intended she do—and say—nothing. But she could not ignore her brother’s appearance and disappearance, especially when he was ill and in trouble. Emery shook her head, as if to deny the truth, yet she could come to no other conclusion.
She was the only person who could help him.
There was once a time when she would not have hesitated. Years ago, she had longed for adventure and excitement and thought herself well equipped to meet it, her twin’s equal in nearly all respects. But experience had taught her otherwise and now she tried only to accept her lot, her dreams of another life long buried.
Yet, this was different. It was one thing to abandon her own hopes and quite another to leave Gerard to the mercy of whatever plagued him, real or imagined. He was alone and injured, and he needed her. Emery could not turn her back upon the only person she cared about in the world.
But she dared not leave this place. Both fear and loyalties warred within her until she was jolted from her thoughts by a noise outside. Visitors to this remote location were few, especially at such an early hour, so it was only natural to assume that Gerard had returned. But when Emery hurried to the window, it was not her brother she saw. The lone rider approaching the commandery wore the distinctive white robe of the Templars.
Emery shrank away from the window, her heart in her throat. The appearance of such a knight so soon after Gerard’s warnings could be no coincidence and it forced her to act. Dropping to her knees, she pried at the loose tile in the floor until it came away, exposing a hole dug into the dirt. From it Emery removed the satchel she had managed to bury when she first took up residence here nearly a year ago.
Amongst the contents were some of her brother’s former clothes, left over from the days when she used to switch places with her twin. It had been some time since she had last worn them, but she was relieved to find that they still fit. In their place, she put whatever food she could carry, her small store of herbs and the piece of parchment, lest it be found by others.
Had her brother left on foot? Emery thought longingly of the palfrey that had once belonged to her, but she could not appear at the stables in her boy’s garb or take her old mount. She would have to look for Gerard by herself and swallowed against the apprehension that threatened to stay her. Instead, she forced herself to keep moving, tossing the satchel over her shoulder and throwing open the door.
In her haste, Emery had abandoned all caution, a mistake she realised only when she saw that she was not alone. Standing before her was a man and he was not Gerard. Neither was he the Templar she had seen on horseback, but he might well be a companion to the knight intent upon searching outlying buildings.
Emery took a step back, away from the figure who towered over her. Indeed, he was taller than anyone she’d ever seen, a good foot above Gerard, with wide shoulders and muscular arms that were hardly surprising, considering the short mail coat he wore and the heavy sword at his side. Obviously, he was a knight, though without the fierce visage of some.
While most certainly dangerous, he did not appear threatening. His nut-brown hair was thick and a bit shaggy, framing a face kissed by the sun. Emery would not call him beautiful, for his was not a feminine aspect, yet he was striking with eyes the colour of his hair, warm and compelling, and his gleaming white teeth...
Emery realised he was smiling at the same moment she caught herself staring. Drawing a shaky breath, she cleared her throat and managed to squeak out a question. ‘What do you here?’
‘I am Nicholas de Burgh,’ he said, inclining his head. ‘I am foresworn to help a Hospitaller knight I met upon the road and would make certain that he arrived safely. Would you happen to be Emery, young man?’
It took Emery a moment to understand that this knight thought her a youth—a male youth—and another moment for her to recognise the significance of his name. The de Burghs were a powerful family, known for their good looks as well as their fighting skills. If this one’s visage was any indication, the rumours were true, but more important to Emery than a handsome face was the family’s reputation for honour.
While knights were bound to protect the weak and defenceless, to honour women and to provide aid to those in need, not all held to those vows. But a de Burgh... Everything about this man, from his clothing to his bearing, bespoke wealth, power and privilege such as Emery had never known. Hadn’t she just wished for a saviour with the might to stand up to anyone? Surely Nicholas de Burgh was one of those few. But what were the chances of such a famous personage suddenly appearing at her door?
Trust no one, Gerard had said. Gazing up at the great knight, Emery wondered whether her brother’s warning included this man, who appeared both kind and trustworthy. But, then, so seemingly would a Templar or the Hospitaller brethren, all sworn to serve God, yet Gerard had cautioned against them.
Emery blinked, uncertain, and she might have remained so indefinitely if not for the arrival of another, a young man who stepped out of the trees to give her a jaundiced look. ‘See here, you. My lord de Burgh was injured fighting a Templar who attacked this Hospitaller and you would do well to give him the courtesy of a reply. Are you Emery, or not?’
Emery blanched. The Templar! He would soon make his way to this place, whether directed so by the brethren at the commandery or not. And though Gerard hadn’t spoken of a de Burgh, he had warned about the Templar. Emery swallowed hard.
‘Yes, I am Emery. And Gerard was here, injured, but he was gone when I awoke,’ she said. ‘I was just going to search for him.’
‘On foot?’ the young man asked, his scepticism obvious.
‘He’s my brother,’ Emery answered.
While the young man continued to eye her suspiciously, Nicholas de Burgh nodded his approval of her statement and Emery felt a sudden kinship with the great knight. Uncomfortable, she glanced away, for she had nothing in common with such an exalted personage. Yet she would rather trust him than the Templar and she had little chance of helping Gerard on her own.
Emery cleared her throat. ‘Will you help me find him, my lord?’ She held her breath as she waited for the man’s answer, an eagerness that had nothing to do with Gerard seizing hold of her.
‘You may ride with my squire, Guy,’ he said and Emery loosed a low sigh of relief. Although Guy muttered a protest, after a quelling glance from his master he motioned for her to join him.
However, when Emery swung up behind the squire, she realised the problems inherent in joining the two males. Years ago
when she had accompanied Gerard, he had been well aware of her disguise. Now she would be forced to hide the truth or forgo her place, for no man would condone such behaviour from a grown woman.
Despite these concerns, Emery felt her earlier fear and dread slip away, replaced by a certain anticipation. Uncomfortable once more, she reminded herself of Gerard’s warning and resolved to trust no one, no matter how handsome and powerful. Yet, as Guy swung round towards the knight’s great destrier, Emery had the strange sensation that she would follow Nicholas de Burgh to the ends of the earth.
If only she could.
Chapter Two
Nicholas gazed out over the endless moor and swore to himself. The few paths that cut through the heather were barely discernible and seemed to lead nowhere, twisting back upon themselves, while carpets of green moss disguised treacherous bogs. The bleak landscape was a far cry from the gentle hills around Campion, and Nicholas felt a sudden longing for his home. Would he ever see those golden towers again?
The thought made him glance towards Guy, who made no secret of his wish to return. Their simple journey had turned into something else entirely, and Nicholas felt a stab of guilt for keeping the boy away for so long. But he told himself that sooner or later Guy would go home—with or without his master.
Nicholas looked away, unwilling to meet his squire’s gaze. Guy had been reluctant to take up the Hospitaller’s cause, claiming that whatever happened between two strange knights was no one’s business. But Nicholas was eager for the task, for it was an improvement over his recent recklessness. Aimless recklessness.
Even Nicholas had to admit to that truth. Their current search gave him a purpose which he sorely needed. And if he would like to prove himself after being bested by the Templar last night, who could blame him? Perhaps he could even banish the doubts that had assailed him these past months. But that possibility seemed slim now that he had lost Gerard’s trail.
Scowling at the empty moor, Nicholas wondered where to look. Loath to disappoint the Hospitaller’s brother, he glanced at the boy, only to find Emery’s gaze upon him, startling in its intensity. The boy’s eyes were blue and Nicholas felt an odd catch in his chest at their brightness. The sensation made him glance away, as though he had been caught ogling another man’s wife, and he saw his squire’s curious expression. Annoyed, Nicholas drew to a halt and dismounted, leading his horse to a narrow stream, but Guy, who soon joined him, was not fooled.
‘What is it, my lord? Have you lost the trail?’
Nicholas frowned. Once he would never have heard such a question, couched in tones of concern, from anyone, let alone his squire. But that was when everything had come easily to him and he took for granted the skills and privileges that he’d always possessed.
Things were different now.
Nodding, Nicholas scanned the area once more, as though he might spy something previously missed. But he saw nothing and his gaze returned once more to Emery, who was stroking the neck of Guy’s horse. For a long moment, Nicholas stared, transfixed by the gesture, before turning away to meet his squire’s inquisitive look. ‘Perhaps the boy can help,’ Nicholas said.
Guy snorted. ‘I think Emery is slow-witted, my lord. What’s more, I’m fairly certain—’
Nicholas held up a hand to stop his squire’s speech, having no patience for any further arguments. He had promised Emery’s brother aid, and he intended to honour his word, no matter what Guy might prefer.
His squire sputtered, but Nicholas paid him no heed and motioned for Emery to come closer. He hoped that Guy was wrong about the boy’s mental state. If the brother, Gerard, had left him near the Hospitaller commandery because he needed guidance, they had done ill by bringing him along.
‘Do you know this country, Emery?’ Nicholas asked, as gently as he could.
‘A little, my lord,’ the boy said, ducking as if afraid to meet Nicholas’s gaze. He was a handsome youth, quite striking really, with long lashes that hid those startling eyes...
Nicholas drew in a sharp breath. ‘Do you have any idea where your brother might have gone?’
The boy shook his head. He wore a snug-fitting hat that made it difficult to tell the colour of his hair, but his brows were nearly black and finely arched.
Nicholas glanced away, oddly uncomfortable. ‘Where do these paths lead?’
‘The moor is home to little except religious houses, the Hospitaller commandery, the Templar preceptory and—’
‘The Templars? Where?’ Nicholas asked. When Emery pointed towards a rise, Nicholas turned to Guy. ‘Perhaps we should enquire about our blackguard there.’
Guy’s frown made Nicholas swing back towards Emery. ‘Do you know of any such knight who would have a dispute with your brother?’
Emery shook his head, then spoke haltingly. ‘But last night Gerard warned me against a Templar, among others. I thought his ravings the product of fever until this morning, when a knight of the cross rode up to Clerkwell, the Hospitaller commandery that I...that is nearby.’
‘This morning? You saw a Templar and said nothing?’ Nicholas spoke more sharply than he intended, making Emery flinch. Immediately, Nicholas softened his expression, for the youth was just a stripling, slender and smooth-skinned. And he could not have known how eager Nicholas was to meet last night’s foe.
‘I was afraid and thought only of escaping, lest the Templar find me, my lord,’ Emery said and Nicholas felt churlish.
He eyed the boy thoughtfully. ‘You said the Templar went to the commandery, but if he was following your brother, he would have gone directly to your home. Perhaps the Templar simply went to the nearest Hospitaller commandery, hoping to find Gerard there.’
‘Wouldn’t these knights belong to the same house?’ Guy asked, sounding confused.
‘No,’ Nicholas said. ‘They are members of different religious orders, though, unlike most, both are military orders.’
When Guy blinked, Emery spoke. ‘The Order of the Hospital of Saint John of Jerusalem was founded to provide medical care for pilgrims to the Holy Land, while the Poor Knights of the Temple of Solomon were founded to protect the pilgrims travelling there,’ he said. ‘The Hospitallers later became a military order, as well, so now both fight the infidels.’
‘Dangerous monks,’ Guy said, warily.
‘The monks themselves do not fight,’ Emery said. ‘Only the knights, the young and able, are sent east. Those who remain here are pious men who tend to their properties, raise the horses and provide equipment that is needed, while seeking donations to the cause.’
A cause that was failing, Nicholas thought. By most accounts, the Holy Land was all but lost and some blamed the military orders, charging that the once-noble and selfless knights had become corrupt, arrogance and greed fuelling their decisions. But Nicholas knew that it was easy to pass judgement from the safety of England. And the privileges granted these orders, free from taxes and tithes, often drew resentment.
‘I thought the Templars were already rich as Midas, the New Temple in London being filled with the king’s gold,’ Guy said, as if confirming his thoughts.
‘At the king’s pleasure,’ Nicholas said. ‘The Templars act as bankers, guarding wealth and arranging the transfer of it over distances, for they have long handled the monies used to fund their battles. I doubt that they have amassed much of their own, as they must continue to support the fighting in the east.’
‘The rules of these orders do not allow for personal possessions and require selfless commitment,’ Emery said.
Guy seemed unconvinced. ‘If that is so, where did the phrase “drunk as a Templar” come from?’ he asked. ‘And I’ve heard worse about them, too, strange rumours of hidden hoards and secret meetings. Why, look at what that one did to you!’
Nicholas tried not to wince at the reminder. ‘Perhaps not all are what they should be. Still, they could hardly condone the actions of the man we saw: attempted theft, intimidation and assault,’ he said.
‘O
r maybe our man is not what he seems,’ Guy said, with a sidelong glance towards Emery. ‘He might not be a Templar at all, but simply garbed as one.’
‘Well, there is only one way to find out,’ Nicholas said. ‘Let us go see what the good brothers have to say. And if Gwayne, as he called himself at the inn, makes his home there, he might well have returned already.’
Guy greeted the suggestion with alarm. ‘If so, then he will be in his element, with a host of others at his beck and call.’
Nicholas frowned. The day had not yet come when he couldn’t handle a houseful of monks, but he refused to be drawn into a discussion of his abilities. ‘I doubt that the entire preceptory is full of villains,’ he said, sending Guy back to his mount with a look.
However, his own steps were stayed by a light touch upon his arm. Emery, eyes downcast and slender face flushed, was standing at his elbow. Nicholas felt that odd hitch in his chest again, an unwanted sensation that made him speak more sharply than he ought. ‘Yes?’
But this time Emery held his ground. ‘Beware, my lord. This country is isolated and the religious houses even more so. They have little contact with the outside world and answer to none except the ecclesiastical authorities.’
Had no one faith in him? Nicholas wondered. They were not facing an army, but a monastery populated by men whose fighting days were long over. Yet the blue eyes gazing up at him were fraught with anxiety, making Nicholas glance away and choose his words carefully. Even if his abilities were suspect, the power of his family was not. ‘Do you really think they would dare make enemies of the de Burghs?’
Yet Emery was not reassured. ‘I don’t know, my lord.’ With a bow of his head, the boy headed towards the horses, leaving Nicholas to mull over his earnest warning.
Having done battle more than once, Nicholas had not been concerned with the prospect of facing a few elderly religious brethren, but he was not so arrogant as to dismiss Emery’s words. Although it was unlikely that this remote preceptory was the home of violent men intent upon harming visitors, he could not deny that one Templar in particular was dangerous. Should there be more like him, Guy hadn’t the strength or skills for much combat. And as for Emery...
The Last de Burgh Page 2