‘Why didn’t you tell him?’ she asked.
‘I tried at the beginning, but he wouldn’t listen,’ Guy said. ‘And, then, well, I realised that you...uh, your quest, that is...did him good.’
Emery might have questioned Guy more on that score, but the squire grinned. ‘And if he’s too dense to figure it out for himself, well, then it’s not my place to enlighten him, is it?’
Emery frowned in confusion. She hardly dared hope that Guy would continue to keep her secret. Why should he?
‘You saved my life,’ he said, as if in answer to her unspoken query. ‘I’ve never seen a braver act and I come from Campion, where the de Burghs are thought the most courageous in the land.’
Emery did smile then and tried to lift her head, but she felt too battered and bruised. She wasn’t accustomed to taking spills any more, or had she been wounded?
‘Are you hurt?’ Guy asked, in an anxious tone.
Emery tried to tell him she was just winded, but she could produce only a wheezing sound that did little to reassure the squire before she fell back, gasping.
‘I’m going to get help,’ he said.
Emery shook her head, panic forcing her to speak. ‘Lord de Burgh said—’
Guy cut her off. ‘Lord de Burgh isn’t here. And neither is your uncle. Surely, there must be someone in that house who can be trusted.’
Emery nodded. ‘Gytha. Fetch Gytha from Montbard Manor.’
Gytha would not approve, but the servant would recognise her, even in this guise, and would provide care, if given the time. With some measure of relief, Emery let her lashes flutter shut once more. She heard Guy’s footsteps as he hastened to the manor and then only the creak of the elms and the rustle of their leaves in the wind.
But it wasn’t long before she heard something else: the unmistakable sound of a horse nearby. From her position on the ground, Emery could see little, so she could not judge her chances of escape. The limbs above hung tantalisingly out of reach and she did not think she could manage to scale them as she had earlier. She might crawl further into the undergrowth, but the thud of boots upon the ground told her it was too late.
All she could do was pretend to be dead already, which might convince the Templar, if not her uncle’s men. So Emery remained still, unflinching even when the footfalls approached. Although she steeled herself against a kick in the side, instead, the figure dropped down beside her. Would he take her sword? Her nearly empty purse?
‘Emery!’ Her name was uttered with such anguish that it took her a moment to recognise the speaker as Lord de Burgh.
Emery’s eyes flew open, relief swamping her at the knowledge that he had returned unharmed. For once, she looked eagerly to his face, welcoming his gaze. But his dark head was bent over her body, and, just as Emery would have spoken, he put his hands upon her.
Stunned, Emery could do nothing except lie prone as she felt him check for injuries. Although she had performed the same service for Gerard, this man was not her brother. And the feel of his warm hands as they ran up and down her legs, gently probing for breaks, made Emery forget her aches and pains and all else.
Closing her eyes, she groaned as warmth filled her, along with a strange sort of yearning. Had she struck her head? That would account for her sudden inability to think clearly. Or was she dreaming? She knew only that she wanted him to continue, even though her very identity hung in the balance.
That alarming thought finally forced Emery to act, for she could not afford to lose the great knight’s good will. She cleared her throat, but it was too late. His head lifted to reveal eyes wide with shock. And Emery’s heart lurched, for she knew what would follow: anger, accusations, abandonment...
She wanted to apologise for her deceit, but the intensity of his gaze robbed her of her wits and all she could manage was what she had intended to say moments ago. ‘I’m all right.’
‘You’re female!’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘I’m not.’
Emery was still blinking in surprise at his words when he lifted his hands. Would he strike her for her lies, as some men might? Emery braced herself for a blow, but his hands only cupped her face. Maybe he was searching for lumps, Emery thought, for she felt even giddier than before, a sure sign of head injury. Yet that did not explain why she yearned to lean into his touch, so featherlight it made her shiver. He bent nearer, perhaps for a better look. But then why was he closing his eyes?
The answer came as he placed his mouth to hers and Emery felt a jolt of astonishment. Surely, she was dreaming or deep in some fevered delusion, for that could be the only explanation for why he was kissing her. Yet never in her wildest fancies had Emery conjured the stroke of his fingers against her cheeks and the gentle brush of his lips.
The body that had been aching and stiff now was suffused with heat and urgency, as though he had breathed life into it. And for one startling moment Emery wondered if she had been dead, only to be revived by this man. He had done it before, though not literally and not like this.
In fact, Emery felt ill equipped to handle the sensations coursing through her, so heady and powerful that she gasped. But the sharp pain that followed put an end to them all, making him draw away even as she wanted to call him back.
‘What is it? Where does it hurt?’ he asked, the expression on his face changing from intent to anxious in an instant.
When Emery shook her head in denial, he muttered several low oaths, apparently directed at himself. ‘I’m sorry. I’m just so glad that you are female,’ he said, his lips quirking ruefully. But there was a new glint in his dark eyes, hinting at things far beyond Emery’s realm of experience.
What did she know of men? Or kisses? Or the wild yearning Lord de Burgh had roused inside her? Despite her youthful freedoms, or perhaps because of them, Emery had little dealings with males outside of her family. When other girls might have been making arranged marriages, she had been trying to keep up with her twin. And once her father became ill, Emery rarely left his side until he passed away. How could she understand the subtleties of a man like this one? Or her own reaction to him?
Uncertain, Emery was grateful for the arrival of Guy, dragging a wary Gytha behind him. After one look at her former mistress, the servant insisted they return to the manor. But before Emery could try to rise, she was lifted into the air, tucked against Lord de Burgh’s broad chest as though she weighed nothing.
A day ago or even an hour ago, Emery might have protested, but after all that had happened, she welcomed the warmth and safety to be found in the great knight’s arms. ’Twas only for a few moments, after all, and provided a balm against the shocking changes wrought in her absence. For Emery soon discovered that most of the furnishings in her old home were gone and her chamber seemed a shadow of itself, lifeless and empty but for the bed where Lord de Burgh laid her.
Her bleak surroundings served as a reminder not to linger here, in a dead man’s domain, and Emery was impatient to get up. ‘I’m all right,’ she insisted, trying to sit.
But Gytha pressed her back down and turned towards Lord de Burgh and Guy. ‘Please leave us,’ the servant said, making it plain that she did not care to tend to her mistress in the presence of two strange men. Guy immediately started towards the door, but Lord de Burgh leaned his tall form against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest.
‘I’m not leaving him,’ he said. ‘Or her, as the case may be.’
Emery felt a funny flutter inside at his speech, so reminiscent of his earlier words: I’m not leaving without you. And she dared not look at Gytha, who was the only one privy to her circumstances.
But Gytha only instructed the males to turn around. And when they did, she set to work, poking and prodding. She was less gentle than Lord de Burgh, but more thorough, and found a ripening bruise below Emery’s breast.
‘There, now, I’ll wrap your chest and it should aid your breathing, as well as your manner of dressing as your brother,’ Gytha said, eyeing h
er askance.
‘We must find Gerard,’ Emery said as Gytha set to work. ‘He was here?’
Gytha glanced at the two men, as though reluctant to speak.
‘Harold can do no more,’ Emery said, suspecting that Gytha’s reluctance stemmed from her uncle’s ill treatment. No doubt he had insisted upon silence about all his doings from his servants, but there would be no further retribution from the man.
Gytha loosed a low sigh and nodded. ‘Gerard was here, but Harold vowed to summon the brethren and turn him out—until he began asking about the parcel,’ Gytha said. ‘Then Harold became interested, but it was too late. Gerard made his escape.’
‘To where?’
Gytha shook her head.
‘What is this parcel?’ Guy asked, as the men turned to face them once more.
‘I don’t know,’ Gytha said. ‘But from Gerard’s ravings, Harold imagined it was something of value, perhaps from the Holy Land. And he was determined to have it, as he has taken all else.’
She gestured towards the bare chamber. ‘As you can see, he felt the grip of the devil’s bargain he made, taking the manor that was rightfully Gerard’s, only to find himself with little else.’ She paused. ‘And now the devil has claimed his due.’
‘So Harold went to...the old gatehouse looking for this parcel, only to be killed there,’ Emery said, with a shudder. If not for Lord de Burgh, she might well have been the one to fall prey to the murderer, her corpse lying undiscovered in the small structure where she had lived.
‘But neither he nor Gwayne could have found it,’ Guy said. ‘Else why would the Templar follow Harold’s trail back here?’
At the squire’s words, Lord de Burgh stirred and Emery realised that, despite his casual pose, he had been watching out the window, alert for anyone’s approach, while following their conversation. He turned to Gytha.
‘What did the Templar want here?’ he asked.
‘The parcel,’ the servant said.
Emery loosed a low breath of exasperation at the continual mention of this mysterious object. ‘I doubt there is such a thing,’ she said.
‘There is a parcel,’ Gytha said.
‘Then what is it?’ Guy asked. ‘And where is it?’
Gytha looked to Emery, as though seeking approval. At her nod, the servant took a deep breath before answering, ‘’Tis here.’
Chapter Six
Emery eyed the worn leather pouch warily, as one might something dangerous. And well she should, for it had caused terror and bloodshed and disruption of lives. She wondered what would have happened if Gytha had given the thing to any of those, including Gerard, who sought it out.
But with unyielding devotion, the servant had hidden the delivery away from Harold’s notice, refusing to acknowledge its existence to any except the intended recipient. Now, her duty done, she slipped away, leaving Emery to stare at the parcel that had finally found its way to her.
A superstitious Guy had argued against opening the bundle at all, but now that Harold was dead, the manor and its contents belonged to the Hospitallers, so Emery could not leave this behind. Yet, faced with the prospect of discovering the contents, Emery hesitated so long that Lord de Burgh finally stepped forwards, taking the pouch in his capable hands.
‘Wait!’ Guy’s anxious shout made Emery flinch, but he only pointed to the flap that Lord de Burgh had lifted. ‘There’s some writing there. Perhaps it’s a warning.’
The squire’s tone made the simple leather container seem even more threatening. Did he expect some admonition not to open it upon pain of death or promise of a curse?
Emery shuddered, but Lord de Burgh seemed unconcerned. ‘“Robert Blanchefort, Knight Templar”,’ he read aloud. ‘’Tis the name of the owner of the pouch, if not now, then at some point since its making.’
With a wry glance at his squire, Lord de Burgh reached inside and pulled out an object wrapped in old linen. From Guy’s dire predictions, Emery half-expected the great knight to be stricken with some malady and fall to the floor. She even took a tentative step forwards, as though she might provide some aid should that occur.
But he remained standing, tall and strong, while he carefully lifted away the cloth to reveal what lay inside. A hush fell over the chamber then as they all leaned forwards and Emery glimpsed the smooth sheen of a curved surface, caught by the light from the window.
Guy whistled and Emery took a step back, shocked at the sight of a small figure. Perhaps six inches in height, it gleamed with a richness that could only come from one source. No wonder Harold had coveted it, Emery thought. But why would Gerard have a golden statue? Surely it couldn’t be real. Emery shook her head, as if to deny its very existence, a reaction encouraged by its strangeness.
Although Emery had seen sculptures and carvings and religious icons before, this bore no resemblance to any of them, not even to the Templars’ work. It appeared to be the representation of a man, garbed only in a tall hat and something that hung like a towel around his waist, as well as jewellery such as no man would ever wear. Even the few depictions of the ancients that Emery had seen were nothing like this.
‘What is it?’ she asked.
Lord de Burgh did not immediately answer. He hefted the object in his hand and ran his fingers over it in a way that made Emery remember his light touch against her cheek. She shivered, despite a rush of heat, and looked away.
‘’Tis a gold statue, presumably from foreign lands, perhaps of some god and perhaps taken from some larger piece, for it appears to have been broken off at the bottom.’
‘’Tis probably some Templar relic,’ Guy said. ‘Be careful! It might possess powers that we don’t know about.’
Emery eyed the squire in alarm. Although she could not countenance such claims, he might be right about the item’s ownership. Was this a treasure from the depths of a Templar catacomb, perhaps the very one where she had stood with Lord de Burgh? A glance towards the great knight told her his thoughts were the same.
‘Perhaps we should take it to Temple Roode,’ Emery suggested.
With a subtle shake of his head, Lord de Burgh warned her not to speak too freely of what they had seen there. ‘I think we have used up our welcome at Temple Roode,’ he said. ‘And while I would not keep something that rightfully belongs to the Templars, I hesitate to dispose of this too quickly—when we may have need for it.’
‘What do you mean?’ Guy asked, obviously wary. ‘Such things are better left alone, my lord, rather than trying to turn them to our purposes.’
‘I hardly think this statue possesses mystical capabilities, heathen or Christian,’ Lord de Burgh said. ‘But it might come in handy should we need to bargain with those who seek it, perhaps for information about Gerard.’
Or Gerard’s life.
Although the knight did not say the words aloud, Emery knew from his shuttered expression what he was thinking and her mouth went dry. Thus far, her brother had managed to evade his pursuers, whether the Templar, his own uncle or some unknown villain. But where was he now? And how were they to find him? Emery stared numbly at the statue that provided no answers, only more questions.
‘Even if we could find Gwayne, I don’t think he’s the type to bargain fairly for information or anything else,’ Guy said, looking anxious at the prospect of another meeting with the Templar.
‘I doubt that Gwayne knows anything, else he would not be going over the same ground, looking for Gerard and the parcel and killing those in his way,’ Lord de Burgh said.
‘Who, then?’ Guy asked.
Lord de Burgh did not answer and Emery could think of no one else to ask, except the Hospitallers, and Gerard had warned her against trusting them. At the reminder, her gaze drifted again to the contents of Gerard’s parcel and she frowned. Had her brother cause to fear the brethren because of something they had done—or something he had done?
Such thoughts led down a path that Emery was not prepared to travel. If her companions wondered why a Hospital
ler knight, sworn to poverty, had come by such a valuable object, they did not say so and Emery was grateful. But with nowhere else to go and her uncle’s murder making it unwise to stay here, their quest seemed hopeless. How much longer would Lord de Burgh and his squire keep to it?
Just as Emery began to fear the worst, the knight broke the silence. ‘Perhaps we should ask Robert Blanchefort,’ he said, inclining his head towards the name on the pouch.
‘And how do you propose to do that?’ Guy asked.
Lord de Burgh lifted his dark brows. ‘Where else to find a Templar, but in a preceptory?’
‘But you said we shouldn’t return to Temple Roode,’ Guy said, frowning.
Lord de Burgh grinned and Emery felt a sudden giddiness at the sight of those lips curving upwards. ‘There are plenty of other Templar properties whose residents might prove more welcoming to passing travellers. In fact, didn’t we pass one on the eastern road?’
For a moment, Emery thought Guy would not answer, but he nodded grudgingly.
‘’Tis only a few days’ ride from here, but should be far enough away to escape any connection with Gwayne,’ Lord de Burgh said.
‘My lord, ’tis courting trouble to walk right into their lair,’ Guy protested. ‘We are already being chased by one of them, perhaps more.’
The knight paid his squire no heed. Moving quickly now that he had a plan, he wrapped the dubious treasure and put it back in the pouch. But when he reached out to give it to Emery, she shook her head.
‘You keep it safe,’ she said, swallowing an odd lump in her throat. The excitement of armed combat, her injury and the discovery of the parcel had kept more mundane concerns at bay, but now they came rushing back. She was grateful that the great knight had not abandoned Gerard. But what of his sister?
Emery steeled herself for what she knew must come, for surely none would willingly travel with a woman garbed as a man. Her heart felt heavy and something pressed against her eyes, but ’twas not just the thought of her future that caused her grief. Her gaze lingered on Lord de Burgh and she was startled at the sharp ache that came at the thought of their parting. But she could only watch as he took up the bundle with a casual nod, oblivious to the turmoil that roiled through her.
The Last de Burgh Page 8