‘You kept it,’ she said, uncertainly.
‘I thought it was important,’ he said. ‘’Twas obviously left as a message of some sort, perhaps as a warning.’
‘’Tis probably in some secret language known only to the Templars,’ Guy whispered, armed with new fodder for his theories.
But Lord de Burgh shook his head. ‘’Tis more likely just what the monk said: part of a betting game learned from those in foreign climes.’
Guy snorted. ‘Or that is what they would like us to believe,’ he said. ‘If such a game is well known in the Holy Land, then why is this the only one of these so-called cards in all of England?’
‘Actually, there is another,’ Emery said in a low voice. She flushed guiltily, for she had never spoken of the parchment Gerard had left behind. But she had kept it close and produced it now, wrinkled and creased, to present to Lord de Burgh.
‘I found it after Gerard stayed with me,’ she said. ‘I had forgotten about it until I saw the one...on my uncle, but there was no time to speak of it.’ And in the days that followed, Emery had faced more pressing concerns.
Taking the card, Lord de Burgh examined it carefully alongside the other. At first Emery thought the two were identical, but then she noticed subtle differences.
‘This has two swords and yours only one,’ Lord de Burgh said.
‘With curved blades,’ Guy muttered.
‘I thought it was a snake,’ Emery said. No matter what its meaning, she found the image repulsive and threatening, perhaps deliberately so.
Turning the card, Lord de Burgh narrowed his eyes at the words Gerard had written. ‘“Trust no one”,’ he read aloud. His dark brows lifted. ‘I wonder if that includes your brother?’
Although Emery had her doubts about Gerard, she was reluctant to share them. She told herself that her brother could not have changed that much, but it had been years since they’d been close. And Gerard had always been easily swayed, which made it simple for their uncle and perhaps others, far worse, to prey upon him. Still, he had a good heart. Else how had Harold convinced him to join the Hospitallers?
Emery shook her head. ‘I would not have thought so before Gerard left for the Holy Land,’ she said. But she could not imagine what might have happened to him there, for such an experience had broken Robert Blanchefort. Had it broken Gerard, as well? Had he been ill when he stumbled upon her doorstep, or was he more permanently...damaged? Emery eyed Lord de Burgh bleakly, yearning for some words of comfort from the great knight.
But ’twas Guy who spoke. ‘Do you think you ought to be brandishing those things about so freely for all to see?’ the squire asked, his expression wary.
Emery felt a sudden rush of affection for the young man who seemed to harbour no suspicions about Gerard, only the Templars. And, as if to prove her right, he leaned forwards intently.
‘Did you ever consider that the kind of men who adopt the pastimes of the infidels might adopt other of their habits, as well?’ he asked. ‘I, for one, wonder whether this Moorish Game isn’t the only foreign practice the Templars have embraced.’
The squire paused to look around, though no one was near as the sun sank behind him. ‘Could it be that what we carry is not a simple statue, but a golden idol they have taken to worshipping?’
Emery blinked. Although Guy had suggested that the Templars might covet or revere the parcel as some kind of icon, this was the first time he’d accused them of heresy. Emery glanced at Lord de Burgh, who lifted his brows in a sceptical fashion that nearly made her laugh.
Guy must have seen her lips twitch, because he scowled. ‘’Tis no matter for amusement,’ he said. ‘We hold something precious to them, with unknown powers. How do we know it’s not calling to them right now, making them aware of its presence here?’
Guy’s words were sobering, for the simple reason that it was easy to forget the statue’s existence when it was out of sight. However, Lord de Burgh dismissed his squire’s latest theory with a shake of his head.
‘We can speculate all we want, but we have not established that the statue has anything to do with the Templar order or that it possesses any powers beyond the usual lure of gold,’ he said. ‘The only thing of which we can be certain is that what we carry is valuable enough to tempt even the most saintly of men.’
He paused to hand the piece of parchment to Emery. ‘And whether a harmless part of a game, the symbol of a bet gone awry or something else entirely, these cards appear to be linked with it somehow.’
Emery looked down at the paper in dismay, tempted to refuse its return, but she took a deep breath and tucked it away again. ’Twas enough that the great knight bore the burden of the statue itself, as well as the card that had graced a dead man. She should keep the one with Gerard’s message and, perhaps, some day she might make use of it.
Slipping the other card from sight, Lord de Burgh frowned. ‘We need more information,’ he said. ‘I had hoped to gain it from Robert Blanchefort, but if he had anything useful to impart, ’twas difficult to decipher.’
He looked off into the distance, as though mulling over what little they had learned from the elderly Templar, and Emery’s old fears threatened to return. Just how long could she expect these two to aid her and Gerard, especially when her brother might be a thief—or worse?
But Lord de Burgh showed no signs of indecision or defeat, only calm deliberation. ‘Since no man will tell us what we wish to know, then perhaps we must seek what we need from another source,’ he said.
‘Where?’ Guy asked, warily.
‘Where my brother Geoff would have sent us long ago,’ the great knight said. ‘If what we possess holds some significance, to the Templars or anyone else, then ’tis likely to be mentioned somewhere, perhaps in some Greek or Latin text or a foreign manuscript that has been translated over the years.’
Guy snorted. ‘The Templars aren’t going to share their secrets with us.’
‘Secret or not, I doubt they have many manuscripts, for they are a military order,’ Emery said. ‘’Tis the responsibility of other monks to copy and preserve written knowledge.’
Guy groaned. ‘You can’t mean for us to go to another monastery.’
Lord de Burgh frowned, as though taking Guy’s reluctance under consideration. ‘If not a monastery, then a castle with a large collection.’
The squire cheered up considerably. ‘Campion,’ he said, breathing the word as though it were holy.
But Lord de Burgh shook his head. ‘Stokebrough is close and will do well enough,’ he said. ‘If our golden man is important, perhaps he has left his mark upon the pages of history.’
* * *
Nicholas had been to Stokebrough before, but as he entered the great hall, he was gripped with a certain tension, for this was the first time in nearly a year that he had approached a place where he was known. And he was sharply aware that his brother Geoffrey’s manor was not far away.
’Twas a gamble, but he thought it unlikely that Geoff would be visiting Stokebrough. In fact, he doubted that the Strongs, who had held this land for generations, were even in residence. Fiercely ambitious, they usually travelled with the king. Yet the castle was a large one, and Nicholas hoped to disappear amongst the Strong relatives, attendants, servants and villeins who made up the household.
In fact, he hoped to disappear from the notice of anyone, including those on their trail. Although Nicholas had seen no sign of pursuit since they’d left Oxley, Blanchefort’s description of the Saracen was too familiar for his liking. And rather than continue to travel from one manor or preceptory to another, he thought it best to make a stop elsewhere. A busy and populated place might throw any followers off the scent, while allowing them to keep out of sight for a while.
And there would be other advantages, as well. Although Nicholas and his squire had made the road their home, snatching some rest wherever they could, they could hardly expect Emery to continue sharing such an existence. Despite her seeming comfort with
her guise, she was a gently reared young woman who had been travelling for days with two men and never once had she complained of the heat, let alone her own difficulties. She deserved a respite. And better accommodations. And a bath.
The thought of Emery washing away the sweat and grime of their journeys led Nicholas’s thoughts in a direction he did not trust himself to go. For two nights now he had kept to his vow, maintaining his distance from the woman under his protection. But he could not congratulate himself when her every innocent glance stirred a longing that would never be assuaged.
And ’twas not only desire that gnawed at him, but a yearning to simply take Emery in his arms and hold her, as though her very presence might drive away all ills. Frowning, he dismissed such nonsense and wondered at this new weakness, that he should crave comforting, like a child. Yet ’twas not mothering he wanted, but something that came from those close to him, who were all far away.
As if to remind him of that fact, the Strongs’ steward asked after his family and Nicholas was forced to answer as generally as possible, for he had no recent news. His brothers’ wives might be expecting, babies could have been born and milestones celebrated without his knowledge.
Suddenly, Nicholas wondered about his father. The earl seemed invincible, having survived two wives and taken another. Yet as the son who had lived at Campion most recently, Nicholas knew that his joints pained him, especially in winter. Had the season past been kinder or harsher to him?
Nicholas told himself that had anything bad happened, he would have heard of it. Indeed, the Strongs’ steward would be speaking of it right now. But the man asked no pointed questions and Nicholas felt a stab of relief. He was also pleased to learn that Earl Strong was at court and that he was welcome to stay as long as he liked.
‘I had hoped to look through the manuscripts,’ Nicholas said. ‘I’m searching out a bit of history.’
The steward appeared surprised, perhaps by Nicholas’s sudden turn towards intellectual pursuits or the fact that he sought information here, rather than his own family’s well-stocked cupboards.
‘’Tis an errand for my brother Geoffrey,’ Nicholas said, and the man’s face cleared. Geoff’s reputation as a scholar was well known and no cause for comment. Again, Nicholas felt a measure of relief and thanked the steward before heading off to fetch his companions. He had told them to hang back, for he did not want anyone studying Emery too closely.
She was standing by Guy, her head ducked low, but Nicholas saw her furtive glances of awe and amazement and realised that she had never been to such a place as Stokebrough. Selfishly, he wished her first sight of a castle would have been the golden towers of Campion, set amongst beech-covered heights and lush vales.
Suddenly he wanted nothing more than to show Emery his home: the bailey where he and his brothers had honed their skills and got up to mischief, the pond where they skated in winter and the vast hall where his father ruled, beloved by all. ’Twas a fool’s wish, he knew, for he could no more take her there than he could go alone.
Instead, he would make sure she enjoyed her stay at Stokebrough, he decided as a servant led them to a bedchamber. He had occupied the room during his previous visit, paying little heed to it. But now he watched Emery turn around in wonder as she eyed the bright tapestries, the tall chest, the settle lined with ornamented pillows and the enormous bed.
And when she reached out to test its softness, Nicholas sucked in a harsh breath. Desire rose up in him so strong he could taste it, and not just at the thought of joining her in that bed. He wished he could give her everything: elegant furnishings, precious jewels, fine clothes, a home, a family and all she might desire.
But he could not and the bitterness of that admission nearly choked him. Turning away, he told himself that most of those things did not matter to Emery, who seemed content with little, though she deserved far more. Still, he wondered if there wasn’t something he could do to give her pleasure and the answer came to him quickly.
He called for a bath.
Chapter Nine
Emery leaned her head back and sighed with enjoyment, though she had already spent too much time in the bath. But it had been so long since she’d had a proper tub, or the firewood necessary to heat such an amount of water, that she lingered. The fine soap felt smooth against her skin, and her hair, deliciously clean, hung outside the rim.
Emery eyed her hat with distaste and wished that she could wash it, as well. For a moment, she longed to let her locks fall free. As much freedom as her guise gave her, there were some advantages to dressing as a woman—and being a woman. Her thoughts immediately drifted to Lord de Burgh, and she shivered, despite the warmth of the bath.
Would he follow her here? Emery flushed at the notion of the great knight stepping into this water after her departure. Or would he insist upon replenishment or replacement? Either way, he was likely to occupy this tub, and suddenly, Emery found it difficult to think of little else.
Her breath caught as she remembered when he had been naked to the waist, his strong body gleaming golden in the firelight, his braies hanging low on his hips, past the flat stomach so different from her own. His skin had glistened with moisture, his big hands gliding over the slick surface with a sureness that made her swallow stiffly.
She tried to imagine the rest of him, long, muscular legs, hard from days in the saddle, and the bare feet she had glimpsed. But soon her heart was pounding so wildly that she feared it might burst from her chest. Indeed, it seemed so loud that she sat up to listen, only to realise someone was knocking on the door.
Heat swamped her as she envisioned Lord de Burgh outside, eager for his turn to wash—or be washed. Rumour had it that in some castles, ladies bathed important visitors like Lord de Burgh and Emery felt the keen bite of jealousy. Even though she could not do such a thing, she did not want anyone else to, either.
Leaving the tub, Emery wrapped herself in a sheet of linen and stepped forwards, only to stop and wrap her hair in another, though that would do little to disguise her gender. Still, she was glad of her efforts when a female voice answered her query. Unbolting the door to peer out, she saw a young serving girl waiting.
‘Mistress Montbard?’ the girl said. ‘I’ve some clothes for you.’
Emery was too stunned to answer, fear making her pulse race. Had she heard the girl aright?
‘Lord de Burgh sent me, mistress.’
Emery could do nothing except admit the girl, who bustled past her, arms piled high, to spread her burdens out upon the bed. Blinking in astonishment, Emery approached the array like someone in a dream, for here were no tunic and braies, no castoffs from a page or squire. Laid before her was a surfeit of kirtles in brilliant blues and yellows and crimsons, fine silks and delicate linens, and fur-trimmed mantles. Emery had to sink upon the settle, for she had never seen the like.
‘I brought quite a few, for I wasn’t sure what might fit you best, though Lord de Burgh said you were tall and slender.’ She turned to peek at Emery and smiled. ‘I’ve some shifts, as well, lovely ones with elegant edging that the earl’s daughter used to wear in her younger days. We’ve kept all of her old things should she have use of them, but she’s been blessed with several children already, so I don’t think that will happen.’
Emery simply stared, dumbfounded, at the chattering girl and her bounty. ’Twas as if Lord de Burgh had snapped his fingers to magically conjure a wardrobe for her. She only hoped he had not spent good coin on things for which she would have no use in the future. The thought, tangled up with foolish longing, made her feel melancholy.
‘If you wish, I can help you dress and arrange your hair,’ the girl said as she sorted through the clothes, choosing the most likely pieces. ‘I am to attend you while you are staying here in my lady’s room.’
Emery blinked uncertainly at the news that this spacious chamber was hers alone. Somehow, spending the night in luxury and privacy was more daunting than sharing a narrow cell with her travelling compa
nions. The space suddenly felt too large and empty and unprotected, without Lord de Burgh within reach.
And Guy’s presence, though often unwelcome, had served her well, far better than her own conscience. Without him nearby, what was to stop her from succumbing to temptation? Or was that Lord de Burgh’s intention? Emery drew in a sharp breath and flushed, glad that the servant’s back was turned.
‘Lord de Burgh explained how you were separated from your attendants and trunks, so he’s bid me stay here with you until they arrive,’ the girl said over her shoulder.
Emery’s wild imaginings, so abruptly loosed, were firmly quelled and she released a low sigh of relief. Of course, Lord de Burgh didn’t expect anything in return for this generosity and thoughtfulness, and Emery was grateful. If she felt a small twinge of disappointment, as well, she refused to admit it, even to herself.
* * *
Emery knew a certain nervousness as she waited to be joined by her companions. Having dressed her in finery, the girl, Alda, had left and, without the servant’s chattering to distract her, Emery was acutely aware of the fact that Lord de Burgh had never seen her garbed as a woman. Although she had no business wanting his attention or approval, no matter what her guise, she could think of little else.
Only when Lord de Burgh strode into her chamber did her anxiety disappear and that was because she could do nothing except stare at him. Freshly washed and clothed, he was more handsome than ever, at ease in a magnificent castle like his own. Emery had known him as a knight errant, a tracker and a warrior, but here was a lord, who moved comfortably within a world of wealth and power and privilege.
’Twas a reminder of the differences between them, and yet, for tonight, Emery was garbed and perfumed as a lady, befitting her surroundings. She wore a shimmering blue kirtle, with her feet tucked into the most delicate of slippers. And even if she felt just as much a fraud as when she was dressed as a boy, there was no denying the admiration in Lord de Burgh’s dark eyes.
The Last de Burgh Page 12