The Last de Burgh

by Deborah Simmons

  Lord de Burgh found broken twigs and trodden earth that gave evidence of horses passing through, but the trail led towards the castle, disappearing on to well-travelled ground. And since they did not know who to look for, they soon abandoned the effort, automatically returning to the path they had taken this morning.

  Guy, especially, was eager to be on their way, glancing behind him as though he expected the assassin to be on their heels. But they could not even be certain why Gwayne had been slain, let alone whether the guilty party was after them, as well.

  ‘Perhaps the Templar didn’t kill your uncle, but was just following us, while the real culprit was following him,’ Guy said, with his usual penchant for convoluted theories.

  ‘And who is this real culprit?’ Emery asked, warily. ‘’Tis not Gerard!’

  Guy shook his head. ‘I doubt the Hospitaller is capable of such murders, unless he has gone completely mad.’

  But Emery did not find the squire’s words reassuring. Had her brother gone completely mad? She had only to remember Robert Blanchefort’s ravings to imagine that possibility.

  ‘It must be someone who has been in the Holy Land,’ Guy said, as though privy to her thoughts. ‘Else how would he have these pieces of the Moorish Game?’ When no one replied, he turned to the great knight. ‘Who do you think is responsible, my lord?’

  Thus far, Lord de Burgh had been silent, but now his lips tightened into a firm line and he spoke with certainty. ‘’Tis the Saracen.’

  Emery blinked in surprise, for that claim sounded as unbelievable as some of Guy’s conjectures. Apparently, the squire thought so, too, for he quickly protested. ‘But the man who menaced Robert Blanchefort would be even older than he is.’

  ‘Not necessarily,’ Lord de Burgh answered. ‘And our man might well be the original Saracen’s son or brother or someone who holds to his traditions.’

  ‘But why reappear now? And to harry us?’ Guy asked.

  ‘Because the parcel has reappeared or he has finally determined its whereabouts,’ Lord de Burgh said, with a shrug of impatience.

  The gesture was unlike him and Emery wondered whether he was growing weary of the constant questions for which he had no answers. She knew his mail must weigh upon him in the heat, as would the strain of keeping them safe against unknown threats. He always seemed so strong and capable, ’twas easy to forget that he was subject to the same tensions as everyone else.

  As if to prove her right, he drew in a deep breath. ‘We can only speculate, unless we are able to ask him ourselves,’ he said wearily.

  ‘But how?’ Guy asked. ‘We’ve already circled back once, only to find a corpse.’

  ‘Let us put some miles behind us and, when we find a likely spot, we will implement a new tactic, perhaps after we stop to eat the meal packed for us by the cook at Stokebrough.’

  * * *

  They travelled for some time until they found a place that suited Lord de Burgh. Obscured by bushes and undergrowth, they parcelled out bread and cheese and apples, though the great knight ate little. Again, Emery realised he felt the heat more than she in her thin boy’s garb, for his face was flushed and he drank much of the water in his flask.

  When they had packed their things away, Lord de Burgh explained his plan, which neither she nor Guy greeted with enthusiasm. Whether he was warm or weary or just frustrated, the great knight dismissed their objections, leaving Emery no choice but to swallow her misgivings. Soon, she and Guy were preparing to continue on with the great knight’s destrier, but without its rider. Lord de Burgh remained behind, alone and on foot, in order to waylay any who might be following.

  As soon as they rode away, Emery grew uneasy. She knew that she and Guy were more vulnerable without the great knight to protect them, but ’twas not fear for herself that dismayed her. She did not like to part with Lord de Burgh for a number of reasons, some of which she did not care to examine. Yet they could not explain the dread that filled her, as if of an ill portent. And she was not the one who was supposed to be prescient.

  Finally, Emery suggested circling back, but Guy shook his head. ‘If someone is tracking us, rather than watching, it will take them longer to reach Lord de Burgh. And should we go back too soon, we risk revealing the ruse and losing our only chance to find out whether we are pursued.’

  Guy spoke the truth and was obviously putting on a brave face while glancing about for any signs of danger. Yet Emery could not dismiss her increasing anxiety. ’Twas not that she doubted the great knight, who was both a warrior and a de Burgh, but she had come to realise that he was a man, as well. And while he was looking out for them, who was looking out for him?

  ‘I’m concerned about him,’ Emery said.

  ‘Who?’ Guy asked. His attention focused upon his surroundings, he was barely listening.

  ‘Lord de Burgh,’ Emery said. She steeled herself for the squire’s derision, but when he turned towards her, he wore an odd expression.

  ‘Why?’

  Emery frowned. She felt foolish, for how could she explain her worries over a man experienced in battle, equipped with both weapons and wits? ‘I think the mail is weighing heavily upon him,’ she finally said. ‘He seemed so hot and thirsty when we stopped.’

  Emery expected Guy to laugh or snort as he dismissed her fears, but his reaction only fuelled them. Swearing under his breath, he urged his mount around and called for her to join him. Without waiting for her assent, he headed back the way they had come, even though they would run headlong into anyone following.

  Although the path was too rugged for them to move very quickly, Guy kept a fast pace, all the while watching for signs of Lord de Burgh or any others. He slowed only when they neared the spot where they had stopped earlier, approaching the brush warily.

  Now that they had reached the place where they had left him, Emery wondered about Lord de Burgh’s reaction to their return. Would he be angry or insulted at her presumption? She was already considering how to explain why they had not followed his orders, destroying the trap he had been determined to set, but Lord de Burgh did not appear. Had he moved on?

  To Emery’s surprise, Guy gave up all pretence of secrecy and called out his master’s name, but his shout roused nothing except a few birds. After they took to the sky the world was still and silent, the only sound the frantic beating of Emery’s heart. Had Lord de Burgh discovered their pursuer and given chase? But why couldn’t he see or hear them?

  Panicking now, Emery followed as Guy veered off the path into the brush. She was not sure what he expected to find there—some sign of a struggle, perhaps, or a message left by his master. She only knew that she was unprepared for the sight that met her eyes.

  Lord de Burgh was there, not far from where they had eaten, his tall form lying motionless upon the ground. And for one heart-stopping moment Emery thought he was dead, just like her uncle and the Templar, his neck broken and a colourful token left upon his corpse. Over her own stifled cry, she heard Guy’s soft reassurance.

  ‘He’s all right,’ the squire said, dismounting. ‘At least I think so.’

  ‘How can you know?’ Emery asked. Without waiting for an answer, she rushed to join Guy, who was soon kneeling at his master’s side. At least the knight was lying on his back, his throat unmarked. And when Emery saw it move, her heart resumed beating.

  ‘I’m all right.’

  The hoarse croak made Emery weak with relief, but still she examined his body for any wounds or signs of attack, while Guy leapt up to fetch water. Finding none, she sank back on her heels as Guy returned with a damp scrap of linen he applied to Lord de Burgh’s face. When his lips twitched and his lashes fluttered, Emery swallowed a sob of gratitude.

  He seemed to recover himself then, taking the cloth from Guy and sitting upright with little aid from his squire. But Guy’s expression remained grim. ‘If you can ride, let us return to Stokebrough,’ he urged.

  ‘Of course I can ride,’ Lord de Burgh said, as though shrugging off wh
atever had laid him low. ‘And we might draw unwanted attention by turning back.’

  ‘But we aren’t being followed,’ Guy said, gesturing towards the empty path.

  ‘Are you certain?’ he asked, lifting his dark brows.

  Guy paled then and looked over his shoulder nervously, as if the brush might conceal someone watching. Emery shivered, unsure what to think. Had Lord de Burgh’s ambush attempt failed, or had he become the victim? He did not explain, but rose to his feet.

  ‘We’ll continue forwards, at least for today,’ he said. ‘Just give me a moment to catch my breath.’

  But ’twas obvious he needed to do more than catch his breath and Guy seemed aware of that fact. ‘My lord, we can not go on as we have before,’ he said. ‘We have Emery with us and the Templar idol and maybe even a murderer behind us.’

  ‘All the more reason to go on,’ Lord de Burgh insisted.

  Emery studied him uncertainly, unwilling to question his decision, but concerned about his condition. ‘Perhaps you should rid yourself of the mail, at least until the day grows cooler.’

  Lord de Burgh shook his head. ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘But, my lord—’ Guy started to protest, only to fall silent at a sharp glance from his master. Still unsure, Emery looked from one to the other. She knew that the weather alone could not fell such a strong man, but no purpose would be served by arguing, especially in the brush off a deserted road. For now, she held her tongue and prepared to follow, as always.

  All talk of ambushes was abandoned and Emery was glad of it. She was still shaking when they set off again, her pulse pounding at the fright she had received. She did not care to dwell upon that heart-stopping moment when she’d thought he was dead or the emotions that came with it. Instead, she was thankful that he was alive and able to ride, though she continued to worry.

  * * *

  She wasn’t the only one. As the day dragged on, Guy watched his master carefully while remaining more alert than ever before. Emery, too, was vigilant, lest some infidel brandishing a deadly, curved sword catch them unawares.

  They travelled more slowly now, and when Emery saw Lord de Burgh’s wide shoulders slump she feared he might fall, breaking his neck without any help from the Saracen. She could only wonder what had caused such a sudden change in the mighty knight.

  Had he been overcome by some villain, who knocked him out and took his purse, or had he been overtaken by those he sought to trap? Was he suffering some malady, or was an old injury causing him distress? From what Emery had seen of his body, Lord de Burgh had plenty of scars, but none seemed capable of laying him low.

  Whatever had happened, it was clear that he did not intend to speak of it, not to his trusted squire or to Emery. She felt a stab of disappointment at the knowledge, but how could she expect more when she had no hold upon this man?

  Yet she had only to remember that heart-stopping moment of terror to know that Lord de Burgh had a hold upon her, far greater than she had ever imagined.

  Chapter Twelve

  The manor in which they sought refuge was small and shabby, as though its owners had abandoned it, and indeed, they were said to be travelling, having left only the steward and a few servants behind. At least, that’s the story Manfred, the steward, told.

  Small and dark and shifty-eyed, he seemed ill disposed to invite them in until he realised ’twas a de Burgh seeking shelter. Then he fawned over the knight in a manner that Emery found repulsive, rubbing his hands together as though already counting a reward for services rendered.

  Manfred claimed that they had arrived too late for supper, but he would see what the cook could provide for them. ’Twas just as well, for Emery was eager for Lord de Burgh to get some rest, away from prying eyes. The chamber, like the steward who led them there, was small and dark and smelled musty. But it was better than making camp outside, and soon Guy had helped his master out of his mail and tunic, so that he could lie down.

  ‘I’m going to see about some food,’ Guy said. He opened the door to find Manfred on the other side with a bowl of water, making Emery wonder if there were any servants at all.

  Although Guy thanked the steward, he took the vessel and closed the door, shutting the man out. Exchanging a look with Emery, Guy set the bowl on the floor, since there was no furniture besides the bed. He waited for Manfred to be gone before venturing out again and Emery followed, anxious to speak to him privately.

  ‘I don’t like the looks of this place,’ she whispered. ‘And I like the looks of our host even less. If the Saracen or anyone else is following, this steward will happily sell us out for a handful of coins.’

  Guy nodded in agreement. ‘I’ll have a look around while fetching some food. Can you wash Lord de Burgh?’

  The unexpected question flustered Emery so much that for a moment all she could do was gape at the squire. When she finally recovered her wits, she stepped back, shaking her head in denial. ’Twas startling enough to view the man’s bare chest. She could not remove the rest of his clothing or look upon his naked body or touch him...

  ‘I’m not asking you to give him a bath,’ Guy said, with annoyance. ‘Just cool him down a bit. I’m sure he’s...overheated.’

  Immediately Emery regretted her refusal. Guy was not intent upon matchmaking any more, but concerned about his master’s condition, as was she. She nodded her assent and, although the squire looked like he wanted to say more, he turned away.

  Emery reached out to grasp his arm, whether to comfort him or herself, she wasn’t sure. ‘Be careful.’

  Guy nodded. ‘Bolt the door and open it only for me.’

  Emery felt the blood drain from her face at the warning, but she did as Guy bid. Slumping against the worn wooden portal, she eyed Lord de Burgh’s prone form and realised that without his strength and skills they would be hard pressed to protect themselves. And, if anything happened to Guy, she would be responsible for Lord de Burgh, should he be unable to defend himself.

  Emery shook her head at the daunting prospect, but she had no other choice and vowed to do whatever she must in order to keep him safe. Straightening, she schooled her features to betray none of her thoughts and moved to the bed, intent upon the task Guy had assigned her.

  But for a long moment all Emery could do was stare at him stretched out in all his golden glory. She had tended to her father and, less often, to Gerard, but she had never seen anyone like Lord de Burgh. Admiration and something new and dangerous shot through her, filling her with both a sense of urgency and a sweet languor. Despite her earlier qualms, all she wanted to do was reach out and touch him, to run her fingers over his skin, exploring each muscle and scar and throbbing pulse.

  Emery shuddered, trying to gain control over her riotous emotions. Just as Guy had put aside his matchmaking, she needed to dismiss such thoughts and concentrate on giving this man the care he needed. For even though Lord de Burgh appeared little different from the last time she had seen him bared to the waist, his eyes were closed, his face was flushed and his breathing ragged.

  The shock of these changes spurred Emery to action. Removing her kerchief, she dipped it into the water and dabbed at his forehead. As she pushed aside dark strands of his hair, the silky texture brought back memories of the other times she had touched him and she swallowed hard. Tentatively, she slid the cloth down his throat and over his wide shoulders, shivering when her fingers inadvertently brushed against him.

  Gradually, Emery grew bolder and her ministrations became a labour of love. By the time she had washed his arms, one after the other, she was lingering over every inch of his sun-bronzed flesh until it was more familiar than her own. With each swipe of her kerchief she laid claim to more of him until she reached his flat stomach and hesitated. She was eyeing the shadowy indent of his navel and wondering just how far to go when her wrist was seized in a tight grip.

  Gasping in surprise, Emery glanced up to find his dark gaze upon her, smouldering with more heat than the entire length of his body
was giving off. Her heart skipped a beat before beginning a raucous rhythm.

  ‘I’m not dead yet,’ he whispered.

  The words flustered her. Was he asking a question or making an accusation? Abruptly aware of the intimacy of her actions, she blushed and struggled for words. ‘Of course not,’ she said. ‘You aren’t dying.’

  Releasing her wrist, Lord de Burgh frowned and turned his head away, as though disputing her words. ‘Now you know.’

  The stark look on his face gave her pause, but Emery spoke soothingly. ‘’Tis just a bit of heat,’ she assured him. Although earlier she would have argued that hot weather could not fell such a man, now she was determined to believe it. Yet when he refused to look at her, Emery grew uneasy.

  Although rarely at a loss for words, he seemed to be having difficulty and suddenly Emery did not want him to speak, for she was fearful of what he might say. She lifted a hand to put her fingers to his lips in an attempt to stop his speech. He needed rest, she told herself, and should remain quiet. But she was too late.

  ‘I’m sick,’ he muttered, his voice low. ‘A fever repeatedly assails me and, unlike any mortal foe, it does not fear a de Burgh. It cannot be vanquished by strength or skill or intelligence and, eventually, it will triumph.’

  Emery felt dizzy, as though she wasn’t getting enough air, and she sucked in several deep breaths. ‘No,’ she said, shaking her head in denial. How could he be well one moment and talk this way the next?

  ‘’Tis impossible,’ Emery said, trying to remember everything she had ever heard about such ailments. She was no healer, but she had learned much when taking care of her father. And she knew those who suffered these kinds of fevers did not look like Lord de Burgh, hale and hearty and strong, for they had no time to recover before they were struck down again.