The Princess and the Templar

by Hebby Roman

  “As brave as any knight,” Raul echoed.

  She glanced at her captor, and for one perfect moment, they were in accord, wanting to honor the bravery of a stable lad. As she gazed into the dark pools of his eyes, she glimpsed the kindness there and the sympathy, too. Mayhap he saw his youthful self in the boy.

  Raul would never be a father—what a waste. The thought blazed into her mind like a shooting star. She envisioned him holding a babe in his arms and leading a child through their first steps. Some instinct told her he’d make a caring father.

  For his way was not the warrior’s way that her Da and brothers had followed. Before she met Raul, she wouldn’t have known there was another way, would have thought him a coward because he despised fighting.

  Now she knew a man could live an honorable life without brandishing a sword. She touched the seam on her face, thinking of the irony of how they’d met. She’d known him as a warrior first but soon learned to cherish his gentler side.

  “Why didn’t you flee, milady?” Loghan asked, rubbing his tear-stained face with his sleeve.

  ’Twas not a simple question.

  “Loghan,” Raul broke the silence, “you must accept that your princess will wed an earl. ’Tis the way of the world.”

  The boy glared at Raul but didn’t reply. She started to refute Raul’s words but thought better of it. What use to argue now? The game was over. She sighed, thinking she should have tried to run away, though she would have been caught. If only for Loghan’s sake because he’d been willing to risk everything for her.

  “Loghan, a big part of being brave is understanding when you’ve lost and accepting defeat graciously,” she said.

  His smooth brow furrowed, and she could see him turning the words over in his mind. “But if we lose, you’ll go ’way and leave us.” He got to his feet and dusted off his clothes. “We’ll not see ye anymore.”

  That was the crux of it. What she hated more than having her keep and lands taken from her. Even more than being shackled to a strange Scot she didn’t want to wed. Nay, the worst thing was to lose her people.

  Smoothing Loghan’s wheat colored hair from his brow, she said, “Mayhap I won’t be back. But I’ll never forget you or how you tried to help me. That’s the important thing—to remember each other. If you and I believe that, then I will come back.” She put one finger under his chin and tilted his head up. “Doubt me not.”

  “Yes, milady.”

  “Good then.” She straightened her skirts and glanced at Raul. “What of Fallon and Loghan, Sir Templar?” She moved to the side of his horse and placed her hand on the saddle. “I will go with you, but I ask your leniency for them.”

  He inclined his head. “You have it.” He looked to Fallon. “The hay isn’t a ruse? There are crofters in need?”

  “Aye, sire. As I said afore, the McDaniels have need.”

  “Then go to them without delay.” His gaze moved to Loghan. “What your princess said is true. You’ve shown great bravery, lad, but you must admit defeat. Her Highness will always remember your courage.”

  “I understand.” Loghan nodded, pulling his shoulders back. “And I will never forget my princess.” He dashed a hasty bow and dropped his gaze.

  “Be off then,” Raul directed.

  At his command, Loghan brought the nag back and harnessed him to the cart. Fallon tugged at his cap and slapped the reins across the horse’s back. The three knights galloped past the wagon and joined Raul.

  Barclay drew his mount up. “Sir Raul, I see you found the princess. Is there aught that you need for us to do?”

  “No, you may return to the castle. The princess will ride with me. I thank you for your assistance.”

  All three of the knights, even Malcolm, looked her up and down and then nodded. Setting spurs to their horse’s flanks, they rode away in a cloud of dust. She watched them go, standing beside Raul’s mount. This time, when he leaned down and offered his hand, she took it. He pulled her up behind him.

  Awkwardly perched on the cantle, she had no choice but to cling to his waist, leaning into his body. The mesh of his chain mail felt as cold as the icy winter sea against her cheek. But his body was as she remembered, hard and honed as the armor he wore but radiating warmth. She savored the smell of him, musky male mixed with the soap he applied so liberally.

  “Are you comfortable, milady?”

  As comfortable as one could be, riding double and pressed against the first man who had kissed her and awakened her desire.

  “Aye, I’m quite comfortable.”

  “Then hold on.” He urged the destrier forward, and they settled into a bone-jarring trot.

  She wanted to ask him to go faster, but before she could speak, the horse picked up speed and leveled out in a ground-eating lope that was easier on her joints. After being jostled in the wagon for nigh unto an hour, her whole body felt as tender as a newborn calf’s.

  The wind whistled past her ears, and the ground blurred beneath the horse’s hooves. Going this fast, she felt herself slipping and she leaned closer, wrapping her arms tighter around Raul’s waist, burrowing deeper into his warmth.

  She could shelter like this until they reached the castle. Nay, longer than that. For all her life. Shelter in the arms of this strong yet gentle man. But it wasn’t meant to be. Like two paths diverging in the woods, they would go their separate ways.

  He said naught, but she could feel the muscles across his back grow tense. His body was drawn taut like a bow, as if he remembered how they’d come together last night. Remember? How could he forget?

  How could she forget?

  That desire had flared between them only made their course more difficult, for she was still his captive, nothing else.

  How many times had that refrain played in her head? She knew well the situation. But her desire after last night in the stables opened a whole new world for her. A world of passion she didn’t understand—something Da and her brothers hadn’t bothered teaching her. But if her passion was ill-spent and the haphazard product of her naiveté, then what?

  She did not know, nor did she understand the way between men and women. All she knew was that for better or worse, she and this warrior-monk were bound together by their passion. But it wasn't meant to be, and the thought of what she had to face made her weary. For the first time, she almost wished the drama to be over. Almost wished she was in Scotland. Almost wished she’d already wed the Sinclair.

  Almost.

  Thinking aloud, she asked, “Will I have time to say goodbye to my people?”

  “Perhaps. We leave for Scotland on the morrow.”

  ****

  Cahira sat on the lid of one trunk and watched Mildread bustle about the solar, packing the other. Her maidservant gathered stray items: a forgotten kirtle, a much-mended chemise, garters, and the odd brooch. She almost stopped Mildread and told her to leave the chemise because it was patched. But something stayed her tongue, a yearning to take her things, no matter how old or tattered or worn.

  More fool was she, lugging two large trunks. Just because they were off to Scotland didn’t mean she’d given up trying to escape. Mayhap it would be easier to slip from Raul’s grasp whilst they traveled than being locked in Kinsale.

  But when she seized the opportunity, she would need to flee unhampered, leaving her things behind. She understood this but still wanted her possessions about her.

  And there was Mildread to consider. She couldn’t bear to think of departing for Scotland without her faithful serving woman, though Mildread had more than a few reservations about ships and traveling so far from home. What would happen to her when Cahira slipped from the Templar’s grasp?

  Questions circled in Cahira’s head, weighing heavily on her mind. Was she being selfish, expecting Mildread to go with her? Lowering her gaze, she stared at her folded hands. She hated leaving all that she’d known. Her stomach felt like an empty pit, knowing she might never see her castle or people again.

  Mildread
must feel the same. Cahira pondered this but found no ready solution. As a maiden betrothed, she couldn’t travel hundreds of miles without a woman waiting upon her. Could she? Nay, Mildread must come, and Cahira would do her best to see her maidservant returned home. How she would do this, she knew not. But she would find a way.

  A knock sounded on the door, breaking her thoughts. Who was at her door? Was it the servants to take her trunks? Was she ready? Where would she find the strength to place one foot in front of the other and leave her birthplace behind?

  But there was no hope for it. Rising, she ran her hand through her hair and mentally tried to smooth her features as well. “Enter.”

  Instead of the porters she’d expected, Raul strode into the room and bowed. “Good morn to you, milady.” Towering over the serving woman, he added, “And to you, Mildread.” Glancing at Cahira, he said, “I see you’re almost packed. I’ll send for the porters.”

  She inclined her head and waited, but he didn’t move to summon the men. In preparation for the journey, he wore a crimson cape over his customary white tunic emblazoned with the red cross of his Order. The rich color of the cape set off his features in stark relief; his strong jaw and sculpted cheekbones were framed by the vibrant color like cut gems on a velvet lining.

  His black hair had been neatly parted in the middle and fell in waves about his shoulders. His dark mane was a trifle shaggy about the ears. He could use the offices of a good barber. But as always, his bronzed face was clean-shaven, drawing her attention to his hawk-like nose and full, sensual lips.

  Gazing upon his mouth, a shudder rippled through her. Never would she forget the warmth of his kiss, or the taste of him, or the feel of his mouth capturing hers. Heat suffused her, and she knew that she blushed.

  Lowering her head, she busied herself with folding gowns and handing them to Mildread. Raul hadn’t moved or spoken. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, staring at her. Curious, she lifted her gaze to his, trying to divine his thoughts. Wondering what had brought him to her room when they needn’t meet until departure.

  Their gazes locked and held. Still, he spoke nary a word, but something flickered in the depths of his dark eyes. And his mouth was turned down in a frown, as if he dreaded this trip as much as she. Did he regret taking her to the Sinclair?

  He lowered his head and glanced at Mildread again, as if watching her fold gowns was an immensely absorbing task.

  Nay, he was in a rush to be off, Cahira told herself. For what captor wouldn’t want to rid himself of such a bothersome captive.

  And yet, she’d hoped for some sign of regret on his part. For some acknowledgement of what had happened in the stables. He hadn’t apologized for his behavior. What did that mean? That he wasn’t sorry they’d kissed? Or that he was too ashamed to admit his folly?

  If that were so, might his heart be softened toward her? Could she use this softness to convince him to let her return to Kinsale? ’Twould be an easy thing for Raul to tell the earl he’d lost her whilst traveling. Far easier than explaining how she’d escaped from the castle’s walls.

  Hope flared in her breast, and her heart thudded with anticipation. Still Raul waited, saying naught. The tense moment grew and grew.

  Finally, she asked, “Sir Raul, are there other instructions you wish to give me?”

  His head jerked up, as if he’d been deep in thought. He opened his mouth and then shut it. Clearing his throat, he glanced at Mildread for the third time. Cahira finally understood what he was about.

  “Mildread, are you finished?”

  The serving woman looked over her shoulder. “Aye, jus’ a minute more, milady.” She returned to her task, smoothing and patting the garments. She closed the trunk with a loud thud and turned around. Her gaze swept the room, as if searching for items that might have been left behind. She placed her hands on her wide hips. “I’m done, milady.”

  “Good then. Have you thought to look in my bedchamber?”

  “Aye, milady, I’ve done that a’ready.”

  “Excellent. Have you fetched your things, Mildread?”

  A look of dread passed over her face, and she hung her head. “Nay, milady, I thought perchance—”

  “Mildread, I know you don’t want to go, but I have great need of you. No one else can take your place. When we reach the Sinclair’s keep, I promise I’ll send you home.”

  And if she could find a way to escape, they would come home long before that.

  “Like as not, my betrothed will want me to take a Scottish lass as my maidservant, so I can learn the ways of my new country,” Cahira said.

  Mildread’s head bobbed up, and she frowned. “A Scottish lass? What would ye want with a heathenish Scot? No one could ever serve ye so well as meself.” A note of possessiveness crept into her voice.

  Cahira smiled. “You do want to return home?”

  “Aye, I...” She dropped her arms and knitted her fingers together. A wary grin plucked at the corners of her mouth. “I fergot meself, milady. I must come home and you must, you must…” She covered her face with her hands, and a loud sob shook her.

  Wanting to comfort Mildread, Cahira embraced and hugged her maidservant. “Sssh, ’tis not as bad as all that.” Breaking their embrace, she took Mildread’s hands between her own and squeezed them while leaning closer. “Don’t lose hope yet. We’ll talk later.”

  Stepping back, she watched as her maidservant dried her tears. First Loghan and now Mildread. ’Twould seem it was her place to comfort others before she departed. But who would comfort her?

  Dipping into a curtsy, Mildread took her leave. Cahira watched as she closed the heavy oak door. She crossed to the hearth and poked at the fire while she waited for Raul to tell her what needed to be said in private.

  “Will you see Loghan again before you leave?” he asked.

  She shook her head, feeling as if she was being torn in twain. “Nay, we spoke yesterday. ’Tis better to leave it at that.” If she had to face one more tearful subject, she’d break down and cry, too.

  But Raul hadn’t wanted to get her alone to ask about Loghan. Nay, he must have something else on his mind. She turned slowly from the hearth and faced him.

  “Did you see Malcolm?” he asked.

  What did he care whether she saw her people or not? Obviously, he was loath to speak his mind. That was well and good, for she had some questions of her own.

  “I spoke with Malcolm last eventide. ’Tis enough.” She knotted her hands together. “What of the re-provisioning? Is it finished?”

  “Aye, it is done.”

  “And the curtain wall?”

  “Malcolm can finish it.”

  “Then I should speak to him before I go.”

  “Milady, you have no need. The keep is—”

  “No longer mine. I know that Sir Raul, but old habits die hard.”

  He inclined his head. “As you wish.”

  She waited, wondering if he would say what was on his mind but when he didn’t, she asked, “And the crofters…?” Her voice trailed off. She knew what she should say to him but found it difficult to be grateful to this man who had turned her life upside down.

  “I want to thank you for that—the crofters, I mean.” She forced out the words of gratitude. “I was remiss, not looking to their welfare sooner.”

  “Don’t apologize. The sieges stole your attention.” He allowed himself a wry grin. “As you know, Fallon and Loghan are taking the last loads to the farms.” He took a step closer. “You say you were remiss, but I wonder what you would have given your tenants?”

  What indeed? Her provisions had been exhausted by the sieges. The constant fighting had depleted her gold as well. Like as not, her tenants would have gotten by with wild roots and berries and any small game they could catch until the crops ripened. With summer coming on, she’d thought ’twould be enough. But Raul had opened her eyes.

  “That’s why I want to thank you. I know you had to secure the castle for your lord
. But the tenants aren’t—”

  “In my care,” he finished. “Not so, milady, a castle is only as strong as the people who support it with their toil, the servants and the farmers and the craftsmen. No one should be neglected.”

  “Is that your opinion or the Sinclair’s?” She thought she knew the answer, but she wanted to hear him say it.

  He hesitated but a moment. “Mine.”

  “Then I shall thank you again, Sir Raul.”

  “You’re most welcome, Your Highness.”

  “Will we be sailing directly to the Sinclair’s?” She held her breath, so much depended on his answer.

  She didn’t know where the earl’s stronghold lay. If it could be reached directly by sea, her opportunities for escape would be limited. But if they were traveling overland, she had a chance.

  His mouth turned down. “I had hoped to sail directly to Castletown, the Sinclair’s harbor, but I just received a missive this morn from his bailiff.”

  With a sigh, she released the breath she’d been holding. “And?”

  “Arnaud, the Sinclair’s bailiff, wrote me that no ships are docking in Castletown. The winter was long and harsh, and the ice floes in the North Sea threaten ships going there. We’ll need to go overland from Dornoch.”

  At his words, her heart leapt in her chest. Here it was—the opportunity she’d prayed for. But she mustn’t let him guess her joy, so she pressed her lips together and tried to keep her features composed.

  “Then we’ll need an escort.” She wanted to know how many knights would be watching her.

  “Yes.” He shot her a glance from beneath his heavy-lidded eyes. “Sean and Evan will accompany us.”

  An interesting choice, the knights who’d guarded her. Her fragile hopes receded. There would be no softness in the Templar. She should have known better.

  “I was wondering—” he started and then stopped.

  He still had something he wished to say, but it must be difficult. “I sent Mildread away so you could speak plainly,” she said.

  He looked surprised and then nodded. Pacing to the window overlooking the drawbridge, he glanced out. Her trepidation peaked.