The Princess and the Templar

by Hebby Roman

  “I should have said something sooner. But this is past hard.” Pivoting on his heel, he faced her. “Your Highness, you have my most sincere apologies for what happened in the stable that night.” He lifted his hands, palms out. “I can find no worthy excuse. And I condemn my behavior as dishonorable.”

  His words shot through her like a razor-sharp arrow. Why was that? She should be thankful he’d assumed his rightful place for once and apologized. So said the princess, but the woman within secretly longed for him, wishing he would treasure what had passed between them, not regret it.

  With an inward shrug, she pushed away that thought. Their desire for each other was wrong for—naught could come of it.

  “Thank you, Sir Raul, for your apology.” She twined her fingers together to keep them from shaking and glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “And now, please, let’s forget that it ever happened. Shall we?”

  He stared at her for a long time; so long she trembled under his scrutiny. Then he covered his face with one hand. “No, I can’t promise to forget, Your Highness.” He let his hand fall, and the look on his face was raw, filled with longing and self-reproach. “I can only offer my apologies. For I shall never forget that night.” His voice was harsh, heavy with unspoken emotion. “Nor do I wish to.”

  Chapter Eight

  Cahira grasped the ship’s rail, gazing at the green hills of her native land. Would she ever see her home again? Her heart clenched, and a lump rose to her throat. Cold, salt-drenched spray blew into her face and stung her eyes. She wiped away the moisture, briny seawater mixed with salty tears.

  But she mustn’t despair. She must find a way to escape and return. Clutching the silver cross at her throat, she swore an oath to Da in heaven. An oath to come home again—a sacred oath she would not break.

  The wind blew hard from the north, snapping the billowing canvas sails. At home, spring was bee-droning warm, but on the choppy Channel the last icy gasp of winter held sway. She should go to her cabin, but she loathed returning to another cramped and smelly space. She and Mildread had spent five days huddled in a public house in the port town of Cork, waiting until Raul could arrange passage.

  Five days they’d stayed locked away in her rooms because ladies didn’t mingle at public houses. Five days to ponder what Raul had meant when he’d told her he would never forget that night in the stables. Remembering the look on his face and the anguish in his voice, she grew uncommonly warm in the chilly air. What had he meant? That he cared for her and would never forget her? Or did he flatter himself that he’d kissed a princess and she’d returned his embrace?

  Affection or arrogance, she knew not. But that night had been a turning point. They would never forget it—and therein lay the danger.

  The ship plowed into a massive wave, and she grabbed for the rail, holding it tightly as the boat rolled to one side. Her feet slid on the foam-flecked deck, and she would have fallen if she hadn’t kept a firm grip on the wooden beam.

  She struggled to pull herself upright and hold onto the rail. The boat bucked like an unbroken horse straining at the bit, eager to throw her off. The wild sea and huge waves made her heart leap painfully in her chest. The frigid wind blew harder, shrieking in the rigging, slicing through her clothing like a dagger and chilling the very marrow of her bones. As loath as she was to return to the tiny cabin, she couldn’t withstand the pummeling wind much longer.

  She turned from the railing and put the fierce north wind at her back, gathering her cloak around her shoulders. It was then she saw Raul striding toward her. He moved with ease across the pitching deck, matching his gait to the tilting list of the ship. She envied him that ease, though she knew he’d earned it, traveling the world for his Order.

  It must be strange to call no place home. To move from country to country as duty led him. She wondered if he sometimes regretted his choice and longed for a home of his own.

  He wore his crimson cloak, the rich color making his dark skin appear bronzed and exotic. The red fabric whipped about his broad shoulders. Wisps of his wavy, black hair blew around his face.

  When he reached the railing, his form towered over hers, affording a welcome buffer against the wind—a safe port in the wide and treacherous sea. Then again, what appeared to promise safety could also be a trap? For when he came near, ’twas as if her knees turned to water and her insides to porridge. With him so close, she lost her resolve to escape in spite of her oath and all she held dear.

  And what did she hold dearer than her heart and spirit? For he’d captured both. She was his prisoner, body and soul—but not her mind. She still had her wits about her. And it was upon her wits she must rely. How she would free her heart, she knew not. For she would never forget him, the first man she’d kissed.

  He leaned down and bowed. “May I join you?”

  So polite and mannered, but with a will of the finest Toledo steel, her Spanish Templar. Nay, he wasn’t her Templar nor would he ever be. He belonged to his Order and owed loyalty to his lord, the Earl of Sinclair.

  Her intended.

  She shut her eyes for one brief moment and gritted her teeth against the icy inward spiral of desolation. Shrugging away the feeling, she turned her face to the Templar.

  ’Twas on the tip of her tongue to tell him she wished to return to her cabin. That to be this close to his powerful presence sapped her will and robbed her resolution. But she could not speak of such, could not openly admit the emotions he evoked. Instead, she replied, “Aye, please join me.”

  She lowered her head and resisted the confused feelings welling in her breast. She tried not to think of his muscular body pressed close to hers or remember the feel of his firm lips upon her own.

  “Have you seen your cabin?” he asked. “Are you comfortable there?”

  She slanted a glance at him. Was he mocking the horrid conditions of the ship, trying to make her laugh? She remembered when he’d first come to Kinsale and despite all that lay between them, they’d managed to laugh together.

  That was before she’d fallen under his spell; ere she’d felt the fierce passion he ignited. She pushed away her churning thoughts and concentrated on his face, wanting to divine his meaning. But he appeared perfectly serious, even solicitous for her well-being.

  “Should I speak false and say we’re comfortable to satisfy you?” She tossed her head. “Nay, you would know it for a lie. My cabin is more of a cupboard than a room, so small is it.”

  He smiled. “That’s the way of all ships. You have the largest passenger cabin on board.”

  “Is that why you crowded Mildread in with me?”

  “No, only two cabins remained, milady.” He arched one black eyebrow, and the corners of his mouth curled into a taunting grin. “Sean and Evan are below with the sailors, and I didn’t think you’d want to share a room with me.”

  The image he invoked of the two of them sharing a tiny cabin flushed her with heat. Her insides melted, like tallow before the candle’s flame, and her face felt hot. She stared at the roiling waves. “How long will it take before we reach Scotland?”

  “That depends. Two weeks if the wind holds fair.” He glanced at the taut rigging and shrugged. “For now the wind blows to our advantage, but when we round the southern tip of England, a north wind will impede our passage through the Channel.”

  “Why go east and not west through the Hebrides?”

  He gazed at her, his eyes heavy-lidded. She felt as if his gaze drilled through her, as if he could see straight into her mind and know her questions weren’t just idle curiosity. And he wasn’t wrong. The more she knew of their journey, the better she could plan her escape.

  Sighing, he leaned upon the railing and draped his long-boned hands over the wooden beam. “You know your geography.”

  “Enough to ask why.”

  He didn’t answer immediately but moved closer, standing so near she could feel the warmth emanating from his body. If she turned a fraction, she would be in his arms. Would he c
lasp her to his broad chest and chase the chill from her bones? Ignite a fire in the pit of her stomach as he had in the stables? Recoiling from her wanton thoughts, she covered her mouth with her hand, almost as if she’d spoken out loud.

  She should return to her cabin, stay away as she had in Cork. Forget how he moved like a sleek panther. Lose all memory of the midnight flash of his dark-as-sin eyes. Wipe from her mind the sculpted line of his jaw.

  “The harbors are on the eastern side of Scotland, not on the west,” he finally replied.

  His words registered in her feverish brain, and she tried to divine their meaning. What had they been speaking of? Concentrating, she saw the outline of the Kingdom of Scotland in her mind’s eye. “Because of the ice floes?”

  “Yes, and the northeast coast is wild and unsettled.”

  The wind rose to a shriek, sounding almost like a woman in travail. The sea heaved and churned. The ship leaned sharply to one side. Again, Cahira felt her feet slipping. She grabbed for the rail, but her cold hands were too stiff. The rail slipped from her grasp, and she could feel herself falling.

  Raul caught her in his strong arms and clasped her tightly. She placed one hand on his broad chest to brace herself and felt his heart beating beneath his tunic. At the touch of her hand, his pulse leapt and raced. Realizing his response, heat suffused her. She licked her lips and removed her hand. She was steady on her feet now, but he didn’t release her. His unfathomable black gaze captured hers, and they stood, clasped in each other’s arms for what seemed like an eternity.

  He bent his head, and his lips were within inches of hers. Her heart leapt, too, plunging in a mad gallop. Was he going to kiss her again? Without thinking, she leaned closer, willing him to kiss her, needing his warmth and passion, craving the forbidden intimacy. But at the last moment, he drew back. Her breath stopped in her chest, and she remained perfectly still. Her shoulders sagged with disappointment. But with her disappointment, came the sharp-edged stab of guilt. For surely, she was a wanton.

  He, on the other hand, possessed iron self-control. She knew this because she’d felt his body’s response, sensed he wanted to kiss her as badly as she wanted him to.

  She stepped back a pace and grasped the ship’s rail. “Thank you for stopping me from going overboard.”

  He reached out, and his long, slender fingers cupped her chin, the touch of his flesh burning her chilled skin.

  “No need to thank me.” His ebony eyes gleamed, the darker pupils narrowing. His gaze moved over her like a caress. “Your face is as cold as fresh snow,” he murmured huskily.

  Without warning, his iron control reasserted itself, and he suddenly released her, clearing his throat. “You should go to your cabin. We can talk about the journey later.”

  How dare he dismiss her? And his smooth words didn’t fool her, either. He hadn’t touched her again to learn if she was cold or not. Nay, the yearning she’d glimpsed in his eyes mirrored the throb in her own body.

  How much longer could they go on torturing each other?

  “I don’t want to go inside.” She shook her head. “I want to know where we go and the why of it.”

  He nodded. “You’re right, milady, you should know something of what’s to come. The earl’s lands encompass a part of the mainland along with several of the Orkney Islands, but not all the islands are under his control. There’s a long-standing feud with a local Norse chief over some of them.”

  “How interesting. So we won’t lack for entertainment,” she said.

  He shot her a sharp glance, obviously registering the irony of her statement, though he didn’t reply. Instead, he said, “The earl’s keep is on the mainland at Castletown, where I had hoped to sail.”

  “But ice still clogs the harbor?”

  “Yes.”

  She shivered, thinking how much colder the North Sea must be than the Channel. She couldn’t imagine a cold as fierce as that. She preferred the relative warmth of her solar and considered herself lucky Kinsale was located in southeastern Eire.

  He must have felt her shudder because he gathered the edges of her cloak and tucked them around her. His mouth still lingered a whisper away. She closed her eyes and sighed. His warm breath intermingled with her own.

  “I still think you should go inside,” he insisted. “This isn’t the north of Scotland, but it is cold enough.”

  Opening her eyes, she saw he’d backed up a pace. Crossing her arms over her chest, she bit her traitorous lips. What demon possessed her to yearn for his kisses?

  “I loathe cold weather,” she stated flatly.

  “I’m not overfond of the weather at Orkney myself, especially after the warmth of Spain and Cyprus.”

  She couldn’t begin to fathom the difference between northern Scotland and Cyprus. And Spain must be warm, too, as they grew olives and figs there. Two things she loved to eat; though they didn’t grow in Eire and were worth their weight in gold at home. She wondered what they dined upon in Scotland? Cold-water cod and snow rabbit, perchance?

  “So where shall we land?” She recalled he’d told her the day they’d departed Kinsale. But she’d been so distraught, she’d forgotten.

  “At a place called Dornoch. From there, we’ll travel overland to Castletown.”

  “How far?”

  “As the crow flies, about one hundred and fifty miles, but it’s a strenuous journey through the Highlands.”

  “How long will it take?”

  “A week or two.”

  Such a long and treacherous journey to reach a place she never wanted to see. She wished she had a map so she could lay plans. Mayhap the ship’s navigator would find her a chart.

  “Milady,” Raul interrupted her musings, “I know you’re loath to leave Kinsale behind, but the deed is done. You will wed the Sinclair.”

  Was he trying to convince her or himself?

  “I know I’m a prisoner,” she said. “That doesn’t mean I must submit. Does it?”

  “No.” The corners of his mouth inched upward. “No one could accuse you of submitting.”

  “Just because we sail for Scotland, doesn’t mean I’ve given up, Sir Raul.”

  “That’s what I fear.” He shook his head slowly. “And yet, you know you must wed a man of your station. One who can care for you and your lands.”

  “He should be a man of my own choosing. Shouldn’t he?”

  The look in his eyes sharpened, and he grasped her elbow. “Who? Who is this man?”

  Startled by his unexpected reaction, she backed up a step into the hard planking of the bulkhead. What madness was this? Did he fear another would steal her from his lord or had she innocently incited his jealousy?

  Thinking thus, her heart squeezed and her skin felt too tight, as if she would burst from the wanting. She wished she could scream and beat his rock-hard chest with her fists until they both dissolved into a mindless puddle of passion. She wanted to shout his name over and over to the heavens, confessing she desired a landless, homeless Templar. But the fates would laugh at her. Nay, that wasn’t the worst of it.

  He would laugh at her.

  Like the wild sea boiling beneath her feet, her emotions surged one way and then the other. She shouldn’t desire him, couldn’t afford to hope… Nay, she must stay true to her plan to escape and return home. Take back her castle and forget Raul…forever.

  For certain her desire must arise from her long-held innocence. She’d known battles and bloodshed, but nothing of kisses and caresses. Thus, the first man who had shown her passion’s promise had awakened her woman’s nature. And now, like an eager initiate, she thought she cared for him. But that was an illusion. ’Twas only a trick of her romantic dreams, dreams she must relinquish if she were married against her will.

  She lowered her head. “You are right, ’tis cold out here. I should go inside.” She turned away.

  He stopped her by grasping her elbow and leaned toward her.

  She glimpsed the dusky shadow of his beard upon his ol
ive skin and feasted her gaze on the sensuous curve of his mouth.

  “Who?” His voice was a husky rasp.

  “No one.” She shook her head. “Any man but the Sinclair. Why would I want to wed a man who sent another to force me? If the earl wanted my consent, he should have come himself and wooed me.”

  “The Sinclair is a very busy—”

  “Don’t.” She held up one hand. “You know what I say is true.”

  The look in his eyes had gone from demanding to gently imploring. “But you must have protection, milady. You have no family to defend you.”

  She sighed, growing impatient. The same old litany—a woman without a family must be protected. “I will not marry for that.” She lifted her chin. “Marriage should be more than that.”

  “Don’t you want to start a family? Have children? All women want children.”

  How insolent! To tell her what she wanted—and especially to talk of children. In truth she did want children, but she wanted their father to be someone she cared about, not a strange Scot who had seized her like a prize of war.

  She glanced up and saw a huge wave looming overhead, a mountain of water threatening to sweep her into the sea. Panic clogged her throat, and her heart thundered in her chest. She knelt down, clutching her silver cross and praying for deliverance.

  Then she felt his arms enfold her once again. He plucked her from the deck as if she were but a piece of driftwood and carried her to the bulkhead. Once there, she thought he would take her below, but instead, he stopped in a secluded corner between the aft doors and main mast. The ship still bucked and rolled, but here was an island of calm where the sharp, salt spray didn’t reach and the keen blade of the wind was blunted.

  Lifting his hand, he pushed back a wayward strand of her hair, tucking it neatly beneath the hood of her cloak. His hand lingered, tracing the curve of her cheek. She swallowed.

  Before Raul, she’d dreamed of finding her true love and marrying. But that had been a will o’ the wisp, something she yearned for but didn’t quite understand. A fairy tale she’d learned at her Da’s knee. The Templar had changed all that. Now she knew what it felt like to be in a man’s arms and to taste raw passion on his lips. She better understood the dance of desire between man and woman. And to marry without desire would be like supping without hunger.