by Hebby Roman
The forest closed in around them, and the full moon, tangled in the trees, was of little aid. He thought to call a halt, but they’d not come upon an open place or a source of water. Their water skins were almost empty, and a dry camp held little appeal. He pushed on until darkness shrouded their progress. When he could scarce see his horse’s ears, he lifted his hand, thinking to call a halt. At that moment, his mount rounded a bend in the track, and the thick barrier of trees gave way to a clearing. The full moon, freed from the forest’s clutches, gilded the stones of a man-made structure.
Humps of broken walls rose in the evening mist. Moss and curling vines blanketed the crumbling buildings, as if the forest would reclaim them. Raul glimpsed the outline of a ruined belfry. The top of the bell tower was sheared off.
This must be Fécamp.
Raul spurred his horse through the broken gates, barely hanging by their top hinges. Once inside, the extent of ruin was evident. He saw broken jars, rotted buckets, and an overturned cart littering the courtyard. Reining in his horse, he sat for several moments, gazing at what remained of the stone and timber chapel. The roof had collapsed and the windows gaped, their shutters lost. The door stood ajar with trailing ivy obscuring the lintel stone.
He raised his hand. “We’ll make camp here.”
The others filled the courtyard, pulling up their horses and dismounting. They glanced around and murmured among themselves while unloading provisions from their saddlebags.
Raul could guess what was in their minds. They were wondering why he’d brought them to this place. Though it appeared Philip’s army hadn’t followed, they were hunted men—outlaws. As such, they had to be careful where they stopped. The past two nights, they’d hidden in the forest. By comparison, the ruined abbey appeared too open.
But he had powerful reasons to come here. His life had taken a new turn. No longer was he honor-bound to a sacred Order. He was on his own. And this time, he would seize his destiny. In prison he’d had much time to think, to ponder his life and regret his errors. Even before the French king had arrested the Templars, he’d decided to renounce his vows. He couldn’t continue to be part of a corrupt Order.
His biggest regret had been he’d thrown away the love Cahira had offered. In prison he’d realized no one had loved him as she did. No one had found him worthy as she did. Now he’d been given a second chance. This time, he wouldn’t throw it away.
He was still honor-bound. But now his duty lay with Cahira—his princess—his love.
Sharing these last few days with her, though they were fleeing for their lives, had bound them even closer. They’d slept together in innocence, huddled on the hard ground, sharing one blanket and the heat of their bodies.
His horse shifted and pawed the ground. He should dismount and help make camp. But first, he must see to Cahira. When he’d stopped, she hadn’t stirred. He could feel the weight of her pressed against his back and knew she slept. Turning in the saddle, he grasped her hands and opened them, palms up. He lowered his head and nuzzled the soft skin of her hands, trailing his lips over her palms.
Soon, very soon, he would be kissing her all over. Thinking of making love to her, he grew as hard as a rod, and his hands trembled with the need to touch her breasts.
Only a little time more.
She opened her eyes slowly, her long, feathery lashes fanning her cheeks. Meeting his gaze, her mouth curved up, gifting him with a sleepy smile. His heart beat faster, just looking at her ripe-as-berries mouth. He remembered that night on the ship when they’d sailed for this shore. When, for the first time, he’d glimpsed the glorious promise of her body.
He’d memorized every detail, from the length of her shapely limbs to the perfect globes of her high, full breasts topped by coral rosettes. Her waist was but a mere hand span, flaring into lush hips. Soft burnished curls, a shade darker than the red-gold tresses flowing down her back, hid her secret core, inviting his exploration.
Thinking thus, his manhood lengthened and grew. His arousal throbbed, straining against the too fragile constraint of his chausses. With a ragged breath, he pushed away his lustful thoughts, promising himself she would be his before the night waned.
Brushing the back of his hand across her cheek, he murmured, “Mi amorcita, wake up. We’ll stay here for the night.”
She smiled and nodded. “Help me down.”
He slid from the horse and held up his arms. She threw her leg over the saddlebow and fell into his embrace, laughing. Swinging her down, he couldn’t resist the rich promise of her full lips. His mouth found hers. They feasted on each other with their mouths open and tongues intertwined. An open invitation and a promise. A promise he was finding hard to postpone.
Someone coughed, close beside his ear, intruding upon their intimate moment. Breaking their kiss, Raul stroked his fingertips over her downy cheek again. Then he turned to find Arnaud standing behind them, a knowing grin on his face.
“Is that why we stopped here, mon ami, so you could kiss your princess?” He shook his head. “There will be time enough for that when we escape France.”
Raul grinned at his friend’s well-aimed taunt, even though he knew Arnaud was serious about escaping. He shrugged. “I knew of this ruined abbey and thought to shelter here for the night.”
“We should have gone to Harfleur and found a ship.”
Raul didn’t answer. Instead, he turned and loosened his mount’s girth. Over the back of his horse, he saw that Cahira had joined Giselle. The two women appeared intent upon unpacking the few foodstuffs they’d managed to gather since fleeing Paris. One of the Templars had started a fire and several had lit torches. Two more were drawing water from the well. The full moon poured its silver radiance over the courtyard, lighting their efforts.
“What about finding a ship?” Arnaud asked. “So far, we’ve not seen the king’s men. But it’s only a matter of time before—”
“You saw the path.” Raul faced his friend. “No one travels this way. We can stay hidden here whilst one or two of us go to Harfleur and learn if French troops watch the port.”
Arnaud stroked his chin. “I had not thought of that.” He slapped Raul on the back. “Very clever to not risk all. Who should we send?”
Raul shrugged. “We could draw lots.”
“Or I could go. I’d thought to raise some coins through a moneylender in Harfleur.”
If his plan worked, they would have more than enough money. But Raul wasn’t ready to reveal his secret. “We can decide on the morrow who will go. As for now, I want nothing more than to sleep. This place seems safe,” he added.
Arnaud glanced around and nodded. “True enough. These past nights, I’ve slept with one eye open.”
“As have I.”
Arnaud’s gaze sought out the two women and settled on Cahira. “Make certain you take this opportunity to rest, mon ami, for there are many temptations that can rob a man’s sleep.”
Smiling, Raul knew his friend wasn’t far from wrong.
****
Raul waited until the camp slept, and the sentries had crossed to the opposite side of the cloister. Leaning down, he tucked the blanket around Cahira’s sleeping form. She sighed and snuggled into the blanket's warmth.
He grabbed a sputtering torch and edged into the shadow thrown by the chapel’s wall. He stepped through one of the open windows and stood with his back against the wall, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dusky interior. The torch wavered, and he realized his hand was shaking. Excitement bubbled in his veins. The moment he’d waited for was upon him. With enough coin, he’d never be a powerless lapdog again. The moon shone through the fallen roof, eclipsing the torch’s feeble ring of light. In a corner behind the wooden altar, he spied a doorway leading into a darkened room.
Picking his way through the debris lying scattered on the floor, he crossed to the altar and entered the room. He lifted his torch and surveyed his surroundings. On the opposite wall, the tattered remnants of a red and gold vestment h
ung from a peg.
This must be the sacristy.
Finding a crack in the wall, he secured the base of the torch there. Then he dropped to his knees and ran his hands over the floor, searching for a loose flagstone or some other sign. Slowly and carefully, he brushed his hands over each dusty inch. When he swept his hand under the hanging vestment, a stone sliced his finger. He jerked his hand back and cursed under his breath.
Then he realized what he’d found.
The other stones lay embedded in mortar, their edges blunted, but the corner of this stone stuck up like a rough tooth. His heart beat faster. Grasping the upraised stone with both hands, he tugged. It rocked in its berth and shifted. Straining, he pulled harder. The flagstone slid free, leaving a gaping hole.
He retrieved the torch and leaned down, staring into the blackness. The gleam of metal beckoned him. He put the torch aside and thrust his hands into the hole and touched wood. Wood bound with metal brackets, a square box. But when he tried to lift the box, he realized how heavy it was. Rocking back on his heels, he pondered what to do.
He lay flat against the floor again and took several deep breaths. He plunged his hands into the hole and grabbed for the metal bands, his fingers scrabbling for purchase. But the bands were embedded in wood, and he could find nothing to grasp. He leaned back and then he had an idea. He squeezed his fingertips beneath one corner of the box, raising it a fraction. Slowly, he forced the box up, getting both his hands underneath the wood and lifting the corner.
Wrapping his arms around the raised end, he tugged. The box pulled at his arms, dead weight. He grunted and squeezed his eyes shut, heaving with all his strength. The box popped up, clearing the edge of the hole. With a groan, he dropped it to the floor. Sweat dripped from his brow, and his lungs strained for air. Hope, elation, and trepidation warred within him.
Dirt covered the box. He wiped away the clods of earth to reveal a chest fashioned of dark wood, carved with fanciful Moorish designs and Arabic letters. Its metal fittings were made of brass, tarnished by time. There was no lock, only a spring-loaded clasp. With trembling hands, he opened the clasp and grabbed the lid. The top flew back, breaking off at its hinges.
Awestruck, Raul stared at the contents. There were masses of gold coins heaped together with silver ones. Ropes of gold chains and strings of pearls. And glittering jewels set in more gold and silver.
A sultan’s ransom.
His breath came in harsh pants, and his chest pumped up and down. He could scarce swallow, his throat was so dry. When he wiped his dirty hands on his chausses, he realized they were shaking. In truth he was trembling all over, like a sparrow under a cat’s paw.
Covering his eyes with one hand, he tried to drag air into his starving lungs and willed the pounding of his heart to slow. It was a dream come true, as if one of the Infidel’s genies had granted him a fabulous wish.
Mayhap only a dream he’d conjured from desperation.
He dropped his hand and stared. The chest hadn’t moved nor had its contents altered. The treasure was real and possessing it, he’d finally found the key to his future.
But could he go through with his plan? The thought seized him in its dragon jaws. If he took the treasure as his own, he would be like the men he reviled—taking what he wanted without considering right or wrong. For all his life, he’d craved just one chance. One moment to reclaim what should have been his by right—a name and a legacy. Were his needs any the less or his desires more base than other men?
He shook his head, reminding himself he acted not for himself but for Cahira, his love. He needed the treasure to retake what had been stolen from her. The gold and jewels were but a means to an end—a necessary evil to reclaim her heritage.
Plunging his hands into the box, he scooped the precious stuff, reveling in the seductive feel of the cool, smooth metal slipping through his fingers. With this treasure, he could purchase an army and all the siege weapons he needed to break Kinsale’s defenses.
He hefted the heavy box in his arms, savoring the weight of it. For the box’s very weight bespoke the implicit power of its contents. Power to do his will. And possessing the treasure, he was no longer unworthy. No longer a penniless, bastard Templar with naught to offer a princess.
****
“Cahira, mi amorcita, please, awaken.” The soft words intruded upon her dreams, and she felt a tugging sensation on her arm.
But she didn’t want to open her eyes. She was snuggled in a blanket, warm and drowsy. Her eyes were weighted down, and her limbs felt heavy. She wanted to keep dreaming. Such sweet dreams of Raul holding and caressing her. Moaning a little, she stretched.
“Cahira, please, open your eyes.” This time she knew who called to her. ’Twas Raul. Or was the sound of his voice a part of her dream? Yawning, she opened her eyes and looked up. Her dream must have substance, for she could see his form leaning over her.
Reaching out her hand, she trailed her fingertips across his bristly beard. There’d been no time for shaving and little enough for washing away the prison stench. But she didn’t care. She smiled at him, happy he’d awakened her.
The reality of her handsome Templar was better than any dream. Secretly, she’d longed for him each night. For though they’d slept in each other’s arms, she’d hoped he would touch her as he had before, bringing her to the brink of mindless passion. But there had been no time whilst they fled the French king’s wrath. Tonight was different somehow, she felt safe in the ruined abbey.
Returning her smile, he grasped her hands and pulled her to her feet. “Come with me.”
She followed willingly, wanting nothing more than to be near him, living as man and wife, as they had for the past few days. ’Twould seem he felt the same for he led her into the forest, away from the others, where they could be alone.
Upon reaching the trees, they wove through the underbrush for a few hundred yards, following no discernible path. After a little while, she heard the gurgle of a stream. Standing sentinel beside the stream was a huge oak tree, its branches silhouetted against the night sky.
Never had she seen such a massive tree. ’Twould take the arm span of two men to encircle its thick trunk. Though winter had robbed most of its leaves, the oak’s low-hanging branches brushed the earth in a thick tangle.
Raul doused his torch and pushed aside the branches, leading her inside the natural bower. Without the torch’s light, the thicket of branches swallowed the moonlight. The hidden space beneath the oak tree was dark and secret. She remembered that other time in the black cave when Raul had first touched her. She trembled and the now familiar pulse between her thighs throbbed. Her body responded with an aching heat, anticipating the pleasure to come.
Raul must have prepared the way. She smelled the distinctive scent of pine needles. When she leaned down, her hand brushed the fresh boughs he’d placed there. Her heart raced, scudding like a cloud before the moon. A drip of excitement trickled down her spine. Thinking about him touching and kissing her, she shuddered with need and shivered with desire.
“Cahira.” He cleared his throat and grasped her hand tighter. “My love, my life.” He fell to his knees, kissing her hand. “Would you do me the great honor of being my wife?”
The breath stopped in her lungs. Her heart skidded to a halt. Had she heard him aright? She’d expected a hidden tryst like they’d shared before. She hadn’t dared to hope he would offer marriage.
“W-what did you say?”
He lifted his head. A single beam of moonlight struck his obsidian eyes and reflected the pure longing there. She gasped and covered her heart with her hand. Her head felt light and her legs watery and weak. Never had her emotions swung so wildly. Never had she feared or hoped for so much, not even when she’d gone into battle.
For the heat of battle was but a pale illusion compared to what she felt for Raul. When she’d faced him on the battlefield, she’d had nothing to lose. She’d already buried her family, and she despaired of finding someone to
replace them.
Until he came into her life.
“I asked you to marry me, Cahira. And I want you to know I love you with all my heart.”
Still she could not believe his words. “What of your Templar vows?”
He shook his head. “I’m a Templar no longer. Since de Molay refused my request for aid, I couldn’t reconcile with the Order. I tried to raise a renegade force to retake Kinsale.” He paused. “I think it was then I realized I could never leave you.”
“But what about your imprisonment?”
“The French king seized all Templars, renegade or not.” He got to his feet and put his arms around her, pulling her closer. When he nuzzled her neck, his touch sent fire racing along her veins. “My imprisonment was an unfortunate happenstance.”
“But how can we retake Kinsale now? You were seized before you could raise a force. And I have no coins to—”
He placed one finger across her lips, stopping her words. “I give you my solemn oath I will retake Kinsale, to right the wrong that was done. I know how important it is to you.”
“Oh, Raul, I can’t believe it.” She gazed at his face. “I can’t think. I—”
He stopped her flustered words with a kiss, and she knew he spoke the truth. He wanted her, and she belonged to him. Clinging to his neck, she gloried in the firm feel of his mouth on hers. No longer would she be alone. She’d spend the remainder of her life with Raul, making a new family. Heart and soul, she rejoiced in his kisses. And her body responded, too, quickening and tightening, savoring the hard crush of his lips and the demanding thrust of his tongue.
How many nights had she dreamed of this, of Raul declaring his love? Her body arched into his, and she longed for him to be inside of her.
For she wanted to make a child with him tonight, a link that couldn’t be broken, an irrefutable incarnation of their love.
His lips trailed down her neck, and his hands sought her breasts. His touch enflamed her, reminding her of all they’d denied themselves these many months past. His tongue swept her mouth, mating with her tongue. They tumbled together onto the fragrant pine boughs, their mouths hot and wet and clinging. Raul’s hands singed the delicate flesh of her breasts. Her body heated, flushed with longing.