The Princess and the Templar

by Hebby Roman

  She splayed her hands on his chest, kneading the hard ridge of muscles beneath his tunic. She wanted him naked and on top of her. Wanted to feel him inside of her. His shaft splitting her virginity and planting his seed deep within her.

  As if in answer to her silent plea, he’d pushed down her gown and slid it from her shoulders. She glanced at her naked breasts. Her nipples were but hard pebbles, drawn taut and pouting, begging for his touch and his mouth. With one hand he caressed her breast while he pulled off her gown. Then she lay exposed to the air, dressed in only her chemise, shivering in the chill night.

  But inside she burned.

  He slid the thin undergarment from her body, and now she was naked. This time, her shame was banished, for they were to be wed.

  His hands cupped her breasts, and she caught her breath. He pressed his hot mouth to her tender skin, sucking in her nipple, lapping at her with his tongue. His tongue roved over her, licking her sensitive flesh into a tingling awareness, drawing her to ground, to earthy pleasures. To life and the living and a celebration of their future.

  Combing her hands through his wavy hair, she arched her back, drawing him closer. Her breasts ached and throbbed, flushed with heated pleasure. A thread of desire ran from her nipples to between her thighs. She rubbed her legs together as the pressure built.

  Empty, she was empty, so empty. She wanted him, needed him. Inside of her, filling the empty place.

  As if he could discern her thoughts, he cupped her woman’s mound with his hand, applying the sweetest pressure and wringing a groan from deep inside her throat. His mouth tarried at her breasts. The feel of him sucking her was as sharp and bright as a sword’s blade. The torture so pure, she could scarce stand it.

  She rained kisses on his brow, his cheeks and ears. The fever in her blood leapt, bursting into flame. Her mind shut off, and her body became one with the earth again, with the desire embedded inside, with the passion she could no longer deny. She shuddered and shook, calling his name, begging him to take her. He pulled away and sat up, tugging his tunic over his head. His fingers fumbled with his laces.

  Impatience and need clawed at her. Pushing aside his hand, she unlaced his chausses. His manhood sprang free, erect and turgid. With a sense of awe, she encircled him with her hand. A drop of moisture glistened on the head of his rod, a promise of his seed to come, of the children they would make together.

  Shuddering, he pulled free of her intimate clasp. “Tell me that you love me,” he demanded.

  “Of certain I love you.” Her gaze met his. “I thought you knew. I’ve loved you since the first time we kissed.”

  He claimed her mouth, ravishing it. Then he lifted his head. “Say you’ll marry me.”

  She started to laugh, for in truth, she couldn’t believe her ears. They were poised, ready to share the most intimate moment between a man and a woman and still Raul doubted, needing her reassurance. Spreading her hand on his bare chest, she pondered his demand, realizing how vulnerable he could be, this magnificent Templar of hers.

  But how could he doubt her love? Her naked desire? For to gaze upon his masculine form took her breath away. And lower that most manly part of him rose like a spear, ready to cleave her body and plant his seed. She shivered.

  “Raul, I will marry you as soon as we’re able. For I’ve dreamed of little else these many months.”

  With a low growl, he voiced his approval and captured her mouth, bending her back. His bare skin molded to hers, the contours of his hard, masculine body rubbing against her yielding flesh. The rough abrasion of his chest hair teased her nipples, and his naked flesh carried the distinctive man-smell that was uniquely his.

  She ran her hands over his shoulders, clinging to him. His skin was burning hot to the touch, as if infected with the same fever that had swept her body. He moaned softly into her mouth as her hands stroked over him. She pressed herself closer, heated skin against heated skin.

  Need gnawed at her, pooling in her belly and stretching her taut. She nipped his naked shoulder and then ran her tongue over the hurt. He tasted of the earth and the sun and purely male. His bare flesh was soft beneath her lips, velvety and hot.

  Tension gathered at the back of her spine. Taking his hand, she placed it at the apex of her thighs and pressed down. Her hips bucked to meet the delicious pressure. She writhed and cried out. He swallowed her cries with his mouth and raised himself above her. Parting her thighs, he stroked her more urgently now, bringing her to the brink of oblivion. Then she felt the length of him press against her, his manhood hard and heavy.

  “Cahira, I love you more than life. More than…I wouldn’t hurt you for—”

  She forestalled his words by lifting her legs and guiding him. With a ragged sigh, he plunged into her. Frenzied with need, she met his thrust but then felt a twinge of pain. Gasping and uncertain, she pulled back.

  He rained kisses over her face, murmuring, “My princess, my sweet, it will only hurt for a moment. Por favor, just a moment.” He pushed his hand between her thighs and found the nub of her desire, caressing her.

  The aching throb built once more, burning too hot, enflaming her blood, sizzling her flesh. She felt the now familiar bliss overwhelm her, spinning her with a dizzying frenzy, pushing her over the edge.

  “Raul, oh, Raul, please, please.”

  Her body convulsed, pulsing ecstasy enfolding her. He joined her, thrusting and seating himself deep inside. Moving together in that age-old rhythm, they caught a comet’s tail and streaked across the heavens. Then the ground rose up once more, bringing them to earth. They lay cuddled and spent, holding each other, never to part again, flesh of one flesh. She sighed, content and happy.

  And this was but the beginning. They loved each other and were to be married. There was a lifetime of bliss before them, the promise of more tomorrows than she could count.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Through the tangle of branches, Raul watched a blood-red sun rise in the east. Shifting on the hard, cold ground, he drew up his knees and rested his chin there. He’d not slept that night. For hours he’d held Cahira close whilst she’d drowsed, exhausted by their passion. After a time, he’d risen and donned his tunic and hose and sat thinking.

  He turned and his gaze rested upon a sleeping Cahira. She’d never been more beautiful than this morning. Her face, so sweet in repose, glowed. He marveled anew at the perfection of her alabaster skin, and he wanted to stroke her softly rounded cheek, trailing his fingertips over her stubborn, pointed chin. His hand itched to comb through her long tresses, shining like an embroidered tapestry, red and gold threads gleaming against the dull pine boughs.

  This woman, his Cahira, so passionate and brave, upon the morning of what should have been her honeymoon, still seemed untouched and virginal. Almost angelic in her innocent rest. How he wished he could recapture his own innocence. But the deeds he’d done, the men he’d killed, and the pain he’d inflicted haunted him. This morning, which should have been the crowning glory of his life, wasn’t one of innocent joy.

  For when his heart and mind should be filled with love for Cahira, all he felt was the agony of indecision. The treasure wasn’t his, had never been his. Henri had not shared the secret so Raul could steal it, not even for the princess’ sake. That had been Raul’s rationalization. A way to make himself feel worthy of a princess’ love. If he took the treasure and used it to bolster his self-worth, he would be no better than the men he loathed and reviled, starting with his father and ending with de Molay.

  For true worthiness lay within his heart, buried deep in his soul, in the coin of his thoughts and deeds. No amount of treasure could gift him with the innocence or nobility he sought. Only by relinquishing the stolen money, would he find peace. Yet relinquishing the treasure was a daunting thought, for it would shatter Cahira’s dreams. He must find a way to make her understand that by giving it up; he’d made peace with his past and finally felt worthy to be her husband.

  Cahira opened her eyes,
coming awake slowly. Her body was stiff from the cold. She winced at the new and unfamiliar tenderness between her thighs. The events of last night rushed back. Remembering the passion she’d shared with Raul, she smiled.

  Thinking of him, she reached out her hand. The pine boughs crackled and whispered, but where she’d expected to find his warm body, she discovered a cold and empty place. Alarmed, she rose on one elbow and looked around. Then she saw him, sitting at the edge of their makeshift bower with his knees pulled to his chin, staring at the sunrise. He’d dressed, and the corners of his mouth were pulled down. He stared straight ahead, as if unseeing. Glimpsing him thus, a frisson of trepidation skittered down her spine.

  Rising to her knees, she ignored her nakedness and threw her arms around his waist while burrowing her head into his shoulder. “Good morrow to you, my husband.”

  He stiffened and faced her. Taking one of her hands, he turned it over and kissed the palm. “Good morrow, Cahira.”

  “What? You won’t call me wife?” She threw her head back and laughed. “We’ve plighted our troth and sealed the bargain with—”

  “Cease!” He scowled, glancing at her naked breasts. Then his features softened, and their gazes met. “Please, cover yourself. With the morning light, I can’t speak for our privacy.”

  Numbed by his unexpected reaction, she nodded. The earlier tingle of trepidation expanded and grew, coalescing into a hard, frightened knot, deep in the pit of her stomach.

  With Raul’s assistance, she donned her shift and then her gown. Even as his deft touch closed the laces of her garment, she avoided looking into his eyes, for she didn’t want to see her unease reflected in their obsidian depths.

  She averted her head and curled her fingers to draw them through her hair as a makeshift comb, dislodging pine nettles and bits of crushed leaves. Busying herself, she tried to hush the warning bells in her mind.

  He caught her hands in his, leaning over and kissing her on the mouth. She responded, breaking her fast with the warmth and sustenance of his lips. Her body flowed into his and her hands encircled his neck, drawing him closer, giving herself to the mind-numbing pleasure of kissing him.

  When he lifted his mouth, he held her tightly and whispered, “You know I love you.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “Remember that.” He trailed one finger over her cheek, as if he would memorize the outline of her face.

  What did he mean? An icy shard of dread lanced through her again. “Raul, what’s wrong? I thought—”

  He pulled away, putting a small space between them. His eyes avoided hers. “We can’t return to Kinsale. Not now. Eventually, I’ll find a way.”

  Her heart dipped low. At the same time, relief sluiced over her. He still loved her—that hadn’t changed. But what of Kinsale? Last night he’d promised they would return and take her castle. What had changed his mind?

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Nor should you. Sometimes, I don’t understand myself.” He shook his head. “I stole something that isn’t mine. I’d planned to use it to hire knights and recapture Kinsale. But I can’t do it.”

  What was he saying? What had he stolen, other than Kinsale? But he’d done that at the behest of his lord, the Sinclair, who’d played her false and tried to have her murdered. Raul had vowed to right that wrong. What had changed his mind? Frowning, she held his gaze and tried to understand.

  He turned his head away and stared at the forest. “In prison a dying man revealed there was Templar treasure hidden in this abbey.” His gaze returned to snag hers, his black eyes beseeching.

  “When you rescued me, I wanted to find the treasure, thinking we could use it to reclaim Kinsale. Once I secured it, I came for you.” He dropped his gaze. “But it’s not right. It doesn’t belong to us.”

  “Then who does it belong to? The Templars are—”

  “No more,” he finished. “Even so, the treasure isn’t ours. I’ve thought of little else. The money should go to the church.” He clasped her hands tighter. “Come with me to Spain. My father, the Archbishop, will marry us.”

  But what did it matter who married them? And to travel all the way to Spain when all she wanted was to return to her castle and people in Eire. Why must they go to Spain to be married, to return the treasure to the church? Hand it over to Raul’s father? A man who’d broken his sacred vows, sired a bastard son, and then forced his son to take Templar vows he’d never really wanted. And those vows had almost been the death of Raul, not to mention the corruption he’d found in his Order.

  She understood Raul’s reluctance to take the treasure. Of certain, it did not belong to them. But what of her plight? Her castle and lands had been wrongfully taken. Didn’t she deserve justice? Raul’s Order had stolen her legacy. Why shouldn’t Templar treasure restore it?

  She rose and stood with her arms stiff, her hands clenched at her sides. The thudding echo of her heart filled her ears. How could he ask her to give up what was rightfully hers?

  “What of our children, Raul? With no castle how shall we live? With no lands how will we feed ourselves?”

  He got to his feet, towering over her, making her feel small. “It would only be for a short time. My uncle in Spain might help us. Lend us men and armor and—”

  “What if he doesn’t?”

  Gazing up at him, her head wobbled on her shoulders, her neck suddenly feeling too weak to support it, as disappointment and despair swamped her. What would she do if he refused to help her? She knew not. ’Twas daunting to consider. Daunting and distressing. The woods spun around and closed in, the ugly, naked branches stabbing the sky. Her world was collapsing and with it, all her hopes and dreams for the future were shredded, torn asunder.

  “I don’t know for certain if my uncle will aid us.” Raul paused, as if considering. “But I believe he will.”

  “Believe?” More empty promises. More waiting and lost hopes. The bitter bite of his betrayal gnawed at her, wrenching her heart. Beneath her numbed agony, lay a hurt so deep she couldn’t contemplate it, for if she did so, the very thought would rip her apart.

  “You believe…” She tossed her head and bit her lip, hoping to hold the hurt in abeyance. “I have to know when we’ll return to Kinsale.”

  “I wish I could promise you when but—”

  “Enough!” The pain ripped through her. He’d made promises he had no intention of keeping. If he didn’t keep this promise, how could she trust him with her future? No matter how much she loved him?

  “If you love me,” he beseeched, “you will follow where I go. Your home will be in my arms.”

  What a pretty speech that!

  She squeezed her eyes shut, forcing back the tears. How could he do this? Make her choose between their love and the legacy he’d taken. All that her father and brothers had died for? Gritting her teeth, she launched herself at him, pounding her fists against his chest, venting her frustration and hurt. If he couldn’t understand how much Kinsale meant to her, then he couldn’t possibly love her. All the promises he’d made were dust.

  “Cahira,” he pleaded, catching her flaying hands in his and holding them away, “don’t do this. Don’t…” He shook his head, releasing her.

  She fell back and covered her face with her hands. “Don’t touch me. How could you? To promise we’d return to Kinsale when you never meant it?” She lifted her eyes and glared at him. “You never understood how much Kinsale meant to me. Never understood my family gave their lives…” Her voice broke on a sob.

  “No! It’s not like that!” He fisted his left hand and touched his chest. “My heart understands. We’ve both lost our family. How could you think I wouldn’t? If you would only be patient, I promise you, I’ll give my life to regain Kinsale for you.”

  “Your life, your life,” she threw at him, “but not your Templar treasure.” She retreated, clutching her hands until the knuckles turned white. How could he ask her to be patient when she’d waited all these months, following an
d believing him?

  “Nay! I don’t believe you. You would make me wait and wait and hope and…” Her voice faltered and shuddered to a stop.

  “But I will help you. I just need some more time.” He reached out his hand.

  She backed away. “The only way you can help me is to restore what you stole from me. The very ground where my family lies buried cries out for justice. Can’t you see? You must use the treasure to right the wrong.”

  He dropped his hand and lowered his head. “I can’t. It isn’t right, and two wrongs do not make a right.” His voice was but a ragged whisper. “You must understand. If I take what isn’t mine, I’m no better than the Sinclair. I must return the treasure if I’m to—”

  She covered her ears with her hands, blocking his hurtful words. Hot tears coursed down her cheeks, but she didn’t want him to see. Turning, she stumbled into the thicket of branches and angrily thrust them aside. When she reached the clearing, she took a deep breath and started running. The rushing speed afforded her but a brief surcease from the agonizing pain of betrayal. Alas, as she ran, the bitter truth drove its hideous spike deep into her heart.

  She’d been a fool, loving a man who put his duty above all else. A man who clung to honor for he knew no family or legacy. A man who’d spurned her love to fulfill an empty promise to a dead Templar. But she’d be a fool no more. Her eyes were wide open, and she’d come full circle since that fateful day when she rode out to defend her home…Kinsale.

  She could depend upon no one but herself.

  ****

  The smell of the mid-day meal drew Raul back to camp. Not that he was hungry. He’d wandered the forest all morning, thinking of what more he could say to Cahira. Wanting to explain he still meant to retake Kinsale. He just needed more time.

  Pacing and pondering, he circled the camp like an orphaned cur. But the longer he waited, the more certain he grew of his decision. He’d made the right choice—the only choice—if he wanted to retain his honor and his very soul.