by Scott, B. J.
Table of Contents
HIGHLAND COVENANT
Books by B.J. Scott
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Epilogue
HIGHLAND COVENANT
B.J. SCOTT
SOUL MATE PUBLISHING
New York
HIGHLAND COVENANT
Copyright©2019
B.J. SCOTT
Cover Design by Ramona Lockwood
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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Published in the United States of America by
Soul Mate Publishing
P.O. Box 24
Macedon, New York, 14502
ISBN: 978-1-64716-028-9
www.SoulMatePublishing.com
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
Books by B.J. Scott
Fraser Brothers Trilogy
Highland Legacy
Highland Quest
Highland Homecoming
~ ~ ~
Her Highlander’s Promise
~ ~ ~
Bedded by Her Highland Enemy
~ ~ ~
Blades of Honor Series
Highland Hellion
Highland Resurrection
Highland Deliverance
~ ~ ~
Highland Covenant
To my mother
in honor of her 90th Birthday
and in appreciation for the years of love
and encouragement she has given to her family.
And to my Husband Steve
for the ongoing support, love, and encouragement
that keeps my writing dreams alive.
Acknowledgments
I want to thank Debby Gilbert and the staff at Soul Mate Publishing for their continued faith in me and my books, and for all they did to make this book possible. Thanks to Ramona Lockwood for another great cover. Thanks to my wonderful street team for their support and efforts to spread the word about my books. And as always, a huge thank you goes out to my readers who continue to make my efforts as an author a rewarding endeavor.
Chapter 1
On a cargo ship headed for Scotland, 1318
The violent storm raged on, and as the ship pitched and heaved, so did Francois de Valier’s stomach. He groaned aloud, then inhaled deeply and covered his mouth with his hand, trying to tamp down the overwhelming urge to vomit. Even when the sea was calm, the pungent stench of stagnant bilge water and mold in the hull added to the relentless queasiness he’d experienced since setting sail.
The voyage proved more arduous than anticipated, and he wished he’d remained on dry land. But if he wanted to avoid imprisonment, and merciless torture that most likely would result in his death, staying in France was no longer possible. With an important task to complete and a promise to fulfill, he made his way to the North Sea port of Granville. With no coin to pay for his passage, and afraid the captain would turn him over to King Philip’s henchmen if he tried to sign on as a crew member, he stowed away in the bowels of the Santa Catrianna, a triple-masted Portuguese carrack bound for Edinburgh Scotland.
Another wave of nausea washed over him, and he wished he could go above deck for a breath of fresh air, but he remained crouched behind a storage bin in the hull, praying that no one would discover his presence and report him to the captain.
A member of the now disbanded Knights Templar, he was no stranger to hardship, sacrifice, or suffering. Touted as heroes, and initially formed for the protection of Christian pilgrims on their way to the Holy Land, the members could cross borders freely, were exempt from all laws, and only answered to the Pope. Despite originally being known as the Poor Knights of the Temple of Solomon, with their simple lifestyle and strict vows of piety, celibacy, and poverty, they had managed to amass a great fortune. However, when they lost favor with King Philip IV of France things changed.
Infuriated by their refusal to loan him the funds he requested, and further adding to an enormous debt he already owed them, the king of France set out to disband and destroy the order. He imprisoned the leaders and any members of the brotherhood he could capture, falsely accused them of heinous crimes against the church and humanity, then after having them beaten into giving false confessions, he ordered them executed. To this day, Francois found it difficult to fathom how a revered order could fall into ruin so quickly, or how the leaders of the Catholic Church could allow it to happen.
Painful memories of the time he’d spent in the French prison and the brutal treatment he’d endured while awaiting death by fire was ever present in Francois’s mind, and haunted his dreams. It was only by the grace of God that he and several others had managed to escape from the heavily guarded French bastille on the eve before their execution. But those fortunate enough to get away traded one living Hell for another. They found themselves hunted like animals, constantly looking over their shoulders, and were forever on the move, fleeing for their lives.
He had to admit there were times when he considered giving himself up and facing whatever punishment King Philip IV saw fit to dole out. But he had a mission to complete and was determined to see it through.
Before the fall of Acre, a select group of senior knights formed a sacred covenant. Each member assumed responsibility for one of many religious objects discovered beneath the Temple Mount, intent on seeing it safely to a designated rendezvous spot. Orphaned at age five, and a young squire when the members of the original covenant removed the items from the Holy Land, Francois served Brother Lloyd Marques. Prior to the mass arrest of the major Templar leaders in 1307, his master entrusted him with a gold chalice, and charged him with seeing it reached its destination—the Port of LaRochelle, where Templar vessels awaited, and were prepared to transport the treasure out of France. Unfortunately, by the time he arrived, the ships had already set sail, leaving him to find another way to complete his quest.
A man of his word, he’d not give up while there was a breath left in his body,
and when he was so close to honoring his pledge to Master Marques. Not to mention the debts of gratitude he believed he owed to the people who risked their lives to protect him. He’d not permit their sacrifices to be in vain.
He closed his eyes and his heart clenched when the image of Giselle’s beautiful face and the day they met flooded his mind.
~ ~ ~
Francois hid in the shadows behind the Port of Calls Inn, a small tavern in the seaside port of La Rochelle France. Exhausted and weak from hunger, he could not remember the last time he’d had a decent meal or slept with both eyes closed. On the run since he’d escaped imprisonment, and narrowly evading recapture by French guards on more than one occasion, he was painfully aware that to enter the establishment was risky at best. If arrested, the beating and torture he’d receive would be severe, if not deadly.
However, if the rumors proved true, and the inn’s owner, Jean Rideau, sympathized with the plight of the Templars, and may have at one time been a member of the brotherhood, Francois hoped he might find a hot meal and a safe place to rest his head for the night, but nothing was certain. If it turned out that the inn’s proprietor supported the king and was willing to turn fugitives over for the hefty rewards posted by the crown, he could be walking into a trap.
“Why are you lurking behind my papa’s inn?”
The melodic lilt of a woman’s voice startled Francois. When he spun around to face her, his breath caught, and his jaw slackened in awe. Before him stood the loveliest young woman he’d ever seen. With hair the color of spun gold falling freely over her shoulders, striking, delicate features, soulful eyes as blue as the summer sky, and a wistful smile that could melt a man’s heart, he was certain he was in the presence of an angel.
“I am but a weary traveler, and merely stopped here to rest.” He bowed. “If you will excuse me, mademoiselle, I will be on my way.” He prepared to leave, but halted when she rested her hand on his forearm.
“Wait. I did not mean to scare you off.” She cocked her head to one side as she studied him from head to toe. “Forgive me for saying so, but you look like you could use a hearty meal and a tankard of ale. If you would like to come inside, I am sure I can find you something to eat and drink. At no charge, of course,” she quickly added.
Embarrassed by his dirty, disheveled appearance, tattered clothing, and well-worn boots, he stiffened and glanced away. “I appreciate your kindness, mademoiselle, but I can fend for myself and do not need your charity. If I wish to purchase a meal, I can do so.”
“I did not say anything about offering you charity, monsieur,” she said. “Papa has been ill of late and could use some help lifting the heavy kegs of ale, whisky, and wine. You could earn the food.”
Torn between pride and the prospect of filling his empty belly, Francois stared at her for a moment, then nodded. “I will help your father, but not because I am hungry and without coin,” he lied.
“Très bon.” She passed in front of him and paused before entering the inn and glanced back at him. “If you do not wish to eat, that is your decision. But my papa prepares a wonderful leg of lamb with roasted vegetables. He also makes the best wine in all of France.”
Afraid she would hear the rumble of his stomach at the mention of such delicacies, he waited for her to go inside before following. Desperate to stay one step ahead of the French guards, he usually foraged for wild berries, rooted through the discarded trash behind inns, raided the gardens of crofters, and on occasion managed to steal a round of bannock from a window ledge or snared a rodent.
Aware that entering an inn likely frequented by the King’s soldiers wasn’t prudent, he shoved logic aside and did so anyway. Exhausted and weak from hunger, he found it impossible to turn down a generous offer from a woman so sweet and stunning. If caught, he’d greet death with a smile on his face and a full stomach.
They passed through a small storage room, then into a hallway, leading to the kitchen.
“Papa, this is . . .” She paused and scratched her head before glancing over her shoulder at Francois. “I never asked your name, sir.”
“Francois de Valier.” He stepped forward and bowed. “At your service.”
“I told Monsieur de Valier if he helped you stack the kegs in the storeroom, we could offer him a hot meal and perhaps something to drink,” she explained.
The older gentleman turned to face them. After wiping his fingers on a rag, he extended his hand in Francois’s direction. “I am Jean Rideau, and as I am sure my daughter told you, this is my inn.” After exchanging greetings, he silently ogled Francois for a moment, then locked gazes with his daughter. “Show him where he can wash up, Giselle. I will fix him a platter of food while he does so.”
“Giselle. A lovely name for a beautiful angel of mercy I would like to get to know much better,” he muttered under his breath, then cursed. He was a fugitive, a hunted man, and when he joined the Knights Templar, he swore a vow of celibacy. He was in no position to entertain thoughts of getting to know a woman on an intimate level. But heaven help him, he found this lovely creature beguiling. He cursed again. Counting his blessings for happening upon this kind father and daughter was one thing, but any thoughts of it going any further than that needed to stop.
Francois’s mouth began to water when he caught a glimpse of the platter Jean filled with meat and vegetables. “Your kindness is most appreciated, sir, but I fully intend to earn every morsel.”
“Go with my daughter. We will talk when you return.” Jean dismissed him with a flick of his hand.
“Come with me, Monsieur de Valier. I will show you where to wash up,” she said, smiling.
“My friends call me Franc, and I would be most pleased if you would do so as well.”
“As you wish, Franc.” She blushed, and lowered her gaze, a demure smile tugging at her lips. “Follow me.” She led the way down a short hall, with him trailing closely on her heels.
Captivated by her beauty, he found it impossible to direct his gaze away from the gentle sway of her hips as she glided down the corridor. While he’d been around his share of ladies in the past, until this moment, none had caused his heart to race or his groin to stir the way it did in Giselle’s presence. He couldn’t help wondering how it would feel to have her in his arms, to kiss her pouty lips, and make love to her. But as they neared the main hall of the inn, the din of laughter and the slurred shouts of drunken patrons brought him crashing back to reality.
She halted and pointed to a door. “You can go inside and wash, but when you have finished, be sure to return to my papa. He will see you are fed,” she said sweetly, then left him standing alone.
Upon Francois’s return to the kitchen, Jean approached him with a wooden trencher loaded with food in one hand and a tankard in the other. “Sit.” He nodded at a bench beside a small wooden trestle table, then placed the platter of food in front of his guest. “Judging by the gaunt look of you and your filthy attire, it appears a long while has passed since you ate a decent meal or took a bath,” he said bluntly. “Once you have eaten, I will see about finding you something clean to wear, and a pair of boots without holes.”
“I must admit that I have known better days.” Francois sat, made the sign of the cross, then mumbled a quick prayer before glancing up at his host. “This looks and smells wonderful.” He searched the room for Giselle. “Will you and your daughter not be joining me?” he asked when he noticed only one trencher of food.
“She is currently attending to our patrons and will return once she is certain that everyone has what they need,” Jean said. “I must see to them as well. Eat your meal and I will return when able.”
“Your daughter said you have been ill and could use help stacking some heavy kegs of spirits. I would be happy to assist you once I have eaten.” Francois popped a morsel of meat into his mouth and began to chew.
Jean frowned and lowered his voice to a whisper. “You may not have noticed, but the inn is swarming with French soldiers. I will take you up on your offer, but not until after we close. The king’s guards are always searching for Templar fugitives, and I have no intention of feeding you, then having you hauled off before you can pay me in kind.” He headed for the door. “Stay here and out of sight until I tell you it is safe.”
Dumbfounded by Jean’s remarks, he wondered how the man knew he was a fugitive and a knight. “I never said I was a Templar, sir.”
“You did not have to. I have seen my share of displaced brethren over the last few years, and have helped many to evade Philip’s henchmen.” He reached for the door latch, then paused. “Besides, if you were not a knight on the run from the king, you would have entered through the front door of the inn, rather than hiding behind it. Remain in the kitchen until everyone is gone, then we will discuss how long you will be with us, and when you will leave.”
~ ~ ~
The ship listed sharply to the left as a wave struck the hull, then rolled to the right, knocking Francois off his feet. He rose, and gave his head a rough shake. While he cherished his bittersweet memories of Giselle and wished he could see her and her father again, dwelling on the past and what could have been only complicated his life and threatened to compromise his mission. When he stumbled upon them, he had no idea he would stay with them for several months, fostering a solid friendship with Jean. Nor could he have imagined the overpowering attraction that developed between him and Giselle. Until they met, he never questioned his vows of celibacy to God and the Templars. Nor had he ever found himself as filled with lust and desire as he did when he was alone with Giselle.