Certain they were far enough from the keep so they wouldn’t be heard, Ryder halted.
“So,” she murmured, tossing the dandelion aside.
The cobweb still clung to her hair, tempting him to brush it away. So,” he agreed, his voice turning husky.
“The cord—?”
“—is mine. I wore it around my neck, with the ring on it.”
“That means the thief traveled the hidden passageways.”
“It does indeed. He either dropped the cord by accident or chose to discard it. Can you tell me where, exactly, you found it?”
“’Twas near the door, only a few paces inside the passageway.”
Most intriguing. “I suspect from there, the thief took the right corridor and went out into the bailey,” Ryder said. “He likely wanted to leave the castle as quickly as possible.”
“Do you think the thief was working alone? That you are searching for one man or woman?” she asked.
“One man, I believe.”
Amelia’s gaze turned thoughtful. “Something I have wondered….”
“Mmm?”
“Where did you get the ring? Did you inherit it? I ask because it obviously means a great deal to you.”
As the breeze whispered around them, he mulled what to tell her. He could fabricate a tale, but ’twould mean lying to her—and ’twasn’t chivalrous to speak falsely. Moreover, after what she’d revealed to him about Tilden and the way she’d acquired the ring, ’twas clear she was as integral to the unfolding mystery as any of the Templars who’d brought home treasure. If Ryder wanted to protect her, ’twas only right that she knew the truth.
“In the great hall, you mentioned rumors of Templar treasure,” he began.
“Rumors you dismissed, if I remember correctly.”
“The treasure is real.”
“W-what?”
“The ring you wear. ’Tis part of a larger hoard, brought back to these lands by Templar knights. Those knights included me, Tilden, Gladwin, and Stephen.”
She stared up at him. “Do you speak the truth?”
“I do. I swear it, upon my soul.”
Amelia blinked hard and looked down at the jewel on her finger.
“There were warriors—traitors—in our king’s armies,” Ryder continued. “They would have sold the riches to make John Lackland King of England. We vowed to protect the treasures we were given, until they could be united in these lands in one location.”
“You returned with Tilden and the other in May, but still had the ring.” She gnawed her bottom lip. “Does that mean the hiding spot has not yet been determined?”
“Right.”
She frowned. “Do you think the thief will try and steal the other Templar riches, not just the ring?”
Anger flickered in Ryder’s veins. “I cannot say for certain, but ’tis possible.”
“The day the ring was taken—”
“’Twas stolen late at night. The cord was removed from around my neck by one of the men who drank with me that evening, all of whom have denied robbing me.”
“The thief was very bold, stealing the ring while a guest in your home.”
“Mayhap he hoped he would not be found out. What is most important now, though, is keeping the jewel safe. I took an oath; I am a man of my word. While I failed to protect the ring for the Templars, ’tis my duty to see it returned to them.”
Amelia glanced again at the jewel gleaming on her hand. Then she removed it from her finger and handed it to him.
As the weight settled in his palm, a sigh of relief broke from him. “Thank you.”
“I hope you find the thief.”
“I will.”
Her gaze somber, she asked, “The men who drank with you. Do you suspect one of them in particular?”
His fingers tightened around the ring. “I wish I did not. However, the last person to stay in the chamber you now occupy…was your brother.”
Chapter Nine
Amelia choked down a shocked cry. Tilden wasn’t responsible for stealing the ring. He couldn’t be.
Anguish filled her as denial locked around her heart. “You speak as though my brother staying in the chamber proves his guilt.”
“It does not prove it, exactly, but—”
“Others must know about or have access to the passageways. ’Tis not as though they are a secret of only this fortress. We played in the ones at Callingston. Remember?”
Remorse flickered in Ryder’s gaze. “I remember.” His tone held a roughness that spoke of less challenging days long gone. A dull ache spread through her, for speaking of the past stirred up difficult emotions, ones that warred with memories of his apology and earlier kiss.
Ryder’s gaze had settled on her mouth, and longing coiled up inside her. Was it wrong, after all that had happened between them, to desire him—especially when he suspected her late brother of a grave crime? Confusion flared, and she turned her back on him then walked farther into the tiltyard, grasses dragging against her skirt.
“You may not like what I have told you,” Ryder called after her, “but you cannot avoid the truth.”
His words stung. Glancing back at him, she said, “I want the truth as much as you do. I do not believe we have found it yet.”
“We have found parts of it, though.” He indicated the ring and cord.
She faced him again. “Now that you have the ring, you have no reason to hold me here. I shall return home. I will seek the truth amongst my brother’s belongings.”
Ryder shook his head, and a mirthless smile curved his mouth. Clearly, he didn’t trust her.
“I would not destroy proof, if I found it.”
“I would not let you destroy it,” he said.
“Does that mean you will journey home with me, then? Help me search through Tilden’s effects?”
“Nay. As I suggested before, you will bring his belongings here.”
So naught had changed? She was still his captive? “You told me—”
“I recall my words. However, I also have a responsibility to protect you.”
“Keeping me hostage is protecting me?”
“Aye.”
Oh, but she wanted to rail at him, to condemn the injustice of her situation, but judging by his expression, he wasn’t about to compromise.
“How I wish we had never kissed,” she bit out.
His mouth flattened.
Run, Amelia. Run!
Nay, said another voice inside her. Stand firm.
Ryder claimed the space between them, his eyes blazing. Her pulse fluttered wildly. His right arm slid around her, pulled her flush against him, and the ring in his hand pressed against her side, before the jewel fell from his palm. With a thud, it landed on the ground.
She thought to step back and pick up the ring, but he said, “Leave it.”
“Why? ’Tis important to you.”
“Not as important as you.”
Shock froze the breath emerging from her lungs. “What are you saying?”
He kissed her brow, the touch of his lips incredibly tender. “I…care about you. I always have done.”
She shook her head; she must have misheard. “I thought—”
“Those summers at Callingston were the best part of my childhood.”
“Oh, Ryder.”
“When you arrived at Merringstow, I was so smitten with you, I could not think straight. But, I had no idea how to show you that I liked you. To get your attention, I played tricks on you. I know I…was unkind.”
“I thought you hated me,” she admitted.
“More than anything, Amelia, I wanted you to be mine.”
***
The words he’d wanted to say to her for so long tumbled from his lips. He wasn’t speaking well, though. He’d never been all that good at expressing himself.
Astonishment gleamed in her eyes, and his heart constricted. He’d made a bloody mess of things with her, but he had a chance right now, with truth of his own, to repair
the situation.
“Did Tilden know you were interested in me?” she asked.
“He knew, but I made him swear to secrecy. When we joined the Templars and left for Crusade, I resolved to forget you. But, once the grimness of endless battles set in….”
“Go on,” she said softly.
“You—memories of you—were what sustained me. You helped me through the night hours when I lay awake, wondering if the next day I would be slain. I forced aside my anxious thoughts, recalled your strength of will, your compassion, your exquisite beauty in that low-cut dress….”
She made a sound of distress, and he gently pressed her lower back with his arm. “That night, you were the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. At Acre, remembering you brought me courage, determination, and faith that I would return to England…and mayhap one day, see your loveliness again.”
“Mother Mary, I had no idea you felt that way.”
“I know.” He kissed her brow again. “In the East, I did not tell even Tilden that I dreamed of you, for I had vowed to forsake carnal desires. Feeling as I did and keeping it a secret, though, brought me a relentless internal struggle. After returning to England, I decided I was not suited to life as a monk. I needed a woman’s love. I longed to love in return.”
“That is why you resigned from the Order?”
“Aye.”
“And here we are.”
In her expression, he saw uncertainty as to what lay ahead. He didn’t have answers to give her, but he did know, if given a choice, what he wanted at this moment. “Now that you know my heart…may I kiss you again?”
“How will you kiss me this time?” she asked, her gaze tinged with mischief.
Warmth spread through his chest like a draught of mulled wine. “I will have to yield to wickedness again. Like so,” he said, kissing her temple. She trembled when he lifted his mouth from her skin. “And so,” he added, pressing his lips to the downy plane of her cheek.
“Ryder,” she whispered. A protest? God, nay. He’d not let her go now.
“And so.” He pressed his mouth to hers.
When their lips touched, the lightest brushing of skin, she trembled again. But, she didn’t pull away. With a sigh, she opened her mouth beneath his, kissed him back, and he was lost.
Pleasure roared in his soul. He kissed her with the hunger he’d felt for her years ago; with the lust of the man he was now. His mouth became bolder, and she leaned in against him, her hands fisting into the front of his tunic. The honorable part of him warned him to back away, but the selfish part of him wanted her to feel the rock-hard proof of his desire; to prove his concern for her went far beyond what happened to the ring.
At last, their kisses slowed. She drew back, her eyes still shut and her cheeks flushed. Ryder sensed her savoring the sensations within her, and he waited until her eyelids flickered open.
“Your wickedness,” she said.
“Aye?”
“’Tis far greater than I ever imagined.”
He chuckled, pleased to hear the teasing note in her voice. “I can continue—”
Amelia pressed a finger to his mouth. “When we have proven my brother did not steal the ring, we can kiss again.”
Disappointment raced through Ryder. “And if we discover that Tilden did, in fact, take the jewel?”
“We will not.”
Annoyance prompted him to withdraw his arm from around her waist and step back. He snatched up the ring and cord lying in the grass.
Sunlight illuminated the jewel as it settled in his palm…as well as the symbols on the inside of the ring. Frowning, he picked it up with his thumb and index finger and held it closer for a better look.
Amelia’s gown rustled as she headed for the keep.
“Hold,” he commanded.
“Why? We—”
“Did you notice the markings inside the ring?”
Halting, she said, “I thought they were part of the design.”
“They were not on the ring when I had it.”
“They…were recently added?”
“Aye, after the jewel was stolen.”
***
“A cross. A fleur-de-lis.” Amelia turned the ring a fraction to better see. “A star over a horizontal crescent moon.”
“’Tis what I saw, too.”
“Each is shown twice, except for the star and moon.” Curiosity gnawed at her. “Are the symbols important?”
Ryder shrugged, but the gesture was far from carefree. “I have seen them used in seals made for the Knights Templar.”
“The symbols are used by others, too.” She’d seen fleur-de-lis featured in coats of arms.
Ryder stretched out his hand, and she reluctantly set the ring back in his palm. “Why are the symbols on the ring?” she asked.
“I wish I knew.”
“Do you know who might have engraved them, and why?”
He shook his head. “More vital information we must uncover.”
She had to know the mystery of the symbols. Her thoughts returned to when Tilden, near death, had given her the ring and his strange words. What had he been trying to tell her?
“When my brother told me to protect the crescent,” she said, “do you think he was referring to the ring?”
“I cannot say,” Ryder answered. “’Tis not clear to me, yet, what he meant.”
Cross. Fleur-de-lis. Star hovering over a crescent moon.
Anticipation slipped like a droplet of cold water down her spine. “Wait.”
“Do you remember something more?”
“Those symbols. They were used—” Beware. She mustn’t reveal too much.
“Amelia,” Ryder growled.
If she told him all, he’d gather his men and ride off, leaving her behind.
“I will tell you,” she said, “but I am coming with you.”
He glowered. “Not fair.”
“’Tis indeed fair, when I, too, am connected to this mystery.”
Ryder’s eyes glinted with warning. “You are very bold to ask me to agree to your terms without knowing what you are going to say.”
“I want to help, Ryder. Let me.”
He closed the distance between them and slid his hands into her hair to hold her head firm. Tilting her face up, he rasped, “If you should come to harm—”
“I will not. I shall be with you. I will have my knife.”
“And if you have to use it?” His earnest stare searched hers. “Could you stab a man? Draw blood? Kill him, if necessary?”
Such concern etched into Ryder’s features. “If I had to,” she said, “I could—and I would.”
He remained silent while the breeze tangled his hair and stirred their garments. “All right,” he finally said. “But you will heed my instructions, even if you do not agree with them.”
“I will.” Her chin nudged higher. “One more thing. Once we resolve the mystery of the ring, I am free to go back to Callingston Keep. You will no longer have any hold upon me.”
An emotion she couldn’t define flickered across his face. He seemed about to challenge her words, but then, he slowly nodded. “The symbols?” he urged.
“The ones etched onto the ring appear in the church in Lynborn. They were painted on the crypt walls. ’Twas part of the renovation, which was funded by Tilden.”
Chapter Ten
Morning light washed over the church in the town square directly ahead, illuminating the building’s carved main door and portico.
Amelia, riding sidesaddle on the mare Ryder had given her earlier, followed him out of the narrow street lined with two-story buildings: shops established on the ground level and living quarters above. Ten of Ryder’s men-at-arms rode close behind her, and Honor trotted at her right side, tongue-lolling, but ’twas a comfort to have so many protectors, especially after the outlaw attack the previous day. Thankfully, the journey to Lynborn had been uneventful, although Amelia’s anxiety had heightened now that they approached the church.
; The square seemed unusually full of folk, but in the summer months, the town often hosted outdoor festivals and plays that attracted travelers as well as people who lived in outlying villages.
The glint of sunlight on metal drew her gaze to Ryder, tall and commanding astride his destrier. A tremor wove through her, for she’d barely slept last night at Brindston Keep, her thoughts unsettled not only by what they might discover in the crypt, but by him.
He’d agreed that once they’d uncovered the truth about the ring, he’d no longer have any hold upon her…but that wasn’t true. As she’d turned restlessly in her bed and watched firelight shift over the walls and ceiling, she’d had to acknowledge that he’d found his way into her heart. His kisses and touches had captivated her in ways she’d never forget; in ways she longed to explore more fully. Her feelings for Ryder seemed similar to what Nanette felt for John, judging by what the younger woman had confided with much excitement to Amelia before they’d retired to their beds.
Such longings, though, weren’t love…were they? And did Ryder care enough for her to love her, or would his feelings for her fade once they’d resolved the mystery of the ring?
Ryder halted his horse in front of the church, dismounted, and tethered the animal to a post. As she reined in the mare, he strode to her side and helped her down.
His hand on the hilt of his broadsword, Ryder faced his men-at-arms. “No one enters or leaves the church until we are done.”
“Aye, milord.” Some of the guards headed around the side of the building; Ryder had told them earlier to watch the alley at the back of the church.
Honor fell in alongside Amelia as they walked to the door, but she ordered the dog to wait outside. With a grumpy whine, Honor sat down, no doubt to enjoy a rest in the sun.
Ryder pulled open the church door, and when they stepped into the foyer, the scents of burning tapers, beeswax polish, and time-worn stone enveloped them. Candlelight flickered on silver and gold at the altar. The pews, though, were empty of worshippers.
A sense of nostalgia rushed through her, for the last time she’d been inside the church, Tilden had only just fallen ill, and had asked her to deliver a donation on his behalf. The grateful priest had given her a quick tour of the renovations, including the crypt, where painters were finishing up the walls.
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