Forbidden Kisses

by Laurel O'Donnell

  “This way,” she said to Ryder. He crossed with her to the far aisle and followed her to the top of a shadowy flight of stairs, leading downward. She took two burning reeds from their nearby holders on the wall, handed one to him, and then went down the steps, the tap of their shoes echoing eerily as they entered the chamber with its low, vaulted ceiling.

  Stone tombs occupied much of the crypt, some elaborately carved and painted, others plainer in design. A chill hung in the air, and she drew her cloak closer to her body. As Ryder halted near one of the tombs, she said, “See the decoration?” Holding out her torch, she indicated the black symbols, as large as her hand, forming a painted border low on the wall, just above where it met the floor.

  “I see,” he murmured. As she secured her torch in an empty holder, he touched his reed to several unlit ones in the crypt, creating more light. Then he slid his torch into a vacant holder and walked along the closest wall. “A cross, a fleur-de-lis, and a star hovering over a crescent moon. Just like the ring.”

  Amelia rounded a tomb bearing the effigy of a knight and walked along another wall. “The pattern goes all around the chamber.”

  “Why, though?” When she glanced at him, he added, “The painters would have been instructed to paint these symbols. ’Tis not a coincidence that the ones on the walls and on the ring are the same.”

  “I agree, but—” She paused, for she heard a dog barking. Honor had probably found a bird to chase.

  Ignoring the noise, she neared the fourth wall. A tomb had been positioned near it and blocked much of the torchlight. She moved in behind the tomb to better see the symbols. “Cross; fleur-de-lis, star over a crescent moon,” she noted. “Cross, fleur-de-lis—

  Her heartbeat froze then lurched against her ribs. “Ryder.”

  He came to the opposite side of the tomb. “Aye?”

  “Look.”

  As he moved in to see, she pointed to the crescent moon—without a star.

  He inhaled sharply. “That might be just what we are looking for.”

  ***

  Anticipation surged through Ryder veins. The crescent moon covered most of one stone. ’Twas entirely possible that if removed, the stone would reveal a secret cavity.

  When he crouched by the tomb and examined the wall, he couldn’t find any evidence that the stone was at all loose. That meant he’d have to dig out the mortar.

  Amelia reached to the front of her bodice.

  “Keep your dagger.” He drew a knife out of his boot then jabbed the tip into the mortar. A small piece dropped away. He worked at the mortar again, twice, three times, and then his blade slid in easily—as though the mortar had been applied only in a thin, veneer layer.

  “Ryder,” she whispered.

  He attacked the mortar from a different angle. More crumbled away. As he worked, he caught the barking of a dog, louder than when he’d heard it a few moments before. Dismissing the noise, he focused on his work.

  The stone wobbled.

  Using the blade, he began easing out the stone. Little by little, it edged forward, until with a grating sound, it worked free.

  As he set the stone aside, Amelia brought over a torch and held it so light shone into the cavity.

  Inside was a rolled parchment, as well as a silver cloak pin: the jewel Tilden had been given to protect.

  Amelia’s face glowed with excitement. “What does the parchment say?”

  Ryder unfurled the thin, cured sheet of skin. The first names scribed in black ink were familiar.

  “’Tis a list,” she murmured.

  “Aye, of Templar knights at Acre who were given items for safekeeping.” The list, however, was longer than he remembered, with two columns of names that continued onto the back of the parchment. Tilden had obviously attended a number of secret meetings.

  If the majority of the Templar treasures on the list reached English soil, ’twould be a sizable hoard indeed.

  He pushed the parchment and cloak pin into his right boot then reached into the opening again. His arm stretched a fair way back—his shoulder was partway into the cavity—before his fingertips brushed stone.

  “How large is the hiding place?” Amelia asked.

  “Large enough to—”

  The sound of footfalls on stone carried down into the crypt.

  Ryder signaled for Amelia to move away from the tomb. She swiftly obeyed, while he snatched up the stone, pushed it back into its place in the wall, and shoved the knife back into his boot.

  As he crossed to Amelia’s side, a man entered the crypt.

  Stephen.

  ***

  “There you are,” Stephen said, glancing from her to Ryder.

  The tiny hairs on Amelia’s nape prickled, for a sense of imminent danger hummed within her. Ryder had told his men not to let anyone into the building. That order would have included Stephen.

  “What are you two doing down here in the crypt?” Stephen asked, while his keen gaze traveled around the chamber.

  “I could ask you the same,” Ryder said. “My men were to keep visitors out of the church.”

  “Well, your guards are preoccupied at the moment, so I was able to get inside. Your men—even those in the alley—were attacked, you see, by folk who were really outlaws in disguise.”

  Amelia gasped.

  “How do you know they were outlaws?” Ryder demanded. “And how did they know we would be in Lynborn?”

  Stephen shrugged, but judging by his smug grin, he well knew the answers to those questions.

  What was going on? Why would Stephen strive to protect the outlaws?

  Ryder caught Amelia’s arm and steered her toward the stairs. As she hurried along, her legs wooden, Stephen moved to intercept them. “Wait.”

  “Step aside,” Ryder growled.

  Amelia’s breath jammed in her throat, for Stephen’s left hand had shifted to his sheathed sword. More alarming, though, were the linen bandages around his wrist.

  Stephen was the thug who’d opened the carriage door.

  Judging by Ryder’s mercurial expression, he’d realized the significance of the bandage, too.

  “You found something down here.” Stephen challenged. “Aye?”

  Oh, God. Oh, God.

  Ryder shoved her toward the steps. “Run.”

  ***

  Stephen moved to draw his sword, and Ryder lunged. He careened into Stephen, shoving the other knight sideways. Stephen cursed as he slammed back into a tomb then struck out with his fists.

  Ryder’s head reeled at the force of the blows. They’d both learned to fight well with their fists; a few times, when battling the Saracens, his sword and knives knocked out of reach, Ryder’s bare hands had been the only weapons left to him to fell his opponents. And he’d succeeded.

  His ears rang. Pain streaked down his left cheekbone, but he shook his head to diminish the agony and punched Stephen back.

  Over Stephen’s grunts and the smack of fists against flesh, Ryder heard Amelia running up the stairs. Thankfully, she was escaping…although he couldn’t be certain she’d be safe. Not if his men had been ambushed.

  A blur of movement warned Ryder of another blow. He wrenched sideways, plowed his fist into Stephen’s jaw.

  “You have bits of mortar on your garments,” Stephen leered. “Whatever you found will be ours.”

  “Ours?” Ryder ducked as Stephen’s fist flew again. “You mean yours and Gladwin’s?”

  With the rasp of steel against leather, Stephen drew his weapon.

  Bloody hell. If Stephen had no qualms about spilling blood within sacred walls, his soul was not only corrupted, but lost.

  ***

  Amelia raced toward the altar. She’d slip out the small vestry to the right, run down the alley, and get help.

  Her throat was dry, and her legs were stiff, leaden, as she veered right. Through the vestry, she saw the closed door. Only a short distance to go.

  How she hoped Ryder was all right. Surely Stephen wouldn’t
harm a friend, although he’d seemed ready to use his sword.

  The door was but a few paces ahead. She grabbed the handle, wrenched the door open, and dashed out into the afternoon sunlight.

  A blond knight, who must have been expecting her to run out the rear door, grabbed her arm.

  Gladwin.

  Chapter Eleven

  Exhaling on a pained grunt, Ryder slumped back against the church’s outside wall, a short distance from where Amelia stood. She was also a hostage, with Gladwin guarding her. Thankfully, she appeared unharmed. Gladwin and Stephen, the conniving bastards, wouldn’t be so lucky once Ryder was done with them.

  Ryder fought the lulling urge to shut his eyes, his body’s response to his injuries. His head throbbed, his ribs hurt, and a cooling wetness on his left side—blood from where Stephen’s sword had slashed his ribcage—caused his shirt and tunic to cling to his skin. He’d seen and endured enough injuries in battle to know, though, that none of his wounds was life threatening: not right now, but the fight had yet to be won.

  Tipping his head back against the rough stone, he glowered at Stephen, still wielding his sword, although the weapon wasn’t a direct threat for the moment. Ryder had surrendered in the crypt, deciding he wanted some answers before rallying for a final, deciding attack. Held at the point of Stephen’s sword, though, he’d had to watch as the younger brother searched the tomb and found the loose stone.

  How Ryder regretted that Amelia hadn’t reached safety. He’d ensure—somehow—that she got a chance to do so.

  “I ask you one last time, Amelia. Give me your lady’s dagger,” Gladwin said.

  She glared.” Or what?”

  “I will take it from you. I have no wish to fight you, but I will get that knife from between your breasts, however I must.”

  Ryder fought not to curse. No chivalrous knight would lay hands upon the fairer sex; ’twas further proof of the extent of Gladwin and Stephen’s corruption.

  “Very well,” Amelia said, “but I am not going to let you watch.” She turned her back and worked at her bodice before she faced Gladwin again and put the sheathed knife in his palm.

  Ah, God, now she had no means to defend herself.

  Gladwin tossed her knife aside; it landed near one of Ryder’s unconscious men. “Now, tell us what you discovered in the crypt.”

  “We found naught.”

  Ah, Amelia, you brave but foolish damsel.

  “Not a single thing behind the stone you dug out?” Stephen demanded. “Not even a hiding place?”

  “Leave her alone,” Ryder snarled, drawing the brothers’ gazes. “If you have questions, ask them of me.”

  “Fine. We will.” Stephen shoved the tip of his sword against Ryder’s chest. Ignoring Amelia’s horrified cry, the brother asked, “Did you find a hiding place?”

  “We did,” Ryder said, “but ’twas empty.”

  Stephen frowned. “’Tis the truth?”

  “Of course ’tis not the truth,” Gladwin muttered. “Amelia, tell us what you found. ’Tis all we want from you.”

  “Is that so? Why do I not believe you?”

  Ha. Just what I was thinking.

  “I have always been honest with you and treated you with honor,” Gladwin said to her. “I wish to continue to do so.”

  Amelia snorted in disgust and stared at the alley’s opposite wall. Admiration for her warmed Ryder’s gut as Gladwin’s expression hardened with disappointment.

  Then Gladwin’s attention shifted to him. Resolve burned inside Ryder; he must get as much information as he could from the brothers, while he had the chance. “What were you expecting us to find in the crypt?” he asked.

  “You know full well,” Stephen answered, “since you were involved in bringing it to England.”

  “The Templar riches, then.”

  The younger brother nodded. “We are entitled to those riches.”

  God’s blood.

  “We crossed oceans for King Richard. We gave up months of our lives to protect pilgrims and free Christendom and risked death in countless battles. What thanks did we get once we returned home?”

  The responsibilities Stephen had mentioned were a Templar knight’s duty, to be fulfilled without expecting any gratitude or personal gain. “You and Gladwin were obligated to fight without receiving any rewards whatsoever. Even so, you received fortresses from the crown, ceded to you in honor of your valor on Crusade.”

  The younger brother scowled. “We got run-down castles with inherited debts.”

  “So did I, and so did other knights. As lords of estates, though, we have many privileges—”

  “Not enough.” Stephen sneered. “I may never be able to pay off what is owed to the crown. Same with Gladwin.”

  “That does not give you the right to rob the Order.”

  Stephen scowled. “The Templars are more than wealthy enough; they will not miss a bit of treasure. With the money raised from selling the riches, we can eliminate our debts and live as we deserve.”

  “Stephen—”

  “We do not have to be enemies.” The younger brother adjusted his grip on his sword. “Agree to keep our secrets, to work with us, and you also can have a share of the coin.”

  Ryder battled a flare of revulsion. Did Stephen not realize how immoral his words were, let alone flawed? “I will never be a part of such treachery,” Ryder said evenly. As the younger brother’s eyes flashed, Ryder added: “If your debt is as vast as you claim, selling a few pieces of treasure will never raise enough money to pay off what is owed.”

  Stephen smirked. “We will have more than a few pieces.”

  “Will you? How?” Did they know the list was in England? Did they know how many names and treasures were written on the parchment?

  The two brothers exchanged another glance. Hellfire, if they hoped to end the discussion, Ryder wouldn’t let them off that easily.

  “I see now why you conspired to steal the ring, and why Gladwin was eager that night weeks ago to keep our goblets full of wine.”

  “Tilden took the ring,” Gladwin said, a little too quickly.

  Amelia shook her head, as Ryder frowned. “How ungallant to blame a man who is dead.”

  “You cannot prove either of us took it,” Stephen shot back.

  “Not yet. You clearly worked hard, though, to convince me Tilden took the jewel,” Ryder said. “’Tis why you left the cord in the hidden passageway off the chamber he had slept in. I have ordered my steward to question the servants, and I expect we will find at least one who saw either of you enter or leave the secret passageways the morning after the ring was taken.”

  Misgiving flickered in Gladwin’s eyes.

  “As to what unfolded after the theft, I vow something like this happened: When Tilden learned that the ring had been stolen, he was determined to get it back, to ensure ’twould remain under Templar protection along with the other treasures. Meanwhile, I had told him I was leaving the Order. Thus, he could not share any Templar matters with me, not even the news that he had recovered the ring. Yet, he had also worked out that you two were responsible for the theft, so he took measures to keep you from getting hold of the ring, as well as the rest of the riches.”

  “You always were too damned clever,” Stephen muttered. He tipped his head toward Amelia. As reluctance etched Gladwin’s features, a warning screamed in Ryder’s mind. They had better not harm her to try and coerce him into being part of their treachery.

  “I will give you one last chance to tell us what you know,” Gladwin said to her.

  “I thought you were my friend,” Amelia said, her voice catching. “Did you value our friendship, as I did, or were you just trying to glean information from me?”

  Gladwin averted his gaze. “You were always—”

  “—a means to get to the riches?”

  A harsh sigh broke from Gladwin. “I did what I had to.”

  “What does that mean?” Ryder demanded.

  Gladwin hesitated, but
then said: “Days before he died—between you telling us you were quitting the Order and the ring going missing—Tilden told us of a secret parchment he had recently received from London. He also revealed that months ago, he had secretly been assigned the task of securing a suitable spot to hide the Templar riches.”

  “Is that why the four of us could not come to an agreement on the hiding spot?” If Ryder’s memory served him correctly, Tilden had been the one to find fault with every suggested location.

  Nodding, Gladwin said: “Tilden admitted he had thwarted us reaching a decision, because he had already confirmed with London that he had found a place for the riches. He did not, however, tell us the location; ’twas also a secret. As fellow Templars, though, we would likely be taken into his confidence at some point, for he would need our help to fulfill the responsibilities of the parchment. We suspected the parchment was the list from Acre. We tried to persuade him to share his secrets, but after we stole the ring—”

  “Why did you steal it?” Ryder asked.

  Stephen scowled. “You were leaving the Order. We did not want you sending the jewel to London, where ’twould be beyond our reach.”

  “Tilden suspected, right away, that you two had taken the ring,” Ryder said.

  “Aye. He avoided us, refused to see or meet with us, but then he became sick. We were only able to get near him just before he died,” Stephen said, “but by then, ’twas too late.”

  “The day he perished: Is that when he gave you the ring?” Gladwin asked her.

  Amelia’s eyes narrowed. “I am not telling.”

  “We know you have it,” Stephen challenged. “We have seen you wearing it.”

  “Which is why you posed as outlaws and attacked her carriage,” Ryder added, as he mentally unraveled more of the mysteries of the past few days.

  Gladwin sighed. “We hoped to get the ring from her another way, but never got the chance.”

  Amelia’s face had gone white. Even as Ryder wondered if she was recalling the shock and fear of the attack, she said: “’Tis clear to me now.”

  “Clear?” Stephen echoed.