by Diana Cosby
Her mouth fell open. “’Tis incredible.”
“As are you.” Cailin rolled to his side. “However much I wish to stay and talk, to be with you in every way, for now you need to rest.”
He started to move back, and she caught his arm. “Stay with me.”
“I—”
“Please. I dinna want to be alone, at least for a while.”
Love filled his eyes as he settled beside her and drew her into his arms. “I couldna think of being anywhere else. I love you, Elspet, and plan on spending the rest of my life with you.”
* * * *
A fortnight later, in the solar, Cailin secured his sword and turned toward his father, thankful that in the passing days, his gaunt form had filled out and he now glowed with good health. Nor did he move with difficulty. Food and rest had allowed his body to heal.
The scent of fresh rushes filled the air and flames danced cheerfully in the hearth as Lord Dalkirk poured a cup of wine, then another. With a smile he passed the latter to Cailin. “A toast to your upcoming wedding!”
Cailin lifted his goblet, took a sip of the tangy brew. “There is one more thing I must share.” Aware his next words might drive a wedge between them, he hesitated. Blast it, he should have broached the matter before.
At his somber tone, the earl lowered his cup.
Cailin’s fingers tightened on the stem of the goblet. “My fealty is nay longer to Lord Comyn, but to King Robert.”
His father’s brow raised. “I met the Bruce years ago during a meeting with Bishop Wishart in regards to Scotland’s fight for independence.”
“You never told me. Nor did the king.”
“You were a young lad. The day would come when I could explain, or so I believed.” He swirled the ruby liquid in the crafted goblet before taking a sip. “As for the Bruce, I wasna surprised to learn he’d become Scotland’s king. ’Twas his rightful place, the crown stolen from his grandfather through King Edward’s interference years before.”
“Then you arena angry that I have given the Bruce my fealty?”
A smile creased his father’s face. “Nay. I assure you, ’tis one I pledge as well. I never respected Lord Comyn.”
Cailin’s relief faded against the hard knowledge that soon he would depart. “There is one more thing. I will be sending a writ to the king, explaining that you are alive and Tiran Castle is seized. Soon after, I expect a missive with his orders instructing me where I must go to support his fight to claim Scotland.”
His father gave a solemn nod. “A battle I will join once I am in full health.”
“Nay, your place is here. I ask that while I am away, you keep watch over Elspet.”
Somber eyes held his. “’Twould be an honor. She is a fine lass, one who knows her own mind.”
Warmth filled Cailin at how she and his father had liked each other from the start. During their mutual recovery, their frequent chess matches had turned into more of a challenge of wills. “She does.”
A soft knock sounded on the door.
“Enter,” Lord Dalkirk called.
Decked in his finest attire, his sword gleaming, Rónán stepped inside. “Father Lamond has arrived.”
Eyes beaming with pride, his father set aside his goblet. “Let us be on our way, son. ’Tis time for you to wed.”
Cailin met his father’s gaze as he set aside his cup, then joined him as he headed for the door. Indeed, he couldna wait to make Elspet his wife. A lingering sadness filled him as he wished his mother could be there. Then he recalled that Elspet wore his mother’s cross and realized in spirit she was. A tale that Cailin relayed to his father as they walked.
* * * *
“And do you, Sir Cailin MacHugh, take Elspet to be your lawfully wedded wife?” Father Lamond asked, his rich tones echoing throughout the chapel.
Love filled Cailin as he held Elspet’s hands, amazed that, within a few weeks, his life had changed completely. Gone was the loneliness, of days filled with thoughts of naught but battle. However unconventional their meeting, in the end she’d stolen more than his sword but his heart. “I do.”
“And do you, Elspet,” the priest asked, “take Sir Cailin for your husband?”
Emerald-green eyes sparkled with happiness. “I do.”
Father Lamond made the sign of the cross. “In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, with your consent declared before God, you are now bound as husband and wife!”
The crowd cheered as Cailin drew her into his arms for a deep kiss. “I love you, Elspet.”
“And I love you, Cailin, and will forever.”
His heart full, he laced his fingers with hers as they turned to the crowd.
“May I present Sir Cailin and Elspet MacHugh!” Cailin’s father boomed out.
Cheers again filled the holy chamber.
A short while later, with the celebration having moved to the great room, Rónán handed goblets of wine to Elspet, Cailin, Lord Dalkirk, Lord Odhran, and Taog as the aromas of roast boar, mutton, hart, and sweets sifted through the air. “A toast for a long and happy life!”
His friends lifted their cups and downed the spirit. Calls for Cailin to again kiss the bride rang out.
Laughter fading, the door of the keep opened. Snow whirled inside as a man bearing King Robert’s colors entered.
Body tense, Cailin lowered his goblet. Only one reason came to mind for the runner’s appearance. His sovereign was requesting his immediate presence.
His father frowned. “’Tis the king’s man.”
Any scrap of color on Elspet’s face faded.
Cailin’s chest squeezed tight. ’Twas to be their wedding night, the hours ahead filled with soft whispers, making love, and creating memories to cherish for a lifetime, not for thoughts of war.
As quickly, he smothered the feelings. He was a warrior, and ’twas the king’s support that had allowed him to seize Tiran Castle, discover his father lived, and, more, meet and fall in love with Elspet. “Nay doubt he bears news that I am needed and must leave to rejoin the fight.”
A guard led the messenger to the dais.
“He wouldna ask you to depart on the day of your wedding,” Taog said.
Lord Odhran nodded his agreement.
“He will want me to return posthaste,” Cailin said, resigned to his duty.
Rónán nodded. “I will go with you.”
“Sir Cailin?” the runner asked.
“Aye.” Cailin stepped forward and accepted the writ. As the others waited in silence, he broke open the king’s seal, skimmed the parchment, stilled. “God in heaven!”
Elspet stepped closer. “What is wrong?”
In disbelief, he reread the missive, rolled it up, then met the runner’s gaze. “I will draft a reply to the king on the morrow. For now, I invite you to partake in the wedding celebration.”
“Aye, my lord.” The messenger was handed a cup of wine as he stepped from the dais.
Face grim, his father moved to Cailin’s side. “When do you go?”
“I dinna, at least for now. King Robert commands me to stay and ensure Dalkirk, as well as the surrounding lands, remain secure from those loyal to Lord Comyn.”
“’Tis wonderful,” Elspet said amid the group of happy murmurs, “but what will he do once he learns your father is alive?”
“A question I willna know until he replies to my writ. I will ask to stay here for another month to ensure my father is in full health.” He glanced at Rónán. “As well, the Earl of Sionn has arrived at the Bruce’s castle, and the king commands you to return posthaste.”
Brows narrowed, Rónán’s thumb slid across the stem of his goblet. “What is a powerful Irish lord doing in Scotland?”
Cailin shrugged. “King Robert didna say more. Do you know Lord Sionn?”
“Of him
,” the Templar replied. “He is revered as an intelligent and fierce warrior. One, ’twould seem, who supports our king, a boon indeed. Nor is tonight for discussing war, but to celebrate your wedding.” He lifted his cup. “I wish you and Elspet every blessing!”
“Hear, hear!” Lord Dalkirk agreed.
Warmth filled Cailin as he claimed Elspet’s mouth in a deep, slow kiss filled with promise, with the heat of the night to come. He drew away, stared into her eyes, wanting her with his every breath. “I think,” he said as he swept her into his arms, never wanting to let her go, “’tis time we retire to our chamber.”
Shouts and cheers of approval rang out as Cailin strode toward the turret.
* * * *
Through the window, a full moon shimmered in the clear sky as Elspet lay sated in his arms. Cailin nudged a strand of damp hair from her cheek, drew her into a deep kiss, savored her quick shudder, how she accepted him fully, gave, demanded until he lost himself in her.
Only after she found her release did he follow, then draw her against him. Her heartbeat pounded, matched hers, and a sense of completeness filled him. Aye, he’d truly come home.
Epilogue
Two months later
Laughter echoed from the solar, and warmth filled Elspet as she reached the entry. Cailin sat beside his father, a satisfied expression on his face. In the time since her marriage, she’d come to know Lord Dalkirk—Fergus, as he’d insisted she call him. Though she’d learned of his wife’s simple roots, it still felt strange. Of all the gifts he’d bestowed upon her and Cailin for their wedding, none could be finer than his love and acceptance.
Cailin glanced over, and his eyes flickered with awareness.
Heat swept through her, and she wanted him. ’Twould always be thus.
Both men stood as she stepped inside.
Fergus lifted a bottle. “Would you like a glass of wine, Elspet?”
Her heart squeezed as she walked over, took both of her husband’s hands, thankful that in the past sennight they’d received a missive from the king instructing her husband to remain at Tiran Castle to help his father fend off any resistance from Lord Comyn. “I think,” she said with a grin, reveling in this moment, one that would transform their lives, “’twould be a proper choice to celebrate the announcement that I am with child.”
“A babe?” Cailin rasped.
A look of awe so intense filled his gaze that tears blurred her eyes. “Aye.”
With a shout, he whirled her in his arms.
“Let your wife down,” his father huffed. “You must treat her with care. The lass carries your heir.”
Cailin winked at her. “Indeed, ’tis my duty to see to her every need,” he whispered in her ear. “A duty that I will ensure begins now.”
Heat inflamed her cheeks as he swept her from the room and strode toward their chamber. “Put me down. Your father will know where you are taking me.”
Blue eyes twinkled with sensual delight as he pushed open their chamber door, then closed it behind them. He set her on her feet and began untying her gown. “I care not what my father thinks. ’Tis you that I love. Come to bed with me, Elspet. I need you now and forever.”
Moved by the intensity of how she needed him, of how her life had changed, as his mouth caught hers and his hands began to work their magic, she gave into his touch. Though he needed her now and forever, she couldna imagine her life without him, one that would now include their child.
With love filling her heart, she slipped off her gown and pressed her naked body against his. He wanted her, loved her, ’twas simple as that. Aye, who was she to argue?
Preview
Eager for more adventures with
The Knights Templar?
Keep reading for a sneak peek at
FORBIDDEN REALM
the next in
The Forbidden Series
coming soon
from
Diana Cosby
and
Lyrical Press
Chapter 1
Scotland, March 1309
The late afternoon sun provided little warmth as a frigid blast of wind hurled past Sir Rónán O’Connor. He glanced toward Stephan MacQuistan, Earl of Dunsmore, a friend and a fellow Knight Templar, then nodded to the guard holding open the intricately carved arched door of St. Andrews Cathedral as they strode past.
The rich scents of frankincense and myrrh filled the air as he halted inside, then dusted off the thin layer of falling snow from his cape. However thankful to be out of the cold, unease rumbled through him at King Robert’s request for his presence, more so that it involved the Earl of Sionn, a powerful Irish noble.
A soft groan sounded as the guard pulled the entry door shut, then the man glanced to the earl. “My Lord.” Then he turned to Rónán. “Sir Rónán, King Robert is meeting with the Bishop of Dunblane. He bids you to wait in the solar until I bring word that he will receive you.”
Rónán nodded.
The guard stepped back. “If you would follow me.”
“’Tis unnecessary,” Stephan said. “My wife is there. I will show him the way.”
“I thank you, my lord.” The steady thud of steps faded as the guard departed the massive entry and headed toward a nearby corridor.
Waning rays of golden sunlight streaming through an ornate arched window entwined with torchlight illuminating the grand interior. In awe, Rónán studied the massive columns lining each side of the cathedral. He glanced toward the nave, framed within the rows of highly polished pews leading to the chancel adorned with carvings of Christ and other well-crafted tributes honoring the Lord surrounding the grand altar.
“’Tis beautiful,” he breathed, “and incredible craftsmanship. Nay doubt Templars were involved in the construction.”
“Aye, ’twas my thought the first time I came here.” Stephan headed in the opposite direction the guard had taken. “This way.”
They passed a fresco mural of Christ. “With the significant number of clergy and nobles arriving for King Robert’s first parliament,” Rónán said, “I should have expected to find you here.”
“I arrived two days ago with the Bishop of Dunblane. We are to listen to the Bruce’s strategy for quelling the English and Lord Comyn’s resistance, and to offer insight.”
“With Lord Comyn believing he is the rightful claimant to the Scottish throne, ’tis a fight he will never abandon. Unlike King Edward II, who hasna the taste for power like his father.”
“Indeed,” Stephan agreed. “’Tis the blasted lords who have the young sovereign’s ear who press him to continue the battle to conquer Scotland.”
Rónán shot him a wry smile. “Nay doubt they are furious that King Philip of France has recognized the Bruce as the King of Scots.”
A satisfied look settled on Stephan’s face. “’Tis certain that news put a burr in their arse.” He nodded respectfully to a monk garbed in a brown robe as he passed, then glanced at Rónán. “I didna expect to see you here. Did you travel with one of the representatives in support of King Robert?”
“Nay. ’Tis an unexpected trip. I was at Tiran Castle, attending Sir Cailin’s wedding—”
“Wedding?”
“Aye.” In brief Rónán explained having been sent to aid Cailin in reclaiming his birthright, Tiran Castle, and discovering Cailin’s father hadn’t been murdered in Cailin’s youth as he’d been told by his treacherous uncle, but was alive and locked within the dungeon. Then Rónán told Stephan the unusual circumstance of how their friend had met and fallen in love with Elspet McReynolds.
Stephan shook his head in disbelief. “’Tis remarkable.”
“Indeed. I was there, and I am still stunned by the extraordinary chain of events.” Thoughts of their friend—also a Knight Templar—made Rónán smile, due to the happiness Cailin had found in his lovely and sp
irited bride. “’Twas after the wedding when the king’s runner delivered a missive that the Bruce requested my presence in matters concerning the Earl of Sionn.”
The faint murmur of voices echoed from down a corridor, and the scent of venison, onions, and herbs sifted through the air.
Rónán’s stomach rumbled, a reminder he hadn’t eaten since dawn. But that would have to wait until after he’d met with his sovereign.
His friend guided him down another hallway, this one smaller but as grand. From the ornately framed paintings, the discreet carvings straddling the walls, ’twas clearly the king’s private area.
“Have you ever met the Earl of Sionn?” his friend asked.
“Nay, only heard that he is a man well respected by his warriors.” During a time in his brutal youth he’d rather forget, a place filled with naught but pain and fear. Nor did he ever intend to return to Ireland, a promise he’d kept after his adventures had brought him to join the galloglass, where a year later, he’d met and given his vow to the Brotherhood in France. He’d sailed away with a Templar crew and never looked back.
Cold fury lanced his gut as he thought of the Knights Templar, who’d been betrayed by King Philip, of the false charges leveled upon an elite Christian force who’d displayed naught but the highest ideals and principles for nearly two centuries.
Yet, for all of the French king’s conniving to replenish his coffers with Templar wealth, in the end he’d claimed naught but a pittance of their gold.
Warned in advance of King Philip’s nefarious intent, Rónán, along with a sizable portion of the Brotherhood, had loaded most of the Templar treasures aboard their ships and sailed from La Rochelle before the arrests began. Five galleys and their crews had headed to Scotland, led by the fierce warrior at his side. The remainder of the fleet had traveled to Portugal.
Though a year and a half had passed since the arrests had begun, heartache still filled Rónán at the loss of men who were like brothers. Nor could he forget the brutality endured by those still imprisoned in France.