The Princess and the Templar (13 page)

A knock sounded on the door, breaking her thoughts. Who was at her door? Was it the servants to take her trunks? Was she ready? Where would she find the strength to place one foot in front of the other and leave her birthplace behind?

But there was no hope for it. Rising, she ran her hand through her hair and mentally tried to smooth her features as well. “Enter.”

Instead of the porters she’d expected, Raul strode into the room and bowed. “Good morn to you, milady.” Towering over the serving woman, he added, “And to you, Mildread.” Glancing at Cahira, he said, “I see you’re almost packed. I’ll send for the porters.”

She inclined her head and waited, but he didn’t move to summon the men. In preparation for the journey, he wore a crimson cape over his customary white tunic emblazoned with the red cross of his Order. The rich color of the cape set off his features in stark relief; his strong jaw and sculpted cheekbones were framed by the vibrant color like cut gems on a velvet lining.

His black hair had been neatly parted in the middle and fell in waves about his shoulders. His dark mane was a trifle shaggy about the ears. He could use the offices of a good barber. But as always, his bronzed face was clean-shaven, drawing her attention to his hawk-like nose and full, sensual lips.

Gazing upon his mouth, a shudder rippled through her. Never would she forget the warmth of his kiss, or the taste of him, or the feel of his mouth capturing hers. Heat suffused her, and she knew that she blushed.

Lowering her head, she busied herself with folding gowns and handing them to Mildread. Raul hadn’t moved or spoken. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, staring at her. Curious, she lifted her gaze to his, trying to divine his thoughts. Wondering what had brought him to her room when they needn’t meet until departure.

Their gazes locked and held. Still, he spoke nary a word, but something flickered in the depths of his dark eyes. And his mouth was turned down in a frown, as if he dreaded this trip as much as she. Did he regret taking her to the Sinclair?

He lowered his head and glanced at Mildread again, as if watching her fold gowns was an immensely absorbing task.

Nay, he was in a rush to be off, Cahira told herself. For what captor wouldn’t want to rid himself of such a bothersome captive.

And yet, she’d hoped for some sign of regret on his part. For some acknowledgement of what had happened in the stables. He hadn’t apologized for his behavior. What did that mean? That he wasn’t sorry they’d kissed? Or that he was too ashamed to admit his folly?

If that were so, might his heart be softened toward her? Could she use this softness to convince him to let her return to Kinsale? ’Twould be an easy thing for Raul to tell the earl he’d lost her whilst traveling. Far easier than explaining how she’d escaped from the castle’s walls.

Hope flared in her breast, and her heart thudded with anticipation. Still Raul waited, saying naught. The tense moment grew and grew.

Finally, she asked, “Sir Raul, are there other instructions you wish to give me?”

His head jerked up, as if he’d been deep in thought. He opened his mouth and then shut it. Clearing his throat, he glanced at Mildread for the third time. Cahira finally understood what he was about.

“Mildread, are you finished?”

The serving woman looked over her shoulder. “Aye, jus’ a minute more, milady.” She returned to her task, smoothing and patting the garments. She closed the trunk with a loud thud and turned around. Her gaze swept the room, as if searching for items that might have been left behind. She placed her hands on her wide hips. “I’m done, milady.”

“Good then. Have you thought to look in my bedchamber?”

“Aye, milady, I’ve done that a’ready.”

“Excellent. Have you fetched your things, Mildread?”

A look of dread passed over her face, and she hung her head. “Nay, milady, I thought perchance—”

“Mildread, I know you don’t want to go, but I have great need of you. No one else can take your place. When we reach the Sinclair’s keep, I promise I’ll send you home.”

And if she could find a way to escape, they would come home long before that
.

“Like as not, my betrothed will want me to take a Scottish lass as my maidservant, so I can learn the ways of my new country,” Cahira said.

Mildread’s head bobbed up, and she frowned. “A Scottish lass? What would ye want with a heathenish Scot? No one could ever serve ye so well as meself.” A note of possessiveness crept into her voice.

Cahira smiled. “You do want to return home?”

“Aye, I...” She dropped her arms and knitted her fingers together. A wary grin plucked at the corners of her mouth. “I fergot meself, milady. I must come home and you must, you must…” She covered her face with her hands, and a loud sob shook her.

Wanting to comfort Mildread, Cahira embraced and hugged her maidservant. “Sssh, ’tis not as bad as all that.” Breaking their embrace, she took Mildread’s hands between her own and squeezed them while leaning closer. “Don’t lose hope yet. We’ll talk later.”

Stepping back, she watched as her maidservant dried her tears. First Loghan and now Mildread. ’Twould seem it was her place to comfort others before she departed. But who would comfort her?

Dipping into a curtsy, Mildread took her leave. Cahira watched as she closed the heavy oak door. She crossed to the hearth and poked at the fire while she waited for Raul to tell her what needed to be said in private.

“Will you see Loghan again before you leave?” he asked.

She shook her head, feeling as if she was being torn in twain. “Nay, we spoke yesterday. ’Tis better to leave it at that.” If she had to face one more tearful subject, she’d break down and cry, too.

But Raul hadn’t wanted to get her alone to ask about Loghan. Nay, he must have something else on his mind. She turned slowly from the hearth and faced him.

“Did you see Malcolm?” he asked.

What did he care whether she saw her people or not? Obviously, he was loath to speak his mind. That was well and good, for she had some questions of her own.

“I spoke with Malcolm last eventide. ’Tis enough.” She knotted her hands together. “What of the re-provisioning? Is it finished?”

“Aye, it is done.”

“And the curtain wall?”

“Malcolm can finish it.”

“Then I should speak to him before I go.”

“Milady, you have no need. The keep is—”

“No longer mine. I know that Sir Raul, but old habits die hard.”

He inclined his head. “As you wish.”

She waited, wondering if he would say what was on his mind but when he didn’t, she asked, “And the crofters…?” Her voice trailed off. She knew what she should say to him but found it difficult to be grateful to this man who had turned her life upside down.

“I want to thank you for that—the crofters, I mean.” She forced out the words of gratitude. “I was remiss, not looking to their welfare sooner.”

“Don’t apologize. The sieges stole your attention.” He allowed himself a wry grin. “As you know, Fallon and Loghan are taking the last loads to the farms.” He took a step closer. “You say you were remiss, but I wonder what you would have given your tenants?”

What indeed? Her provisions had been exhausted by the sieges. The constant fighting had depleted her gold as well. Like as not, her tenants would have gotten by with wild roots and berries and any small game they could catch until the crops ripened. With summer coming on, she’d thought ’twould be enough. But Raul had opened her eyes.

“That’s why I want to thank you. I know you had to secure the castle for your lord. But the tenants aren’t—”

“In my care,” he finished. “Not so, milady, a castle is only as strong as the people who support it with their toil, the servants and the farmers and the craftsmen. No one should be neglected.”

“Is that your opinion or the Sinclair’s?” She thought she knew the answer, but she wanted to hear him say it.

He hesitated but a moment. “Mine.”

“Then I shall thank you again, Sir Raul.”

“You’re most welcome, Your Highness.”

“Will we be sailing directly to the Sinclair’s?” She held her breath, so much depended on his answer.

She didn’t know where the earl’s stronghold lay. If it could be reached directly by sea, her opportunities for escape would be limited. But if they were traveling overland, she had a chance.

His mouth turned down. “I had hoped to sail directly to Castletown, the Sinclair’s harbor, but I just received a missive this morn from his bailiff.”

With a sigh, she released the breath she’d been holding. “And?”

“Arnaud, the Sinclair’s bailiff, wrote me that no ships are docking in Castletown. The winter was long and harsh, and the ice floes in the North Sea threaten ships going there. We’ll need to go overland from Dornoch.”

At his words, her heart leapt in her chest. Here it was—the opportunity she’d prayed for. But she mustn’t let him guess her joy, so she pressed her lips together and tried to keep her features composed.

“Then we’ll need an escort.” She wanted to know how many knights would be watching her.

“Yes.” He shot her a glance from beneath his heavy-lidded eyes. “Sean and Evan will accompany us.”

An interesting choice, the knights who’d guarded her. Her fragile hopes receded. There would be no softness in the Templar. She should have known better.

“I was wondering—” he started and then stopped.

He still had something he wished to say, but it must be difficult. “I sent Mildread away so you could speak plainly,” she said.

He looked surprised and then nodded. Pacing to the window overlooking the drawbridge, he glanced out. Her trepidation peaked.

“I should have said something sooner. But this is past hard.” Pivoting on his heel, he faced her. “Your Highness, you have my most sincere apologies for what happened in the stable that night.” He lifted his hands, palms out. “I can find no worthy excuse. And I condemn my behavior as dishonorable.”

His words shot through her like a razor-sharp arrow. Why was that? She should be thankful he’d assumed his rightful place for once and apologized. So said the princess, but the woman within secretly longed for him, wishing he would treasure what had passed between them, not regret it.

With an inward shrug, she pushed away that thought. Their desire for each other was wrong for—naught could come of it.

“Thank you, Sir Raul, for your apology.” She twined her fingers together to keep them from shaking and glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “And now, please, let’s forget that it ever happened. Shall we?”

He stared at her for a long time; so long she trembled under his scrutiny. Then he covered his face with one hand. “No, I can’t promise to forget, Your Highness.” He let his hand fall, and the look on his face was raw, filled with
longing and self-reproach. “I can only offer my apologies. For I shall never forget that night.” His voice was harsh, heavy with unspoken emotion. “Nor do I wish to.”

Chapter Eight

Cahira grasped the ship’s rail, gazing at the green hills of her native land. Would she ever see her home again? Her heart clenched, and a lump rose to her throat. Cold, salt-drenched spray blew into her face and stung her eyes. She wiped away the moisture, briny seawater mixed with salty tears.

But she mustn’t despair. She must find a way to escape and return. Clutching the silver cross at her throat, she swore an oath to Da in heaven. An oath to come home again—a sacred oath she would not break.

The wind blew hard from the north, snapping the billowing canvas sails. At home, spring was bee-droning warm, but on the choppy Channel the last icy gasp of winter held sway. She should go to her cabin, but she loathed returning to another cramped and smelly space. She and Mildread had spent five days huddled in a public house in the port town of Cork, waiting until Raul could arrange passage.

Five days they’d stayed locked away in her rooms because ladies didn’t mingle at public houses. Five days to ponder what Raul had meant when he’d told her he would never forget that night in the stables. Remembering the look on his face and the anguish in his voice, she grew uncommonly warm in the chilly air. What had he meant? That he cared for her and would never forget her? Or did he flatter himself that he’d kissed a princess and she’d returned his embrace?

Affection or arrogance, she knew not. But that night had been a turning point. They would never forget it—and therein lay the danger.

The ship plowed into a massive wave, and she grabbed for the rail, holding it tightly as the boat rolled to one side. Her feet slid on the foam-flecked deck, and she would have fallen if she hadn’t kept a firm grip on the wooden beam.

She struggled to pull herself upright and hold onto the rail. The boat bucked like an unbroken horse straining at the bit, eager to throw her off. The wild sea and huge waves made her heart leap painfully in her chest. The frigid wind blew harder, shrieking in the rigging, slicing through her clothing like a dagger and chilling the very marrow of her bones. As loath as she was to return to the tiny cabin, she couldn’t withstand the pummeling wind much longer.

She turned from the railing and put the fierce north wind at her back, gathering her cloak around her shoulders. It was then she saw Raul striding toward her. He moved with ease across the pitching deck, matching his gait to the tilting list of the ship. She envied him that ease, though she knew he’d earned it, traveling the world for his Order.

It must be strange to call no place home. To move from country to country as duty led him. She wondered if he sometimes regretted his choice and longed for a home of his own.

He wore his crimson cloak, the rich color making his dark skin appear bronzed and exotic. The red fabric whipped about his broad shoulders. Wisps of his wavy, black hair blew around his face.

When he reached the railing, his form towered over hers, affording a welcome buffer against the wind—a safe port in the wide and treacherous sea. Then again, what appeared to promise safety could also be a trap? For when he came near, ’twas as if her knees turned to water and her insides to porridge. With him so close, she lost her resolve to escape in spite of her oath and all she held dear.