The Princess and the Templar (23 page)

Gazing into her dark green eyes, the pulsing anger drained away, to be replaced by a slow, hungry ache. He yearned to take her in his arms and lose himself in her embrace. To forget all that had happened and all they’d faced.

And how he wished he could do what she wanted, to retake her castle. But alas, he’d done his duty too well, securing her keep against siege. They would need a great force to bring Kinsale down.

With trembling hands, he smoothed the curls from her face. “Cahira, we wouldn’t succeed. To go there and be defeated would be—”

Pulling free, she rose. The look in her storm-tossed eyes reproached him. Her voice, when she spoke, was barely a whisper, “After all that we’ve been through, how can you deny me?”

“Your Highness, might I say a word?” Arnaud cut in.

With a heavy sigh, she glanced at him. “Aye, Sir Knight, please, speak freely.”

“The Sinclair relies upon the support and knights of our Order. As such, he owes allegiance to the Grand Master of the Templars, Jacques de Molay. If we petition de Molay on your behalf, he might be persuaded to right the wrong done to you. The Sinclair would be forced to give way or lose our Order’s support.”

Hearing his friend’s words, Raul knew their wisdom. Staggering to his feet, he stood swaying. He’d lost so much blood he felt lightheaded, yet he couldn’t afford to rest. Not until he convinced Cahira of the rightness of Arnaud’s plan.

Taking her hand, he said, “Arnaud is right. De Molay will assist your cause. Our Order believes in fairness and righting wrongs. And if ever there was a wrong done, it’s been done to you.”

“Where do we find this de Molay?” she asked.

“In Paris,” Arnaud replied. “We can take ship from the Scottish coast and land in Normandy. My sister, Giselle, will welcome us to her home.”

“I hear your words and understand the truth of them. But I fear your designs will take me farther from my home.”

She looked at Raul. “’Tis hard for me to believe the Master Templar would help, when I’ve been stripped of all I hold dear.”

Raul understood her fears. Wanting to reassure her, he reached for her with his one good arm. But she moved away and shook her head. And the look in her eyes mirrored her confusion and hurt.

She shook her head again and backed away. “I need to think.” Saying thus, she retreated from the circle of firelight until the dark night swallowed her up.

Chapter Thirteen

Cahira wandered down the road, not caring where she went. Stumbling over a stone, she paused, cursing her foolishness for going into the dark night without a torch. ’Twas done and she had no intention of going back. No intention of facing Raul again.

She covered her face with her hands and felt the slow slide of tears coursing down her cheeks. But how could this be? She seldom cried. She’d been raised by men who disliked a female show of weakness. And yet, today, she couldn’t seem to stop crying.

She’d cried enough tears in this one day to fill the Kenmare River that flowed into the harbor at Cork. Cork…Eire…Kinsale. Her homeland. Now that the Sinclair’s treachery had been uncovered, she wanted nothing more than to go home. Alas, it wasn’t that simple, or so Raul and Arnaud would have her believe. Her reason understood the wisdom of their words, but her heart balked at the thought of another day spent away from her people.

Raul and Arnaud wanted to go to France—to lay her suit before the Master Templar and win his support. But what if he, as the others had, desired her legacy for his own coffers? Nay, Raul would never allow such. Hadn’t he proven his loyalty? Trying to find a way to keep her free from the earl and fighting the brigands to the death. Though Raul might be her champion, what of the Master Templar? Would he right the wrongs perpetrated by his ally, the Sinclair?

The sound of a boot scraped against stone startled her. She whirled around and glimpsed a dark form. Her heart raced until she realized the brigands were dead and the danger past.

A cloud covering the half-moon lifted, and Raul stood there. He must have come directly from his sickbed, for he’d draped the blanket across his shoulders like a cloak.

“Milady, I didn’t wish to frighten you.”

“Nay,” she said, “don’t call me that. You’re to use my given name, as you did before.” Smoothing her skirts with one hand, she added, “And I shall call you Raul. After what we’ve faced together, ’tis unseemly to be so formal.”

“As you wish…Cahira.”

“And you should be abed, Raul. If you were the physician, you would say so.”

“Yes, I would.”

“Have you supped?” she asked. “You need to rebuild your strength.”

He sucked in his breath. “No, I’ve not eaten. Have you?”

“Nay, I’m not hungry, but you should—”

He closed the space between them and took her chin in his hand. Anon, his simple touch stopped the breath in her body and stilled the words on her tongue. She gazed into his eyes. He lowered his head and slanted a kiss across her mouth. Tentative but hungry, she felt his lips move over hers.

’Twas madness—this—for naught but ill could come of it. But after today she didn’t care. So much death and she wanted nothing more than to live and to taste the sweet promise of life upon his lips and rejoice.

Savoring his masculine body pressed against hers, she relished the firm yet soft touch of his lips. Moving closer, she opened herself to him, craving his nearness, needing to absorb his essence. Gone was the soapy-clean smell of him, to be replaced by the musky scent of exhausted male and the coppery stench of spent blood.

The smell of sweat and blood and metal filled her senses, striking a primeval chord within her. Her body tightened, drawing itself as a plucked harp string. His mouth crushed hers, his tongue questing, pushing past the seam of her lips and joining in a mating dance with her tongue.

Intimate flesh touching intimate flesh, hot and wet. Her nipples hardened, and her breasts flushed with need. Lower, she’d turned to molten honey, an aching, moist wanting. A building pressure pulsed at the juncture of her thighs, tethered by a gossamer thread running to her too-sensitive breasts.

Moaning in the back of her throat, she flung her arms around his neck and felt the length of his desire, hard and throbbing against her belly. She pressed herself into his arms, longing to rub herself against him like a cat in heat. For aye, the torment was sweet, too sweet, and too long in coming. She couldn’t get her fill of him, couldn’t get close enough, and couldn’t kiss him as fiercely as the pounding blood in her veins demanded.

Breaking their kiss, he raised his head. She searched his face but couldn’t see his eyes. They were set deep in the hollows of darkness. Lifting her hand, she traced the stern line of his jaw, brushed her fingertips across the coarse stubble of his beard. Touching him thus filled her with a kind of awe. He was a stranger to her, this man she so desired. And yet, he was her best friend, this Templar who’d protected her with his life.

“Come.” His voice sounded deeper, huskier. He took her hand and led her to the side of the road, picking his way carefully between boulders with only the half-moon to light their way.

At a crease in the mountainside, he led her inside a cave. Total darkness engulfed them. He released her hand, and she heard the soft fall of his blanket hitting the ground. The cave smelled musty and old, of earth and decaying vegetation. She sensed that Raul knelt in the dust to spread the blanket.

What was she doing here?

’Twas madness this, coming to him in desire. But why else would he have sought this secret and dark place. Because darkness would cover their sins. She would give him her virginity and honor, and he would betray his vows in this stone bedchamber.

Her brain told her to run, to flee to the camp and the safety of Arnaud and the others. For if she stayed and lost her honor, she would have nothing to give her husband. But she wanted no husband—not now or ever—no husband but Raul. But they couldn’t marry. And this dark night might be all they would ever have.

How could she deny him? How could she deny herself?

He took her hand again, pulling her down. On trembling legs, she lowered herself, half-expecting him to claim her lips with savage force. But he surprised her with a kiss as soft as duck’s down. A tantalizing kiss, so tender it stole her breath. Then he encircled her shoulder with his good arm and held her close. She sighed and rested her head against his chest.

The resonant throb of his heart filled her ear. ’Twas his life’s blood flowing steadily through his veins. The sound was oddly comforting, reassuring. How close had she been to losing him forever?

He stroked the length of her unbound hair, murmuring, “I’ve oft admired your hair and dreamed of its softness.” He touched her forehead with a kiss. “I hope I have your leave…Cahira.”

So this was the way of it. He’d brought her here so they could be together and hold each other without censure. Disappointment pooled in her stomach, leaving an odd sour taste in the back of her throat. “Of course you have my leave.” Frustration sharpened the sound of her voice, even to her own ears.

And he didn’t miss her voice’s edge. His hand stilled. “Mayhap we should go back.”

How she wanted to scream at him to take her. Lay her in the dirt and possess her body. Rut with her like an animal, for to be with him was all she desired.

All she ever wanted.

For this one forgotten moment, Kinsale receded and the faces of her people dimmed. She couldn’t think, not with Raul this close. All she cared about was the strumming tension in her body. She tossed her head, astonished at her wantonness. For at this moment, she would travel the world with him and be his harlot. If only she knew he loved her.

Love.
A word fraught with many meanings and an unspoken promise for the future. But they had no future together. A yawning chasm stretched between them. When had she first known she loved Raul? She’d lusted after him since that night in the stable. Nay, in truth before that, since the first time she’d laid eyes on his handsome face and been mesmerized by the lithe grace of his muscular body.

When had lust turned to love? On the ship when he helped care for Mildread? Or at the camp when he faced down Robert the Bruce? Or today when he stood ready to sacrifice his life to save hers? Love, ’twas a lofty ideal. Her most romantic and secret desire. But how did he feel about her? So much had been left unsaid between them. So much they dared not speak of.

Turning her face into his chest, she smoothed her hands down the hard, wide expanse of it. At her touch, he caught his breath and stiffened.

Why must he fight what was between them?

His arm tightened around her. Instinctively, she lifted her face. He lowered his head, and his mouth found hers. He kissed her tenderly at first, as if exploring their mutual need, as if testing the boundaries of their checked passion.

She returned his kiss with all the longing and pent-up desire burning within her. Taking his face between her hands, she thrust her tongue into his mouth, initiating the intimate contact he’d started before.

Growling low, he deepened their kiss. His lips moved over hers, going from tentative to demanding, devouring her. No longer hesitant, he thrust his tongue into her mouth. She responded, her body arching into his. Raising her hands, she combed her fingers through his hair, savoring the coarse texture and thick weight of it. She traced her fingers over his chin and relished the rough scratch of his two day stubble.

For her Templar was all male, despite his gentle ways. And she would have him no other way.

He lifted his mouth from hers, his breathing ragged. Moving aside the length of her hair, he nuzzled her neck and poured kisses on her exposed flesh. His breath was warm against her neck, raising gooseflesh on her arms. Hot and then cold, the sensations swept her. He touched her ear with his tongue and traced a burning path over her quivering flesh. She shuddered with wanting, stretched taut with needing. She rained kisses along his strong jawline.

He pulled her down, and they lay spooned in each other’s arms. His lips explored the hollow of her neck, tasting her. She smoothed her hands over his chest. The warmth of his flesh burned through the thin fabric of his shirt. How would his naked flesh feel next to hers?

As if could read her thoughts, he opened the buttons of her gown and spread the soft linen. His lips brushed the top of her breasts, and the breath snagged in her throat.

Lifting his head, he murmured, “I won’t hurt you. Nor will I take what is most precious from you. But there are other ways to love you.” He grasped her hand and kissed her knuckles. “Will you trust me?”

Had he said
love
? The word she so longed to hear? Anticipation flooded her heart, hope following hotly upon its heels. Then reality crowded in, crushing her hope. For she knew ’twas not romantic love that he spoke of. What he’d meant was physical love.

And if that was all they were meant to share, she would take what she could get.

Anything to be as close to him as two humans could be. For in truth, her breasts yearned for his touch. And at the juncture of her thighs, her woman’s muscles tightened, a torment so sweet she thought she would go mad with desire.

“I trust you, Raul.” Burying her face in his chest, she whispered, “And I want you. So badly, I feel I shall die with the longing.”

“Oh, Cahira, my Cahira.” His voice sounded rusty. “I never thought I would hear you say such.” He took her mouth again, and the heat from his body flowed into hers. She was aflame, his kisses turning her insides to molten fire.

More buttons opened beneath his insistent onslaught. He pulled down her gown, leaving only her thin chemise. The cool air touched her feverish skin. She shivered. He gathered her in his arms and covered her with his body, holding her close, allowing his male heat to seep into her. Stoking the fire within, he caressed her breasts and belly, circling and retreating, the trailing touch of his fingertips branding her forever.

Emboldened by her growing need, she ventured, “What of your tunic? I want to touch you as you touch me.”