The Princess and the Templar (27 page)

Had he dressed thus to impress her or in deference to the splendor of his host’s table? She didn’t know for certain because she’d not joined them. Pleading exhaustion, she’d had supper sent to her room. But weariness hadn’t been the true cause of her self-imposed seclusion, ’twas anxiety over confronting Raul.

Bowing low, he murmured, “You wish to speak with me, Your Highness.”

Despite all her good intentions, her heart expanded, bursting with hope, yearning for what she did not have. She rose and flew across the room, burying her face in his chest. She encircled his waist with her arms and held on, waiting.

The moment stretched, thin as a spider’s web and just as fragile. Beneath her cheek, she felt his chest rise and fall and heard the steady thrum of his heart. He was warm and alive, but his body was stiff and unyielding.

Sweet Jesú,
let him want me. Make him see that we should be together.

His arms came up, moving slowly and awkwardly like wooden sticks. Would he push her away? The breath stopped in her lungs. The room stilled and slid away. She heard the hiss of a candle, guttering.

With infinite tenderness and soft as an angel’s wings, he cupped her chin in both hands. Sighing deeply, a sound almost like a groan, he lowered his lips and drank her in. His mouth moved over hers, hard and demanding but soft and giving at the same time. ’Twas as if his mouth made love to hers, caressing her with his warm breath, fitting his full and supple lips to the contours of her mouth. Remembering and memorizing, promising and cherishing.

They clung together, their lips worshipping each other for what seemed like an enchanted hour of time. But all too soon, he broke their kiss and gazed into her eyes, His black eyes were half-shuttered, a sadness pulling at their corners.

Releasing her, he stepped back a pace. His beautiful, full mouth twisted into a frown. “Cahira,
mi corazón
, we cannot do this.”

He’d called her “my heart.” Upon hearing the endearment, her own heart fluttered and she felt uncommonly giddy, like a butterfly winging from flower to flower. But seeing the distress in his face, her heart stopped and she shivered, as if a cold north wind blew.

“Why can’t we kiss?”

He shook his head. “We’ve spoken of this before—”

“Raul, I love you.”

There, the words were said, and she felt a surge of relief, a buoyant hope. At almost the same instant, an overwhelming sense of dread seized her, as if she’d stepped from a high ledge into thin air.

Lifting her head, she studied his reaction. A welter of emotions marred his handsome features, surprise, the faintest trace of elation, a whisper of hope, and then the look of cold reproach, as if she played him for a fool.

She clutched the sleeve of his tunic. “I speak the truth, Raul. I don’t care about your birth or lack of funds. I want
you
, not a worthless title.”

His features hardened, but at the same time, more sadness grew in the corners of his eyes. “You don’t know what you say,” he argued. “We have no right to speak of love.” Covering her hand with his, he bent his head. “I’ve brought you to this sorry pass, forcing intimacies and awakening your desires. You think you love me because you’ve known no other. No man has…has…” He dropped her hand and finally met her eyes. “I’m to blame for this madness. My lust has brought us to this.”

“Nay.” Cahira shook her head. “Nay, ’tisn’t that. I admire you, Raul, for your gentle ways and your wisdom. For your skills as a physician. And for your courage—”

“No! I’m not courageous.” He backed up a pace and averted his face. “Don’t say that. I’ve turned away from many a battle. That first time on board ship. Remember? You said I was a coward, hiding behind my Order.”

“But I was distraught, striking out, I didn’t really mean that you—”

“Stop.” He faced her and held up one hand. “You had the right of it. I
am
a coward. I hired as a mercenary and couldn’t fulfill my duty.”

“Why do you say such? For I know you’re not a coward. I was angry when I said that. Forsooth, when I needed you most, you fought until your blood ran like a river.”

“Yes, I fought, for I had no choice. But when I was ordered to murder a sultan’s women and children, I couldn’t do it. I failed in my duty, though they were Infidels.” His gaze sought hers, his eyes vulnerable and filled with pain. “I was captured and sold as a slave to an Arab physician, and he taught me the healing arts.”

Her heart squeezed, realizing how much he’d suffered and how he felt accountable.

“Don’t you see,” she moved in front of him, imploring him with her eyes. “You did the right thing, the honorable thing. They might have been Infidels, but they were defenseless women and children. If you’d—”

“I lost my chance that day to claim a birthright.” His voice stopped her, the sound harsh. “Only by the sword could I hope to earn enough coin to buy a heritage. In that I failed.” His gaze locked with hers. “So you see, you were right. I chose the Order so I could hide and bury my failure.”

“But you’re not a failure. Not in my eyes. You’ve done what is right and true. And you don’t need to purchase a heritage. I want you beside me. I want us to share my kingdom.”

He hunched his shoulders and moved away to stand by the empty hearth. “You can’t mean what you say, Cahira. I would be naught but a lapdog.” Disgust transformed his handsome features. “An object of derision. No one would respect me—”

“Stop!” she cried, covering her ears with her hands. “You would rather have your miserable pride than…than…” She couldn’t finish; his rejection was too painful.

What had she been about to do? Throw herself at his feet? In the heat of the moment, she’d thought to argue, wanting to convince him to… To do what?

How could she be such a fool? She couldn’t force him to love her. She’d admitted that she loved him, but he hadn’t proclaimed his love in return. Nay, he’d hinted that what she felt ’twas only a passing fancy. That she didn’t know enough of what transpired between a man and woman to distinguish lust from love. Thinking upon it, her face burned with shame, especially when she realized his pride was so great, he’d sacrifice what they felt for each other.

“Cahira,” he moved a step closer. “I didn’t mean I wouldn’t be honored to—”

“I understand perfectly.” She tilted her chin and backed away, putting the gaily embroidered chair between them.

If he could cling to his stubborn pride, she would do no less. No more mooning over his broad shoulders and black-as-sin eyes. How foolish she’d been to speak of love. For she knew nothing of love, especially betwixt a man and a woman. All she really knew ’twas a fairy tale Da had spun to ease the loss of her sweet mother.

When Raul had forced his way into her life, her heritage had meant everything. Slowly, ever so slowly, he’d taken that from her. Not just her castle and lands, but her beliefs as well. He’d beguiled and bewitched her.

She boldly gazed into his face. The sadness had grown, encompassing his features, filling his eyes with deepening shadows. But that’s not what she wanted to see.

How dare he pity her?

She would feel shame no more. ’Twas he who should be shamed for toying with her, for making her love him and…

Her throat burned, and tears gathered behind her eyelids, but she mustn’t shed them. Her dreams lay shattered, her hopes wallowing in the gutter. She’d thought Raul cared for her, wanted her enough to set aside his pride and love her.

More fool was she.

Gulping back the sobs crowding her throat, she steeled herself, standing so straight and tall her back ached with the effort. “I want Kinsale back,” she declared.

“I will do all that is possible.”

“’Tis not good enough.”

His brows drew together in a frown. “Your pardon?”

“Let me say this clearly.” She clutched the wooden back of the chair for support. “I don’t want your best. I want Kinsale returned to me.”

“But the Grand Master will need to—”

“The Grand Master is of no concern to me. You took my legacy under false pretenses. With or without the Grand Master’s aid, you
will
retake my castle and lands.”

Raul’s eyes widened, and he opened his mouth to speak. Then he shook his head and glanced down. But not soon enough. She’d seen the sparks of anger in his eyes and the tight clenching of his jaw.

Let him be angry. She didn’t care. He had no right, not after the way he’d seduced her, only to put his pride above all else.

“I’m prepared to petition French King Philip, if your Templar Master fails me,” she said.

“Philip wouldn’t aid you.” He raised his head, dark doubt clouding his eyes. “The French king would take your lands for himself. His appetite for gold and land is limitless.”

“Enough.” She waved one hand, hoping she appeared impervious and sure of herself.

She knew Philip was rapacious in his greed and that she bluffed. But she was tired of Raul’s excuses, and she wanted him to realize, that as a princess, she had every right to petition the French king.

“I pray you see the Grand Master soon, for I’ve lost my patience.” She released her hold on the chair and crossed to the door. “I bid you a good night.”

****

Raul stood at the back of the Grand Hall. The huge round chamber sat square in a massive stone building, dedicated to the Knights Templar. Despite Cahira’s impatience and his own, a fortnight had passed before he gained an audience with Jacques de Molay, the Grand Master.

In truth the Feast of Michaelmas had intervened, and Templar business had been suspended for a span of three days. That occasion, along with the Grand Master’s duties, had made it difficult to meet with him.

Observing the horde of supplicants surrounding de Molay, Raul despaired of being heard today. He sighed, wondering what would happen if he had to wait and come tomorrow and the next day and the next…

Crossing his arms, he tried to summon forth the remnants of his tattered patience. But he was fair spent with the waiting. For the past fortnight, he’d wandered the Paris streets, trying desperately to absent himself from the de Fortier household and…Cahira.

He’d hurt her that night in the study, though that had not been his intent. In truth he’d wanted to save her from more pain. She’d spoken of love, had even declared she loved him. But there could never be love between a princess and one such as he.

How could she not understand?

Still, he’d wounded her deeply. He’d glimpsed the injury in her green eyes as she'd struggled to put on a brave face. His Cahira, his lioness, so courageous and true. He shook his head. What a mess he’d made, and all because,
Dios
save him, he loved her. All because he couldn’t keep his emotions in check and had allowed his passion free rein.

No more. He would get support from the Grand Master, travel to Kinsale and retake her castle. Then he would ride away, leaving her with her lands and subjects.

If only it were so simple.

For to leave her would be to die inside and eke out his life on the crumbs of a pathetic existence. Closing his eyes, he forced himself to concentrate on the matter at hand. He must convince the Grand Master to aid him.

Slowly, he opened his eyes and tried to put Cahira from his mind, turning his attention, once again, to his surroundings. Gleaming marble floors reflected his image. Rich tapestries bedecked the stone walls. A long crimson carpet split the hall in two, leading to the platform at one end. Gilt-edged chairs flanked the raised dais. He remembered the vows he’d taken, so many years ago, of poverty, chastity, and obedience. In truth he’d violated the last two but not the first.

From the looks of the audience hall, it would appear the Grand Master had eschewed the vow of poverty. But a show of wealth was the least of the Templar abominations Raul had learned about since he’d arrived in Paris.

That was another reason he wanted the waiting to end. Idleness was truly the devil’s workshop, and gossip flourished in idle minds. He prayed the rumors were false, and the Grand Master would want to right a wrong done in the name of their Order. Craving support for what might prove to be a daunting task, he glanced over his shoulder, searching for Arnaud’s welcome face.

Arnaud met his gaze and lifted his eyebrows. Raul wet his lips and attempted to smile. His fellow Templar must have understood because he returned the smile and winked. Momentarily reassured, Raul faced the front of the hall again and waited. Anon, he waited. Supplicants and transgressors came and went. De Molay meted out counsel, rewards, and punishment. On the balance of it, the Grand Master appeared to be a wise and fair man.

Raul relaxed a fraction. The knot in his gut eased, and he straightened his shoulders, standing to his full height. But the day wore on, slowly, one drop at a time, and he despaired that his name would be called.

When the muscles in his calves cramped, he moved to the side of the hall, finding a pillar to lean against. Placing his head against the cool marble, he closed his eyes and allowed himself to drowse and to dream…

Cahira. She stood in a rich green meadow in her beloved Eire. Kinsale stood sentinel in the distance, and she smiled, obviously enchanted by the blue sky overhead and the meadow filled with golden flowers. A bejeweled butterfly floated by, and she turned her face toward it, laughing and watching the airy creature flit across the field.

“Sir Raul de Porcelos, come forward,” the page’s voice boomed, shattering his dream.

Why had he dreamed such? Because he wanted her to be happy. Had always wanted her happiness.

He must not fail her.

As he pushed away from the pillar, he resisted an urge to rub the sleep from his eyes. Instead, he threw back his shoulders. “I’m Raul de Porcelos, Knight Templar.”

“Come forward,” the page repeated, “so you may be heard.”

Raul stepped onto the crimson carpet, the deep pile cushioning his footsteps. The dais loomed at the far end at least a hundred paces away. Slowly and with as much dignity as he could muster, he advanced, stopping a few feet from the platform.