The Princess and the Templar (30 page)

For a long moment, Raul sat perfectly still, cradling the older Templar’s head. He made the sign of the cross and recited all the prayers and novenas he knew. Then with infinite sadness, he closed Henri’s eyes, folded the older man’s hands on his chest, and eased his head to the floor.

Chapter Seventeen

With a burdened heart, Cahira climbed into the cart beside Giselle. The carter clucked at the mules, and the wagon rumbled forward. The sun had set over the royal keep, and twilight blanketed the Seine.

They’d waited all day for an audience with King Philip. When Philip finally saw them, Cahira had begged for Raul and Arnaud’s release, appealing to the French king as one monarch to another. Even so, the audience had been brief and ’twas obvious Philip had no intention of letting any of the Templars go, so committed was he to destroying the Order.

If only she’d possessed enough gold to tempt the French king, she might have bought their freedom. But with her lands and castle forfeit, she had little to offer. And the de Fortier family, though well off, couldn’t command a ransom worthy of a king.

Philip had offered Cahira asylum, but she’d demurred, knowing such would be little better than a gilded cage. In truth she had no intention of leaving Giselle or relinquishing her hope of freeing the two Templars. Though how she would penetrate the king’s dungeons and release them, she knew not.

The rumors swirling around the Templars spoke of torture and burnings at the stake. With every new tale of horror, Cahira lay awake at night, tormented by hideous, blood-filled visions. Think…think, she commanded herself. How could she get past the king’s guards? Alas, she didn’t even know where the Templars were imprisoned.

The cart passed through the first portcullis, leaving the inner bailey. The second curtain wall loomed some hundred yards away, enclosing a large space containing outbuildings, vegetable gardens, and even a herd of cattle. In one corner of the commodious bailey sat a squat round tower.

“What is that?” She pointed at the building.

Giselle turned to Cahira, a stricken look on her face. “I thought you knew, though why you should…” She shook her head. “’Tis the tower where the magistrates preside.” She wiped a tear away. “And like as not, my brother and your Raul languish in the dungeons below.”

Cahira gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. How could she get inside? And once she was inside, how could she get Raul and Arnaud out? Not only would she need to free them from the tower, she must devise a way to get them past the guards at the outer portcullis.

She studied the tower as they drove past, noting each feature of the building. She counted the windows and searched for another entrance, whilst wondering how deep the dungeons were. If only she could find an excuse to visit the royal keep and walk around the ugly edifice for a few minutes, she might have an idea for freeing Raul and Arnaud. But how could she do that without drawing attention?

They crossed the second drawbridge, leaving the royal residence behind and entering the streets of Paris. ’Twas her first time to be in the city at night. Noble ladies seldom ventured out after dark, except under personal guard and for particular social events.

She had to admit the darkened streets, lit only by sporadic torches, were far different than during the day. The shops were closed and shuttered, giving the streets a grim air. Fewer people were about, all men, and they walked swiftly, their heads down and covered, and their hands on the hilts of their swords, as if expecting brigands.

Peering down pitch-black alleys, Cahira shivered a little, imagining the danger that must lurk in the shadows. Every few doors or so, she would catch a burst of raucous laughter laced with off-key singing and a splash of light from an open doorway. She knew these places to be taverns. When they passed a large corner tavern, she turned her head, intent upon the building and people. Two flickering torches lit the entryway, and a carved wooden sign swung overhead, proclaiming the place to be “
Le Chantecler
.”

Lounging outside were several women of varying ages attired in tattered frills that had seen better days. What drew Cahira’s attention was the bodice of their gowns, cut so low they exposed the women’s white breasts. Gasping, she asked, “Are those…?”

“
Oui
, they’re bawds.” Giselle sniffed, as if the women were beneath her notice.

“Are they allowed to dress like that?”

“
Non
, it is against the law, but the royal guard looks the other way for free trade of their favors.”

Cahira turned this new information over in her mind. Bawds traded their favors with the royal guards. For that accommodation, the guards ignored the law.

As if a candle had been lit in the bottom of a well, Cahira’s gloomy thoughts suddenly lightened. Bawds and guards—the possibilities were endless. For the first time in many days, she felt as if a heavy weight had been lifted from her heart. Drunk on hope, she wanted to jump and shout at the top of her lungs.

Instead, she clutched Giselle’s sleeve and whispered, “I think I’ve a plan to free Raul and your brother.”

****

Raul heard the thud of the barred door opening, but he didn’t bother to look up. Raising his head took too much effort. For the past few days, his thoughts had centered on food and water. Alas, the guards had already dispensed tonight’s ration of water and gruel.

The opening of his prison door at this hour could only mean two things; they had brought back some poor wretch from the rack, or the guards had come for one of the prisoners who had died. That had been the way they’d taken Henri, after supper, dragging the graybeard’s body from Raul’s arms.

Henri had died for naught. The Order was corrupted from within, its mission flawed by one man who had sacrificed everything because he craved power. But Raul needn’t worry about powerful men and the destruction they wrought, for his life was over. He possessed only one regret—he’d never see Cahira again. For that privilege he’d suffer a thousand hours on the rack. When he thought of all he’d lost and all he’d thrown away, despair choked him and his eyes burned. He turned his face to the wall.

A torch flared, throwing a jaundiced slice of light over the fetid straw. The sudden burst of light elicited groans from the other prisoners and awakened the crawling things in the straw, sending them scurrying. Perchance the guards would take him now. He was more dead than alive. In truth he would welcome any form of torture to this living hell. For the hundredth time, he wondered how Arnaud fared and if he’d already faced his inquisitors.

“There he be,” a guard’s guttural French penetrated Raul’s tormented thoughts. “Ye’ve bought a few minutes with ’im.”

“You must unshackle him. How can I embrace my brother if he’s chained to the wall like a dog?”

It was a woman’s voice. He’d not heard a woman’s voice since being brought to this dark place. Had the French king lost his mind, imprisoning women? But this woman wasn’t a French subject. No, her speech carried a distinct accent. Pondering this, his mind snagged. He knew that voice, but his thoughts wouldn’t come together. They drifted, like bits of wood tossed upon the wide, green sea.

Sea-foam eyes. Cahira’s face swam into view, her eyes filled with tears and her arms outstretched, beseeching him.

“
Non
! The guard exclaimed. “I can’t unshackle ’im. Too dangerous.”

He heard the distinctive rustle of petticoats. “Here’s some coins for you.”

That voice again.

Cahira! Could it be? Had she come for him? How had she found him? He thought to lift his head and see if his prayers had been answered, but then he realized he was trembling. From head to toe, he shook as if taken by an ague. Fear held him in its cruel maw. What if he was dreaming or off his head? But hope, that tiny kernel that separated man from beast, unfurled its bright blossom within his heart. Taking a deep breath, he fought down the rising fear and lifted his head. Heart pounding, he squinted against the stinging light.

Lit by the flickering torch, he saw her. Glimpsed her perfect heart-shaped face. Still he feared. He needed to reach out his hand and touch her, make certain she was real. He’d had wild imaginings in this place. Was this yet another? Was he losing his mind as so many others had?

“I can’t take yer coins to unshackle ’im.” The guard lifted his hands with his palms raised and backed up a step. “The sergeant-at-arms would have me arse.”

Cahira raised her hands, too. The coins fell to the floor with a clatter. The man’s gaze followed the rolling pieces of silver. From the corner of his eye, Raul saw Cahira reach for something in her skirts. He glimpsed the flash of metal. She had a dirk in one hand, poised and ready to strike. But she hesitated. The guard’s head jerked up. He saw the weapon. His eyes widened. Scowling, he reached for his sword.

Raul kicked out, knocking the guard’s legs from under him. Flailing, he went down. His head hit the flagstones with a loud crack. His limbs twitched, and then he lay still.

Cahira lowered her dirk. Their gazes met and held.

With a small cry, she threw herself on him, sobbing. Restrained by his chains, Raul awkwardly patted her back. His throat worked, but no sound came. He still feared this was a dream, and he would wake to find himself alone, chained to the wall. Yet he could feel the sweet weight of her, recognized the lush curves of her body. And she smelled of roses. Roses in this fetid, stinking prison.

This was no dream.

Tears started in his eyes as if in answer to her loud sobs. He couldn’t help himself, so enormous was the budding joy within his heart. She’d come for him, had been willing to fight for him.

His Cahira, his princess, his fierce lioness.

“Can you get the keys?” he grated. His voice sounded rusty.

She lifted her head and scrutinized him. Wincing under her steady regard, he realized how he must look. Covered with filth and lice and a matted beard blanketing his face. Yet in the glow of her green eyes, he detected no censure, only love and concern. For the first time, he knew with a certainty that stole his breath, she loved him, she really loved him.

Por Dios
, he loved her, too. It was as simple as that. Nothing else mattered, not titles nor lands nor surnames.

“I’ll fetch the keys.” She rose and leaned over the unconscious guard, unhooking the ring from his belt. Then she unlocked Raul’s shackles. When she saw the raw, mangled flesh of his ankles and wrists, she gasped.

“Don’t worry. They’ll heal quickly enough,” he said, trying to rub life into his numbed limbs.

The force of his blood came roaring back, stinging and sharp. But his arms and legs, loosed after so many days, flopped awkwardly, as if they didn’t belong to his body, as if they were new and untried. Gritting his teeth, he placed his two hands, palms down against the stone wall and levered himself slowly to his feet.

Cahira took his arm and tried to steady him. He smiled and clung to the wall, waiting for the strength to return to his legs. When he thought they would hold, he took one tottering step. Bending down, he helped himself to the guard’s sword. The heavy metal felt good in his hand, reassuring.

“Is he dead?” One of the other prisoners asked.

Raul shook his head, not certain how to answer.

Then he felt Cahira’s arms around his neck, and her familiar softness pressed against him. “Raul, I despaired of finding you…of seeing you again.”

His arms found her waist, and he moved closer, pulling her closer. He wanted to bury himself in her sweetness, disappear in her arms. Then he could banish the hate and cruelty forever, and he would stand tall again, basking in the warmth of her sea green eyes. He leaned down and burrowed his face into the tender flesh of her neck, drinking in the smell of her, reveling in the taste of her. His lips grazed the dewy skin beneath the lobe of her ear.

Enfolded in Cahira’s arms, the earth spun to a halt and the dark prison faded away. They were on horseback, galloping through the green hills of Eire.

She was balm to his spirit. Surrounded by her love, the strength returned to his limbs and hope flared in his heart. He marveled at her patience and forbearance, allowing him to embrace her, knowing how he must look and smell. She’d made no protest because in her eyes, he was worthy.

Would always be worthy.

Too soon reality intruded. Whispers and rustling drew his attention. He lifted his head. Cahira must have heard them, too, for she backed up a step and placed one hand on his chest.

“We must make haste,” she said. “There’s no time.”

His gaze raked her. She wore a tattered gown made of shiny cloth. Her red-gold hair straggled about her shoulders. There was a smudge of dirt on one of her cheeks. And the grimy lace of her bodice barely covered her nipples.

“What have you done?” The words exploded from him, half accusation, half shock.

“’Tis part of the plan. I can’t explain now.”

A burst of raucous laughter and the sound of male and female voices raised in song wafted through the open cell door. He remembered the guard’s words and his casual familiarity with Cahira. And then he understood. She’d dressed herself as a bawd and brought other “women” to distract the guards. It was a bold and clever plan. Yet still a thousand questions crowded his mind.

Whilst he stood with his mouth hanging open, she moved to the fallen guard, the ring of keys in her hand. “Help me shackle him in your place.” She glanced at Raul. “Have you something to cover his mouth with?”

He nodded and grabbed the unconscious guard’s shoulders, pulling him into a sitting position and locking the shackles around his wrists and ankles. Then he tore off the bottom of his tunic and stuffed the wad of cloth into the man’s mouth. Straightening slowly, he gazed at the manacled guard and saw himself. Then he lifted his head and looked at his fellow prisoners.

The whites of twelve pairs of eyes stared back at him, fixed upon him with an unspoken but palpable plea. Chains rattled, stretched taut. The very air hummed with expectancy. “I can’t leave them.” He took the keys from her hand and held them up. “Not if I can free them.”