The Princess and the Templar (34 page)

She covered her ears with her hands, blocking his hurtful words. Hot tears coursed down her cheeks, but she didn’t want him to see. Turning, she stumbled into the thicket of branches and angrily thrust them aside. When she reached the clearing, she took a deep breath and started running. The rushing speed afforded her but a brief surcease from the agonizing pain of betrayal. Alas, as she ran, the bitter truth drove its hideous spike deep into her heart.

She’d been a fool, loving a man who put his duty above all else. A man who clung to honor for he knew no family or legacy. A man who’d spurned her love to fulfill an empty promise to a dead Templar. But she’d be a fool no more. Her eyes were wide open, and she’d come full circle since that fateful day when she rode out to defend her home…Kinsale.

She could depend upon no one but herself.

****

The smell of the mid-day meal drew Raul back to camp. Not that he was hungry. He’d wandered the forest all morning, thinking of what more he could say to Cahira. Wanting to explain he still meant to retake Kinsale. He just needed more time.

Pacing and pondering, he circled the camp like an orphaned cur. But the longer he waited, the more certain he grew of his decision. He’d made the right choice—the only choice—if he wanted to retain his honor and his very soul.

He’d been wrong to promise her they could leave immediately for Kinsale, relying upon the stolen treasure. His need to feel worthy and powerful had silenced his conscience. And his desire to possess Cahira had dulled the edge of his common sense. In the light of the new day, he’d realized the mistake he’d made. The lie he couldn’t live with. With that realization, he’d regained his honor and knew what must be done.

If only he hadn’t promised Cahira when he’d declared his love. His declaration tainted their intimacy and made him ashamed he’d used the stolen treasure to bolster himself in her eyes. No wonder she was hurt and didn’t believe him. But he would apologize and explain, and she’d understand once her temper cooled. Though she was hurt and impatient to return home, he trusted their love, forged upon the fire of suffering and danger, was too deep and wide to be denied.

And if he had to wrest the means from his father or uncle, he’d do so gladly. They owed him that much. He’d raise a force with the blessing of his father, the Archbishop, and retake Kinsale. Side-by-side, Cahira and he would claim it for their future. With that hopeful thought, he entered camp. His gaze darted left and then right, searching for her. He couldn’t wait to explain, to declare his love again and renew his vows.

Scanning the camp, his gaze fell upon Giselle, who was serving the men roasted venison. Cahira should be close by. But she wasn’t. And the Templar numbers had dwindled noticeably, only a handful remained, huddled around the cook fire. More than a dozen horses were gone from the tether rope.

A sick feeling gripped his stomach, making the succulent smell of roasting venison turn suddenly sour. The beat of his heart quickened, and beads of sweat rolled down his forehead.

He knew without asking.

Arnaud approached and raised his hand in salute. “Good morrow.”

He ignored his friend’s salutation. “Where is she?”

“Gone to Harfleur to find a ship for Eire.”

The sinking pit that was Raul’s stomach rose up, threatening to choke him. His head felt light and he thought he would retch. “Why didn’t you stop her?”

“How?” Arnaud lifted his shoulders in a typically Gaelic shrug. “Hold her captive? She’s a princess, and she’s had enough of captivity. I wouldn’t try to hold her even if I could.”

“A p-princess,” Raul sputtered, “what’s that got to do with it? She’ll be killed by Sinclair’s men.” He thrust his face into Arnaud’s. “Why did you save her in Scotland, only to send her to her death?”

“
Non
! You are wrong,
mon ami
.” He retreated a few steps, putting distance between them. “Most of our fellow Templars were only too happy to accompany her. She saved their lives, you know. Your princess is a brave woman.”

“Too brave for her own good,” Raul said, pounding his fist into the palm of his hand. “And a dozen Templars aren’t enough to besiege Kinsale.”

“You could have gone with her,” Arnaud tossed back, wagging his head from side to side and grinning. “We wondered where you were when the princess returned to camp alone.”

“This is no time for jesting, Arnaud. I never dreamed she would leave with a handful of men. Or that you would allow her to do such a foolhardy thing. I wanted her to wait whilst I found the means to raise a proper force.”

That wasn’t all that had happened, but Arnaud didn’t need to know of his premature promise, and the hurt it had caused Cahira. And locked in her pain and frustration, she’d rushed off to certain death. How could he have been so foolish, so self-centered and concerned about his worthiness in her eyes? He’d made a tragic mistake, but all wasn’t lost if he could overtake her.

He must stop her.

That thought coupled with a desperate hope lent speed to his limbs. Without even a nod to Arnaud, he sprinted for his horse. Hoisting the saddle onto the back of his destrier, he tightened the girth with trembling hands.

Arnaud followed Raul and stood beside his horse as if awaiting an explanation. In Raul’s mind, the Frenchman deserved naught, for he couldn’t absolve his friend for allowing Cahira to leave. Besides, there wasn’t time for long explanations.

“What of the treasure?” Arnaud asked.

Stunned by the Frenchman’s knowledge, Raul twisted around and faced him. “How did you know?”

“Cahira told Giselle.”

Raul sucked in his breath and let it out with a soft hiss. So much for not telling Arnaud everything. Raul had hoped to escape without having the particulars of his humiliation bandied about.

“Don’t concern yourself.” Arnaud laid one hand on his shoulder. “Women talk. It’s the way of things.”

Raul shook off the Frenchman’s hand and rolled his eyes. “I suppose Cahira told Giselle I refused to use the treasure to retake Kinsale.”

“
Oui
. That’s why I let her go. She couldn’t sit still and be patient and hope that—”

“Even if waiting might save her life?”

“Don’t you see, Raul, she doesn’t need the money.” He shook his head. “Her royal name should be enough once she returns to Eire.”

“They’ve no armor and few weapons.” Raul pointed out. “And they’ll need horses.”

“All will be supplied by her loyal countrymen, I would wager.”

Raul tried to digest what his friend was saying. Was it that simple? Had he been blind all this time to the power Cahira wielded in Eire, if she was free to use her influence?
Por Dios
, he hoped Arnaud was right. But he had to see this miracle for himself. Had to know Cahira wasn’t rushing blindly to her death. He must overtake and help her. Keep her safe from battle whilst he and others fought for Kinsale. Only then would he have righted the wrong he’d done her. Grabbing the reins, he vaulted into the saddle.

Arnaud patted his leg and nodded his head. “Go to her,” he said softly. “For though she won’t admit it, she has need of your skills in this battle to come. And she loves you more than life itself.” Arnaud looked up at him. “Show her that you’ll stand by her. That you understand what Kinsale means to her and that you’ll keep your promise. For that’s what makes a good marriage,
mon ami
, promises kept.”

Raul nodded, the thick lump in his throat making it impossible to speak. Was it so obvious, how much Cahira loved him that even Arnaud knew? Or had Cahira told Giselle? It mattered not. What
was
important was the future they would make together.

“I love her, too,” he said. “And as God is my witness, I’ll make her my wife as soon as we retake Kinsale.”

“
Bon
.” Arnaud smiled. “I’ll take care of the treasure for you.”

The treasure. He’d forgotten about the treasure. It was a weighty responsibility, but Cahira’s welfare had pushed it from his mind. “You will need to take it to Toledo to my father, the Archbishop. It’s a long and dangerous journey, Arnaud. I don’t like to ask such a favor when you’ve already done so much—”

“
Non
.” Arnaud waved his hand. “No more than any friend would do. Besides, Giselle and I should leave France and give Philip time to forget.” He stroked his chin and grinned. “My sister has always wanted to visit sunny Spain.”

Raul gazed into the Frenchman’s blue eyes, thanking God for such a wise and true friend. He swallowed hard. “If the glory of Spain pales, you’ll always have a home in Eire.”

“I would expect no less,
mon ami
. And I will make your apologies to Giselle for your sudden departure, but I know she understands.” He lifted his hand. “
Au revoir
.”

Raul returned the salute. “
Hasta luego, mi amigo
.”

Chapter Twenty

Raul heard the din of battle before he glimpsed Kinsale. The angry sound of metal clashing with metal, the shouts and groans of men, and the wild neighing of horses, all of it carried on the chill morning air.

But it wasn’t the chilly air that made his blood run cold.

What if Cahira had assaulted the castle without reinforcements? That was the nightmare that had driven him forward, robbing him of sleep. And he’d scarce eaten these past weeks, thinking only of overtaking her. But at every turn, he’d been thwarted. Upon reaching Harfleur, he learned a ship headed for Eire had departed only a few hours before, sailing with the evening tide. His departure hadn’t been so fortunate or timely. He'd waited five days for another ship, pacing the wharf day and night. When he finally landed in Eire, he couldn’t beg, borrow, or steal a decent mount. Taking the best to be had, he’d started for Kinsale, only to find the castle intact and the Sinclair’s banner flying from the ramparts.

Heeding Arnaud’s counsel, he surmised Cahira had approached her kin to raise a force. Searching his memory, he dredged up the name of Ulster and rode there as fast as his nag could travel, only to find she’d already come and gone.

When he tried to question the inhabitants of Ulster about the princess, they turned away, keeping their mouths shut. Though he phrased his queries in their native tongue, the tradesmen and serfs avoided his questions and refused to answer. He couldn’t blame them, for they must have believed their silence would protect her. He also couldn’t help but feel infuriated and frustrated, and he’d almost approached her royal kin. But at the last moment, his better judgment held sway. For like as not her great uncle would have seized him and held him prisoner.

Leaving Ulster, he doubled back to the coast of Eire and Kinsale. On this final leg of his journey, all he could do was hope and pray. And in a few moments, he would know.

What if he was too late?

He crossed himself and urged the nag forward, emerging from the forest to find the gray turrets of Kinsale standing sentinel against the crashing sea at its back.

His gaze swept the field. Relief suffused him when he saw the Templars wore armor and rode destriers. Unlike the pitiful plow horse he’d purchased. His fleeting sense of relief melted when he realized the handful of Templars confronted a band of twenty knights under the Sinclair’s banner.

New alarm lanced through him. He’d expected to find Cahira’s Templars, augmented by an Irish force, laying siege to the castle walls. The sight that greeted him was far different. The Templars faced the Sinclair’s men on an open field, in hand-to-hand combat. The castle appeared almost deserted, squatting like a sodden lump with its drawbridge shut. With his heart in his throat, he swallowed hard and willed his pounding heart to slow. If he panicked, he’d be of no use to anyone. And he must help Cahira.

His gaze darted from knight to knight, seeking her. Glimpsing the bright flash of her hair from beneath a knight’s helm, a darker dread uncoiled in his bowels, threatening to swallow him in its voracious maw. She fought for her life, slashing and parrying an enemy’s blows. Her enemy’s tunic, emblazoned with the rearing lion of the Sinclair clan flashed before his eyes.

It was then that Raul understood.

Cahira fought no ordinary knight, but the Sinclair himself. The Scottish Lord had come to solidify his claim and had met Cahira’s Templar force. Fresh fear gripped Raul’s heart, turning his already chilled blood to ice. The Sinclair’s ferocity in battle was legendary. Cahira needed help and every second counted. Raul calculated the distance he must cover to reach her.

He dug his heels into the nag and raised his sword, letting loose a savage battle cry. The plow horse squealed and lurched forward, breaking into a ragged gallop. His loud shout bought a few pitiful seconds. Knights, their weapons lifted, paused and glanced his way. But he’d underestimated the Sinclair’s devious mind and utter ruthlessness. With a sudden terrifying realization, Raul saw that he’d miscalculated.

Unlike the others, the Sinclair didn’t hesitate or look his way. His sword, a bright swinging arc, hung suspended in mid-air above the princess’ head. The nightmare scene swam before Raul’s eyes. Cahira, like the others, was distracted by his shout and glanced his way.

“No!” He raised his voice again.

Cahira’s horse neighed and reared.

Raul drove straight through the battling knights, cutting a swathe with his sword. Even as he fought the Scottish knights, all his attention centered on Cahira.

The Sinclair’s sword crashed down, finding flesh. Bright red blood spurted, a river of blood. Raul’s gaze locked on the crimson frothing. His old demons danced in front of his eyes, their long claws reaching for him, pulling him down, dragging him to a dark place. But he couldn’t allow that. Couldn’t abandon Cahira. With a shake of his head and another cry, he thrust the demons aside.

Screaming like a woman, Cahira’s horse, skewered by the Sinclair’s blade, buckled at the knees. Cahira, her arms flailing, tumbled to the ground. A silent prayer of thanks leapt to Raul’s lips. It was the horse’s blood—not hers.

Pivoting his mount, he put himself between Cahira and the Sinclair. He raised his sword and took careful aim, thrusting under the Sinclair’s left arm. As he knew it would, his weapon found unprotected flesh. With all his might, he slashed upward.