Читать книгу Forbidden Knight - Diana Cosby - Страница 9

Chapter Three

“Sir Thomas?”

The unfamiliar male voice had Thomas reaching for his dagger, then he remembered that he and his men slept in the king’s camp. Loosening his grip, he sat. Moonlight spilling through the tent’s opening outlined one of the Bruce’s guards. “Speak.”

“The king requests your presence. He says ’tis urgent.”

What in Hades had occurred? Thomas shoved to his feet.

Aiden, his faithful friend and fellow Templar, moved from his bed as the others began to rise. “I will go with you.”

“Nay,” the runner stated. “His Grace requested Sir Thomas come alone.”

Troubled by the possibilities raised by the summons at this late hour, Thomas tugged on his cape then faced his men. “I will brief you upon my return.” Preparing for the worst, he stepped into the night.

A gust tossed snowflakes falling within the waxing moon’s silvery glow into a shimmering whirl. A wolf’s howl echoed in the distance, a lonesome sound against the silence filling the camp.

That the Bruce’s warriors still slept ruled out concerns of an imminent attack. Still, with his sovereign’s command to speak to him at this late hour, he suspected the reason involved the Brotherhood. God’s teeth, what twisted mayhem had King Philip wrought now? Thomas damned France’s ruler, and prayed he was mistaken.

At his approach, the king’s guard moved back.

With a silent prayer, Thomas shoved aside the flap, stepped inside, then halted.

Paces away Mistress Alesone stood rigid before their sovereign. The thick fabric scraped closed, and she turned. Her face grew ashen.

What in God’s name was going on? With her presence, whatever had occurred didna concern the Templars. Relived, Thomas stepped forward, bowed. “I am here as you requested, Sire.”

Within the firelight, the king’s troubled gaze met his. He waved him closer, then, glanced toward a stocky, blond nobleman at his side. “Lord Kinlock, I thank you for your haste. We will speak further in the morning.”

“Aye, Your Grace.” Lord Kinlock bowed. He glanced at Alesone, his gaze lingering a moment before shifting to Thomas. Then he departed.

Confused by the stranger’s presence, Thomas moved beside Alesone.

A spark popped to the frozen ground, flared, and then blackened.

Robert the Bruce clenched the arms of his chair. “Sir Thomas, the Earl of Kinlock has brought troubling news this eve. I informed Mistress Alesone of this prior to your arrival.”

That explained her upset appearance as well as the earl’s presence.

“Your Grace,” she said on a shaky whisper, “I beg of you. There are other alternatives to—”

“’Twill be done as I explained. However much I wish otherwise, we dinna have the luxury of time.”

She gave a curt nod.

The monarch’s eyes shifted to him. “Sir Thomas, I sent for you and your men to train my knights and support my cause. Now an issue of grave importance has arisen, one I entrust to you.”

By the way Alesone had begun to tremble, the reason involved her.

“Time is crucial. I will share essential details, nay more.” The Bruce paused. “What I tell you is in the strictest of confidence.”

He nodded. “Aye, Your Grace.”

“This night I have learned that Mistress Alesone’s father has posted an offer of gold for her capture.”

Her hands fisted at her side.

Gold? God’s teeth, to warrant such ransom, she was far from the common lass he’d believed. More perplexing, with a camp full of trained knights, why would King Robert require the skills of a Templar for the task?

“Your Grace,” she rasped. “The details of the situation are irrelevant.”

Robert the Bruce scowled. “With the amount of coin your father has offered for your return, my concern is the amount may sway the allegiance of one within my ranks, which I canna allow. Few men are as loyal as Sir Thomas. As he will provide your escort, he must know the truth.” The king’s gaze shifted to him. “Sir Thomas, Mistress Alesone’s father is Lord Comyn.”

Through sheer will he kept his face void of shock, but the disclosure reverberated through him with brutal force. The paleness of her skin and the fear in her expression all now made sense. And why wouldna she be shaken? Her father was the Bruce’s enemy, the man their forces were preparing to battle.

More unsettling, the king’s anger wasna at the blood tie, but at Comyn’s offer of ransom, which meant that the Bruce had known her father’s identity from the start. Yet he’d allowed her within camp and offered her protection. Unsure if he was more confused or upset, Thomas focused on their sovereign.

“In secret,” Bruce continued, “Lord Comyn and King Philip have made an alliance. Upon the marriage of Mistress Alesone to one of France’s powerful nobles, King Philip will send gold, men, and arms to support Comyn. A union I canna allow.”

“Why does King Philip care about Scotland?” Thomas asked, damning France’s ruler with his every breath.

“’Twould seem with his coffers refilled,” the Bruce said with disgust, “France’s king has decided to expand his power. The marriage of King Philip’s daughter to King Edward II gives Phillip a powerful ally to our south. With Scotland’s loyalties torn, King Philip intends to take advantage of our weakened state to claim our country as his own.”

The merciless bastard. ’Twould seem his destroying the Knights Templar and the treasure stolen from their temple in Paris had nae sated his hunger for wealth and power. However greedy, France’s monarch had an elemental problem.

“Sire,” Thomas said, “regardless of the marital tie, Edward of Caernarfon holds little interest in seizing Scotland. Any actions that suggest otherwise are due to pressure from his nobles rather than his own desire.”

The king nodded. “On that we agree, but caught up in his own provincial agenda, once the wedding is done, with a pledge of unity forged between King Philip and Lord Comyn, I fear there will be little Edward of Caernarfon can do to stop France’s king. Further, unless the aggressions affect the young sovereign or his soil, I doubt England’s king will care little about Scotland’s plight.” Grave eyes held his. “Now you understand why I canna allow this match to occur.”

Indeed. However much he and the lass didna see eye to eye, he regretted the circumstance that had placed her as a pawn of nobility. Like the Knights Templar, a sacrifice by those in power.

Any concerns of Alesone’s loyalty faded. The Bruce having accepted her within his camp, more so in the position as his healer meant she’d earned his trust, a difficult feat to achieve.

“Your Grace…” Her cheeks grew red. “Given my…heritage, ’tis unfathomable France’s ruler could possibly accept such an arrangement.”

Robert grunted. “Nobles are fickle, more so when gold and power are cast about. With my forces closing in on Comyn’s stronghold, your father understands his castle is in danger. He views the alliance as more than a way to keep his home. With a tie to King Philip, the opportunity exists for him to become Scotland’s king.”

Thomas scoffed. “If Comyn believes King Philip will allow him to rule any portion of Scotland, then he is a fool.”

“Aye,” Robert Bruce agreed, “but Comyn is desperate. And well we know of the acts of desperate men.”

Indeed, ’twas desperation that had King Philip turning on the Knights Templar, men who’d protected him for decades. Earlier this year he’d debased France’s currency to a fraction of its worth to increase his revenue, a move that had incited riots.

For his safety, the Brotherhood had offered him safe haven in the Paris Temple. Instead of gratitude, the valuables within had enticed the king to devise a nefarious plan to destroy the Templars and claim their wealth.

A horrendous act that King Robert despised.

Thomas studied his sovereign, still amazed by the fact that Robert the Bruce was a Knight Templar. However unexpected, he was thankful. King Robert’s religious exclusion, and the Scottish clergy’s refusal to acknowledge his excommunication, had allowed him to offer all Knights Templar entry into his realm with impunity.

These were facts Alesone didna understand, nor ever would.

“Sir Thomas.”

He dragged his mind from the smothering outrage of the French king’s dealings. He couldna change the past, but by God he would do whatever he must to stop King Philip from claiming Scotland. “Aye, Your Grace.”

“You will escort Mistress Alesone to Avalon Castle. Upon your arrival, brief the Earl of Dunsmore on what I explained this night. Inform him that until I send word otherwise, she will remain within his protection.” He paused. “Any questions?”

“Nay, Sire.”

“Mistress Alesone?” the Bruce asked.

“Nay, Your Grace,” she whispered, her eyes filled with a mix of hurt and disbelief.

Thomas fisted his hands. The lass was in shock—nae that he, too, wasna staggered by the news of the past few moments.

With a weary sigh, the king leaned back in his chair. “You will depart immediately. Sir Thomas, your mount is ready along with another for Mistress Alesone.” He paused. “Scotland’s freedom lies in your hands.”

Humbled by the king’s trust, Thomas bowed. “Mistress Alesone will be kept safe, that I swear on my life.”

* * *

The thrum of hooves filled the late morning air as Alesone galloped beside Sir Thomas. She understood Robert Bruce’s decision nae to send a large contingent of knights to protect her. The last thing they needed was to draw the enemy’s notice, but she prayed he’d chosen well in giving his trust to this knight. Though fierce, he was but one man.

Her father was a seasoned warrior and a worthy adversary to the Bruce, and now, shamefully, a desperate noble who conspired with France’s king.

They rounded another copse of trees, and she searched the breaks in the woods and dense brush for any sign of men hidden in wait.

Naught.

Guilt festered that her presence brought complications to King Robert as he battled to reunite a torn kingdom. Damn her father, a man who hadna recognized her throughout her life, now acknowledged he had a daughter, however illegitimate. And for what, to trade her like cattle for his own gain.

“Halt!” Thomas called.

She reined her mount beside him. “What is it?”

A grimace furrowed his brow as he scoured the thick line of pine, elm, and ash ahead. “Something feels wrong.”

A tremor rippled through her as she scanned the forest, and then the cliffs slashed by sunlight in the distance. “I see naught.”

“Nor I. Still, we will ride south. By dusk we should come across a burn, which we will follow until we lose daylight. We will continue riding south for several hours, then we will head seaward. If anyone is trying to track us, we should lose them.”

She nodded, impressed by his knowledge of the Highlands. “Earlier I caught a touch of a French accent in your voice. Did you grow up here?”

Caution darkened his gaze. “I have traveled the land on occasion.”

Far more than a few infrequent trips. Few understood the dangerous cut of the mountains well enough to make such succinct plans without the aid of a map.

A gust swept through the forest thick with the scent of winter. Branches shook and clumps of snow tumbled to the ground. Another burst of wind howled through the trees.

Thomas glanced skyward, frowned. “A storm is moving in.”

Angry clouds churned overhead, and she tugged her cape close. The last thing they needed was to become stranded in a blizzard. “We have ridden less than a day. Mayhap ’tis best if we turn back.”

“Nay. After we left, the king and his forces departed. With the enemy nearby, ’tis too dangerous to retrace our steps. Come.” He kicked his destrier into an easy canter.

After one last glance behind her, with a resigned sigh, Alesone followed.

Against the whip of wind, bare branches rattled overhead as she crested the next knoll.

Suddenly, an arrow whipped past.

Thomas glanced over his shoulder, cursed. “Ride hard!”

Panic swept her as she caught sight of several men charging in her direction. Alesone leaned low and urged her horse into a gallop.

Another arrow hissed by.

Her horse stumbled. “Thomas!”

The fierce knight glanced over. With a curse he hauled her before him as her mount started to fall. “Hang on!” He dug his heels into his steed. Muscles bunched as his destrier jumped a fallen tree, landed with a smooth glide and raced through the forest.

Shouts of their attackers filled the air.

She glanced back, gasped. “There are at least fifteen men!”

Thomas shifted in the saddle. “Blast it!”

Alesone turned, caught the streak of pain on his face before he turned back. “Are you hurt?”

“Hold tight!” Thomas whirled his steed, raced toward a thick stand of fir. Brush slapped their bodies as they pushed through the thick-bristled limbs. Moments later the dense fir gave way.

“Bedamned!” Thomas cursed.

“What is—” Paces ahead the ground fell away. “There’s a cliff!”

“Aye.” His arm tightened around her. “Hold on!”

Muscles bunched beneath her.

A scream tore from her mouth as his steed jumped.

Air, cold and laced with snow, assaulted her as his warhorse half-slid, half-stumbled down the steep incline. By sheer miracle they reached the bottom without his mount collapsing against the slick surface.

Hooves scraped against ice and rocks as the horse steadied himself. “Good lad.” Thomas reined him toward the stand of trees, and then urged him into a gallop.

Miles flew by, the fearlessness of the knight’s every decision leaving Alesone stunned. Regardless the danger, the impossibility of the landscape they faced, he never hesitated; choosing numerous paths she never would have considered.

At the top of the next knoll, he drew his mount to a halt, his breathing hard. “’Tis growing too dark to keep up this pace.”

Relief swept her. For a crazy moment, she’d believed he would continue riding hard throughout the night. “With the waning light ’twill be difficult for them to track us.”

“Aye, and with luck, the continuing snowfall will cover our tracks.” He paused. “How do you fare?”

Exhausted and her body aching, she was ready to collapse. “I am fine.”

He grunted. “Cold and tired, nay doubt.”

She turned, caught the paleness of his face, the fatigue he tried to hide. “As are you.”

“We must keep moving,” he said.

“Once they canna find our tracks, they should turn back.”

“During normal circumstance, aye, but as you are essential to your father’s plans, his knights willna stop.”

She swallowed hard. The truth. “How much longer will we travel before we rest?”

“There is a monastery a half day’s ride from here. We should arrive shortly after nightfall. If anyone is about, the darkness will shield our arrival.”

“A monastery? You said we were riding south a few hours before turning toward the sea.”

“I have”—he muttered a soft curse, shifted—“decided otherwise.”

Surprised by the strain in voice, she glanced back.

His face taut, Sir Thomas kicked his mount into a gallop, forcing her to turn around and hang on. “I thought we were taking it easy.”

“We are.”

Too tired to argue, Alesone sagged against his muscled chest and let the miles rush past.

Hours later, with the moon edging into the cloud-muted sky, ahead of them lay a large copse of rocks smeared with the fall of snow.

Thomas guided his horse to the center, then drew to a halt.

Another burst of icy wind tore at her cape, slapping loose strands of hair against her face. She shivered against the chill. “Why are you stopping? With the moon bright, ’tis too easy to see us here.”

“’Tis. Nor will we remain.” With stiff movements, he dismounted. “I will be but a moment, dinna move.” Wisps of moonlight slipped through the breaks in the clouds, illuminating the falling snow with an eerie shimmer.

Unease wove through her as Thomas collected and stacked twigs and brush. A fire, was he insane? “We canna.”

He shot her a cool look, and then withdrew his dagger and flint. After several strikes, smoke, then flames, crept through the tangle of wood. Moments later, sparks swirled into the sky.

After tossing several larger limbs on top, his movements stiff, the knight returned.

Confused, Alesone frowned. “I thought we were nae going to make camp?”

“’Tis a decoy.” Face taut, Thomas swung up behind her and took the reins. “If anyone is nearby, they will see the flames. Your father’s knights are battle seasoned. Believing we are resting in the dense firs they willna rush in, but encircle the encampment to prevent our escape before they attack.”

“Which buys us time to put more distance between us,” she said, impressed by his shrewdness. “You have set up similar decoys before?”

“Aye.”

Though swirls of snow, she caught the flicker of light. “What if the wind blows out the fire?”

“Shielded by the rocks, and with the tinder at the base, the flames should continue to build. If the fire dies, our pursuers will find ashes.”

The confidence in his voice eased her nerves a bit. “You have fought in many battles?”

“I am a knight,” he said, his voice cool.

“That accounts for your proficiency with a blade, but nae your tactical expertise.”

A frustrated exhale sounded behind her. “Do you always interrogate the people you meet?”

Though tired, she smiled. “Only the interesting ones.”

Ice crunched beneath the horse’s hooves as his destrier picked his way through the litter of rock and snow down the incline.

At her protector’s silence, she glanced back.

In the cloud smeared moonlight his gaze held hers.

At the intensity, a shiver swept through her. From their less than cordial start, she’d doubted they’d ever come to a point where she’d look at him as other than a man to avoid. Yet something about Thomas drew her.

Drew her?

An understatement. In truth, from the way his eyes held hers, his direct manner, and how he moved with predatory stealth, left tingles of awareness sliding through her body. He was unlike any man she’d ever met.

Thrown off balance by the feelings he evoked, she shifted to a safer topic. “I want to apologize.”

“You have done naught to apologize for.”

“I have. Although you were praised by our king, I doubted you.”

“Lass,” he said, fatigue weighing heavy in his voice, “your belief in me is irrelevant. Once you are safely delivered, never will we see each other again.”

She stiffened, hurt that he could dismiss her with such ease when thoughts of him lingered on her mind. Why? ’Twas nae as if she wanted him to stay. Still, a foolish part of her needed to know. “And when you ride off will you forget me?” she teased.

He grunted. “Anyone who drives an arrow a finger’s width from my heart I remember.”

She smiled at the reminder. “That is all?” Why was she pressing him? Regardless of how he made her feel, their time together would soon be over, and he’d ride away. In the end, he’d be naught but a vague memory. In truth, this warrior she would remember. A woman didna forget a man like him.

“I would think a woman of your beauty,” Thomas said, interrupting her musings, “wouldna need to rummage for compliments.”

“You think I am beautiful?” Warmth swept her cheeks as she stared at him. “Never mind.”

He chuckled. “If your private banter with the Bruce is anything like what we are sharing, I understand why he finds you intriguing.”

At the mention of their sovereign, memories of Grisel swept over her along with her reason for fleeing southward. The lightheartedness faded. “’Tis loyalty that binds us,” she said, smothering the heartache. “How did you come to know the king?”

“A common friend.”

Alesone frowned. “You have a penchant for vague replies.”

“And you have a penchant for prying into people’s lives.”

She leaned back against his muscled chest. “’Tis nae prying, only curiosity.”

“Are you this inquisitive with everyone you meet?”

“Nay,” she said, intrigued by the fact that something about this man threw her off balance. She’d believed him a simple knight when they’d first met, but by the king’s faith in him, and judging by his split-second decisions, cunning, and determination, he was much more. Neither was he cold or hard. Intense was a better choice, driven to serve those who’d earned his loyalty, and ferocious to those he protected. “’Tis that you are unlike anyone I have ever met before.”

A rock clattered beneath his mount’s hooves and the horse shifted. Thomas swayed in the saddle, righted himself, and then guided his mount between two oaks. “I am unsure if that is a compliment…or nae.”

She chuckled. “Now who is seeking flattery?”

“I seek naught more than to serve my king. Never forget that.” The coolness of his tone matched the rush of air that howled past.

Grief settled in her heart. Nay, she wouldna forget, a fact he would ensure. How had she thought him neither cold nor hard; he was both and more. The day when they parted couldna come soon enough.

He guided his steed down the shallow incline. “Here.” He held out a piece of bread.

“My thanks.” Alesone ate, noting the snow on the ground reflected enough light to travel.

“Once you finish, try to sleep. I will wake you upon our arrival.”

She wanted to argue ’twas unfair that she rested while he remained awake, more so when but moments before she’d silently called him cold and hard. With fatigue weighing heavy on her mind and the comfort of his presence, along with the steady sway of the horse’s easy gait, she drifted into blackness.

* * *

A horse’s snort broke through her sleep. With a frown, Alesone opened her eyes and stared into the darkness, the slow, steady steps of the horse assuring her they continued to travel, except somewhere along the way Thomas had slowed their pace to almost a crawl.

Thankful for the warmth of his body against hers, with a yawn she glanced up. Shimmers of purple light warmed the eastern sky, and explained why her muscles ached. They’d traveled throughout the night.

Odd, he’d said that they would’ve arrived at their destination by now. “’Tis almost dawn.”

Silence.

“Thomas?”

“A-aye,” he stammered, “we will be halting soon.”

At his rough voice, guilt swept her. After the long hours they’d ridden, he was tired.

He guided his mount into a thick swath of fir and drew to a halt. His entire body trembled. “We w-will rest here.”

Confused, she turned. The first rays of light exposed the paleness of his face. “Sir Thomas?”

With the reins fisted in his hand, he dismounted then stumbled forward.

“Sir Thomas, wh—”

“Dismount!”

Panic twisting in her gut, Alesone slipped to the ground.

Face ashen, the knight wavered on his feet, stumbled, and then caught himself on a nearby tree.

Her gaze riveted on the blood smeared across his left shoulder. “You are injured!” Furious that he’d hid the fact, that she’d missed signs of his weakening condition, she stormed over. “Let me look at the wound.”

The knight’s pain-filled gaze cut to her. “It can…” He gasped. “It can wait until we arrive at our destination.”

“Is that why you are bracing yourself against the tree and struggling for each breath?”

Silence.

Disgusted, Alesone jerked the reins from his hand, then secured the horse to a branch.

Agony streaked his face as Thomas stepped toward his mount.

She blocked him.

Teeth clenched, he glared at her. “W-What are you doing?”

Alesone pointed at the log behind him. “Sit down.”

Green eyes narrowed.

“Now.”

The pig-headed dolt. Add stubborn to his list of his irritating traits. Careful to avoid his wound, she caught his shoulders and all but shoved him onto the fallen log. “Why didna you tell me you were injured when we halted before?” she demanded as she carefully removed his cape.

“T-too dangerous.”

She glared at him, noting the sweat on his brown. “Only a fool would ignore an injury of this severity.”

“The arrow went through,” he rasped. “There was naught to remove.”

“And you have been bleeding ever since.” If he wasna in so much pain, she’d shake him. With a jerk, she tore strips from her chemise. Once she’d cleaned the wound, she pressed a fresh wad of cloth against the gash and then secured the bandage.

His body began to sag.

She caught him.

Barely.

On a groan, his eyes closed.

Bedamned, he was going to pass out! Without shelter, if they remained here they’d freeze. A fact he had to know, a sacrifice he was willing to make to bring her to safety.

Unsure if she was more humbled or furious, Alesone glared at him. “How much farther to the monastery?”

“C-close.”

Thank God. She moved behind him, slid her arms under his. “Push to your feet.”

Mouth set, he started to rise. His legs trembled, and he collapsed.

Smothering her panic, she caught him. “You must help me get you on the horse.”

Eyes blurred with pain, he shook his head. “L-leave me.” He braced his hands against the fallen log. “Continue riding south. You will reach a monastery. Ask for…ask for Brother Nicholai MacDaniell.”

“Who is he?”

“A friend.” He struggled to keep his eyes open. “Tell him…” He started to collapse.

Muscles rebelling, she propped her body against his. If he fell to the ground, Alesone doubted she’d be able to haul him back up.

Heart pounding, she scanned the unfamiliar forest. If she left him here, how could she ever find her way back, or give his friend directions? With the amount of blood Thomas had lost, she couldna risk a delay.

Aye, she’d ride to the monastery, but by God he was coming with her.

Cold gulps of air burned her lungs as she hauled him to his horse’s side. Bedamned, how was she to get him up?

He started to lean to the left, and she pushed him upright.

She glanced at the fallen log he’d sat on moments before, then moved him, along with his destrier, to the stand at the edge of the trunk. “Thomas, you must help me get you on the horse.”

A groggy murmur stumbled from his mouth.

“Climb on the fallen tree.”

His head gave a shaky nod.

She caught his hand and laid it over the saddle. Through sheer will, she aided him onto the log. “Mount, damn you!”

His body began to teeter.

She shoved.

Thomas slumped into the saddle.

Tears of relief filled her eyes. She swung up behind him and held him tight. With a prayer, Alesone kicked his steed toward the south. If she didna find the monastery soon, he would die.