A Templar's Gifts (3 page)

“T
ormod!” Torquil's panic assaulted me before the words passed his lips. I woke quickly and struggled to rise, fighting his terror as well as my own.

“Prepare to be boarded.” A strong voice cut across the bow.

“Your name is Dougal, an' mine is Ian,” Torquil whispered anxiously. “We are MacDonalds from Inverness, returning from a sennight o' fishing.” I nodded, barely able to think through the fear.

An enormous ship approached our vessel, its weight causing our deck to tilt precariously. A flood of emotion battered me — theirs, mine, Torquil's. Afraid of my lack
of control, I quickly turned toward the water, reaching for its life and peace.

Across a gap in their rail, two large planks angled down to our deck from the other. The ocean was fading before my eyes and I fought the darkness creeping up on me.

“Your names.” A burly soldier of mid-years boarded before the rest. His hair was dark and his scowl was frightening.

“Dougal and Ian MacDonald,” Torquil answered. I heard the tremor in his voice and my eyes darted to the soldier. The man's narrow and suspicious gaze caught my own, and my backbone quivered. His look shifted then to Torquil, whose countenance gave nothing away.

“We were told this boat belongs to the MacLeod family. Do you deny this?” he demanded.

And the heat began to rise. I felt sweat gathering on my brow and running down the small of my back. The air wavered and I began to panic.
No. Not now,
I silently begged.

Soldiers riding hard along the road. A body, bundled in linen, draped over the back of one of the horses. The wind whipping. The covering torn back. The white, slack face of the Abbot bouncing with the jarring stride.

I came back to the sound of Torquil protesting the soldier now boarding our boat. My legs were weak and my body trembling.
Lord, please …
I begged, with my
heart lodged somewhere behind my teeth as I reached for the strength of the sea.
These lads are no' the ones ye seek. Another boat on the horizon comes. Hurry.

The whisper was difficult. The power was strong, and my efforts to hold it in check barely up to the task. Still, I focused the way the Templar had taught me.

“No. This boat belongs to my brother-in-law. We hail from Inverness,” said Torquil. I could feel the fear making his heart pound and his hand tighten on the wheel.

The soldier's confusion wafted over me and I took hope from it. His eyes were slightly glazed, I noticed, and the tense alertness he had come aboard with had ebbed. I pushed again slightly, so that the wash of my suggestion would encompass the men behind him.
Another boat on the horizon.

The man before me cocked his head, as if listening to something no one else heard. I forced the push a little harder, directly into his mind. A film of sweat broke out on his brow. I watched as he swayed then rushed to the rail.

Stock-still and terrified, I shifted my eyes to meet Torquil's. The man's retching was loud and worrisome. Moments stretched as my mind flit with panic. Our chances would be better if I continued the push, but with my power as unpredictable as it was, this man might die.

We had to get away. The longer he remained aboard, the less I would be able to do with the power. Already my body shook with fatigue. I softened the push and continued the whisper.

The soldier slowly straightened. His face was white and his clothing disheveled. Though I stared, he did not meet my eyes.

“Lieutenant! Come! There is another boat. These are not the ones we seek.” The call from the ship was insistent. The man who had been vomiting turned away and, without a backward glance, hurried aboard his ship. The planks were quickly withdrawn and in moments they were cutting across the water.

I continued the faint whisper until they were a speck on the horizon, until the throbbing pressure of the power felt as if it would crush my head. Then, without warning, my knees buckled and the world began to tilt.

“Whoa! Hey!” Torquil scrambled to my side and helped me down to the deck. I was breathing shallowly and bright spots floated before my eyes. The wind blew cold, rippling across my face. The waves lifted the boat in a rolling gait that brought bile rushing to my throat. The Abbot had been taken. They knew of the Holy Vessel.

“How long to Arbroath?” I asked, gulping air, hoping to settle my stomach.

“Tomorrow afternoon at the earliest. Are ye all right?” he asked. I nodded and regretted the movement.

“How did ye turn them away?” he asked, adjusting the sail and moving back to the wheel. There was uneasiness in him and I knew it was his acknowledgment of the power use.

A heavy cloud moved directly above, making the sky just that much darker. I stared up at it, wondering how to answer. “Misdirection is the only way I can describe it. I suggested the possibility that a ship approached, that we were not their quarry. I only hope I didn't cause harm,” I said. “I made him ill. My control is no' what ye'd call reliable.”

“D'ye think they will come back?” Torquil asked.

“I don't know.” My thoughts returned to the visions and the men who were hunting me. How had they tracked me so quickly? Would Arbroath be far enough away to hide?

“Get some more rest,” he said. “Our course is straight. I can sail much of the day.” Torquil was being uncharacteristically good to me, but I didn't have the strength to question it.

“Wake me if ye need anything,” I said, lying down on a pile of crates that were stacked out of the wind. He nodded, and I closed my eyes and began to pray.

I
slept for a long stretch, knowing that it was morning when the sun, weak as it was, lit the back of my eyes. The ocean was calm, and though the water's power should have soothed my ragged nerves, I was still jangling inside. Torquil yawned loudly and I pushed my way to wakefulness.

“Next time ye think to run away, mayhap ye might give me a bit o' warning. I could use my plaid.” Torquil was tired and on the edge of snappish. I knew it to be from worry so I relieved him as quickly as I could.

“I'm sorry. Ye should have awakened me.”

He grunted. “Ye needed the rest.”

“Take a break,” I said, handing him the sack of food and supplies and relieving him at the wheel. He took out a couple of bannocks and the water and made his way to the rail. Dark skies threatened off on the horizon. We were heading into a squall. The air was cold, and the wind would not be long away. The waves lengthened and deepened, lifting the boat and setting my insides churning. Restlessly I moved from one foot to the other and back again, wishing that it would even out.

“Do the visions always come true?” he asked. I was surprised that he would bring up the power.

“What I see comes to pass, but it's not always the way I think it will happen.” I sighed, remembering. “I had a vision that the knight I traveled with would be killed.” I took a deep breath, not wanting but needing to continue. “He was.”

Torquil gasped.

I forced myself to go on. “But the circumstances that surrounded that vision were not what I had imagined them to be. I thought that one of the men who traveled with us would be the killer, but in the end it was he who interceded, an' tried his hardest to keep it from happening.” My voice was leaden. “So. It's no' always the truth of the future that is seen. He was stabbed. He died. I saw his blood on the face of another, but if the vision had been wider I would have known that our friend was no murderer.”

It was a thought that had grieved me for a long while. I hadn't trusted Ahram for any other reason than the flash of a vision and the idea that he was different from me. I felt ashamed.

“Still, it did come true….” Torquil said. “Did ye warn him?” he asked a moment later.

“The Templar? I tried, but he would not hear a word o' it,” I said. “He was adamant.”

“If it were ye, would ye want to know?”

Torquil was acting strangely, and I found it hard to keep up. I thought about his question as I had done many times since I'd lost the Templar. I had once thought him daft for not wanting to know his fate, but now perhaps I understood better. “Seems no bargain,” I said. “If ye can't change the outcome, what good is it to know what's going to happen?”

“But …” he started.

I forestalled him. “I'd no' want to know, but to live each day to the fullest like everyone else.” I pulled my plaid tight around me. The cold felt as if it had seeped deep inside my bones.

Torquil's face was grave. “Ye've done a bit of growing up, Tor.”

I turned away from him and swallowed the lump in my throat, feeling anything but grown.

Torquil retired to a dark corner beneath a length of sail, leaving me to navigate. There was not much in the duty but holding steady and moving ahead. Still the wheel was comforting beneath my fingers and gave me the feel of taking control of my destiny, whatever that might be.

As the clouds drew darker and the day moved on, thoughts of that destiny were not as reassuring as they might have been. I couldn't help but think that I was running away, with little idea as to where I would be safe. It
was just like before, but I was alone now and had no friend or mentor to counsel me.

Time passed at a crawl and my fears grew with every league we traveled. My anxiety was such that I felt as if my skin had been flayed raw, and my guts grew more tight and twisted by the moment. Torquil's worry pressed against my mind. Even while he slept, my own became barely manageable.

By the time he woke, late that afternoon, I could hardly wait to give over the wheel. Candle marks of uncertainty had worn me thin. My eyes were as if filled with sand and my head buzzing with bees.

We spoke little as I huddled in my plaid, watching the roll of the waves, drifting between dreams that I could not remember moments after I awoke.

As night drew on we neared the shores of Arbroath. “You don't have to beach it,” I said, hefting my pack and looking over the side for rocks below the water's edge. The boat swelled and dipped.

“Just a little closer,” he replied. “Best to try and keep yer things dry.” He dropped the weight to anchor us. “This is all I can do.” He looked torn. “I hate to leave ye like this.” I felt the truth of his words and my eyes watered.

He held up his sack of coin. I had left it on the deck where he'd tossed it to me.

I hesitated, then took it. “I'll return it the moment I get back. Give my love to them all.”

He rested his hands on my shoulders and pulled me close. “God go with ye, little brother.” His voice was rough. I squeezed him back, never wanting to let go, comforted as if my da held me close, as he might never do again. My throat was tight with unshed tears.

“I love ye,” I whispered. My face was hot with embarrassment and yet I needed to say the words.

I heard him swallow. When he spoke his voice was gruff. “As do I. Come home again safe, Tormod.” I pulled back and he shook me. “I command ye to.”

I nodded, hoping and praying that I could.

The boat was knee-high in frigid water, and in moments I could not feel my feet. I waded quickly ashore shaking with cold, quivering with sadness. When I looked back, Torquil was a smudge in the distance.

Be careful.
His thoughts brushed the edges of my mind as from a stand of trees, I watched him disappear. Rain fell in fat drops, mixing with the tears slipping down my cheeks. I brushed them away and hurried into my boots. My breeks dripped water and clung to my legs. I had to move inland before it grew too dark to see. Head down, I trudged over the rise and through the woods. The rain came on stronger as my heart felt near to breaking. I had no notion where exactly to find Bertrand and was pleased, when I came upon the village, to see one hut larger
than the rest surrounded by grave markers, the usual sign of a kirk. An old well stood at its fore, and as I passed I said a prayer to Our Lady to safeguard my passage.

The Templar and I had been ambushed in a hut that looked much like this one. By the door I lingered, uncertain, equally poised to knock or flee. Then from beyond came the soft cadence of prayer.

I rapped solidly on the old wood and the murmur inside stopped. A moment later a frail, hunched figure appeared. He was a very old man. His hair hung limp and pale around his face, and his eyes were an unnatural milky white. A large wooden crucifix hung on beads around his neck.

“Who is it? Speak.” His voice was like the brittle twigs of winter. I shivered.

“I come seeking sanctuary, old Father, an' information if ye will it.” The words slid around the chatter of my teeth. As I tipped my head toward him, water dripped from my plaid.

“A lad!” he said with surprise. “Come in. ‘Tis no' a night to be out an' about.”

“Thank ye, Father. I don't wish to be a burden.” The spill of warmth and light beckoned.

“The house o' God is ever open to the faithful,” he murmured, gesturing for me to precede him.

It was a good room, if sparsely furnished. Welcoming. A couple of old, thick chairs flanked a wide, squat
wooden table, and beside it several woven mats lay among the rushes. Across one wall, an old tapestry was strung, and at the room's center a cook fire burned merrily beneath an old black pot. The scent of its contents wrapped around me like a warm woolen blanket. I took a mat near the fire and held my hands out to chase the chill.

“Ye travel alone, lad?” he asked. “These are no' times of peace and security. Ye should have more o' a care.” His blank eyes were turned in my direction.

In the dark of my memory, I saw again those who hunted me. A chill prickled my skin. “Aye. I know that well.”

He scooped a thin broth mostly of carrots and potatoes out of the pot into a shallow wooden bowl and handed it to me. “Father, I'm looking for someone said to hail from this village, Bertrand Beaton.”

The old man stilled as if I held a poker to his head. “Bertrand? Why are ye lookin' fer Bertrand?” His question was rife with undercurrents. Words whispered at the edges of my mind, but try as I might I could not grasp them.

“We traveled together,” I said, not wishing to reveal more and desperately seeking to keep my mind in focus. The room was growing dark and hot. “He invited me to visit.”

“Late for a visit,” he said suspiciously, then, “but it matters no'. Bertrand is gone from here, lad.” My heart
dashed at my feet. Not here. What would I do? Where would I go now? My fears were thick in my mind. Panic cut like a million thorns. The room began to fade and my breath grew short.

The old man sensed my distress. “Are ye unwell, lad?” I shook my head, forgetting his lack of sight, then said aloud, “I'll be all right.” I took a slow breath, willing my body to make true the statement. “Where, Father? Where has he gone?”

He drew another bowl of soup and sat gingerly. “On sojourn into the Highlands.”

The Highlands,
I thought, crushed. How was I to find him? I had no skill or experience in tracking.

“Others have been seeking him as well,” said the man. My ears pricked and my heart sped. “Soldiers.”

“How many? How long ago? What did they ask?” I spit the questions out in a flood.

“Easy, lad. We've time. They've been gone for a fortnight. Bertrand left a week before they arrived,” he continued. “Eat an' I'll tell what I can. Ye will need yer strength for the journey ahead.” He lifted his bowl.

I watched him sidelong. “Are ye a seer, then?” I asked carefully. The soup sat nearly forgotten in my hands.

“No, just an old man who knows what to expect o' a young man. That ye would go after him is a conclusion foregone.” The hut grew quiet and I lifted the bowl to eat.

“There were five,” he said. “I canno' see much, so I have no description, but I heard armor and weapons. Their accents were not o' this land.” He sipped at the broth. “Bertrand was gone, an' none save myself knew where. I told them nothing.” He stared into the fire with blind eyes.

“Do you know where I can find him, then?” I asked, hoping, praying.

“I know the direction an' area. Ye'll have to do a bit o' seek-and-find is my guess, but he's well known in those parts. Ye'll have help.” He sat back, his meal done. “There's a ferry in the morning that can take ye up the coast. Eat. Take your rest. Ye're safe here.”

The old priest moved to a clear area and lowered himself to his knees. I joined him there and we began to pray. My worry lifted, if only for a while.