A Templar's Gifts (5 page)

S
and blew over me as I lay on my side, curled up in a ball. Cold seeped into my body, past the blanket and plaid. There was no beginning, no end to the shudders that wracked me. My teeth chattered furiously. Visions crashed over me, ever changing bits and pieces.

“What do you mean they demand surety? I am the King of France!”

“With all humble acknowledgment, sire, you do owe a debt that is beyond sizable. Payment to the Templars are far in arrears.”
The voice was silken, cunning.

“The Templars,”
the King spat,
“have more wealth than any single body in the world! Whatever we owe them is nothing in comparison. Let them wait!”

“Sire, ye need more money from them, and they will not send it otherwise. Our armies need to be paid, else they find employment on other sides. It is not so great a thing they ask.”

Rage filled the space in my mind and I nearly passed into the black.

“Not so great! They demand the crown jewels! The very symbol of Kingship!”

“Just for safekeeping, sire. Just until the monies come from the campaign abroad. It will do no harm. They will be safer in the guarded vaults of the Templars than anywhere else.”

“Here, boy? What the devil is wrong?” The voice pierced my vision and as hands grasped my arms and turned me roughly, I could suddenly move and speak again.

“Cold,” I said, shaking.

“Yes, ye are cold. Why wouldn't ye be? Ye're layin' about in the wet sand. Can ye sit? I'll help.”

It was a lass, near on my age. Her hair was a deep red, much darker than my carrot orange, and it was a snaking mass of curls that covered her face as she leaned over me.

“Aye,” I rasped, chattering.

“Ye're burning up,” she said, laying the cool backs of her hands on my face. “Ye'd best be getting along home now. Rain is about to fall and yer already ailin'.” She spoke quickly with an accent a bit different from my own.

“Canno'. No home,” I managed through teeth that would not stop clacking together. I was having trouble focusing on the shape of her. Dark and light were fading one to the next.

“No home!” she exclaimed. “How did ye come to be here? Where d'ye think yer going? Why the devil are ye just sitting there no' answering me?” The short and rapid questions were making my head spin. It was not only the questions she spoke but also the ones she thought. Her feelings and energy were tearing me apart.

“Stop,” I bellowed. “How in Hades can I answer ye, with all that blatherin'? God's toes, lass, yer like a fishwife.” I held my head as it pounded, but my outburst seemed to draw me out of the strange haze that had wrapped around me. It did nothing, though, for my twisting and churning guts.

She stopped and stared at me, and for the first time I saw her face. It was as pale as the first light of morning, sprinkled with a shine of cinnamon freckles. Her eyes
were a brilliant blue and at this moment they crackled with pure venom.

“Blatherin' is it?” I had no warning at all to prepare myself. She drew back and hit me square in the eye.

Pain shot through my head as if a white-hot poker had been shoved there. In the space of a heartbeat I was laid out flat on the sand again. Above me she stood, fists curled and ready to black my other eye.

I couldn't believe it. “Yer daft as well,” I shouted, gripping my head and moaning.
Lord, why? What is wrong with her?

“Watch it, man. Yer troubling my conscience as it is. I'd hate to have to hide ye again, since yer obviously not up to it.” She stood over me with clenched fists.

I curled on my side, willing her, the pain, and the misery away. “Maybe ye could just leave me to die?” I suggested, knowing she wouldn't, half hoping she would.

“I surely ought to,” she said, plopping down. I felt her presence close by.

The shaking began then, soft rolls rippling from head to toe. I couldn't tell if it was from pain or cold. I felt both in abundance.

“Damnation,” she muttered, sounding as if she were eyeing me like a piece of rotten meat. “Come on. Ye can't stay here. But, I warn ye, man, the folk that board me, my uncle and his wife, will not be takin' ye in as well.
It's with the cows ye'll have to hide. Just a byre, but it's a sure sight better than here.”

As she spoke, the horizon began to tilt and all of the colors around me faded. She grabbed my arm and hauled me upright and, strangely, the darkness slid away and I was able to think. The vision. The French King. Something about the Templars and the crown jewels.

“Ye're no' from these parts. That's as clear as the morning sky. Where are ye coming from? Where are ye bound?” Her words tumbled over one another and her movements were quick and sure. She dropped my arm and popped to her feet, and the world tilted again with a frenzied wash of dizziness.

“Please,” I begged, “just take me to the cows.” I pulled my plaid tight around me. It did nothing to still the shaking or stop my head from pounding. “I'll be off again in the morning and trouble ye no more.” I squinted up at her. Even the low light of the day was too bright for my eyes.

“Lord and Lady, ye really are in a bad way, aren't ye?” she exclaimed. She took my arm more gently this time and I was amazed. The headache, the nausea, and the shivers somehow dulled when she touched me. I stared, my mouth agape.

“Who are ye?” I mumbled.
And how can yer touch settle me this way?
I thought.

“Aine Cleary,” she replied.

I was so surprised by the relief I felt when she touched me, that I didn't move fast enough. Her arm slid from mine and the misery returned with a fury.

“Please,” I whispered, fighting off the faint, reaching for her hand.

She misunderstood. “Hang on, now. I'll help.” She took both of my palms in hers and tugged until I was on my feet. The wind cut across the shore and, weak, I swayed and leaned into her body.

She gasped. “Here now! Don't ye be taking liberties with me, man. I'm here to help ye, but I'll knock ye flat again, if I think there's even a bit of improper behavior.”

She
was
daft. Improper behavior? I could barely keep the bile that rose in my throat from spilling. Still, I knew that touching her was somehow making survival a slight possibility, so I let her rant. As for laying me out, it was a good thing my da made it clear that I couldn't thump lasses.

As we struggled up and over the rise, I pushed away thoughts of revenge and concentrated on making it to a shelter where I could lie down and die. The woods were dark and wet. Mounds of leaves tangled around my feet as I stumbled along, trying to keep pace so that she
wouldn't let go. I didn't know what to make of the strange response I was having toward her.

We came to the byre in a time almost faster than I wanted, knowing she could not forever hold on to me. It was three stone walls and a sloped thatched roof held up by thick wooden beams. A rickety half gate closed off the entrance. It was not home, but I was just as glad to see it. Even with her help the short walk had stolen nearly all my strength.

There were five cows, two sheep, and several horses milling and murmuring in the dark, dank space. “Move it now, Gracious, or I'll no' be bringing in yer milk in the morning,” Aine said, pushing our way through the warm bodies. “Aye, Forlorn, that's a good girl. Shove along, dearlin'.”

“Odd names for animals,” I mumbled.

“Aye, well, they're not their real names, o' course, but I think they suit better, an' they're like friends this way. Gracious is always the last to eat, like she's being polite. An' that one, Forlorn, seems sad, somehow.” She helped me to a pile of hay in an open corner.

“An' the others?” I asked, just to keep her talking and close by my side. She let go to stretch, and the illness came on again like the fierce blow of winter. I turned to my side and pulled my cloak tight. Hurt. My head. My body.

“Well, there's Pernicious, an' Suspicious, an' Jordy …” Her voice sounded far off. Like perhaps I was beneath the water. “Ye don't look good. Don't ye go dying on me. It'll bring a mess o' trouble.”

I couldn't answer. I was concentrating on breathing and trying not to lose the small contents of my stomach. It was nearly more than I could manage.

“Aine!” A woman's shrill voice broke through the quiet of my misery.

She hurried toward the gate. “I'm going now. Please. Don't die.” She seemed to hesitate. “I don't have many friends here aside from the cows,” she said, nearly to herself.

“Aine! Where the devil are ye, girl?” The voice was much closer this time.

“I'll be back as soon as I can,” she said, and disappeared.

P
ain was my every thought and movement. It was as if my heartbeat pumped the aching pulse into my head and spread it like flames throughout my body. I shook, whole body tremors, while darkness claimed and spit me back
out again like the pit of a cherry. Dreams filled the blackness. Some were so real and terrifying that I doubted where the waking began and the sleeping ended.

“Confess!”
Smoke. Flames.
“Tell me where the false God's idol is hidden!”

“I will no'!”

“Then you will die and your Holy Brethren will be brought to the ground.”

Fire. Jeering crowds. A white mantle. Smoke.

I thrashed, jolting awake. It was dark and I hurt all over. “Where am I? Can anyone hear me?” The hum of a tune pricked at my ears. I reached for the sound and peace stole over me.
Sleep,
it whispered. And I did.

When I woke it was with the knowledge that she sat beside me. “What happened?” I whispered. My lips were cracked and they burned when I spoke. A rustle of movement played in my ears, and I opened my eyes a slit. It took some time for anything to take shape in the dimness.

“Ye've been ill,” she said as she unfolded her thin legs from beneath her. She had been tucked up in a ball beside me. I felt her exhaustion. The bristling edginess she had shown me before was now gone. She seemed uncertain, shy. “What's yer name?” she asked, a yawn escaping.

“Tormod,” I said, barely rousing the energy to speak. “Water?” My voice felt strange in my throat and my thoughts were a jumble. The skin on my body felt tight near bursting and I was hot all over.

“Aye. Here.” She held a skin to my lips and a warm, brackish trickle slid down my throat.

“How long?” I asked, struggling to put days together in my mind and words in my mouth.

“Ye've been in and out since yesterday.” Her voice was as rusted as mine.

“Ye sang to me,” I said, seeking her eyes in the darkness. Her face was near, but she averted her eyes and shrugged. I saw the bare movement of it ruffle her hair. “Aye. It seemed to give ye peace.” Her voice was not much more than a whisper.

“It helped, I think,” I said.

She said nothing more.

“I need to …” I trailed off, uneasy. I had to void, badly.

She stared at me, her blue eyes glowing. I waited for it to register, and then a flush of embarrassment slid through her to me. It was hard to see, but I thought perhaps her face was red.

“Oh, aye.” She scrambled to her feet and took my hand. This time there was little change inside me. She helped me up. My legs felt weak, and I was hungry.

“Hold the beam here. I will make sure no one's about. William took off at first light, but he might be back by now.” I had no idea who William was, and had little desire to ask.

She crept quietly outside and a moment later waved me forward. My body rippled with chill. Slipping over the wet ground, I began to climb behind the lean-to. “Here,” she said, handing me an old cloth rag.

I nodded and went about my business. It must have been raining the whole time I'd been out of my senses, for the puddles were deep and the wood was drenched.

She was waiting for me when I came around the front, and she followed me back inside. Her eyes were enormous and wary.

“What?” I asked. “Why d'ye look at me that way? Last I recall, ye wanted to knock me flat.” I wouldn't normally have drawn attention to the idea that I'd received a thrashing at the hands of a lass, but she seemed to need to be put at ease. I felt her disquiet ripple between us.

“Ye …” She hesitated. “Did things when ye were out o' yer head. D'ye no' remember?” Her face was pink and her hands were nervously grasping her sark, pleating the material over and over again.

Immediately, I was frightened. Had I harmed her in any way? She didn't seem different, but I had a vague
memory of her arms around me. “If I acted badly, I can assure ye that I'm truly sorry,” I said. It was uncomfortable not to know something I might have done, as if a part of my mind and memory could not be trusted.

The flush of pink became an angry red and her eyes returned to their crackling blue, telling me that she was readying a fist. I had the image again of her hands on my forehead. “Ye'd be sorry, would ye?” she said. “What now, am I no' good enough for the likes o' ye?” The bristle of anger lashed out at my mind and nearly toppled me. What had I said? Beneath her anger was hurt. I struggled to establish when I might have offended her.

“I only meant that I was no' in my right mind.” Her fist curled and tightened. “I mean, I barely know ye. I've more manners than to …” I hesitated, searching for a word that would not be uncomely. “… make advances toward a lass I don't know.” Now I was flushed. Embarrassment swirled about my mind, cramping my body, but I felt her relax. “If that's not what ye meant, what then?” I asked.

It was her turn to stumble through the words. “Well, ye …” she mumbled, then cleared her throat. “An' I don't know how ye did it, mind ye, but whenever ye were dreaming …” She seemed truly discomforted.

“Aye,” I encouraged.

“I knew yer dreams,” she said quickly.

I gaped at her.

“Go on, think me mad, but I was there. There's no other way I can tell it to ye. I saw things that I couldn't make up if I tried. Believe it or don't. It's nothing to me one way or another.”

Her bravado was false. Nervousness rolled off her in waves. The thing was, I did believe her, but it frightened the life out of me. “What did ye see?” I asked.

“I saw a road atop a great mountain,” she said with awe. “An' a horse that fell an' screamed. It broke my heart.”

Gooseflesh slid over me. Yes, she knew my dreams, well and truly.

“Listen to me. What ye saw was naught but a dream. Ye must never speak o' it.” My eyes held hers with urgency.

“But how did ye do it?” she asked.

I wanted no more of this conversation. “Never.”

“Aine.” A man's deep voice sounded from outside the lean-to, so close she leapt from me.

“Hide.” She shoved me back into the corner. “Quick with ye, man. Under the hay,” she whispered urgently. “Do it now!”