Forbidden Legacy (20 page)

“Looking back,” she continued, “I find it sad that never did I find my mother sharing his chamber.”

“There could be many reasons.”

“Indeed,” she said, “but I dinna want to sleep elsewhere but at your side.”

A belief he held as well. Nae wanting to linger, he glanced around. “You said there was another chamber here?”

“Aye.” Katherine walked to a hanging tapestry woven with an intricate design depicting Jesus and Mary Magdalene.

He frowned at the wall hanging, one her father must have purchased, shifted his gaze to the outline of the door. He remembered the room beyond. Too small to contain anything substantial, his father had kept naught but the most important items from his travels. “I dinna recall there being a—”

A frown wedged Katherine's brow. “What?”

He silently cursed at his slip and shook his head. “I am surprised to find a space for storage built within the lord's chamber. 'Tis unusual.”

“Indeed, but so is the hidden room behind this chamber.”

A hidden room? Disquiet edged through him. Yet another mystery he hadna known of. What else had his father nae informed him of before he died? “Has it always been there?”

“Nay, my father had the chamber built.”

His shoulders relaxed. This explained his ignorance of the room's existence.

“Once, as a child, I asked my father if he would show me the entry to the secret room,” she continued, ignorant of Stephan's turmoil. “He would smile and change the topic. One day, after I had gained twelve summers, he brought me here. His voice somber, he said if anything were ever to happen to him and my mother, I should know how to enter. I was to take the book with the letters embossed in gold to Robert Bruce; he would know what to do.”

A strange request. “Robert Bruce? Why-how does . . .”

“ 'Tis perplexing to me as well. At the time, so caught up in learning the mystery of how to enter, I didna think to ask or realize the responsibility my father passed on to me. Then, with the siege of the castle, the turmoil, and my escape, his instruction about the book and the hidden chamber slipped my mind.”

A shudder fell from her lips as she began to lift the finely woven image.

Stephan stepped forward.

“Let me enter first,” she said, her words rough. “ 'Tis something I must face.”

With a grimace, he nodded. As upon their arrival, with each room through which they'd made their way, she'd wanted to enter first, a request he respected, understanding she struggled with the memories each chamber invoked. At least he was there, and she didna have to face the pain alone.

With a deep breath, Katherine shoved. “Mary have mercy!”

Withdrawing his dagger, Stephan stepped past her, stilled.

The small room stood in shambles. Shards of destruction lay strewn about like a sea of chaos. Books were scattered, shelves splintered, and shards of glass littered the room.

“Wh-why would the English do this?” She took a cautious step forward. “They have destroyed everything!”

He secured his blade. “A show of power,” he spat, “or simply because the English bastards could.”

“ 'Tis a disgrace.”

“Aye.” As if the English had shown respect for human life with their razing of Berwick, or the way they'd lured Scots to a false eyrecourt in Ayre, and the numerous other atrocities that had left uncountable Scottish men, women, and children dead.

Outrage built inside, a rough fury that he'd nae experienced since he'd witnessed his family murdered.

Katherine bent over, picked up the bottom of what once was a decorated box, and tears filled her eyes.

With a silent curse, Stephan drew her into his arms. Her quiet sobs shuddered against him, each one breaking his heart. “I am sorry.” And he was, for her grief, for her pain, and for what little remained of those she loved. Nae even something as small as a box was left untouched.

Long moments passed and the soft trembling of her body stilled, but he held her, gave her the sympathy she needed, compassion absent in his life for so many years.

“I will ensure everything is repaired,” he whispered.

“I thank you,” she said, her words unsteady. “My father would have liked you.”

Of all she could have said, her claim wasna one he'd expected. Neither did he reply. His feelings toward her father didna match her beliefs.

On a sigh, Katherine stepped away, turned over the bottom of the destroyed wooden box. “The English didna discover it.”

“Discover what?”

Pride filled her gaze. “This.” She slid her nail into an indentation that he hadna noticed, and pried.

The bottom of the box separated, exposing a key secured inside.

In disbelief, he stared at the finely crafted metal, a uniquely fashioned piece similar to but a handful that existed, all held by the Knights Templar. God's blade, what was this?

Ignorant of his turmoil, Katherine stepped over the twisted debris, halted before the wall. She glanced back. “One of the stones is false.” She slid her fingers along the crevice of rock, paused. “Here.” With pressure, the stone shifted.

The soft shimmer of light from the outside chamber exposed the lock.

Metal scraped as she slid the key inside, turned it. The sound of a catch opening echoed in the silence. Katherine pushed.

The door whispered open.

Through a window light filled the massive chamber, illuminating polished shelves filled with ledgers, leather-bound books. Several he'd read, those coveted volumes having belonged to the Grand Master.

Unease built inside as he scanned the numerous tomes. One on Templar training, another holding notations on their system of banking. On the far end, a glint drew his attention.

He struggled for calm as he recognized a volume bound in the finest tooled leather, the inscription inlaid with gold.

“'Tis nae what you expected?” Katherine asked, her voice rough with pride.

“Nay,” he said, unable to pull his gaze away from the book. To his knowledge, there was but one in existence. Before him stood proof there was another.

Why hadna the Grand Master told him? More important, why did Katherine's father possess books of such importance to the Brotherhood?

Bits of white from where a chest had been propped open caught his attention. Heart pounding, he walked over, stared at the pentagram carved on the cover.

Dread roiled through him as he raised the lid. Folded inside lay a white surcoat emblazoned with a red cross. Beneath lay a white mantle.

'Twas impossible.

A sacrilege.

Until this moment he'd dismissed the Templar markings he'd seen within Avalon as those created by others outside Katherine's family. But before him was the proof. Her father had been a Templar!

S
tephan's hands trembled on the lid of the chest. Impossible! Katherine's father couldna be a Knight Templar. He had married and fathered a daughter, both actions forbidden to anyone within the Order.

How could he explain the unprecedented collection of Templar records, those rivaling the Grand Master's? If ignorant of the situation, Stephan would deduce that whoever held the contents of this chamber played a significant role in the Knights Templar.

“'Tis a white surcoat emblazoned with a red cross,” Katherine said with confusion at his side.

God's blade, he was so caught up in his shock he'd forgotten his wife's presence. As if it was unimportant, he tucked the garb into the box, secured the lid. “So it appears.”

She frowned. “What is wrong?”

Wrong? Coldness swept Stephan. A gross understatement of the caliber of inappropriateness here. As if his every fiber wasna in shock, he shrugged. “I am surprised by the size of the chamber. Upon entering the castle, one would never suspect this existed.”

Pride beamed on her face. “My father had the room built with such in mind. From outside, the window appears to belong to another chamber.”

A false assumption he'd made as well. He stood.

“And over here is where my father kept his ledgers.”

Dragging his gaze from the chest, Stephan took in the carved desk, simple yet ornate, the craftsmanship exemplary, then focused on the book she'd picked up.

“If there are . . .” Her eyes dark with emotion, she looked away.

“Katherine—”

“Nay.” She met his gaze, her face composed. “If there are maps of the tunnels and hidden chambers, they will be found here.”

“I thank you.” However much he longed to begin his search, 'twas too important to rush and risk missing anything. However much he wanted to deny it, evidence assured him that her father had been a Templar.

Confused and upset, he set the book aside and pocketed the key. “Let us go. On the morrow I will review the ledger.” In mere hours he would start reviewing the tome with the gold inscription, along with the numerous other volumes that filled the room. Within them he should find his answers.

* * *

Desire slid through Katherine as Stephan carried her across their chamber and lay her on their massive bed. Flames within the hearth illuminated her husband's nakedness, the taut curve of muscles, and the tenderness of his gaze.

He made love to her with infinite care, his every touch sending her higher, his words rough with passion, as if she was his entire world. When she found her release, he followed, then lay beside her and drew her into his arms.

She sighed within his warm embrace. “I thank you.”

“I have nae done aught but make love to my wife, one whom I adore.”

Warmth swelled inside. How could she have missed the depth of this man, his caring? When they'd first met, foolishly she'd seen the warrior and considered him little more. Now she knew and was blessed to have him in her life. “You love me and you make me happy.”

Pleasure softened his gaze, and he drew her into a long, slow kiss that made her ache for his touch all over again. As he deepened the kiss, she rolled on top of him and sat up.

“What are you—oh . . .” he groaned as she took him deep.

Emotion swirled within her as his hands skimmed over her flesh, took her higher until their bodies merged in a blissful release. Sated, her body humming, she lay flush atop him with a happy sigh. “I canna move.”

His chuckle ended in a happy moan. “I canna either.”

Katherine laughed, never having felt so good. “I could remain like this forever.”

“And I,” he agreed, his gaze darkening with heat. “If I die, I will go a happy man.”

Her laughter faded.

With a silent curse, he grimaced. “I am sorry. I didna mean—”

Katherine shook her head. “'Twas said in jest. With the recent events in my life, I am overly sensitive.”

“Never would I hurt you,” Stephan whispered. His wife's soft breaths fell upon his skin like a caress, and he savored each one. Never had he imagined his life could be so fulfilling.

Though 'twas temporary.

Any day a missive from the Bruce would arrive, orders to fulfill promises made. However much he wished otherwise, for the near future, his time with Katherine was drawing to a close.

Her even breaths against his skin assured him she slept. What if she carried his babe? A son or daughter to hold, a child with her eyes and one who someday would inherit Avalon.

His heart ached as he stared at her in the tumble of golden firelight. How could he leave her? With the responsibility of the Templar treasures and his word given to a king, how could he stay?

A distant rumble had him glancing toward the window. Torn, he slipped from the bed and walked to the opening.

Shards of clouds shielded the waning moon. Silver rays slipped through a break, illuminating the castle.

Pride filled him at the progress made in rebuilding his home. He glanced at Katherine, smiled.
Their
home.

A cool breeze brushed his skin.

With a grimace, he secured the window. The sounds of the night smothered, the snap of the fire in the hearth echoed with cheerful abandon, the flames illuminating Katherine lost in sleep.

After the hours they'd made love, and with little remaining of the night, he should return to bed. Questions of the Templar garb, along with the numerous volumes addressing life within the Order, haunted him.

Regardless of the proof, he rebelled against the idea of her father being in the Brotherhood. Given her father's nobility and marriage, 'twas hard to believe. With more questions than answers, Stephan began to pace.

As he reached the hearth for the third time, he rubbed his brow. God's blade, he needed answers, ones he wouldna find here. Stephan walked to the bed, drew the sheets up to Katherine's shoulders, and then pressed a kiss upon her cheek. With quiet steps, he slipped from the chamber.

Torchlight flickered on the walls with errant scrapes as he strode down the corridor, conjuring shadows as if an ill omen. Ignoring his unease, Stephan lit a taper, and then entered the small room. He walked over and slid the key into the lock, pushed.

The slide of the door whispered into a softness punctuated by thunder.

Through the window, lightning cut across the storm-blackened sky. Another blast of thunder echoed, this time closer.

He grimaced. A fitting night for a storm, when his own thoughts churned as dark. He stowed the key, stepped inside, and pushed the door shut. Within the candle's somber light, he scanned the volumes of books, ledgers, and the desk he'd seen earlier this day, and then walked to the chest.

Stephan removed the white surcoat and mantle, both slightly smaller than his own.

A Bible lay beneath them.

Curious, he set the garb on a chair, lifted the worn tome, and opened the cover. He frowned at the Latin inscription.

Secrets of the empire.

An odd inscription. Perhaps it held the reason why Templar records and items were hidden within this chamber?

Confused, he skimmed through the holy book, found naught but pages worn from the Bible's frequent use. Frustrated, he searched the volumes on the desk.

Naught.

Candlelight shimmered over one of the other tomes on the bookshelf.

He retrieved the leather-bound book emblazoned with gold lettering. As with the other volume in the Grand Master's library, each page noted every detail of the history and foundation of the Knights Templar, along with the secrets they guarded.

Unfathomable. How did the previous Earl of Dunsmore, a man who'd killed his family, come to have custody of a book of such significance? How could he be a Templar? Nothing he'd seen answered the question of why one of the Brotherhood would be allowed to live a life so far out of bounds of their strict rule.

Frustrated, he set aside the tome, withdrew the ledger to its left. In order of joining, the inked names of Knights Templar were listed since the beginning, when Hugues de Payens had recruited several knights and formed the Order. Stunned by the meticulous detail, Stephan shook his head in disbelief.

'Twas as if Katherine's father had built this hidden room for the sole purpose of storing a complete copy of Templar records. Then, if a crisis befell the Brotherhood and the records in Paris were destroyed, the loss would matter little. Exact copies of the most important Templar books filled this chamber.

Far from understanding anything, Stephan shelved the book, withdrew the next. Important Templar events filled the pages. He skimmed the notations, paused at a date written in bold at the top of the next page. Candlelight wavered over the skillfully penned words; his blood turned to ice.

The parchment trembled in Stephan's hand. His father had conspired with King Edward? Revulsion warred with disbelief at the horrific accusation. They were wrong. His father had lived with honor, loved Scotland, a country he had served with pride. Though he had led with a firm hand, his father's every act had been backed by care.

Yet from his years of working at the Grand Master's side, Stephan had learned their leader did naught without proper cause. In the past, when incidents had arisen, instead of passing immediate judgment, Jacques de Molay had researched the issue, if possible, questioned numerous people regarding the case, before making a ruling.

With a curse, Stephan tossed the ledger on the desk. Shame burned inside him as he strode over, snatched the volume up again, and reread the entry.

Nay doubt remained.

His father had been a traitor.

On unsteady legs, he collapsed in the chair, fisting his hands against the rawness burning in his chest. His entire youth—a lie. The honorable man he'd believed his father to be, the warrior he'd always admired was a traitor.

What of his mother and sister: had either of them known? He doubted his sister had had any idea of their father's perfidy; her death was described as naught but a tragedy. What of his mother? Had fear of their treachery being uncovered spurred her to run to his father's aid?

Stephan muttered a curse. He wanted to believe his mother was innocent, yet at this moment, with every fragment of his youth tossed in chaos, he wasna sure.

Overwhelmed, he took in the room filled with Templar information never intended to be viewed by those outside the Order. A way of life he'd fought for since he'd fled Avalon so many years before.

God's blade. Shame twisted into a blackened wash. She believed him a good man, one she loved. What if his wife discovered his father's duplicity? How could she look at him with anything but revulsion?

Fear cut through him, and Stephan shoved to his feet, wanting to seal the room, deny the chamber's existence, along with the facts logged within the books. Yet when a man whose entire life was dedicated to God, to making the right choice even if the decision brought him shame, he couldna hide the truth.

Last eve he'd made love to Kathryn and dreaded leaving her. Now, as when he'd first met her, 'twas unthinkable to remain. His heart ached. If she carried his child, 'twould be one he would never know. As much as he loved her, wanted her forever, he wouldna stay to bring further dishonor to her family.

Through the window he stared at the storm-blackened sky. Mayhap this turn of events was for the best. Never had he intended for their marriage to be more than a façade. Foolishly, he'd mistaken desire for duty. But a part of him couldna find regret that if only for a while, they'd shared something extraordinary.

With a curse, he reopened the ledger to the damning page, stared at Jacques de Molay's signature. If the Grand Master had known of his father's treachery, he wouldna have sent Stephan to Scotland to meet with . . . He frowned. But as the leader of the Knights Templar, how could he nae have known?

Upon entry into the Brotherhood, as with each man, Stephan had given his name, his history, sworn upon those facts. Records Jacques de Molay would have reviewed prior to allowing him to enter the Order, and again with each leadership role he'd achieved.

Yet, with ruin descending upon the Templars by King Philip's decree, the Grand Master had entrusted Stephan to lead five ships and a contingent of Templars to Scotland. Why would the grand master have selected him when he knew his father had betrayed Scotland? Or what if by some incredible chance, the Grand Master had never connected his father's name and title to Stephan? He found the idea dubious, but 'twas the only explanation that made sense.

“Stephan?”

Guilt sweeping him, he slammed the book shut, glanced toward the entry.