Seducing the Knight (18 page)

“That pleases you?”

She drew a sharp breath as his fingers trailed across the rise of her breasts. “Very much.”

He placed a soft, regretful kiss on her cheek, then moved away. “Enjoy your sightseeing.” He offered her a bow. “I’m sure the distraction will have as little calming effect on you as my sailing the ship does on me.” He turned and strode once more to the forecastle, taking the wheel in his hands.

She forced herself to look at him, then wished she hadn’t. It was difficult to pretend to be casual with him when he looked at her with blatant seduction in his gaze. She swallowed roughly and twisted back toward the water. He was right. Staring at the water would have no effect on her heated nerves whatsoever.

The conde commanded his crew to put into port in Mijas, Spain. Alan Cathcart had proven himself to be a worthy opponent. If the conde was to successfully retrieve his bride and make the Scotsman pay for taking her away, reinforcements were essential.

He’d instructed his men to prepare his caravel for another fortnight at sea. While they did, he moved up the steep slope to the mansion the king used as his temporary home with as much haste as was possible, considering the bruises the conde had suffered when he fell off that horse in the desert. He was certain King Alfonso XI’s court would remain in the area while they awaited the safe return of his niece.

Reaching the mansion, he was immediately ushered into the royal chambers when he stated he had news of the princess. The king sat in a low chair, flanked by two attendants, both armed. His secretary hovered nearby as the conde approached.

The haggardness of the king’s face surprised the conde. Was it the war with the Moors or his niece’s disappearance that was causing the man such distress? The conde held back a smile, hoping for the latter.

“My niece. You said you had word. Where is she?” The king’s voice was anguished.

The conde bowed when he reached the king, then waited for the signal to rise, which came immediately. “Your Grace, she’s been abducted by a Templar and is
this very moment being swept off to Scotland. What the heathen intends with her, I don’t know.”

“How is that possible?” The king’s hands trembled on the arms of his rather ordinary chair. “She was well guarded. My sister would not be pleased with my carelessness.”

“Such things happen, Your Grace. ’Tis no fault of yours, and Jessamine is known as a, shall we say, willful child.” The conde frowned. Any chair
he
sat in as king would be far grander, as befit his station. That dream would come true if he could convince the king his plan was the only option for rescuing Jessamine.

The king’s expression darkened. “What is the ransom? I’ll pay anything they ask.”

“There is no ransom.”

“No ransom?” the king said fiercely. “Whyever not? She is a princess. I want her back.”

“I can bring her back.”

The king’s eyes narrowed. “I am familiar with your ambition, Conde Mendoza. What could you possibly want in return for such an act?”

The conde once again bit back a smile. Everything was fitting in place exactly as he’d imagined. “The girl’s reputation will be in tatters, despite her royal status. I would be honored to serve my country and marry the girl.” The conde paused, then added, “With your permission, of course.”

The king’s lips twisted. “Do I have another choice?”

“I regret that in this case, there is no other choice, Your Grace. Only I know where the girl is headed.”

The king straightened and some of the weariness left his features. “You’re quite cunning, Conde Mendoza. What will it take to get her back?”

“A marriage document, of course. And for her bride
price, I will give you two ships with a full complement of men and arms. Of course, they will accompany me before they will join your forces. I wish to teach this Scotsman a lesson for toying with things that are not his.”

The king nodded to his secretary. “Draw up the documents.”

“Urgency is essential, Your Grace.”

The king stood, his gaze on the conde’s face. The monarch looked weary and discouraged and ripe for plucking. As soon as the conde had the girl, he would be back to put the rest of his plan into action. Maybe then his mother would finally be proud of the man he’d become. She’d always told him he was nothing but a failure. Perhaps when he brought her the princess, she would finally know he could be successful.

As mother to a future king, could she be anything but pleased? The conde frowned. He wondered if even that would be enough for the woman. But he wouldn’t know until he brought Jessamine to her.

As his bride.

It didn’t take long for the king’s secretary to provide the official marriage documents. Once he had them in his possession, the conde returned to the docks. As he walked, he flicked his finger over the royal wax seal of the House of Castile. Soon, he’d have everything he’d ever wanted. The girl was the weak link in the Spanish crown’s armor. And he’d known it all along. A satisfied smile came to the conde’s lips as he savored the pleasant prospects in store for him—a new bride, poison for the royals, and a throne. The joys that awaited him were many.

Now, to execute his plan. He would send three galleons after the ship carrying Jessamine to Scotland while he took one of the faster Arab ships and a small
army with him to Dundee. He had to sail faster than the Scotsman in order to reach Scotland ahead of him. Once there, he would set a trap so the Scot received the full force of his fury when the man docked with his bride.

As the next week passed, the tension between Alan and Jessamine grew thicker than the morning fog. Jessamine sat upon the deck each day below the forecastle, just out of his sight. But he knew she was there, and his body ached with need.

And the nights in the cabin became so unbearable that Alan did what he said he wouldn’t do and left her alone to come up on deck, allowing the swift breeze to cool his thoughts and desires.

At least the weather remained constant. During the nights the wind was steady, rounding the lateen sails as they raced north. And every day brought perfect sunshine and strong winds that kept the ship flying over the water.

Alan feared their good luck might be too good to last. Three days later he was proven right when the carrack behind them drifted slightly off course, revealing three more ships.

Four ships were in pursuit.

Fortunately, his dhow continued to maintain its lead. From the crow’s-nest, Alan tried to discern who their pursuers might be. Any number of people might be on their tail. The conde. The assassins he’d escaped in the desert. Even the Spanish military.

Alan headed back to the deck and to the forecastle, where the captain waited. “We have two cannons
aboard?” Alan asked, drawing on what he’d seen below in the ship’s hold.

“Aye, the ship is armed with two,” confirmed the captain. “But speed and steady winds are our best weapons now. This dhow is faster and lighter than those who pursue us. Besides, I’ve seen the likes of those last three ships before. They are Spanish.”

“Then speed is of the essence. Does the ship have any more speed in her?”

The captain barked orders to his crew, who scurried about, making certain the sails were taut and drawing all the wind they could. Under expert hands, the dhow shaved smoothly through the sea for the next week.

They didn’t break sail until the familiar coastline of England came into view. Alan stood at the rail sorting out the facts, plotting strategy, drawing conclusions, and discarding information until he came up with what he hoped was a plan that would get Jessamine and the ark away from the ship, onto Scottish shores, and among his fellow Templars, before the Spanish arrived behind them.

The only thing standing between him, Jessamine, and success was the English Channel. They would have to risk entering it and hope and pray the English navy would be unaware of the violation of its territory.

The only chance they had was to proceed at night and make the ship as invisible as possible. Alan felt a smile tug at his lips. Perhaps the English would give them unwilling aid by ridding them of their pursuers, who wouldn’t know what threat awaited them in the channel.

Alan glanced at the sky. Dusk was falling. Darkness would be here soon. He had to prepare.

The moon was a crescent-shaped sliver rising over the dark masses of land in the distance. Stars hung suspended by the millions, but the light they shed did little
to illuminate the sinister shapes and shadows within the channel. Alan searched for English ships as the dhow glided silently over the water. They’d switched their two white sails for a dark-colored one. The lack of the second sail had slowed them down, but that couldn’t be helped if they were to make it through the channel unchallenged.

The ship had to appear as only a dark shadow with no flag to identify it and no lights on the deck at all. The only sounds Alan heard were the soft lapping of the water against the hull and the rapid beat of his own heart. All hands had been banished belowdecks to keep the risk of movement or sound to a minimum. They could not risk discovery.

Only he, the captain, and two seamen remained on deck. The captain stood at the wheel. Alan searched the waters from the bow. One seaman lay flat against the deck below the aft sail. He could raise it in an instant if necessary. The other seaman lay against the deck above the cannon slats, ready to signal the men below to fire at a moment’s notice. They’d prepared well for this part of the journey. With luck they’d make it through unscathed.

Alan’s body tensed as he searched the velvet night. A shadow on his left brought a catch to his breath. He strained to see in the darkness. A ship? He couldn’t be sure. Everything was so dark.

The shape vanished as quickly as it had come.

Had he only imagined something there? He took a deep, shuddering breath and stared into the black night. As the inky shoreline of England faded from view, Alan knew the worst was behind them. He allowed himself a comforting thought: the Templar army was almost within reach. On the shores of Scotland, they’d have all the help they needed.

The night faded away, giving birth to a new day. Twenty days after they’d departed from the Holy Land, the Arab dhow left behind the English Channel and the threat of discovery by the English navy. Sweet winds carried them up the North Sea toward a home Alan had not seen in almost a year.

A year could change many things. A year had changed him. He glanced out at the banks of the River Tay, which was taking them closer to the Templar headquarters. Were the brothers still occupying Trophichen Preceptory? One never knew what changes time would bring to an order in hiding. But for the sake of the ark, Alan prayed the order was as it had been before he and the other Scottish Templars had left for the Holy Land.

Alan felt a moment’s ease as the familiar sights of the harbor came into view. With luck, they would stay ahead of their foes. Their day’s lead could easily disappear on land. Yet he held the advantage because he knew the terrain like the back of his hand.

But the ark would slow them down.

The tension returned to his neck and shoulders. His hand left the rail to grip the hilt of his sword. He tugged the edge of his chain mail into place. He was prepared for anything. This battle was not yet won.

Where were they?

The conde paced restlessly back and forth in front of the docks of Dundee. The morning light had spilled across the land, and Cathcart and Jessamine had yet to arrive. As the night had vanished, so had his patience.

He’d made his journey on the Arab ship through the English Channel in record time, leaving the other three Spanish ships well behind. He’d brought just a few heavily armed men with him. They could take the
Scotsman. All they needed was for the bastard’s ship to arrive in port.

So why didn’t Cathcart come?

Had his intelligence been wrong? The thought brought with it a spark of fury. Had the old man on the docks of Jaffa lied about the Scots destination? The conde released a howl of animalistic rage and frustration. His troops edged away from him.

The cowards. He bared his teeth at the men, sending them scurrying back farther.

Then, just when he thought all was lost, the bow of a ship emerged at the mouth of the harbor. They were here. Power surged through the conde. He brought a hand up to his chest, to the marriage document he’d placed in his doublet over his heart. He felt the spread of glowing, comforting warmth penetrate his body, whispering of revenge and riches to come.

Once the ship had dropped anchor, it took some time to get the ark onto the smaller boat that would carry them all to shore. While waiting, Jessamine stared at the new world around her.

Her gaze took in the lush hillside, and her breath stilled in her chest. The red-gold hills of Spain that she’d found so beautiful all her life were utterly different from the rich emerald greens of the Scottish landscape. Nature had painted the soft rolling hills with a palette of every green imaginable. They seemed to stretch forever. On those velvety hills were swaths of deep purple, and the breeze carried the same soft scent Alan had used in her bath aboard the ship. Heather, he had called it. She drew the scent deeper inside her lungs, let it wrap itself around her soul.

Scotland had a softness about the land, the sea, even the air, that Spain did not. With a smile, Jessamine
turned her gaze to the boat waiting for her to board. Will already sat in the bow along with two seamen who would help them move the ark onto a wagon. The ark was covered with a large linen sheet, but that simple disguise could not hide the outlines of the angels’ wings beneath the thin fabric. Her smile slipped as she realized for the first time how vulnerable they would be transporting the ark to a safe haven.

Alan stood in the boat below, steadying the ladder for her. Jessamine hesitated for a moment as she reached his level. He smiled at her and the warmth of that smile moved clear down to her toes. She missed him terribly, and wondered more than once during their journey if resisting him was more torturous than a life on the run as traitors.

Once she was in the boat, he sat beside her, and her heart accelerated at his nearness. The boat lurched forward as the seamen rowed toward shore. Trying to distract herself, Jessamine turned her attention toward the Scottish shoreline ahead. In the early morning light, the docks were empty. Perhaps everyone else was still abed. The solitude comforted her as they approached the docks. “It’s beautiful here,” she said to Alan.

“Beautiful, indeed,” he agreed softly.

Something in his voice suggested his comment was not directed entirely to the view. “If you find these hills intriguing, you should see the blue-black Scottish mountains. Savage beauty at its finest.”

“I’d like to see those mountains. I want to see many mountains in my lifetime.”

“You will.” The morning light played with the breeze-blown bits of his hair, scattering them like threads of dark silk against the blue Scottish sky. The visual effect of the wind, the sun, the sky was intoxicating. It acted
on her senses like a draft of sweet wine. She swayed slightly toward him and caught the scent of sandalwood and musk. She closed her eyes and sighed. Was it Scotland or the man beside her working this magic over her?

“Jessamine?” His voice was soft and thick.

She opened her eyes at the soft request. For a moment she couldn’t move, trapped in his gaze. Her body tingled, from the palms of her hands to the soles of her feet. A blush heated her cheeks. She tore her eyes away.

“Where do we go from here?” she asked, scooting farther from him on the seat. Distance, that’s what she needed.

He smiled knowingly. “We ride for Trophichen Preceptory, where we’ll gather other Templars to help us battle whoever is following us.”

“Who is following us, Alan?”

“I’m betting it’s the Spanish and hoping it’s not the assassins.”

“It’s because of me that the Spanish might be after us.”

Alan’s expression turned fierce. “Without you, I never would have found the ark.” His voice was thick. “I’ll protect you from them, if that’s your choice.”

She nodded. “That’s my choice.”

“Then come.” He offered her his hand to help her from the boat as they reached the docks of Dundee.

She took his fingers and stood. Warmth pulsed up her arm as he led her from the boat to solid ground; then he released her fingers, leaving her feeling suddenly cold and alone.

“I must arrange for horses and a wagon. With luck, we’ll make it to the preceptory before the other ships land,” Alan said.

“Your luck is at an end, Templar.” The conde’s low, triumphant laugh echoed in the morning air.

Jessamine’s gaze followed the sound to the slight rise above the dock. Thirteen Spanish soldiers flanked the conde with swords drawn.

In a blur of motion, Alan spun Jessamine away, toward the seamen who were carrying the ark. Alan unsheathed his sword with one hand and grasped a dagger from his boot with the other, then dove into the sudden flurry of action. Four soldiers rushed at him, flourishing their swords. He struck one man in the throat with his dagger while fending off three others with his sword.

Jessamine’s heart hammered as she watched Alan engage the men with skill that was deadly and precise. The sound of clashing steel echoed loudly in her ears while they fought each other for their lives. But there were too many of them to Alan’s one. Jessamine searched the abandoned docks. The ships in the harbor gave evidence that this was a working port, but where were all the people? Had the conde cleared the area so that no one would be around to help?

The conde broke away from the others and moved toward her. Jessamine stepped back, her gaze fixed on his dagger. She’d been so close to freedom.

He grasped her arm with bone-crushing force and pressed the tip of his dagger to her throat. “Are you afraid, my princess?”

A ripple of fear coursed through her. “Of course, I’m afraid. I’d be stupid not to be frightened.”

“And you’ve proved to me, Jessamine, that you’re not stupid. I see the fire has returned to your eyes. Good, I’ll enjoy you all the more for it.”

“You’ll get no pleasure from me.”

“You’re wrong.” He drew her against his chest. He started to lower his head, then suddenly stopped. His gaze shot to the ark, which had been abandoned by the
seamen. Without swords or knives to protect them, they’d run off.

The conde tugged her forward with him as he moved toward the ark and slashed the covering. “Is that what I think it is? I’ve heard the legends.” He stared at the dirt-covered ark with the same lust in his eyes that had been directed at her only moments before. “The Ark of the Covenant,” he breathed. “Is it true what is written in the Bible, that only the pure can touch the ark and live? His gaze shot to hers. “Have you touched it?” he asked.

“Yes,” she replied with a gasp as he forced her hand forward, dragging it over the muddied surface. The dry dirt crumbled, revealing the gold beneath.

He jerked her hand back. “I’d wondered what you were doing in the desert with that bastard. This is better than I ever imagined.”

He twisted her back toward the battle. She gasped to see that Alan sported several wounds on his arms and legs, yet he continued to fight against overwhelming odds. Her heart lodged in her throat. “Stop it, you’re killing him!” Jessamine cried.

“He deserves to die, my dear, for violating my property.”

Across the distance, Alan’s gaze met hers. He tried to move toward her, only to be attacked from behind by more soldiers. He flinched as their blades tore at his clothing, revealing his chain mail beneath. She prayed the mail would protect him. She prayed that someone would help him defeat these men.