Templar's Destiny (9780545415095) (12 page)

I passed through the halls as if I were shadow, drawing my shielding around me, using only the faintest of power to mask my presence. The suite of the Archbishop, the Holy Father, and his conclave were situated in the wing that housed the King. Security was on high alert, and I was frightened. The parchments I carried tucked away in my chausses were treasonous. At each of the checkpoints, armed guards stood at attention. Only the forged papers provided by Alexander and Fabienne's contacts allowed me to move through each as if I belonged. When at long last I arrived at the Archbishop's suite, a trickle of sweat ran down my back.

“The Archbishop is with another at the moment, but if you would like to wait here, he will see you shortly thereafter.” A soft-spoken priest in a plain linen robe motioned me onward.

I took a seat on a hard wooden bench in the hallway outside his chamber. The light was dim and I was fairly hidden, but still the squeal of the door made me start. I ducked my head as two soldiers passed without a glance. A moment later, the Archbishop appeared. “Come in, lad,” he said, without speaking my name. Only when the doors closed behind us did I dare to breathe.

“Yer Grace,” I said, dropping to one knee and kissing his ring.

“Tormod, 'tis very good to see ye alive an' well. I feared for ye when I heard o' the warrants posted in Edinburgh. Tell me what has happened.”

“Thank ye, Yer Grace.” I was afraid to speak. The Templar had warned me that the castle had many eyes and ears, and this suite was less than secure with so many guards and servants about.

“The Templar asked me to give ye these. They will explain better than I have the ability.” I looked quickly about, anxious to leave. But the Archbishop was not ready to release me.

“I thank ye for yer delivery,” he said, taking the papers and moving to the light. “Ye have done much o' that these past months?”

I wasn't following. “Beg pardon, Yer Grace?”

“Delivering. Ye delivered a very special package a short while ago to the Abbot, did ye not, Tormod?” he asked. “'Tis such a terrible situation, his incarceration. I wanted to make sure that delivery arrived safely before he was arrested.”

He was talking about the Holy Vessel. “Och, aye, Yer Grace, it was delivered with all haste.” I hesitated, and he raised his snowy eyebrows.

“There have been difficulties in that matter,” I said, looking pointedly at the door where outside a guard stood in attendance.

“Oh?” he asked. “What difficulties?”

I wanted to shout at his ignorance of my discomfort. “A bit o' what was delivered was then taken,” I hedged.

“Come now, lad, be plain with me,” he said, looking expectantly at me.

The sweat was dripping down my neck as I fought to come up with words suitable and yet vague enough that anyone listening would be left behind. “Some o' my delivery rests safely at its destination an' some o' it lies with one whom it should not. Yer Grace, perhaps it would be best if ye spent some time with …” I hesitated, not even wanting to use his title here where we were still outlawed. “Alexander. I am sure all o' yer questions will have answers.”

He appeared disappointed. “As ye wish, then, lad.”

I was relieved. “Thank ye, Yer Grace, I'd best be getting back now.”

He nodded and as I hurried out of the suite, I heard him break the wax seal on the papers I'd left.

The corridor beyond the guard was curiously empty. And though I was in a hurry to be away from the Archbishop, something within me suggested that I move slowly through this part of the castle. At the first bend in the corridor, I heard feet approaching and I ducked through an unlatched door off to my left. With my ear pressed against the wood I listened as the muffled footsteps moved past. Then without warning tightness slid through my limbs and I suddenly felt as if I could not move. Within me longing stretched and clawed and I grasped the door to keep from rushing out of the room. Gaylen, here in the castle with the carving. How? Why? Did he know that we were here? Had he told de Nogaret, and did the King now realize that the quarry he sought was under his very roof? My breath was short as the power beneath the castle began to rise under my feet. Frantic, I pressed it back down, reinforcing my shielding as fast as I could, worried that Gaylen would sense it and all would be lost. I had to get word to the Templar Alexander and find Aine.

Beyond the door, the footsteps in the corridor grew fainter. Gaylen's men had turned into a room somewhere ahead. I lingered behind only a moment to be sure he wouldn't return for me, then edged into the empty hall. The clink of armor rang from beyond the bend, and I moved with purpose and kept my eyes firmly on the stones at my feet. The King's guard passed without a glance.

“We need to find Torquil an' get out o' this castle,” I said breathlessly. “Gaylen is here an' he can recognize both Aine an' myself, even if no others can.”

The Templar paced slowly, his face a grave mask. “This is a complication. We need to stay an' parlay for the release o' the Abbot, an' find out about Torquil, but 'tis true that neither o' ye can afford to be seen.” He turned to me. “Ye will limit yerself to the suite, until we can establish how long he intends to remain.”

“No. Ye need me,” I protested.

“Tormod, he is up to something, o' that we are all certain. But in this ye canno' be a part. This thing is no' just about you or me, Tormod. 'Tis about the Holy Vessel — what 'tis trying to tell us an' why it has come back into the world after all this time.”

I knew that he was right in that. I had been thinking along those paths for the last moon or more, but he was wrong as well. I was a large part of this. The carving chose me, for whatever the reason. Confined to the suite I could do nothing to establish what that reason was or to get it back. My face gave me away as usual.

“All o' this is larger an' more important than we few individuals. We must place eyes an' ears within the King's complement. We've got to find out who he is meeting with an' what they are talking about.” He moved to the door, and I went to follow.

“No, Tormod. Stay.” He passed through the door and out of sight before I could protest. His words were to me as if I were a hound. Sit and stay. I thought of Aine moving unaware of Gaylen's presence within the chambers of the Princess. She had to be warned. I could not heed his command this time.

There were many guards stationed in the corridors that led to the wing of the Princess. I carried a tray laden with the afternoon repast that I had pilfered from the kitchen, with Gaston's help. I moved with steady purpose and found that none stopped my progress with either word or look. The halls were dim and nearly empty of passersby. The King's court session had resumed for the afternoon and most of the castle had returned to the great hall to either watch or participate.

When I'd sought out Gaston, he told me that the Princess had retired to her chambers and that she did not intend to reappear before the evening meal. A message had come from the English King: The Church had blessed the suit of his son as her future husband. The Princess was in a rare fury.

“A tray for the Princess,” I said to the guard who stood outside the door of her rooms. “I was told to bring it quickly.”

“I will not do it!” The raised voice was accompanied by the crash of something fragile against the back of the large wooden door. The guard flinched.

“Better you than I,” he said with a grimace. “Watch your head as you enter.”

He opened the door a hair and another crash sent shards of a pot tumbling into the corridor. I ducked inside to find Aine doing her best to keep the Princess from turning the suite on end, moving breakable items from her path and generally scrambling about while the maidservants stood by, wringing their hands and burying their heads in their aprons.

“Yer tray, my Lady,” I said, dodging a silk-ribboned slipper that flew over my shoulder.

“Who are you, and what are you doing here?” the Princess demanded. “You are not our servant!” She had paused in the middle of her tirade to look me over. I met her eyes with innocence.

“Gaston was called upon by yer royal father to take a meal to His Holiness. I am fulfilling his duties,” I said.

My voice seemed to take her aback. “Where are you from? You speak strangely.” She moved closer, and I was ensnared by the color and fire in her eyes. I had seen them in the vision and had met them as she entered the great hall only this morning. Up close they were even more magnificent. I could not seem to form a thought for a moment.

Aine, who had been cleaning up the mess, passed by me, snapping a linen as if to shake it out very near the edge of my tray. I turned and narrowed my eyes at her. She moved on as if the slight was unintended.

“I am from Scotia, my Lady. Come with a group o' traders seeking work for the winter in the kitchens.” I remembered that servants would not meet the Princess's eyes so I focused on the floor, trying my best to look meek.

“Scotia? Is that not a part of that horrible land they call England?” she demanded. Even from my vantage I could see her fisted hands and the tautness of her posture.

“'Tis, an' is no' as well, my Lady. Scotia is its own land, an' its people are fighting the English for their independence,” I explained. “The crowned King is Robert the Bruce, although the English King does no' honor the title.”

“The English King,” she scoffed. “My soon to be father-in-law.” She took a quick hold of the pitcher on my tray before Aine could stop her and threw it full force at the stone wall to the right of the door frame.

“My Lady, you must calm yerself. It will do you no good to allow the world to see you at your worst,” said one of her ladies. “You're a princess and someday you will be the Queen of England.”

This seemed to infuriate her more than appease her. I steadied the tray and moved it subtly when she would have snatched the plate and sent it flying as well. Unfortunately, my movement put her a bit off balance and I was forced to drop the tray and catch the Princess before she stumbled. The plate of meat and cheese and the bowl of stew landed in a heap on the fine carpet and the Princess in a sprawl against my chest. Her surprised wide eyes met mine and my arms closed tight around her back so that she would not fall into the mess. Her face was pink, close, and lovely, and the faint scent of lavender hung on her breath.

I sidestepped us both around the mess and helped her to stand while Aine stared in horrified fascination. “You may release me now,” she said a bit breathlessly, and I realized I had quite forgotten that my arms were still around her.

“Aye. O' course,” I mumbled, stepping away and stooping to stack what I could back on the tray. Aine knelt beside me.

“What the devil are ye doing here, Tormod?” Her whisper was fierce.

“Gaylen is in the castle,” I murmured as I hurriedly hefted the tray. Aine's heart had begun to race. I felt the bond between us flare with shared worry.

The Princess had recovered from her temper, and I felt her eyes assessing me as I turned back toward the door. “Bring another. Please.” She now spoke in a much kinder tone that made me think perhaps she regretted her outburst. “I'll take it in the library.”

My eyes darted to Aine's, and I knew she understood my meaning without words. She would find a way to be in the complement of servants in the library when I returned.