The Princess and the Templar (21 page)

“You’ll need coins and knights to retake your lands. If the Sinclair broke his word and wed another, we’ll need proof. And even then, his knights will hold Kinsale until they receive orders from the earl, which I doubt—”

“He’ll send because he’s a thief and a scoundrel,” she finished. “Just as I’ve said all along.”

Raul couldn’t argue, but the truth of her words did little to alter the situation. So far, he’d kept this new knowledge from Sean and Evan, but alas, they owed their allegiance to the earl. He would have to tell them.

But not yet—not until they reached the coast.

“I don’t need men or money to retake my castle,” she said. “When my men learn what the Sinclair has done, they will rally to my side.”

“Are you certain? They fill their bellies with provisions bought with the earl’s coin. And the Sinclair’s knights reside within the castle. It may not be so easy to retake Kinsale.”

“Aye, thanks to you, Sir Raul. You made certain to secure it against me.”

She turned away and urged her gelding to a gallop, as if she wanted to remove herself from his odious presence. He couldn’t blame her. Because of him, she’d lost everything and been betrayed in the bargain. With a glance at the others, he spurred his steed to greater speed, not wanting Cahira to put too much distance between them.

Ahead, the road forked, the right branch leading into a deep ravine, while the left skirted the mountains, meandering through a grassy meadow. The right fork led toward the coast, the way they needed to go, but there was something sinister about that track. He didn't know what bothered him about the right fork, but something about it made the back of his neck tingle.

Cahira turned her mount to the right, and as she did so, the hairs on the back of his neck rose. For some reason the towering walls of the steep pass made him uneasy. Even if it meant they took the long way around, he preferred the other trail.

Drawing alongside Cahira, he said, “We should go the other way.”

“Why? The coast is this way.”

“Your sense of direction is excellent,” he replied. “Or should I credit that map you have hidden in your sleeve?”

She opened her mouth and then colored, the rosy glow of her cheeks making her emerald eyes sparkle. “How did you know?”

“Seems we’ve no talent for keeping secrets from each other.” He allowed himself a rueful smile and glanced at the sheer cliffs looming overhead.

A frisson of dread shook him.

Grabbing her mount’s bridle, he stopped, waiting for the others to catch up. When the others reached them, he glanced warily at the pass again, only to be blinded by the bright flash of sunlight reflected on steel.

Eight masked men emerged from the boulders, their swords drawn. The men crowded around them, surrounding their mounts. One man stepped forward and leveled his sword at the princess.

“Dismount,” the leader barked, “or the lady dies.”

Chapter Twelve

Raul tossed his moneybag at the man holding Cahira. The leader lowered his weapon and caught the pouch. In that one unguarded moment, Raul drew his sword. “Take the money,” Raul said. “We’ll not stop you.”

Raul, his knights, and the women had been forced to dismount. These men were obviously brigands, intent upon robbing them. They could have all his money if they’d not harm Cahira. Even with his sword drawn, he possessed no illusions. They were hopelessly outnumbered and could ill afford a fight.

Leveling his blade again, the leader hissed, “You shouldn’t have drawn on me.”

“My error.” Raul shrugged, hoping they would be satisfied and go. But he didn’t sheath his weapon. “You have my vow we won’t pursue you. I make you a gift of our coin.”

“How kind of you, Templar,” the leader sneered, “to surrender your money so readily. But it’s your stinking life I want.” He brought his sword up and drove straight for Raul’s heart.

Caught off guard, Raul awkwardly parried the blow. And the next. Meeting thrust for thrust, Raul called to Sean and Evan to cover his back. And to Cahira, he hissed, “Get on your horse and ride.”

“Nay!” The leader shouted, retreating before Raul’s onslaught. “Stop her!” He licked his lips. “I want a taste o’ Her Highness afore we run her through.”

One of the brigands broke from the circle and grabbed Cahira. Raul cursed. How did they know Cahira was a princess? And he’d made a fatal error; these weren’t common thieves. It was obvious the “robbers” meant to kill them and ravish Cahira.

With that thought, his gut twisted and a red mist filmed his vision. Letting loose a savage howl, he lowered his head and raised his sword. But the circle of brigands closed in, a human wall of flashing steel. Beset and outnumbered, Raul wielded his sword with fiendish alacrity, desperate to reach Cahira. Obviously confident of the outcome, Raul watched as the leader retreated a pace, allowing his men to counter Raul’s attack.

Raul heard a muffled scream and then…silence. He needed to get to Cahira, but he had to break through first. Focusing on cutting down his attackers, he fought with the strength of two men, so desperate was he to save Cahira.

Bang, clang, clatter. The furious cacophony of metal against metal throbbed in Raul’s blood. Pressed on all sides, the remaining six brigands swarmed over them like an angry beehive, slashing at him and his knights from all directions. So vicious was the fighting, they raised the dust of the road and shredded the soft summer air of the Highlands.

Raul chopped and cut, parried and thrust. The brigands met steel with steel. Blades clashed, the jarring impacts pounding Raul’s arm and shoulder. His sword found flesh, but two against one took their toll. His chain mail afforded some protection, compared to the thin tunics the brigands wore but—still it was not enough. He wished for his shield, but there hadn’t been time to retrieve it from the back of his saddle.

The brigands’ blades nicked him, gnawing like a hungry wolf pack. Raul’s blood poured from a dozen wounds, and the air turned foul with its salty-metallic scent.

With Sean and Evan at his side, they edged closer and formed a three-sided wedge, each of them fighting for their lives. Like him, his knights were covered in blood, and the hoarse rattle of their breaths mingled with his own.

Slowly, inch by inch, he maneuvered them toward the side of the road, hoping to put the sheer cliff at their backs. One of the masked men must have guessed his intent and rushed him. Raul tripped his attacker. Once down, he ran him through.

Jerking his sword free, he registered the angry hiss of a blade directed at him. He jumped to one side—but not quick enough. The sword bit into his left shoulder. Bright crimson spurted, but the pain didn’t come, only a strange numbness. Pivoting quickly, he ran through his attacker before the bandit could raise his sword again.

Sean downed a man, too, and Raul pressed their advantage, savagely hacking. The brigand leader stood to one side, watching. Their leader was the key. If they could kill him, the others might lose heart and flee. Raul brought his sword up and rammed through the others, aiming for the leader’s throat.

But the brigand chief was fresh and quick on his feet. He feinted and danced away. Sweat rained into Raul’s eyes, clouding his vision. Pain swamped him, pulsing in waves. His left arm hung loosely at his side, and his sword arm was almost spent. He struggled to raise the heavy blade.

A curse and then a groan smote his ears.

Evan dropped, taking one of the brigands with him. Seeing the young knight fall, Raul shuddered and tasted the black bile of despair. Maddened by the death of his friend, Sean cursed and screamed threats. He rushed the remaining two brigands, swinging his sword in a wide arc.

Raul opened his mouth to call a word of caution.

Too late. One of the men dropped before Sean’s desperate onslaught, but the other buried his blade in Sean’s neck. Gurgling and spitting a river of blood, Sean’s eyes rolled in his head, and his legs crumpled. The gorge-raising stench of death enveloped Raul, choking him.

A woman’s shriek shredded the air.

The remaining attackers were caught off guard by the scream and glanced back. Seizing the moment, Raul fled for the cliffs. The dark mouth of a cave beckoned, but he could not desert Cahira. Instead, he wedged himself between two boulders with the rock wall at his back. Panting, he raised his sword, praying he could last long enough to kill the remaining men and rescue her.

He needed a miracle.

Pain lanced through his shoulder, reverberating down his arm and making his head spin. Shaking his head, he spread his legs wide and waited.

The leader turned and advanced on him, threatening, “And now, cur, you shall die.

“Nay!” Cahira screamed, terror clawing at her. She struggled and kicked the man who held her. He merely laughed and whispered obscene promises in her ear.

Shuddering, she tried to pull away from his fetid breath and the awful stench of his unwashed body, but he only tightened his grip. His arm encircled her waist like a steel band, and one of his hands brushed the underside of her breast.

She’d watched as Evan and Sean were cut down. Saw blood pouring from Raul’s shoulder. They’d fought against overwhelming odds for her sake. But she could fight, too. Da and her brothers had trained her well. ’Twas better than being a lamb led to the slaughter, better than cringing in horror as they hacked Raul to pieces.

“I feel sick,” she gasped, “all this blood.” Swooning, she fell back against her captor, making a choking noise. “I think I’m going to—”

With a curse the brigand thrust her away. “She-bitch, you’ll not loose yer gorge on me.”

She whirled around, kicking high and hard. Her foot found its mark. Gasping, he doubled over, dropping his sword and clutching his private parts. She bent down and grabbed his abandoned weapon.

“Bitch!” the man yelled and backhanded her. White-hot pain exploded in her jaw. Staggering under the impact, she lost her grip on the sword and fell to her knees.

Mildread, who had her face buried in the packhorse’s flank, burst to life, flinging herself at Cahira’s attacker. “Ye’ll not touch milady, you bastard.”

The man grasped his sword and straightened. His face was blotched red and spittle ran from his lips. With one hand, he grabbed Mildread by the hair. With the other, he plunged his sword deep into her belly. “Whore,” he snarled.

Mildread whimpered, her body folding in upon itself. Cahira covered her face with her hands, trying to erase the hideous sight. Her friend and servant swayed, skewered on the brigand’s blade, the lifeblood pumping from her.

With glazed eyes, Mildread turned and looked at Cahira, her mouth working. But no words came. She slumped forward and the murderer withdrew his blade, tossing her on the ground like a well-gnawed bone.

A blinding rage ripped through Cahira, setting her on fire. Her heart pumped, like some great engine, thundering in her ears. Strength and determination flowed into her. She grabbed a discarded blade from one of the dead and plunged it straight into the heart of Mildread’s murderer.

His eyes opened wide, and he grasped the blade in both hands as if to pull it out, calling her whore and bitch and worse. Then his eyes filmed over and his voice sputtered. His hands dropped to his sides, and he pitched headlong like a felled oak.

Pulling the sword free, she turned. Raul and the brigand chief fought one-on-one. The other two men had dropped back to catch their breath. Even if Raul could kill the leader, the others would finish him.

But not if she finished them first.

With a blood-curdling shriek, she swung at the nearest man, bringing him down with one stroke. The other brigand turned and lifted his sword. She dodged past him and joined Raul, her back to the cliff.

“Get back,” he gasped. “Princess, no, you mustn’t…” The harsh rasp of his breath swallowed his warning.

He managed to parry the leader, but she could see he was tiring quickly and strained to lift his sword. “Better to die fighting than lay beneath these murderers,” she replied, hacking and thrusting.

Raul merely grunted and fought on. But ’twould only be a matter of minutes. Blood ran down his arm and pooled at his feet.

She forced herself to concentrate. Cut, slash, feint, and lunge. The blood rushed in her veins and throbbed in her head. Her body felt like one thundering heartbeat.

But was it her heart? No, ’twas the earth shaking beneath her feet. The brigand chief glanced over his shoulder, and then she knew for certain. Those were hoof beats, echoing from the ravine’s walls and churning the ground.

Someone was coming. Be they friend or foe, she knew not.

A cloud of dust and the jingle of harness answered her desperation. Six knights galloped toward them, the red cross of the Templars emblazoned on their tunics.

The brigand chief cursed and lowered his sword. Signaling his remaining man, they ran for their horses. But ’twas too late. The Templars swept in, and like yeomen sowing grain, they struck the brigands down.

Cahira trembled, blinking her eyes. Her mind whirled with questions. A dozen small injuries stung her, but still she stood, transfixed and dumbfounded. Wanting to believe they’d been saved, but too astonished to credit it.

“Arnaud?” Raul croaked and toppled over.

****

“Fetch the satchel from the packhorse,” Cahira said to no one in particular, not recognizing any of the men but knowing they were Templars and her saviors. “Sir Raul keeps his medicines there. I would bind his wounds.”

One of the Templars bent down and lifted Raul in his arms. Turning to his men, he said, “Roland, fetch the satchel and a blanket. Alain, gather wood and start a fire.”

Glancing at her, he added, “I’ll take him to the road where we can lay him flat.”

Cahira nodded, her limbs hanging lank with weariness, an exhaustion that threatened to consume her, like a giant ocean wave, overwhelming a ship. She yawned, as drowsy as if she hadn’t slept for a fortnight. But despite her weariness, her heart thundered in her ears and her hands shook. Her body trembled, consumed with terror for Raul’s life.

She shook off her exhaustion. She must care for him, just as he’d cared for her. Determined, she placed one foot in front of the other, but her legs wobbled and the earth tilted. One of the Templar knights grasped her elbow and steadied her.