The Princess and the Templar (31 page)

“B-but,” she faltered and her gaze swept the room. Her shoulders slumped, and she nodded. “I don’t know how we’ll get them through the outer gate.” She turned her back and lifted her skirts. He glimpsed her long, shapely legs, and his pulse quickened.

She held out a bundle of ragged clothing. “Giselle and I thought to dress you and Arnaud as women and sneak you past the guards. We’ve a cart waiting outside. But it’s not large enough for—”

“Arnaud is to be freed?”

Shouts and then the sound of clashing metal smote his ears. Women screamed and men cursed. Loud banging and running feet alarmed him. He lifted the stolen sword and grabbed the torch, sprinting for the open door. Before he could reach it, a rail-thin Arnaud appeared on the threshold. Giselle stood behind him.

“Quick!” Arnaud gestured. “We must go. My cellmates are fighting the guards.”

“You freed them?” Raul asked.

“
Oui
, I could not leave them,” Arnaud replied.

“Do you have weapons?”

“Only those we’ve taken.” Arnaud shook his head. “We may be weak, but we outnumber the guards three to one.”

With a triumphant grin, he turned to Cahira. “Did you hear? We’ll fight our way free.”

As if the voice of one man, Raul’s cellmates roared their approval, their shouts reverberating from the slimy prison walls.

Raul knelt beside the closest prisoner and fumbled with the keys until he found the one that unlocked his fellow prisoner's shackles. After that, it was simple. The same key fit all the manacles. In a thrice, he had the twelve Templars on their feet, unsteady and weak though they might be; they were more than ready to fight for their freedom. Sword raised, he joined Cahira with the Templars massed at his back.

She thrust the bundle at him. “You must disguise yourself.”

He pushed aside the clothes. “No, I won’t sneak out like a dog.” His gaze swept his fellow Templars. Their Order might be corrupt at the highest levels, but most of his fellows were good men and accomplished warriors.

He lifted his arm and made a wide sweep, encompassing the other prisoners. “They’ve no disguises.” Then he glanced at Arnaud who still wore his tattered Templar tunic. Arnaud smiled at him.

Raul grinned back. “I’ll take my chance with my fellow Templars.”

****

Trees whipped past. Rising from the darkness like avenging ghosts, their branches reached out with greedy arms, and their stark white trunks formed a forbidding wall in the faded moonlight. The countryside thundered by, churned miles covered by the horses’ galloping hooves. Over hillock and dale, field and fallow, they flew, with the wide Seine on their right.

Cahira clung to Raul’s waist, turning her face into his back, lest the wind whip tears from her eyes. They were free…free. ’Twas a night she would always remember. A night to commemorate in song, sitting by her hearth and spinning tales for her grandchildren.

Against all odds and all reason, the Templars had fought free of the castle dungeon, outwitting the drunken guards and taking their weapons. Leaving the borrowed bawds behind with the cart, the Templars had crept to the royal stables and stolen horses.

When they reached the outer portcullis, the real battle had been engaged. Though they’d fought valiantly, not all of the Templars had escaped. Of the twenty and three men only fourteen had survived. But many of the guards had paid with their lives as well.

In the fiery crucible of battle, Cahira had feared Raul would lose his life, but he’d fought like a madman, overwhelming two guards at once. And he’d marshaled his forces as a general would, barking orders and jumping into the fray to protect his men’s backs.

He’d won through when he could have abandoned his fellow Templars and snuck out in women’s clothing. Thinking of his bravery and selflessness, she clasped him tighter, burrowing into his warm, muscular back.

The warmth of his body and the steady beat of the horse’s hooves lulled her. With no sign of the royal guards pursuing, she relaxed. Her body, so tense before, loosened. Her eyelids drooped, and she leaned into Raul, secure in his strength. They traveled thus, with Giselle at Arnaud’s back and the other Templars trailing behind, for two days and nights, pressing westward.

They fled as if Satan himself pursued them, stopping only for a few hours of rest. When they'd halted, she’d lain on the cold ground with Raul, wrapped in his arms and covered by the horse’s blanket. But those few hours had been the sweetest she’d ever spent. He’d fitted her to his long frame, spoon-fashion, and they’d shared the warmth of their bodies.

Now it was the third day and Cahira remembered the countryside, realizing they were retracing their journey to Paris. ’Twould seem Raul was leading them to the coast, and she wanted to believe he was taking her home. The unspoken hope grew within her, and she started to ask but something stopped her. If she was wrong about his purpose, she didn’t want to know. ’Twas enough to be close to him, to have snatched him from certain torture and death.

As the third day wore on and the sun began its descent in the west, she caught a whiff of the familiar briny tang of the sea. Inhaling, the blood rushed through her veins and her head whirled. She could no longer stay her tongue.

She must know.

“Where are we going? ’Twould seem we’re returning to the coast.”

“Yes,” he patted her hand wrapped around his waist. “To the coast and then to Kinsale.” He glanced over his shoulder and their gazes met. “I mean to keep my promise.”

Her heart leapt for joy, and she hugged him tighter. After so many weeks and months, they would retake her castle, restore her legacy. Thinking of it, she vibrated with excitement. Questions and thoughts crowded her head, buzzing like a hive of angry bees.

“What about knights? How many will we need? The Templars, will they help us? How will we raise money for their sea passage?”

Clasping her hand, he raised it to his mouth and brushed it with his lips. “You’re not the only one who has bold plans. I will explain later, if you but trust me.”

Her hand tingled where his lips had touched her flesh, and she marveled at the ease that was between them. Gone was the unseen barrier she’d felt before. No longer did he seem an unapproachable Templar, now he treated her as a man would his lover…or his wife.

Could it be he finally recognized the love they shared? Her heart soared, tripping wildly in her chest. If the awful ordeal he’d endured had brought him to this place, then it had been a small sacrifice to pay.

He glanced over his shoulder again. Their gazes snagged and held. “Can you trust me, Cahira?”

She rested her head against his broad back. “Aye, Raul, I do trust you.”

Chapter Eighteen

Raul urged his tired mount to a gallop, skirting Harfleur and turning north, taking the faint track that followed the Normandy coastline. Night was falling, and they needed to make camp. In the west, a harvest moon rose, promising to light their way.

He needed to find Fécamp, the ruined Benedictine abbey Henri had described. What if the tortured Templar Captain had lost his senses, and the abbey didn’t exist? Having tended the sick and dying, Raul was aware of the illusions that passed through suffering minds.

The forest closed in around them, and the full moon, tangled in the trees, was of little aid. He thought to call a halt, but they’d not come upon an open place or a source of water. Their water skins were almost empty, and a dry camp held little appeal. He pushed on until darkness shrouded their progress. When he could scarce see his horse’s ears, he lifted his hand, thinking to call a halt. At that moment, his mount rounded a bend in the track, and the thick barrier of trees gave way to a clearing. The full moon, freed from the forest’s clutches, gilded the stones of a man-made structure.

Humps of broken walls rose in the evening mist. Moss and curling vines blanketed the crumbling buildings, as if the forest would reclaim them. Raul glimpsed the outline of a ruined belfry. The top of the bell tower was sheared off.

This must be Fécamp.

Raul spurred his horse through the broken gates, barely hanging by their top hinges. Once inside, the extent of ruin was evident. He saw broken jars, rotted buckets, and an overturned cart littering the courtyard. Reining in his horse, he sat for several moments, gazing at what remained of the stone and timber chapel. The roof had collapsed and the windows gaped, their shutters lost. The door stood ajar with trailing ivy obscuring the lintel stone.

He raised his hand. “We’ll make camp here.”

The others filled the courtyard, pulling up their horses and dismounting. They glanced around and murmured among themselves while unloading provisions from their saddlebags.

Raul could guess what was in their minds. They were wondering why he’d brought them to this place. Though it appeared Philip’s army hadn’t followed, they were hunted men—outlaws. As such, they had to be careful where they stopped. The past two nights, they’d hidden in the forest. By comparison, the ruined abbey appeared too open.

But he had powerful reasons to come here. His life had taken a new turn. No longer was he honor-bound to a sacred Order. He was on his own. And this time, he would seize his destiny. In prison he’d had much time to think, to ponder his life and regret his errors. Even before the French king had arrested the Templars, he’d decided to renounce his vows. He couldn’t continue to be part of a corrupt Order.

His biggest regret had been he’d thrown away the love Cahira had offered. In prison he’d realized no one had loved him as she did. No one had found him worthy as she did. Now he’d been given a second chance. This time, he wouldn’t throw it away.

He was still honor-bound. But now his duty lay with Cahira—his princess—his love.

Sharing these last few days with her, though they were fleeing for their lives, had bound them even closer. They’d slept together in innocence, huddled on the hard ground, sharing one blanket and the heat of their bodies.

His horse shifted and pawed the ground. He should dismount and help make camp. But first, he must see to Cahira. When he’d stopped, she hadn’t stirred. He could feel the weight of her pressed against his back and knew she slept. Turning in the saddle, he grasped her hands and opened them, palms up. He lowered his head and nuzzled the soft skin of her hands, trailing his lips over her palms.

Soon, very soon, he would be kissing her all over. Thinking of making love to her, he grew as hard as a rod, and his hands trembled with the need to touch her breasts.

Only a little time more.

She opened her eyes slowly, her long, feathery lashes fanning her cheeks. Meeting his gaze, her mouth curved up, gifting him with a sleepy smile. His heart beat faster, just looking at her ripe-as-berries mouth. He remembered that night on the ship when they’d sailed for this shore. When, for the first time, he’d glimpsed the glorious promise of her body.

He’d memorized every detail, from the length of her shapely limbs to the perfect globes of her high, full breasts topped by coral rosettes. Her waist was but a mere hand span, flaring into lush hips. Soft burnished curls, a shade darker than the red-gold tresses flowing down her back, hid her secre
t
core, inviting his exploration.

Thinking thus, his manhood lengthened and grew. His arousal throbbed, straining against the too fragile constraint of his chausses. With a ragged breath, he pushed away his lustful thoughts, promising himself she would be his before the night waned.

Brushing the back of his hand across her cheek, he murmured, “
Mi amorcita
, wake up. We’ll stay here for the night.”

She smiled and nodded. “Help me down.”

He slid from the horse and held up his arms. She threw her leg over the saddlebow and fell into his embrace, laughing. Swinging her down, he couldn’t resist the rich promise of her full lips. His mouth found hers. They feasted on each other with their mouths open and tongues intertwined. An open invitation and a promise. A promise he was finding hard to postpone.

Someone coughed, close beside his ear, intruding upon their intimate moment. Breaking their kiss, Raul stroked his fingertips over her downy cheek again. Then he turned to find Arnaud standing behind them, a knowing grin on his face.

“Is that why we stopped here,
mon ami
, so you could kiss your princess?” He shook his head. “There will be time enough for that when we escape France.”

Raul grinned at his friend’s well-aimed taunt, even though he knew Arnaud was serious about escaping. He shrugged. “I knew of this ruined
abbey and thought to shelter here for the night.”

“We should have gone to Harfleur and found a ship.”

Raul didn’t answer. Instead, he turned and loosened his mount’s girth. Over the back of his horse, he saw that Cahira had joined Giselle. The two women appeared intent upon unpacking the few foodstuffs they’d managed to gather since fleeing Paris. One of the Templars had started a fire and several had lit torches. Two more were drawing water from the well. The full moon poured its silver radiance over the courtyard, lighting their efforts.

“What about finding a ship?” Arnaud asked. “So far, we’ve not seen the king’s men. But it’s only a matter of time before—”

“You saw the path.” Raul faced his friend. “No one travels this way. We can stay hidden here whilst one or two of us go to Harfleur and learn if French troops watch the port.”

Arnaud stroked his chin. “I had not thought of that.” He slapped Raul on the back. “Very clever to not risk all. Who should we send?”

Raul shrugged. “We could draw lots.”

“Or I could go. I’d thought to raise some coins through a moneylender in Harfleur.”

If his plan worked, they would have more than enough
money. But Raul wasn’t ready to reveal his secret. “We can decide on the morrow who will go. As for now, I want nothing more than to sleep. This place seems safe,” he added.

Arnaud glanced around and nodded. “True enough. These past nights, I’ve slept with one eye open.”

“As have I.”

Arnaud’s gaze sought out the two women and settled on Cahira. “Make certain you take this opportunity to rest,
mon ami
, for there are many temptations that can rob a man’s sleep.”