To Tempt a Knight (2 page)

“I hope you’re rested, Phantom,” he said, saddling the warhorse once more. “We have important work to see to.”

Phantom nickered as if in reply.

William swung up into the saddle, finding comfort in the feel of the powerful animal beneath him. At the stable door, he paused. In that moment, the rain eased and
the wind stilled, as though the universe heard and understood what was in his heart.

“Scotland cannot afford for me to fail my brothers,” William whispered as he put his heels to his horse’s side and set off to the north, toward Fraserburgh and the home of Sir John Fraser.

Siobhan Fraser opened the shuttered window of her father’s study and drew in a breath of the morning air. Last night’s rain had left the earth fresh and clean. The very air smelled ripe for adventure. Siobhan looked over her shoulder at her father. He sat at his desk, as he did most days, with a sheaf of vellum stacked before him. Pen in hand, he scribbled page after page of gibberish. He called it code. She thought of it as nonsense. Why couldn’t he simply write what he wanted to write instead of hiding the message within the context of other words?

“Father,” she said, breaking the hushed silence that always hovered over their house. He raised a hand, indicating he’d heard her, but could not answer at the moment. Her father liked silence. Siobhan was starting to hate it.

There had been too much silence in their home as of late. Her father worked day and night on that sheaf of vellum. The more he worked, the less he talked. She turned back to the window, battling the tide of disappointment rising within her. Didn’t he see how lonely she was? That she missed the daily discussions she used to have with him before he dove headlong into this current all-important work?

Overhead, clouds sped across the sky, creating a shifting pattern of shadows across the green and purple hills in the distance. Did he not see how much she longed for
adventure, and that sitting at the window of their house in an isolated part of the countryside was never going to get her there?

She frowned at the ever-changing clouds in the sky. Did her father have an adventurous bone in his body?

“All right, my dear,” her father called from his desk. “What is it you wanted to say?”

She turned to face him. He looked up from the page he’d been writing. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, then opened them slowly. Tired brown eyes stared into hers. “You have my attention, Siobhan.” His normally strong voice was weak and washed out.

Siobhan felt the stirrings of fear. Her father was never this overwrought or obsessed with his work. Instead of saying what was in her heart she asked, “What’s wrong?”

He sighed. “Never could hide much from you.”

She angled herself toward him and waited for him to continue.

“I’m feeling some pressure to get this last manuscript completed,” he said, looking past her to the open window. “I think it might be time for us to move on, to go back to Edinburgh.”

Siobhan hardly dared to breathe. Had she heard him correctly?

He released a tired sigh. “I can see the effect our tedious life in the country has on you. You need to mingle with other young people. ‘Tis time for you to marry and start a life of your own.”

The breath she’d been holding whooshed out of her lungs. How could he have known her thoughts—not about marriage, but about a change in their situation? Sure, monks had visited occasionally, but since her nurse, Edina MacInnes, had died six years ago, Siobhan had lacked a true companion. “Father, what brought this on?”

“I’m worried about your future.” He returned his gaze to her. “What will you do after I’m gone?”

Siobhan shot to her feet, pacing back and forth across his office. She had to think. Why was he talking about relocating now? “What’s in Edinburgh?”

“Safety for you.”

Her fingers curled, nervously flexing and extending with each step. “I’m safe here with you. I’m just a little bored.”

Her father gave her a small smile. “A little?”

“All right, a lot.” She mustered a laugh. “I need something to do.” She stopped before him. “What can I do?”

Her father pushed back his chair, the sound of wood on wood loud in the quiet house. “You really want to help me?”

“Please.”

He gathered up the papers he’d been working on and thrust them into her arms. “Take these to the attic and bind them together in some way. And while you are there, bring me the scroll.”

“The scroll?” she repeated in a thick voice. The one he told her never to touch?

He nodded. “You know the one.”

Instead of dashing off to do his bidding, she frowned and remained where she stood. “What’s wrong, Father?”

He smiled weakly. “All is well, my dear. Perhaps it’s time for an old man to share his secrets with his daughter.”

Suddenly nervous, she reached for his hand. “Secrets?”

He squeezed her fingers, then pulled out of her grip. “Go get the scroll. Then we will talk.”

Something
was
wrong. She left the study, clutching the vellum to her chest. With her free hand, she picked up a candlestick from the table in the hallway and went to the kitchen fire to light it before proceeding up the stairs. As she progressed, she wondered what could have
brought this change in her father today? For it was more than her own discontent that had set him on this path.

What secrets could a hard-working, self-exiled man like her father be keeping from the world?

At the top of the stairs, Siobhan set the stack of vellum on a nearby table and held her single candle aloft. She peered around the hazy light of the upstairs chamber. He’d sent her up here to find a scroll.
The scroll.
The one he’d told her all her life to leave alone.

Siobhan’s candle illuminated a corner of the room, where she saw a single sheet of vellum tacked to the wall. She moved closer and smiled. Her father had saved the drawing she’d made of Hippolyta, wearing the magic girdle given to the Amazonian queen by her father, Ares. Siobhan had drawn the picture as a child after her own father had told her the story of the golden belt that draped across Hippolyta’s hips. Siobhan released a soft sigh. She loved her father’s stories of myths and treasures. It was those very stories that made her long for adventures of her own now. Siobhan moved away from the memories of the past and continued to search the chamber. Not finding what she searched for in the dim light, she moved to the chamber’s only window and thrust the shutters back. Morning light filtered into the room, catching in its grip swirls of dust as they floated through the air.

For a moment, her attention was caught by the view outside. High rolling hills stood in the distance. Hills she had always longed to explore. In those hills, and beyond in the cities, lay experiences she allowed herself only to dream about at night. With a soft sigh, she turned away. Would they truly leave their old home for Edinburgh soon?

The thought brought with it a frown. What about her father’s work? Her gaze moved about the half-lit chamber. Her father’s research on ecclesiastical matters filled the
space. Books, loose papers like those she’d carried and scrolls were everywhere.

Siobhan’s frown deepened as she took in the hundreds of scrolls stacked against the far wall of the chamber. Her father had always told her they were historical documents from the Church. She’d never thought to question why he kept them here instead of in the church vaults. Yet she had always wondered what those documents contained.

Once, as a child, she had slipped into the attic by herself to find out, only to be discovered by her father before she could so much as open one delicate scroll she had lifted from the stack. He’d told her it was best she didn’t know what it contained. She would be safer that way.

Siobhan held the candle out before her. Yellow-gold light spilled across the chamber, illuminating a small table in the corner.

After hiding the contents of this attic from her for the last nineteen years, why did he send her to get the scroll today?

The scent of wax mixed with the musty smell of stagnant air as Siobhan stepped up to the table. She set the candlestick down and reached for the forbidden scroll. Its leather casing was embellished with the carving of a rose twining around a Templar cross.

As she started to pull out the scroll, the sound of hoofbeats drifted through the open window. Visitors? Her father hadn’t mentioned that any of the monks who regularly came to visit would arrive today. Then again, who else would it be? At least her father wouldn’t need her help to entertain them.

She removed the lid of the leather case in her hands and reached for the scroll inside, but the crash of a door stalled her fingers. She heard muffled voices, then a shout. With the leather casing in one hand and the candle in the other, she hastened to the window.

Outside, four men retreated from the front of the house. Three of the men she did not recognize, but the familiar figure of her father stood out. Two men dragged him by the arms across the courtyard to waiting horses.

Siobhan hitched a shaky breath as she bolted for the stairs, but her steps faltered. What if there were others below? Had they come for her father? Had they come for whatever secrets he had been about to tell her?

At the landing halfway down the stairs, she stopped. Though she was wholly unprepared to battle three men, she had to do something to help her father. And before she charged into unknown dangers, she had to keep safe what her father had protected all her life—this very scroll.

With trembling fingers, she slipped the lid back on the leather casing. She then slid the precious document inside a large ceramic water vessel her father had accepted as a gift from one of the monks who had brought it back from the Holy Land. Silently, she crept down the stairs, uncertain of what she might find.

Cool air greeted her. She twisted toward the hallway to see the front door standing open. She paused, listening.

Silence.

The shuffle of her half boots on the floorboards sounded unusually loud as she made her way down the hallway to her father’s study.

At the door, she peered inside. No one was there. She moved inside the room, her heart hammering in her chest. Where books had only moments ago lined the dark wood shelves, they were now strewn upon the floor. The chair behind his giant oak desk was pitched to the side.

Why would anyone kidnap her father? He was of no importance.

Siobhan straightened. She had to help him. Careful not to make any sound, she moved to the doorway and
strained to listen down the hallway, hearing only the sound of her own thundering heart.

On unsteady legs, she made her way to the front door and stepped outside. A wisp of cool air touched her senses. Morning sunlight spread across the empty courtyard. The gate that separated their home from the rest of the countryside stood open. Siobhan swallowed hard, forcing away fear.

At the bottom of the stairs she grabbed a thick branch that had fallen from a nearby tree during the rainstorm the night before. Her hands tightened around the wood. She hitched her skirts up with her other hand and raced down the path.

At the open gate, she stopped. Her heart lurched in hope that died a moment later. There was no sign of her father or his abductors.

She clutched the branch with white-knuckle force as her heartbeat thundered in her ears. She drew a ragged breath, hoping to slow her racing heart. But even as her breathing slowed, the beat continued. Thump, thump. Thump, thump. Suddenly, a dark shape rose above her. The sound hadn’t been her heart. A man on horseback pulled back on his reins, causing the white stallion to rear up.

Her voice went mute, caught in her throat by instant terror. The hooves loomed like raised blades in the morning light. She dropped her branch and braced for the inevitable, but instead of feeling crushing pain when the horse came down, she rose into the air. She came down with a jolt against a leather saddle, which sent her teeth clattering in her head. She twisted toward the stranger. Any words she thought to utter died in her throat as dark eyes bored into hers.

“You could have been killed.” His tone was sharp, angry.

The man was irritated with her? He was the one at fault here. “Release me,” she demanded in her most severe tone.

His dark eyes narrowed. “Are you always so reckless?” Siobhan pushed against his arms. Her, reckless? He couldn’t be more wrong. “Let me go. I dislike being accosted.”

“I
saved
you.” The golden-haired man blinked at her in astonishment. He had the look of a man who was used to commanding everyone around him. Well muscled and handsome, he was indeed a change from the older monks who usually came to visit.

Siobhan turned in the stranger’s arms. He responded by tightening his grip. She twisted, trying to free herself. “I dislike being saved. Put me down.”

To her surprise, he grasped her waist, leaned over and set her firmly upon the ground. “Are you always this disagreeable?” he asked as he swung down from his large white horse. He stared at her, his gaze relentless, assessing.

She tried to look away, but his light brown eyes drew her in even as fear threatened to overwhelm her. Siobhan flinched at the awareness of her own insignificance in the shadow cast by this man. Feeling trapped by the pure energy he exuded, she took a step back.

He caught her arm. Looked into her eyes. His touch was not harsh, but firm.

A large emerald winked at her from the hilt of the long, lethal sword at his side. She stared. She had seen similar swords in her father’s drawings. He had never told her much about them, just that they came from foreign lands. She narrowed her eyes at the stranger looming before her.

“I have no time for games, milady,” he said savagely. “I came in search of Sir John Fraser.” He grasped her arm and started for the house.

“Who are you?” She dug her boot heels into the soil, slowing his progress.

A dark frown cut across his face, making him suddenly seem menacing and dangerous. She jerked out of his grasp and hurried back toward the branch she’d dropped.

“You leave us alone!” As he turned and continued toward the house, she heaved the thick limb straight at his head.

A grunt of pain filled the air. He staggered backward. Surprise widened his eyes as his hand came up to clutch the side of his head. Blood came away on his fingers.

Her skin iced at the angry look in his eyes. He marched toward her. In the next moment, she found herself hauled against his chest. “Enough!” The cutting tone of his voice sent a shiver down her spine.

“Let me go.” She sucked in a panicked breath.

His golden eyes held a look of utter scorn. “Don’t do that again.” He gazed at her for a moment—then abruptly released her. “I am not here to hurt you, but it is imperative I find Sir John. He is in grave danger.”