A Knight to Desire (14 page)

But he'd also promised to give it back.

In the next heartbeat, her mind went blank. Sleep claimed her and the mists of her dreams began to rise.

Chapter Ten

She knew she was dreaming because she recognized the mists shrouding the blue-black Cullen Hills and the dales covered in a purple blanket of sweet-smelling heather. She could hear the sound of softly falling water as it rippled down the hillsides, flowing into streams in a journey to the coast and the ocean beyond.

She could feel herself floating, moving through time and space as the sun reached its zenith only to be replaced by the moon. Darkness hovered. The lush green landscape vanished, replaced with shadows of silver streaked light that whipped her to yet another image.

A light appeared in the distance, a twisting yellowish orange that blossomed into red. Brianna shuddered as the color grew more intense. Her heartbeat thudded in her chest as the image of an abbey came into her vision, an abbey that seemed to grow up from the dark stone near the Scottish shore. Her vision sharpened until she could clearly see a square building with a bell tower. The image shifted. Shivers prickled her flesh as she felt the enemy approach.

So quickly the enemy came, without preliminaries beyond the single shout of challenge and the violence of his charge. A horse, followed by hundreds of others, burst into the scene with the sunset at their backs. The animals advanced, mouths agape, nostrils flaring, shod hooves striking sparks against the granite of the stony Scottish hillside where Simon and his men gathered near several small campfires.

"You'll die this day, you bloody savages!" a voice cried out as his silhouette drew closer. The sound of hoofbeats thundered all around punctuated by the bellow-bark of breath expelled through equine lungs.

The Templars scattered, drew their swords, and prepared to face the enemy. Pain rippled through Brianna's mind as she tried to focus her sight on Simon alone. Where had he gone in the melee? She had to find him amongst these men because she was certain the man who engaged him would be none other than de la Roche.

Then she saw the Frenchman as he came off his horse to engage on foot. He battered Simon's broadsword to cut away his defenses and make the fatal strike. But Simon held his own as the screech and clangor of steel rang in the air. The Templar anticipated each move his enemy made. He forced the man back as he held the ground around them and the advantage. As the Frenchman hesitated, she caught an impression of a man above medium height with a square, hard jaw. His eyes were arresting. They were fierce, light-colored, the eyes of an old man in a young man's face. He wore a mail and armor that did nothing to disguise the monster beneath.

De la Roche.

"The Scottish Templars have a strong will to survive," he taunted as he thrust his sword. "But I am stronger."

Simon blocked, then blocked again as the Frenchman suddenly found a source of strength deep within himself. A flash of steel, a sparkle of a gemstone, and Brianna knew it was the power of Joyeuse that had turned this battle around. The sword of Charlemagne would triumph as it had for generations.

Simon used all his power and struck the sword. He stumbled as the mystical steel deflected his blow. He went down to one knee, tried to bring up his weapon even as he wavered. In the next heartbeat, de la Roche struck Simon's weapon away with a sharp blow. The sword spun to the ground.

Simon was unweaponed, awaiting death at this enemy's hand. He knelt there on one knee, empty hands outstretched, chest heaving, but there was no fear in his face. Instead of death, the will to live blossomed in his eyes.

The Frenchman laughed and swung his sword.

Brianna's eyes filled with moisture as she gasped. Pain spiraled through her and she quickly drew the mists of numbness around herself. She knew she was dreaming; knew she couldn't watch Simon die in her dreams or in reality. She had to run from the image of Simon's beheading.

She pictured herself running, panting, until the image in her mind shifted, but instead of seeing anything she smelled the salty stench of rock exposed to the sea. She searched the darkness, praying her mind would show her where she now was.

A tall, slender shadow detached itself from the darkness. Gradually, her eyes became adjusted to the gloom and she discerned the walls of a cave. They were the most unusual she had ever seen. Black basalt columns stretched from the base of the cave to the ceiling overhead. And several fractured columns made stepping stones from the water to where she stood. She could hear the rush of water in a rhythmic cadence and knew they were near the ocean cliffs.

Moonlight streamed through the cave's arched entrance now and she could see a man she didn't recognize more clearly. He wore a long white tunic with a bloodred cross on the front, but the garment was tattered and stained with both dirt and blood.

"Nay, I will not tell you any more," he cried as the sound of a lash rippled through the salty air and connected with flesh and bone.

Brianna froze. She watched with her heart pounding in her chest as a man emerged from the shadows behind the Templar. De la Roche. "You will tell me everything I need to know and more," he said in a silken tone as he came around the man to peer at her.

Nay! He could not see her. This was a dream, a vision; she was protected from those she saw, from the dangers. She swallowed and remained still. The eyes staring at her were eerily translucent. It was as though he could see through to her soul.

Brianna couldn't help herself. She closed her eyes, her lips forming the silent words of prayer. "Sweet Jesus, deliver us from evil." Blood thrummed in her temples. The darkness pressed in around her, taking her breath.

A sound shattered her senses. Her eyes flew open even though she was still in the grips of the dream; she was no longer staring into the face of evil, but at the inside of an inn. She stood in the center of the common room. Over the hearth hung a sign. She couldn't read the words, but could clearly see the outline of a Saracen's head carved into the wood. The scent of roasted mutton and onions pervaded her senses. She took a step back as a serving maid dashed in front of her and her hip collided with the solid wood of a table behind her.

Brianna spun around and her breath stilled in her lungs. Sitting at the table before her was de la Roche once more. This time he wore a monk's brown robes. Before him on the table was a tin chalice.

As she stared at the cup, it changed from gold to silver and back again. A sense of peace came over her for a moment until she suddenly noticed the Grail was filled to the brim with a dark red liquid. The liquid smelled sickeningly of copper.

Blood. He'd filled the Holy Grail with blood.

She gasped.

"I drink this night to the victory of those I've triumphed over." He reached for the Grail and took a drink. Then he raised the cup to her. "You'll join me in my celebration?"

Brianna screamed.

Drenched in sweat and shaking uncontrollably, Brianna jerked out of sleep into brutal wakefulness. Her body trembled. Her heart pounded. Her lungs labored, and her flesh was stippled with gooseflesh.

He hadn't seen her. He couldn't have.

Breath rasped in her throat as she expelled air, expelled the dream. A heartbeat later, warm hands tightened around her.

Simon.

She reached out and touched his jaw, his throat, where de la Roche had severed… His flesh was warm, his pulse leapt beneath her touch. "You're alive," she whispered.

"You're safe," Simon countered.

By the pink light that filtered through the shudders, she knew dawn blossomed on the other side. Yet she felt as though she'd hardly slept. Brianna shivered.

A heartbeat later, Simon moved away then returned to settle a cloak around her shoulders. "This should help to warm you." She was starting to warm already where his body pressed against hers.

"I take it you had a vision?"

Brianna pulled back and looked at the curiosity in his dark eyes. "Not one but three visions. I must think on them and try to make sense of them, but…" Her gaze moved to his neck. Her fingers followed her gaze. She stroked the side of his neck where the sword had struck. He drew a startled breath at her touch. 

"Tell me."

She swallowed against the sudden tightness in her throat. They were both warriors. They both lived by their swords, and knew what could happen during any conflict. It was the reality of their lives. "You died at de la Roche's hand."

"If that is what must come to pass." His voice sounded distant, yet his gaze grew more intense. "What else did you see?"

"The first vision was of the battle, the next took me to a cave, then to an inn room where I saw de la Roche along with the Holy Grail." She shuddered at the memory.

"What is it? What aren't you saying?"

"The Grail was filled with blood. I suspect it was Templar blood." Her gaze caught his. "Simon, why is he doing this? What sort of reason could there be?"

Simon smiled bitterly. "What always drives men like him to such extremes … power. The French have wanted the Templar treasure for many years to help repair their country's financial woes. The Templars, who escaped France's persecution years ago, brought the treasure to Scotland to keep it safe."

"But the treasure is not safe any longer thanks to de la Roche, is it?"

Simon shook his head. "Our troubles are worse than they've ever been."

"I saw the Grail. Can we not find the inn and take it back?"

"We could if we knew where to look."

Brianna smiled. "I think I know where. In the course of my dream I saw an image over the inn's hearth. That of a Saracen's head. Is there not an inn on the Isle of Mull with that very same name?"

Simon nodded. "Then that is where our journey begins. Should we wake the others?"

"Aye. We cannot risk further delay." He rose lithely to his feet.

Brianna stood and remained there, studying him a moment longer. Power and strength. That was Simon. De la Roche could not, would not take this man from the world while she was near. Brianna's fingers reached for her sword only to realize the weapon was not there. It lay alongside the pallet where Simon had placed it last night. She scooped up her weapon and secured it at her waist once more.

"Brianna?" Simon asked. The light of dawn behind him streaked his hair with gold, and lit his normally dark eyes with a brilliant luminosity. His expression looked softer this morning, not so stark or severe as when he'd come to the inn to find her. "You mentioned a cave in one of your visions."

"Aye. I saw a Templar, bound and hidden in a cave, the likes of which I've never seen before."

"Could you see who this Templar was? That man must be who de la Roche is impersonating within the Order."

She shook her head. "I only had brief glimpses of his face as de la Roche tortured him for information about the Templars."

Simon walked to the hearth to stare into the flames. "That's how he did it. He's torturing the information he needs out of one of us."

She should be thinking of the poor Templar who was caught in de la Roche's net. Instead, her thoughts filled with Simon as he stood in the odd mixture of light and shadow from the flickering flames. She'd always been fascinated by Simon's strength and his dark good looks. Even while she'd been disguised as a Templar she'd found herself staring at him. He was exerting that same fascination now.

She not only wanted to keep looking at him, she wanted to reach out and caress the harsh planes of his cheek. But that could never be. She had to stay alert to the dangers around them if she were to keep Simon from becoming the victim she'd seen in her dreams.