A Knight to Desire (22 page)

"Good idea." Iain turned to go, but Simon stalled him with his hand. "Know this, Iain; we will not leave you alone for long. We will all meet you there in three days."

"I pray you will, or otherwise, I'll be dead," the knight said before turning to head for the stable.

"We'll be there." Simon's voice held a note of finality as the knight strode away. After a pause, Simon turned to Jacob where he knelt beside Benton. "I ask the two of you to take the Grail to Lee Castle. See that my sister and anyone else who may have fallen ill from de la Roche's poison are treated; then join us in three days' time at Pennyghael Abbey. Benton, use the Grail as you see fit to make yourself ready for battle in that time."

"With pleasure," he replied.

"The rest of you will travel with me. We will follow the trail left by de la Roche until it leads us to Brianna. Dead or alive, we will see her returned to the Brotherhood." His heart pounded as the fear he tried to keep at bay took root inside him and grew to monstrous proportions.

Brianna was not dead.

He knew from the very depth of his soul that she was alive. He sensed her presence in this world. It made no sense to believe such a thing. But he did. He clung to the thought as he and his men donned their mud-colored robes.

Brianna was still alive. She had to be.

Chapter Fifteen

Brianna's right hand throbbed, waking her. Was she bleeding again? Or had something else woken her? Did she hear footsteps outside the tent where she remained strapped to the table? Was de la Roche coming for her again?

Her heart hammered as terror gripped her. He would do that to her again. He'd already smashed two of her fingers and cut open a third. She'd never hold a sword in her right hand again. Her dreams of being a knight were over.

Fury burned away her fear and despair as she struggled against her bonds for the hundredth time. The rope cut into the skin at her wrists and ankles. She'd worn the flesh raw with her efforts to escape.

But she couldn't.

And even if de la Roche was not outside the tent in which she lay, he would be soon. The torture would start again, and no one would stop him. Not even Simon. She prayed with everything inside her that he wouldn't come for her and find himself in a similar trap.

Damn de la Roche for this!

How could a man so evil continue to thrive?

It wasn't fair. But she'd learned from her father's abandonment when he'd learned of her brothers' deaths that little in this life was fair.

As her fury ebbed, she realized that de la Roche had not stripped her of everything. She still had complete faith that in the end goodness would prevail. God would see to that.

No sooner had the thought materialized than she heard the shuffle of footsteps outside the tent. She tensed, every muscle becoming rigid.
God help me make it through this next round of pain
.

The flap of the tent flew up and de la Roche's silhouette was outlined by the early morning light.

He strolled toward her with that malevolent smile tugging at his lips. "Are you ready for some more, my sweetling?" He stood above her, stroking her battered cheek, drinking in the pain his fingers caused with those cool, unfeeling eyes.

He reached for her crushed fingers and squeezed, wringing a yelp of pain that she could not hold back. If she could just free her hands, she would fight back. She would find a way to do that eventually; then de la Roche would have a taste of her vengeance. She would find a way to gain control in this situation. Until then she would have to endure the pain and agony.

Eventually … she clung to the thought as he reached for a small iron hammer.

It took until sunset the next day for Simon to track the trail of broken branches and partially hidden footprints left by de la Roche's small contingent to the campsite below. Four tents were arranged around a campfire that burned low and darkness fell over the land. The darkness would cover their movements, but also made it harder to see where de la Roche and his men were stationed. In the distance, Simon could discern three men moving about the campsite beneath the light of the moon.

Simon and Kaden left the other men behind as they crept, half-crouched, closer to the campsite. They hid behind a rock and peered out. "I see only three men, but with four tents, there must be more," Simon whispered.

"Perhaps they are guarding the campsite in shifts. It's what we Templars would do," Kaden said, his voice low.

"Then we will have to get in closer to see just how many we are up against."

Kaden put a hand on Simon's arm, stalling his progress forward. "You do not intend to fight them, do you?"

"Not if I can help it. It would be best for Brianna's safety if we could sneak in and take her without them knowing."

"Agreed."

Silently, they crept forward until they were no more than a hundred paces from the first tent. Kaden took a step and something snapped beneath his heel. Simon froze. Kaden did the same. Every muscle in Simon's body tensed as the harsh tenor of his and Kaden's breathing scored the silence.

After a moment, Simon forced himself to relax. His fingers unfurled. He cast a glance at Kaden in the silvery darkness. No one had heard. Cautiously, they continued forward until they reached the first tent. Soundlessly, Simon lifted the edge and peered inside to see four men asleep.

He signaled for Kaden to go to the next tent on the left, while he moved to the one on the right. Once again, Simon barely lifted the edge of the fabric. Inside, he could see one man near the doorway carrying a bucket of water toward another man who sat in a tub in the center of the tent. The man's back was to him, but Simon knew without seeing his face that it was de la Roche who reclined there, awaiting his bath.

As silently as possible, Simon shifted away, and like the shadows of the night, moved on to the next tent. Kaden met him there. With a shake of his head, Kaden communicated that the other tent he'd searched had not held Brianna. This tent had to be the one.

Simon's lifted the edge of the tent and a silken string coiled about his fingers. He followed the string and saw that it was attached to a silken pouch that lay discarded in the shadows. He tugged the string, bringing the pouch closer and noticed a fiery-red lock of hair protruding from the top.

Brianna's hair?

Simon clutched the pouch in his fist as he peered beyond the shadows into the interior of the tent. A single candle set on the dirt floor cast a pale golden light about the manmade room. His heart accelerated then stopped as he saw Brianna inside. She was strapped to a table where she lay with deathlike stillness. Blood dripped from the tabletop onto the floor from where her hands rested.

A flash of fear raced through him. His heart thundered to life in his chest, driving the sensation away. He drew his knife and cut the fabric of the tent enough so that he and Kaden could steal inside.

Brianna.

Her name gave him strength as he surged forward and with precise movements, cut the ropes that bound her to the table. He stared down at her battered and beaten form. Blood caked the side of her face and bruises dotted both cheeks.

Simon curled his fist around the hilt of his dagger, praying de la Roche would find them now. The need for revenge twisted inside him.

"You'll have your turn when the time is right," Kaden whispered beside him.

"How could he do this to her? Merciful heavens!"

"She's still alive," Kaden said. He kicked dirt over the sputtering light of the candle, pitching them into darkness.

"
Merciful heavens!"
The words echoed in her brain. Brianna kept her eyes shut. She must be dreaming. It was a pleasant dream, yet there were no images to fill her mind as they usually did with her visions. Only sound came to her. It was Simon's voice, yet it wasn't. He sounded odd, hoarse, and strangely broken.

"She's still alive," another voice broke through her reprieve of darkness. Kaden?

Brianna allowed the voices to wash over her, comfort her. She pulled the blanket of darkness she'd created closer about herself. She couldn't open her eyes or the torture would start again, the pain that rippled though her fingers and up her arm would overwhelm her senses as it had earlier today. Was that today? How many days had she endured the madman's company? Time seemed endless now.

"For God's sake," Kaden said. "Don't just keep staring at her. Let's get her out of here before de la Roche or his men return."

"She's so … battered and broken," Simon whispered.

"You've seen worse. Now pick her up and let's go!"

She was gently lifted and cradled next to a warmth that seemed so familiar. The scents of soap and musk surrounded her. Simon's scents. Perhaps she wasn't dreaming. Had Simon come for her? Did he know about de la Roche's men?

She had to warn him. She struggled to open her eyes, to will the darkness away, but could not find the strength. From deep inside she pulled up reserves she didn't know she possessed. "Danger." The word was nothing more than a whisper of sound.

"You're safe, Brianna. De la Roche's men are asleep or distracted." Simon's words were thick with emotion. "We are taking you away from here."

"Danger," she said again, more forcefully this time. Slowly she lifted her lids and her eyes focused on the face above her.

Blue eyes glittered with a moist brilliance. Simon's eyes. "We are taking you home."

"I have no home."

"We'll see about that," he whispered near her ear. As gently as butterfly wings, he pressed a kiss to her bruised and battered flesh. There was no pain, only a soft tingling warmth.

Was she truly free of the nightmare? Simon had come for her after all. He shouldn't have, but he had. Tears sprang up behind her eyelids as gratitude filled her chest.

A noise sounded off to her left.

Brianna jerked awake. She jumped to her feet, reached for her sword. Her hand came up empty. Her sword was gone. Pain shot through her right hand. Memory returned.

The room dipped crazily before her eyes, only it was not from dizziness. The room literally dipped and swayed as though rocking with the sea. The faint scent of salt permeated her dulled senses.

The door opened.

"Brianna?" Simon entered the dimly lit room and hastened to her side. "You're trembling." He took her arm and helped her to a chair near a small table.

"Where am I?"

He pulled a second chair up to hers and sat. "We are on a ship enroute to Staffa."

"Staffa," she echoed. Her eyes widened. "We are going to Fingal's Cave."

He nodded. "'Twas all you talked about after we found you. You kept telling us we must rescue the other knight you saw in your dreams. You were adamant about us going to Staffa. You feared the knight had suffered as you did at de la Roche's hand. You wanted him found and returned to the Brotherhood."

"I did?"

He nodded, searching her face. "You don't remember any of it?"

"I remember enough." She looked away, unable to bear the echo of pain she saw in his eyes. "You should not have come. If he'd caught you, he would have tortured you as well. Perhaps he did. It's all such a blur."