A Knight to Desire (28 page)

Nothing would make her happier than to battle it out with Simon for the rest of her life.

The next morning, De la Roche led his men onward, along the shoreline toward Pennyghael Abbey. He rode at the front of his army. His men would follow him wherever he led, and they would give him his dreams.

Last night he and his army had set up camp after they'd killed the false Lockhart and his band of men. De la Roche had needed Philippe to attend his wound. The Scottish knight's sword had pierced his flesh, but not his organs. Oh, how he wished he still possessed the Holy Grail. With the artifact, he would have healed in no time, and not had to endure the pain that riddled him now.

Angered by the ordeal he'd had to endure, de la Roche had sent a powerful message to Lockhart along with one of the Macleans that he'd left alive. The Highlander headed for Duart Castle, his home — a home that would not be his for much longer. Now that the Highlanders were involved, de la Roche would show no mercy to anyone. Lockhart's deception and his involvement with the Highlanders had only strengthened de la Roche's resolve to succeed, to conquer.

He could feel victory like a fire in his bones. In that moment, de la Roche felt the hand of destiny close about him. He would take Scotland. Scotland would become a warrior nation, his warrior nation. He would lead those who followed him through England, France, and through the entire continent, until he had gained the empire he deserved.

He would build an empire such as the world had never seen. He who had begun his life as an insignificant bastard tossed away with all those who carried the pox. He would show them all.

His army had not been marching long when smoke rising from a village greeted them. De la Roche narrowed his gaze on the site. His men would strike the sleepy little village. He had no illusions that this would be a worthy battle, but his men needed something to whet their appetites for what was to come. He needed them to feel the same hunger that burned in his soul. They would feel the power and the rewards of being his army.

He drew his sword, raised it. Behind him the others did the same. They charged. They slaughtered, until the smell of blood was heavy in the air.

When they were through, they moved on toward Pennyghael Abbey, leaving a conquered country in their wake.

Chapter Nineteen

Simon and Brianna reached Duart Castle, home of the Clan Maclean, at dawn the next day. Deep into the night, growing as weary as the horses, they'd stopped for a few hours' rest. Simon knew he was pushing Brianna hard, but they had to keep ahead of schedule if they were to gather the men they needed and arrive as he'd arranged with his men.

Outside the castle walls, Simon announced Brianna and himself, and the gates came up to allow them access into the bailey. Lachlan Maclean and five of his men waited there with swords in hand. If the stony looks on their faces were any indication, the Macleans were not eager to see them. "Brother Simon," Lachlan greeted them with a slight bow as they dismounted. "What can the Templars want from us now?"

Simon frowned, puzzled by his strange words. "Why do you say such things? What has happened?"

Lord Maclean's gaze narrowed. "You do not know?"

Simon's anger rose. "We just arrived. What am I to know?"

The head of the Macleans signaled his men to sheath their swords. "Your man, Iain, stopped here two days past, searching for warriors to help him. Over a hundred of my men left here with him."

Simon relaxed, pleased to hear Iain had already been so successful in gathering the forces they needed. "All is well. Iain is waiting for me to arrive on the morrow before we go into battle."

"All is not well." Lord Maclean motioned impatiently for one of his men to come forward with a rough cloth sack. The man opened the cloth and reached inside to pull out Iain's severed head.

Brianna gasped and her eyes widened in alarm. "Iain…"

Anger and pain rushed through Simon. "What happened?" he asked, his voice pinched.

The battered-looking Maclean bowed his head, but not before Simon saw agony fill the young man's gaze. He'd been at the battle with Iain. "The Frenchman … his army … they killed them all. The man you are after, this de la Roche, he has the sword Joyeuse. He is invincible."

"No one is invincible, not even de la Roche with that sword," Simon said with deadly softness. "If you and your men follow me, I will show you just how wrong you are. My men are gathering other clan members and all will converge on Pennyghael Abbey before sunset this eve. We will take de la Roche and his men down. Scotland will be freed of his tyranny once and for all."

"Nay!" Lord Maclean's eyes blazed down at him. "We have sacrificed enough already. How many more of us would you have slain at that monster's hand?"

"He will continue to terrorize this land if we do not stop him."

Lord Maclean's body went rigid. "My clansmen cannot risk any more lives."

"And if de la Roche lives, not just your men, but your wives and daughters will be at stake."

"I am willing to take that risk."

"I am not." He turned to Brianna. "Come. We will continue on our way."

She stepped toward Lord Maclean's men. "Not without Iain. He was a good man, and he gave his life for what he believed in. We might only have this small part of him left, but even that part deserves a proper burial."

With a look of sorrow, the man replaced Iain's head in the sack and handed it to Brianna. "All righteous men deserve a proper burial."

"Then we will see to the proper burial of your slain men as soon as we are through with de la Roche."

He nodded, but did not meet her eyes. "We thank you."

"Come, Brianna, we have much to accomplish before this day is through," Simon said, reaching for the cloth sack. "I will ride with Iain." They mounted silently and he kicked his horse, sending the beast cantering down the path from which they had come.

"Where do we go now?" Brianna asked when they'd cleared the gates of the castle.

"Our last hope is to gather men from Lord MacDougall at Aros Castle farther up the western coast."

"Will they help us?"

He shrugged. "Only one way to find out." He encouraged his horse into a gallop. They had to keep up their frantic pace if they were to arrive at Pennyghael Abbey before nightfall.

The sun continued its slow, inexorable trek into the sky. Quickly, warming rays slid across the ground, casting the lush, green landscape in morning light.

A seagull glided effortlessly through the cloudless blue sky, then down along the sea cliffs off to their left. Simon turned his face toward the morning sun. A sigh-soft breeze ruffled his hair, caressed his cheeks. The normal joy he might have felt in the moment was gone, as Iain's head bumped the side of his horse with each step the beast took.

Simon reined his horse to a stop.

"Why are we stopping?" Brianna asked, as she came to a stop beside him.

"We are going to bury Iain here."

"This is nice," she said, surveying the view out across the water. "Iain would like it here."

He forced a smile. She always found something hopeful in every situation. "Aye, he would." Simon slid off his horse and strode to the edge of a cliff. He set the sack down so that Iain's sightless eyes faced the view. "Let's build him a cairn. Help me collect rocks?"

With Brianna working silently at his side, it did not take long to build the cairn to serve as Iain's resting place forever more.

Simon took a shuddering breath as he knelt down beside the gravesite as he set the last rock. Iain had given up his life pretending to be Simon. He tightened his fists as he tried to think of something else, tried desperately not to let himself wallow in despair. He needed to remain strong and in control for the battle ahead.

Brianna touched his shoulder.

He jerked at her touch, then stilled, trying to silence the hammering of his heart.

"It is just to mourn him." She rubbed his back in soothing circles.

"He was a good friend to do what he did for me." He looked up at her. Their eyes met. Empathy drew her brows together and tightened her mouth. She leaned closer. The familiar scent of heather surrounded him, wrapped him in familiar warmth. She pushed back the unruly lock that fell over his brow, all while offering him her silent strength.

She extended her hand. "And you will always remember the sacrifice he made."

He took her hand and allowed her to pull him to his feet. "I fear others will sacrifice their lives if we cannot convince the MacDougalls to join us. I know of one MacDougall from my early days with the Templars. Let us pray he is still amongst his kin. He will be crucial in helping me convince the others that our cause is a worthy one."

She did not release his hand, instead squeezing it affectionately and offering him a smile. "Then let us hope your friend is there."

"Hector can be persuasive when offered the right motivation."

"What can we offer him that might motivate him to help us?" Brianna asked. "We cannot give him the Grail, and we have nothing else of value."

"We won't need to offer the man anything that is of this world. All we need offer is the chance at battle. The man craves excitement. No doubt these last years of the Templars' disbandment have been a sore test to his patience.
Let's go offer that motivation, shall we?"

Brianna and Simon arrived at Aros Castle later that morning. The gates were opened at their approach and a large well-muscled man with a Scottish claymore strapped to his back rode over the drawbridge to greet them. His gaze narrowed on them as he approached. "Stinger?" he said gruffly. "Is that you?" he asked in a thick, accented voice.

"Aye, 'tis I, Hector."

The man laughed as he slid off his horse. He came toward them with his arms outstretched. "God's blood, Stinger, it's been too long."

Simon dismounted. "Indeed, old friend."

Hector's gaze shifted from Simon to Brianna. "You are keeping different company than you have in the past."

"More pleasant than your company," Simon said as he signaled for Brianna to dismount and come join them. "Allow me to introduce Brianna Sinclair."

Hector raised one dark brow. "Are you still a Templar, man?"

"Aye, my friend. That is why we are here. I need an army."

"Sounds serious."

"It is," Simon agreed.

"Then we'd best do this inside the castle's walls." He let out a shrill whistle and two young boys came forward over the drawbridge to gather the horses. "Sam and Tate will care for the animals. Follow me." As he turned back toward the gatehouse, he clapped Simon on the shoulder. "Truly, 'tis good to see you, Simon. I've heard rumblings from other clans that things are not going well for the Templars in this land at present."

"You've heard right." They crossed over the drawbridge and entered the square bailey where forty men stood in a single line, awaiting orders from someone.

"Hector, are you in charge here?" Simon asked.

The man smiled. "Aye. I had to do something to pass the time. I've been organizing not just the MacDougalls, but the MacKinnons as well."