A Knight to Desire (31 page)

"Many thanks, my Brother," Simon said a moment before he and Brianna shot forward. Their footsteps echoed through the abbey as they made their way down the stone hallway, then up the stairs to the belfry tower.

From the height of the tower, Simon looked out over the land. They had reached their destination. It was time to alert the others. With a hand on the ropes, he paused. "Dear God," he whispered at the sight of de la Roche's army spreading like a blight across the gently sloping land. They were heading toward the abbey. One light spot that could only be de la Roche's white stallion led the mass forward.

The end was near.

"Help me ring the bells, Brianna. We must ring them now."

The staccato ringing filled the air. One ring, a pause, two rings, a longer pause. One ring, then three. The Templar warning to all who could hear to gather together and head toward the sound. Together, he and Brianna repeated the warning two more times before the bells fell silent. They'd done what they could do here.

Silently, they left the tower and strode once more toward the abbey door where several monks lined either side of the hallway, waiting.

"Simon?" Brianna asked as they neared.

"I see them. They will not stop us." He tightened his grip on Brianna's hand, needing the support her nearness offered.

"Blessed Jesu, we heard your call," a tall, slender monk stepped forward. "I am Brother Andrew." He bowed. "Some of us answered the Templar call years ago, then when the Order disbanded, we gathered here to continue our lives in peace and prayer. How can we help?"

"You were Templars?" Simon stared at the monks as the impact of Brother Andrew's words slid over him.
Peace and prayer.
How could he ask these men, even for a day, to become once again what they'd turned away from? Or if they kept their peaceful minds, would de la Roche's army tear their lives into shambles and horror?

"An army of considerable size approaches. If I were you, I would gather the monks and flee for safety."

Two of the monks stepped back into the shadows. "We must hurry if we are to escape."

"Hold." The abbot's voice echoed off the arched stone of the hallway. "Our calling might be of another nature in this time of great need."

The abbot and several other monks gathered behind Brother Andrew. "What if we chose to stay and fight?"

"You would do that?"

"The role of warrior is not one we take lightly, but we would rather accept the yoke of future penance than see our countrymen fall."

The two monks who had hidden in the shadows stepped forward. Anxiety turned their faces ashen, but they stood behind the other monks. "If the others fight, we will stand beside them."

Simon nodded in approval. "Then prepare yourselves and meet us in front of the abbey when you are ready."

Brother Andrew bowed then turned to face the other monks. "Brother Michael, Brother Thomas, Brother Peter, to me," the monk-turned-sergeant said in a booming voice that the walls of Pennyghael Abbey had never before heard. "Brother Harold, Brother Silas, Brother Paul, you will go with the abbot. Alert the other monks that we are needed to fight once more. We have much to do and little time to do it in." The monks vanished through the open abbey doors as they set upon their tasks.

"I didn't expect that outcome," Brianna breathed beside Simon.

"Nor I." Simon paused at the doorway. Usually before a battle he felt very much alone. It was always him against death. One outcome or the other. He'd eluded death so far. Yet today, he did not feel the same aloneness as before other battles, even when he had battled with his fellow Templars. Today, Brianna's hand warmed his own, and the monks of this abbey had put aside their peace to spare others pain.

His body warmed as he reached for his sword. His hand closed around the hilt, feeling the familiar grooves of the intricate carvings as they fit themselves into the calluses of his palm. He knew with a surety the path his own life must take when this battle was over. He was not meant to be a monk. He needed peace, but not the kind he'd had in the past. He needed the peace and security of love. His gaze connected with Brianna's.

There were things in this world worth fighting for, worth killing for, worth dying for. All a man could do was to pick his causes with care and walk the path his heart told him to follow. He did not know if death awaited him this day as Brianna's dream had predicted, but he finally understood what was in his heart. "Brianna, I—"

"Simon!" Kaden shouted as he, Alaric, and Kendall rushed for them. "We were approaching the abbey when we heard the bells."

The words Simon longed to say stilled on his tongue. He would speak his heart to her when this battle was through. With one last longing glance at Brianna, he turned toward his men. "How is Roinald?"

"He is stable, but too weak to travel with us," Kaden said. "We left him at the priory with Brother Kenneth. The rest of the monks there are heading this way along with Hector's men."

"That is good news. Come, we must ready ourselves." Simon moved to his horse, opened the saddle bag, and withdrew a white garment that he handed to Brianna. "This is yours. I saved it for you after it was taken away. I want you to have it now. Wear it in this battle if it will give you the courage and strength you'll need."

Brianna accepted the garment and stood staring at the bold red cross atop the white. "My Templar tunic." She looked up to meet his gaze. No tears shone in her eyes, but there was joy along with determination. "Thank you, Simon." With a smile, she donned the garment and fastened her belt and scabbard over the top; she tucked the Grail beneath her belt, obscuring it from view within the folds of her tunic.

Simon watched her dress. Memory flashed through his mind of a similarly dressed 'lad,' hair shorn and breasts bound. He released a soft sigh. That illusion no longer existed. There was only Brianna. Her feminine curves added shape and dimension to the otherwise shapeless tunic. Her wild hair spilled about her shoulders. And she looked every bit the warrior she had always hoped to be.

She was a warrior. She was a knight, in every sense of the word but one. And he had the power to change all that.

He drew his sword. "Kneel before me, Brianna."

Surprise wreathed her face as she dropped to one knee. "Simon?"

"As a knight, I may knight men, and women," he clarified, "on the battlefield when they show great bravery. You have already proven to me that you are brave and strong and worthy of the title." He drew his sword and brought the flat of the blade against her left shoulder. "Brianna Sinclair, do you promise to speak only the truth, to never avoid a dangerous path out of fear, to defend the weak, and protect those who have need?"

"I do," she said, her voice raw with emotion.

He brought the sword to her other shoulder and with a smile said, "Arise, Lady Brianna Sinclair, a knight of the Templars once more."

She stood and was instantly flooded with cheers and handshakes from Kaden and Alaric.

"We are honored to fight beside you, my lady," Kendall said.

She looked up at Simon then. Gratitude brightened her eyes, bathed him in its unfamiliar light, and something in his chest tightened. He felt special. Extraordinary, even. And there was something else in her eyes, something that filled him with longing, something he wanted so badly it made his stomach clench.

Images of their time together tumbled through his brain. He saw her bathed in sunlight as they travelled through the forest, wreathed in moonlight as they battled with quarterstaffs. He saw her lying against a bed of ferns with desire in her eyes, waiting for him to pull her into his arms, wrap her in warmth, and reveal the mysteries of life to her. He saw her battered and beaten after de la Roche had captured her, and he saw the strength in her eyes as she struggled to come back from the pain, learning to fight with her left hand.

An emotion both intense and primal surged inside him, erupting in a billow of breath. It was an emotion he had left behind him months ago on that battlefield in Teba. An emotion he had never expected to feel again. He let it form, let it swirl inside him, warm him in places that had long since dulled to anything but rote survival. It burst from him on a breath and seemed to fill the glorious space around him.

Hope.

For the first time in a long while, he felt a glimmer of hope even in this desperate situation.

All because of Brianna.

"Simon?"

He heard her voice through the pounding of his heart. He shook off the fog of memory, but clung to the feeling of hope. "Come," he said, reaching for her hand. "We have a battle to win."

Simon drew a fortifying breath as he appraised the battlefield. He, Brianna, Kaden, Alaric, and Kendall were all dressed in mail that lay beneath their Templar tunics. They would make their final stand against de la Roche here. In preparation, they'd set fires at intervals along the open field, with cauldrons set in the heart of the coals. The fires would help illuminate the battlefield as the day turned to night, and the tar within could be flung in hot, sputtering agony at the enemy as they advanced.

Next to the cauldrons were several bows and cloth-wound arrows that could be ignited by the flames and sent into the enemy's ranks as they thundered down the hill. 

Brianna stood with the men with two swords at her back, one strapped to her side, and a dagger hidden in her boot. At her feet rested a stack of sharpened spears. The other men were similarly armed. They were few, but they were mighty. De la Roche should take heed.

"Where are the MacDougalls? Where are the monks? The five of us cannot hold de la Roche's masses back for long," Kaden said.

"They will be here. Give them time," Simon said with confidence.

"We have no more time if the tremors of the ground are any indication. De la Roche will appear over the ridge in only a matter of moments."

Simon, too had felt the tramping feet of a marching army, the heavy thud of horses and men come to attack. "Then we'd best take our places." Simon motioned toward the others, and he and Kaden took their positions. Kaden on the right flank, Simon beside Brianna. They lined themselves across the terrain. The five of them against an army of hundreds.

Simon swallowed roughly. The five of them could never hold the masses off until help arrived. He looked at each of the warriors beside him. He loved them all, and would proudly die beside them. "Until the end," he said, thrusting his sword into the air.

"To the end," they each shouted in reply, thrusting their swords high.

Simon held his sword at the ready. This was it.

The storm was not long in coming.

De la Roche appeared first, dressed in full armor. He and his men spilled over the rise and down the hillside. Simon had to admit, de la Roche was an impressive sight, riding forward, his hand curled around the hilt of Joyeuse. The late evening sun glinted off the blade, sending rays of orange and gold out before him.

De la Roche came to a halt two hundred paces from the five of them, forcing his army to stop behind him.

"Can we make this battle between the two of us?" Simon called across the divide.

Brianna drew a sharp breath beside him, but remained silent.

"Only if you sacrifice yourself to my sword. Perhaps then I might let the others live."

"He lies," Kaden growled. "Once you are dead he will continue his attack. Don't let him fool you."

Simon straightened. "I am aware of what de la Roche is capable." He had to stall for time.

Behind him, he heard the shuffle of footsteps as the monks of Pennyghael Abbey took their position behind the Templars. Twenty men stood with them, armed with swords and pitch forks and clubs. They wore no armor except for the crucifixes around their necks. Their faces wore looks of determination.