Forbidden Legacy (13 page)

Several Englishmen grabbed him, the closest withdrawing his dagger.

“Halt!” a deep voice ordered.

His body pinned, Stephan struggled to break free.

A knight to his right drove his fist into his face.

Pain shattered in his skull and Stephan fought to remain conscious.

Silence descended in the chapel, broken only by the moans of the injured and dying, wisps of frankincense tainted by the stench of death.

The hard tap of boots echoed on the weathered wood.

Through the blur of pain, Stephan glanced up. He made out a tall man, his coat of arms identifying him as of the nobility.

“I am the Earl of Preswick; 'tis my castle you attacked.” His eyes narrowed. “Who are you?”

Stephan glared at the man who'd murdered Katherine's family, thrown her into the dungeon until she would agree to wed him, and claimed Avalon Castle for his king. “Who am I?” he rasped with cold violence, his burr thick, “the man who is going to end your life.”

Preswick's brow rose with disdain. “I think you are far from being in a position for threats.” He paused. “A Scot. A savage sent by . . .” Understanding flickered in his gaze, and a cold smile creased his face. “The Bruce. An outlaw who slayed his competitor for the crown at the Church of the Convent of the Minorite Friars to ensure he would become king.”

“Become?” Stephan spat. “Robert Bruce was crowned king of Scotland at Scone by Isobel of Fife, Countess of Buchan.”

“A traitor who will regret her actions.” He glared toward where the knights had escaped. “How many men are with you?”

Stephan remained silent.

A knight to his left pressed a dagger flush against his neck. Stephan tried to shift; two others held him tight.

“Do not kill him,” the noble said. “Take him to the dungeon. I want him alive. For now.”

His body tormented with pain, two men hauled Stephan to his feet.

“Know this,” Preswick said, his voice hard, “you will answer my questions. My men have inventive ways of making those who wish to remain silent talk. Once I have my answers, you will die.”

T
he thud of stone sliding into place overhead plunged through Katherine like a dagger to the heart. The torch nearby flickered in a mad dance and then calmed as she fought to breathe. Stephan couldna die!
Please God, allow him to live.
If anything happened to him—

A gentle hand touched her shoulder. “Lady Katherine,” Thomas said, his voice grim.

Fighting panic, she caught his shoulders. “Do-do you think they have killed him?”

Troubled green eyes held hers. “I am unsure.”

She willed away her fear, the anxiety that threatened to tear her apart. Stephan needed her; now wasna the time to crumple.

Katherine refused to ponder her husband's face swelling and battered with bruises, the blood staining his mail. She focused on memories of his patience, wit, and strength. The traits of a man she was coming to know, to care for deeply.

Within the flicker of the torchlight, Aiden's troubled gaze held hers. “My lady, Stephan has fought many a battle with the odds far worse.”

“Far worse?” she forced out, floundering to accept such a horrific thought.

Thomas shot Aiden a warning look, then faced her. “Stephan is a seasoned warrior. If he still lives, he will find a way to survive until we reach him.”

“But the English will know we will try to rescue him,” she rushed out. “They will torture him; they will . . .” If she had listened to Stephan and returned to the ship, her husband and his men could have focused on their attack. Instead, lost in her need for vengeance, she'd placed Stephan and his knights' lives at risk. She shook her head. “This is my fault, every single bit of it. I should never have disobeyed him. I—”

“You were trying to help him, Lady Katherine,” Thomas interrupted, his tone firm. “Dinna worry. We will reach him.”

“Odds are,” Rónán said, “they have taken him to the dungeon.”

“Aye,” she agreed, focusing on hope. “And there is a tunnel the English know naught about that will lead us there.”

Pride warmed Thomas's eyes. “That is it, lass. First we free him and then we plot the best way to reclaim Avalon.”

A short while later, with a strategy devised, Katherine opened the hidden tunnel leading to the dungeon. She lifted her candle to shoulder height and nodded to the men. “Follow me.”

The drip of water echoed from nearby as they made their way down the dank confines. A putrid smell tainted the air as they moved deeper.

Thomas wrinkled his nose. “'Twould seem we are nearing the dungeon.”

“ 'Tis a short way now.” Agonizing minutes later, Katherine held up her hand. “The dungeon is around the next turn,” she whispered. On edge, she crept forward.

Ahead, torchlight streamed through the slits between the stones and illuminated the tunnel walls.

Katherine prayed they'd find Stephan alive.

Thomas squeezed beside her, gestured toward the crevices. “Can you see the entire dungeon through the openings?”

“Aye,” she replied.

“Wait here.” The warrior's boots scuffed against stone as he crept forward. Paces away, he peered through a gap; light fragmented into a tangle of shadows. Face taut, he returned.

Katherine released an unsteady breath. “Did you see him?”

“Aye,” Thomas whispered. “He is locked in the cell to the far right.”

“The one closest to the door.” She took a steadying breath. “Is he . . .”

“Alive?” Thomas exhaled. “Barely.”

Mary have mercy, what brutality had Stephan endured? Pressing her hand against the cold stone, Katherine focused on their immediate task. “Are any of the cells empty?”

“Several near the middle.”

“Thank God.” She drew a calming breath. “Eight stones to the left of where you looked into the dungeon, there is a stone with a small
X
centered at the bottom, along the rim. Place your finger in the depression. You will feel a notch at the tip of one of the lines. Press there. The entry will swing open into the cell.”

In the dim light, an ironic smile touched Thomas's face. “The eighth stone?”

“Aye.”

“And an
X
notched at the tip of one of the lines?”

She hesitated. “Is something wrong?”

Thomas's gaze flicked to Aiden, then met hers. “Nay, I find such detail in a secret entry interesting.”

Katherine glanced back, noting surprise and disbelief in the men's expressions. “Why is the number eight and a notched
X
important?”

“The number eight isna important,” Thomas replied, “or at least nae for our purposes.” He glanced toward Aiden and Rónán. “I didna see any sign of a guard. I suspect they are finished with Stephan for now and have left a knight, mayhap two, outside the entry. In his condition, he isna threat enough to warrant more.”

In his condition? She almost retched. “That the guards didna remain inside the dungeon assures me they know naught of the tunnel.”

“I agree,” Thomas replied. “There is no time to waste. After our confrontation in the chapel, the earl will order his knights to give chase. With the stone we secured beneath the wood of the trapdoor, a feat all but impossible, a fact he's discovered by now. Regardless, he will have ordered his ships to sail. Before his men make their way to where we are anchored, we must have fled.”

Katherine nodded.

“Griogair,” Thomas said to a knight several paces away, “take all but five knights and return to the ships. Pass the word to the captains that once we are onboard, we will depart.”

“Aye, Sir Thomas.” The knight moved to the men behind him. After a few hushed words, he lifted his taper and led the warriors away.

“Aiden and Cailin,” Thomas whispered, “follow me.” His gaze shifted to Katherine, and he gestured toward the two remaining knights. “Rónán and Hugh will remain by your side until you are safely aboard.” His stern eyes narrowed. “Wait here. We willna be long.”

She nodded.

Silently, the three knights crept forward. Where the light streamed through the crevice, Thomas counted the stones toward the rim. At the eighth, his finger skimmed over a chiseled surface, paused. He shoved.

A soft grating echoed into the silence.

Muted light streamed into the tunnel.

Thomas pushed the entry wider, waved the men forward.

Aiden and Cailin followed him into the dungeon.

Their steps faded.

Silence.

“Have faith, lass,” Rónán whispered. “Stephan is a man of strength.”

“Aye,” Katherine replied. If necessary, her husband would fight until his last breath. She fisted her hands, shoved the thought aside. With another prayer she watched the entry.

Time crawled, her breathing growing more ragged with each passing second, terrified the knights would be discovered.

A faint scrape of metal sounded.

Relief swept her. “They have opened his cell!”

“Aye,” Hugh said.

A thump echoed into the silence.

The scrape of steps.

Shadows muted the rays of light streaming through the opening.

A moment later, Thomas hurried inside the tunnel, half-carrying her husband, Cailin supporting his other shoulder.

Stephan! Her heart squeezed. Oh God; because of her foolishness, look at what he'd been forced to endure! “I am so sorry.”

A frown lining Aiden's brow, he tugged the door shut.

“Back to the ship; hurry!” Thomas whispered.

With another prayer for Stephan, she lifted her taper and led the way.

* * *

Trembling, Katherine pressed the gash across her husband's left shoulder together while Thomas tended to him. Stephan lay so still, his eyes closed, his face a cascade of red and purple bruises still swelling and his breaths rapid and weak.

At the end of the wound, Thomas joined the severed flesh closed with his thumb, drew the needle through, then knotted the end. “ 'Tis the last stitch.” After smearing herbs over the neatly sewn skin, the knight grabbed a strip of cloth from a nearby pile and began to bandage the injury. A tired smile creased his face. “We are finished.”

“I am indebted to you,” she said, unsure how to thank this honorable man for his patience, his meticulous care in treating each wound.

As Thomas secured the cloth over the injury, he shook his head. “Thanks are unnecessary. Caring for Stephan is a task that I, or any of the others, would perform without hesitation.”

A strong bond existed between the knights, one crafted by the man who led them. “My husband is fortunate to have such devoted warriors.”

His expression somber, Thomas paused. “Devoted, aye.”

Her husband's face twisted in pain. “Nay! To arms!”

Pushing further questions aside, Katherine laced her fingers with his. “You must lie still.”

At her voice, lines of confusion deepened his brow. Stephan shook his head. “Nay! Grand Master . . .” He clenched his teeth. “Damn King Philip to Hades!” A shudder rippled through his body and he cursed, and then fell silent.

Confused, she glanced at Thomas. “Why would my husband call out for the leader of the Knights Templar, or France's king?”

“Stephan will be having dreams,” he replied, avoiding her eyes. “I have given Stephan powerful herbs to help him sleep and to keep him from moving about and tearing open the stitches.” He shrugged. “Likely the reason for his nonsensical talk.”

Powerful herbs mayhap, but she sensed far more played out before her than her husband's drug-inspired ramblings.

An expression of sheer agony crossed Stephan's face. “We must sail immediately for Scotland!” he shouted, his voice strangled with grief. “God help us all!”

Mary have mercy, a potion didna feed his ramblings but memories. She leveled her gaze on Thomas.

Face ashen, he stared at her.

“I think,” she said with quiet determination, “ 'tis time you told me the truth.”

After a long moment he nodded. He rubbed the back of his neck, sat back. “We are knights.”

The ship angled up. Creaks echoed into the silence as the galley slashed through the oncoming swell.

“Who sail to foreign lands,” she supplied.

He hesitated. “Warriors are needed in many places.”

“Indeed, but that doesna explain why you and your men pray so often,” Katherine said, watching his every reaction. “Many knights have faith, but since I joined you, I have noticed that you, along with the others, recite prayers during the canonical hours. There is but one group of knights I am aware of that adheres to such a strict, structured life built around their faith.”

Silence.

“The Knights Templar,” she continued, “an elite fighting force of warrior monks who have sworn their fealty to God, are revered for their bravery, and are feared for their skill in battle. Men who are forbidden to marry. But it seems from Stephan's ramblings, something has changed that. Something involving King Philip, mayhap?”

Thomas's mouth tightened as he eyed her.

“With all that I have seen, I should have guessed before now that you are Templars.” A dry smile touched her lips, fled. “ 'Tis obvious. The quality of the ships, the caliber of training, your skills in everything from battle to the plying of a needle to sew a wound.” She paused. “What has France's king to do with the Templar knights fleeing, and why have five of your ships sailed to Scotland?”

“God in heaven, Grand Master, disbanding the Knights Templar!” Stephan clenched his teeth. Sweat beaded his brow and he fell silent.

Thomas muttered a curse.

“Disbanded?” she forced out, struggling to accept her husband's claim.

Eyes troubled, Thomas held her gaze. “You must swear an oath of secrecy that
never
will you share what I am about to tell you.”

She nodded. “I swear it.”

“Aye,” he admitted, “we are Knights Templar.”

In silence, Katherine listened as he revealed how the Templars had harbored King Philip after the riots in France earlier that year; an upheaval the monarch himself had incited by debasing the currency to a fraction of its worth to increase his revenue.

“Did France's king expect the people to meekly comply with his exorbitant greed?”

“Nay doubt he anticipated their anger,” Thomas said, “but he underestimated the extent.”

Disgust swept her. “King Philip is a fool to dare such a despicable tactic.”

“Nae a fool,” Thomas said, his voice somber, “but financially desperate, to a degree none within the Brotherhood comprehended. Never did we believe the king would turn on the Templars.”

Confused, she frowned. “Why?”

“Over the years, as the Templars have done with numerous others of the nobility, we loaned King Philip significant coin to keep his interests secure. He needed our financial backing along with our fighting skills, and so we believed the Order safe from his tyranny.”

A chill rippled through her. She didna want to hear more, but her question spilled out. “But you were nae?”

Thomas shook his head. “As the riots escalated, the king ordered those inciting the violence hanged. Though the sentences were carried out, the unrest continued. For his safety, France's sovereign was offered refuge in our Paris temple. But during his stay, 'twould seem the valuables within enticed him to devise a plan to destroy the Templars and seize our wealth, thereby freeing himself from his enormous debt.”