Forbidden Legacy (17 page)

Honed steel loosened in Stephan's hand, and he kept his grip, barely. Furious he'd allowed his wife's presence to distract him, he focused on the noble, welcoming the surge of anger.

Preswick charged, his every blow brutal, the gleam of victory in his eyes bright. “Cede and mayhap I will spare your life.”

“The only way you will leave here is with your remains hauled away.”

Red mottled the nobleman's face. With a curse, he drove forward, each blow punishing, each swing meant to destroy.

His body exhausted, aware he'd returned to battle too soon, Stephan held his own, refusing to quit, determined to give Katherine the justice she deserved.

As the earl made to swing, Stephan feigned a shift to the right.

His attacker swung.

Stephan ducked. Steel swung inches above his head. Feet braced, he stood and drove his blade into Preswick's heart.

W
ind tugged at Katherine's hair as she stood on the wall walk, the battlements crafting a formidable outline against the swath of gold smearing the sky.

Pride filled her.

Far below the castle, waves rumbled ashore. She savored the taste of the sea, the peaceful rush that filled her whenever she'd scanned the vast horizon over the years.

Weeks ago she'd stood alongside her father at this exact spot. Excitement had filled her as she'd told him of her dreams, the travel and all she'd hoped to accomplish in life. He'd smiled, pride in his eyes, and had assured her that in addition to her heart's desire, she would achieve so much more. To him, all in life was possible if one but believed.

Now he, along with her family and dreams, were gone.

Aching at the loss, she lay her hand upon the cool stone, took in the crash of waves assaulting the land. Like life, a battle never ending. Turmoil would continue to reign. However powerful, dreams could be shattered, hopes destroyed until one struggled for every breath.

“'Tis a formidable stronghold,” Stephan said. “One that I will do whatever is necessary to keep.”

At the fierceness of his claim, she faced him. Solemn eyes held hers, concern dark within. He'd nae comment on her upset, but neither would he ignore her grief. If her husband saw the need, as he had hours ago, he would hold her until, by her choice, she stepped away.

Images of him slaying Preswick flickered in her mind. A part of her had been sickened at witnessing the Englishman's death, another satisfied the merciless bastard would never hurt another.

Why was there so much evil? How could people believe status or wealth would bring satisfaction? Dinna they realize that regardless of whether they achieved their goals, they couldna find warmth in a gold coin at night, nor would a castle or country conquered offer anything but duty.

Immersed in their need to keep their spoils from all who sought to claim their power or wealth, the vicious cycle would begin again. In the end, those who held riches earned naught but the burden of defending all they amassed.

A sad life indeed.

Stephan's brow furrowed. “You were nae meant to witness the earl's death.”

“I know. Only after word reached the ships that Avalon had been taken did your men allow me to disembark.” Katherine laid her hand atop his. “Preswick deserved his fate.”

“He did, but England's king willna be so understanding. We must prepare for retaliation for the earl's death.”

Katherine shrugged. “I am nae so sure. He will be pressed by his nobles for such reprisal, but Edward of Caernarfon isna a man who wished for the crown. He bears the title but lacks the drive for power of his father.”

Stephan nodded. “ 'Tis whispered that after his coronation, one of the king's first acts wasna to resume his father's campaign to conquer Scotland but to invite Piers Galveston, Earl of Cornwall, to the palace.” A wry smile touched his lips. “A man his father had exiled.”

“A move that nay doubt sent whispers of discontent throughout the palace.”

“Aye,” her husband agreed. “Those who surround the king are a jealous lot. Edward's actions willna encourage their loyalty. In the short time since he has taken the throne, anger has brewed within his countrymen that the young king's focus is on his own desires, nae the needs of England.”

“If so, a godsend for King Robert.”

“Indeed.” Stephan paused. “Neither do I think the young sovereign is foolish enough to ignore Scotland. He is a man of considerable knowledge and intelligence. Regardless of his yearnings to pursue more provincial interests, I believe to stay his noble's unrest he will make the motions of wanting to claim Scotland, mayhap on occasion order troops sent north. Or, if pressed, take part in a campaign.”

“Until Robert the Bruce can reunite Scotland, we will never be safe.”

Silence fell between them.

The lonesome cry of a seagull echoed as it glided nearby on currents of air.

Her husband's gaze darkened.

Shaken by the heat in his gaze, she stepped back. “There is much to do before we sup.”

“There is.”

For a long moment he watched her, the need on his face shaking her to the core. Though she loved Stephan, how could she make him understand her fear of a man's touch without admitting her shame? After their time together, Katherine wanted to believe he wouldna be repulsed to learn she was tainted, her innocence lost. What if she was wrong? Neither would she take the risk. “We will have more days together in the future,” he said.

They would, and that was what terrified her the most. She stepped back. “I must go.”

* * *

Frustrated as Katherine rushed toward the turret, Stephan muttered a curse. After their kiss and all that they'd shared throughout their journey, he'd begun to believe their bond had strengthened. Instead, with each day she seemed to withdraw further.

However much he wanted to owe her retreat to her suffering of the last few weeks, 'twas but an excuse. Neither did he have any idea how to repair the growing distance.

With a sigh, he departed the wall walk and turned his attention to Avalon. After the battle this day, there was much to rebuild. The weeks ahead would be busy. As for Katherine, over the next few months he would find a way to mend the breach between them.

He descended, the slap of his feet upon the turret steps empty companions. A short time before he'd been furious at Robert Bruce's insistence that in addition to securing Avalon he must wed Katherine. Now he'd grown fond of the lass, enjoyed their time together, and in truth, desired her in his bed.

With his vows taken as a Templar, never had he believed he would entertain notions of having a woman in his life, much less an intimate relationship. At the time of the Grand Master's dissolution of the Brotherhood, along with his encouragement to merge with the Scots, had fallen on deaf ears. Now he found life without Katherine impossible to consider.

A woman like her would want more than a simple marriage. She was filled with passion, a lass who held dreams, desires of love. Love he didna have to give. Neither could he forget that she didna know of his past, his shame, or of her father's having slain his family.

At the bottom step, a pool of blood from the day's battle lay congealed in the late afternoon sun, darkening as if it were an ill omen.

So caught up in preparing for the siege, he'd lost track of the time. God's blade, 'twas October thirteenth.

Fury poured through him as he thought of the Grand Master and the Templars who'd remained in France, ignorant of King Philip's sordid intention.

Stephan shoved his hand against the stone wall, fought to breathe. His body trembled as grief slashed his heart. With the arrival of midnight, hours before, the arrests had begun.

Damn King Philip to Hades!

On wobbly legs, Stephan strode to the chapel. Inside, he knelt before the cross, bowed his head. Anger burned his soul as he recited the Lord's Prayer over and again for his Templar brothers.

The quiet scrape of the door echoed behind him.

His body tense, he continued to pray.

Paces away, Thomas knelt, his whispers joining Stephan's as he, too, began to recite the Paternoster.

Another muffled thud of the door sounded, followed by several more soft swishes.

Whispered prayers filled the chapel.

With each repetition, Stephan damned the fact that hundreds of miles away, innocent men, those who had sworn their lives to God, warriors who protected the innocent, were now subject to the very devil himself.

With the candles inside the church nearly gutted after hours of prayer and grief still weighing heavy on his heart, Stephan made the sign of the cross and departed. The night cloudless, a near-full moon hung in the sky as he stepped outside. With the stroke of midnight, the powers the Templars once had wielded, like the moon, began to wane.

On a curse, Stephan closed his eyes.

The scrape of the door sounded behind him.

Thomas paused at his side, his eyes dark with anguish. “Never will I forget the treachery King Philip has wrought this day.”

“Nor I,” Stephan rasped. “He will pay for his transgressions.”

His friend muttered a curse. “Nor will our brothers be forgotten.”

“They willna.”

In silence, Thomas departed.

Pain from his injuries pummeled Stephan as he strode to the keep. His wounds would heal, but King Philip's perfidy set into action this day couldna be undone.

With his mind a tangle of emotions, halfway across the bailey he'd walked numerous times as a child, memories of his father watching him spar rolled through his mind. Then he'd longed for the day when he'd hold his own blade, had anticipated the moment he would become a knight.

But weeks away from being presented with his first sword, one he'd spied the blacksmith crafting as his father had looked on with pride, had come the attack.

As the assailing force had begun climbing over the walls, his father had ordered him to hide. A lad of seven, terrified, he'd complied. Frozen with fear, with stroke after pitiless stroke, he had witnessed Katherine's father slay his own.

Groans from the father he loved as he lay dying haunted him still, a potent reminder of how he'd clutched his dagger, and of how, with tears streaming down his face, he'd remained concealed, shielded by naught but cowardice.

Blades had clashed nearby as Stephan had begged God to save his mother, who'd run between his father and the next swing. But when he'd peered through the crevice a moment later, he'd seen her sprawled upon the ground, her fixed gaze staring skyward. His chest tightened. Then his sister Johanna's scream had split the air as she'd fallen from the wall walk and died.

When 'twas clear his home was lost, their knights crumpling against an overpowering force, when he should have fought to preserve his legacy, one his father had given his blood to keep, he'd fled.

A wolf's cry echoed in the distance.

On a curse, damning the memories, Stephan strode across the bailey. He wouldna sleep this night. If he did, with his mind fertile with horrific and shameful memories, 'twould be filled with naught but violent dreams.

He walked to the stable. Far from comforted by the fresh smell of hay and horses, he grabbed a currycomb and walked to the first stall. A soft nicker welcomed him when he moved to a steed's side. With smooth, efficient strokes, he brushed the destrier. Once finished, he moved to the next stall, finding solace in the mundane task that allowed his thoughts to blur.

“Stephan?”

At Katherine's voice, he glanced toward the stable door.

Framed within the mix of moonlight and the lantern's golden glow, she looked like a fairy cast from the other world.

“'Tis late,” he stated, his words gruff, wanting to be alone. “You should be abed.”

“I-I spoke with Thomas,” she rasped. “He explained that this day, the arrests have begun.”

Bedamned! “He should have said naught!”

“Dinna blame him.” Sorrow tore her words until they fractured like ice. “Like you, Thomas keeps his emotions hidden deep inside, something I learned during our time at sea. When I saw him on the wall walk, his expression held such distress, I couldna leave without seeking to discover what caused his upset or trying to help.”

“Why were you on the wall walk?”

“I . . .” A tremor rippled through her. “I was looking for you.”

Stephan closed his eyes. Nae wanting Katherine to see him in his moment of weakness, he damned his yearning to draw her into his arms, hold her until her sadness faded. An act he would have performed in other circumstances, though with his emotions fragile, if he went to her now, he was terrified he'd confess his own turmoil.

He cleared his throat, turned his attention to the next steed, and drew the currycomb over the horse's neck. “You have found me. Now you can return to the castle and sleep.”

Footsteps on hay crunched closer.

“Go,” he whispered.

She paused at his side. “I canna.”

Furious at himself for being so weak, he glared at her, praying she'd retreat.

Katherine angled her jaw toward him, her look as fierce as it was fragile. “I know you are angry, hurt, how could you be otherwise? An atrocity has been committed. Innocent men will die because of King Philip's greed.”

Her heart-torn words shattered the formidable wall he'd built around himself. Stephan shoved the currycomb onto the top of a post, drew her against him, giving solace, accepting the same. For a long while she stood within his embrace, her body soft against his, the calls of the night a solemn backdrop.

On an unsteady breath, she exhaled. “I dinna know how to comfort you, or what words to offer. After learning why Thomas was distressed, I couldna let you be alone.”

Humbled by his wife's strength, her caring, Stephan met her gaze. “I understand how to deal with the casualties of war. A battle you can prepare for. You have expectations, understand that there will be loss. But when duplicity arises from those you have protected, watched others die to defend . . .” He shook his head. “ 'Tis the most contemptible form of betrayal.”

She gave a shaky nod, the sadness upon her face almost bringing him to his knees.

His fingers trembling, he wiped away a tear from her cheek, found comfort in the act, strength in her caring. “I thank you for coming to be with me.”