Templar's Destiny (9780545415095) (10 page)

The thought was immediately squashed when the Templar called me to his side to carry his bags. I was a varlet. There would be no royalty for me. Though I surely had no wish to meet the King, the Princess was another matter entirely.

The Templar and I were to be housed with the rest of the courtiers beneath the apartments of the King, in a place I hoped Cornelius also stayed. The corridor was long and appointed richly with tapestries lining the walls and statues on tables scattered between the many-banded wooden doors. Guards were stationed at each end of the hall, and servants moved with purpose in and out of the rooms. The Templar stopped at a door near the stairs and waited. I stood behind him wondering what was keeping him from entering. He looked at me pointedly, and I realized my mistake. Quickly, I hurried to the door and opened it inward, stepping back so he could enter. Without further pause, he swept inside. I took a quick look around and moved in behind him, breathing deeply once I had closed the door.

“What's a dowager?” I asked, remembering the title he had bestowed on Fabienne.

“'Tis a widow who has inherited property from her husband. Fabienne has estates in several places up north. One of the reasons she did no' wish to return to court is that many of the lesser nobles, the ones who do no' have land or funds of their own, will be inclined to press for her hand.” As he spoke he seemed to be staring off into nothingness, but his features looked clouded with regret.

“But wouldn't getting married be a good thing? Isn't that what all women want?” I dropped our bags and began to unpack his.

“Don't take out my mantle or anything that would mark me as a Templar,” he said. “Just put it all in the wardrobe a' the bottom. We'll be seeing the seamstress shortly to outfit ourselves.” He dropped to a sturdy chair in the corner and took out his papers, laying them on the table. “No. No' every woman wants to be married. Especially to someone chosen by the King, sold off as a favor to pay one o' his many debts. Fabienne runs her estates. She genuinely cares for her tenants, an' her people adore her. A King's man would put all that she loves in jeopardy,” he said.

I wondered then why she would do this, bring us here and pave the way for our stay at the castle, but I remembered that Gaston was here. Still she could have sent someone ahead to call him home. My eyes rested on the tall, elegant knight before me and in an instant, I knew the answer. It was written in the lines of his face and the expression on hers whenever I saw them together. Fabienne was in love with the Templar Alexander.

The thought stunned me. There was no future there. He was a man of the cloth — he would never be allowed to marry her. I snuck a look at him from the corner of my eye. Did he love her as well?

“Best begin finding yer way around, Tormod. I need ye to make arrangements for the seamstress, get me some parchment, ink, and quills, an' then fetch us some food from the kitchens. We've missed the noon repast, an' dinner will no' be for some time. I need to do some correspondence. Ask the guard at the end o' the hall for directions an' remember to keep yer head down. Stay as small as the mice that wander these halls for we must, above all, no' be recognized.”

I let myself out of our chambers with the sound of the Templar's prayers a soft murmur behind me. Mindful of all he said, I tried to keep my eyes as much to the floor as was possible without walking into something. I was glad for the dye that still tinted my hair, for in this place I saw no one with carrot red hair.

I followed the corridor, watching and listening for signs of Cornelius, but for once, if the man was present he was silent. A guard by the stairs gave me directions to the kitchens, and I took the winding staircase down to the main floor. Being here, so close to where Torquil was said to be held, was torture. The temptation to reach for him using the power ate at my resolve with every footfall. Only the thought of Gaylen and the possibility of other gifted stayed me.

The kitchens were on the main floor but tucked away behind a maze of narrow corridors that were dark but for the few rush torches that gave off a dim glow. It was odd to bear the full brunt of attention that was focused on me the moment the doors opened beneath my touch. Inside was an assortment of workers, clothed in the drab homespun that was much more familiar to me than the finery of the day.

“
Oui
, milord. Is there something you require?” The query was asked of me from a woman whose broad girth, muscled arms, and red face proclaimed her mistress of the premises.

I was startled by the title she gave me, but realized that most likely any servant of a lord was of a birth higher than any here. “Bread, an' perhaps some meat, if ye will. For …” I hesitated, nearly undone by the pretense. “Lord Alexander MacNeil.”

“He's the new one. Came in with the Lady Fabienne,” someone whispered. I turned toward the voice only to encounter the dipped heads of several of the kitchen maidens.

“Ah, I've heard about that one,” someone else murmured.

“Shush!” warned the mistress harshly. Not another word came from them. “Pay them no mind, if you would, milord. They mean no harm.” She bustled toward me and put a dark loaf of bread, a large wedge of cheese, a packet of some type of meat, and a pitcher of ale in my overloaded hands. I nodded and turned to leave. From behind came another whisper. “He's lovely.”

My ears burned as I pushed beyond the doors back into the cool of the darkened corridor. The lasses were different here than at home. I remembered at the last moment that I had forgotten to ask about the seamstress and turned back inside. “I beg pardon, mistress,” I began, but the swing of the door from the opposite side of the room caught my attention like a rabbit in a snare.

A pair of frozen gray eyes seized upon mine, and my heart surged within my chest. Gaston! A subtle shake of his head brought me to my senses just as I would have blurted out our acquaintance.

“
Oui,
milord. Is there something else?” asked the mistress.

“Oh, aye. A seamstress. Where can I find one?”

“Willy will send one up to you. Where can he tell them to go?”

“The suite o' the Lord MacNeil on the second tier, madame.”

“We will send the word, milord.” She hovered near a table, clearly held up by my slowly departing self. I glanced quickly at Gaston and turned on my heels.

“How could ye bring her here?!” I railed at Gaston, who had appeared within the candle mark at the suite of the Templar.

“Keep yer voice down, Tormod,” the Templar warned. “The castle has ears in all places.”

“Where is she, Gaston?” I demanded, albeit a bit more quietly. Everything within me wanted to bolt down the hallways banging on doors until I found her.

“Aine is in the employ of the Princess,” he said somewhat reluctantly.

I gasped and even the Templar appeared shocked by the news. “How is that possible? Gaston, what have ye done?” The Templar's tone was low and steady, but I knew that voice. Gaston had better have a very good answer.

“She was determined, Monsieur Alex. If I didn't help, she would have tried to do it on her own somehow.”

“Tell me now,” he said.

“I followed Tormod and Aine to the inn when they left the Cochon Rouge. I knew that they would have need of my services and mamere was already angry with me, so I thought it would be better if I gave her a little time to cool.”

“She is no' cool, Gaston. She is worried an' she is here,” the Templar said.

Gaston turned paler than the white of his skin seemed capable. He shook his head and began to pace. “The mistress was most distressed when I arrived. Tormod had taken his pack and gone off, and she was at the inn alone.” He shot me a dirty look, which I at once took offense to. “She said that she must get to the palace and find the Princess. Though she would not tell me why, she was insistent. I thought perhaps she imagined that you had come here without her.”

“That's ridiculous. I left her to find Bertrand. I had every intention o' returning to the inn. Where is she now?”

“In the chambers of the Princess,” he said calmly. “I arranged for her position. She is my cousin Robert from my father's lands to the west.” He seemed proud to have been of help.

“Yer cousin? A lad?” I asked, incredulous. “No one will believe that for a moment.”

“But they already do,” he said. “She is a favorite of the Princess.”

“This is a strange turn o' events,” said the Templar. “Why would she do something like this?”

I told him then about the vision of the Princess that Aine and I had shared, then paced the room like a tethered animal. “We've got to get her out o' there before she ruins our chance to save Torquil.”

“There is little hope of that. The Princess seems a bit taken by her,” Gaston said.

“Ye jest,” I scoffed. “Taken, as in attracted to her, as a lad?”

Gaston grinned and shrugged his shoulders.

The thought took a moment to sink in, then I found it oddly humorous as well. How could that possibly be in Aine's plans? Gaston's grin was contagious.

“This may actually work to our advantage,” said the Templar. “Can ye get a message to her, Gaston?”

“Aye. I work in the kitchen, and she has been assigned to carry up the meals of the Princess.”

“Good. I want ye to tell her to meet us in Cornelius's room tonight after dinner. He is in the west wing o' this floor. The Princess will retire with her ladies to her solar. Aine, naturally, will no' be allowed to join them. She will have to return the cups an' platters to the kitchen an' so will be able to slip away for a short while.”

Gaston nodded. “I'd better get back — the kitchens are very busy. The Holy Father is due to stop here on his way to Avignon. The preparations are underway for the feast in his honor.”

“Ye will no' long be in the kitchens, Gaston, when yer mamere finds ye,” said the Templar.

Gaston stared at the Templar boldly. “Do not tell her that you have seen me,” he said. “I am the only contact with Aine that you have.” He ducked out the door before the Templar could reply, my shocked gaze following.

Bran laid his furry head on my lap, his deep brown eyes asking,
Where is she?
The answer was one I could only guess at, though I shared his eagerness to know. The Templar and I had taken our meal in Cornelius's suite, a set of rooms far more elaborate than our own. “Have ye any word o' the arrival o' prisoners?” the Templar asked.

Cornelius sat in an ornate chair before a roaring fire. My feet were outstretched as I sat on a stool nearby, taking advantage of the heat that was not present in many of the rooms of this dark castle. That the Templar and Cornelius were long acquaintances was a surprise to me and yet it made sense, because they moved in similar circles. Alexander was an envoy to the English court, representing the Templars on home soil. Cornelius traded with many courts — French, English, and Spanish alike.

“'Tis said that there is one on the way who is quite valuable. No' much has been spoken, but I have a man in the dungeon guard with a particular taste for a spice I bring from the east. The prisoner he said is to arrive with the guard o' the Holy Father.”

“That canno' be Torquil, then,” I said. “Why would he be anywhere near the guard o' His Holiness?” I turned to the Templar. “Ye said he was on a ship destined for here.”

“I said that he was on a ship headed this way. He could have as easily been taken to Rome, though I have had no visions that have showed him to be there. Cornelius, did the guard say anything o' a newly come young prisoner here?” he asked.

Cornelius's gaze rested on me kindly, weighing his words. “He patrols only the upper dungeons an' has spoken o' no one that matches the description.”

“But,” I prompted. He was obviously holding something back.

“But I've no' posed that question directly, an' there are two levels beneath those rooms. Levels for those who have no currency to barter for better.” He stood and busied himself with a group of bags in the corner. I swallowed hard.

“We've got to get down there,” I said.

“Plans are already in place. Ye will be best served on the sidelines, Tormod.” The Templar was reading a small stack of documents that had been delivered from Fabienne. I felt stifled, not being allowed to do anything to help our cause or even to know what plans the Templar was moving ahead with. When I had prodded him earlier, he had said that it was best that I did not know all, that too much information in too many hands right now was dangerous. I was annoyed. This was my brother we were talking about, and I was the chosen Protector of the Holy Vessel.

“I'll take back the platters,” I mumbled.

The Templar did not look up from his reading. “Do no' go anywhere or do anything more than that, Tormod.” My face flamed. To be reprimanded before Cornelius was mortally difficult to take.

With arms laden, I nudged aside the door, careful to give away nothing of my thoughts, and nearly dropped the load. “Aine …” I began, flustered and glad to see her at the same time. She was dressed as a servant boy in tight breeks and a short, linen tunic. “Thank the Lord yer safe.” My honest and heartfelt words fell into dead air.

“Tormod.” The chill in her tone brought my anger with her to the surface.

“Why did ye leave?” I snapped.

She gaped at me, her eyes flashing and her cheeks growing red. “
Ye
left
me
there, Tormod. Without a word o' explanation!”

My heart twisted. She didn't know about Bertrand. How could I tell her? Before I could gather a thought she pushed past, and as her arm swung it brushed my own. Anger and hurt swirled through her to me, but also the peace she always managed to project, soothed the ragged places within. I wanted to reach out, to stop her and explain, but the words were not clear and she was already into the suite. I followed her inside and closed the door behind.

All eyes had turned toward her, but the first to react was Bran, who launched himself across the room, planted his paws on her chest, and began earnestly lapping her face. “Bran, ye big dolt. Get yerself off the lass,” said Cornelius, whose face mirrored the pleasure of his dog at her arrival. “It's good to see ye, little miss,” he said gruffly.

She laughed and the sound made me oddly joyful inside. I had missed her, though the time had not been overly long. “And ye must be the Templar, Alexander,” she said a bit shyly.

He stood and approached her quietly. “'Tis good to meet a' last.” His smile was deep and welcoming, and something inside me twisted. “Ye have advanced our endeavors greatly an' I thank ye.”

“'Tis ye we must thank. Had ye no' enhanced our reach an' been within range o' Tormod's brother, perhaps this day would tell another tale.”

“We have all done our part,” he replied. “A part that is far from finished. Come, ye will have little enough time among us. The Princess will be seeking ye soon.”

Aine seated herself on a wooden bench on a raised carpeted dais by the fire. The Templar and Cornelius joined her there. I stayed behind and watched as Bran arranged himself at her feet. I felt oddly apart from them.

“I canno' say that I approve o' the dangerous position ye've set yerself in, but if God wills it, it will be a boon to us,” Alexander continued. “The Princess is able to move about the castle with more freedom than any other within these walls. An' she is often to be found in the royal library. There is something there that I need for ye to seek out, Aine.”

“She canno' read,” I said plainly. “What good would it be to have her nose about the library?” I hadn't meant to sting her, but I had done it nonetheless. Her face flamed, and her eyes darkened with anger.

“'Tis no' something written on a page, but rather an object hidden somewhere in the stacks. I have seen the library an' had visions o' the King standing by the shelves nearest the windows. He takes something out of a darkened space an' stares at it greedily, often. I need to know what 'tis.” The Templar was entrusting Aine with a secret duty that by rights should have come to me.

“But how will I know what to look for? An' how will I manage with the Princess an' all o' the guards standing by?” she asked.

“I don't actually want ye to seek it out. I want ye to read the room an' tell me what this thing is.”

“Aye. I can do that,” she said eagerly.

I grimaced. She could do that, and it was something that I, likely, could not. The thought didn't sit well.

“How d'ye fare? Are there any in the Princess's employ who are questioning yer position?” the Templar asked.

“There is one I am uncomfortable around. 'Tis the King's man, de Nogaret. I feel him watching me, like a hawk about to kill, but I don't think 'tis because he recognizes me. I don't know what he wants.” She shivered at whatever thought rippled through her, and I knew suddenly that she was thinking about her uncle. She knew more than she was saying, and it frightened me. I had to get her alone and find out what it was she was holding back.

“Stay as far from him as ye can. For yer safety as well as yer position. It would take nothing for him to dismiss ye,” said the Templar. “Ye'd best be gone now before ye are found to be missing.”

Aine nodded, gave one last pet to Bran, and stood. “I will come to ye when I can,” she said, moving toward the door. My eyes followed her path and just before she passed beyond she looked back at me.
I'm sorry.
I spoke the words mentally without thinking about the price.

“Tormod,” the Templar snapped in warning. I broke the link quickly and apologized. Any mindspeech was dangerous. I knew that. When I turned back toward the door, Aine was gone.