Praise for Deborah Simmons:

‘Simmons guarantees the reader a page-turner …’

—RT Book Reviews

‘Deborah Simmons is a wonderful storyteller and brings historical romance to life.’

—A Romance Review

‘Deborah Simmons is an author I read automatically.

Why? Because she gets it right. I can always count on her for a good tale, a wonderful hero, a feisty heroine, and a love story

where it truly is love that makes the difference.’

—All About Romance

‘Emery!’

Her name was uttered with such anguish that it took her a moment to recognise the speaker as Lord de Burgh.

Emery’s eyes flew open, relief swamping her at the knowledge that he had returned unharmed. For once she looked eagerly to his face, welcoming his gaze. But his dark head was bent over her body, and just as Emery would have spoken he put his hands upon her.

Stunned, Emery could do nothing except lie prone as she felt him check for injuries. Although she had performed the same service for Gerard, this man was not her brother. And the feel of his warm hands as they ran up and down her legs, gently probing for breaks, made Emery forget her aches and pains and all else.

Closing her eyes, she groaned as warmth filled her, along with a strange sort of yearning. Had she struck her head? That would account for her sudden inability to think clearly. Or was she dreaming? She knew only that she wanted him to continue, even though her very identity hung in the balance.

About the Author

A former journalist, DEBORAH SIMMONS turned to fiction after a love of historical romances spurred her to write her own, HEART’S MASQUERADE, which was published in 1989. She has since written more than twenty-five novels and novellas, among them a USA TODAY bestselling anthology and two finalists in the Romance Writers of America’s annual RITA® competition. Her books have been published in 26 countries, including illustrated editions in Japan, and she’s grateful for the support of her readers throughout the world.

Previous novels from this author:

THE DARK VISCOUNT

GLORY AND THE RAKE

REYNOLD DE BURGH: THE DARK KNIGHT

THE GENTLEMAN’S QUEST

Did you know that some of these novels are also available as eBooks?

Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

The Last de Burgh
Deborah Simmons

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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This book is dedicated to all the readers who have come to love the de Burghs as much as I do, to those who have waited patiently for more than fifteen years after the publication of Taming the Wolf until this final book in the series. Thank you for your letters and e-mails and support, but most of all, thank you for taking this journey with me, to Campion and back again.

Chapter One

Nicholas de Burgh kept one hand on the hilt of his sword and a wary eye on the company around him. He had been in worse places, but not many, and this inn might give even his brothers pause. Although the de Burghs were fearless, they weren’t stupid, and Nicholas blamed a bout of recklessness for his presence here.

The stench of drink and vomit filled his nostrils, for these lodgings made no claim to cleanliness, a fact that seemed lost on the others who gathered in the dim common room. Indeed, those around him had the hardened air of men likely to do murder for a handful of coins.

Except for one.

It was the sight of that singular fellow that caused Nicholas to linger. Barely more than a boy, the stranger wore the distinctive robe of the Hospitallers and probably had returned from a stint of fighting in the Holy Land. Although a knight, his limp and seeming lack of a squire made him vulnerable to the thieves, whores and gamblers who frequented these places.

The boy’s eyes were bright with either too much wine or some kind of fever, which might account for his lack of judgement. Or maybe he was so glad to be back in England that he forgot there were plenty of dangers right here at home.

Whatever the reason, he appeared oblivious to the threats around him and Nicholas was determined to warn him. But as Nicholas stepped forwards, a Templar pushed ahead to capture the lad’s attention. Although there were rumours of feuding between the military orders, these two were soon deep in conversation, leaving Nicholas free to go. Yet there was something about the Templar that made him hesitate …

Nicholas surged to his feet as the inevitable fight broke out beside him. Ducking when a cup of wine sailed by his head, he dodged the dark liquid that splattered against the wall and kept to the perimeter while making his way through the growing mêlée. When a bench overturned in his path with a loud thud, he leapt over it, avoiding a candle that fell to the floor with a hiss, its light extinguished.

Reaching the door, Nicholas turned to scan the room, but he could not find the Hospitaller or the Templar, even lying amongst the filthy rushes. There was no sign of the knights outside, either, but Nicholas did not remain, for he was eager to put some distance between himself and the inn before the brawlers spilled out.

Keeping an eye on the entrance, he took to the road, but he had only gone a short way before a figure emerged from the shadows to veer into his path. The slight young man would prove little threat to an armed knight and Nicholas did not halt, but fell into step beside him. ‘Keeping watch, Guy?’

‘I told you those lodgings stank of trouble,’ his squire said.

‘Which is why I quit the place,’ Nicholas answered smoothly. ‘Despite what you might think, I still value my neck.’

Guy shot him a chary glance and Nicholas held up a hand to forestall any further discussion.

His squire frowned, but said nothing, and in the ensuing silence, a noise erupted nearby, too close to be the echoes from the inn. Halting his steps, Nicholas inclined his head towards a narrow lane, piled with refuse.

Ignoring Guy’s protest, Nicholas crept forwards and heard the unmistakable sound of a fist connecting with flesh and bone. Inching around the corner of an abandoned cot, he peered into the darkness and saw the white robe of the Templar visible ahead. By the man’s stance, Nicholas would guess he had someone by the throat, presumably the Hospitaller he had befriended earlier.

‘Where is it?’ demanded the Templar, if that’s what he was. Although the order of the Poor Knights of the Temple of Solomon was not what it once had been, surely its members were not practising petty thievery. But whoever or whatever he might be, Nicholas had no intention of standing by while he assaulted a seemingly innocent fellow knight.

‘Hold,’ Nicholas called, drawing his sword. But the knave only thrust the Hospitaller towards him, forcing Nicholas to grab at the stumbling form or let the young man fall.

‘Danger,’ he whispered. ‘Must help … Emery.’

Muttering an assurance, Nicholas shifted the injured man to Guy, so he could give chase. But the lane was so narrow and dark that he could not move quickly and soon he was faced with a stone wall. Since the Templar must have come this way, as well, Nicholas sheathed his sword and started climbing, hoping that an open drain or worse did not lie on the other side.

Although he could see little from the top, the drop was not a long one and Nicholas managed to land on his feet. But the Templar was waiting in the shadows, sword in hand. Dancing away from the blade, Nicholas narrowly avoided its bite while drawing his own weapon. Although the sound of metal upon metal rang out in the stillness, it did not rouse an audience. The area seemed deserted, and who would dare interfere with two knights? For whether a Templar or not, the man Nicholas was fighting was well trained.

‘Who are you?’ the Templar demanded, echoing Nicholas’s thoughts.

‘A knight who takes his oath seriously,’ Nicholas answered. ‘And where lies your allegiance, brother?’

The Templar laughed, as though amused or even relieved by Nicholas’s outrage. ‘No concern of yours, stranger,’ the Templar said. ‘You’d do better to mind your own business—and your back.’

The taunt had barely left the man’s lips when Nicholas felt a blow. If he’d been himself, he might have heard the approach of another, even above the clang of the swords, or guessed that the knave spoke to distract him. In years past, he would never have been so easily ambushed, Nicholas thought, before falling to the ground.

Emery Montbard jerked awake, her heart pounding, and wondered what had roused her from sleep. She glanced around her small dwelling and saw nothing amiss in the darkness. And yet something had disturbed her slumber, so she lay still, alert to the slightest sound. And then she heard it: a thump outside, as though something was in her garden and no small animal, either. Had a cow wandered in to trample her neat rows?

Emery rose and hurried to the narrow window, ready to shout at the creature, only to swallow her cry. For it was no four-legged beast that lurched towards her shelter, but the hulking form of a man. The nearby Hospitaller commandery, an unwanted presence that loomed so large over her life now seemed too far away, should she need to summon aid.

Perhaps one of the workers there or even one of the brethren had helped himself to the wine and gone astray. Emery hesitated to believe that the intrusion was deliberate, but there was always the possibility that a stranger had learned of her solitary existence here. Just as the thought sent a chill running through her and she began to wonder how to defend herself, the man lifted his face, moonlight revealing features well known and beloved.

‘Gerard!’ Emery uttered her brother’s name in astonishment. Although he did not answer and seemed unaware of her hail, Emery hesitated to call out. Instead, she rushed to the door and threw it open, only to find that he had collapsed upon the ground. Alarmed, Emery dropped down beside him.

‘What is it? Are you hurt?’ His lashes fluttered open and closed again, as though in confirmation. And though loath to leave him, Emery knew he would be better served by his order.

‘Don’t move. I will summon the brothers,’ she said, but when she would have risen, his hand closed over her wrist with surprising strength.

‘No,’ Gerard muttered. ‘Beware, Em. I’ve put you in danger. Trust … no one.’

‘But you need help.’

At her protest, his grip grew tighter. ‘Promise me,’ he whispered. His eyes were bright even in the darkness, but was it intensity or fever that burned in them?

When Emery nodded her agreement, his hand dropped away and his eyes closed, his strength seemingly expended on his speech. Trust no one. The warning hung in the air, making the ensuing silence eerie, and suddenly the familiar landscape of the night took on an eerie cast, as though the shadows under the trees hid unknown threats.

A stray breeze fluttered the leaves above, and Emery held her breath, listening hard for the sound of pursuit—a soft footfall or the thud of a horse’s hoof against the earth—but all she heard was the wind and the pounding of her own heart.

And if something was out there, watching in the darkness, there was little she could do from where she crouched by her brother, unprotected. The thought finally roused her to action, and Emery rose to her feet, dragging Gerard with her to the relative safety of her small dwelling.

Once inside, she barred the door and turned her attention back to her brother. Stoking the fire, she put some water on to heat and studied him by the light of the flames. He was bruised about the throat and face, including a cut lip, but the wound she found upon his thigh was most worrisome. ‘Twas a gash that had not healed properly and she hurried to tend it. Was this what had brought him back from the Holy Land?

Having received no word from her brother for nearly a year, Emery had feared the worst. Yet her relief at seeing him was tempered by the circumstances of his appearance. Had he returned home without leave? Emery frowned, for those who disobeyed their superiors faced expulsion or even excommunication from the church itself.

But what else would cause him to shun the help of his fellow Hospitallers? Shaking her head, Emery told herself that Gerard might not be aware of what he was saying. Her first task was to heal him, so she cleaned out the gash, then brewed a tisane that settled him into a fitful sleep. Weary herself, Emery leaned against the side of her narrow bed, resting her head upon her brother’s arm.

The warmth of the contact, after she had been isolated for so long, was comforting, but soon Gerard jerked against her cheek, crying out. Although Emery leaned close, she could make little sense of what he said except the words ‘Saracen’ and ‘Templar’, which were spoken in such dire tones that she looked over her shoulder, half-expecting to see another’s presence.

When Gerard grew silent once more, Emery was relieved, but the bouts of muttering continued, including oft-repeated alarms about the Templar and the Saracen. Once he seemed to be lucid and awake, rousing Emery from her doze with his urgency. ‘The parcel I sent you, where is it?’ he asked, gripping her arm.

‘Parcel? I know of no parcel,’ Emery said.

Gerard released her with a groan. ‘We are lost,’ he whispered, turning his face away.

‘Why? What has happened?’ Emery asked.

But her brother closed his eyes again, and Emery wondered whether he was aware of his own speech. She worried that he needed the more skilled care of the brothers at the commandery, even though it was not a hospital. But his warning rang in her ears, and, selfishly, she was not ready to hand her sibling over to brethren who might remove him from her reach.

She’d wait until morn, and then see …

Emery came awake slowly, blinking in bafflement at her surroundings before she realised that she was lying on the floor. Had she fallen in her sleep? The question had barely flitted through her mind when the memory of the night’s events came rushing back. She jerked upright to look at the bed, but it was empty, and she glanced about with uncertainty. Had it all been a dream? Her heart clenched at the thought that she had imagined her brother’s appearance.

Maybe he had stepped outside, Emery thought, rising to her feet. But as she scanned the small area, she could find no signs of Gerard having been there at all. The cloth she had used to wash his wounds was gone, and the bowl that had held the water lay empty, as did the cup. Although the pot in which she had brewed the tisane hung over the dying fire, no herbs remained.

How could she have visualised his visit so vividly? Emery raised her hands to her face in confusion, only to lower them again as something caught her eye. ‘Twas a small detail, but one that could not be done away with while she slept. Under her fingernails lay proof of her brother’s appearance, for they were stained with his blood.

But why would Gerard go to so much trouble to eliminate all evidence of his presence? For one startling moment, Emery wondered if unseen foes had carried him off, but she shook her head in denial. Surely no intruders could have entered without her knowledge. Her brother must have left on his own, without even a goodbye after they had been parted for so long. But why?

Trust no one.

Gerard’s words came to mind abruptly, along with the cryptic warnings he had issued during the hours he had lain abed. But Emery had thought her brother raving, perhaps with some fever, which made his disappearance all the more alarming. The thought roused her to action and she went to the door, hoping to find him outside. But the pale light of the coming dawn revealed nothing and the small grove was silent except for the calls of birds.

What was she to do? Emery hesitated, leery of leaving the relative safety of her dwelling, yet Gerard might still be close by, too ill to travel, chased by demons of his own making. Or, worse, he could be fleeing some real threat. Emery shivered. Either way, it would be better for her brother if she found him, so she hurried back inside to dress properly.

Reaching for her plain kirtle, Emery once again glanced at the bed, only to spy something lying there, amongst the covers. Stretching out her hand, Emery fingered what looked to be a heavy piece of parchment, but ‘twas like nothing she had ever seen before.

It was long—half a foot, she guessed—yet narrow, and was completely covered by a brightly coloured drawing such as those seen in manuscripts. In fact, at first she thought that it must have been cut from a book, yet the edges bore no trace of such abuse.

Eyeing the illustration itself, Emery realised that the pretty pattern surrounded a central figure that appeared to be a large black snake, curving ominously. Or was it a sword? Emery shivered at the vaguely threatening image. Had the object fallen from Gerard’s things, or had he left it there deliberately as some kind of message?

She studied it more carefully, looking for anything else that might be hidden amongst the depictions of flowers and leaves, and soon she found it. A phrase had been written beneath the snake that anyone else might think the part of the illustration, but Emery knew her brother’s hand and the words chilled her.

Trust no one.

Whether in his right mind or not, Gerard was in trouble and Emery sank down upon the bed, her hand shaking. Her first thought was to go to the Hospitallers, for they should take care of their own, but she could not ignore the warning held in her trembling fingers.

Who else could she turn to? She and Gerard had no relatives except their uncle and he could not be trusted to put the family’s interest before his own. Who, then? Who had the wherewithal to stand against unknown enemies that might include the ecclesiastical authorities? Precious few in all of England, Emery thought, her heart sinking.

She could think of no one and Gerard’s flight suggested that he intended she do—and say—nothing. But she could not ignore her brother’s appearance and disappearance, especially when he was ill and in trouble. Emery shook her head, as if to deny the truth, yet she could come to no other conclusion.

She was the only person who could help him.

There was once a time when she would not have hesitated. Years ago, she had longed for adventure and excitement and thought herself well equipped to meet it, her twin’s equal in nearly all respects. But experience had taught her otherwise and now she tried only to accept her lot, her dreams of another life long buried.

Yet, this was different. It was one thing to abandon her own hopes and quite another to leave Gerard to the mercy of whatever plagued him, real or imagined. He was alone and injured, and he needed her. Emery could not turn her back upon the only person she cared about in the world.

But she dared not leave this place. Both fear and loyalties warred within her until she was jolted from her thoughts by a noise outside. Visitors to this remote location were few, especially at such an early hour, so it was only natural to assume that Gerard had returned. But when Emery hurried to the window, it was not her brother she saw. The lone rider approaching the commandery wore the distinctive white robe of the Templars.

Emery shrank away from the window, her heart in her throat. The appearance of such a knight so soon after Gerard’s warnings could be no coincidence and it forced her to act. Dropping to her knees, she pried at the loose tile in the floor until it came away, exposing a hole dug into the dirt. From it Emery removed the satchel she had managed to bury when she first took up residence here nearly a year ago.

Amongst the contents were some of her brother’s former clothes, left over from the days when she used to switch places with her twin. It had been some time since she had last worn them, but she was relieved to find that they still fit. In their place, she put whatever food she could carry, her small store of herbs and the piece of parchment, lest it be found by others.

Had her brother left on foot? Emery thought longingly of the palfrey that had once belonged to her, but she could not appear at the stables in her boy’s garb or take her old mount. She would have to look for Gerard by herself and swallowed against the apprehension that threatened to stay her. Instead, she forced herself to keep moving, tossing the satchel over her shoulder and throwing open the door.

In her haste, Emery had abandoned all caution, a mistake she realised only when she saw that she was not alone. Standing before her was a man and he was not Gerard. Neither was he the Templar she had seen on horseback, but he might well be a companion to the knight intent upon searching outlying buildings.

Emery took a step back, away from the figure who towered over her. Indeed, he was taller than anyone she’d ever seen, a good foot above Gerard, with wide shoulders and muscular arms that were hardly surprising, considering the short mail coat he wore and the heavy sword at his side. Obviously, he was a knight, though without the fierce visage of some.

While most certainly dangerous, he did not appear threatening. His nut-brown hair was thick and a bit shaggy, framing a face kissed by the sun. Emery would not call him beautiful, for his was not a feminine aspect, yet he was striking with eyes the colour of his hair, warm and compelling, and his gleaming white teeth …

Emery realised he was smiling at the same moment she caught herself staring. Drawing a shaky breath, she cleared her throat and managed to squeak out a question. ‘What do you he re?’

‘I am Nicholas de Burgh,’ he said, inclining his head. ‘I am foresworn to help a Hospitaller knight I met upon the road and would make certain that he arrived safely. Would you happen to be Emery, young man?’

It took Emery a moment to understand that this knight thought her a youth—a male youth—and another moment for her to recognise the significance of his name. The de Burghs were a powerful family, known for their good looks as well as their fighting skills. If this one’s visage was any indication, the rumours were true, but more important to Emery than a handsome face was the family’s reputation for honour.

While knights were bound to protect the weak and defenceless, to honour women and to provide aid to those in need, not all held to those vows. But a de Burgh … Everything about this man, from his clothing to his bearing, bespoke wealth, power and privilege such as Emery had never known. Hadn’t she just wished for a saviour with the might to stand up to anyone? Surely Nicholas de Burgh was one of those few. But what were the chances of such a famous personage suddenly appearing at her door?

Trust no one, Gerard had said. Gazing up at the great knight, Emery wondered whether her brother’s warning included this man, who appeared both kind and trustworthy. But, then, so seemingly would a Templar or the Hospitaller brethren, all sworn to serve God, yet Gerard had cautioned against them.

Emery blinked, uncertain, and she might have remained so indefinitely if not for the arrival of another, a young man who stepped out of the trees to give her a jaundiced look. ‘See here, you. My lord de Burgh was injured fighting a Templar who attacked this Hospitaller and you would do well to give him the courtesy of a reply. Are you Emery, or not?’

Emery blanched. The Templar! He would soon make his way to this place, whether directed so by the brethren at the commandery or not. And though Gerard hadn’t spoken of a de Burgh, he had warned about the Templar. Emery swallowed hard.

‘Yes, I am Emery. And Gerard was here, injured, but he was gone when I awoke,’ she said. ‘I was just going to search for him.’

‘On foot?’ the young man asked, his scepticism obvious.

‘He’s my brother,’ Emery answered.

While the young man continued to eye her suspiciously, Nicholas de Burgh nodded his approval of her statement and Emery felt a sudden kinship with the great knight. Uncomfortable, she glanced away, for she had nothing in common with such an exalted personage. Yet she would rather trust him than the Templar and she had little chance of helping Gerard on her own.

Emery cleared her throat. ‘Will you help me find him, my lord?’ She held her breath as she waited for the man’s answer, an eagerness that had nothing to do with Gerard seizing hold of her.

‘You may ride with my squire, Guy,’ he said and Emery loosed a low sigh of relief. Although Guy muttered a protest, after a quelling glance from his master he motioned for her to join him.

However, when Emery swung up behind the squire, she realised the problems inherent in joining the two males. Years ago when she had accompanied Gerard, he had been well aware of her disguise. Now she would be forced to hide the truth or forgo her place, for no man would condone such behaviour from a grown woman.

Despite these concerns, Emery felt her earlier fear and dread slip away, replaced by a certain anticipation. Uncomfortable once more, she reminded herself of Gerard’s warning and resolved to trust no one, no matter how handsome and powerful. Yet, as Guy swung round towards the knight’s great destrier, Emery had the strange sensation that she would follow Nicholas de Burgh to the ends of the earth.

If only she could.

Chapter Two

Nicholas gazed out over the endless moor and swore to himself. The few paths that cut through the heather were barely discernible and seemed to lead nowhere, twisting back upon themselves, while carpets of green moss disguised treacherous bogs. The bleak landscape was a far cry from the gentle hills around Campion, and Nicholas felt a sudden longing for his home. Would he ever see those golden towers again?

The thought made him glance towards Guy, who made no secret of his wish to return. Their simple journey had turned into something else entirely, and Nicholas felt a stab of guilt for keeping the boy away for so long. But he told himself that sooner or later Guy would go home—with or without his master.

Nicholas looked away, unwilling to meet his squire’s gaze. Guy had been reluctant to take up the Hospitaller’s cause, claiming that whatever happened between two strange knights was no one’s business. But Nicholas was eager for the task, for it was an improvement over his recent recklessness. Aimless recklessness.

Even Nicholas had to admit to that truth. Their current search gave him a purpose which he sorely needed. And if he would like to prove himself after being bested by the Templar last night, who could blame him? Perhaps he could even banish the doubts that had assailed him these past months. But that possibility seemed slim now that he had lost Gerard’s trail.

Scowling at the empty moor, Nicholas wondered where to look. Loath to disappoint the Hospitaller’s brother, he glanced at the boy, only to find Emery’s gaze upon him, startling in its intensity. The boy’s eyes were blue and Nicholas felt an odd catch in his chest at their brightness. The sensation made him glance away, as though he had been caught ogling another man’s wife, and he saw his squire’s curious expression. Annoyed, Nicholas drew to a halt and dismounted, leading his horse to a narrow stream, but Guy, who soon joined him, was not fooled.

‘What is it, my lord? Have you lost the trail?’

Nicholas frowned. Once he would never have heard such a question, couched in tones of concern, from anyone, let alone his squire. But that was when everything had come easily to him and he took for granted the skills and privileges that he’d always possessed.

Things were different now.

Nodding, Nicholas scanned the area once more, as though he might spy something previously missed. But he saw nothing and his gaze returned once more to Emery, who was stroking the neck of Guy’s horse. For a long moment, Nicholas stared, transfixed by the gesture, before turning away to meet his squire’s inquisitive look. ‘Perhaps the boy can help,’ Nicholas said.

Guy snorted. ‘I think Emery is slow-witted, my lord. What’s more, I’m fairly certain—’

Nicholas held up a hand to stop his squire’s speech, having no patience for any further arguments. He had promised Emery’s brother aid, and he intended to honour his word, no matter what Guy might prefer.

His squire sputtered, but Nicholas paid him no heed and motioned for Emery to come closer. He hoped that Guy was wrong about the boy’s mental state. If the brother, Gerard, had left him near the Hospitaller commandery because he needed guidance, they had done ill by bringing him along.

‘Do you know this country, Emery?’ Nicholas asked, as gently as he could.

‘A little, my lord,’ the boy said, ducking as if afraid to meet Nicholas’s gaze. He was a handsome youth, quite striking really, with long lashes that hid those startling eyes …

Nicholas drew in a sharp breath. ‘Do you have any idea where your brother might have gone?’

The boy shook his head. He wore a snug-fitting hat that made it difficult to tell the colour of his hair, but his brows were nearly black and finely arched.

Nicholas glanced away, oddly uncomfortable. ‘Where do these paths lead?’

‘The moor is home to little except religious houses, the Hospitaller commandery, the Templar preceptory and—’

‘The Templars? Where?’ Nicholas asked. When Emery pointed towards a rise, Nicholas turned to Guy. ‘Perhaps we should enquire about our blackguard there.’

Guy’s frown made Nicholas swing back towards Emery. ‘Do you know of any such knight who would have a dispute with your brother?’

Emery shook his head, then spoke haltingly. ‘But last night Gerard warned me against a Templar, among others. I thought his ravings the product of fever until this morning, when a knight of the cross rode up to Clerkwell, the Hospitaller commandery that I … that is nearby.’

‘This morning? You saw a Templar and said nothing?’ Nicholas spoke more sharply than he intended, making Emery flinch. Immediately, Nicholas softened his expression, for the youth was just a stripling, slender and smooth-skinned. And he could not have known how eager Nicholas was to meet last night’s foe.

‘I was afraid and thought only of escaping, lest the Templar find me, my lord,’ Emery said and Nicholas felt churlish.

He eyed the boy thoughtfully. ‘You said the Templar went to the commandery, but if he was following your brother, he would have gone directly to your home. Perhaps the Templar simply went to the nearest Hospitaller commandery, hoping to find Gerard there.’

‘Wouldn’t these knights belong to the same house?’ Guy asked, sounding confused.

‘No,’ Nicholas said. ‘They are members of different religious orders, though, unlike most, both are military orders.’

When Guy blinked, Emery spoke. ‘The Order of the Hospital of Saint John of Jerusalem was founded to provide medical care for pilgrims to the Holy Land, while the Poor Knights of the Temple of Solomon were founded to protect the pilgrims travelling there,’ he said. ‘The Hospitallers later became a military order, as well, so now both fight the infidels.’

‘Dangerous monks,’ Guy said, warily.

‘The monks themselves do not fight,’ Emery said. ‘Only the knights, the young and able, are sent east. Those who remain here are pious men who tend to their properties, raise the horses and provide equipment that is needed, while seeking donations to the cause.’

A cause that was failing, Nicholas thought. By most accounts, the Holy Land was all but lost and some blamed the military orders, charging that the once-noble and selfless knights had become corrupt, arrogance and greed fuelling their decisions. But Nicholas knew that it was easy to pass judgement from the safety of En gland. And the privileges granted these orders, free from taxes and tithes, often drew resentment.

‘I thought the Templars were already rich as Midas, the New Temple in London being filled with the king’s gold,’ Guy said, as if confirming his thoughts.

‘At the king’s pleasure,’ Nicholas said. ‘The Templars act as bankers, guarding wealth and arranging the transfer of it over distances, for they have long handled the monies used to fund their battles. I doubt that they have amassed much of their own, as they must continue to support the fighting in the east.’

‘The rules of these orders do not allow for personal possessions and require selfless commitment,’ Emery said.

Guy seemed unconvinced. ‘If that is so, where did the phrase “drunk as a Templar” come from?’ he asked. ‘And I’ve heard worse about them, too, strange rumours of hidden hoards and secret meetings. Why, look at what that one did to you!’

Nicholas tried not to wince at the reminder. ‘Perhaps not all are what they should be. Still, they could hardly condone the actions of the man we saw: attempted theft, intimidation and assault,’ he said.

‘Or maybe our man is not what he seems,’ Guy said, with a sidelong glance towards Emery. ‘He might not be a Templar at all, but simply garbed as one.’

‘Well, there is only one way to find out,’ Nicholas said. ‘Let us go see what the good brothers have to say. And if Gwayne, as he called himself at the inn, makes his home there, he might well have returned already.’

Guy greeted the suggestion with alarm. ‘If so, then he will be in his element, with a host of others at his beck and call.’

Nicholas frowned. The day had not yet come when he couldn’t handle a houseful of monks, but he refused to be drawn into a discussion of his abilities. ‘I doubt that the entire preceptory is full of villains,’ he said, sending Guy back to his mount with a look.

However, his own steps were stayed by a light touch upon his arm. Emery, eyes downcast and slender face flushed, was standing at his elbow. Nicholas felt that odd hitch in his chest again, an unwanted sensation that made him speak more sharply than he ought. ‘Yes?’

But this time Emery held his ground. ‘Beware, my lord. This country is isolated and the religious houses even more so. They have little contact with the outside world and answer to none except the ecclesiastical authorities.’

Had no one faith in him? Nicholas wondered. They were not facing an army, but a monastery populated by men whose fighting days were long over. Yet the blue eyes gazing up at him were fraught with anxiety, making Nicholas glance away and choose his words carefully. Even if his abilities were suspect, the power of his family was not. ‘Do you really think they would dare make enemies of the de Burghs?’

Yet Emery was not reassured. ‘I don’t know, my lord.’ With a bow of his head, the boy headed towards the horses, leaving Nicholas to mull over his earnest warning.

Having done battle more than once, Nicholas had not been concerned with the prospect of facing a few elderly religious brethren, but he was not so arrogant as to dismiss Emery’s words. Although it was unlikely that this remote preceptory was the home of violent men intent upon harming visitors, he could not deny that one Templar in particular was dangerous. Should there be more like him, Guy hadn’t the strength or skills for much combat. And as for Emery …

Nicholas found himself watching the odd youth’s graceful gait before turning abruptly away to find Guy eyeing him with an odd expression.

‘See? He’s not slow-witted,’ Nicholas said, inclining his head towards Emery.

His squire snorted. ‘That’s not all he’s not.’

Nicholas approached Temple Roode cautiously, but there was little that was forbidding about the sheep grazing in fields and the cluster of neat buildings: two barns, a church and a small house. The property was more a manorial farm than a fortress; there was no keep, no moat, no gate and no guards. In fact, there was no sign of life, not even of the lay people who presumably worked the land, yet all was in good condition.

The stillness was eerie, broken only by the sound of the wind moving through the spindly trees that surrounded the manor, and Nicholas saw the look of unease on Emery’s face. He did not share it, fearing nothing any more except his own failure to protect Guy and the boy. In fact, his main concern was Emery because his squire seemed ill disposed towards their companion.

Guy did not seem to understand that, despite the events of the past year, Nicholas was still a knight, sworn to aid others. He had agreed to help Gerard, which meant that Emery was now his responsibility, and he refused to listen to his squire’s arguments otherwise. He could only be grateful that, after several attempts at discussing the boy, Guy had lapsed into moody silence, for he had more important matters to consider than his squire’s petty jealousies.

Dismounting, Nicholas glanced around and wondered whether the residents had been called away or if they were ill. He was reminded of his brother Reynold’s experience with an abandoned village. However, if this place was abandoned, it had been only recently.

‘Hello?’ Nicholas’s voice was loud in the stillness, but none answered his hail. The horses moved restlessly behind him and Nicholas motioned for Guy and Emery to remain mounted in case they needed to make a hurried escape. Striding forwards, he put his hand upon the hilt of his sword, sensing that something was not quite right.

As if to prove him wrong, a man appeared at the manor entrance. Short, squat and balding, he wore a brown mantle that suggested he was more devout than dangerous. Still, he said nothing, forcing Nicholas to introduce himself.

‘Good day, Brother, I am Nicholas de Burgh. I wonder if I might have a word with you and your brethren.’

‘My brothers are in seclusion, fasting and praying. Are you lost?’ the fellow asked. Although traditionally, monastic houses gave lodging to travellers, he tendered no such offer.

‘My lord de Burgh, shall I tether the horses?’ Guy said, as though to protest this treatment.

Nicholas shook his head, for he could not force his way into a man’s confidence. Instead, he spoke calmly and plainly. ‘We are seeking a Templar knight nearly as tall as I, but more slender and with light-coloured hair.’

‘There are no knights residing here, my lord,’ the brother said, his gaze shuttered, his speech short. Nicholas tried not to draw any conclusions from the man’s manner, for he might have been isolated from the world for so long that he did not deal well with outsiders.

However, Nicholas made sure his own manner was cordial and encouraging. ‘Although he does not reside here, perhaps the knight we seek is associated with this preceptory. He might have trained here or he could be returning home from the Holy Land.’

The brother shook his head, but did not elaborate, leaving Nicholas to guess at the monastery’s usual inhabitants. He longed to talk to someone a bit more forthcoming. ‘Perhaps a brother who has been at Temple Roode longer might recall?’

Again, the man shook his head. If not vowed to silence, he certainly spoke as little as possible. But perhaps that was the way of the Templars. Their secrecy had led to much speculation about them, little of it good, and Nicholas’s opinion of the order was declining rapidly.

Although loath to distrust a holy man, he couldn’t help feeling that the brother was hiding something. Nicholas could claim few dealings with those in religious houses, but he had sought shelter in such places and never received this sort of treatment. Were the Templars so different, or was his search responsible for this reception?

He decided to change tactics. ‘Brother …?’

‘Gilbert,’ the man said, as though reluctant to part with that detail.

‘Brother Gilbert.’ Nicholas smiled. ‘My father, the Earl of Campion, is a generous contributor to your cause and I’m sure he would be most grateful for any information you can provide me.’

But the monk was unmoved. It seemed that the claims of Templars having become greedy and worldly did not apply to this remote area, or at least this member of the order. And Nicholas could not press him further. He could only watch carefully as he posed his next question.

‘You must have contact with other preceptories, so perhaps you have heard of this knight I seek,’ Nicholas said. ‘He gave his name as Gwayne.’

No flicker of recognition showed in Gilbert’s dour expression. ‘I know no Templar by that name.’

‘He attacked a Hospitaller knight,’ Nicholas said.

But even that news did not faze the man, who maintained his grim expression. ‘Then perhaps you should look to Clerkwell, the Hospitaller commandery, which is not far from here.’

‘Perhaps I will,’ Nicholas said. Nodding graciously, he turned to mount his horse without a backward glance, gesturing for his squire to precede him as they rode away. Guy obeyed and did not slow until they were out of sight of the preceptory. In fact, he seemed unwilling to halt, doing so only after Nicholas had stopped well away from the track. Even then, he kept looking over his shoulder, as though expecting the Pope’s armies to give chase.

‘‘Tis just as I have heard, my lord,’ he said, his eyes wide. ‘The Templars zealously guard their secrets. Why, ‘tis said they uncovered some hidden knowledge in the Holy Land that they now use to their own advantage.’

Nicholas gave his squire a wry glance. Guy had always been a superstitious sort and recent events had made him more so. Frequently, he tried to foist some talisman or charm upon Nicholas, claiming that the objects, whether a coloured stone or a splinter of bone belonging to some long-dead saint, bore special powers. Now, apparently, the Templars themselves were endowed with such.

‘I thought you considered them sunk in dissipation, not keepers of some ancient wisdom,’ Nicholas said drily.

But Guy was not to be dissuaded. ‘‘Twas eerie, my lord, even you must admit to that,’ he said, suppressing a shiver. ‘‘Tis certain they did not want us there, with none to greet us except that surly fellow, who ought to be taught how to treat his betters.’

‘Perhaps so, but I was loath to raise any suspicions with Brother Gilbert,’ Nicholas said. ‘Better he think himself well rid of us.’

‘You don’t mean to go back?’ Guy asked in an incredulous tone.

‘I would like to have a closer look at the place,’ Nicholas admitted. ‘Something didn’t feel right.’

Guy groaned. ‘Nothing felt right, my lord! Yet no good could come of probing into their mysteries. Who knows what goes on there? They obviously are hiding something.’

At his words, even quiet Emery glanced at him with an expression of alarm. ‘You don’t think they’re holding Gerard in there, do you?’

Nicholas held up a hand to stop his squire’s raving. While Templar preceptories in the east might have reason to keep prisoners, he could not conceive of the brethren locking up their own here at home.

‘I do not suspect the Templars of capturing their fellows, no matter what dark tales are whispered about them,’ he said, with a quelling glare at Guy. ‘Nevertheless, I’d like to take another look at Temple Roode.’

Naturally, Guy did not agree. ‘But if you do not think Gerard is there, then we will only be wasting precious time in our search for him.’

While his squire had a point, Nicholas was not prepared to leave the Templar preceptory behind on the strength of one brother’s dubious word. ‘‘Tis possible that a return visit may yield nothing, for Brother Gilbert may be concealing little more than his larder from hungry visitors,’ he said. ‘However, I would make sure the man who left me for dead is not enjoying the hospitality of the house.’

The reminder of the attack finally silenced Guy and Nicholas looked out over the moors, assessing the possibilities. ‘There’s really no means of approaching the place without being seen unless we wait until nightfall, and even then the moon will prove both help and hindrance,’ he said, remembering the stretch of open land that they would have to cross to reach the cluster of buildings. It was simply too barren, with few trees to provide shadows in which to hide.

‘There might be another way.’

To Nicholas’s surprise, ‘twas Emery who spoke and the boy coloured, as though regretting his speech.

‘Go on,’ Nicholas said.

‘It could be nothing but an old legend,’ Emery said, hesitating.

‘What old legend?’

Again Emery hesitated, but Nicholas urged him on with a nod.

The boy drew a deep breath, as though summoning his courage. ‘There have always been rumours of tunnels beneath the Templar property, going back to when they first settled there.’

‘Tunnels? What for?’ Guy asked.

Emery shrugged. ‘No one knows. Perhaps the Templars sought to travel from their preceptory to the village without notice. I can’t imagine where else they would wish to go in secret.’

Guy muttered something and crossed himself, obviously leery of either the Templars, underground passages or both. But Nicholas knew the value of tunnels. He had gained access to his brother Dunstan’s keep through just such means, foiling the enemies who held it. Castles, built for defence, often had escapes routes for use in times of siege.

But ’twas unlikely that a manorial farm, especially an ecclesiastical property like Temple Roode, could boast anything of the sort. Yet, what else had they to do until darkness fell? ‘There’s only one way to find out,’ he said, eager for a challenge.

Guy groaned. ‘And how are we going to discover in an afternoon what no one else has ever found, maybe for a hundred years?’

‘As far as I know, no one has ever looked for them,’ Emery said. ‘Why would they?’

Guy shook his head, as if dismayed by the folly of both of his companions, and muttered to himself in dire tones, ‘More likely, who would dare?’

Emery felt only dismay as they neared the village. What had she been thinking? While they wasted time hunting for tunnels that probably didn’t exist, Gerard could be travelling in the opposite direction, putting miles between them. She should never have spoken.

But who would have thought her opinion would carry weight with any man, let alone Lord de Burgh? Emery had forgotten how differently she was treated when garbed as her twin. It had been too long ago and she had since learned to keep her silence. So what had possessed her to speak, especially in such exalted company?

Emery shook her head. Nicholas de Burgh rode his huge destrier with ease, tall and proud, his gloved hands gripping the reins confidently. He was a noble, wielding the kind of power and influence that should strike fear into anyone pretending to be someone else. That, coupled with her brother’s warning, ought to have kept her quiet and wary. And yet …

Emery glanced away from the handsome figure and told herself ‘twas distrust of religious houses that had prompted the suggestion. She could not call it back now. But when they drew to a halt on the low rise that overlooked the village below, she was tempted. Where were they to find underground tunnels amongst the cluster of small homes, with people and animals roaming about?

Emery waited for some sign of scorn or rebuke from her companions, but Lord de Burgh appeared unperturbed as he looked out over the landscape. ‘Now, if you were a Templar, where would you want to go?’ he asked.

Blinking in surprise at the question, Emery turned to study the village she had not seen in some time. For a moment, the years fell away, and it seemed as though she were young and at liberty to explore the moors, Gerard at her side. And in that instant, the answer came to her.

‘The church,’ she said.

Lord de Burgh’s smile of approval made Emery glance away, uncomfortable. She realised how long it had been since she’d felt pleasure or companionship, but this was not the time and place to seek such things. Nor was Nicholas de Burgh the one to provide them.

Emery was here for Gerard, not for anything else, yet she could not help but savour the first small taste of the freedom that she had known in years. She was riding again, seeing new places and experiencing new things, and her heart pounded with a combination of fear and excitement as they approached the distinctive round building.

‘What kind of parish church is this?’ Guy muttered, eyeing the place warily as he dismounted.

‘I suspect it was built by the Templars, who favour that sort of construction,’ Lord de Burgh said, heading towards the doors.

‘‘Tis probably modelled after the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem,’ Emery added, but her words did seem to comfort Guy, who appeared hesitant to enter.

Emboldened by her new freedom, Emery strode past the squire to follow Lord de Burgh inside, but her courage soon wavered. Plunging into the cool dimness, she was met with an interior unlike any other.

In fact, Emery took a step back in astonishment, running into Guy, who gulped and grabbed her by the arms, whether to steady her or himself, Emery wasn’t sure. But for a long moment they stood together while gaping at the elaborate decorations. Although the number that crowded the small space was startling in itself, ’twas the strangeness of the designs that stunned Emery.

While she could not claim to be well travelled, she had never seen such carvings in any church, and, apparently, neither had Guy, for he resumed muttering in hushed tones, frozen in his position near the doors. But Emery finally moved forwards, peering in wonder at the images that appeared more heathen than Christian.

Heads that resembled pagan designs or some remnant of ancient legends were scattered amongst more traditional adornments. Emery blinked at the bulbous face of the Green Man, a symbol of fertility that some say had been worshipped in years past. And everywhere were horned figures that looked more like demons than saints.

‘What kind of parish church is this?’ Guy asked again, his voice cracking in the stillness.

‘An unusual one, isn’t it?’ Lord de Burgh said, drawing Emery’s attention. He, alone, seemed undismayed by the sights as he walked the perimeter, pausing only to knock on a wall or peer behind a decorative panel.

‘What are you doing?’ Emery asked, curiosity overcoming her unease.

‘I’ve some experience in tunnels—and in hideaways, having played at seeking my brothers often enough in my youth,’ Lord de Burgh said over his shoulder. ‘And one of my brothers, Geoff, is fond of puzzles, so he taught me how to study a problem.’

Emery was startled to realise that the great knight really was searching for the rumoured tunnels. ‘But wouldn’t the floor—?’

‘Too obvious,’ Lord de Burgh said, stopping in front of a carving tucked under an arch. ‘And unlikely because of the difficulty in concealing such an entrance. However, they would need to be able to access their passage without too much trouble, else why create such a massive work?’

When he turned towards her, Emery could only nod in agreement, struck dumb to be included in such a conversation. She knew her disguise was responsible, yet Lord de Burgh was being more than gracious to an unknown young man, and her wariness made her wonder whether he had an ulterior motive.

As Emery watched, he knelt before a grotesque image, running his hands over the surface and into the crevices along the edge as though searching for something, and soon he must have found it, for the massive piece moved slightly. Emery blinked in surprise, but even more amazing was the glance he shot her, one of triumph and shared success that stopped her breath.

Perhaps ‘twas the way of men and their friendships, Emery thought, and held no special meaning. Yet she could do no more than look on while he shifted the heavy chunk of stone as if it weighed little, exposing a gaping hole beyond. Cool, damp air seeped from pitch blackness, hinting at lower depths and, stepping closer, Emery could see a set of worn stone steps leading downwards.

The discovery even lured Guy away from his stance near the doors. He was soon standing beside Emery, muttering to himself. ‘I don’t believe it,’ he said aloud. And then he turned towards her, his eyes narrowing. ‘Did you know about this?’

‘I knew only of the rumours of a tunnel,’ Emery said. ‘Lord de Burgh managed to find it.’ And he had done so with seemingly little effort, which made Emery return Guy’s suspicious glare with one of her own.

‘How do we know that this doesn’t lead into a bottomless pit?’ the squire asked.

‘We don’t,’ Lord de Burgh said. Apparently undisturbed by the prospect, he set about lighting a lantern he had found tucked away behind a screen.

‘My lord, you cannot mean to enter there,’ Guy protested. ‘You don’t know what lies below: foul air, rising water, precipitous drops. It may be an old cavern that has been blocked up, with no connection at all to the Templars or their property.’

‘There’s only one way to find out,’ Lord de Burgh said. The mischievous grin that accompanied this sentiment made him look younger and dashing, perhaps even a bit wicked, and Emery found it hard to ignore his excitement, which stimulated her own. Was that why her heart had picked up its pace?

‘You can stay behind and watch the horses, if you don’t care to explore the tunnel,’ Lord de Burgh said, with a shrug, though it was obvious he had no intention of doing so himself.

Guy sputtered a protest, but was silenced by a look from his master, who then turned to Emery. Although he said nothing, expectation brightened his dark eyes, and Emery felt a sudden giddiness. Had Gerard ever offered her such a dare? Emery couldn’t remember, but years of being stifled by duty and silence made her meet the unspoken challenge.

‘I’ll come with you.’

Lord de Burgh’s answering grin did something to her that Emery could not explain, but she told herself ‘twas wiser to keep an eye on the man rather than not. However, Guy had other ideas.

‘My lord, you cannot think to take this—’ the squire began, gesturing towards Emery. But Lord de Burgh held up his hand to stop any argument, leaving Guy to shake his head as his master ducked into the hole. ‘Be careful, my lord,’ he warned.

There was nothing for Emery to do except follow Lord de Burgh. But when she stepped on to the stone stairs, she drew in a sharp breath at the sudden change in her surroundings. The familiar figure of Guy standing in the dim recesses of the church was replaced by a blackness so total that she blinked several times before she could see anything at all. Finally, she spied the faint flicker of the lantern, barely visible ahead.

Having no time to regret her hasty decision, Emery hurried forwards, lest the pale talisman disappear from view. But she had not counted upon the shape in front of her and stumbled into the tall form of Lord de Burgh.

‘Steady,’ he said, turning his head towards her. ‘Some people don’t do well in tight quarters, especially below ground. My brother Simon, for all his courage, is one, and there is no shame in it.’

Emery wasn’t about to argue, for she could not find her tongue. Lord de Burgh’s face was so close that she could see the thick, dusky lashes of his eyes. The lantern cast a glow upon his cheek, a beacon of warmth in the cool darkness. And when his gaze met hers, Emery’s heart began pounding so loudly that she was certain he could hear it.

Like an animal in the glare of a lamp, Emery was powerless to look away, her breath faltering, her pulse racing. Then something flared in his eyes, a question perhaps, but if so, it was one that Emery could not answer. Time stood still as their gazes held until, to her relief, he finally turned away.

Shuddering, Emery was glad of the shadows as she sought to control her clamouring senses. Thankfully, Lord de Burgh appeared little affected by what had seemed so momentous to her because he soon spoke over his shoulder.

‘Watch your feet,’ he said as he resumed walking. ‘The Templars might have laid traps for unwanted visitors.’

Traps? Emery felt as though she had already fallen into one, as she belatedly realised the intimacy of the situation. Neither a past spent with her father and brother, nor her recent isolation, had prepared her for the experience of being alone in the dark with a man, let alone a man like Lord de Burgh. Panic stirred, and it was not the fear of being unmasked, now a very real possibility, or even the dangers of the tunnel that chilled her.

Something had just passed between them, something so powerful that Emery hoped he would never look her way again. Not like that. And especially not here in the darkness.

Chapter Three

Nicholas did not care to dwell on what had just occurred, though he had the feeling he could unravel the puzzle of his odd reaction if he put his mind to it. But now was not the time. Travelling underground in unknown passages required all of his attention, lest he fall or lose his way. And he had not undertaken this exploration recklessly, no matter what Guy might think.

Pausing to inspect the ground at his feet, Nicholas noted that it sloped slightly. But why go deeper under the earth? Perhaps the Templars had taken advantage of some natural formations, using and extending what already existed to suit their needs.

Although that would mean less chance of the roof crashing down upon them, it posed other dangers. Having explored the caves near his brother Geoff’s property, Nicholas knew that a mis-step could lead to disaster, especially when they had no rope. One slip into a crevasse would mean no escape, and though recently he might have courted such risks, he had no intention of losing his life—or Emery’s.

The thought made him slant a glance behind him, just to make sure the boy was still following. The sight of the youth’s bent head was a strange comfort, making Nicholas suddenly aware of home and family. Perhaps that explained his odd reaction. With six older brothers, he’d never had the opportunity to pass on his experience and knowledge to a younger sibling. Now he wondered whether he should share his skills with someone who might make use of them—before it was too late. And Emery seemed a more likely candidate than Guy.

‘It doesn’t look as though anyone has passed this way in a long time,’ the youth whispered, as though confirming Nicholas’s thoughts.

‘Perhaps the way is blocked ahead, putting an end to its usage,’ Nicholas said.

‘Or maybe they no longer have need of a secret entrance to the church.’

‘Yet if they still monitor the tunnels, we should keep quiet. Some of these places can produce echoes or amplify sound to warn those ahead.’

Emery fell silent then, and Nicholas knew a sense of loss. There was something soothing about the boy’s speech, as though he were wise beyond his years. Or maybe Nicholas had just grown weary of his squire’s company. Guy’s constant fussing made him seem more like a nursery maid than a squire, and his harping to return home grew wearisome.

Frowning at the thought, Nicholas continued on, watching his steps even as he peered into the darkness ahead and studied the surrounding walls. It was slow going. Eventually, he began to wonder if the tunnel even led to Temple Roode. Perhaps they had passed some hidden niche that would have taken them to the preceptory or were caught in an endless loop, a vast maze below ground.

But then the light glinted upon something in front of them. Stretching out one arm, Nicholas gestured for Emery to stay behind while he inched forwards, keeping his body as close to the side of the tunnel as possible. Their path had remained level for some time, so they were probably well below any buildings above. Yet the narrow passage opened on to a wider space ahead, making Nicholas proceed with caution.

For long moments, he stood waiting and listening. When he heard nothing, he lifted the lantern closer to the opening. The light seemed to be swallowed up by the greater darkness, then it glittered upon shadowy surfaces. At first Nicholas thought they had stumbled upon a cavern of some sort, but it was not like any he had ever seen. Curious, he took a step and held the lantern higher, only to realise he was not looking at the exposed rock and ore of a catacomb, but something created by man.

Nicholas heard Emery’s low intake of breath as the boy reached his side, and he could only marvel, as well. Whether originally an existing cave or something dug from the earth, the place in which they found themselves had been well worked by the Templars. In fact, it seemed that every inch of the surrounding walls was covered with carvings even more strange than those in the church: circles, swords, crosses, outlines of figures, arcane symbols and depictions of scenes, some of them holy, some wholly unrecognisable.

The carvings reached as far as the eye could see, or at least as far as could be illuminated. Stretching upwards to plunge into blackness, they must have taken years, perhaps decades or more, to complete. For long moments Nicholas simply stood staring, but when Emery would have stepped forwards, he stopped the boy with a gesture.

He had been looking up, rather than down, and Nicholas bent low to examine the ground before entering the chamber. Although it looked sturdy, he kept to the perimeter as he made his way inside, Emery at his heels. At first, he thought the surrounding walls formed a circle, much like the Templar church, but when he reached the halfway point, he realised he was standing within an octagon.

‘What is this place?’ Emery whispered.

Nicholas glanced towards a dark niche that might serve as an altar. ‘Perhaps it is used for worship.’

‘Surely not by the Templars,’ Emery protested, sounding as unsure as Guy about the order.

Nicholas shrugged, for he knew little of what went on in religious houses. Still, he suspected few harboured hidden rooms, especially an underground cavern like this one. ‘Mayhap it has been here for centuries and the Templars simply turned it to their own needs.’

Although Emery looked sceptical, Nicholas wasn’t concerned with the purpose of the place, only where it might lead. But a cursory glance revealed no exit, and he wondered whether they had walked all this way only to view a curious site, perhaps long forgotten. Were they below the preceptory or somewhere else, maybe even in a passage connecting two churches, one above and another below?

Wary of spending too much time in the tunnel, Nicholas gave the lantern to Emery, while he searched more carefully. He looked for the kind of stone they had found in the church, a carving of a Green Man, mouth wide open, as though in some sort of agony.

As he moved onwards, Emery followed, providing the light for his inspections. Although the boy could not be faulted, Nicholas felt distracted, for he was all too aware of his companion’s nearness. He even had an unnerving urge to turn towards the boy, which he promptly quelled.

What the devil ailed him? The answer that came only unnerved him more. Was it growing warm in here? Had the air become close? With a grunt, Nicholas forced himself to focus. All he had to do now was find the opening. But what if it lay above them? Without a ladder or rope, they could not hope to scale these walls. And the entrance might be unrecognisable, perhaps something he had already passed.

And as if he wasn’t grappling with enough, his light dipped, casting wild shadows upon the very area he was trying to examine. With a low oath, Nicholas turned to rebuke the boy, but the reprimand died on his lips. Emery had gone pale and wide-eyed, as though staring at some unseen horror.

‘What is it?’ Nicholas whispered.

Emery raised a hand to point in the direction of other carvings, most notably one of a Templar over five feet in height. ‘I thought …’ the boy began, only to trail off, as though unable to continue.

‘What?’

‘I thought I saw something,’ Emery whispered, haltingly. ‘A pair of eyes watching us.’

Motioning the boy to silence, Nicholas put a hand to the hilt of his sword. Anything might be waiting in the blackness that lay outside their small circle of light. Bats were common enough in caves, but other, less friendly creatures might have wandered into the tunnel—or be kept there by the Templars to guard their secrets.

Nicholas rose slowly to his feet, though he saw nothing stirring and heard no scurrying or snarling. He turned to scan the rest of the chamber, but Emery stopped him with a gesture.

‘No, they were there,’ the boy insisted, pointing at the carving of the Templar. ‘Its eyes … looked like … human eyes.’

Nicholas would have dismissed such a claim, but Emery did not seem given to whimsy, and the strangeness of their surroundings made anything seem possible. The boy had not declared that the stone came to life, just that it had human eyes, and he considered the answer to such a puzzle.

Approaching cautiously, Nicholas motioned for Emery to hold the lantern for closer inspection. One of the largest of the carvings, the Templar resembled those that graced the tombs of such knights, except the figure was standing upright, his huge sword in front of him, pointing downwards.

Moving closer, Nicholas reached towards the dark recesses of its features, touching a finger to the sightless orbs. He wouldn’t have been surprised to find the sockets empty, but the surface was as solid and cold as any statue. Perhaps Emery had been fooled by a trick of the light. Still, Nicholas ran his hand over the figure’s outline, attempting to move it as he had the stone in the church. It did not budge.

Reaching the bottom, he sat back on his haunches, eyeing the sword that pointed towards the earth at his feet. It was no different than any other of the outcroppings, yet its size and position made it more realistic than the others, as though it stood guard over something. Nicholas slid his fingers into the crevice below, and this time, he felt something give.

Tugging at the sword, Nicholas pulled the entire piece outwards and wondered if he had finally found the entrance to the preceptory. But Emery’s gasp of alarm made him step back. Had he opened some kind of crypt, or was something very much alive hidden inside? He could only hope that Emery’s brother was not entombed within.

Drawing his sword, Nicholas was prepared for anything, but when the makeshift door swung wide, no corpse was revealed, only the small figure of a man. He was no warrior, either, but wore the brown robes and serene expression of a monk. And unlike Brother Gilbert, he appeared unconcerned by the sight of the visitors, even in this underground sanctum.

However, he closed the portal before turning to face them, hands clasped before him calmly. ‘You have no need of your weapon here, my lord,’ he said in a soft voice. Old and wizened, he was hardly a threat, especially with the entrance shut behind him. None the less, he was an imposing figure and appeared to know more than he should.

Although Nicholas sheathed his sword, he vowed to keep his wits about him and nodded at Emery, glad to see the boy’s hand steady upon the lantern.

‘I am Father Faramond and I have been expecting you,’ the priest said.

Nicholas heard Emery’s indrawn breath at the words, but, unlike Guy, he did not think the Templars possessed of any unnatural powers. There was a more sensible explanation for this greeting and Faramond soon gave it.

‘Knowing your sire, Nicholas de Burgh, I feared you would not be easily dissuaded or dismissed,’ he said.

‘It was you behind the eyes of the carving, looking at us through some kind of slit,’ Nicholas said.

The priest nodded. ‘It is an old device, a precaution of our forebears, yet none in all these years have penetrated to this, our most private of places.’

‘And what is the punishment for intrusion, Father?’ Emery asked. By his tone, the boy expected the worst, though Nicholas had no intention of being killed for trespassing, no matter how ancient or sacred the site. His fingers tightened on the hilt of his sword, a nearly imperceptible movement, yet the priest must have noticed.

‘Although we are a military order, we do not do murder, my lord.’

Nicholas was glad to hear it, but considering his earlier reception at Temple Roode, he was not prepared to trust any of the brethren, no matter how unassuming. At least not yet. So he kept his hand where it was, just in case the killing of enemies of the order extended to those who might reveal their secrets. And he tendered a warning. ‘If you know my father, then I hope you would not rouse the wrath of the de Burghs.’

‘And I hope that I might trust such a one not to betray us,’ Faramond answered, his tone gentle but firm.

Lifting his brows, Nicholas nodded his agreement and a silent understanding passed between them before the priest turned towards Emery. ‘As for you, child, you are bound by more than he to keep your silence.’

Emery paled and nodded, as though fearful, a circumstance that made Nicholas’s fingers tighten around his weapon. ‘If we are the first to penetrate this place, how did you know to look for us, or do you keep watch here at all times?’

‘Oh, no,’ Faramond said. ‘We rarely gather here any more. I instructed one of the shepherds to report upon your whereabouts. When you went directly to the church, I took up my position here. The de Burghs are known to be tenacious, among their many admirable qualities.’

Faramond paused. ‘However, my brethren may not be as untroubled as I by your incursion. Therefore, let us make this meeting as brief as possible. What is it you seek at Temple Roode, my lord?’

‘As I told Brother Gilbert, who was less than helpful, I am looking for a Templar knight who gave his name as Gwayne. He assaulted me as well as this young man’s brother, Gerard Montbard, a Hospitaller who is now missing.’

‘I am sorry that you were made unwelcome and realise that is why you were driven to other means,’ the priest said. He shook his head. ‘I told the others not to deny a de Burgh, but they are afraid. Someone brought word to the preceptory that Gwayne had been seen not far from here and they cower, lest he return, although we no longer claim him as our own.’

‘Why?’ Nicholas asked.

Faramond glanced away. ‘He was charged with an important task, which he did not fulfil.’

‘What was that?’

The priest sighed and looked towards the empty niche. ‘I can speak little of this, my lord. Know only that he possesses something that does not belong to him.’ He shook his head. ‘His appearance in the area is both unexpected and dismaying. But perhaps he has come to do penance for his wrongs—that is the outcome for which I will pray.’

Straightening, he faced them both again. ‘Now, I fear that I must ask that you leave this place, never to speak of it to any other, even your own father, the great Campion himself.’

‘What of my brother?’ Emery asked.

Faramond eyed Emery sadly. ‘I know nothing of the Hospitallers, nor why Gwayne would assault one of them. I know only that despite the robe he wears, he is not to be trusted.’

‘So he stole something from this place?’ Nicholas asked, gesturing towards the carved walls, steeped in Templar mysteries, that surrounded them.

‘Oh, no,’ the priest said, turning once again to Nicholas. ‘He was given the mace.’

Emery followed closely after Lord de Burgh, eager to put the Templar cave behind her. She was aware of the power wielded by the religious orders, but nothing could have prepared her for the eerie chamber full of strange carvings with eyes that moved …

Emery shuddered at the memory. It had taken every ounce of her will not to flee in that instant. Only thoughts of Gerard had kept her where she was. Once it became clear that he had nothing to do with the place, she had been more than ready to go.

But Lord de Burgh had lingered, asking more questions about Gwayne and the object he was given, despite the fact that Father Faramond provided few answers and Emery did not want to hear them. Although she had given little credence to Guy’s gossip about the order, she suspected that the less they knew about the Templars’ secrets, the better their chance of escaping retribution.

What did she care about their relics? And why should Lord de Burgh? His interest made her wonder whether he had his own reasons for seeking the hidden tunnels. She reminded herself to trust no one, yet she inched ever nearer to the man as she peered over her shoulder, half-expecting to spy something hurtling towards them through the blackness.

Although she did not want to believe that holy men were capable of murder, she felt a growing unease. Perhaps no Templar knights would be sent to trap them in the narrow passage, but other mishaps could be easily arranged—boulders, fire or flood—that would entomb them here, ensuring their silence. The thought made her glance back again and, though she saw nothing, Emery felt a jolt as she slammed into Lord de Burgh’s hard body.

‘In a hurry?’ he asked. His tone was one of amusement and, thankfully, he did not pause to look her way. But Emery was reminded that she had cause to be wary of everything, both in front and behind, here in the darkness.

‘We shall arrive at the end soon enough, if we tread carefully,’ he said.

And if they suffered no interference, Emery thought. But when they reached the church, what would they find there? ‘Twould be an easy task for someone to overpower Guy and plug the hole from whence they had entered.

‘The question is, where shall we go once we emerge?’ he asked.

At the great knight’s words, Emery’s steps faltered and she struggled not to stumble with dismay. She had been so concerned about escaping the Templars that she had been distracted from her purpose. But now the passage’s dangers receded, replaced by a new, greater fear.

‘I do not know where to look for your brother,’ Lord de Burgh said. ‘And we might roam these moors for days without news of him or Gwayne.’

Emery’s heart lurched, for she could not argue with the truth. And this man had done what he could to aid her; she could not expect him to dally with her for ever. As a de Burgh, he would have other commitments, perhaps even to the king himself. But if he gave up the hunt for Gerard, she would be left alone, with few resources and no mount, her quest doomed to failure and her future bleak.

‘Have you no notion where your brother might go?’ he asked.

Emery grunted a denial, unable to speak.

‘His first thought was for you, but having assured himself of your safety, perhaps he travelled on to others who merited his concern,’ he said. ‘What of your parents?’

Was he asking idle questions, or did he intend to continue the search? Emery felt so dizzy with relief at that possibility that she nearly reached out a hand to steady herself against his broad back. Instead, she swallowed hard and found her voice.

‘Our mother died in childbed and our father succumbed more than a year ago to a long illness.’

‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ he said, investing the simple phrase with such sincerity that Emery could only murmur her thanks. Garbed as she was, she could hardly explain that she mourned not only the passing of her father, but the life she had once known.

‘Have you any other siblings?’

‘No,’ Emery said. It had just been the three of them, their father choosing to raise his twins alone—and together. Instead of being sent away or shunted aside, Emery had run free with her brother, schooled along with him in the skills of men. It had been both a blessing and a curse, for although Emery could not regret one moment of the past, it made the present that much harder to bear.

‘What of other relatives? Is there no one else with whom your brother might seek shelter?’

‘There is only our uncle,’ Emery said. ‘But I doubt that Gerard would go to him.’ Or would he? If her brother was desperate or feverish, he might head home, especially since he was not aware of the lengths to which Harold had gone to claim their heritage.

‘Why would he not go to your uncle?’

Emery drew a deep breath. ‘Harold convinced our ailing father to assign his property to the Order of the Hospital of Saint John of Jerusalem. Then he convinced Gerard to join the order, conveniently giving up any claims he might have to his legacy.’

‘‘Tis not uncommon for men to provide for their widows and children in such a manner,’ he said. ‘Do you suspect your uncle of some ulterior motive?’

‘I suspect him of colluding with the master of the commandery to get what they both wanted,’ Emery said, her frustration spilling forth. ‘The brethren often had encroached upon our land, causing disagreements over the years. Now they have the disputed fields and my uncle has the manor he always coveted.’

‘And what of you?’

The simple question brought Emery back to her senses, for there her candour must end. Even if she trusted Lord de Burgh completely, there were some things she could not share. Thankful for the cloaking darkness, she drew a deep breath and chose her answer carefully. ‘I live in the old gatehouse … through an arrangement with the Hospitallers.’

For a long moment, he was silent, as if considering her situation, and Emery regretted her words. Although at one time she would have welcomed a champion such as this great knight to her cause, it was too late now, for both of the Montbard twins.

‘Perhaps we should pay a visit to this uncle of yours,’ Lord de Burgh said, ‘just in case Gerard stopped there.’

Now Emery well and truly had cause to rue her speech, for she could hardly appear at her old home in her current garb. Harold would see through her disguise in an instant, putting an end to her efforts to find her brother and ensuring her banishment. Her future would be bleak, indeed, and Lord de Burgh … Well, he would not look upon her so kindly once he discovered her ruse, for men did not like to be fooled, especially by women.

Her heart heavy, Emery tried to think of some argument against his plan, to no avail. But perhaps she could lead him to the manor and then hang back, citing ill will between Harold and herself. That would keep her from immediate discovery, yet should Lord de Burgh speak of her as Gerard’s brother, all would come undone.

‘Your fears are baseless, young Emery,’ he said, as though privy to her thoughts, and Emery glanced at him in alarm. It was only then that she saw the pale light of the church interior ahead, beckoning through the blackness.

‘We have reached the end without mishap,’ he added, and Emery realised he had been talking to her during their long, slow return in order to distract her. She blinked in surprise, uncertain whether Gerard would have done the same for his sister or if he even could. Somehow, she suspected only Lord de Burgh had the power to drive away dread and darkness with just the sound of his voice.

To her relief, when they exited the tunnel, no Templars awaited them, only an agitated Guy. ‘Where have you been? I thought you’d been trapped in there,’ he said. ‘Are you all right, my lord?’

The question seemed ludicrous, tendered from a slight young man to a great knight armed with sword and mail and wits to spare. Yet Lord de Burgh nodded and Guy appeared reassured. Although he looked ready to bombard them with questions, Lord de Burgh prevented them by speaking first.

While the great knight returned the heavy entrance stone to its original position, he related the conversation with the priest. However, he made no mention of where it took place. The omission not only proved that he was a man of his word, but Emery thought it just as well that Guy know nothing of the underground chamber.

The squire was leery enough of the Templars and their secrets, without hearing of a tomb-like effigy that sported real eyes and an eight-sided catacomb riddled with cryptic symbols. Yet, even without that information, Guy seemed eager for a mystery.

‘What do you suppose this mace is?’ he asked in hushed tones, as though somehow he might be overheard in the church.

Emery eyed him in confusion. A mace was a heavy club used to break armour in battle; surely a knight’s squire should know that simple fact. But, apparently, Guy expected something more exotic from the order.

‘Perhaps it is some sort of treasure,’ he said. ‘The Templars are rumoured to have vaults of gold and fleets of ships to ferry it across the sea.’

When Lord de Burgh made no comment, the squire continued. ‘Or it could be one of the precious objects they are said to hoard, such as the Ark of the Covenant, a piece of the True Cross, or even the Holy Grail itself,’ he said in an awed whisper.

‘I doubt they would refer to such things as a mace,’ Lord de Burgh said, drily, and Emery had to suppress a smile.

‘‘Tis said that they lost the True Cross to the infidels, and if they have any of those other things, why hide them away?’ the great knight asked. ‘They are more likely to put any relics on display and charge pilgrims for the privilege of seeing them.’

Although his words seemed harsh, Emery knew there was some truth to them, for the various orders squabbled over who could lay claim to the bones of the saints and such that drew veneration, donations and visitors.

But Guy would not be discouraged. ‘They are rumoured to have learned some hidden lore in foreign lands. Perhaps this mace is a part of it, an object possessing special powers that they know how to manipulate.’

Emery frowned. The only special powers she had witnessed below were those Lord de Burgh wielded with just a single gaze that had affected her like no other and one she had never seen him share with his squire. Glancing at the knight, she flushed and turned away, only to find Guy eyeing her speculatively.

‘Did anything else happen down there?’ the squire asked.

Faced with the direct question, Emery could not find her voice, so she was thankful when Lord de Burgh answered.

‘No,’ he said. ‘What do you mean?’

Had he felt what she felt? Emery dared not look towards the knight and Guy did not answer. Although she suspected the squire was not talking about Templar catacombs, if Emery had made any other discoveries in the darkness, she intended to keep those secrets close.

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