The Outlaws of Ennor: (Knights Templar 16) Read Online Free Page A

he found his thoughts cleared even on his worst days. Here he could create sermons even when in a lousy mood. Just the sight of ships on the sea made his heart swell with joy, and the thought of their cargos made the words leap into his mind.
    Today he gazed about him anxiously. Out to sea there was no sign of any sails, and that at least was a relief. William wouldn’t want to think of a ship approaching the coast in this wind. It was already pulling at his habit, snapping at his cowl, a chill, bitter wind that felt as though it held sparks of ice even though it was too early in the year for that. The whipping at his skin set his cheeks tingling, as though they were licked by a hundred tiny candleflames. ‘Pity the poor mariner,’ he thought aloud.
    Out to sea, he could make out the islands of Agnas, with Anete beyond, their shapes thrown into stark relief as the sea exploded into white mountains and then subsided against the rocks that fringed them. The sight was awesome, and the priest sat there entranced for a long while, until his buttocks told him that it was too chill to remain here.
    Standing, he found himself facing the castle on its little crag above the town. Instantly William’s face darkened.
    ‘Have a good meal, I hope,’ he muttered sarcastically. ‘And if the storm must take a man’s life, I pray it may be yours!’
    Only then did he see the man striding along the lane, and William glanced at the coming storm pensively before making a decision. He hurried down the path and began to follow the man.

Chapter One
     
    Althoughhe wasn’t tall, Robert of Falmouth gave the impression of height in the way that he held himself. He strutted – rather like a pigeon – with his chest thrown forward and his head lowered, jaw jutting in imitation of a truculent man-at-arms. He strutted now, as he made his way to the beach at the northernmost tip of Ennor.
    The posture was all an act. Robert had never yet been on the receiving end of a blade. When he was a child he suffered no bullying. That was why he was here, so he often thought, because he had no idea how to defend himself. If he had been bullied, he might have learned how to use his fists, and, seeing his chance, destroyed his enemy quickly, with no one getting seriously hurt. Instead, he was unsure of himself, and that made him reach for his dagger too quickly.
    Long ago, when he was a youth, back in his home of St Cleer, a rival for the affections of a girl in the vill had met him in the road and sneered, calling him names, shouting that Robert was only after her for her father’s money, and then, his voice sinking, he let slip the warnings – that he’d see to it Robert had no chance with her. His thick forefinger stabbing Robert’s breast, the other youth brought his face down until Robert could see nothing but his hog-like eyes, raw and angry.
    Robert was scared. He had never been pushed around before and was fearful that he might get hurt if he didn’t pre-empt an attack – but he didn’t know what to do. So he entered the fray wholeheartedly, arms flailing wildly. In the span of a minute or two, his enemy was on the ground, his nose fountaining blood, and then Robert saw his hand move. Yes, the bastard was reaching for his knife, and that sight gave Robert the chill certainty that one or other must die. Fear had started his fighting, now it forced him to act again. He kicked at the fellow, trying to knock the hand away from the blade, but even as hedid so, he was pulling his own dagger free. It whirled in an arc, cutting a slice from the lad’s cheek; a second wild slash opened his throat, and then suddenly, before Robert could swing his arm again, a jet of blood shot across his vision and two others grabbed his arms and pulled him away.
    Aghast, he had stood panting while his victim fell back, his legs thrashing while his lifeblood pumped away, like a hog whose throat was cut. There was no shrill screaming, but Robert was sure now that there