The Princess and the Templar Read Online Free Page A

other senses.
    She recognized the splash of something being dipped into water and then the refreshing coolness of a wet cloth on her forehead. She concentrated on the sensation, noting her caretaker’s hand was rough and callused.
    Her nose twitched when she sensed the unknown caretaker leaning closer. Not the smell of a woman, either, but of a man. Salty perspiration mixed with the metallic odor of chain mail and musk.
    It was then that the truth struck her with the force of a winter squall, and she clenched her teeth to stop from crying out.
    Her men would have taken her to the castle to be cared for by her servants. If a man tended her, it was obvious she’d fallen prisoner. But where were her knights? They’d outnumbered the Templar’s men three to one.
    Her unknown caretaker crossed the room with a heavy tread. From a short distance, she heard the distinctive groans of a man and a whispered conversation. Who was that speaking? Where was she?
    She had to know.
    Her eyes flew open, and she glimpsed the familiar sight of beveled glass at the top of her solar. Surprise and fear commingled in her belly, spurring her heart to a fast gallop. Blinking at the bright sunlight, she turned her head to one side, her thoughts jangling like a jester’s bells. If she was in her own castle, then who was caring for her?
    She glanced across the room and saw three pallets on the floor, two of which were occupied by men she’d never seen before. Kneeling beside one of the pallets was another stranger, wearing a red cross on his tunic.
    Sweet Jesú! Her enemy!
    The knight who had brought her down. Was he the one doing the tending? Where were her men? And why had they deserted her? Had that black-hearted Dwyer taken control of the castle while she lay senseless?
    A strangled cry escaped her raw throat, and she lunged to her feet. Standing but swaying, she watched as the rounded walls of her solar danced a slow, sickening circle. She gritted her teeth and raised a hand to her throbbing temple. Her fingertips grazed the linen bandage encircling her head. Half-blind with pain, she managed one tottering step before falling into a pair of strong arms.
    But they were his arms—the arms of her enemy. She stared into his eyes, eyes as black as Dwyer’s heart, eyes as black as the pitch she had poured on besiegers, eyes as black as the darkest recesses of Hades.
    Shaking her head, she pushed against the wall of his chest, crying, “Malcolm! Malcolm!”
    Where was her guard? She was as weak as a newborn lamb, and her enemy seized the advantage, pushing her down on the couch and murmuring low words meant to comfort her. She tried to twist away from his grasp, for she found no comfort in his arms, only pain and terror. And humiliation.
    The solar door swung open, and Cahira glanced up, hopeful of rescue. But an unfamiliar dark-haired youth entered the room and said, “Aye, sir, I heard someone call.”
    “Yes, Clach, go fetch Sir Malcolm for her lady,” the Templar commanded. The lad touched his forelock and scurried out.
    He was bringing Malcolm? Then Malcolm must know. Why had her guard surrendered to the enemy? Had Dwyer poisoned her men’s reason? She collapsed on the couch, her head pounding and the bitter taste of betrayal coating her tongue.
    ****
    Cahira allowed her maidservant, Mildread, to spoon broth into her mouth. Malcolm had come and gone, trying to explain away his defection while loudly proclaiming his loyalty. She’d listened without comment, sour bile filling her throat, almost choking her.
    Malcolm had merely repeated what Dwyer had said before, claiming she needed a powerful husband to protect her. She’d wanted to fling the words at his face, reminding him that she didn’t need a protector because she’d been trained to fight alongside her brothers.
    But when she gazed into his haunted eyes and saw the lines of exhaustion etched into his young face, she knew the real truth. Her men were past being exhausted, wearied to