The Princess and the Templar Read Online Free Page B

the bone from fighting and sieges.
    By accepting protection from a powerful earl, their struggles would cease. To their way of thinking, she would wed and find her rightful place in the world. And she understood their ready acceptance of the Sinclair, too, for at least he was a Scot and not the murdering English.
    What her people couldn’t know was she didn’t want a marriage alliance—didn’t wish to wed a stranger who didn’t care about her. But her men didn’t know how she felt or why. All that concerned them was staying alive and keeping their bellies full. And sweet Jesú, she couldn’t fault them for that.
    Even if she understood her knights’ plight, her heart rebelled at their easy capitulation. And they didn’t bother to spare her their joy, either. Through the floor of the solar, she could hear the merrymaking in the great hall below, deep male voices raised in songs and loud jests. A roar of masculine laughter smote her ears, and she covered them with her hands.
    Not that she begrudged them their frolic. They’d earned it, pushing back one wave of English after another. Alas, she might understand their motives, but the thought of her men romping with the enemy made her physically ill.
    She lifted her hands from her ears and pushed aside the spoon. “Enough, Mildread. Thank you, you may go.”
    Mildread gathered the remnants of the meal and curtsied. She pulled the heavy oak door shut, leaving Cahira alone with the two wounded men. Sharing a room with two strange knights, wounded or not, was another indignity. She should have complained to Malcolm, but she’d been too upset by his betrayal.
    She wished her mind would clear so she could think. Her men may have given up, but she hadn’t. There must be something she could do, someone she could turn to.
    Only her great-uncle, the King of Ulster, came to mind, though there was bad blood between their families. When Da had sent to his uncle for additional knights last year, her great-uncle had refused because he was parlaying with the English king, Edward I, the one called Longshanks.
    The Anglo-Normans, over the past two centuries, had slowly encroached on the Isle of Ireland. They held fast Edinburgh, and many of the fiefdoms surrounding the capitol city. Other parts of Eire, swayed between capitulation, fighting, and paying tribute to the English king. Her great-uncle had proven to be a master at preserving his kingdom, despite increased incursions under Longshanks.
    When her great-uncle refused Da help, relations between the two branches of the royal family were strained. The King of Ulster had sent his condolences when her father had been killed, but he’d not come personally to pay his respects. Only last month, Cahira had learned that her royal kin had paid tribute to the despised English king.
    Despite her great-uncle’s questionable alliances, she still harbored hope he might come to her aid. Kinsale was one of the few ports of Eire that remained in Irish hands, giving it strategic importance. Her uncle’s Kingdom of Ulster was land-locked. An alliance between them would bring mutual benefit, even if she had to legitimize it by wedding one of his grandsons.
    ’Twouldn’t be a love match, but at least the man would be a relation, rather than some strange Scot. It was a desperate gamble, but her only chance.
    The door creaked open, and the Templar stepped inside. She’d yet to speak to him, although she’d listened while he talked with Malcolm. His Gaelic was lightly accented yet intelligible.
    Though he spoke well, she despised the sight of him. She loathed the way his inky eyes traveled over her and his forceful male smell when he stood close. His dark wavy hair fell over his forehead, giving him a youthful appeal she steeled herself against. Weren’t monks supposed to shave their heads? It was passing strange for a monk, even a warrior monk, not to wear a tonsure.
    When she gazed at his graceful, muscular form, she felt her cheeks heat, and