The Princess and the Templar by Roman Hebby

Author:Roman, Hebby [Roman, Hebby]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Romance, templar, Irish, Medieval, Historical
Publisher: The Wild Rose Press, Inc
Published: 2013-11-23T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

Raul stared at the water skin at his feet, dumbfounded by Cahira’s angry response to his jesting. Of certain, he’d misjudged her mood. In truth, he’d never seen her so angry, not even when he’d ruined one of her escape attempts.

Escape attempt. He looked up and found that Cahira had fled—on foot and without a backward glance.

¡Madre de Dios! What was she doing?

He grabbed his destrier’s reins and vaulted into the saddle. He touched spurs to his horse’s flanks and ignored the babble of confused voices raised behind him. Like as not Mildread and his knights were just as surprised.

At his urging, the destrier lunged forward and settled into a ground-eating lope. Within a matter of seconds, he topped the hill and was favored with a glimpse of Cahira’s blue gown as she crashed through the wall of undergrowth at the bottom.

He pulled up his mount and made a hasty survey of the rough terrain, noting the thick growth of trees and bushes. She’d headed for the stream. The thick brush would stop him from following on horseback. Letting his horse have his head, he plunged after her until he reached the bottom of the gully. Once there he leapt from the saddle.

Confronted with the thicket of heather, he hesitated, not knowing which way she’d gone. The brush had completely swallowed her. With a low curse, he flung himself into a stand of stunted junipers and fought his way through the prickly branches. At the edge of the muddy stream, he stopped and surveyed the ground, looking for Cahira’s footprints.

A woman’s scream pierced the still air—Cahira.

His gut twisted and his heart pounded. Turning toward the sound, he raced along the streambed. Each step took its toll, his lungs bursting with the effort, burdened as he was by chain mail. At a bend in the stream, a huge oak tree loomed, its branches trailing in the water. Avoiding the tree, he regained the bank and came into a small clearing.

And then he saw her—with an archer’s arrow pointed at her heart!

Raul’s hand went to the hilt of his sword, but there was no time. He reacted on instinct, throwing himself between the two of them, before he realized the archer wore the Bruce’s colors. Holding up both hands in submission, he called out, “We come in peace to see the Bruce.”

The archer didn’t lower his weapon. He merely spat on the ground and tightened his grip on the longbow.

What was wrong with the man?

Raul hoped he wasn’t a renegade who’d deserted from the Bruce’s army. But if he was, Raul doubted he would stay so close to camp or accost strangers.

“I’m Raul de Porcelos, Knight Templar, and I’ve a message from William the Sinclair for the Bruce.” Inwardly, he grimaced because the lie fell so easily from his lips. Still, he’d do or say anything to protect Cahira. “And this is the Princess Cahira O’Donnell of Eire.”

At the recitation of their titles, the taciturn archer looked them up and down and then slowly lowered his bow.

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