J. Tomlin - The Templar's Cross

“You came alone?” Law lifted an eyebrow. “A dangerous journey for anyone, but especially for a woman with no escort.”

She lowered her eyes, and color flooded her cheeks. “I had no choice. The only men left in my family after all of the fighting and killing are a cousin somewhere in the army of the king fighting against the English and my brother. My brother must return to France. He must! Only he can inherit since our father’s death or else we’ll be left in penury.”

Law nodded. A possible story, but she was playing at the game of flirtation, a game one he’d played with women more expert than she. He leaned towards her slightly keeping his gaze on her face.

“His letters said he was in the town called Aberdeen. The roads to reach there are said to be horribly dangerous. I can offer you ten ecu d'or if you go there and bring him back to me.” She raised both hands towards Law in a lissome motion of offering. “I give you my word that I have the money in the keeping of the good sisters at the Religious House.”

He raised an eyebrow. French gold coins were worth a great deal. “That is a fine offer,” Law said thoughtfully. That sum would keep him well for half a year if he was careful. “Especially since you ken nothing about me.”

“I asked about for someone honorable looking for work and was told you had served the Duke de Touraine before he was killed.” She blushed quite prettily. “But of course, I am not so trusting as to pay you before you return with my brother.”

Law couldn’t help the snort that was expelled through his nose. He rubbed his forehead between his eyebrows.

She looked at him, her chin trembling slightly. “You don’t believe me.” She shook her head as though to chase away her weakness. “I cannot inherit our father’s lands. They are not a great estate, but we cannot lose them. Please say that you’ll help me.”

He huffed softly. A trip to Aberdeen would be well worth making if she could indeed pay that well, but he’d have to see some gold first. “Why did he go so far from home?”

“He made a great friendship, during the fighting, with the son of one of your earls. They came back together, Etienne having been promised the chance of a good marriage. Not into the earl’s family, of course, but still a good match.”

“And you are certain he is yet in Aberdeen? I can hardly search all of the Hielands for him.”

“I…I am not sure. He mentioned nothing about going elsewhere when he sent the letter, but it took a long time to reach us and for me to reach here. I think he would have said so had he planned to leave.”

Law nodded slowly. “Even I would not make the ride through the Hielands alone. I’ll need to hire at least a few men to ride with me. For that, I will need at least part of the payment. I won’t pay out of my own purse.”

Lifting a shoulder, she tucked her chin down and looked up at him through thick, dark lashes. She gave one slow, languorous flutter of her eyelashes. “I truly believe I can trust you.”

He smiled gently; she was a pretty thing, and he suspected as dangerous as an asp indolently sunning itself. “Mayhap you should not trust so readily.”

“But I must trust someone.” She stroked his arm. “Let us discuss the cost of hiring men…mayhap over a glass of wine.”

“Aye. I’ll listen, but I make no promises.” Law patted her hand before he lifted it from his arm. He could put off leaving until he’d finished the business with Wrycht and have no worries about money for a long time-if she actually had it. Something was off in her story-of that he was sure. “I’ll call down for a flagon.”

He heard the stool scrape on the floor and the swish of her skirt behind him. Something slammed into the side of his head. Pain flashed through his skull like lightning. Staggering, he jerked his hand toward his hilt as he turned. The seat of the stool swung into his forehead. He grabbed at her skirt as he went onto one knee. She raised the stool over her head. Swaying, he saw two stools and grabbed. He missed and one smashed into the top of his head. Black seeped around the edge of his vision. The sound of the sea roared in Law’s ears as it rushed over his head.

Law awoke on the floor. His head throbbed and the room seemed to be hazy with fog. For a moment, he thought he had dreamt the attack, but when he moved, his stomach heaved. He looked around to find Marguerite, but Cormac was kneeling beside him.

He gently wiped at Law’s forehead with a damp cloth. “’S e plaigh a th’ annad. What a knight, letting a woman get the better of you.”

Law snorted as he sat up, which made the throbbing in his head whang even harder. “In the name of all the saints, don’t tell anyone. I’ll ne’er find a position if it’s noised about.”

Cormac sat back on his heels and held out the cloth that was tinged pink with blood. “She gave you a hell of a clout on the head. I saw her bustling out in a hurry, but didn’t think to find you laid out like a slab of mutton.”

With a hand on the cot, Law levered himself to his feet. “I kent I couldn’t trust her. Had it been a man, I’d ne’er had turned my back. I’ll remember that next time.” He touched the side of his head where the pain was the worst and his fingers came away with a smear of blood, but not enough that he thought he had more than a minor split in the skin.

Cormac motioned toward clothes scattered on the floor in front of the open kist. “She was searching for something. Did she find it? Is anything missing?”

“Not unless she was after my small clothes.” Law gingerly sat on the cot. He patted the front of his doublet where she’d unlaced it and with relief felt the bag holding the pay from Wrycht still where it should be. “She spun me a story about finding a brother traveling somewhere in the Hielands. But she didn’t search me and my room for a brother. Mayhap for that cross Wrycht spun a story about…if it exists. Search all she wanted, I certes did not have it.”

“There have not been Templars since-” Cormac paused looking thoughtful. “-since forever. Far before I was born. Or my dadaidh before me, I think.”

For a few minutes, Law sat frowning at the floor. Then he said in a dismissive tone, “About that long, and I doubt they or their treasure are returning. But I’ve been paid well enough to cover the cost of a sore head.”

When Cormac gave him a puzzled look, Law just shook his head, wincing at a twinge that went straight down his neck. He cautiously levered himself to his feet. His head pounded with every step down the stairs, until he sank gratefully onto a bench near the fire, motioning for Wulle to bring him a pitcher of ale. The innkeeper smirked and said Law’s company had improved since his last caller. Law shrugged the comment off and filled his cup to the top and downed the thick brew in a long draught. After he filled the cup again and downed this one a little more slowly, but it took a third to make him feel human again and less humiliated at letting a woman knock him out.

He tossed a coin on the table, got his cloak from his room, closed the door behind him, and went out into the night lit only by a half-moon and thin beams of lamplight through the slits of shutters.

An undersized man wrapped in a ragged cloak was leaning against the wall at the corner of the tavern, idly whistling. The ratcatcher? In the dark, Law wasn’t sure. He walked down to High Street, where a peddler with sticks of meat roasting over a brazier stood hawking his wares to the few late passersby. Law paid him two pence and tore the stringy meat with his teeth as he walked, wiping the drippings from his lips with his fingers, nudging his cloak from his sword with an elbow. When he stopped and tossed the stick into the gutter at the side of the street, the same man was one of three people laughing as a drunk stumbled his way into a dark alley.