Deborah Simmons - The Last de Burgh

‘I am sorry that you were made unwelcome and realise that is why you were driven to other means,’ the priest said. He shook his head. ‘I told the others not to deny a de Burgh, but they are afraid. Someone brought word to the preceptory that Gwayne had been seen not far from here and they cower, lest he return, although we no longer claim him as our own.’

‘Why?’ Nicholas asked.

Faramond glanced away. ‘He was charged with an important task, which he did not fulfil.’

‘What was that?’

The priest sighed and looked towards the empty niche. ‘I can speak little of this, my lord. Know only that he possesses something that does not belong to him.’ He shook his head. ‘His appearance in the area is both unexpected and dismaying. But perhaps he has come to do penance for his wrongs—that is the outcome for which I will pray.’

Straightening, he faced them both again. ‘Now, I fear that I must ask that you leave this place, never to speak of it to any other, even your own father, the great Campion himself.’

‘What of my brother?’ Emery asked.

Faramond eyed Emery sadly. ‘I know nothing of the Hospitallers, nor why Gwayne would assault one of them. I know only that despite the robe he wears, he is not to be trusted.’

‘So he stole something from this place?’ Nicholas asked, gesturing towards the carved walls, steeped in Templar mysteries, that surrounded them.

‘Oh, no,’ the priest said, turning once again to Nicholas. ‘He was given the mace.’

Emery followed closely after Lord de Burgh, eager to put the Templar cave behind her. She was aware of the power wielded by the religious orders, but nothing could have prepared her for the eerie chamber full of strange carvings with eyes that moved …

Emery shuddered at the memory. It had taken every ounce of her will not to flee in that instant. Only thoughts of Gerard had kept her where she was. Once it became clear that he had nothing to do with the place, she had been more than ready to go.

But Lord de Burgh had lingered, asking more questions about Gwayne and the object he was given, despite the fact that Father Faramond provided few answers and Emery did not want to hear them. Although she had given little credence to Guy’s gossip about the order, she suspected that the less they knew about the Templars’ secrets, the better their chance of escaping retribution.

What did she care about their relics? And why should Lord de Burgh? His interest made her wonder whether he had his own reasons for seeking the hidden tunnels. She reminded herself to trust no one, yet she inched ever nearer to the man as she peered over her shoulder, half-expecting to spy something hurtling towards them through the blackness.

Although she did not want to believe that holy men were capable of murder, she felt a growing unease. Perhaps no Templar knights would be sent to trap them in the narrow passage, but other mishaps could be easily arranged—boulders, fire or flood—that would entomb them here, ensuring their silence. The thought made her glance back again and, though she saw nothing, Emery felt a jolt as she slammed into Lord de Burgh’s hard body.

‘In a hurry?’ he asked. His tone was one of amusement and, thankfully, he did not pause to look her way. But Emery was reminded that she had cause to be wary of everything, both in front and behind, here in the darkness.

‘We shall arrive at the end soon enough, if we tread carefully,’ he said.

And if they suffered no interference, Emery thought. But when they reached the church, what would they find there? ‘Twould be an easy task for someone to overpower Guy and plug the hole from whence they had entered.

‘The question is, where shall we go once we emerge?’ he asked.

At the great knight’s words, Emery’s steps faltered and she struggled not to stumble with dismay. She had been so concerned about escaping the Templars that she had been distracted from her purpose. But now the passage’s dangers receded, replaced by a new, greater fear.

‘I do not know where to look for your brother,’ Lord de Burgh said. ‘And we might roam these moors for days without news of him or Gwayne.’

Emery’s heart lurched, for she could not argue with the truth. And this man had done what he could to aid her; she could not expect him to dally with her for ever. As a de Burgh, he would have other commitments, perhaps even to the king himself. But if he gave up the hunt for Gerard, she would be left alone, with few resources and no mount, her quest doomed to failure and her future bleak.

‘Have you no notion where your brother might go?’ he asked.

Emery grunted a denial, unable to speak.

‘His first thought was for you, but having assured himself of your safety, perhaps he travelled on to others who merited his concern,’ he said. ‘What of your parents?’

Was he asking idle questions, or did he intend to continue the search? Emery felt so dizzy with relief at that possibility that she nearly reached out a hand to steady herself against his broad back. Instead, she swallowed hard and found her voice.

‘Our mother died in childbed and our father succumbed more than a year ago to a long illness.’

‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ he said, investing the simple phrase with such sincerity that Emery could only murmur her thanks. Garbed as she was, she could hardly explain that she mourned not only the passing of her father, but the life she had once known.

‘Have you any other siblings?’

‘No,’ Emery said. It had just been the three of them, their father choosing to raise his twins alone—and together. Instead of being sent away or shunted aside, Emery had run free with her brother, schooled along with him in the skills of men. It had been both a blessing and a curse, for although Emery could not regret one moment of the past, it made the present that much harder to bear.

‘What of other relatives? Is there no one else with whom your brother might seek shelter?’

‘There is only our uncle,’ Emery said. ‘But I doubt that Gerard would go to him.’ Or would he? If her brother was desperate or feverish, he might head home, especially since he was not aware of the lengths to which Harold had gone to claim their heritage.

‘Why would he not go to your uncle?’

Emery drew a deep breath. ‘Harold convinced our ailing father to assign his property to the Order of the Hospital of Saint John of Jerusalem. Then he convinced Gerard to join the order, conveniently giving up any claims he might have to his legacy.’

‘‘Tis not uncommon for men to provide for their widows and children in such a manner,’ he said. ‘Do you suspect your uncle of some ulterior motive?’

‘I suspect him of colluding with the master of the commandery to get what they both wanted,’ Emery said, her frustration spilling forth. ‘The brethren often had encroached upon our land, causing disagreements over the years. Now they have the disputed fields and my uncle has the manor he always coveted.’

‘And what of you?’

The simple question brought Emery back to her senses, for there her candour must end. Even if she trusted Lord de Burgh completely, there were some things she could not share. Thankful for the cloaking darkness, she drew a deep breath and chose her answer carefully. ‘I live in the old gatehouse … through an arrangement with the Hospitallers.’

For a long moment, he was silent, as if considering her situation, and Emery regretted her words. Although at one time she would have welcomed a champion such as this great knight to her cause, it was too late now, for both of the Montbard twins.

‘Perhaps we should pay a visit to this uncle of yours,’ Lord de Burgh said, ‘just in case Gerard stopped there.’