at her surroundings before she realised that she was lying on the floor. Had she fallen in her sleep? The question had barely flitted through her mind when the memory of the night’s events came rushing back. She jerked upright to look at the bed, but it was empty, and she glanced about with uncertainty. Had it all been a dream? Her heart clenched at the thought that she had imagined her brother’s appearance.
Maybe he had stepped outside, Emery thought, rising to her feet. But as she scanned the small area, she could find no signs of Gerard having been there at all. The cloth she had used to wash his wounds was gone, and the bowl that had held the water lay empty, as did the cup. Although the pot in which she had brewed the tisane hung over the dying fire, no herbs remained.
How could she have visualised his visit so vividly? Emery raised her hands to her face in confusion, only to lower them again as something caught her eye. ‘Twas a small detail, but one that could not be done away with while she slept. Under her fingernails lay proof of her brother’s appearance, for they were stained with his blood.
But why would Gerard go to so much trouble to eliminate all evidence of his presence? For one startling moment, Emery wondered if unseen foes had carried him off, but she shook her head in denial. Surely no intruders could have entered without her knowledge. Her brother must have left on his own, without even a goodbye after they had been parted for so long. But why?
Trust no one.
Gerard’s words came to mind abruptly, along with the cryptic warnings he had issued during the hours he had lain abed. But Emery had thought her brother raving, perhaps with some fever, which made his disappearance all the more alarming. The thought roused her to action and she went to the door, hoping to find him outside. But the pale light of the coming dawn revealed nothing and the small grove was silent except for the calls of birds.
What was she to do? Emery hesitated, leery of leaving the relative safety of her dwelling, yet Gerard might still be close by, too ill to travel, chased by demons of his own making. Or, worse, he could be fleeing some real threat. Emery shivered. Either way, it would be better for her brother if she found him, so she hurried back inside to dress properly.
Reaching for her plain kirtle, Emery once again glanced at the bed, only to spy something lying there, amongst the covers. Stretching out her hand, Emery fingered what looked to be a heavy piece of parchment, but ‘twas like nothing she had ever seen before.
It was long—half a foot, she guessed—yet narrow, and was completely covered by a brightly coloured drawing such as those seen in manuscripts. In fact, at first she thought that it must have been cut from a book, yet the edges bore no trace of such abuse.
Eyeing the illustration itself, Emery realised that the pretty pattern surrounded a central figure that appeared to be a large black snake, curving ominously. Or was it a sword? Emery shivered at the vaguely threatening image. Had the object fallen from Gerard’s things, or had he left it there deliberately as some kind of message?
She studied it more carefully, looking for anything else that might be hidden amongst the depictions of flowers and leaves, and soon she found it. A phrase had been written beneath the snake that anyone else might think the part of the illustration, but Emery knew her brother’s hand and the words chilled her.
Trust no one.
Whether in his right mind or not, Gerard was in trouble and Emery sank down upon the bed, her hand shaking. Her first thought was to go to the Hospitallers, for they should take care of their own, but she could not ignore the warning held in her trembling fingers.
Who else could she turn to? She and Gerard had no relatives except their uncle and he could not be trusted to put the family’s interest before his own. Who, then? Who had the wherewithal to stand against unknown enemies that might include the ecclesiastical authorities? Precious few in all of England, Emery thought, her heart sinking.
She could think of no one and Gerard’s flight suggested that he intended she do—and say—nothing. But she could not ignore her brother’s appearance and disappearance, especially when he was ill and in trouble. Emery shook her head, as if to deny the truth, yet she could come to no other conclusion.
She was the only person who could help him.
There was once a time when she would not have hesitated. Years ago, she had longed for adventure and excitement and thought herself well equipped to meet it, her twin’s equal in nearly all respects. But experience had taught her otherwise and now she tried only to accept her lot, her dreams of another life long buried.
Yet, this was different. It was one thing to abandon her own hopes and quite another to leave Gerard to the mercy of whatever plagued him, real or imagined. He was alone and injured, and he needed her. Emery could not turn her back upon the only person she cared about in the world.
But she dared not leave this place. Both fear and loyalties warred within her until she was jolted from her thoughts by a noise outside. Visitors to this remote location were few, especially at such an early hour, so it was only natural to assume that Gerard had returned. But when Emery hurried to the window, it was not her brother she saw. The lone rider approaching the commandery wore the distinctive white robe of the Templars.
Emery shrank away from the window, her heart in her throat. The appearance of such a knight so soon after Gerard’s warnings could be no coincidence and it forced her to act. Dropping to her knees, she pried at the loose tile in the floor until it came away, exposing a hole dug into the dirt. From it Emery removed the satchel she had managed to bury when she first took up residence here nearly a year ago.
Amongst the contents were some of her brother’s former clothes, left over from the days when she used to switch places with her twin. It had been some time since she had last worn them, but she was relieved to find that they still fit. In their place, she put whatever food she could carry, her small store of herbs and the piece of parchment, lest it be found by others.
Had her brother left on foot? Emery thought longingly of the palfrey that had once belonged to her, but she could not appear at the stables in her boy’s garb or take her old mount. She would have to look for Gerard by herself and swallowed against the apprehension that threatened to stay her. Instead, she forced herself to keep moving, tossing the satchel over her shoulder and throwing open the door.
In her haste, Emery had abandoned all caution, a mistake she realised only when she saw that she was not alone. Standing before her was a man and he was not Gerard. Neither was he the Templar she had seen on horseback, but he might well be a companion to the knight intent upon searching outlying buildings.
Emery took a step back, away from the figure who towered over her. Indeed, he was taller than anyone she’d ever seen, a good foot above Gerard, with wide shoulders and muscular arms that were hardly surprising, considering the short mail coat he wore and the heavy sword at his side. Obviously, he was a knight, though without the fierce visage of some.
While most certainly dangerous, he did not appear threatening. His nut-brown hair was thick and a bit shaggy, framing a face kissed by the sun. Emery would not call him beautiful, for his was not a feminine aspect, yet he was striking with eyes the colour of his hair, warm and compelling, and his gleaming white teeth …
Emery realised he was smiling at the same moment she caught herself staring. Drawing a shaky breath, she cleared her throat and managed to squeak out a question. ‘What do you he re?’
‘I am Nicholas de Burgh,’ he said, inclining his head. ‘I am foresworn to help a Hospitaller knight I met upon the road and would make certain that he arrived safely. Would you happen to be Emery, young man?’
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