his chainmail hauberk, then his helmet. After a long moment her shining eyes met his and his heart stuttered.
‘You are following us,’ she observed, her voice accusing.
‘True, and not true. I travel with you, but at a distance, to watch for bandits. I promised Hassam I would look to your welfare.’
She frowned. ‘I do not want you to look to my welfare. You, with your battle-scarred soul and your distrust of the world, would never let me do anything. Particularly not what I have in mind.’ With an eloquent lift of her dark eyebrows, she flapped her reins and rode on past him.
Stung, Reynaud circled his horse to block her path.
Thoughtfully she pursed her lips. The gesture sent red-hot needles dancing along the skin behind his neck.
He remembered that look. Even as a boy that gaze could make his heart thud in his bony chest like a smithy’s hammer. With Leonor he’d never known what to expect. How she had loved playing tricks.
Benjamin rode up, peering at her from under his bushy grey eyebrows. ‘Ay, Jehovah,’ he grumbled. ‘Why do you stop in the middle of the road?’ The old man paid no attention to Reynaud; apparently he did not recognise his old student.
‘I was…reviewing my plan,’ Leonor replied, a happy lilt in her voice.
Reynaud’s belly knotted. What plan? What was she up to besides visiting her great-aunt?
The old man’s black eyes rounded. ‘What, again? Can you not ride and plan at the same time?’
She laughed softly. ‘I can do many things at the same time, Benjamin. As you well know.’
‘Do not remind me,’ Benjamin growled. He tried in vain to hide the fond look in his dark eyes.
Reynaud groaned inwardly. When she was young, Leonor had tied her father into knots. Now she was grown, and so comely that the soft curves of her body made his skin burn. Keeping an eye on her would be a challenge.
Considering his body’s response to her, it would be an ordeal by fire! He nodded to Benjamin, kicked the grey warhorse into a trot and turned his face towards the rocky grey hills to the west. What devil had prompted him to agree to protecting her?
He circled around behind the party of riders to make sure they were not followed through the remote mountain pass leading to the walled town of Moyanne.
He knew the town. As a youth, in Moyanne he had learned about wine from Burgundy and women from…everywhere.
The old hunger bit into his loins and he straightened in the saddle and willed his thoughts elsewhere. He had fought too hard to become a Templar knight to sacrifice his honour for a mere itch of the flesh.
With undisguised relish Leonor studied the moss-covered stone walls enclosing the small village of Moyanne, then peered upward at the dark stone castle on the hilltop beyond. After the bustling streets and brilliant-coloured tiled buildings of Granada, this pretty little town looked as if nothing had changed for a hundred years. Surely Great-Aunt Alais must lead a peaceful life in such a place.
The flock of sparrows in her belly fluttered to life, and she nudged the cream-coloured mare forwards. Some minutes later the two horses and the mule clopped over the castle’s planked drawbridge and through the raised portcullis to enter a cobblestone bailey surrounded by a hodgepodge of wooden buildings. From the closest drifted the sound of clanging metal, followed by the hiss of steam. The smithy’s quarters.
She studied the inhabitants of the bailey. Stable boys, washing women, even a sour-faced priest. Unconsciously she looked for an even more sour-faced Reynaud, but there was no sign of her moody cousin.
Good. She was not a child who needed tending.
Pages ran forwards to help them dismount and unload the baggage from the pack mule tied behind Benjamin’s mount. The instant she slid off the cream mare an icy shard of fear stabbed beneath her breastbone.
She was here at last. She could turn her dream into a triumph…or she could make such a fool of herself that no one, not even Benjamin, would ever speak to her again. Worse, perhaps they would laugh at her.
Her chest felt as if jagged rocks were piling up behind her ribs. She was not just frightened, she was petrified!
She swallowed hard. ‘Benjamin, I am…I am somewhat afraid.’
The old man sent her a quick sideways look. ‘All things have their price, little one. Especially great adventures.’ His black eyes twinkled.
She frowned at him. ‘Oh, Ben…In truth, I am very afraid.’
Benjamin um-hummed beside her. ‘Tell me,’ he urged in his soft rumbly voice.
‘I cannot explain, exactly. All my life I have dreamed of the time when I would leave my father’s house and seek my own destiny.’
‘Ah, and here you are, are you not?’
She turned her gaze away from his narrow wrinkled face and focused instead on the portcullis behind them. Any moment Reynaud would clatter over the drawbridge. She did not want him to know she was afraid. She resented his dutiful overprotectiveness. And his disapproval of her.
‘One part of me can hardly wait!’ she blurted. ‘Another part of me wants to turn back and ride to the safety of my father’s house.’
‘Which do you want most?’ her tutor queried in his gravelly voice.
She drew in a shaky gulp of air. ‘I have ridden all the way from Granada to follow the joyous art. Gai saber it is called in the courts of Aquitaine. What I want most is…is to try.’
Benjamin merely nodded and his black eyes softened. ‘And, so?’ he murmured.
Yes, she would try. She would do it this very night, exactly as she’d planned these many months. She caught a passing page by the sleeve and tugged him to attention. ‘I would speak with the Lady Alais. In private.’
The boy’s eyes widened for an instant, then he raced off and disappeared through a narrow doorway. Leonor lifted her harp, wrapped in a nest of carpets carried on the pack mule, squared her shoulders and marched towards the castle entrance.
From the rampart overlooking the bailey Reynaud watched for a moment longer, his pulse jumping in an irregular beat at the sight of the slim girlish figure in the white turban.
With a curse he turned away from the battlement and descended the narrow circular staircase. He had important business here in Moyanne besides looking after Leonor. Whoever was to contact him while he was here, with instructions for disposing of the Templar gold hidden in his saddlebags, would use the coded password de Blanquefort had given him. Beyond that, his Grand Master had told him nothing.
So he must wait. But each time he laid eyes on Leonor, a warm rush of blood beat in his chest, and the darkness inside him lifted. Though his spirit was weary, his body was becoming frighteningly alive.
In the great
