The Highlander's Touch

“What might the Pope and king want from us?”

“Gold?” she guessed. “Religious artifacts?”

His laughter sent a chill up her spine. “Consider this: What if the Templars had discovered something that would tear asunder beliefs that had been held for centuries by nearly every land in the world?”

Now he really had her curiosity going. “You must tell me,” she breathed.

“I didn’t say that we had,” he prevaricated. “I merely postulated the possibility.”

“So, is it true then?” she asked, fascinated. “Does your Order possess such knowledge?”

He didn’t answer. His face was averted, so she didn’t see it contort with rage, hence she was completely unprepared when he grabbed her arm and twisted it behind her back, arcing it up between her shoulder blades, forcing her to double over in an effort to escape the pain.

He shoved her against the wall and pressed a knife to her side.

Lisa was so stunned that she made no sound. One moment she was strolling with a perfectly sociable Templar, indulging her incessant curiosity, teetering on the brink of stunning revelations, and the next her life was being threatened. It had happened too swiftly for her to grasp, and, in shock, she had wasted precious seconds during which she might have fought back.

“Give me the key,” Armand growled into her ear. “And if you so much as whimper, I will kill you.”

“The key to what?”

“Circenn’s chambers.”

“I don’t have one!”

“You lying little—” Hooking a thick forearm around her throat, he patted her body, searching for a key ring. “Then it is in your room,” he accused.

“He has never given me one!”

Armand tightened his arm around her throat, cutting into her windpipe. His arm was an unrelenting band of steel, and Lisa felt her air supply being cut off. Her cheek smashed against the stone wall, and she grew dangerously light-headed.

“We can play as rough as you like, lass,” Armand murmured into her hair. “Where is the key?”

Lisa closed her eyes and reached for Circenn.

* * *

Circenn crushed his metal goblet in his hand, spraying half a dozen villagers with wine. He glanced about, his eyes wild.

Lisa.

Danger. Frightened. Can’t breathe.

But where?

He raced up the stairs to the garderobe, feeling for her with his heart, reassuring her he was coming.

Pain.

He cursed the emotional bond by which he could share her feelings but not obtain words or a hint of her location. Where would she have gone? How could she be in danger? Who could possibly wish her ill?

He ranged the corridors like a maddened beast, fighting an urge to bellow for her, aware that that would only alert whoever was threatening her. He paced up the south corridor, then back. Every ounce of his intellect was absorbing her fear, sponging it up, and it was rendering him senseless. He plunged down a hall, then stopped abruptly.

Brash fury would not serve. He must be logical. He should check his room and hers, then other areas she had been inclined to attend. Perhaps the chapel. He pivoted sharply and raced back down the hall. He flew through the castle and into the east wing.

As he neared his chambers he slowed, alerted by a soft murmur and a strangled sound. Drawing to a halt, he slipped stealthily around the corner.

Armand had Lisa pressed up against the wall outside his chambers, his thick forearm choking her to unconsciousness. Circenn labored to draw slow, silent breaths when his lips begged to roar. She was going limp in the Templar’s arms, giving up the fight as she lost her precious breath.

A flicker of silver flashed in the dim glow from the rushlights mounted on the walls. The Templar had a blade. Circenn didn’t wait to see more. He drew on his unnatural abilities and moved like the wind, stopping behind the Templar, who had no warning that Circenn stood a breath behind his heart.

“The key, you stupid bitch,” Armand muttered. “Don’t pass out on me.” He shook her. “Where does he keep the hallows?”

Circenn’s mouth twisted. So that was what this was about. A rogue Templar, turned on his Order. Armand wasn’t the only knight who’d lost his faith. Circenn had heard of others who, believing that God had abandoned them, had turned mercenary and faithless.

In an instant of blurred space, Circenn disarmed the knight and flung him across the corridor, where he struck the stone wall with a sharp crack of his head. He slumped to the floor. Circenn spared no regret that the attack had been unfair. When in the past he’d suffered guilt over using his enhanced abilities, he now felt grim satisfaction. He towered over the fallen knight and raised his sword for the fatal blow.