Read Online The Princess and the Templar by Hebby Roman - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Hebby Roman
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Malcolm.”
“And to you, milady. Sir Raul told me you were distressed over Dwyer’s departure.”
Sir Raul. How quickly one man gave his respect to another. But a woman, even a princess, had to labor mightily for each crumb of a man’s esteem.
“Aye, I wondered where Dwyer went and who gave him permission.”
“I thought the Templar explained.”
“He did, but I would like to hear the tale from you.”
He shook his head. “I didn’t give Dwyer permission to leave, milady. He lied to the seneschal and pushed his way past the guard.”
“Once you knew he’d gone, why didn’t you tell me?”
“The deed was done. I thought—”
“You thought because I’m a captive and no longer your liege lord, I need not be informed.”
He clenched his jaw and fisted his hands. “Nay, milady, not true.”
“Which part is false?”
“Your Highness?”
“The part about my being a captive? Or that I need not be informed?”
“Neither, milady. You’re still my princess.” He dropped to one knee. “You know I would protect you with my life.”
“And if I wanted to be rescued from the Templar, would you aid me?”
Rising slowly, he scowled. “Nay, I cannot.”
“Why not?”
“I believe you need a strong marriage alliance.”
“True,” she agreed. “But there are others I might marry.”
The frown on his face deepened. “If you mean your cousins, I cannot help you. I told Sir Raul, like as not, you tried to send to the King of Ulster, promising to wed one of your kin.”
So her suspicion had been accurate, but she wouldn’t let him off that easily. “You told the Templar?” She gritted her teeth, forcing herself to keep her voice soft and low.
“Aye, I did.” He stood straighter and faced her.
“So, I am your captive, not your princess—to be spied upon and reported to the Templar.”
He opened his mouth and his lips moved, but no sound came.
“What say you of my great-uncle?” she demanded. “He is my rightful protector and would guard my legacy. Why didn’t you turn to him?”
Malcolm dropped his gaze. “The King of Ulster is your rightful kin, I cannot deny that.” He looked up, and his face was contorted with pain. “But when your father asked for his aid, he didn’t help. The siege dragged on, and our provisions dwindled. Then the fever came.” His voice shaded into a whisper. “I lost my Meghan to the fever.”
Meghan... Cahira searched her memory, and then she remembered. Meghan McCormack, the tiny brunette gentlewoman, who had sheltered at Kinsale en route to her home and been caught by the siege.
Cahira hadn’t known Malcolm cared for Meghan. In truth the last siege was but a blur of pain and the blackest grief. For that was when she’d lost Da and her remaining brother.
“We were betrothed,” he said. “She had agreed. I had only to ask her father for her…h-hand.” His voice caught.
“You blame my great-uncle for her death?”
He stared at her, not flinching.
“Malcolm, you must know...” She stopped. ’Twas obvious he believed if help had come and the siege had been broken sooner, his Meghan would have lived.
She’d oft wondered what would have happened if her great-uncle had sent knights. Would her father and brother still be alive? But she’d forced herself to put away such thoughts for dwelling on the past was a fool’s exercise.
Now she understood why Malcolm hadn’t sent to her kin and why he’d turned to the Templar. She must pray for Malcolm to let his bitterness go, to find a way to put his pain aside. A deep well of sadness opened within her.
“M-milady, I wish—”
“I understand, Malcolm.” She turned her back and gazed at the fire. “Please go and leave me in peace.”
The door shut softly, and she stood at the fireplace for a long time, watching the dancing flames and remembering her life before.
The door clicked open, and she glanced up to find Mildread, her arms laden with a tray of food. “’Ere is your supper.
“And to you, milady. Sir Raul told me you were distressed over Dwyer’s departure.”
Sir Raul. How quickly one man gave his respect to another. But a woman, even a princess, had to labor mightily for each crumb of a man’s esteem.
“Aye, I wondered where Dwyer went and who gave him permission.”
“I thought the Templar explained.”
“He did, but I would like to hear the tale from you.”
He shook his head. “I didn’t give Dwyer permission to leave, milady. He lied to the seneschal and pushed his way past the guard.”
“Once you knew he’d gone, why didn’t you tell me?”
“The deed was done. I thought—”
“You thought because I’m a captive and no longer your liege lord, I need not be informed.”
He clenched his jaw and fisted his hands. “Nay, milady, not true.”
“Which part is false?”
“Your Highness?”
“The part about my being a captive? Or that I need not be informed?”
“Neither, milady. You’re still my princess.” He dropped to one knee. “You know I would protect you with my life.”
“And if I wanted to be rescued from the Templar, would you aid me?”
Rising slowly, he scowled. “Nay, I cannot.”
“Why not?”
“I believe you need a strong marriage alliance.”
“True,” she agreed. “But there are others I might marry.”
The frown on his face deepened. “If you mean your cousins, I cannot help you. I told Sir Raul, like as not, you tried to send to the King of Ulster, promising to wed one of your kin.”
So her suspicion had been accurate, but she wouldn’t let him off that easily. “You told the Templar?” She gritted her teeth, forcing herself to keep her voice soft and low.
“Aye, I did.” He stood straighter and faced her.
“So, I am your captive, not your princess—to be spied upon and reported to the Templar.”
He opened his mouth and his lips moved, but no sound came.
“What say you of my great-uncle?” she demanded. “He is my rightful protector and would guard my legacy. Why didn’t you turn to him?”
Malcolm dropped his gaze. “The King of Ulster is your rightful kin, I cannot deny that.” He looked up, and his face was contorted with pain. “But when your father asked for his aid, he didn’t help. The siege dragged on, and our provisions dwindled. Then the fever came.” His voice shaded into a whisper. “I lost my Meghan to the fever.”
Meghan... Cahira searched her memory, and then she remembered. Meghan McCormack, the tiny brunette gentlewoman, who had sheltered at Kinsale en route to her home and been caught by the siege.
Cahira hadn’t known Malcolm cared for Meghan. In truth the last siege was but a blur of pain and the blackest grief. For that was when she’d lost Da and her remaining brother.
“We were betrothed,” he said. “She had agreed. I had only to ask her father for her…h-hand.” His voice caught.
“You blame my great-uncle for her death?”
He stared at her, not flinching.
“Malcolm, you must know...” She stopped. ’Twas obvious he believed if help had come and the siege had been broken sooner, his Meghan would have lived.
She’d oft wondered what would have happened if her great-uncle had sent knights. Would her father and brother still be alive? But she’d forced herself to put away such thoughts for dwelling on the past was a fool’s exercise.
Now she understood why Malcolm hadn’t sent to her kin and why he’d turned to the Templar. She must pray for Malcolm to let his bitterness go, to find a way to put his pain aside. A deep well of sadness opened within her.
“M-milady, I wish—”
“I understand, Malcolm.” She turned her back and gazed at the fire. “Please go and leave me in peace.”
The door shut softly, and she stood at the fireplace for a long time, watching the dancing flames and remembering her life before.
The door clicked open, and she glanced up to find Mildread, her arms laden with a tray of food. “’Ere is your supper.
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