The Last de Burgh. Deborah Simmons

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      ‘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.’

      Now Emery well and truly had cause to rue her speech, for she could hardly appear at her old home in her current garb. Harold would see through her disguise in an instant, putting an end to her efforts to find her brother and ensuring her banishment. Her future would be bleak, indeed, and Lord de Burgh … Well, he would not look upon her so kindly once he discovered her ruse, for men did not like to be fooled, especially by women.

      Her heart heavy, Emery tried to think of some argument against his plan, to no avail. But perhaps she could lead him to the manor and then hang back, citing ill will between Harold and herself. That would keep her from immediate discovery, yet should Lord de Burgh speak of her as Gerard’s brother, all would come undone.

      ‘Your fears are baseless, young Emery,’ he said, as though privy to her thoughts, and Emery glanced at him in alarm. It was only then that she saw the pale light of the church interior ahead, beckoning through the blackness.

      ‘We have reached the end without mishap,’ he added, and Emery realised he had been talking to her during their long, slow return in order to distract her. She blinked in surprise, uncertain whether Gerard would have done the same for his sister or if he even could. Somehow, she suspected only Lord de Burgh had the power to drive away dread and darkness with just the sound of his voice.

      To her relief, when they exited the tunnel, no Templars awaited them, only an agitated Guy. ‘Where have you been? I thought you’d been trapped in there,’ he said. ‘Are you all right, my lord?’

      The question seemed ludicrous, tendered from a slight young man to a great knight armed with sword and mail and wits to spare. Yet Lord de Burgh nodded and Guy appeared reassured. Although he looked ready to bombard them with questions, Lord de Burgh prevented them by speaking first.

      While the great knight returned the heavy entrance stone to its original position, he related the conversation with the priest. However, he made no mention of where it took place. The omission not only proved that he was a man of his word, but Emery thought it just as well that Guy know nothing of the underground chamber.

      The squire was leery enough of the Templars and their secrets, without hearing of a tomb-like effigy that sported real eyes and an eight-sided catacomb riddled with cryptic symbols. Yet, even without that information, Guy seemed eager for a mystery.

      ‘What do you suppose this mace is?’ he asked in hushed tones, as though somehow he might be overheard in the church.

      Emery eyed him in confusion. A mace was a heavy club used to break armour in battle; surely a knight’s squire should know that simple fact. But, apparently, Guy expected something more exotic from the order.

      ‘Perhaps it is some sort of treasure,’ he said. ‘The Templars are rumoured to have vaults of gold and fleets of ships to ferry it across the sea.’

      When Lord de Burgh made no comment, the squire continued. ‘Or it could be one of the precious objects they are said to hoard, such as the Ark of the Covenant, a piece of the True Cross, or even the Holy Grail itself,’ he said in an awed whisper.

      ‘I doubt they would refer to such things as a mace,’ Lord de Burgh said, drily, and Emery had to suppress a smile.

      ‘‘Tis said that they lost the True Cross to the infidels, and if they have any of those other things, why hide them away?’ the great knight asked. ‘They are more likely to put any relics on display and charge pilgrims for the privilege of seeing them.’

      Although his words seemed harsh, Emery knew there was some truth to them, for the various orders squabbled over who could lay claim to the bones of the saints and such that drew veneration, donations and visitors.

      But Guy would not be discouraged. ‘They are rumoured to have learned some hidden lore in foreign lands. Perhaps this mace is a part of it, an object possessing special powers that they know how to manipulate.’

      Emery frowned. The only special powers she had witnessed below were those Lord de Burgh wielded with just a single gaze that had affected her like no other and one she had never seen him share with his squire. Glancing at the knight, she flushed and turned away, only to find Guy eyeing her speculatively.

      ‘Did anything else happen down there?’ the squire asked.

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