“Then how do you know it will be the ruin of the Templar Knights?”
Christian lifted his eyebrows. “I was warned not to let it fall into the wrong hands.”
“By whom? Who gave you the book?”
Christian was silent for a moment. He wasn’t certain he should tell her the truth. He didn’t want to put her life in any more danger. The Grand Master, Jacques de Molay, had given it to him. “A Templar Knight.” Not a lie, but not wholly the truth.
Willow considered this. “What wereyousupposed to do with the book?”
Christian slung his arm through the ale strap. “I was tasked with delivering it to Brother Nicolas.”
Her eyebrows rose. “You see? I helped you.”
He glanced at her dryly. “You didnothelp me.”
“We brought the book to Brother Nicolas. Your mission was accomplished. So, why are you trying to get it back?”
“I have to protect it,” he admitted. “It cannot fall into the king’s hands.”
“Why?” Willow demanded. “If you don’t know what it says, what difference does it make?”
“Because I was tasked with keeping it safe and out of enemy hands,” Christian explained. “And until you, I succeeded.”
She winced and sat beneath a tree, bending her knees and clutching them to her chest.
Christian had an almost uncontrollable urge to comfort her. But he didn’t move. He was partly afraid he wouldn’t be able to stop kissing her and partly afraid she wouldn’t let him kiss her.
She squinted at the saddlebag. “I wonder why Brother Nicolas gave me that red book.”
“Maybe he gave you a random book to remember him by.” Christian leaned his shoulder against the tree.
She shook her head. “He was very specific which book he wanted me to have.”
Christian strolled to the horse and opened the saddlebag. He removed the book and returned to her, flipping through the pages. “They are maps.”
Willow nodded.
Christian squatted down at her side, showing her the pages. He liked being close to her and peeked to the side where she sat. A lock of her blonde hair lifted gently in a breeze. He turned the page without looking at it.
“Just maps,” Willow observed and then scowled. “That one looks like a boot.”
Christian observed the page. The outline looked like a boot. “It does,” he agreed. He flipped the page.
“And that one looks like a bird.”
Christian nodded but was staring at her breasts. Such beautiful, rounded globes. Damn. And he had forsaken them for this book. Was he out of his mind?
Willow shrugged and rose. “It doesn’t matter. Books aren’t important.”
Christian instantly missed her warmth, her scent of flowers. But he deserved her absence. He hadn’t trusted her. She had never been untruthful with him, even if she had stolen his book. He wanted to make amends. He wanted to show her that he did trust her. He stood and held the book out to her. “Take it. It’s yours.”
She held up her hands “I’ve had enough of books. You keep it.”
Christian withdrew his hand. He was certain she was saying she was sorry, one book for another. But it still felt like a punishment. He nodded and lowered his hand.
She walked away from him.
He leaned against the tree, tucking the book beneath his arm as he watched her. She loosened her braid, running her fingers through her locks until they fell about her shoulders in thick waves.
