Chapter Eighteen
It was late at nightwhen Willow finally fell asleep.
Christian held her against him, comforting her. Yet, she hadn’t told him what had happened to cause her such concern. He stared down at her, troubled. Moonlight washed over her face from a gap in the barn wall. Her breathing came in an even rhythm, and she looked peaceful and angelic. Christian had thought her beautiful before. Now, he couldn’t take his eyes from her.
Something had happened. She seemed vulnerable. He couldn’t understand what had upset her so. Was it that man and the insult he had said to her? Christian had seen him before but couldn’t remember where.
He ran his fingers along her smooth arm and pressed a kiss to her soft cheek. It didn’t matter. Whatever it was, he would be there for her. Nothing could make him leave again.
He sat up and eased his arm from around her.
She groaned but settled back into sleep.
Christian stood and moved to the door. As much as he wanted to believe she was his, she had never belonged to anyone but her family.
Sage and Marcus had been at this inn a day ago. The book was within his grasp. He had to get it from Marcus. His loyalty to de Molay demanded it. The elderly man had befriended him when he had nowhere to go—when he was truly alone. He owed him this much. And still, the urge burned in him to walk away with Willow and start their own lives.
He brushed a hand over his eyes. He couldn’t do it. He had to keep that book from the king, his father, and anyone else that would use it against the Templars. But Willow would insist on following Sage’s trail and he wouldn’t leave her. Not again. He wasn’t going to lose Willow again. He would work this out.
He remembered when de Molay had given him the book. He wasn’t sure why de Molay had tasked him with the undertaking, but Christian had vowed to complete it.
De Molay was an imposing figure of commanding authority. He stood tall with a bald head and a full white beard that hung to his chest. He had always been kind to Christian.
Christian admired and respected him. They had been alone in one of the Villeneuve du Temple of Paris rooms when de Molay produced the small book and handed it to him.
Christian stared at it, frowning. “I can’t read.”
De Molay laughed, a rich, rolling chuckle. “It is not for you,” he responded. “I want you to bring it to Brother Nicolas in le Bezu.”
Christian had agreed to take on the mission.
De Molay had added a caution. “There will be many after this book, including the king. It must not fall into the wrong hands.”
The weight of his failure toppled over Christian’s shoulders like a stone wall. It had been so easy to become distracted by perfect lips and brilliant eyes. He never thought Willow would be the one de Molay had warned him about.
He couldn’t fault her. She had wanted to see him again and, if truth be told, part of him was glad she had taken it. He had wanted to see her again, also. And it had brought them together. But he still had to retrieve that book and keep his word to de Molay.
The next morning, Willow woke before the sunrise. Christian slept, and she decided to check if William and his family were awake. As she crossed the yard to the inn, she told herself she didn’t believe anything Verm had told her, but it festered in the back of her mind.
Agnes, William’s wife, welcomed her and set a trencher in front of her as Willow took a seat at one of the tables. As she sat across from Willow, Agnes studied her with kind brown eyes. A strand of hair fell across her freckled cheek as she asked, “Are you well, Willow?”
Willow paused with a piece of trencher halfway to her lips. She nodded and placed it in her mouth.
“It was insulting the way that man spoke to you,” she said gently. “Your father would never allow it.”
Willow hesitated and then continued chewing. She swallowed. “I don’t listen to the insults.”
“What about the man you’re traveling with? Christian. Does he speak to you like that?”
At the thought of Christian, she smiled. “No. He certainly does not.”
Agnes reached across the table and clutched her hand. “You love him. I can see it in your eyes.”
She thought about Agnes’s words. Love Christian. Christian’s image came to her mind. Strong, confident, the way a dark curl brushed over his forehead. His smile was so brilliant and bright it lit her entire being. The way his sparkling blue eyes could send lust burning through her with just one heated look. And his kiss. She took a deep breath, about to agree with Agnes. But she caught sight of Jacob in the backroom, waving to her.
“Excuse me,” she said and stood, crossing to Jacob. “Do you have it?” she whispered.
Jacob nodded and handed a red book to her.
