Rue St. Denis
Paris, Kingdom of France
“This is an odd affair.”
Marcus nodded at Simon as they followed Miss Girard in her carriage, met at the appointed hour as if she had kept her illicit meeting with Sir Denys. “It is indeed. This intrigue with women is yet another reason I prefer life in the Order than as a common man.”
“Agreed. A few moments of infrequent pleasure are not worth the difficulties a woman can introduce into one’s life.”
Marcus pursed his lips. “And yet, for time immemorial, men have made the same mistake repeatedly. There must be something we’re missing.”
“We are the wrong two men to be debating the pros and cons of men and women associating with each other.”
Marcus chuckled. “You are right, there. Alas, we’ll never know, my friend. I prefer the love of my brothers and the Lord, than that of any woman’s heart.”
“It is a difficult life we have chosen for ourselves.”
“It is, but the rewards will be boundless in the next life.”
“Amen. If they’re not, I’m seeking out Hugues de Payens and those other scoundrels who founded the Order, and kicking their asses.”
Marcus stifled a belly laugh, reminding himself they were on a clandestine mission, the carriage in the not too far distance carrying their imposter to meet the man who had hired her. They hoped to capture him at the prearranged meeting, though he was concerned for the girl’s safety—if her employer had been observing from a distance, he would have seen their altercation of several hours ago.
“They’re stopping.”
Marcus slowed, his unfamiliarity with the city a distinct disadvantage. It had barely been three weeks since they had arrived from the Holy Land in response to his sister’s desperate letter, a letter that had arrived too late. It had meant a drastic change to all their lives, and though he had to admit he was enjoying life with the children, it was little diversions such as today’s that kept him on his toes.
Marcus shifted his horse deeper into the shadows and watched as Miss Girard stepped out of the carriage, looking both ways as if searching for her benefactor.
She cried out and collapsed in a heap.
Simon cursed and Marcus urged his horse into a gallop, swiftly closing the distance between them. He leaped to the ground and rushed to her side as Simon continued forward, blocking the carriage from leaving should the coachman panic.
Marcus grimaced at the arrow piercing the young woman’s chest, blood rapidly staining her cream-colored dress as she gasped for breath. She reached up and grabbed his shoulder.
“Please, tell Denys that I’m sorry for what I’ve done, and that I truly did love him.”
Marcus clasped his hand around hers. “You’ll tell him yourself.”
She smiled then sighed her last breath, making a liar of him.
Horse’s hooves pounding on cobblestone drew his attention, no one with nothing to hide having reason to move at such a pace at this time of night. He jumped on his horse and pointed at Simon. “Stay with her!” He urged his horse forward, after whom he was certain was not only the man behind everything, but also the murderer of this simple woman who had been used, for what purpose he did not know.
He rounded a turn in the dark street and spotted a rider ahead, racing along the side of the River Seine, toward a bridge leading to the other side and far better parts of the massive city. He was gaining on the man, his horse clearly the better, and he was brimming with confidence that he would soon catch him, when his adversary approached the bridge. A yell rang out, and moments later Marcus’ heart sank as he saw the drawbridge begin to rise, the rider leaping over the gap now making its presence known.
Marcus urged his horse onward, even faster than before, determined to make the jump himself, but it was a fruitless effort.
He wasn’t going to make it.
He slowed up and watched in anger and dismay as the rider, now safely on the other side of the river, rode off into the darkness, a free man.
As he stared into the fog blanketing the area, focusing on his bad luck, and his adversary’s exceptional good fortune, he finally realized something was wrong.
There’s no boat!
He urged his horse toward the small gatehouse and dismounted. He rapped three times on the flimsy door, and when there was no answer, he kicked it open and stepped inside. A startled man leaped from his chair, raising his hands as he backed away from the controls that operated the bridge.
“Why did you raise the bridge?”
The man paled in the candlelight. “I-I thought there was a boat.”
Marcus drew his dagger and flipped it several times in his hand, all the while eying the man. “I beg your pardon?”
“I-I thought I heard a boat.”
“I thought that’s what you said.” Marcus stepped closer and pressed the tip of the blade against the man’s chest, hard enough that were it not for the man’s soiled shirt, he’d draw blood. “I suggest you tell me the truth, otherwise I’ll be forced to cut your heart out.”
“He paid me! He said if he were to be crossing at a gallop, he’d yell to me and I was to raise the bridge immediately!”
Marcus pressed a little harder. “And who is he?”
“I-I don’t know, I swear! He wore a hood every time we met. I never saw his face.”
“When did he pay you?”
“This evening, maybe four hours ago.”
“And was this the first time?”
“No, he’s been paying me once a week for several months now, but this was the first time he was ever in need of my services.”
Marcus stepped back, the man speaking freely now. “Is there anything else you can tell me?”
The gatekeeper shrugged, relaxing slightly. “Nothing I can think of. He’s a man whose face I’ve never seen, and who was always dressed in a dark robe with a hood that covered his features.”
“Was he tall?”
“Yes, about your height I would say.”
“Fat? Thin?”
“Healthy like yourself.”
“Beard?”
“Yes, neatly trimmed.”
Marcus smiled. “But I thought you said you never saw his face?”
The man’s eyes widened. “I must have! I know he definitely had a beard. Now that I think of it, I have a distinct impression of his chin.” He sighed. “But it’s the eyes and nose that really make a man. Those, I am positive, I never saw.”
Somebody rapped on the door, throwing it open. “Lower the bridge, you fool!”
Marcus turned to face the man, and the impatient arrival stepped back several paces at the sight of the Templar surcoat.
“I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t realize.”
Marcus bowed slightly. “There’s nothing to apologize for. My business here is done.” He turned back to the gatekeeper. “Should you remember anything of relevance, relay it to Lord Charles de Rohan. He will know how to reach me.”
The gatekeeper shook out a nod then went to work lowering the bridge as Marcus stepped outside.
“You’re a friend of Lord Charles?” asked the man now atop his horse, waiting for the bridge.
Marcus shook his head. “No.”
“A good thing. Perhaps you have not heard that his wife ran off on him. I’ve heard rumors of the most dastardly sort.”
“One shouldn’t believe everything one hears.”
“Of course not, but should they prove true, his days in the Court are numbered. A man who cannot control his wife, can hardly be trusted to advise the King in the affairs of state.”