Free The Princess and the Templar by Hebby Roman Page B

deserted. Someone had your mare ready.” That someone had been Loghan, he would wager, remembering the lad’s fierce loyalty. “And the gatekeeper lowered the drawbridge.”
    “You will punish them, I doubt not.”
    “No, I don’t hold with punishing men to gain their compliance.”
    Not only that, he didn’t dare risk the tenuous hold he had on Kinsale and her subjects by acting the brute. He must be certain of her men’s loyalty before they departed.
    Her attempted escape tonight lent weight to Malcolm’s warning that some of Kinsale’s men were still loyal to her and her kin. Leaving behind the Sinclair’s knights to secure the castle would help, but he needed to ensure her men’s allegiance as well.
    “Then what will you do to those who aided me?”
    “Make your people swear loyalty to the Sinclair in a formal ceremony.”
    The words tumbled from his mouth without warning, for he hadn’t known what he would do until he said it.
    And what he proposed made a terrible kind of sense for an oath would legitimize his hold on Kinsale.
    Her brows drew together, and she scowled. “Nay, you wouldn’t. You couldn’t shame me so.”
    Her brave plea added to the weight of his guilt. He lowered his gaze, for he couldn’t look at her, knowing the humiliation she would endure.
    For what he proposed was the death knell of her kingdom, her power. A formal swearing of her people to the Sinclair would strip her of hope and leave her with nothing.
    Less than nothing.
    But he had a duty to fulfill and a castle to secure. He was honor bound to his lord and couldn’t fail.
    He forced himself to meet her gaze and pushed aside his guilty thoughts. He couldn't afford to weaken, to feel empathy for her or he wouldn't be able to do what he had to do.
    His gaze met hers and held.
    “You’ve left me no choice, Your Highness.”

Chapter Five
    A low murmur swept the great hall, eclipsing the slurping of soup and the clank of tankards. Raul looked up from his meal of salted pork and barley mash with peas, wondering what had drawn the men’s attention.
    The princess stood at the top of the stairs, a tight smile on her lips. Dread, like the cold grip of winter, squeezed Raul’s heart. He knew why she was here, and he’d prayed she would stay away. He hadn’t wanted her to come, didn’t want to think how she would feel when her men pledged their allegiance to the Sinclair.
    That night on the drawbridge had stripped away all pretenses and laid bare the truth. Now there were no pretty words between them. He was her captor, and she was his captive. No longer was she her Highness or even a woman but a pawn in a game of wealth and power played by men.
    True to the noble blood that ran in her veins, she’d accepted her fate with dignity. She hadn’t repined nor railed. She’d merely banished him from her presence, sending Mildread for the ointment. At first, he’d been relieved, but he’d soon learned to despise his banishment. A hundred times a day, he found himself standing outside her door, hoping to catch a glimpse of her as the servants came and went.
    Like a falcon trained to its master’s hand, he couldn’t stay away. He longed for a glimpse of the red-gold fall of her hair, framing the creamy-white perfection of her face. He yearned to hold her slender hand and brush his fingertips over her petal soft skin. Such simple pleasures they’d shared while the pretense lasted, sweet as summer-ripe berries, and just as fleeting.
    But it was not meant to be.
    The princess, with Sean guarding her, took her place at the high table. The high table was reserved for the O’Donnells and their guests. On this night, she sat alone, the last survivor of her noble family.
    She wore a green velvet gown, the color an exact match for her eyes. She’d taken off the bandage and placed a gold circlet on her head. Gazing at the gleaming metal, he understood the silent message of that simple band of gold. It was her way of reminding her people