Free The Courtship by Catherine Coulter Page A

with him back to his camp, which wasn’t far from a huge Templar stronghold.
    â€œThe Templar wrote that when he arrived at the king’s camp, he found his small son in the queen’s arms, being fed by her own hand, his wounds attended to. Such was his gratitude that he broke his vow of secrecy he wrote, giving the king a golden lamp that would make him the most powerful man in the world.
    â€œThen he took his son and left the king’s encampment. The last line written in the manuscript was the plea for forgiveness for his crime against his order.”
    â€œI remember hearing of a golden lamp,” Lord Beecham said slowly, looking down at his clasped hands between his buckskinned knees, “very, very old, that came to England and then was lost. Some old scholar at Oxford spoke of it to me. I had forgotten. But, Miss Mayberry, even that scholar was not at all certain that it wasn’t just another myth, a strange tale woven in, like so many other strange tales, with all the happenings in the Holy Land.
    â€œI am willing to concede that the Crusades were extraordinarily brutal, that what men did to men will never again happen. But this is magic.”
    â€œI don’t believe in magic.”
    â€œI know it exists,” she said, leaning closer, her gloved hand on his arm. “I do not know if it is indeed some sort of magic, but I believe it to be. Otherwise why would the Knight Templar give it to King Edward? If not magic, then what is the lamp? Surely he would not give the king a simple lamp to thank him for saving his son. More than that, where is it?”
    He continued to look at her, one eyebrow raised, saying nothing.
    She drew a deep breath. “I finally found another reference to it six years ago. It was in the old Norman church in Aldeburgh that sits atop a cliff right above the sea. I have made friends with a good many churchmen and scholars over the years, telling them only that I am fascinated by myths that relate to the crusade made by King Edward the First.
    â€œThe vicar, Mr. Gilliam, in Aldeburgh told me that he and his curate had been digging through the remains in the old Norman church after there was a mud slide. He said he had found some very old parchments he believed would interest me.
    â€œThey were written in Latin. Finally, I was able to translate them well enough to realize that they were about the lamp. I tell you, Lord Beecham, I thought my heart would burst I was so excited. Robert Burnell, the secretary to King Edward, wrote them. I know all about Burnell. He was very smart, cynical yet tolerant of his fellow man, very devoted to the king. He says the king didn’t know what to do with the lamp, that he was at once afraid of its power and on the other hand disbelieving that it was anything more than just a Saracen lamp that was old and worn, that for some reason had come to be prized by the Templars and hidden away by them. He said he had never seen the lamp do anything at all until—”
    â€œWhat have we here?”
    They looked up to see Jason Fleming, Baron Crowley, standing right in front of them, lightly tapping his riding crop against his right boot.
    Lord Beecham didn’t like Crowley, an older man who knew too much and appeared to make a lot of money off what he knew. He drank too much, gambled too much, and wenched until he should have dropped over dead from the French pox, but he hadn’t yet done so. He habitually wore a sneer that made Lord Beecham want to smash him in the nose.
    He gave the man an emotionless look, nodded, and said shortly, “Crowley.”
    â€œWho is the lovely lady, Beecham?”
    â€œNo one to interest you, Crowley. Your horse looks restless.”
    â€œI have seen you, my dear. I believe it was just last week at the Sanderling ball. You were with Alexandra Sherbrooke. Everyone remarked upon your rather obvious attributes.”
    Helen, who had not entertained a single notion about like or