Free A Knight With Grace: Book 1 of the Assassin Knights Series by Laurel O'Donnell

Two large pillars stood at either side of the altar.
    “Where is the archbishop?” Reginald called, his voice echoing forcefully through the cathedral.
    Thomas Becket emerged from behind a group of monks, easing them gently aside as if they were part of a human barricade trying to protect him. “Here I am, not a traitor to the king but a priest. Here I am, ready to suffer in the name of He who redeemed me with His blood. God forbid that I should flee on account of your swords or that I should depart from righteousness.”
    “Absolve and restore to communion those you have excommunicated and return to office those who have been suspended!” Richard ordered.
    Mumblings grew louder near the door where the monks cowered. A large group had gathered there. Hugh quickly raced to them, brandishing his sword before them to discourage any interference from them.
    The archbishop shook his head, lifting his chin. “No penance has been made, so I will not absolve them.”
    William knew Richard was specifically speaking of the Bishops of London and Salisbury. The archbishop had excommunicated them for their support of the king. A wave of righteousness crested inside of William. The defiance in the archbishop’s tone, even in the face of the king’s wrath angered him. No man was above the king’s authority.
    Richard pulled his sword from its sheath.
    “If you do not do as the king commands, then you will die,” Reginald threatened.
    William should have left at that point. He had never intended to kill the archbishop. Excommunicated for good intentions. It almost made him smile. But there was nothing to smile about. An innocent man was dead. As the Pope had ordered as part of his penance, William had spent fourteen years fighting in Jerusalem, fourteen long bloody years. He still didn’t feel forgiven. Even though his penance was almost over. Nothing could absolve him for his part in the archbishop’s death. Not all the Muslim blood in the world could ever make it right. After so much death and battle, he realized he could never be absolved. Not for Becket’s death. Not for all the death he had delivered. The cross was a reminder of the blood on his hands. He closed the bag.
    He ran the stone across the blade of his weapon. He would not have another innocent death on his hands. He had no intention of letting Grace be harmed. He had to get her out of there. He glanced into the forest. The trees swayed in a breeze, the leaves rustling. He couldn’t see him, but he knew Peter was still out there. The man was not going to give up. They would have to make a run for it.
    William stood and returned to the cottage.
    Grace whirled from the cold hearth. A beam of light from a portion of broken roof shone in and fell upon her, bathing her in a heavenly light.
    He froze. Her eyes were large and blue, twinkling in the sunlight. His gaze dropped to her full lips. Even with the dirt on her face and her riotous waves of tumbling blonde curls hanging about her face, she was beautiful. He couldn’t move for a long moment. He swallowed in a dry throat.
    She stepped forward, clasping her hands before her. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gone through your belongings. I was just putting the blanket --”
    “It doesn’t matter,” he answered in a gruff voice. He cleared his throat and looked away, searching the ground for some semblance of rationality. “We will have to leave quickly. Prepare yourself. I will bring Hellfire in.” He looked at her again. His thought vanished beneath the stare of her gaze. “Be ready.” He turned away.
    “Are we in danger?”
    He paused. He didn’t want to alarm her, but he didn’t want to lie. “Yes,” he answered. He left the cottage and picked up the bags, slinging them casually over his shoulder. He whistled softly as he led Hellfire in, secretly scanning the forest. William didn’t see him, but he knew Peter was out there. Watching. Waiting. The questions Peter had asked about Grace made it