The Hawkes: Beauties With Blades

Book 4 Laurel O'Donnell

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 Table of Contents
Title
Copyright
Dearest Reader
The Hawkes
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Epilogue
Thanks for Reading
Enjoy This Book? I Could Use Your Help
About Laurel O'Donnell
Beauties with Blade Series
Beauties with Blades™ - Book Four

by

Laurel O’Donnell
 Copyright

The Hawkes Copyright © 2023 by Laurel O’Donnell. Beauties with Blades™ Trademark &
Copyright © 2021 by Laurel O’Donnell.

Visit Laurel's website at: www.laurel-odonnell.com

Published by ODONNELL BOOKS

Cover Art Illustration by The Midnight Muse

Edited by Erica at Quillfire

All rights reserved. No part of this novel may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or
mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems – except in the case of brief
quotations in critical articles or reviews – without permission in writing from its author, Laurel
O’Donnell.

The characters and events portrayed in this historical romance novel are fictitious or are used
fictitiously. Apart from well-known historical figures, any similarity to real persons, living or dead,
is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
 Dearest Reader –

This is book four in the Beauties with Blades™ series. In order to get the full effect and
understand parts of this book, I recommend you read Sage—book one, Raven—book two, and
Willow—book three.

This book brings the Hawke sisters and their betrotheds together for the adventure of a lifetime.
So please suspend your disbelief for a short while and enjoy the journey.

Welcome to my world!
 The Hawkes

The Hawke sisters are far from typical women. Raised by their father the legendary John Hawke,
the girls are taught how to fight with swords, how to survive in a man’s world, and above all how to
protect the family. They are Beauties with Blades.

Come along on their adventures as these bold and brave women save innocents, discover secrets,
and fall in love.
 Prologue

France, 1307
Sterling Castle

The flame within the hearth licked the logs hungrily. It was a small fire fed by a few
branches that wouldn’t crackle or spark. The light touched the surfaces of the wooden chairs and
tables, making them gleam as if they were wet. Dust motes floated in the air, and Simon Sterling felt
himself breathe in their life the way he did with the evening air after a rain. The servants worked,
shuffling noiselessly and staying out of sight in the shadows.
He couldn’t abide by their sniveling and grimaced.
Simon had arrived home victorious. After Guillume de Nogaret had found the book burned in that
abandoned barn, he believed it was the book they sought. But Simon knew it was not the right book.
De Nogaret was a fool.
Simon’s brother, Christian, had possessed the book they were after all along. And now, Simon
would triumphantly present it to his father. Yes. He was victorious. He could barely keep the grin
from his lips as he crossed the Great Hall and approached his father, sitting in the high-backed chair
before the hearth.
The luminous glow from the flames barely touched the toes of his father’s shiny black boots. His
wrinkled hand curved over the armrest of the chair. His black velvet jupon covered his frail torso.
Long, stringy gray hair fell to his shoulders. His well-manicured beard covered his chin.
“Father,” Simon greeted as he stepped around the chair into his view.
“My son,” his father replied with joy. “Your return must mean you’ve accomplished the task I
gave you.”
“Of course,” Simon agreed.
His father held out his hand palm up.
Proudly, Simon removed the red book from his cloak pocket and laid it in his father’s hand.
His father snatched it away and inspected the cover before opening it to examine the parchment
pages with shrewd eyes.
“De Nogaret didn’t know I had this book,” Simon explained with relish. “He believed the book
was burned. But I kept it a secret so I could give it to you.”
His father was silent as he scanned the page.
Simon lifted his chin with gratification, and a smug grin curved the edges of his lips. He knew his
father would be pleased he had succeeded in procuring the book from his brother, Christian.
“Where did you get this book?” his father asked.
“Dalcop was traveling with a woman. I paid her to steal the book,” Simon explained, delighted
with his accomplishment.
“Let me venture a guess,” his father said and exhaled, long and slow. “Your brother and this
woman were very…familiar with one another?”
Simon shrugged. “She said they were traveling companions. She brought the book to me. Does it
matter what their relationship was?”
 His father’s lips twisted into an ugly sneer. “Would she protect him?” he demanded.
Simon thought back to how Dalcop had returned to rescue her from that disgusting little man even
after Willow betrayed him. The furious look in his brother’s eyes had put fear in Simon for the first
time, but only for a moment. Prickles of unease and doubt snaked up his spine. Still, he maintained his
air of righteousness. “I doubt anyone would save Dalcop.”
His father threw the book at him. The leather-bound book smashed into Simon’s chest, and he
stumbled back, reeling from the blow. He stared at his father, incredulous, mouth agape.
“You fool,” his father snarled. “You didn’t have the common sense to have this book read. It is a
prayer book! A common prayer book.” He gritted his teeth and growled, “There is nothing special
about this book because it is the wrong one.”
Simon staggered back, startled. It couldn’t be. He looked down at the red book on the floor. The
fire from the hearth cast flickering shadows over the cover. A book of prayer? How could that be? It
was not the book his father wanted. He swallowed heavily and lifted his stare to his father.
Disgust shone from his father’s dark eyes as he glared at Simon. “It appears that Christian is not
the only dalcop in the family,” his father said with disdain.
Simon scowled, and his lips tightened. Dalcop had made a fool of him before their father. He
would not allow it. His jaw clenched. “I will get the book you want,” he vowed.
“You wouldn’t know it if you saw it. You’ve already failed.” He stood. “I will find Christian, and
he will give me the correct book.”
 Chapter One

France, 1307

The six horses made steady rhythmic thuds as they stepped confidently on the dirt road.
Clip-clop. Clip-clop.
Willow Hawke loved riding her steed, Mercy. She had missed her so. She ran a hand along her
brown mane. Oh, how she wanted to gallop at full speed through fields with the wind in her hair. The
sensation of Mercy’s muscles working beneath her was like flying. It felt like freedom. But Willow
was positive her sisters would frown upon that.
Willow’s sister, Sage, and Sage’s friend, Marcus de Nogaret, led the way through the tree-lined
road. The late afternoon sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows through the trees as they
passed. Willow’s other sister, Raven, and Raven’s companion, Landyn Winchester, followed behind
Sage and Marcus.
Perhaps she could halt Mercy and wait until they were farther away. Then she could ride at full
speed toward them and…
She glanced at Christian, who rode beside her and stared at her suspiciously. She smiled as
sweetly as she could. Christian would never allow her to do it. Something was going on, and he,
Landyn, and Raven were on edge. She wasn’t privy to the information, whatever it was. They weren’t
sharing it with her. She just knew they had to be careful, silent, and hidden. She didn’t much care. She
was happy to be back with her family.
And Christian.
She moved Mercy closer to him until their legs bumped, grateful to feel him. She knew better than
to speak. Raven and Sage would both have given her a tongue-lashing if she did. Be stealthy. Listen.
That was what she should be doing. That was what she had been taught to do. But Christian’s blue
eyes were far more interesting than what she should be doing. She focused on them, letting them draw
her in with the blue ring of his irises and long lashes. Another longing burned within her. She wanted
to be alone with Christian, feel his kisses, and stroke his hard body.
Suddenly, from the front of their line, Sage raised her fist, bringing the others to a halt.
Willow’s desire was immediately gone. Her senses automatically heightened. What had Sage
seen? Beside her, Christian’s body seemed to vibrate with tension as he focused on something down
the road. She looked at her sister.
Sage’s back was straight as she gazed down the road before them. Then, she signaled to the side
of the road.
As one, the group rode to the edge of the trees and dismounted.
Quickly, Sage gathered the reins. “Hide,” was all she said before she disappeared into the forest
with the steeds.
Christian took Willow’s hand and led her into the forest, zigzagging through the trees until he
found a large bush that they both knelt behind.
Landyn and Raven were across from them, lying flat on the ground behind a clump of smaller
bushes. Marcus trailed Sage deeper into the forest, taking some of the reins from her. They guided the
horses to cover deeper in the woods.
Willow stared at the road. She had a view of the road through the leaves and branches of the bush
and the trees in front of them. It was empty. Around her, insects hummed. A heavy, wet, oaky scent
came from the tree branches.
She waited, breathing shallowly and steadily, for whatever Sage had heard or seen. Willow
trusted her sister’s instincts. They had all been trained to scout, hunt and survive.
She must have been shifting too much because Christian put a calming hand on her wrist.
She looked at him. His gaze, those beautiful blue eyes, was on her. Heat flamed through her body.
So much for calming.
Christian turned back to the road.
Willow studied his profile. Lord, he was magnificent. His hair was growing long, curling at his
shoulders. His nose was straight, and his chin was strong. But it was his lips that captured her
attention. They were so…inviting and tempting. She wanted to taste him right there. She wanted to
lean against him and brush her lips across his until…
The soft thunk, thunk, thunk of hooves drew her gaze to the dirt road.
The first soldier, bearing a blue-and-red flag with fleur de lis engraved on it, marched down the
road, leading the others—King Philip’s men.
Willow scowled.
Christian’s hand tightened over her wrist.
He had seen them, too. Soldiers walking on either side of the lane, filling it. Between them,
Willow saw their prisoners. Some were barefoot. Some wore only tunics while others had the full
uniform of the Templar Knights. Her eyes widened in surprise. What was happening? Why were some
of the Templar Knights’ wrists bound? She glanced at Christian.
He squinted into the distance, his jaw tightly clenched.
The clip-clop of the soldier’s horses struck the road in a steady beat while the shuffling of the
Templar Knight’s booted feet broke up the cadence.
Willow knew not to speak, but so many questions raced through her mind. She squeezed
Christian’s arm, drawing his gaze.
The scowl on his brow eased as he stared at her. He lifted a finger to his lips, instructing her to
stay silent.
With a frustrated sigh, she turned back to the road.
The line seemed endless. So many king’s men armed from head to toe, guiding downtrodden
Templar Knights with slumped shoulders. She bit her lip. She wanted to help the knights, but she
knew there were too many soldiers.
One of the knights looked into the forest and seemed to lock gazes with her. His eyes were sunken,
his face a cragged landscape of worry. It was almost as if he were waiting for rescue or help.
She groaned softly. These men needed them.
Christian’s grip tightened around her wrist, and he shook his head.
“We have to help them,” she whispered, looking at the imprisoned Templar Knights. Out of the
corner of her eye, she saw Raven and Landyn glance at her.
Raven’s lips were pressed into a thin, hard line of disapproval.
Willow bowed her head. Raven was right—she shouldn’t have spoken. She knew the risks. What
if the soldiers took them as prisoners? Willow clenched her fists at the futility.
One of the king’s men reined his horse to a halt, staring toward them.
Willow frowned. She hadn’t spoken loud enough for them to hear, had she? Dread clawed through
her.
The armed man dismounted. Some of the Templars looked in the direction he was gazing at as they
continued their march.
Christian’s hand dropped to the pommel of his sword.
Willow stiffened. This was bad. How could they overpower the king’s man without other soldiers
noticing?
A breeze rustled the trees, bending their branches. The soldier stepped into the forest. He paused
to glance around at the bush. A bird cawed above him.
Willow didn’t move. She froze as the soldier took another step, his booted foot crunching a
branch.
Why bother to hide? What difference did it make if he found her? The king’s men had arrested the
Templar Knights. She wasn’t one of them. She wasn’t sure why she was hiding, but it was probably
for Christian’s sake. He had been friends with the Grand Master.
Her father had worked for the Templars. Did that incriminate her? Or Raven? Or Sage?
The guard stepped into the forest until he was only a tree away from them. He paused.
Dread shivered up Willow’s back. Had he spotted them?
He lifted his tunic and lowered his leggings. He pulled out his manhood and relieved himself on
the tree.
As relief swept through her like a breeze, Willow bit her upper lip so she wouldn’t giggle.
The long stream dribbled down the bark and puddled at the bottom. She grinned and glanced at
Christian. He was not smiling. His focused gaze was pinned beyond the soldier on the road.
Willow turned back to the soldier as he tucked himself into his leggings and adjusted his tunic. He
walked back toward the king’s men.
On the road, Willow noticed one of the Templar Knights, an older man with gray hair, had paused.
His head was bowed, but it was turned, and his gaze was on the forest. He was looking directly at
them. He shook his head slightly.
She froze. Did he know they were there? She glanced at Christian. His square jaw was set, his
teeth clenched, and he stared hard at the man or perhaps the men on the road. She couldn’t be sure
which. But either way, he was angry.
A soldier shoved the older Templar Knight, and he continued walking.
Willow waited, watching the long line of soldiers and Templar prisoners. The mixture of fright
and uncertainty on the faces of the prisoners made it easy to believe they had been unprepared when
the king arrested them. The soldiers appeared to be leading them to a place they did not want to go. A
cloud of dust rose in their wake, obscuring them as if they were being swallowed by the fog.
It seemed as if the line went on forever. Soldiers on horses rode on the outside like bars in a jail
cell, keeping their Templar prisoners on the inside.
After the soldiers and knights had moved down the road away from them, Raven swooped in for
the tongue-lashing. “You almost gave us away,” she chastised Willow. “What were you thinking?”
Willow ignored her and glanced at Christian. “Did you know the Templar looking at us?”
Christian turned his deep blue eyes to her. They were tinged with sadness and anger. “Yes.” He
glanced at Landyn. “It was the commander at Rennes-le-chateau.”
Landyn nodded. “I saw him and others from the chateau.”
“Where were the soldiers taking them?” Willow asked.
“It could be anywhere,” Landyn replied.
“They are headed north. Most likely to Chateau de Chinon,” Christian said.
 “Or Domme.”
Christian nodded.
Raven glared at Willow for an instant longer and then shook her head. “You know better.”
“Father worked for the Templars. He wouldn’t stand for this,” Willow objected. “We have to do
something.”
Christian gazed at her sympathetically. “We can’t fight the king. If we had tried to help those
knights, we would have been arrested, too.”
Landyn nodded. “Sterling and I are well known for helping the Templars. I’m certain we would
be arrested on sight.”
Willow glanced at Raven pleadingly. “Maybe there is something we can do.”
Christian shook his head. “Will, your father helped the Templars every chance he got. It wouldn’t
surprise me if they were looking for you, too.”
“Why?” Willow asked, stunned.
“You’re a Hawke.”
She stared, shocked. Because she and her sisters were her father’s daughters? And he was
associated with the Templar Knights. She bowed her head. “So, what do we do?”
The crunching leaves from the woods behind them caused the group to turn. Sage and Marcus led
the horses back toward them.
“We solve the puzzle,” Sage answered.
 Chapter Two

“The end is coming!” a man with a dirty face, ragged tunic and breeches, and long, unkempt
dark hair cried as he limped down the road. The buildings he passed were made of thick rods of
daub, woven reeds, and wooden planks. Villagers ignored him, hurrying by.
Christian watched him move by them and wondered whether the man was mad or correct.
Christian looked at Willow. She wore a strange grin on her shapely lips as she stared at two children
engaging in swordplay beside one of the homes. She led her horse next to Christian and his steed.
Their group of six walked their horses through the muddy street.
Christian gritted his teeth. Trepidation crawled through him. He didn’t like this. He felt exposed.
They were supposed to be hiding, not strolling through a village as if they were pilgrims. It didn’t
help that he didn’t trust de Nogaret and sensed the man was leading them into danger.
Christian’s eyes lingered on Marcus, who walked confidently beside Sage ahead of the group.
Marcus’s back was straight and confident. He had said he knew of a safe place, but where was he
guiding them to? Marcus was acting more like a predator, luring them into his web.
Sage had insisted they trust Marcus and follow him.
Christian mentally shook his head. What she saw in the man, he would never know. He locked
eyes with a farmer carrying a heavy bucket who moved by him. The look the man gave him was
pained and uncomfortable, as if he recognized trouble. He shambled on, sweat soaking the brown
tunic on his back.
The villagers cast curious and nervous gazes at them.
No. Christian didn’t like this at all. Their group stood out from the townspeople and merchants
because they all carried swords. With the king’s men on the road arresting the Templar Knights, there
was unease in everyone. He was confident that if they came upon the king’s men, he and possibly
Landyn would be taken. They were loyal to Templars and put everyone else in danger. He should
leave them. It would be safer.
As if called by her, his gaze shifted to Willow.
She smiled at the children as they ran past the group.
His heart swelled. It would be easier for him to cut out his heart than abandon her. He had
promised her he would never leave. And he intended to keep his vow to his future wife.
At that moment, she turned toward him, the smile lingering on her full lips. Even though the day
was gloomy and overcast, she was like the sun. His heart skipped a beat at a mere glance at her
sparkling blue eyes. Her shapely lips turned up into a full smile. His doubt diminished, and his day
brightened.
Marcus led them down a path between two of the buildings.
Christian’s senses heightened. The path appeared to be well-traveled, sodden, and slick. Horse
tracks, as well as footprints, marred the earth.
Prickles raced along Christian’s shoulders. Well-trodden? Could it be the king’s men? He didn’t
trust Marcus. He lifted his hand to rest over the pommel of his sword and stared at the end of the road
they approached. He anticipated a squadron of king’s men waiting for them around the corner. Every
muscle in his body tensed.
Willow laid a hand on his arm, and he jumped. She tilted her head in sympathy.
 “Be ready,” he told her.
Marcus never divulged where they were going, which didn’t seem to matter to Sage. But
Christian’s gut twisted in knots. Marcus continued along the path, Sage beside him. Landyn and Raven
followed. Christian picked up the rear with Willow. Christian’s muscles coiled tight as they walked,
his gaze sweeping from building to building, watching for any hint of danger. But Sage wouldn’t
knowingly endanger her sisters. And Marcus wouldn’t imperil Sage. Perhaps Christian was being too
cautious. Yet he couldn’t help the tension stiffening his body as they approached the corner.
Marcus and Sage were relaxed, moving leisurely, and turned left at the corner. Raven and Landyn
trailed them. When Christian and Willow rounded the corner, he inhaled, prepared to fight, but the
street was empty of guardsmen and soldiers. Still, relief would not come. Just because the king’s men
weren’t here didn’t mean they weren’t elsewhere. Christian kept looking over his shoulder, searching
for trouble, expecting it to be there.
The air was alive with music and singing. He scowled in confusion and followed the noise with
his eyes to a single building at the end of the road. It was a wooden one-story structure that vibrated
with liveliness. It seemed out of place, tucked in the forest and off the beaten path as if it had grown
from the ground. Laugher and the sweet trill of stringed instruments came from inside through the
wide-open door.
Landyn glanced over his shoulder at Christian and then at Raven.
Christian could feel Landyn’s puzzlement and unease, the same feelings swirling within him.
Singing rose from the open windows as they neared. Laughter rang from inside the building.
Christian noticed the excited sparkle in Willow’s eye as she stared at the building. He took her
hand, and she turned to him. “We’re in hiding,” he reminded her.
She nodded, but the happy noise again drew her gaze to the inn.
Marcus halted in the yard beside the building.
A boy with shaggy brown hair raced up to them. His breeches and tunic were frayed at the edges
with a large hole in the knee. “Good day,” the boy greeted. “Will ya be staying the night?”
Marcus handed the boy the reins of his horse and a coin. “Aye,” he said. “Our horses need to be
well taken care of. House them in the shaded area.”
The boy bobbed his head, moving around the group to collect the reins.
“Thank you,” Willow said and bestowed a full smile on the boy.
The lad bobbed his head and shyly grinned as he led the steeds around the back of the building,
away from the stables.
“Where is he taking them?” Christian asked suspiciously.
“They will be hidden,” Marcus assured them, heading into the building.
Christian was not comforted by Marcus’s words. Their horses were gone, so they had no escape.
He watched the horses until they disappeared around the back of the inn, then followed the group
inside.
As soon as Marcus opened the door, a rowdy song burst forth. The area was full of merry
peasants, travelers, and merchants.
Christian quickly scanned the room, searching for the king’s men and his expected trap. His hand
fisted over his sword’s handle. A bard with short brown hair stood at a table before a crowd. He sang
in a low voice that reverberated through the air. His nimble fingers plucked a lute as he moved,
twirling through the room from table to table. Some laughed at the words, and others sang along with
him. The occupants appeared to be villagers and travelers, several standing near the hearth, a few
seated at tables.
 Christian held back slightly to survey the shadowed corners as his eyes became accustomed to the
dim lighting. A couple locked in an embrace occupied one of the corners. The other shielded a
slumped man cradling a mug, his jaw slackened and his eyes half-closed.
“Honorable King Philip and Pope Clement together did plot, but never seemed to get out of the
spot.”
The room erupted in guffaws.
Christian made his way through the crowded room to join Willow at the busy counter separating
the wooden tables from the workers.
Marcus squirmed his way between the patrons lining the counter to the front.
Willow turned to the bard, a grin on her lips.
Christian caught her hand.
Willow bobbed her head to the beat of the song. “He’s very good,” she said, having to raise her
voice to be heard.
Christian nodded, but his attention was on Marcus, who spoke to a black-haired woman behind
the counter. She nodded and signaled for him to follow.
Marcus looked at the others, then scanned the room before trailing the woman.
The crowd was thick, and it seemed to Christian that a different person jostled him with each
step. He maneuvered by one merchant and apologized to the other when he squeezed past. He pulled
Willow after him. She would have been happy to stay and sing with the villagers.
He trailed Landyn through a rear door into a small, quiet room. Boxes, bottles, and crates lined
the wall. Another door was against the far wall. One torch flickered on the wall, doing little to
illuminate the room. A heavy, musky scent permeated the room.
“I’ll find her,” the woman said to Marcus and returned to the rowdy room. “Wait here.”
When the door closed, Christian glared at Marcus in the darkness. “Enough mystery. What is this
place?”
“An inn,” Marcus answered. “This village is sympathetic to the Templars.”
“You can be sympathetic and a spy at the same time,” Christian retorted bitterly. “It depends on
how much you are paid.”
“If you have a better idea, I’d love to hear it,” Marcus snapped.
“Stop,” Sage commanded and faced Christian. “Marcus is doing all he can to help.”
As Sage turned to Marcus, Willow put a calming hand on Christian’s arm. The women were
diffusing the situation, and Christian knew it. He wondered how long it would be before the lit fuse
reached the powder. He faced Willow with his head down and tight lips. She placed a hand on the
side of his face.
A loud cheer rose from the other side of the door, drawing their attention.
“I’m honored to have the Hawkes in my establishment,” a female voice greeted from a dark
corner.
They turned and saw a woman emerging from the darkness. She was shorter than most women and
might have been mistaken for a child. Her brown hair, which fell to her waist, was tucked behind her
ears.
Christian wondered how long she had been standing there.
“Thank you,” Willow replied.
Marcus surged forward and embraced the woman. “It’s good to see you, Jo,” he greeted, pulling
back.
“I’ve been busy,” she said and eyed the others in the group. She cocked her head to the side, and a
strand of brown hair fell in front of her left eye. She blew it away, but it swept into the same place a
moment later. Her gaze moved over the group, coming to rest on Christian and Landyn. “I’m assuming
you two are associated with the Templars.”
Marcus looked back at Christian and Landyn.
Trepidation flooded Christian’s body, and his muscles tensed. He straightened. He knew Sage
trusted Marcus, but everything in him told him to be on guard.
“I am Sir Landyn of Winchester, and this is Christian Sterling. We both have ties to the Templar
Knights,” Landyn explained.
Jo clenched her lips and shook her head as she bent to move a crate aside. “It’s a terrible time for
the knights,” she whispered, keeping her voice low. “They are being rounded up and arrested all over
France.” She faced them again. “Rumor has it this plague will spread to England, Scotland, and
further.”
Christian ground his teeth in anguish. “What of Grand Master De Molay?”
She cast a sad glance at Christian. “He was the first to be taken.”
Willow eased her hand into Christian’s.
Even her soft skin and gentle squeeze could not relieve Christian’s apprehension. The Templars
had done nothing wrong. The king was jealous and greedy. “How can they arrest them? Under what
guise?”
Jo shook her head. “Blasphemy. Sodomy. Heresy. It seems anything he can come up with.”
Christian shook his head. He felt useless. Why hadn’t De Molay protected himself?
Jo pushed a rock into the stone wall. With a groan, a section of the stones swung out and away
from the wall. She removed a torch from the scone hanging on the wall and stepped into the gloomy
passageway. “Follow me.”
“Not another tunnel,” Willow groaned.
Sage looked back at her with a grin.
“We saw soldiers leading the Templars away as prisoners.” Landyn trailed Jo into the darkness
and asked, “Did any make it to safety?”
“A few,” Jo answered, walking quickly through the dark tunnel. “Most didn’t fight. They were
probably surprised and confused.”
Christian’s lips tightened. “Templars do not run.”
“The order for their arrest came from the king,” Jo stated. “They offered no resistance.”
Deceitful man that he was, Christian thought, grimacing. He could taste the sourness of the man’s
treachery on his lips. The king had betrayed them. “Did the king find the treasure?”
Jo hesitated, the light from the torch illuminating her face. Her eyes were solemn and angry. “I’ve
heard the king has yet to discover it. He will.” She turned and continued into the tunnel. Rock walls
surrounded them, fortified by an occasional beam rising from the ground. The walls appeared to be
carved from the surrounding landscape. Dripping water echoed loudly in the darkness. Each step into
the tunnel brought the smell of earth and stone.
The tunnel was narrow but not tight. The floor was a little uneven. Someone kicked a pebble, and
it echoed down the corridor.
Jo paused before a wooden door to look at them. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you cause
no trouble.”
“Where does this cave lead?” Landyn asked, peering deeper down the cave.
“Into the forest. Let one of us know when you want to leave, and your horses will be waiting.”
“We don’t want to endanger you,” Willow said. “This is risky.”
 Jo grinned. “A risk I am very willing to take. There is food and drink inside this room. I replenish
it when needed, so help yourself.”
“We appreciate this,” Landyn declared.
“I wish there were more I could do,” Jo mumbled before turning and heading back the way she
came.
Christian peered into the cave’s darkness toward the exit they had not taken. He could make out
the roughhewn walls that led into a void of black. He would feel better if he knew where the end of
the tunnel was.
Marcus grabbed the handle and opened the door. A handful of Templar Knights, scattered about
the room, looked up from what they were doing. Most were seated on the ground, while a few stood.
Their white tunics were smeared with dirt, but the red crosses in the center were untouched.
The room was a small cave with two torches ensconced on the wall. The light flickered in a draft,
casting long shadows. A heavy dampness filled the room.
Willow glanced longingly back down the corridor toward the inn.
Sage stepped into the room and moved to a corner beneath one of the torches. She sat on the floor
and glanced around the room. Her eyes moved over the knights like a crow darting through a field of
lambs. Finally, she reached into her boot, pulled out the parchment pieces, and spread them on the
floor.
Raven followed her sister. Landyn and Marcus entered.
Christian stared down the corridor toward the exit. “I want to see where this goes,” he explained
to Willow. When he shifted his stare to her, he found her gazing at him. He sighed softly. “I don’t like
this. I feel trapped and don’t know these people or this place. I have to make sure you…we are safe.”
Willow grinned tenderly. She stepped in close to him and pressed her lips to his.
Warmth spread through Christian. He knew he was being overly cautious, but with Marcus here
and the king’s men rounding up the Templar Knights, he couldn’t be too careful.
She took his hand. “I’ll go with you.”
“You don’t have to. I can handle this alone,” he insisted, brushing a lock of her soft blonde hair
from her forehead.
“I know you can. But just in case…” She grinned. “You might need protection.”
Christian chuckled. “Aye. That I might.” He gathered her against him, wishing they were alone,
and kissed her deeply, feeling a blossoming of his heart as his lips moved over hers. She was his
heart. He loved her and would do anything to keep her safe. Except leave her. And he worried that by
staying, he was putting her in even more danger than if he had left.
He turned, keeping her hand in his, and walked towards the flickering torch on the wall. It was
dark, and he couldn’t see more than a few feet ahead of them. There could have been a squadron of
the king’s soldiers in the shadows, waiting to spring at them. His eyes darted left and right and
detected no one.
“I wonder who built this,” Willow mused, running her fingers along a straight gash in the wall.
“We don’t see many women down here,” a voice said from the darkness.
Christian spun, drawing his sword, to face the source of the voice even though he could not see
who was there.
A cackle came from the darkness. “Did you think Jo wouldn’t set up guards throughout the
tunnel?”
Christian’s fingers tightened around the pommel. “Who are you?”
A flame flared to life, and light fell over an old man. He held a candle in his hand and stared at
Christian with wide, crazy eyes. His smile was full of brown, decayed teeth. “Pons de Ayes,” he said.
“But I don’t think you would know my name.”
Christian slowly lowered his sword.
“I’m Willow,” she said. “And this is Christian Sterling.”
“Willow,” he pondered. “I know that name. It’s very pretty for a very lovely lady. Why are you
here in the darkness? You should be above ground in the sun.”
“Hiding,” Willow replied with a sigh.
“Willow,” Christian chastised in a warning. She revealed too much.
She ignored him. “As I’m certain you are. How long have you been here?”
“It seems like forever,” Pons admitted. “But I’m content now that I’ve seen the likes of you.” He
pinched his lips together and mused, “Willow. Willow.”
“My last name is Hawke,” she offered. “You’ve probably heard of my father, John Hawke.”
His eyes widened until Christian thought they would pop from his head.
“Yes! Yes. I met Hawke a long time ago. He was here. He helped me. He’s the one that brought
me to this place.” He glanced down the tunnel. “Is he here?”
Willow’s shoulders sagged.
Christian wished he could take Willow in his arms and comfort her. Instead, he replaced his
sword. The pain she felt was harder for him to handle than any number of blades. “No. He passed
away.”
“Pity,” Pons said, scratching his head. “He was a brave man. He was afraid of nothing.”
“Are you a Templar Knight?” Willow turned the conversation from her father.
“Aye. I was wounded in battle. Hawke introduced me to Jo, and I’ve been here ever since.”
Christian glanced down the cave. The darkness swallowed the candlelight, making it seem like
the black depths went on forever. “Guarding the tunnel?”
“How long have you been here?” Willow wondered.
“Years. This is my home now. Jo feeds me and gives me what I need. In return, I guard the tunnel.”
He bowed his head, shaking it sadly. Strings of his long hair swayed from side to side. “But times
have changed. All my brethren have been set upon by the king’s men. If I had been there, I would have
fought those ruffians.” He grimaced. “If I could.” He rubbed his arm, moving his fingers up and down,
and grabbed the end. His forearm was gone, sliced off at the elbow. “But I lost my arm in battle.”
Willow squatted in front of him. “I’m sorry.”
Pons chuckled darkly. “Don’t be. It was worth it.”
“How many knights have sought safety here?” Willow asked.
Pons pursed his lips in thought, staring at the ceiling as if calculating. “Don’t know for sure. Not
enough to fight the king’s men, that’s for sure.”
“Willow!” Raven charged toward them with her fists clenched and her jaw stiff.
Willow stood up, and Raven grabbed her arm. “Don’t do that,” she said through clenched teeth.
Willow stared in confusion. “Do what?”
“Disappear. You have to tell one of us where you are going. You can’t just…just walk away.”
There was anger and something else in Raven’s voice. Concern. Worry.
Willow’s gaze moved over Raven’s face momentarily before she threw her arms around Raven.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”
When she pulled back, Raven sighed and nodded.
Christian understood the anguish Raven felt. She had lost Willow once, and that was agonizing.
She didn’t want to lose Willow again. She and Sage had thought they would never see their sister
again, which had been heart-wrenching to them.
“Go back with Raven,” Christian advised. “I’ll check it out.”
Reluctantly, Willow returned with Raven, glancing uncertainly over her shoulder at him.
“You’re a lucky man,” Pons said, watching the women walk down the hallway.
“Aye,” Christian agreed, staring after Willow. He looked at Pons. “Are there guards outside of
this cave?”
Pons nodded. “One.”
Christian met his wide eyes. He knew it wouldn’t be long until King Philip interrogated the
arrested Templars and discovered that this place was a Templar haven.
It wasn’t safe here.
 Chapter Three

Willow couldn’t tell whether it was night or day in the cave; she had lost track of time.
She was exhausted. She sat in Christian’s arms against the wall. Her gaze lazily swept the cavernous
room. Templar Knights lounged sporadically through the room, their white tunics gleaming in the dim
firelight like beacons.
A few feet away from Willow and Christian, Raven slept with her head on Landyn’s chest. Sage
rested beneath a torch with Marcus sleeping at her side. Parchment pages were spread out before her
alongside Willow’s open book. The torchlight illuminated the circles under Sage’s eyes. Her short
hair was in disarray, locks going this way and that. Her eyes flicked from the words she had written
to pages in the book. Her shoulders drooped, and she frowned.
Willow eased herself from Christian’s arms, careful not to wake him, and walked over to Sage.
She stood over her, staring at the parchment with the squiggles on it. She couldn’t read and had no
idea what the lines meant. “Not going well?”
Sage puffed out her cheeks in a sigh. “It makes no sense. There’s no mention of a starting place.
How can you have directions if you don’t know where to start?” She flipped through the pages of
Willow’s red book, stopping at one. “I did figure out these maps, though. Look,” she said, pointing to
one.
Willow leaned over, gazing at the page. It was the one that looked like a boot.
“This is Italy. I recognize the layout. And this one…” Sage tapped another one.
It looked to Willow like a cloud.
“This one is London. See the names of the streets? I recognize some of them.”
Willow grinned, proud of her sister. Sage was so smart. There was nothing she couldn’t figure
out.
Sage sighed again and shook her head. “But any map could be the starting place.” She ran a hand
through her hair, pushing it back from her face. “I must be missing something.”
Willow sat beside her. “You’re just tired. We all are. Take a break.”
Sage leaned her back against the cave wall but did not release the book. The lines on her forehead
were deep. “We don’t have much time,” she said. “The king is looking for the treasure. It won’t be
long until he finds Jo’s place.”
She was right, but Willow had confidence in Sage’s abilities. “Did you eat?” Willow asked. She
knew how focused Sage could be. One time, she had been trying so hard to figure out how to open a
lock that she completely forgot to eat.
Sage nodded. “Marcus brought me some bread and stew.” She jerked her head at a trencher on the
ground that looked like mice had gnawed at the sides. Sage had only picked at it.
Willow knew Sage was too absorbed in working the puzzle. She picked up a piece of parchment
and studied it. She liked the little curls on the ends of the lines. “Can you really read this?”
Sage grinned. “Marcus taught me.” She looked fondly at Marcus, who slept on his side beside her.
As Sage’s face softened, Willow smiled. “You love him.”
A grin stretched Sage’s lips. “I really do.”
Willow cast a glance at Christian, and her heart melted. Even asleep, Christian looked like a god,
the sculpted muscles of his chest rising and falling with his breathing, and the black curl she loved
resting on his forehead. Willow’s stomach clenched. She knew exactly how Sage felt. She bowed her
head and scanned the parchment pages spread on the ground. She wished she could help Sage, but she
didn’t know how to figure things like this out. Sage was the one who was able to work locks and
figure out codes.
But Willow knew how to get her mind off the work for a moment. “Look at Raven,” she
whispered.
Sage glanced at their oldest sister, curled up beside Landyn. He had his arm around her.
Willow raised her eyebrows. “It’s a strange sight, but I like Landyn.”
Sage nodded in agreement. “She replaced a sword for a man.”
Willow tilted her head, confused.
“Raven always had a sword in her hand. Now she has Landyn at her side.”
Willow stifled laughter. “True.” Her merriment faded, and she turned her gaze speculatively to the
red book on the ground. “So, let’s say the directions started in London. We would have to go to
England?”
Sage nodded. “That’s the plan.” She stared at the maps again.
Unease surged inside Willow, and she swallowed heavily. They would have to cross the English
Channel on a ship. Travel over water that was over her head. And she couldn’t swim. None of them
could. She didn’t mind streams or rivers that weren’t over her head. It was the thought of not being
able to touch the bottom—of being swallowed by the waves and water crashing over her head,
dragging her down until she couldn’t breathe—that sent terror through her. “What about the horses?”
Sage shrugged. “We’ll bring them with us.”
Willow looked down at the ground. “Mercy doesn’t like water.”
Sage’s eyes darted to Willow, and her mouth dropped open with a sharp gasp. “That’s right. You
don’t like water.”
Willow wouldn’t meet her stare. “It’s not that I don’t like water. It’s just that I don’t like
drowning.”
“Ever since you were little and slipped into that lake. Raven had to jump in and pull you out. She
was so mad that you made her get her boots wet.”
How could Willow forget? She closed her eyes and saw the water, dark and chill, closing over
her head as she thrashed her arms, trying to stay above the water, trying to breathe. She shook the
memory away and stared at the red book, feeling sick with fear. “Are there any maps of France in the
book?” Maybe they wouldn’t have to cross water.
Sage sighed in sympathy. “Some. Don’t worry. I haven’t figured out which map the directions are
for.”
“But you will,” Willow whispered and bowed her head. There was no doubt Sage would find the
map. A sense of foreboding washed over Willow like a cold rain. She rose unsteadily. “Get some
sleep.” She had come to soothe Sage, and now, she was the nervous one.
“Oh!” Sage held out a hand, palm out. “Wait. I copied this for you.” She searched through the
parchment, spreading it on the ground. Her slender fingers moved through the papers until she found
what she sought. She snatched it up and held it out to Willow.
Willow grasped the page in confusion. She couldn’t read. Why would Sage give her a piece of
parchment? But it wasn’t words on the yellowed page. A smile drifted over Willow’s lips. It was a
flower.
“I thought you might like it. It was on the cover of Christian’s book,” Sage explained.
“Thanks,” she mumbled, staring at the sketch. She turned back toward Christian.
 And froze. Dread slammed into her, so deep and heavy that she thought she might suffocate. The
book Brother Nicolas had given her resurfaced in her mind, the red book of maps. She recognized the
flower.
“Will, are you well?” Sage asked.
Willow nodded and quickly crossed the room to Christian’s side. She dropped down beside him,
snuggling against him, searching for comfort. He instinctively wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
But even his warmth couldn’t allay the terror welling within her.
Shivers racked her body as she stared at the flower on the parchment. It was on one of the maps
Sage said was in England, across the English Channel. She trembled as the memory of the dark water
consumed her.

Christian opened his eyes, squinting against the grogginess that fogged his mind. Instinctively, he
reached for Willow but found the spot next to him empty. He sat up, the blanket falling from his body,
and ran his hands through his tangled hair. He slowly stretched out his arms, his joints popping as he
yawned. He scanned the room for Willow. He wondered how late it was. Or early. It was impossible
to tell what time it was in the dark cave.
He spotted Sage sitting on the floor, bending over the parchment pages spread before her. Marcus
sat beside her, pointing to one of them. Christian tried not to grimace in distaste. He didn’t know what
Sage saw in Marcus and didn’t want to know.
Raven and Landyn sat to his left, eating bread and drinking ale.
Christian swept the entire cave and didn’t see Willow. He stood and glanced at Raven. “Where’s
Willow?”
Raven and Landyn scoured the room with their eyes. Raven mumbled a curse, shook her head, and
slowly climbed to her feet.
Christian held out his hand, halting her. “I’ll find her.” He strode towards the door, searching for
an explanation as to why she had gone missing. Perhaps she went to relieve herself. Maybe she was
admiring a cute animal she had found in the hallway. Maybe she was kidnapped by Pons. He mentally
shook his head. All his thoughts turned dark. He stepped into the corridor. Willow wasn’t a damsel in
distress. She knew how to take care of herself. Yet, Raven had just told her not to disappear without
telling someone where she was going.
Trepidation crawled up Christian’s spine, hot and thick as it covered his neck and shoulders. As
he looked down the tunnel both ways, he half expected to see Willow leaning against one of the walls.
But there was only flickering light from a torch splashing the wall.
Christian walked down the hallway until he heard a garbled snore. He stopped and stared into the
darkness. As his eyes adjusted, he made out two feet. “Pons,” he called. When there was no answer,
he kicked his feet and urged more firmly, “Pons.”
The snoring stopped. “What?”
“Have you seen Willow?” Christian demanded.
Pons sniffed. “She came this way earlier. Stopped and talked for a bit.”
Christian stared into the dank passageway. What was she doing? She knew how dangerous it was.
“I thought you were guarding the tunnel.”
 Pons chuckled. “I am.”
Christian scoffed. Pons was sleeping. But it didn’t matter now. Only Willow did. “Where did she
go?”
Pons lifted a wrinkled hand and pointed.
Christian continued through the cave.
Pons’s voice echoed behind him. “She’s a beautiful woman. And she smells like flowers.”
Christian gritted his teeth and walked faster, wondering how long it had been since these men saw
a woman. The twisting in his gut grew worse, and he hurried. He passed another man, sitting on the
ground wearing a tattered white tunic emblazoned with a red cross. He nodded to the guard, grateful
he was at least awake. “Did a woman go this way?”
The man nodded and pointed farther down the cave.
Where had Willow gone? He jogged to the end of the corridor, the hairs on his neck standing up.
At the far end, he had inspected the only other way out. Three shallow steps had been carved into the
rocky cave wall, leading up to an old wooden hatch in the roof. One guard sat near the door, ready to
sound the alarm if the hatch was opened. It wasn’t the man he had seen and questioned yesterday. This
man was young with haunted blue eyes. He stared at the ground as Christian approached. “Did a
woman leave the cave?”
“I didn’t want to let her, but she insisted,” the young man said. “She seemed…desperate.”
Christian scowled. Desperate. What did that mean? He stepped on the first step and reached for
the latch.
“I’ll tell you the same thing I told her,” the young man said softly. “It’s dangerous out there. You’re
taking your life and the lives of everyone in here into your hands if you exit.”
Christian nodded. “We’ll be back,” he said and climbed to the top step. He pushed the hatch
upward a few inches to look around, searching for any of the king’s men. When the glade seemed free
of any threats, Christian opened the hatch wide enough to climb out. He quickly shut it and began to
scan the surrounding forest for Willow. Why would she have left the cave? Her family was here. He
was here.
A bird cawed in the distance. He swiveled his head toward the village. The trees were largely
barren of leaves, and sunlight shone through thick branches to create crescent sunbeams on the grassy
earth. Smoke rose from the chimney of the inn in billowing clouds. Had she gone into the town? Could
she have sought out singing?
The snap of a twig in the stillness of the forest caused him to freeze. His hand instinctively
reached to the hilt of his sword, and he cautiously examined the shadows with keen eyes. Every
instinct was on high alert as he listened and watched. When he saw nothing through the trunks of the
trees, he moved toward the sound, stepping carefully over the fallen leaves and branches. He hid
behind a tree trunk for cover and peered around the wooden bark.
Willow knelt on the forest floor, her hands resting on her thighs as she leaned forward to inspect
something on the ground.
Christian stared at her with a furrowed brow. Why was she out here? She wasn’t doing anything
in particular, but he couldn’t help feeling a sense of unease as he searched the area for signs of
danger. The woods were quiet except for the peaceful chirping of a single bird.
Then, she swept her hand out over the green ground.
Christian narrowed his eyes and moved from behind the tree. “Willow?”
She lifted her gaze to him. Fear and concern etched into her wrinkled brow. Tears shone in her
bright blue eyes.
 Alarmed, Christian hurried to her side. “What’s wrong?”
She held up a hand for him to stop. “You’ll step on them,” she said, her voice thick.
Christian glanced down. Beneath his boots was a carpet of clovers. He realized what she was
doing. She was looking for a four-leaf clover. He dropped to his knees beside her. “Will…”
She bent forward, carefully parting the dewy green carpet, scanning the expanse. Her shoulders
were tense, and her brow furrowed in fear.
His heart ached for her. “What’s wrong?” he asked tenderly.
She visibly shook as she paused her search.
Christian wanted to reach out, to comfort her, but his instinct was to wait. He fisted his hands at
his sides, resisting the urge to touch her. She would come to him in her own time.
“There has to be a four-leaf clover here,” she whispered in anguish. Her golden braid fell over
her shoulder, brushing the ground. Her back was rounded as she scanned the ground.
He brushed his hand over the clovers. “Then we’ll find it.” The clovers were cool and dewy
beneath his fingers as he brushed them aside in his search. The gentle swoosh of the weeds was the
only sound.
Christian cast a concerned glance at Willow. Her lower lip trembled. What had happened to
cause her such misery?
“I don’t like water,” she said softly.
Christian’s gaze moved over her, but her armor was dry. He had thought perhaps she slipped into
a pond and was frightened. “I know,” he answered.
“Or boats. I could never…” Her voice trailed off.
Confusion loomed like a cloud over Christian.
She sat back with a huff. When she looked at him, tears glittered in her large eyes like diamonds.
“I know where the directions start. I know which map in Brother Nicolas’s book to follow.”
Christian’s mouth dropped, and he inched closer to her. “Willow. That’s wonderful. We should
tell the others.”
“No,” she snapped and swallowed, whipping her head back to scan the ground again. Her hand
parted the lush green weeds in her desperate search for the four-leaf clover.
Christian scowled. Water? Boats? What was he missing? Why wouldn’t she want to tell
everyone? Prickles danced along his shoulders and up the nape of his neck. He reached for her hand,
engulfing it in his. It felt small and fragile. “Where do we go?”
She shook her head, her beautiful, lush lips pressed together tightly. Rays of sunlight touched
strands of hair curling onto her cheek. “I can’t.”
He reached up and brushed a lock from her face. “Sage will solve it eventually.”
With a whimper, she leaned heavily against him. “I just found my sisters,” she whispered into his
chest.
Christian’s arms swept around her. “We’re not leaving them. And I’m not leaving you.”
She mumbled something into his leather armor.
Christian stroked her head, holding her close to him. He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her
head, and his heart sank as he felt her body tremble. He hated to see her so distraught. Water. Boats.
Just found her sisters? He had to help her. “It will be well, Will.”
She pulled back and looked at him in anguish. “England,” she said. “It’s in England.”
And then it all made sense. They would have to sail across the English Channel on a boat to get to
England. Sage and Raven would be eager to continue the quest, but to Willow, crossing the water was
terrifying. And yet, she couldn’t leave her family. He dropped his gaze, scowling. “We’ll figure
something out, Will.” His mind churned. “We’ll come up with something. But you have to tell them.”
She sighed softly. “I know.” Her voice came out in a thick, ragged tone.
The raw tears in her eyes tugged painfully at his heart. She seemed so vulnerable, and he felt
helpless. He wished he could do something, anything, to alleviate her suffering. He squeezed her hand
and lowered his gaze guiltily. How could he help her? What could he say?
And then, something caught his eye in the center of the green clovers. He frowned as he reached
and plucked the leaf from the patchy grass. He inspected it and held it up to her. “A four-leaf clover.”
Willow chuckled sadly, staring at the rare stalk. “This doesn’t seem like good luck.”
He put his arms around her, drawing her closer to him. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
Willow nodded against his chest before standing.
Christian kept his arm around her shoulders as they strolled back to the hatch. He felt a sudden
chill and paused, his gaze darting around the woods. He stiffened as a twig snapped in the distance.
Beside him, Willow’s body tensed as she peered into the dimness of the forest. She had heard it, too.
His stare shot from side to side, checking every shadow with his eyes. “We should enter through
the inn.” He didn’t think anyone was watching, but it was never wrong to be cautious.
Willow nodded and walked through the weeds toward the inn, glancing at the surrounding trees.
Christian stood still for an instant longer. Thick tree trunks and bushes offered numerous hiding
places.
Maybe it was an animal. Perhaps it was a falling branch.
And maybe it wasn’t.
He trailed Willow, casting one last look over his shoulder.
 Chapter Four

Willow dragged her feet as if trying to make the corridor longer. She continually slowed their
progress, hoping to avoid having to tell Raven and Sage about her discovery. Fear tightened in her
chest as she imagined what it must be like to board a giant creaking ship that would dip and sway
over the vast waters. The thought of traveling through water above her head was paralyzing. She
reached out to clasp Christian’s comforting hand.
Christian walked beside her, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles in calming circles. He cast
concerned glances at her.
Pons smiled as they approached the door. “You’re back!” he exclaimed.
Willow inhaled and reached for her belt. She pulled out a small white flower and handed it to
him. “I thought you would like this.”
Pons took it in his grubby fingers and stared at it with a scowl. “What does a warrior want with a
flower?”
Willow shrugged. “I thought it might bring you some light.”
“I’ve no need of such a womanly thing,” he said but didn’t drop the flower.
Christian turned toward the door.
As Willow took a step, she heard Pons mumble, “Thank you.” She paused momentarily, and the
warmth of his gratitude hit her like an invisible hug. She gave him a soft smile before following
Christian into the room.
Landyn was speaking with a Templar knight, Raven at his side. When Raven saw them, she stood
and stalked across the room.
Willow cringed. Another tongue-lashing. Another chastisement.
But as Raven approached, Christian stepped protectively in front of Willow to block Raven’s
path. He shook his head. “Not now.”
“Not now?” Raven demanded in angry shock. She poked a finger into his chest. “After everything
that I told her yesterday? I’m trying to watch out for my family. She can’t just leave.” Raven moved
around Christian to face Willow. “What were you thinking? You can’t…” She took a deep breath to
calm herself. “Willow. You’re not a child. It’s dangerous.”
“You sound like Father,” she said softly with a gentle grin. She meant it as a compliment.
“Good. Someone should.”
Willow dropped her gaze, her lower lip quivering.
Raven’s lips parted in surprise. She stepped closer to her, her hands outstretched in concern.
“Will—”
“Willow needs to rest,” Christian explained. “She’ll be better after she gets some sleep.”
Willow’s jaw tensed, and her gaze darted away from Raven’s probing eyes. She bit her lip as if to
contain the secret with the force of her teeth. Her hands clenched into fists, an instinctive and
desperate attempt to protect herself against a truth she was not yet ready to share.
Raven’s brow furrowed as she studied Willow’s face, trying to discern what was wrong. Her
voice was kind as she asked, “Are you sure that’s all it is? You don’t have to keep anything from me.
You don’t have to be afraid.”
Willow’s chin lifted in a false show of confidence, but her voice wavered, and her stomach
twisted. “I’m not afraid.” It was the usual retort, the one she fell back on. But this time, she was
afraid. Her gaze shifted to Sage, still stubbornly bent over those parchment pages with a focused
intensity. She was unyielding in her need to understand, and Willow felt powerless to stop her. What
was the use in denying Sage her answer?
Willow slowly drew in a breath and released it, her gaze shifting to Christian for an instant. She
exhaled again and steeled herself, her entire body trembling. She walked toward Sage. Her hands
shook, and her breathing quickened. She stood over her for a moment, attempting to control her
nerves. Sage would discover the truth anyway.
“Sage,” Willow called.
Sage looked up at her.
Suddenly, the door flew open with enough force that it hit the wall with a loud thud. Pons stood in
the doorway, his jaw tight. “There is a man at the inn asking questions.”
Landyn approached Pons. “What type of questions?”
“Asking about women with swords,” he said hurriedly. “And Templar Knights.”

Christian and Landyn stood together in the back room of the inn. Pons had told them one man was
asking questions and they had to be careful. Christian felt a chill run down his spine. Could it be his
father searching for them, knowing Simon had the fake book? Or was it someone else? It was too
risky to stay in the cave.
The light shining through the window was soft, warm, and not harsh. Christian guessed that it was
mid-morning. The inn was quieter than it had been when they arrived. A woman with long, dark hair
and a stained apron walked across the room and wiped one of the tables.
Christian quickly surveyed the room. At one of the round tables in the center, a man wearing a
brown tunic hunched over a steaming bowl of stew. In the back corner, farthest from Christian, Jo
spoke with a man whose balding head had wispy strands of dark hair poking from it. Christian’s gaze
was immediately drawn to the jagged scar on the man’s left cheek. He stepped into the shadows, a
memory tingling tauntingly in his mind that he couldn’t quite place. Still, something about the man
made Christian uneasy.
“We should leave,” he whispered.
Landyn nodded. “Agreed.”
Christian followed Landyn into the tunnel. “How?” he wondered. “We can’t go out the front.
When Willow and I were in the forest, I thought I heard something. I’m sure the door’s being
watched.”
“We’ll have to split up.”

“No,” Raven declared, her hands firmly on her hips. “We are staying together.”
Christian and Landyn had returned to the cave and presented their solution to the group. Sage
stared at Christian with a scowl of disapproval.
“It’s the only way,” Christian said. He had known it would be difficult to convince the women to
split up, especially after they had just found each other. “If we all march out of here together, we will
be noticed.”
“We can wait until nightfall when the inn is crowded and leave in pairs,” Marcus suggested.
“No,” Raven reiterated.
“You’re being irrational,” Christian said in frustration.
Raven’s gaze swung to Christian, her jaw set and her eyes burning. “I am not leaving my sisters.
Not again.”
Marcus sighed softly. “Raven, I understand your hesitation, but—”
“You can go with one of your sisters,” Landyn suggested.
Raven looked at him, and her expression softened as her gaze swept his face. Then, she lifted her
chin and shook her head.
He stepped close to her, laying a comforting hand on her shoulder. “We won’t be separated for
long, and we’ll meet up after that.”
Raven shook her head again, but her tone was gentler. “That’s what happened in le Bezu.”
Willow exchanged a wary glance with Sage.
Christian rolled his eyes. They had to leave. Raven had to see that. “I don’t want to be separated
from Willow either,” Christian agreed. “But we need to mix with the crowd in the inn to escape
unnoticed. It’s going to be difficult. You Hawkes don’t exactly blend in.”
“Who did you see in the inn?” Sage wondered.
“One man.” Christian shook his head. “I’ve seen him before, but I can’t remember where.”
“One man?” Raven gawked. “We have to hide from one man?”
“We don’t know how many more there are,” Landyn explained.
“Father always said if you spot one, you can assume there are more,” Willow reminded.
“We need to go now,” Landyn said. “If the man is a scout for the king, they could raid at any
moment.”
“We have to wait until the inn is more crowded,” Marcus instructed. “There are too many of us
just to walk out.”
Willow glanced around the room at the other men, the Templar Knights. “Have you told the
others?”
Christian followed her gaze. He had been more concerned with protecting their group than the
remaining Templars, and he suddenly felt guilty.
Landyn shook his head. “He was asking about you, about the Hawke women.”
“Then he can’t be one of the king’s men.”
The image of the man, the white scar down the side of his face, burned in Christian’s mind. A
memory taunted him, and he grimaced. “I wish I could remember where I saw him.”
“There’s six of us,” Raven said. “Why don’t we speak with him?”
“No,” Landyn and Christian said automatically.
“We don’t know if there are others,” Landyn added. “We have to be cautious.”
“I’ll go,” Marcus offered. “I’ll scout around the inn to see if there are others, any king’s men.”
“No,” Sage pleaded.
“He’s not looking for me.” Marcus gazed at her with tenderness. “You need to figure out the
books. I won’t be long.”
“I’ll go with you,” Sage insisted.
 “No,” Raven stated. “He’s searching for us.”
Marcus touched Sage’s cheek. “I’ll be back soon. It won’t take long.”
No matter how much Marcus meant to Sage, Christian still didn’t trust him.
“I’ll go with him,” Landyn suggested.
The fear on Raven’s face mirrored Sage’s. Raven’s jaw tensed, and her fingernails bit into her
flesh as she kept silent.
A smile curled one corner of Landyn’s lips. He brushed a kiss to Raven’s lips and trailed Marcus
out of the room.
Raven spun on Christian. “Why didn’t you go with Marcus?”
“Raven,” Willow snapped with a frown.
Christian sighed, saying, “I know that man from somewhere. He might recognize me.” Christian
had felt Raven’s growing hostility towards him since he had been with their family in the camp years
ago. He had surmised that she didn’t appreciate his growing bond with Willow then.
Raven shook her head and turned away, moving to the doorway.
Sage returned to her spot beneath the torch to study the parchment. Christian was certain it took
her mind off Marcus’s safety.
Willow embraced Christian. “I’m glad you didn’t go.”
A twinge of guilt tickled Christian’s insides at not accompanying the other men, but at the same
time, he couldn’t bear to separate from her. “We have to locate another place. This one is no longer
safe.”
“Will any place be safe?” she asked against his chest.
He wanted to promise her they would find a haven for them and a place to start their own family,
but the constant fear of the king’s men arresting Templar Knights and the threat of his father’s return
seemed to hang heavily in the air. He pressed his cheek against her head and breathed his love into
her hair. “We will get through this,” he vowed, although his words lacked the courage and conviction
that he wished they had.

When Marcus returned, Christian observed him stop to speak to one of the knights before moving
on.
“Where’s Landyn?” Raven demanded.
“He’s watching the hatch,” Marcus replied.
“You left him alone?” A deep scowl crossed Raven’s brow, and she marched quickly towards the
exit.
“He’s waiting for us!” Marcus called. “Our horses are being brought.”
Christian hesitated, his instincts urging him to go the other way, away from the hatch as Marcus
had instructed them. But Raven didn’t pause and walked down the tunnel. Willow followed, and
Christian had no choice but to trail behind. He sighed softly, pausing to glance back into the room.
Sage was gathering the parchment and placing it into her boot. Marcus waited for her.
Christian turned back down the corridor. Raven disappeared into the hall’s shadows, and Willow
stopped to speak to Pons.
The Templar Knight Marcus had talked with emerged from the room and headed toward the inn.
Christian furrowed his brow in confusion. Why was he heading that way? What had Marcus told him?
“We’re leaving,” Willow informed Pons as Christian caught up to her. “You should, too.”
There was no urgency in her voice, nor the haste Christian felt.
Pons stared at her sympathetically. “Where would I go? This is my home.”
She sighed softly. “Don’t be a hero.” She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his wrinkled
cheek.
Christian knew she kissed the old warrior as a goodbye, but he couldn’t ignore the moment of
jealousy that rose in his heart. He wanted to be the only one she kissed.
Marcus and Sage joined them. Christian felt relief knowing Sage was going the same way they
were. Marcus would not endanger her. He stepped aside, allowing them to take the lead. His keen
ears were alert for any danger, but all he heard was the sound of their breathing and the scrape of a
pebble beneath his foot.
“What happened out there?” he asked Marcus, his voice echoing through the tunnel. “What did you
see?”
Marcus replied, “There were a couple of men Jo didn’t recognize. Enough for us to think it was
time to leave.”
“Where they scouts?”
“No,” Marcus said, shaking his head. “Jo has some men keeping an eye out for soldiers scouting
the inn. She said her concern rested with the one man asking about the women.”
“The man with the scar,” Christian recalled, his jaw tensing.
Marcus nodded.
“Did you see him? Was he still at the inn?” When Marcus nodded, Christian continued, “Do you
know who he is? Have you seen him before?”
“No. Neither has Jo.”
Christian’s mind raced, and a strong feeling of dread pulled at him as they came to the steps of the
hatch. He had seen the man with the scar before but couldn’t remember where. It was frustrating not
being able to figure it out.
“Where’s Raven?” Willow asked Sage.
“She must have gone out to find Landyn,” Sage answered, reaching for the hatch.
“Wait,” Christian said, halting her movement. He grasped the hatch’s latch and slowly opened it,
peering into the forest. He scanned the woods for any sign of danger and spotted Raven standing
beside Landyn and a Templar knight. Their horses stood around them. Christian threw the hatch open
and stepped out, followed by Willow, Sage, and Marcus.
Landyn grasped the knight’s forearm in the typical warrior fashion. “Be careful,” he said.
The knight nodded and climbed onto his horse, riding into the forest.
“Where are we going?” Sage asked.
Willow bit her lip.
Christian looked between Landyn and Raven, unease washing over him. He had no idea where
they should go or where they would be safe.
“England.” Willow’s voice was a whisper, as though she were afraid of speaking the word aloud.
All eyes fell on her, and she nervously shifted her gaze to Sage. “England,” she repeated more firmly.
“England?” Raven reiterated, confused.
Willow looked at Sage. “That’s where the directions start. In England.”
 Chapter Five

Willow perched on a fallen tree, her knees tucked beneath her chin, as she watched the
others huddle together in the clearing, comparing the etching of the flower to the book of maps. It was
an exact copy. She was right.
The moon crept through the canopy of branches, casting a muted pattern of shadows on the ground.
Sage held the open book, and the rest of them leaned over, breathlessly observing. Curiosity was
high for all of them. But there was a sense of trepidation in the air. It felt as if something big was
about to happen.
For everyone but Willow.
Willow’s shoulders drooped. What was she going to do? She rested her chin on her knees. Her
booted feet lay on a carpet of clovers. But she didn’t want to look for a four-leaf clover. What good
would it do? If it really brought luck, the one she had found would have destroyed the book of maps,
so they never had to cross the water.
Mercy, her horse, nudged her from behind.
Mercy knew how she was feeling—exactly the opposite of all of them; she was worried, fearful,
and scared. Willow stood, her hands gently cradling the horse’s muzzle. Her brows knitted as she
gave Mercy a tender kiss on her nose.
“You did it, Will.” Raven had come up behind her, leaving the group.
Yes. She had condemned herself to terror.
“You were right.”
Yes. But she didn’t feel any relief.
“What’s wrong?”
Willow stroked Mercy’s nose. “England is a long way from here.”
“Yes,” Raven agreed. “But you’ve traveled far before.”
“Not that far,” she whispered.
Raven scowled and stepped up close beside her. “We’ll all be traveling with you. Even Christian.
That can’t be what is bothering you.”
“No,” Willow agreed. It wasn’t the thought of traipsing through unfamiliar territory that made her
reluctant to go. She had to admit that she might be as thrilled as the others to solve the mystery if… “I
don’t think I can go with you.”
“Of course, you can. And you will.”
“I want to,” she admitted, her heart heavy with dread. Raven would laugh and tease her for her
fear, and it would come as yet another reminder of how she wasn’t as brave or as strong or as smart
as her sisters. She swallowed. “Of course I will.” She clenched her teeth and lied, “I just don’t want
to leave Mercy.”
The horse nickered mockingly.
“We will bring our horses. We can’t travel without them.”
Maybe they wouldn’t be able to find a ship to transport them and their horses. That was Willow’s
only hope.
“I know a man with a ship,” Landyn admitted to the group loud enough for Willow to hear. “We’ll
have to be careful, but I’m sure he will take us across the English Channel.”
 Willow’s heart sank, and her stomach twisted into a tight knot. Of course, he knew someone with
a boat. What were the odds that one of them didn’t know someone with a ship? Even with the four-
leaf clover Christian had found, her luck was never that good.
Raven’s eyes grew large in realization, and she leaned forward to get a better view of Willow.
“It’s the water, isn’t it?”
Willow tried not to show her fear, but she couldn’t help but pout. “No, of course not,” she lied.
Raven eyed her warily, her gaze narrowed and suspicious. “I remember. You fell in that lake
when you were young.”
Willow lifted a quivering chin. “I did, but that was a long time ago.”
Raven placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Willow, we must cross the English Channel to get to
England. Will you be able to do that?” Willow hesitated a moment, and that was enough for Raven.
She inhaled deeply and took Willow’s hand, pulling her towards the group. “We have a problem.”
The others looked up.
Mortified, Willow felt her cheeks grow hot. How could she be the problem? How could she
allow her fear of water to affect the entire group? She began to shake her head.
Christian stepped around Landyn and placed a hand on her shoulder as if to shield her from their
stares. But even his presence wasn’t enough to comfort her. She bowed her head, unable to look at
any of them.
“Willow and I have decided to remain in France,” Christian announced.
Raven gritted her teeth. “That’s not the problem, and you won’t be staying in France. We are not
splitting up.” She turned to Willow, her voice calming. “It’s the water.”
Sage gaped at Willow in disbelief. “You’re not still afraid, are you, Will?” she asked, her voice
laced with mockery.
Humiliation flared in Willow’s chest. That was exactly the response she wanted to avoid. She
squared her shoulders and met Sage’s gaze levelly. “No,” she said firmly. “I’m not afraid.”
“Willow,” Raven chastised. “Tell them the truth.”
Willow hesitated, her mind racing. She didn’t want Landyn and Marcus to know. It was horrifying
enough that her sisters knew. She was skilled at sword fighting, horse riding, and finding clovers. But
water… She quivered in fear.
“What is it?” Marcus wondered.
Sage stood and put her hands on her hips. “When she was young, Willow fell into a lake.”
Willow’s lips tightened. “I almost drowned.”
Sage smiled. “She could have stood up, and she would have been well.”
“I was little!” Willow defended with a scowl.
“You’re afraid of water,” Landyn stated.
“No.” Willow shook her head. “Not all water.”
“She’s learned to keep her feet below her. She can stand up now,” Sage ridiculed.
Raven cast her an angry glare.
“She’s only afraid of water over her head,” Sage clarified.
“The English Channel,” Landyn realized.
Understanding spread over the group.
Willow felt her face flush with a mixture of humiliation and despair. How could she be the one to
put a stop to their journey? What must they think of her?
“Really?” Sage asked in an exasperated breath and threw her hands up in surrender. “All of this
for nothing?” She looked at Willow with a pained gaze and encouraged, “You can do this, Willow.”
 “Willow and I can wait here for you,” Christian offered, wrapping his hand around Willow’s.
“We don’t have to go.”
“We’re not splitting up,” Raven insisted. “I will not lose my family. Not again.”
“Willow won’t cross the Channel,” Christian stated. “And I’m not leaving her.”
She was denying Christian the opportunity, as well as the rest of them. Even though she was
grateful to him for offering to stay with her, she was consumed with guilt.
Sage closed her eyes, her frustration palpable. “So that’s it? It’s all over? We’ll never figure out
what’s at the end of this quest. Or why so many were after the book.”
“I can teach her,” Marcus said.
“England would be safer for us than France,” Landyn stated. “At least it’s out of Philip’s grasp.”
But Sage shook her head vehemently. “But Will won’t cross the water!”
“There must be another way,” Raven pondered.
“Right,” Sage answered sarcastically. “We can fly!”
“I can teach her to swim,” Marcus offered.
Raven whirled on him. “What?”
“I can teach her to swim,” Marcus repeated.
Everyone looked at him. The light of the moon filtered through the trees. A slight breeze ruffled
the leaves on the ground around them, and the branches of the trees shook gently.
A lock of Marcus’s blond hair fell forward, and he brushed it back. “I’m a strong swimmer, and I
can teach her.”
“No,” the growl issued from Christian’s throat.
Willow stepped toward Marcus, hope blossoming in her heart. “Can you really teach me not to be
afraid of the water?”
Marcus smiled gently. “I can’t teach you not to be afraid, but I can give you skills to combat your
fear.”
It was something her father would say. She had to overcome her fear. “Yes,” she agreed. “Teach
me.”

The starlight above weakly illuminated the pond, and the sliver orb of the moon reflected on the
smooth surface of the water. The night air was damp and sweet. Croaks sounded from nearby frogs,
and an owl hooted in the forest.
Marcus stood beside Willow in ankle-deep water. Both had taken off their boots, and Willow had
rolled up her leggings to just above her knees, removed her armor and dress, and donned Christian’s
tunic.
Christian stood with his arms crossed beside a tall tree, his gaze intense. He didn’t like Marcus
teaching Willow anything, let alone seeing any portion of her flesh. He ground his teeth and narrowed
his eyes. Despite his misgivings, he had to admit that it was smart for Marcus to take Mercy into the
pond. The horse stood beside Willow and gave her confidence. He watched them both, but deep
inside, he was raging.
Marcus and Willow moved forward until the water was at Willow’s knees. She stiffened and
gazed out into the pond at the smooth surface before reaching a hand to Mercy. When she touched the
horse, she seemed to relax slightly.
Christian shook his head. Don’t rush her, he thought. Let her get used to it.
“It’s wonderful that Marcus can teach her to swim,” Raven commented, coming up behind
Christian.
Christian grunted.
“We should all be taking lessons,” she added.
“If that ship goes down in the middle of the Channel, swimming lessons won’t save us.”
Raven said, “But swimming lessons will help Willow feel more comfortable during the crossing.”
Christian growled slightly. He wished it could have been him making Willow feel more
comfortable instead of Marcus de Nogaret.
“You really love her,” Raven mumbled in awe. “Maybe this time you won’t abandon her.”
“Never. Never again. It was a mistake.”
“Why did you leave?”
He shifted slightly. He wouldn’t speak ill of their father. He admired John, even though he was the
reason he had left. It wasn’t his place to explain to Raven. “You’ll have to talk to Willow about that.”
Marcus and Willow moved farther into the water, her fear showing in her tight grip on Mercy’s
mane. The hem of Christian’s tunic floated around her as the liquid rose to her thighs.
Christian stiffened, and he prepared to rush to her aid.
Raven chuckled softly. “He won’t let anything happen to her. He knows you’d kill him.”
“Slowly,” Christian ground out. “I still might.”
“What is it about Marcus you don’t like?” Raven wondered.
“He trailed me for weeks to get that book. He would have killed me to get it. He killed Brother
Nicolas. What is there to like?”
Raven’s eyebrows rose in understanding. “Killing Brother Nicolas was an accident. He didn’t
mean to do it.”
“He’s a killer,” Christian insisted.
“Aren’t we all?”
Christian ground his teeth. “Not of innocent people.”
“It’s something he must live with. He said he’s sorry.”
“Sorry for a murder?” Christian spat out, scornfully shaking his head while his gaze bore into
Willow.
“Look, Sage loves him. You’re going to have to get over your hatred of him. He’s going to be with
us.”
Christian crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t have to like him. I just have to tolerate him.”
Marcus took Willow’s hand and led her a step deeper.
Christian’s jaw clenched tight, and his body coiled in anger.
“Relax,” Raven advised.
It was easy for Raven to say. She wasn’t in love with Willow. He didn’t want any other man
touching Willow, let alone Marcus.
Willow’s other hand stayed laced in Mercy’s mane as the horse stepped deeper into the pond.
Christian was happy to see she didn’t trust Marcus more than her horse.
When the water lapped at her waist, Willow froze. Mercy bobbed her head as if trying to
encourage and comfort Willow. But Willow stared at the pond’s dark water and shook her head.
Christian lurched forward.
Raven put a hand on his arm, halting him. “Wait. Give her time. She will do this. She has to.”
 “Why? Why does she have to do this?” he demanded, his voice thick with rage and frustration.
“Look how frightened she is.”
Raven grinned patiently. “She is learning. She’s a Hawke. She will do this.”
Despite what Raven said, Christian couldn’t stand that Willow was distressed. Every instinct he
had was to go to her and protect her. He clenched his fists.
Willow stood between Marcus and Mercy, holding tightly to Marcus’s hand, the other hand buried
in Mercy’s mane. She intently listened as Marcus spoke. She shook her head again, reluctance in the
tilt of her chin.
Christian took another step forward.
Raven moved in front of him, her hands up like a shield. “Let her do it.”
“I can help her,” he vowed in a guttural growl, his stare focused on Willow.
“You should be sharpening your sword or seeing to your horse.”
His gaze shifted to Raven. “My only concern right now is Willow. Everything else can wait.”
With a heavy sigh, Raven moved aside.
Christian hesitated. He knew Willow needed to do this on her own.
Willow released a terrified scream that rang through the forest like the dying call of a bird. Mercy
sidestepped away from her, and Willow lost her grip on her mane, stumbling toward the water.
Christian charged forward with lightning speed, sloshing through the water until he was at her
side.
Marcus pulled her up before she went under.
Christian steadied her with a hand on her arm.
Willow glanced at Christian briefly before turning her attention back to the dark water.
“Something brushed my leg.”
“Just a fish,” Marcus assured her.
“Are you well?” Christian asked with concern, holding onto her arm tightly.
She smiled.
His world opened as if the sun was shining.
“You didn’t take your boots off,” she said.
He shrugged, a grin spreading over his lips. “They’ll be wet tomorrow.”
She nodded. “And probably the next day. Remove them.”
“It’s too late now.” Christian eased her hand from Marcus’s into his. “How are you doing?”
“She’s doing good,” Marcus replied.
Christian ignored him and stared at Willow.
She gazed out over the pond and took a deep breath. “I don’t like the water,” she admitted. “Or the
fish. But Mercy is helping.”
At her name, the horse whinnied and sloshed to Willow’s side. Willow reached out to grasp her
mane again.
“Do you need a break?” Christian asked.
“A break?” Marcus balked. “She just started.”
Christian turned to him, his eyes narrowed. “She needs a break.”
“I think Christian is the one who needs a break,” Willow said kindly. “Give us a few moments,
please, Marcus.”
Marcus sighed and walked back to the bank.
Willow stared at Christian with a gentle grin curling her shapely lips. “Were you worried about
me or jealous?”
 He grunted. “Both.”
“I’m standing in a pond with water up to my waist, and I’m not panicking. I think that’s good
progress.”
Christian nodded solemnly and moved closer to her. His gaze softened as he took in the fear in her
eyes. “It is.” He eased her hand from Mercy’s mane.
Willow’s grin vanished, and she swallowed with trepidation.
“Here. Hold onto my shoulders.” He offered an encouraging smile. “I won’t let anything happen to
you.”
She quickly placed her hand on Christian’s shoulders.
“It’s kind of like dancing,” he said.
“I’ve only danced once, and it wasn’t in the water.”
“It was with me,” Christian replied, his eyes lidded. “We were in a meadow. Beneath a bright
moon, much like this one.”
She nodded, and her eyes twinkled in the light.
Christian’s hands slid to her waist.
She nervously glanced at the water rippling around his hands.
Christian cupped her chin gently in his hands and gazed into her eyes. His voice was steady and
calm as he said, “Look at me. I know you’re scared, but you’re safe with me. I’d die before I would
let anything happen to you.” He felt her hands tighten on his shoulders, her heart beating faster.
“Remember when you sang?”
“Ugh,” she groaned. “It was horrible.”
“It was lovely. Do you think you can sing the same song?”
“Maybe I could hum it,” she said. “I don’t think I know the words.”
Christian grinned, his gaze instinctively dropping to her lips. He started to hum a familiar tune and
swayed slightly from side to side. The water swished around them. As Willow looked down and
tensed, Christian tilted her chin back up. “Keep your eyes on me,” he advised. “I don’t hear you
humming.”
Terror edged the corners of her eyes. “I don’t feel like humming.”
“It will help take your mind off the water. Just as Mercy did,” he said softly.
“Don’t go any farther. I don’t want to go in the water,” she pleaded.
He felt helpless, knowing she was so afraid. He wished he could do something to save her from
her fear. “I know,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her lips. “I know you don’t. The water won’t hurt
you if you respect it. Can you put your face in the water?”
Willow nodded. “I don’t like it. But I can hold my breath and put my face in.”
“Show me.”
She kept her hands on his shoulders and took a breath before dipping her face into the water. She
lifted it back up quickly.
“Good!” Christian exclaimed.
She grinned and rubbed her face with her hand. “I have to splash my face with water when I
bathe. That’s not what I’m afraid of.”
“I know. But if you can do that, you can swim.”
She gazed at him with hope. “Do you think so?”
He grinned and wiped a strand of wet golden hair from her cheek. “I know so.”
 Pons lifted a piece of bread to his lips. The tunnel seemed darker. Perhaps a torch had been
extinguished. He would check after he ate. Some knights had departed with the girl Hawkes, while
others chose to remain.
Out of the corner of his eye, Pons noticed a looming figure approaching him. He looked up to find
a man with dark hair on the sides and a shiny bald spot at the top of his head. A white scar ran along
the left side of his face. Pons continued to eat, pretending he hadn’t seen him, while the man stood
watching with an unreadable expression.
As Pons ate, he noticed one of the man’s black boots had a gleaming silver dagger strapped to it.
“That’s a nice dagger.”
The man squatted before him. “You can’t be too careful these days.” He glanced down the
hallway. “I’ve noticed a lot of Templar Knights here. But no women.”
Pons hesitated before laughing as he shoved a piece of bread in his mouth. “Templars have no
need of women. They’ve taken an oath.”
“You’ve seen no women here?” he asked.
“Except for Jo. She comes down occasionally.” Pons swiped a hand across his mouth.
The man’s lips twisted in a sneer, and his gaze swiveled to the floor. “Where did you get that
flower?”
Pons scowled, glancing at the small white flower Willow had given him. He ran a hand over the
coarse stubble on his chin and tried to maintain a level stare. “Why are you concerned with a
flower?” There was an underlying hostility in his voice that gave away his distaste for the man
standing before him.
His eyes narrowed, the pupils shrinking to pinpricks in his coal-black irises. He leaned in close,
his bad breath washing over Pons’s face. “Where is she?”
Pons slowly tensed, his hand sliding toward the dagger in his belt. “Who?” he asked, knowing full
well whom his accuser had in mind.
“The Hawke woman and the man she was with. Where did they go?”
Pons’s gaze shifted through the corridor. Willow had gone out the hatch with her sisters. “I—don’t
know who you mean.”
The man’s lips twisted in rage. “I know you’re lying. Everyone knows the Hawkes.” The man had
his dagger out in an instant, slicing through the air.
Pons’s eyes widened as he felt the cold metal pierce his throat, the blade severing his vocal
cords. He attempted to call out for help, but only a gurgle issued from his throat. As life drained from
him and he slumped to the side, the last thing he saw was the white flower Willow had given him.
 Chapter Six

Willow sat in the grass on the bank as the first rays of sunlight emerged from the horizon,
illuminating the pond’s glassy surface. The rays danced across the water, creating a kaleidoscope of
vivid blues, greens, and oranges. Willow’s breath caught in her throat as she admired the view. But as
her gaze drifted farther out into the middle of the pond, she felt her stomach twist in fear. Water was
her nemesis. It was the one thing she was truly afraid of.
She would overcome it, she vowed. She would learn to swim, and she wouldn’t be fearful of it
any longer. She bowed her head and laughed softly to herself. She wished it were that easy.
She heard a soft splash that drew her attention to the pond. Someone had jumped in and was
quickly cutting through the water. She studied how he swam, kicking his legs and leaving small
ripples with his arms as they sliced through the liquid like knives. From his blond hair, she could tell
it was Marcus.
She studied him intently as his arms made precise, sweeping strokes. She tried to emulate his arm
movements, lifting her arms forward and back, one at a time.
“It’s not as easy as he makes it out to be.”
Willow instantly recognized Sage’s voice from behind her.
“Kicking your feet will keep you above the water’s surface,” Sage said, sitting beside her. “You
can move your arms like this.” Sage threaded her arms through the air from side to side.
“Like waving away bugs,” Willow observed.
Sage grinned. “A little.”
They watched as Marcus slid effortlessly through the water. He seemed to be dancing in the pond
with the way his arms and legs moved in perfect harmony; the only sound was the splash of the water.
“I can’t help thinking how disappointed Father would be,” Willow said quietly.
Sage nodded. “He probably would have picked you up and thrown you in.”
Willow raised an eyebrow. “Why do you think I never told him?”
“I just assumed it was because we never had to cross water over our heads like the English
Channel.”
Willow shrugged. “That, too.”
Marcus paused in the center of the pond to float on his back, eyes closed, contentment radiating
from his face. Sunlight glittered on the ripples spreading out from him.
Willow gazed at the scene of tranquility. “It really is beautiful,” she observed in awe.
“Yes, he is,” Sage agreed, staring at Marcus with a proud grin.
Willow rolled her eyes.
“Either way, Landyn said we’ll be at the coast in three days. So, you have three days to learn to
swim. Better get to it.”
A shiver of apprehension sliced through Willow, yet she fought to keep her chin high. She was a
Hawke, and this was something she had to do—even if it scared her.
 The day had been long and grueling, and the sun’s relentless heat had no relief. As night fell and
they prepared to make camp near a lake, everyone was on edge and eager to find a place to rest.
Willow patted Mercy’s neck tenderly, glancing up to confirm that the others were tending their
horses. She guided Mercy to the lake and waited patiently for the mare to drink her fill. She bent and
trailed her hands through the cool liquid, letting it trickle between her fingers. She had to fight her
fear of the water. She replaced her armor, dress, and boots with Christian’s tunic, which was a little
damp from the day before, in preparation for her lessons.
When Mercy had finished drinking, Willow removed her saddle and blanket and led her into the
water. The bottom of the lake was uneven, scattered with branches and a thick carpet of grass and
mud. Willow felt it squish between her toes as she waded deeper until the water lapped at her waist.
A chill ran through her body, and fear crept up her spine.
Defiantly, she took another step, holding tight to Mercy’s mane. She glanced at Mercy, who
watched her.
“Don’t judge me,” Willow whispered. “This is hard.”
Mercy whinnied softly.
“It’s easy for you,” she murmured. “You’re bigger than me.” She tentatively stepped forward, and
the cool water lapped at her chest, sending chills over her skin. Fear tightened her stomach, and the
haunting memories returned—the dark, still waters rushing up to cover her face, her hand
outstretched, unable to breathe.
She shook herself. Don’t think about it. You are no longer a child. Sage said to move your arms.
She threaded her free arm through the water, and it gave way beneath her strokes.
What else had Sage said? Kick. Kick your feet.
Willow stared out at the lake ahead of her. Her breathing became labored, and her pulse raced. To
kick, she couldn’t be touching the bottom. Apprehension flooded through her and paralyzed her. She
felt the soft mud beneath her feet, and gratefully, it kept her anchored to the shore. But once she moved
deeper, the water would be overhead, and she could drown.
A hand landed on her shoulder, and with a gasp, she spun around.
Marcus stood behind her. “The first rule of entering water is never to go alone.”
Willow turned back to the lake. The sun had set below the horizon and left a royal purple sky in
its wake. The lake mirrored the hues of twilight, and its surface stilled as if it were basking in the
blanket of darkness. “You were swimming alone yesterday.”
“I didn’t tell you the entire truth about who I am,” he said.
She glanced curiously at him.
A smile curved his lips. “I’m part fish.”
She grinned at his joke and looked at the blackening waters. “I want to do this,” she admitted.
“But I’m afraid.”
“And you should be. Water can be a silent killer. No one can hear your cries if you are
underwater. That’s why you don’t go in alone.” He strode to her side to study her face. “But we need
water to survive. To drink. To bathe. To cook. It demands respect.”
“That doesn’t help me.”
He chuckled softly. “Once you learn to stay above water, your fear will lessen. It will always be
there because of your memory. But you’ll be able to move on.”
“I only have one more night before we reach the coast.”
Marcus sighed softly. “Then we’d best get to work.”
 Willow felt disappointed in her progress. After a night of practice, she could lift her legs and
tread water for a few precious moments before sinking back down, but even then, she was far from
her goal of swimming in water over her head. She had never tried to kick, as Sage had told her. With
each passing day, she knew it was becoming less likely that she would learn before they reached the
coast.
It was Marcus and Sage’s turn to keep watch and they were scouting in the forest; the rest were
supposed to be sleeping. But Willow couldn’t sleep. She should be exhausted, but sleep evaded her.
She curled against Christian.
“Can’t sleep?” he asked with his eyes closed.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you,” Willow whispered.
Christian pulled her against him and kissed her lips gently. “You never have to apologize for
waking me. I’d rather spend my time with you than sleeping.”
Willow couldn’t contain her smile as she leaned against his chest. His warmth comforted her, and
his steady heartbeat soothed her. Despite the late hour and his heavy eyelids, the words of love he
murmured to her made her heart soar.
“Are you feeling more comfortable in the water?” he asked.
“Yes,” she lied. She would do it. But it would take time. If she could swim, she wouldn’t drown.
“What is our plan?”
“We should reach Saint-Jean-de-Luz tomorrow. Landyn knows someone who is a captain and has
his ship. Landyn says it’s big enough to transport our horses and us.”
Willow sighed skeptically. “I only have one more night to learn to swim.”
Christian wrapped her tightly in a warm embrace. “We don’t have to go. No matter what Raven
says. You don’t have to do this.”
“Yes, I do. I’m a Hawke.”
Christian smiled against her hair. “You’re strong. That’s one of the reasons I love you.”
“And I thought it was because I am beautiful.”
“You are,” he whispered.
“And the way I kiss,” she reminded him.
“It is.”
“And how charming I am.”
Christian’s laughter rumbled through him.
At the beginning of their time together, he had called her charming, alluring, and tempting. Willow
had taken it as a compliment, but she knew he hadn’t meant it that way.
He rolled on top of her, pinning her beneath him with his muscular frame. His arms were thick,
and his skin felt like hot velvet against hers. She gasped softly as her heart raced, and a wave of
warmth flooded through her.
He looked down into her eyes. “Do you know how hard it has been to resist your temptation in
front of your sisters?” he asked quietly.
She grinned as he pressed his lips to hers. It had been as hard for him as it was for her. “I thought
the days of riding were exhausting you.”
“Not enough to take my mind from you.”
 He kissed her hungrily, his lips pushing against hers in an urgent embrace. His tongue darted
between her lips and caressed hers with a passion that left her breathless. She longed for more, but
this was not the place. Reluctantly, she pulled away. “Easy, my love. I want you, too. But we’ll have
to save it for later.”
Christian groaned and slid onto his side, gathering Willow to him.
“Think of it as a reward after I learn to swim,” she added.
“I can’t wait.”

The night air was still and crisp the following night, the crescent moon shining brightly. Its silver
beams cast over a tranquil pond, making the water ripple and glisten like diamonds.
They had traveled the entire day, following a narrow path that wound through the countryside,
avoiding towns as much as possible. Every so often, they had to hide in the shadows of trees or
crouch behind rocks to stay out of sight of the knights patrolling on horseback.
Now, Willow stood in water to her chest, clinging to Mercy’s mane tightly with one hand, her
other threading through the liquid. As she waded between Mercy and Marcus, Willow knew this was
the final attempt at swimming before she had to board the ship.
“Don’t be afraid,” Marcus advised.
She scoffed.
“Stand on the tips of your toes.”
She ground her teeth. “I am.”
“Jump up.”
“What?” she asked in horror.
“Push off the bottom.”
“What if I slip?”
“Then use your hands to propel yourself through the water to the surface.”
She attempted to swallow, but her throat was like sandpaper; her chest rose and fell rapidly, and
her heart pounded uncontrollably. She bent her knees, feeling the water at her chin. She closed her
eyes and took a deep breath, trying to summon all the courage within her. Marcus stood beside her in
the pond, and she reminded herself that he would not let her drown. She gripped Mercy’s mane firmly.
She jumped up and rose through the water. For an instant, she floated, and then gravity tugged her
body down. Truthfully, she hadn’t leaped that high, but she had done it. A smile blossomed on her
lips. “I did it.”
“Now, release Mercy,” Marcus advised.
She froze as if he had asked her to jump into the water from the rocks beside the lake.
“It’s well. I’m here.”
She told her fingers to let go of her horse. But they wouldn’t obey.
“You can do this, Willow,” Marcus said kindly.
She glanced back at the pond’s edge, searching for Christian. He stood tall, arms crossed, a
beacon of security, his presence giving her courage. He wouldn’t let her drown, either. She was safe.
Slowly, she released her grip on Mercy and instinctively moved her arms through the water to keep
her balance.
 “Good,” Marcus said. “Very good. Now, walk around while I take Mercy out of the lake.”
“You’re leaving me?” she demanded, her hand reaching for Mercy.
Marcus had already moved the horse away. “No.” And yet, he led Mercy toward the shore.
She took a panicky step after them and another. When the water was just at her breasts, she felt
more secure but nowhere near comfortable. She watched Marcus slowly walk from the water before
turning her concentration to swimming. Marcus had told her to jump in the water. She stood on the tips
of her toes, testing her mobility and balance. She was alone in the pond—one slip, one misstep, and
she would go under. Her gaze moved to Christian at the edge of the water. He had stepped forward as
if ready to rush to her aid. Concern lowered his brow into a frown. She lifted her hand from the water
to wave.
He unclenched his fists slightly, but when Marcus sauntered over, the tension was palpable.
Willow could see how their words cut through the air like a knife. Marcus looked back at her,
shrugged, and led Mercy into the forest toward their camp.
Christian sat on the bank and removed his boots. He lifted his tunic over his head, revealing his
muscled torso.
A warm, bubbling feeling of joy erupted throughout Willow’s body as Christian strode confidently
toward her. He seemed larger than life with his broad shoulders, deep blue eyes, and dark, curly hair.
She could almost see the ancient Roman god of the sea in Christian’s bearing. She excitedly stretched
her hand toward him, and he clasped it with strong fingers.
“Let’s show Marcus how it’s done,” he growled.
“Making love?” she asked playfully.
He bridled, and a grin stretched his lips. “Swimming.”
“You can swim?”
“I can tread water. It’s the most I can show you, but Marcus wasn’t doing anything.”
“He taught me to jump up.” She bent her knees and leaped.
“That’s not swimming. How are you going to touch the bottom of the ocean?”
Her smile faded, and her shoulders slumped. The pride she had felt at the success of her work
vanished like smoke in a breeze.
“You need to learn to use your feet,” Christian advised.
“Sage said I needed to kick them.”
Christian nodded. He took both of her hands into his. “Lean toward me and stretch your body out
behind you.”
Willow stared at him incredulously. “If I could do that, I would be swimming.”
He stepped closer, and the ripples in the water echoed his movement. “Put your hands on my
shoulders. Like yesterday.”
She did so without hesitation.
His hands were steady, resting firmly on her waist. “I’ll keep you up,” he promised.
Before she could protest, he took a step back, and her body rose to the surface, her feet trailing
behind her. She floated in the water, supported by his sturdy arms. A wave of jubilation ran through
her body as she clutched his shoulders. “Ha! You did it. I’m swimming.”
“No,” Christian said. “If I let go, you would sink.”
Her hands tightened around his neck. “Don’t.”
“Never,” he promised. “But this way, you can kick your feet.”
Tentatively, she lifted her legs up and down. Christian held her securely, supporting her as she
moved her legs more confidently. She glanced back at her feet as if she couldn’t believe they were
kicking.
“Now, take your arms from my neck and move them through the water,” Christian advised.
Her fingers squeezed his skin. “No.”
“I have you, Will. I will never let you go.”
Her body floated in the water as Christian dragged her along. Gathering her courage, she allowed
her hands slide down his rock-hard arms and paused as apprehension gripped her. He nodded in
encouragement, and she slowly took her hand from one of his arms, stretching it out to the side. Her
heart raced with desperate hope and fear.
His grip tightened around her waist.
She knew he wouldn’t release her. Although she trusted him completely, it wasn’t easy to give up
the safety of his arm. Finally, she forced herself to let go, peeling her fingers from his skin.
Christian’s eyes sparkled with pride, and his encouraging smile was reward enough. He pulled
her through the water. “Now kick and move your arms,” he instructed.
She followed his advice, her feet paddling and her arms cutting through the water.
“I’m going to move my hands to your arms. But I won’t let you go,” Christian said with gentle
reassurance. “Keep kicking.” He slid his hands up her arms.
Despite her nerves, she continued to thrust her legs back and forth, her head dipping closer to the
water’s surface with every stroke. Her chin tilted slightly upwards as she fought the urge to panic and
breathed, “Christian...”
“I have you.” He swerved through the water, back and forth, taking steps. “You’re doing it.”
She felt a surge of confidence but soon realized that the water was dangerously high—up to
Christian’s neck. She froze, her fear quickly rising and her legs slowly sinking.
“It’s well,” he said softly.
She gripped his arms tightly again and strained to reach the bottom of the pond. Panic flared
inside her like the lighting of a candle. “I can’t touch the ground!”
“I can. Relax.”
“Take me back,” she ordered.
“Willow,” he said firmly. “This is your last chance to learn to swim.”
“Take me back.” She frantically glanced at the shoreline. It seemed so far away, and she couldn’t
make it on her own.
“Calm down. Look at me.”
Her focus remained fixated on the bank, which seemed to get smaller and smaller as she stared at
it. She pointed her toes and tried to feel the bottom, but the water hungrily covered her chin.
“Christian.”
“Willow, look at me,” he commanded, his voice gentle but firm. “I have you. You’re safe.”
She relaxed her body, and hot tears began to prick her eyes. Her lower lip quivered as she tried to
quell the sobs threatening to erupt from her chest.
“I’ll take you back if you want,” he said gently. “But this is your last chance to learn to swim. You
have all the skills. You need to use them. What do you want to do?”
Willow hesitated. She was afraid. What would her sisters think of her if she couldn’t overcome
her fear? Raven would call her a baby, just as she had when Willow fell into the lake all those years
ago. What about Sage? She wouldn’t say anything but would stare at her with disappointment. Willow
would stay in France while they traveled to England to follow their quest.
And what would Christian think? Her heart sank at the thought of failing him. She bit her lip,
staring into his patient, loving eyes before steadying herself with a deep breath and nodding.
 “Kick your feet and move your arms. Just as you were doing before,” Christian advised.
“You won’t let go?” she asked.
“Not until you’re ready.”
She thrust her feet, and the impetus carried her higher out of the water. But when she stopped, she
sank again. She realized she had control of where she was in the water. She paddled her feet,
adjusting the pressure to hold her head above the water.
She hesitantly took one hand from Christian’s shoulder and then the other, weaving them through
the water. He travelled with her, allowing her to lead as she experimented with her movements. At
first, she could only turn them in a circle, but after a few attempts, she figured out how to move her
legs and arms to propel them toward the shore.
She concentrated so fiercely on her direction and strokes that she didn’t realize Christian’s hands
were no longer on her waist. She paused to look for him, and as soon as she did, she began to sink.
Quickly, she threaded her hands and feet through the water again to keep herself afloat.
She spotted Christian walking beside her.
She stretched out her legs, and the tips of her toes scraped the mud at the bottom of the pond. She
splashed him before marching awkwardly through the water toward the shore. “You said you
wouldn’t let go.”
“Until you were ready.” He captured her arm and pulled her against him. “You realize you were
swimming, right?”
She shoved against his firm, slippery chest, angry he had released her.
“Willow. You did it.” He held her tightly, gazing down into her eyes.
As the reality of his words began to sink in, she regarded the water’s glassy surface. She had done
it—she had overcome her fear and kept herself afloat. “I did it?” She whispered in disbelief, her
voice barely audible.
Christian beamed with pride, replying, “You swam.”
Her eyes widened with shock, and a rush of joy filled her as she realized what he had said. “I did
it,” she repeated, throwing her arms triumphantly around his neck.
He spun her around in the water. His lips were soft and wet on hers, and his ardor sent a wave of
bliss through her body.
She whispered with conspiratorial excitement, “Let’s do it again.”
He grabbed her hand and held it up. “You are wrinkled. Maybe we should take a break.”
Willow groaned softly and nodded. She had been in the water for a while now, and even though
she didn’t want to, she should probably rest.
Christian guided her toward the shore. “We should tell the others.”
Willow grinned as she stepped onto the shore. She turned to look over the still pond and the
glistening water reflecting the rising moonlight. “I’d like to remain here for a bit.”
Christian nodded in understanding. “Be careful,” he said gently, and his voice trailed off as he
began to trek back to camp. “Don’t go into the water alone!” he shouted over his shoulder.
Willow sat on the bank, pulling her knees up to her chest. Her body hummed with newfound
confidence and happiness that seemed to quiver through her entire being. As the night darkened, she
watched in awe as the moonlight glinted off the surface of the still water. She had done it. A
permanent grin was fixed on her face.
She closed her eyes and let out a deep sigh of relief. Suddenly, the water didn’t seem as
formidable as it had before. She would be able to go on the boat to England with her family and
continue the journey.
 A movement near the rocks to her right caught her attention. A small plateau of flat rock jutted
above the water like a shelf, and she saw something at the base of the stone.
She leaned forward, squinting to get a better view. The golden locks of a little girl shone beneath
the moonlight as she climbed onto the rocks. As the child reached the plateau, she spun in circles with
her arms outstretched, twirling around as if trying to grasp something in the air.
Willow grinned as she fingered the end of the long braid draped over her shoulder. The girl’s hair
was the same shade as hers, standing out like a beacon against her pale skin.
The child’s squeal of delight resounded through the air.
Willow’s smile slowly faded as she scanned the area for anyone else that could have been
accompanying the child. No one was in sight. She furrowed her brow, worried. Was the little girl here
alone? Had she strayed from her parents?
Playing. The child was smiling and playing. Much as Willow had been before she’d slipped and
fallen into the water.
Willow’s heart beat faster as she walked toward the little girl. She could at least warn her to be
careful.
The child knelt on the rock, her tiny hands gripping its edges, and tipped toward the water to get a
closer look.
Willow’s stomach clenched as she picked up her pace, desperate to get to the girl in time.
The little girl stretched her fingers out, leaning precariously over the edge of the rock.
Willow sprinted toward her, her feet pounding against the grassy ground, and in an instant, she
leaped onto the rock. She lurched forward to grab the little girl…
Just as the child tumbled forward into the pond.
Willow’s fingers closed around air. She leaned over the edge, searching the dark water. The tiny
splash that had marked the child’s descent was long gone. Willow peered in, desperately seeking the
little girl. Through the murky depths, she saw the girl’s blonde curls floating, reaching up. Willow’s
terror mounted as she plunged her hand into the water, trying to clasp the girl’s hair, but she couldn’t
reach it.
Desperately, her gaze swept the shore, seeking something—a branch, a rope—anything to rescue
the little girl.
But there was nothing.
She bit down hard on her lower lip and closed her eyes, remembering the fear on the girl’s face
when she had seen her go underwater. The girl was drowning. Fear tightened Willow’s chest. She
looked back at the empty bank. “Christian!” she screamed into the still air, knowing she had to do
something immediately. “Chhrrissttiaannn!”
She pushed herself forward into the water.
Another random document with
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 TOM REYNOLDS AND MORIYAMA.

“Fun,” exclaimed Tom Reynolds, “You couldn’t have more fun than
I had. No boy could stand it.”
This was said to a boy-friend after Tom had come home from
Japan.
And Tom was right. He had had a splendid time.
Tom Reynolds was an American boy, whose father was engaged
in business which made it necessary for him to visit Yokohama in
Japan. It is probable that he would not have thought of taking Tom
with him on this trip if it had not been for Moriyama. This yellow
youth put the idea into Tom’s head, and Tom, who was as good a
talker as he was a walker, which is saying a great deal, managed to
convince his father that nothing would be of as great advantage to
him as a journey to Japan.
School was nothing to a trip like this, Tom argued, and he argued
so much that the end of it was he went to Japan.
Moriyama was a Japanese boy, and a first-rate fellow. He was one
of the many Japanese youths who came to America to be educated,
and he went to Tom’s school.
There these two boys became great friends. Moriyama was a very
quick, bright youth. He could speak English very well, and he was
rather better at English grammar than most of the other fellows in
that school. The other fellows explained this by saying that Moriyama
didn’t know anything about our grammar except what he had learned
from books, and of course the books were right. But they had
learned their grammar from all sorts of people, ever since they were
little bits of chaps. And so they had learned all sorts of grammar, and
had a good deal to unlearn when they came to the school.
But the fact was that Moriyama was as thoroughly in earnest about
his studies as most boys are about base-ball. So it was no wonder
that he succeeded.
He was not a large boy nor was he very young. As Tom put it, he
was a good deal smaller than he was young. There were plenty of
fellows in the school who could have whipped him, if they had
wanted to, but they didn’t want to, for two reasons. He was a quiet,
obliging boy, who seldom offended any one, and if any one had tried
to whip him they would first have had to whip Tom Reynolds, which
was no easy job. Tom had a fist as heavy as one end of a dumb-bell,
and the muscles on his arms swelled up a good deal like the other
end of a dumb-bell.

FUSI-YAMA.
Moriyama’s time at school was up, and he had to go to Japan.
Tom’s time wasn’t up, but he promised to study ever so hard when
he came back—with his mind improved by travel—and so the three
of them, Tom, Tom’s father, and Moriyama, sailed for Yokohama.
This story will not be long enough for me to tell anything about the
journey—how they sailed from New York to Aspinwall, and went
across the Isthmus of Panama by railroad, and then took another
steamship and crossed the Pacific Ocean; and how, at last they
steamed up the bay of Yedo, and saw towering up to the sky, the
great extinct volcano, Fusi-yama, the sacred mountain of Japan.
I cannot even tell about their landing at Yokohama, nor even very
much about Tom’s adventures in Japan, but I can give you some of
his experiences, and if you ever meet him, he can tell you the rest.
And he will be very apt to do it, too, if you are the right kind of a boy
or girl, for Tom is a great talker, and very sociable.
When they arrived at Yokohama Tom’s father took lodgings for
himself and his son at the house of an American merchant in the
town, but Moriyama went into the country where his family lived.
Of course it was very natural that he should want to see his father
and mother, and brothers and sisters, but Tom could not help feeling
sorry about it. It would have been such a capital thing to have had
Moriyama to take him around at the very beginning of his visit, and
tell him about all the curious things he saw.
But Tom had to do his sight-seeing pretty much by himself, at first,
for his father was very busy, and the Americans that he met did not
have much time to go about with a boy.
But Tom was not a bad fellow to take care of himself, and as his
father engaged for him a horse and a betto, as a man who attends
horses in Japan is called, he had every opportunity of going about as
much as he wanted to.
When Tom’s horse was brought out for him the first time there
were two bettos in attendance. One of them had clothes enough on,
but the other one looked as if he were just ready to take a swim.
 JAPANESE BETTOS.
This fellow was the one who accompanied Tom wherever he went.
He was a good-natured man and very ready to talk, and if Tom could
have understood a word he said, he might have been very
interesting.
But they got along capitally together, and Tom rode about
Yokohama all day, and came home at night, and asked questions of
his father. In this way he got some information about the things he
had seen, but in many cases he had to make up theories of his own
about things. And some very curious theories he made.
There was a porter who had a lodge at the door of the house
where they lived, and he used to strike on a gong every time any one
entered. Sometimes he struck once, and sometimes two or three
times, and Tom could not imagine what he did it for. He might have
asked his father about this, but he made up his mind that he would
find it out for himself.
You must not suppose that Tom’s father was not a good-natured
man, or that he objected to giving information to his son. But the
truth was that Mr. Reynolds was not only very busy all day, and very
often at night, with his merchant friends, but he did not know a great
deal about Japanese life himself.
As soon as he had got through with the most pressing part of his
business, he intended to go about and see Japan. He had never
been there before.
At first Tom thought that when he heard one crack on the gong it
meant that that was the first time he had come in. But when he heard
only one stroke the second and the third time, while some other
people got two taps the first time they came, he knew that this must
be a mistake.
Before he found out what these taps really meant Moriyama
returned to town. Tom greeted him heartily enough, and as they went
into the house together that morning the porter struck, first two taps,
then one.
“What is that banging for?” cried Tom. “I’ve been trying to find out
ever so long, but it’s too much for me.”
“Why two taps are for me and one is for you,” said Moriyama.
“How’s that?”
“He taps once for a citizen or a merchant,” said Moriyama, “and
twice for an officer or an interpreter—I didn’t tell you I had been
appointed an interpreter since I returned—and for a governor or a
consul he’d strike three times, and four times for an admiral or higher
officer.”
“Once for me and twice for you,” said Tom. “What a fool the man
must be!”
“He does what he has to do, according to our laws,” said
Moriyama.
“But anybody ought to know better than that,” cried Tom. “Look
here! I’m going to talk to him and then you can interpret what I say,
Mr. Two-taps.”
So Tom stepped up to the porter and remarked:
“I say old shaven head——how many bangs would he give for the
Prince of Wales, Moriyama?”
“Four, I think.”
“Well then, old fellow, princes belong to the set that they take kings
from, and I belong to the set that they take presidents from, and so
we’re even, and I want you to pound four times every time I come in
the house. Do you hear that? Tell him it, upside down, Moriyama.”
Moriyama, who was laughing at this speech, said something to the
porter in Japanese, but I do not think that he translated Tom’s words.
But Tom never got but one bang when he came in, though he used
to shake his fist at the porter every time he heard it.
Moriyama was very anxious that Tom should visit Yedo with him,
and so after a few days spent in further sight-seeing in Yokohama,
the two friends set off for the metropolis of Japan.
 ENTRANCE TO A JAPANESE TAVERN.

They traveled on horseback accompanied by their bettos and

other servants. They rode along the Tokaido, or great highway of
Japan, and they were by no means the only travelers, for the road
was crowded with foot passengers, men on horseback, and people
in palanquins. The whole road was one lively scene, and to Tom it
was a very interesting one. And the best of it was, that there was
nothing, no matter how curious or outlandish, that Moriyama could
not explain to him.
 They stopped on the way at a tavern, which was rather different
from anything of the kind that Tom had ever imagined.
When they reached the door they found a group of three or four
persons examining the goods of a man who seemed to be a peddler.
He was very anxious that his goods—and he did not seem to have
many of them—should be appreciated, and the bystanders were
quietly and earnestly listening to what he had to say.
But no one took notice of the newly arrived party.
After a little while, the landlord made his appearance, and though
he seemed glad to see them, and brought them a few eggs and
some other trifling refreshments, he soon went away again, and they
saw no more of him until several hours later when they took their
leave.
But their own servants cooked them a good dinner of things they
had with them, and seemed to make themselves perfectly at home in
the household of the tavern.
Tom said it was a good deal like working your passage on a ship,
but Moriyama could see no objection to it. He was sure, he said, that
he would rather be waited on by his own servants than by any one
likely to be found at a roadside tavern, and he was sure their own
provisions were better than anything likely to be found there.
This was all true enough, but Tom could not help thinking what a
row would be kicked up in an American tavern, no matter how small
and mean it might be, if the guests brought their own provisions, and
cooked them in the tavern kitchen.
They stopped at other places, at one tea-house in particular,
where there were plenty of waiters, plenty of guests, and a very
great plenty of tea.
They were two days on the road, although the distance was only
about thirty miles.
It is impossible to tell one half that these two boys did and saw in
Yedo.
 They saw all sorts of shops, with curious signs, tea-houses
thronged with customers; people at work at various trades—in
workshops that were entirely exposed to the view of passers-by, and
almost everything arranged in a different way from what Tom thought
was right and proper.

JAPANESE BLACKSMITHS.
Here were a couple of blacksmiths with scarcely a stitch of clothes
on, sitting down to their work, and one of them blowing the bellows
with his heel.
 LITTLE JUGGLERS IN STREETS OF YEDO.
Then they came upon a troupe of boy-jugglers directed by a man
who sang horribly sounding words in a rasping voice, while he
played upon a tambourine with two drum-sticks.
The boys’ heads were stuck into bags surmounted by hideous
masks, and as they twisted themselves into all sorts of distorted
positions, one of them standing on his hands on the stomach of
another, who leaned backwards until his hands touched the ground,
Tom thought they would certainly dislocate their spines.
He had turned many a handspring, and was quite expert on the
horizontal bar at the gymnasium, but he never saw such body-
twisting as this.
He would have watched these boys as long as they chose to
perform, if Moriyama had not forced him away to look at other things.
 They visited the parade ground,
where they saw the soldiers drilling
and practising with swords and
muskets. The Japanese soldiers
now use firearms, but they still carry
one or two of their old-fashioned
swords, and when they are in full
costume they wear paper hats.
Some of the fencing was very
interesting to Tom. He had fenced a
little at home, himself, but this
vigorous work with swords was new
to him.

JAPANESE SOLDIER.
 NOON SCENE ON A JAPANESE CANAL.
The weather was quite warm during Tom’s visit to Yedo, and about
the middle of the day the streets—especially the canals which take
the place of streets, presented a very peculiar scene. Scarcely a soul
was visible. Empty boats were fastened all along the shores, and all
the houses, glistening in the hot sun, seemed as if they had been
deserted. Not a sound was to be heard; and it was but very seldom
that a moving thing was to be seen.
It was very much, as Tom said, like the enchanted city in the
Arabian Nights, where all the inhabitants were changed into stone.
“But if you were to go poking about into some of those houses,”
said Moriyama, “you’d soon find that these people are not changed
into stone.”
Here and there the boys could see, between the screens that
stood at the entrances of the houses, the people inside eating their
dinners. The straw table-cloth—if there can be such a thing where
there is no table—was always spread upon the floor, and the family
sat around it eating rice. Sometimes they had meat or fish and
vegetables, but Moriyama said their principal food was rice. And
from the way they were eating it, they seemed to like it.
One night the boys went out on one of the many bridges in the
city, and saw hundreds of small boats cruising about in all directions,
with different colored lanterns hung about them; and besides these
there were rafts from which fireworks were continually set off. The
scene was charming, and Tom would have enjoyed it thoroughly had
it not been for the music. This was so unearthly and hideous that
poor Tom would have put his fingers in his ears had he not been
afraid of offending the people around him.
But before he left Japan he became used to this music, and
sometimes even fancied that he could make out some kind of a tune
from the curious sounds of the samsins and the gottos, which are
Japanese guitars and harps.
One day the boys saw a very jolly sort of a game which Tom
determined to introduce in his school when he returned to the United
States.
A long cable was stretched over one of the bridges, and two
parties were formed, with about a hundred men in each.
One of these parties went to one end of the bridge and the other to
the opposite end, and then the men seized the rope, and each party
endeavored to pull the other over the bridge.
They pulled and tugged and yelled, until one side, finding that it
was losing ground, suddenly, at a signal, let go the rope and over
backwards went every man on the other side, pell-mell in one great
kicking heap. Sometimes, Moriyama said, the rope broke and then
everybody went over backward.
When the game was finished, they all went off laughing to some of
the nearest tea-houses, and had a jolly time together, friends and
enemies, all in the same crowd.
 Among the most interesting places visited was a Japanese school.
This was the rarest school that Tom ever saw. The little shaven-
headed boys and girls were all seated on the floor, and the master
sat on the floor too. In front of him was an affair like a stunted music-
stand, on which he put his book, and the old tyrant leaned forward
and cracked the bad boys with his fan. Think of an American teacher
whipping his scholars with a fan.
Some of the youngsters were bare-footed, and some wore
stockings made something like mittens, with a separate place for the
big toe. The books were full of such a curious mixture of what
seemed to Tom like black blots and scratches that he thought the
Japanese youngsters must be extraordinarily smart to be able to
make any sense out of them.
When Tom heard that these characters were read from top to
bottom of the page instead of across he expressed the opinion that
the Japanese probably added up their letters as they stood in the
columns so as to find out what the whole thing came to.
The more he learned about the language of Japan, its different
dialects, and its two alphabets, the greater became his respect for
those who obtained a Japanese education.
“It must take you all your lives to learn how to read and write,” said
he to Moriyama.
“We believe,” said the Japanese boy, “that it takes all of a person’s
life to learn anything.”
 A JAPANESE SCHOOL.
That this was a common opinion in Japan Tom soon found out for
himself. Whatever the trade or profession in which a man was
engaged, he seemed to have been at it all his life, and ten to one his
father and his great-grandfather before him had followed the same
business, and each one of the family had given so much time and
attention to his business that he became almost perfect in it—as far
as Japanese perfection went.
 JAPANESE WRESTLERS.
For instance Tom went to a wrestling match, where the wrestlers,
great powerful fellows, all belonged to a tribe or guild that according
to their account, had existed ever since the third year of the first
Mikado, which in our chronology would be the year 658 B.C.
 JAPANESE BALANCING FEATS.

At any rate, they were men whose ancestors for hundreds of years
had been wrestlers, and they themselves gave up all their time and
thought to the attainment of perfection in their art.
 Consequently they were splendid wrestlers.
Other gymnastic performers were equally proficient in different
lines. Some of them had great long noses fitted to their faces, and on
these noses they balanced themselves and each other, and did
many other astonishing feats.
One man laid on his back supporting on one foot a fellow who
stood on his nose, while, on the prostrate man’s nose, another man
stood, balancing on his nose an umbrella, while he kept five or six
balls flying in the air, catching each one as it fell and tossing it up
again, never allowing one of them to drop.
Each of these performers, no matter what else he was doing, held
a fan in one hand, which was kept constantly in motion.
And in all the performances there was never a mishap or a
mistake. Every man was absolutely perfect in his part.
When Tom went back to Yokohama he told his father that he had
made up his mind that he was going to be absolutely perfect in some
one thing. If the Japanese could succeed in this, he was sure he
could.
He had not made up his mind what he would do, but it was to be
something.
His father commended this resolution, and suggested arithmetic.
Tom did not feel altogether certain about arithmetic, but as soon as
he could think of a good thing, he intended to commence the study
of perfection.
When his father laughed a little at his enthusiasm Tom said that
one great difficulty would be that he was afraid he could not find out
what his father and grandfather had been perfect in. If he could do
that, it would help him very much.
But we cannot mention all the curious things that Tom and
Moriyama saw in Japan.
It would require a book to tell about the wonderful processions,
such as that of the white elephant, which, by the way, Tom thought
was a real animal, until he saw that its legs did not move, and that
under each of its feet were two human legs belonging to the men
who carried the huge stuffed creature—and the many other strange
things that they saw in the streets and houses of Japan.

PROCESSION OF THE WHITE ELEPHANT.

Suffice it to say, that since Tom came home—and it has been

some years since his trip to Japan—he has earnestly endeavored to
discover what particular thing it would be best for him to learn
thoroughly and completely.
I am not sure that he has even yet made up his mind upon the
subject, but he is convinced that if his experience among the
Japanese had no better effect than to teach him that to know how to
do something perfectly well, it is greatly to be desired, and well worth
striving for—no matter how much time and toil it may require.
 LUMINOUS INSECTS.

The fire-flies that flit about so merrily on our pleasant summer

evenings, emit little sparkles of light, that seem like tiny stars, shining
among the grass and trees. Sometimes the air is full of these
twinkling lights, which are very pretty, though not sufficiently brilliant
to help us to find our way on a dark night, or to bring into our houses
to save the expense of candles or kerosene.

HUT LIGHTED BY BEETLES.

Occasionally we see, at night, in the grass by the roadside, or in a
field, a very small trail of a bright-green light; and, on stooping down
to examine into this singular appearance, we find on the ground an
insignificant little ugly worm, to which Nature has given the power of