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above her head as if in offering.
The Templar commander shouted again for her to deliver the cup into his hands, but Alethea, kneeling
meekly in the snow, remained unmoved, holding the cup just out of his reach.
De Bracineaux gave a grunt of impatience. Releasing his grip on Cait's hair, but still holding the sword to
her neck, he reached out for the cup with his free hand. Leaning far forward, he took a half-step towards
the cup. Arm extended, fingers stretching, he grasped the golden rim and plucked the Holy Chalice from
between Alethea's hands. As he reached out, the dagger at his belt swung free.
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Alethea rose with catlike quickness. Her long fingers closed on the weapon as she came up. With a
single, smooth stroke she drew the knife from the sheath and drove the point of the blade up under de
Bracineaux's chin.
With a startled cry, he dropped the cup and the sword. Cait fell forward on to her hands, then collapsed
face down in the snow.
De Bracineaux seized Alethea's wrist and tried to pull the dagger away. Wrapping her other hand
around the Templar's, Alethea stepped nearer and, with all her strength, drove the knife blade to the hilt.
The two stood for a moment in a weird and deadly embrace; and then, with a muffled cry of rage and
pain, de Bracineaux pulled his hand free. He made a sweep with his arm and knocked the girl aside.
Alethea fell back in the snow. De Bracineaux pulled the blade from his neck and turned on her. He
lurched forward, slashing wildly with the dagger as blood coursed freely from the hole in his throat.
Rognvald rushed in, sword ready.
Alethea lay where she had fallen, gazing up at him - neither trembling, nor cowering in fear, but with calm
defiance. Commander de Bracineaux took one step and then another. Blood cascaded from his wound,
staining his beard and soaking into his tunic. He reached for her, the knife gleaming red in the sun. But as
he made to strike, de Bracineaux's legs buckled beneath him. He fell on his side, blood spewing a bright
crimson arc in the snow.
Rognvald, crouching behind his sword, put himself between Alethea and the Templar. De Bracineaux
hauled himself on to his knees, regarding Alethea dully, as if trying to understand how a nun could have
done such a contemptible thing to him. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words came out in a dark,
bloody bubbling which gushed over his teeth and chin, and splashed down his white surcoat, blotting out
the red Templar cross on his chest.
Alethea rose to her feet, pushed past Rognvald and stood over de Bracineaux, gazing down with pitiless
indifference at her stricken enemy. Unable to speak, he lifted uncomprehending eyes to her impassive
face; his jaw worked, forming a single word: why?
'Because,' she said, as the wounded Templar slumped lower in the snow, 'Lord Duncan had two
daughters.'
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Rognvald rushed to Cait's side and knelt beside her in the snow. Alethea took a quick step and kicked
the dagger from de Bracineaux's slack grasp. She stooped and retrieved the Blessed Cup, backing away
as the Templar made a last scrabbling grab for it.
'My lady,' said Rognvald, 'you are hurt.'
'No,' replied Cait as she tried to get up. 'I -' The pain made her gasp.
Rognvald eased her down once more. 'Rest a moment. Let me look at the wound.' Dropping his sword,
he shook the glove from his hand and pressed his fingertips to the side of Cait's neck just below the jaw
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where blood was oozing in a thin crimson sheet down her throat. 'It is a nasty cut,' he observed, 'but not
deep, I think.'
'Help me to my feet.'
He was just gathering her into his arms to lift her, when there came a sudden rush from behind. Rognvald
glanced back to see Baron d'Anjou bearing down on them - a savage leer on his face and a knife in his
hand. He ran with surprising quickness, closing the distance in an instant. Rognvald spun around;
knowing, even as he reached for his blade, that he would be too late, he placed himself between d'Anjou
and Caitriona, shielding her with his body.
Yngvar darted in from the side, flailing with his sword as d'Anjou passed. The blade slashed, went wide.
D'Anjou dodged the blow easily. Closing on them, he prepared to strike. Cait saw the baron's arm draw
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