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to European royalty and individual nobles. However, as the Templars’ wealth and power increased, so did the suspicion and jealousy among some members of the nobility.
    Circenn hadn’t been surprised when the Order’s success became the very reason for its downfall. He’d anticipated it, yet been helpless to prevent it; the politics of Pope and king were too mighty for one man to influence.
    Circenn recalled well how, nearly a dozen years past, the Templars’ wealth had drawn the deadly attention of the French king, Philippe the Fair, who was desperate to line his coffers. In 1305, Philippe maligned the Order, convincing Pope Clement V that the Templars were not holy defenders of the Catholic faith, but rather seeking to destroy it.
    Philippe campaigned exhaustively against the knights, and accused the Templars of heinous acts of heresy and sacrilege. In 1307, the Pope gave the king the order he’d been waiting for: the right to arrest all the Templars in France, to confiscate their properties, and to direct an inquisition. So the infamous, bloody, and biased trial of the Templars had begun.
    Circenn ran a hand through his hair and scowled. Knights had been arrested, imprisoned, and forced through torture to confess to sins of Philippe’s choosing. Even more had been burned at the stake. In trial, the knights had been permitted no defense advocates; they had not even been allowed to know the names of their accusers and witnesses against them. The so-called “trial” had been a witch-hunt, deviously orchestrated to strip the Templars of their fabulous riches.Adding insult to injury, the Pope had issued a papal bull that suppressed the Order and denied it recognition. The few knights who managed to escape imprisonment or death had become outcasts, without country or home.
    When Circenn had realized the knights’ downfall was inevitable, he had hastened to meet with Robert the Bruce and, with Robert’s approval, had sent word to the Order that they would be welcomed in Scotland. Robert had offered them sanctuary, and in return, the powerful warrior-monks had turned their fighting skills to the battle against England.
    The Templars were formidable warriors, trained in weaponry and strategy, and they were essential to Scotland’s cause. Over the past few years, Circenn had been stealthily slipping them into the Bruce’s troops as commanders, with the Bruce’s assent. Already the Scots were warring better, implementing cunning strategies, and winning minor battles.
    Circenn knew that if he faltered now, if he began to break oaths or did anything that jeopardized the Templar’s loyalty, he might as well throw away the past ten years of his life, along with his love for his motherland.
    *   *   *
    Lisa had no idea how much time had passed since she’d sat on the floor. But it was long enough for her to realize that time didn’t pass in such a fashion for dreamers. If one sat still in a dream and did nothing, the dream either ended or moved on to some new and incredible adventure colored by shades of the absurd.
Absurd like the proportions of that man’s body
, she thought irritably.
    Pushing herself up from the floor with her hands, she paused in a crouch, observing the wide, flat stones beneath her palms. Cool. Hard. Dry, with a skimming of stonedust.
Entirely
too tangible. Rising to her feet, she began to examine her surroundings.
    The chamber was large, lit by fat, soapy candles. The walls, fashioned of massive stone blocks, were hung with random tapestries. A huge bed occupied the center of the room, and several chests were scattered about with neatly folded fabrics piled atop them. The room was spartan, tidy. The fireplace was the only concession to atmosphere; there was not a single woman’s touch in the room. Pausing near the bathtub, she dipped her hand in the water; tepid—another sensation too tangible to deny.
    She moved to the fireplace and flinched at the confoundingly real sensation of warmth.