Read The Templar's Penance: (Knights Templar 15) for Free Online Page B

de Villamor, the woman who had been his wife.
    Gregory was not alone in spotting her. Although Parceval had not set off until some time after him, he had not halted for wine or food and arrived in the square at the same time as the anguished penitent.
    Parceval had caught sight of Gregory staring at him several times during their journey, and at first it had worried him, thinking the old dolt had recognised him, but he felt sure now that he was secure. It was only the snobbery of an older man staring at his social inferior. Bloody bastard. It was embarrassing enough, having to wear this filthy clothing, and assume the shabby appearance of a peasant. But it was, after all, what he had intended. No one who knew him as a wealthy merchant would recognise him like this, surely.
    Ah, it was good to be back in the warmer country of Galicia. The last time he had been here, it was a little later in the year, at a time when the local people were harvesting their fruits and grains. Now, in the early summer, it was certainly damper, but atleast the rain was warm – far better than the miserable conditions which had prevailed in Ypres when he left. That had been far colder. Christ Jesus, yes. Although the circumstances of his departure might have coloured his feelings.
    About his neck was a small skin filled with water, and he took a swallow now as he made his way through the crowds, darting between pilgrims and wanting to curse as one stood on his foot, another bumped into him and a third pushed him aside on the way to a pie-seller. If these people had any respect, they would surely make way for him. He was rich, damn them all!
    Not so rich now, of course.
    It was so unfair that he should have been made to pay. In his eyes, the killing – he refused to call it murder – was completely justified. Hellin van Coye had deserved death, and Parceval had dealt it out. The whole town had supported his action, and although he had been forced to pay compensation to the widow – who was grateful to him for making her a widow and ending her living hell – and must complete this penitential pilgrimage to Compostela, that didn’t change his basic belief that he was innocent of any crime. Even now the thought of Hellin’s crime made him feel faint. Hellin, the man who had killed Parceval’s soul. He could feel the sickness wash through him, as though it was washing through his soul, polluting him still. Please, God, he begged silently, forgive me when I have completed this pilgrimage. Don’t forsake me when I need Your help so badly!
    He felt the bitterness bubble up again, and tried to force it down. There was no point in anger now. He had done what he needed to do, and that was that. He was here to show his remorse – ha! Remorse for the death of that devil’s spawn? With a cynical shake of his head, he told himself that when he returned to Ypres, that would be enough to earn him rewards from people who would assume him to be still more decent a man with whom to do business, because he had made this journey (a notably expensive trip, after all). And if some refused to deal with him because of his ‘crime’, others would come to himbecause he was known to be someone who would stand up for his rights and his property, surely a notable citizen.
    The tears were back. Him
notable
, after all his crimes?
    He brushed the tears away and took a deep breath. There was no reason for him to feel guilt. Guilt was for the guilty. He was here to show that he was accepted as an innocent not only by the city’s ruling élite, but even by Saint James himself. He had not
meant
to do anything wrong. It was the fault of beer – and of Hellin van Coye.
    Pleased with this conclusion, he squared his shoulders. Just then, gazing ahead, he caught a glimpse of
her
– the Doña Stefanía – and his heart began to beat a little faster. He could remember every curve of that delectable body from the time they had met. Beautiful. The memory hadn’t dimmed. Christ