The Outlaws of Ennor: (Knights Templar 16) Read Online Free PDF Page A

again.
    ‘I am Sergeant to the Lord of the Manor at Ennor,’ the man said. ‘You can call me Thomas.’
    ‘Where are you taking me?’
    Thomas had an easy manner about him. He eyed Robert speculatively, and appeared to like what he saw. For his part, Robert was impressed with this Sergeant. He was a slimly built man of maybe four or five and twenty years, with a narrow chin and thin lips. His hair was fair and he had the brightest eyes Robert had ever seen. With fingers as elegant as a lady’s, he tapped his chin thoughtfully. ‘I’m taking you to sanctuary, boy. To my master’s manor. You’ll be safe from the law there, and you can help us. We have need of a brave man.’
    Robert could still remember the sight of that bloody corpse. The whole of Jack’s back had been crimson with blood. Someone had pulled him over, and Robert had seen his face. It had been terribly cut about, but underneath the blood there was an awful pallor. White, waxen – it had been even more fearsome dead than alive. There was evil in that face, an unholy foulness. At the time, Robert had shivered with revulsion and relief. But then he realised he would never see
her
again. That made him sigh.
    ‘Don’t worry, boy! Where you’re going, you’ll be safe enough,’ Thomas had chuckled.
    So he had saved Robert. For some reason, Robert’s reputation soon spread over the island of Ennor. He was considered a berserker, and no one would dare to insult him. Even when he was given the post of gather-reeve, no man in Ennor was rude to him. They were all scared. And while he strutted, he felt sure that no one could see through him. He was no murderer, no bloodthirsty killer, he was just a man protecting his woman. Although he’d not been able to taste the sweet fruits of his prize, because he had bolted with Thomas.
    Women would be the death of him, he thought with a quick grin, little knowing how soon that thought would be proved true.
    OnSt Nicholas, the large island north of Ennor, David the reeve rose to his feet as the first gusts blew through the hut, and went to the door.
    Outside, the low scrubby bushes were being thrown from side to side by the wind. Out over the sea he could see the dark line on the horizon, and when he sniffed the air, he could smell the metallic edge. This storm was going to be a mad, curling one, he thought.
    There were many different types of storm, and having lived here all his life, David knew all of them. Most peculiar were the water-spouts, which appeared suddenly like tall cones of terror, moving with fearsome speed across the water, the dread of any craft which got in their path. Then there were the sudden squalls, the ferocious gales. It was as though the flat seas that surrounded the islands allowed the very worst of all weathers to take the place by surprise.
    This did not look to be one of the worst, but nonetheless an unpleasant little tempest in its own right. He wouldn’t want to be out at sea in it. A curling storm was one in which the wind seemed confused. It whipped about from one side to another, ripping at sails until they sheared, unless they were reefed carefully.
    At least it wasn’t racing to the islands like some bad blows. There was time for the islanders to protect their own vessels, and as he glanced down towards the vill, he could see the last of the boats being brought into safer waters, the two sailors rowing hard. Around the islet, David knew that the other boats would all be up on dry land or sheltered by the encircling arms of the porth. They should be safe enough. That was more than could be said for ships blown by the storm from their allotted courses. All too often they would be hurled against the rocks of the islands and broken to pieces. If that happened, all the men aboard would die.
    The people of the islands had learned to enjoy the benefits when ships were wrecked, for despite their sorrow for the dead, all shared in the sea’s generosity when cargoes washed up on the