Cruel Shame (Knights of Templar Academy #3) - Sofia Daniel Page 0,11

me with a worried glance. “We’re not expecting anything from you this weekend.”

I glanced up at Maxwell, who shook his head. “You need rest.”

“Why don’t we order some room service?” Kendrick walked across the room to a glass dining table with four chairs upholstered in ivory leather. “We can work out what you’re going to do on Monday.”

“Yeah,” I whispered.

Actually, food sounded brilliant. I stepped into the room, glancing from left to right and wishing my stomach would stop fluttering. It wasn’t like I’d been brought up poor. Billy Hancock’s house was massive and expensively decorated, but it was gaudy compared to the tasteful decor of the suite.

I shook off those thoughts. Why the bloody hell was I worried about interior design when someone had only this morning nearly killed me?

Orlando guided me to a leather three-seater and placed me in the middle. He sat on my left, while Maxwell slipped into the seat on my right. I glanced at Kendrick, who leafed through a leather menu.

“Do you come here often?” I tried not to picture the knights here with Elizabeth.

“Most Glasgow weekends.” Maxwell wrapped an arm around my shoulder. “More importantly, how are you feeling?”

I rubbed my temples, which throbbed with the beginnings of a headache. It was the type when every muscle had gone so rigid that the bones felt like they would implode under the pressure.

Orlando placed my hands between his and rubbed life into my fingers. His warmth seeped into my bones, chasing away the numbness that had taken over my heart. Nobody spoke for a while, but all three of the knights turned to me with expectant gazes. That’s when I remembered it was my turn to speak.

“Right now, it feels like I’m about to step in the ring with a heavyweight champion and there’s no turning back.”

The boys exchanged glances. I wasn’t sure if they agreed that I was in a fight with an unbeatable enemy but I continued talking. “Mr. Burgh thinks I should retreat, but the Liddells will keep coming after me.”

Kendrick closed the menu and strolled to the armchair on our left. Beside it, a phone sat on a glass coffee table. “There’s a lot of money at stake,” he said. “I think it’s the reason the Liddells keep Father Neapolitan close.”

My shoulders slumped at the thought of my supposed biological father. The man despised me and would probably side with Lady Liddell to have me killed.

Kendrick picked up the phone and my stomach rumbled in anticipation of food. From the way the sun hung low in the sky, it felt like four in the afternoon. I ordered soup from the express menu, and the boys ordered minute steaks.

The food came quicker than expected, brought in by a short waiter, who settled the covered dishes on the suite’s dining table. Kendrick signed for the food and walked the waiter to the door.

“Were you at the shooting?” the waiter asked as he stepped into the hallway.

“Not exactly,” Kendrick replied.

“It’s all over the TV.” The man rose to his tiptoes, trying to peer over Kendrick’s shoulder. “One of the schoolgirls was driven mad by grief and shot at another girl.”

I slid further into my seat, avoiding the waiter’s gaze.

The door clicked shut, and Orlando switched on the television to reveal a reporter with frizzy red hair standing next to Elizabeth on the academy’s front steps.

“Miss Liddell,” she said in a smooth Glaswegian accent. “How are the students coping with this awful tragedy?”

“Myra was in my year.” Elizabeth wiped away an imaginary tear. “We barely spoke but everyone believed her to be harmless.”

“Other students tell me you were close,” replied the reporter. “Would you care to elaborate?”

Elizabeth’s faux-distress dropped for a fraction of a second, only to be replaced with a narrow-eyed determination to discover who had been telling tales. “When Myra’s mother died, I reached out to her to offer counsel. You know, as a christian.”

The reporter raised a brow. “Some say you helped Myra Highmore come to terms with being a lesbian.”

“I will continue to pray for Myra’s soul,” Elizabeth said with a bite to her voice.

“Let’s hope the young lady in question gets the help she needs,” replied the reporter. “This is Morag Davonna from Scotland News, with Lady Elizabeth Liddell, daughter of Lord Liddell, Archbishop of Scotland. Over to Rossalyn for the weather.”

I shot out of my seat. “Fucking bitch!”

Orlando reached for my hand. “Lilah—”

“No!” I snatched my hand away. “Myra was a stupid cow, but no force on earth