Immortal Hope: The Curse of the Templars Page 14

  Damn it all, she had to get into the inner sanctum. There she suspected she’d find written histories on the Order. Which would serve her needs better than anything—she’d have actual fact to cite.

  If not for her death vision, she’d tell Merrick who she was and be done with the whole thing. Yet she couldn’t shake the feeling that the oath he wanted her to swear would lead directly to that death. Until she knew exactly what caused that chilling scene, she had to keep her mouth shut. Never mind all the other complications that oath presented, namely her promotion, or lack thereof if she pledged herself to Merrick.

  God, she hoped seducing Merrick would do the trick. She needed to figure out that plan fast.

  She pressed a hand to her growling stomach. And she really needed to talk to Mikhail about the food. A week here, and she’d lose ten pounds. Not to mention the fact that these men really weren’t eating well at all. Who subsisted off of greasy slop and hard-as-nails bread?

  Anne turned off the faucets and stepped out of the shower. Wrinkling her nose, she stared at her clothes. Right about now, she’d give anything for her comfortable sweats. With a heavy sigh, she bent over and picked up her jeans. She could live with another day in them. She’d borrow another of Merrick’s shirts. The socks were a necessity she could stomach, but she absolutely refused to spend another day in dirty underclothes.

  She toed her thong panties aside and shrugged into the rest of the garments. When the denim brushed against her bare bottom, a slightly wicked feeling made her giggle. Surrounded by a hundred knights or so, and she was going commando.

  Humming to herself, she stuffed her feet into her ankle boots and pulled open the hallway door. Time for a chat with Mikhail before her stomach turned inside out. Assuming she could find his office in that maze of tunnels below. She hadn’t exactly had the best view when Merrick brought her there the first time.

  It felt good to be working toward something useful, and in better spirits, she descended into the underground barracks. There she searched her memory for which way Merrick had gone. Left. He’d gone left, then right, and then stopped at the end of the hall.

  Oddly, the halls filled with silence as she made her way down their darkened lengths. Identical doors faced the corridor, dark and imposing. Behind a few, snores drifted to her ears. Beyond others, she caught the rustle of movement, a shuffle of feet, the scrape of a chair. It was as if the entire Order obeyed some code for early morning silence.

  Then again, Merrick had defended the gate at night. Last night, the halls had been full, filled with laughter and the camaraderie of men.

  She stepped over a neatly folded surcoat outside a door and stopped, one eyebrow arched. A grin threatened, amusement rising as she recalled the ancient Templar Code and observed the certain evidence of a broken oath. These men weren’t so archaic after all—someone had violated the vow of chastity. His punishment came in the surrendering of his sword and surcoat. Later, when he’d served penance enough, he would have his weapon returned. It was a minor infraction, proof that no matter their purpose, the knights were hardened men. And like the rest of their gender, they didn’t take abstinence too well.

  Stifling a misplaced laugh, she eyed the imposing barrier at the end of the hall. With a deep breath, she squared her shoulders, stopped in front of it, and knocked.

  “Enter.”

  The heavy wood gave way to her shove with a creak. A slow smile filtered across Mikhail’s features. “Good morning, Lady Anne. To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”

  Her cheeks burned at his flattery. “I, ah—” She shifted her weight. “I wanted to talk to you, if you aren’t busy?”

  Mikhail’s chuckle filled the room with tranquillity. “I am always busy, Anne, but I have time. What is on your mind?”

  “Um.” She wrung her hands together. “The food.”

  He lifted a coppery eyebrow. “What is wrong with our food?”

  Her face flamed as she admitted, “It’s terrible. These men deserve better. Healthier menus with more flavor. They’ve been through too much to suffer through the kind of meal I endured last night on a regular basis.”

  “The men are rather resistant to change.”

  “Well, for men who’ve lived through centuries, their taste buds are still in the Dark Ages.” She winced, the shocking truth having popped out before she could stop it.

  To Anne’s surprise, Mikhail let out a low laugh. His amusement emboldened her, and she met his gaze with a stiffer spine. “I assume I’m not the only woman who’s going to come here?”

  He shook his head. “Nay, you are not. You are the first, but not the only.”

  “Then I suggest you let me do something with that menu. I don’t know a woman alive who’d eat last night’s stew.”

  Mikhail’s muffled amusement shook his shoulders. “Not to your liking?”

  “Yuck. And really, I think if you’ll let me, your knights will be much happier. It wouldn’t take much to make simple meals rewarding. Would you please let me do this for them?”

  “Very well then, milady. The men are accustomed to women taking charge of estates. I am sure they will not grumble overmuch at your interference in their diet. I will find another task for the cook to do. Or perhaps you could involve him?”

  “Oh.” She paused, taken aback by Mikhail’s willingness. She’d anticipated a battle over this. Had half expected she’d have to beseech Merrick and get him to step in on her behalf. Recovering with an uneasy smile, she nodded vigorously. “Of course. But I wasn’t talking about my taking on the cooking. That’s a disaster waiting to happen. I wanted to hire a professional.”

  His amusement drained from his face. “You want to bring an outsider in, knowing full well there are secrets here?”

  “Um. Yes. You see…” She pulled in a deep breath. “I read other people’s energy. I can see the lives they’ve lived, feel their disposition by touch. I can choose someone who would be trustworthy.”

  He considered her for several long moments before slowly nodding. “Gabriel has told me of your ability. I will trust you with this. But give me a day to talk to our cook. He is rather temperamental, and his sword arm is useless.”

  “I’ll see he’s involved in my decision. Maybe that will pacify him a little.”

  “It would be kind of you.”

  She nodded, uncertain what else to say.

  “Anything else?”

  Taking the dismissal for what it was, Anne shook her head. “Thank you.” At the door, she remembered Dr. Knowles. Turning around, she asked quietly, “Did Merrick speak to you about the letter to my colleague?”

  Mikhail folded his arms behind his head and reclined in his chair. “He did. I have handled the matter. You may feel free to enjoy your stay without worry.”

  “Oh, good! Thank you.”

  The way he turned his attention back to the book in front of him told her she’d been excused. She ventured back into the hall. As she exited, a knight with reddish hair passed by, conjuring images of Declan lying in a pool of his own blood. He’d been hurt so badly and Merrick had said little about him since. It was early, but maybe he’d be awake and she could check in. Maybe he’d like a little bit of company.

  She turned around and stuck her head back inside Mikhail’s door. “May I visit Declan?”

  “Certainly.” An approving smile touched the corner of his eyes.

  “Ah … How do I get there?”

  Mikhail chuckled once more. “Merrick needs to draw you a map. The infirmary is at the end of the hall opposite this one.”

  “Thanks.” She grinned and shut the door.

  Her steps felt light as she hurried through the torchlight toward the infirmary. At her light knock, the door opened. Soft brown curls and the brightest pair of blue eyes she’d ever seen greeted her. She didn’t need an introduction. Long lashes, a face so pretty it could make women cry, the similar outline of ethereal wings rising from behind stocky shoulders—he must be Uriel.

  “
Thou hast come as I expected. Enter, if thou would.” He stepped back and swung the door wide.

  Anne’s eyes pulled to the large form lying motionless in a nearby bed. Long reddish hair hung in clumps around Declan’s face. His features were pale, lacking the robust quality that she’d seen the day they first met. Hooked up to an IV, he looked small and weak. Nothing like the dominating Scot who laughed freely. Worry slithered down her spine. For a man who was supposedly mending, he had a long way to go. “Is he okay?”

  Uriel took a seat in a chair in the corner and folded his hands in his lap. “He sleeps sedated. The wound is stitched, but the sword nicked bone. Were he awake, he would suffer incredible pain. In a few days more, he shall regain enough strength to feel it less.”

  Sympathy lanced through her, and she turned a sad smile on Declan’s bandaged arm. “He’s not going to be fighting for a while, is he?”

  “Nay. Several more weeks shall pass before he mends.”

  “Oh.” She’d actually thought it would take longer, but didn’t feel like admitting her stupidity. “So he won’t know I’m here?”

  Uriel shook his curly head. “Thou should return when the sun has set. He shall recognize thee then.”

  She took in the rise and fall of Declan’s chest, watched the fluid drip down the tube. She hardly knew him, and yet she worried. He was such a priceless treasure among a world of headstrong, dominating men. If this changed his good humor, he’d become like all the rest. And she’d really had enough of the scowls, the curt words, the cold demeanors that cropped up out of nowhere.

  She glanced over her shoulder at Uriel. “You’re certain he won’t wake sooner?”

  “He shall not.”

  “Why did someone do this to him? Aren’t these men supposed to be brothers?”

  Uriel’s expression remained impassive, but his blue eyes bore into her as if he sought to read her very soul. One long, slow blink, followed by a string of mumbled words she couldn’t decipher, prickled the hair on the back of her neck. Then, that same tranquillity that accompanied Mikhail’s presence enveloped her. His words reached her mind, though she couldn’t see his lips move.

  There is kindness in what thou perceives as cruelty. His fate is unchangeable. And yet, thy companions seek to alter what is already written. Take heed, Lady Anne, for the bond of brotherhood runs deeper than the oceans, and in those fathoms, loyalty can disillusion.

  With the riddled message came a poignant vision of Caradoc raising his sword against Declan. The Scot stood in his chambers, unprepared for the attack. But as shock widened his eyes, in the brief moment before his expression yielded to the agony of his wound, Anne read gratitude.

  Caradoc had wounded him on purpose. Declan had been grateful. This injury then, this confinement that kept him out of battle, he welcomed. And if what Uriel said was true, Caradoc acted out of kindness.

  But what was Declan seeking to avoid? Death? She shook her head, trying to make sense of it all. She looked back to Declan. Maybe she’d get the chance to return later. If not today, then soon. “Will you tell him I stopped by?”

  “I shall.”

  Anne turned for the door, then paused to address Uriel once more. “Could you tell me how to find Merrick’s room?”

  “Return to the stairs leading to thy room. Turn right, not left. At the juncture of three halls, thou should choose the leftmost. Thou will find Sir Merrick’s, four doors upon your right.”

  Oh-kay. Whatever that cryptic speech meant.

  Forming a rudimentary map in her head of what she believed Uriel’s words created, Anne opened the door. As she pulled it shut, she again caught Uriel’s faint muttering—a chain of nonsensical talk that made him seem more like a babbling old man than any sort of supreme being. Chuckling, she started for Merrick’s room.

  At a bend in the corridor, two hallways opened in front of her. She glanced around. Uriel hadn’t mentioned the layout, but she’d followed his instructions—right at the stairs … Maybe he meant two instead of three? Or …

  Frowning, she turned to head back to the stairwell and try again.

  But as she twisted, she came face to face with a broad chest.

  Startled, she jumped back and craned her neck.

  Tane’s deep green gaze swept over her with such open appreciation that she hugged her arms to her chest. She could have gone the rest of her life without ever running into this one again.

  “Lady Anne,” Tane murmured. His eyes settled on her breasts, then drifted up to her face. She fought back a repulsed shudder.

  “You look lovely this morn.”

  “Thank you.” She looked around him, hoping someone else lurked near by. Even Farran would be a warm welcome. But the hall was empty, save for another surcoat folded in front of a door. The torchlight shifted, and she caught the gleam of a long steel blade sitting on top of the white fabric.

  “Are you lost?”

  “Ah…” Crap. She absolutely didn’t want his help. Unfortunately, it was becoming rather obvious she didn’t have any idea where she was, and she couldn’t think of any excuse for why she stood in the middle of this hall. “I’m looking for Merrick’s room.”

  Tane’s expression clouded over. A movement at his side drew her attention to his hand, and as she watched, he clenched a fist. “Merrick is asleep, I am sure. Mayhap you would wish to see our gardens and the fountains? They are lovely at this early hour.”

  Not on your life, buddy.

  She forced a polite smile to her lips. “Thanks, but I really need to see Merrick. I’m sure he won’t mind if I wake him up.” She started around Tane.

  He sidestepped, blocking her way. “Come. Walk with me. I shall return you to Merrick’s room when we finish. I want but a few moments of your time, milady.”

  The downy hairs on the back of Anne’s neck lifted. She tipped her chin up to meet his hardened stare, and her smile tightened. “I really must see Merrick. Excuse me.”

  She shouldered past his hulking form, achieving another step. As she let out a breath of relief, all too thankful to have the unpleasant encounter over with, he grabbed her arm.

  CHAPTER 13

  Merrick drew to a halt at the sound of a feminine squeak. His brows furrowed as he pressed his back to the wall. What in the name of the saints was Anne doing down here alone? He had told her at least twice ’twas not safe to wander in the halls.

  “Let me go, Tane. Merrick is expecting me.”

  Every muscle in Merrick’s body tensed. He reflexively reached for his sword. The comfort of well-worn leather rubbed against his palm as he closed his fingers around the pommel. Though part of him hated the immediate assumption that his brother offended Anne, Tane was now a different man.

  With a quiet, shuffle-step forward, he moved closer to the open hallway.

  “Do I not equally deserve an opportunity to spend some time with you, milady?”

  The brittle edge to Tane’s voice set Merrick’s senses on alert. ’Twas not the voice of reason, nor the compassion Merrick had become so familiar with. The man he knew, the man he would give his life for, thought naught of himself, but for everyone else. Closing his eyes in regret, Merrick dipped his head. He wished not to battle with Tane, but he could not allow harm to come to Anne.

  Were luck in his favor, his man would not be foolish. Resolved to his necessary course of action, he tightened his grip on his sword and stepped into the archway.

  Anne’s relief was obvious. Her eyes glowed bright, her face lit with a smile. “Merrick.”

  The tremor in her whispered greeting convinced him his concern for her safety was not misplaced. She feared not demon, nor archangel, nor even his own temper. Yet she feared Tane.

  Merrick’s gaze cut sharply to where the other knight held her. Slowly, reluctantly, Tane released Anne. She jerked farther away and hugged her arms about her chest. When Merrick turned his cold stare to his brother, what he saw in Tane’s expression filled him with dread. A look born of malice, it dealt Merrick a heav
y blow. More than once, he had witnessed the same defiance of a man who would sacrifice everything to keep what he desired. The same expression a dozen men or more had worn when Merrick stormed their lands, claimed their properties, before he turned his sword to the Almighty. He could recall not a single one who had not met his maker at the end of his blade.

  Merrick took a step forward, shielding Anne with his body. Reaching behind his back, he fished for her hand. Slender fingertips slipped into his palm. He directed a warning frown at Tane, telling him without words he was prepared to fight—and die—for Anne. Such was the oath he swore to Mikhail. Yet, to soothe Anne’s agitation and to quit the trembling of her hand, he kept the threat from his words. “You are late, damsel. I presume you lost your way.”

  “Yes. Sorry.”

  Tane’s expression morphed before Merrick’s eyes. Where hatred burned only moments earlier, his features twisted with a dying man’s anguish. His eyes moistened with grief, and Merrick knew, no matter how Tane might have terrified Anne, he could not fault his brother for the blackness in his soul. Whatever foul he had committed, ’twas just another portion of their curse.

  A rush of anger surged through Merrick’s veins. Were it not for Anne’s foolish presence in these halls, his brother would not suffer this morn. Nor would he himself be faced with shaming a knight whose heart knew naught but loyalty.

  Before he could utter a word, Tane pushed past them and shoved open his chamber door. The heavy thud as he slammed it shut echoed off the stone.

  Merrick turned around and slid his hand to Anne’s upper arm. Sparing her no gentleness, he ushered her forward.

  She plucked at his fingers. “Ouch. Let go.”

  “Nay,” he ground out through clenched teeth. “You were warned not to walk these halls.” He urged her roughly around a corner, then up the stairwell. She struggled as they walked, attempting to twist free. But he was in no mood to give her pardon.