Immortal Hope: The Curse of the Templars Page 24

  Caradoc’s affronted pride relented with a respectful dip of his head.

  Merrick shifted his weight, the meaning in Mikhail’s words unmistakable. Should Azazel attack, Merrick would be called upon to fight. Whilst he would offer no complaint and would honor his eternal oath, the difficulty the shades had given him made the condition of his soul unavoidable. Another battle would surely claim the last of his remaining light.

  “I want the both of you to gather Nikolas and Gareth of Aletorp. Use Nikolas’ knowledge of his archers and formulate a strategy to defend Elspeth’s adytum along the Bayou Bourbeaux, should the need arise. Gareth shall prepare the remaining men from Europe to reinforce our knights.”

  Bristling at the mention of the young knight Anne had so shamelessly bestowed her favor on, the same one who had pushed him beyond all reason and driven him to obliterate his oaths, Merrick watched Mikhail through narrowed eyes. He would rather run the man through than work at his side.

  “You two are to act as each other’s second. Should one of you fall unto Azazel’s power, the other will be informed of our plans. Merrick, you will lead the men. Caradoc you shall assume his place, if such becomes necessary. Whilst you arrange this, have Gareth tend to the weapons stores and report to Raphael what we lack.”

  “Do you anticipate an attack?” Merrick asked.

  Mikhail lifted a solitary dark eyebrow. “Do you not?”

  Nodding, Merrick stayed silent. After the recent events, to expect anything less would only be wishful thinking. Azazel would strike. ’Twas only a matter of when, and with how many former Templar knights.

  “That is all, Caradoc. I will speak with Merrick alone now.”

  Merrick lifted his chin a fraction, his stance at once rigid. There could only be one reason Mikhail abruptly dismissed his second most-trusted knight. The reason Merrick believed he had been summoned to begin with—Anne.

  Caradoc shot him a brief, supportive glance before he exited the spacious chamber and pulled the door firmly shut.

  Returning to his desk, Mikhail pushed a surcoat and sword across the scarred surface toward Merrick. “I believe these belong to you.”

  Merrick allowed his gaze to fall to the folded surcoat and the broadsword as he slowly let out a deep breath. “Aye.”

  “I shall spare you the tediousness of reminding you of your oath. Of all the men in this temple, you understand the gravity of your actions.”

  A wash of shame rolled through Merrick, and he gritted his teeth against it. All evening, he had fought back the rising guilt, focused only on the way Anne lightened his spirit. But now, he could no longer pretend an afternoon of pleasure broke only the ritualistic vow of chastity. He had claimed what did not belong to him. Sullied another man’s honor. He had cared naught for the vows of brotherhood and cast them aside as he might toss away a scrap of rubbish.

  His shoulders bent under the weight of full realization. “Aye,” he murmured.

  Mikhail leaned back into his chair and studied Merrick for several long moments. As he did, the commander’s sober expression gave way to compassion, and his brows crinkled with the hint of a frown. “Do not look upon me as your general, Merrick. I am your friend. Speak to me as such. I know your heart. You would not do this out of simple lust. What is it about the maid?”

  Merrick turned away from Mikhail and stood before the well-worn kite shield that bore the marks of time. Deep scars gouged into the painted planks, paired with smaller punctures, remnants of long-ago arrows that sought flesh beneath. He studied the emblazoned crimson cross and searched for the words that would answer Mikhail’s question. At length, he bowed his head and stared at his feet. “She gives me hope.”

  The creaking of wood signaled Mikhail had risen. Heavy feet moved across the stone floor, and a hand settled on Merrick’s shoulder. “You are certain she is not meant for you?”

  Shaking his head, Merrick closed his eyes. He had looked. God in heaven, he had searched every part of her body the second time he had made love to her, in hopes she would bear a mark in some place he bore a scar, a freckle, anything he might recognize. She had refused to remove her socks, swearing the room was far too cold. But even if she had, he knew it would be futile. He had naught of significance on his.

  “She is not mine,” Merrick answered on a sigh.

  Mikhail’s grip tightened on Merrick’s shoulder. “I will not attempt to order you away from her, Merrick. You would not listen should I try. Yet know this.” He turned away, Merrick’s gaze following as Mikhail resumed his place behind his desk. “The men who witnessed your surcoat already grumble. You must be careful. I cannot afford to lose your skill on the field, should her intended seek to avenge the wrong you have done to him.”

  Merrick returned to the desk and scooped up his belongings. “It will not matter, Mikhail. I am not long for this world. When I am gone, Caradoc may see to her keeping. He will not fail as I have.”

  A dark frown engulfed Mikhail’s features. “Are you so close, brother?”

  “Aye. I have but a few more battles left in me.” He pulled the door open and paused in the entryway. “Mayhap you should give her to Caradoc’s keeping now.”

  “Nay, Merrick.” Mikhail’s low voice filled with unspoken emotion. “Know love before you know Azazel’s hate.”

  Love. Merrick had not given such consideration to his attraction to Anne. Once, he had yearned for naught else. Yet those dreams died the day he took his oath and pledged himself to the Templar way. He had cast aside what seemed frivolous for a greater cause. But at the mention of the word now, the icy fingers around his soul released their hold. ’Twould be useless to avow he felt naught for Anne. He cared. If he did not, her flirtations with the men this afternoon would not have driven him to madness. But love he did not know. The woman’s emotion made men weak.

  Unwilling to further examine the uncomfortable quivering in his belly, he strode into the hall. He buckled his sword around his waist, stuffed his surcoat beneath his arm, and made his way to his chambers to collect a change of clothes. As he rounded the corner, he found Farran leaning against his door. Arms folded across his chest, he wore a scowl as dark as a starless sky.

  CHAPTER 24

  Farran’s stare flicked to the surcoat beneath Merrick’s arm before brown eyes locked with his. “We must have words.”

  The subtle underlying venom beneath Farran’s command had Merrick’s senses on immediate alert. Whilst he had become accustomed to his brother’s continual anger, this went deeper. Far more serious. Whatever plagued him was not the result of Azazel’s taint. Merrick inclined his head to his door. “Let us take this matter inside.”

  Farran reached behind his back and opened the heavy barrier. He backed inside to lean one hip against Merrick’s table. Following, Merrick went to his wardrobe to restore his surcoat to its place on the top shelf. He dragged out a handful of fresh clothes, set them on the table, then fixed Farran with an expectant look. “Do you wait for an invitation to speak?”

  “Nay. I wait to see if your temper is better than last eve.”

  Merrick leaned both hands on the table, the horns of warning in his head a deafening racket. “For the moment, ’tis improved.”

  An unexpected glimpse of Farran’s previous good humor slipped out in the quirking of his mouth. “As I suspected when I discovered your surcoat on the ground this afternoon. You have chased away your demons.”

  With a perturbed frown, Merrick grunted. In no mood to make light of the seriousness of his actions, he grumbled, “Speak your words, then leave me be.”

  Farran’s smile vanished. He braced a hand on the table and leaned down, bringing the hard light of his eyes even with Merrick’s. “Do not leave your sword, Merrick. The men talk amongst themselves. I have twice this afternoon been the recipient of threats against you. Though both recanted when I reminded them I well know how to wield a blade and would not hesitate to do so on your behalf, they are not the only ones who gabble like hens.”

&nb
sp; Merrick ground his teeth together as a burst of rage rushed through him. “Who cannot control their tongues? I will be happy to let them say such to my face.”

  Shaking his head, Farran stood up straight. “’Tis not worth repeating their names. But I fear for Anne more than I concern myself with you.”

  Anne? Merrick turned a look of confusion on his friend.

  “I should have informed you yesterday, but you were in no mind to hear it.”

  The unsettling awareness that Farran brought news Merrick would not care to hear turned his gut into a ball of lead. He pulled in a steadying breath and remained silent, feeling much like he faced a deadly opponent whilst he stood holding a broken sword.

  “Yesterday, I found Anne near the stairs to the inner sanctum. She was—”

  A loud buzz set off in Merrick’s head, the product of a dozen angry curses. Not only had she disobeyed his order to stay in her room, but she had also sought out the secret chambers. He thumped a fist against the tabletop and bit back the sting of betrayal.

  On the heels of the ache that throbbed up his arm, he choked down an inward groan. Nay, she had told him. She had confessed Farran intervened. He, on the other hand, had believed she made up stories to keep him at her side. God’s teeth, he could be no more foolish.

  “Merrick?”

  He snapped his gaze to Farran’s. “What?”

  “She did not tell you.”

  “Aye, she did. I did not believe her.”

  As if he addressed an inattentive child, Farran let out a harassed sigh. “I do not mean the secrets of our lower quarters. I speak of Ranulf.”

  Ranulf? Realizing he had missed the rest of Farran’s tale, Merrick frowned. “The Fearless?”

  “Aye Ranulf of Stotfold. When I stumbled upon her, he and his faithful, including Gottfried, had her in a fright. He turned her loose only when I drew my blade.”

  A whole new course of rage surged through Merrick. He shoved past Farran out into the hall, intent on putting an end, once and for all, to Anne’s unescorted wanderings. Saints’ blood, the Almighty only knew what would have happened to her had Farran not happened along. A man of questionable morals, Ranulf had, on more than one occasion, faced eviction from the Order. Shortly after taking his oath, Merrick had stumbled on him behind a barn, the maid beneath him crying through her panicked protests. Were it not for the fact Mikhail feared Ranulf would speak of their dark secrets, Ranulf would have been dismissed that very afternoon. And in truth, when it came to an ally on the battlefield, Ranulf earned his merit. But the man’s personal endeavors elevated him to slightly more than Azazel’s vile ways.

  Gottfried was marginally better. To Merrick’s knowledge, he had never broken a significant oath. Still, he was a Norman, a man who knew only to take what he desired through brute force. As a scholar of history, Anne should understand the Norman ways.

  Why had Lucan said naught? He was to look out for her. Instead, ’twas Farran who came to her aid.

  Pivoting, Merrick turned for Lucan’s chambers. His inattentiveness could not be excused. He had sworn to watch over Anne, and he had left her open to harm at a Norman’s hands. Yet halfway down the hallway that led to Lucan’s chambers, Merrick came to an abrupt stop. ’Twould do no good to confront Lucan now—Merrick’s temper would only cloud his ability to listen to Lucan’s explanation. ’Twas Anne who needed to be dealt with. Her and her refusal to honor his requests.

  He spun around and marched to the stairs. She would learn that behind these walls, her modern theories meant naught. He sought not to limit her freedoms, but issued instructions to keep her from harm. In disobeying him, she exposed herself to unacceptable danger.

  At her door, he did not bother to knock. He stormed inside, unconcerned by the banging of the door. From her perch within a too-large chair, she looked up in surprise.

  “Did you think I would not learn of Ranulf and Gottfried? That Farran would stay silent about aiding you?” Merrick crossed to her. “You attempted to enter the inner sanctum whilst I was away.”

  If he had expected her chagrin, he was sorely mistaken. As she lifted her gaze to his, those sky-blue eyes glinted like shards of glass. She sat up straight, her fingers clenched into the chair’s arms. “I told you. Maybe not all of it, but you were hell-bent on leaving. Don’t you dare turn twelfth century on me because your buddy filled in the gaps.”

  Merrick clamped his teeth against a string of obscenities. Blast the damnable woman. He was in a fury, and she did not possess the good sense to hold her tongue. Nay, she spoke as freely as any man ever had, and she quite refused to give quarter when such was deserved. “Anne, do not try my patience this night.”

  “Why not?” she retorted hotly. Pushing out of her chair, she made to pass him.

  He halted her retreat by latching onto her elbow and spinning her around. Hands on her shoulders, he leaned down, close enough she could not hope to misjudge his anger, despite the levelness of his voice. “You put yourself in danger, damsel.”

  Anne jerked free. Her hair whipped across his chest as she stalked past him toward the bedroom. “As I said, I tried to tell you. It’s not my fault you didn’t listen.”

  Merrick followed on her heels. This would not end so quickly, no matter what she might wish. But as he barged into her bedroom, she spoiled his argument by speaking first.

  “If you lay one hand on me, Merrick, I will scream my head off.”

  He stopped in midstep. Saints’ teeth what did she speak of? He was angry, aye, but he had never raised his hand to a woman. “What is your meaning, Anne?”

  “My meaning? If you can’t remember, I’m certainly not going to remind you.” She glanced over her shoulder as she jerked her dresser drawer open.

  Turning back to the dresser, she rummaged through bright scraps of fabric Merrick distinctly remembered as belonging to her intimate things. He tore his eyes away, determined to keep his focus. Distantly, the exchange they had shared that eve filtered to his memory, and slowly, he became aware of her meaning. He had threatened to turn her over his knee. At the time, he had quite meant the vow. But ’twas naught else but a product of his frustration.

  Though he had half a mind to make good on the idle threat, he shoved a hand through his hair and expelled a heavy sigh. “You will tell me why you disobeyed.”

  A handful of black silk in her hand, Anne marched into the adjoining bathroom. “Merrick, I’m a prisoner here. I can do nothing. I can speak to no one. I can’t even reach my sister on the phone. I want my freedom, and I can’t believe you’d have so much trouble believing this. Didn’t you fight the Normans for the same reasons?”

  He paused, his lips parted, and his eyes widened. Quickly, he recovered his surprise and furrowed his brow. “How did you know? I have told you naught of my past before the Order.”

  From behind the open doorway, she answered, “I’m not stupid. Du Loire—from Loire. The river that runs through France. It’s recorded fact the majority of noble families were Saxon around the time you were born.”

  His frown deepened as she returned to the room dressed in a long satin robe she had belted tightly around her waist. She yanked a brush through her hair, tossed it onto the dresser, and flounced onto the edge of her bed. “Are you going to yell at me all night?”

  “I have not yet begun to yell.”

  “Then you understand why sitting in these rooms, no matter how pretty they are, drives me crazy?”

  Merrick eased onto the mattress next to her. He bent over, elbows on his knees, and covered his face with his hands. He did not want to understand. By all rights, he had reason to be furious with her. Yet though he snatched at the remnants of his anger, hopelessly trying to hang on, he could not deny she had kept no great secret from him. ’Twas not as if she tried to hide her actions. She had told him the very day she defied his orders. His anger would have been warranted then. Now it felt insignificant, as if he were the one in error, not she.

  Then again, ’twas not the first ti
me Anne had swayed his temper by doing naught. Though he could not begin to explain why, he could not stay angry with her no matter how he tried.

  Lifting his head, he cast his frown her way. “If I give you the means to move freely through the temple, will you vow to me you will let your intended take you to the inner sanctum?”

  He could see the wheels turning in her head, took in her hesitation as she considered the full measure of his question. After several long moments of silence, she answered with a vigorous nod.

  “Do you swear it, Anne?”

  “Yes.”

  Reaching between them, he covered the back of her hand with his palm. “I do not wish to fight with you.”

  “Nor do I,” she whispered. Hesitantly, she nibbled on her lower lip. “You aren’t going to try to put me over your knee are you?”

  With a chuckle he could not hold back, Merrick pulled her into his lap. He wound his arms around her waist, the feel of satin heavenly beneath his hands. “Nay. I will teach you how to defend yourself, to use a sword.”

  She dropped her hand to the pommel at his waist. Reverently, she traced the contours, inspected the leather sinews around the shaft of steel. “Like this one?”

  “Aye. We will begin tomorrow.”

  Her hands drifted between their bodies, and she tugged at the silver buckle that kept his sword belt in place. Merrick sucked in a deep breath, the play of her fingers against his abdomen an unbearable taunt. His blood warmed at the intimacy, for no other woman had removed his belt before—he had let no one close enough to trust with the task. ’Twas a thing only allowed to pages … or to wives.

  Her hands splayed upward, taking his shirt with them. The chill air washed across his midsection, arousing his body further. His cock swelled. In a damning moment, Mikhail’s lecture rose to the forefront of his mind, and though Merrick wanted naught more than to allow Anne to undress him, he covered her hands with his and stilled them against his chest.