by Maya Banks
Hundreds of candles flickered, bathing the entire room in a golden glow. If a host of angels suddenly burst from the rafters, he wouldn’t be surprised. The entire monastery had such an ethereal quality that he was reluctant to even speak in more than a hushed tone.
A monk, flanked by two others, hurried down the center of the room, hands outstretched to Isabella. “We’ve been waiting for you, Your Highness,” he said, echoing the earlier monk’s words.
“It is good to see you again, Father Ling,” she said in a choked voice.
The monk turned back his hood, and Simon was surprised to see a man of Oriental descent staring back at him. But then Isabella said much of their influence came from the East.
Completely bald, the man stood a good six inches shorter than Simon’s own six foot height, but his regal bearing made him seem much taller. He certainly didn’t fit with the preconceived image Simon had of a man trained in fighting skills.
Isabella took his hands and kissed him on either cheek. “There is much I must know,” she said.
“In good time, Your Highness,” he said, returning her gesture.
He turned to Simon, and a smile crinkled the lines around his eyes. He took Simon’s hand in both of his. “I have seen you many times in my visions, Lord Merrick. I am grateful to you for helping the princess. We are all rejoicing over her safe return.”
Simon nodded, too stunned to reply. How had this man known who he was?
The monk turned away and said to Isabella, “Walk with me.”
She gestured Simon to follow, and he fell in behind them. When they reached the far end, the monk paused at the wall and turned to Isabella. “Have you the map?”
“I do,” she said.
He nodded approvingly. “We will ready you for your quest then.”
Father Ling reached up to one of the statues standing in front of the stained glass and twisted the hand. To Simon’s astonishment a portion of the glass turned outward revealing a passageway beyond.
“You will be safe here,” the monk said to Simon as if sensing his hesitancy.
Father Ling ducked in and Isabella followed him. Not willing to allow her out of his sight, Simon hurried after them. Down a narrow hallway they rapidly strode. Then they descended a flight of steps and entered an even smaller passageway. At the end stood a thick wooden door.
The monk reached into his robe and withdrew a key. Inserting it into the lock he swung it open and motioned them inside.
Isabella gasped when she caught sight of the interior. Simon wasn’t any less impressed. The entire room looked like a tropical garden. Heavy perfume from the multitude of flowers hung densely in the air. But what struck him most was the warmth. It felt like the most glorious of spring days.
White marble columns stood in the middle of the room and marked the entrance to what appeared to be a large bathing chamber. Three monks stood to the side, evidently awaiting instruction.
The sound of running water alerted him to a small waterfall that cascaded down the left wall into a chute that meandered into the bathing room. The decadence of the chamber seemed more appropriate for a palace than a monastery.
Father Ling turned around to face Isabella. “Will Lord Merrick be accompanying you on your journey?”
She turned and looked questioningly at him. He nodded and relief lightened her expression. She returned to Father Ling. “Yes.”
“Then you must both be prepared. I will leave you to be cleansed. Afterwards I will offer my blessing on the both of you.”
“Thank you,” she said grasping his hand in hers.
He bowed before her and quickly vanished out the door.
As soon as he was gone, the three monks that had stood to the side moved forward. “If you will come this way,” one of them said as he motioned for them.
He and Isabella followed them through the marble columns into the chamber that housed the large pool of water. It formed a perfect square with steps leading down into it on all sides. Another waterfall directly fed water into the pool from the back.
The monks motioned for them to disrobe and Isabella didn’t hesitate. She shrugged out of her shirt and began working her pants down her legs. Following suit, Simon began removing his own clothing, wondering at the significance of the act.
He leaned over to pull his breeches from his feet and when he stood back up Isabella stood before him gloriously naked. Sucking in his breath, he stood rigidly, not wanting to embarrass himself by reacting to her.
She stepped down into the water, her fingers making smooth ripples as they trailed along the surface. Her hair hung to the small of her back, bouncing erotically above her rounded buttocks.
The monk motioned for him to follow her, so he stepped into the water, nearly moaning in pleasure as the hot water lapped at his knees. Anxious to submerge his entire body, he quickly descended the last of the steps until he stood waist-deep in the water beside Isabella.
To his surprise, the monks followed them in, their robes swirling in the water. They carried soap and washing cloths as well as a pitcher for rinsing.
“They only wish to wash your hair,” she whispered to him, and he smiled, wondering if she had read his alarm. While a bath with Isabella was as close to heaven as he would ever be, he had no desire to have his private parts washed by a bunch of holy men.
When the monks stood in front of them, Isabella bowed her head before them. Following her example, he too, bowed his head. Soon warm water cascaded over his head and down his back. The scent of sweet-smelling soap filled his nostrils as the monk worked his fingers through Simon’s hair. After a few moments, he again felt the warm rush of water as the soap was rinsed from his hair.
As quickly as they came, the monks filed out of the water, leaving him and Isabella behind.
“Your pallets will be prepared, and a meal will be served shortly,” one said to Isabella. “When you have completed your bath, you may eat and rest in the next room. Your journey will begin an hour before high tide.”
When they had departed, Simon turned back to Isabella who stood before him, water running in rivulets down her body. Her oceanic eyes stared searchingly at him, and her damp hair clung to her body, nearly covering her breasts. Only the tips peaked out from the tendrils of hair.
She slowly reached out and took his hand, pulling it back to lie over her chest. Understanding her silent plea, he closed the small distance between them and pressed his naked form to hers. He bent his head and kissed her hungrily.
He pulled back her hair over her shoulders and ran his fingers lightly up her ribcage and underneath the swell of her breasts. “I have never seen a woman as beautiful as you.”
Isabella shivered, letting his words swirl over her like a fine wine. Not content to waste their last remaining hours, she pulled his head down to hers then sank deeper into the water. He came with her until they were neck deep in the pool.
He grinned wickedly at her then covered her lips with his. Pulling her under the water, he kept his mouth tightly sealed over hers. His hands cupped her breasts, and he ran his thumbs over the nipples.
They rose back to the surface, water rushing down their bodies as they leapt upward. “I want you,” he growled.
Desire flooded her at his lusty words. God, she wanted him too. “Then take me,” she whispered.
No sooner had the words left her mouth she found herself lifted upward, his hands cupping her buttocks, running down her legs and spreading them.
She wrapped her legs around his waist and locked her feet at the small of his back. Using his fingers to part her folds, he thrust upward, entering her in one deep plunge.
Throwing back her head, she gasped at the feeling of fullness. He rocked against her again and again…
Her hands tangled in his hair, and she smashed her mouth to his. His hands gripped her backside, molding her tighter against him. They moved frantically against each other. She ran her hands over his back, over his chest
, trying to memorize every nuance of his body.
As she began the slow exquisite climb to her release, he bent his head and took her nipple between his teeth. She wrapped her arms around his head, trapping him against her breasts. She began to undulate wildly against him, moving faster and faster to keep up with him. “Oh God,” she panted. And then her world tilted precariously around her. She closed her eyes and arched her body into his.
She felt him leave her then felt his warm seed mingle with the water between her legs. She leaned forward and rested her head on his chest then slowly slid down his length until she stood on shaky legs before him.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
She nodded, not yet able to form coherent words.
He waded to the side and picked up a cloth and some soap. Returning to where she stood, he began gently washing her body. She rested limply against him as he rubbed the cloth over her skin. When he had finished, he swung her up in his arms and mounted the steps out of the bath.
She clung to him as he carried her into the next room, loving the feel of his strength. He set her down on a small bench in front of the hearth where a fire burned. He left her long enough to collect a towel and returned to dry her off.
She drew her knees up to her chest when he turned his attention to her hair, rubbing and massaging the towel through her wet locks.
Soon, the heat from the fire infiltrated every muscle, drifting languidly through her. Her eyes drooped and she sighed in contentment as he continued his attention.
She looked up when the three monks returned, all bearing something different in their arms. One carried trays of food, one carried what appeared to be clothing, and the third carried a flask of wine.
“If it pleases the princess, we have food and clothing for you and his lordship.”
They laid the items on the two silk pallets lining the far wall then set the trays on the short-legged table next to the pallets. Two pillows for them to sit on were shoved up to the table then the monks retreated from the room.
She rose immediately and went to the bed to retrieve the clothing. To her relief, the apparel they had brought for her was practical for her impending journey. A simple pair of cotton trousers and a loose fitting tunic. For Merrick, they had supplied breeches and a plain shirt. Light weight boots were supplied for both of them.
Turning, she tossed the clothing to him and began pulling her pants on. When they were both dressed, she motioned him over to the table where the food sat.
They sat opposite of each other, cross-legged on the pillows. The aroma of the food floated through her nostrils, and her stomach rumbled in response. All her favorites were assembled. Plum pudding, sugared dates, roast duck, bread, cheese and delicious-smelling soup.
“Now I know what it means to eat like a king,” Merrick said in an amused voice.
She poured them both a glass of wine and sat back to enjoy the fare. As they ate, Father Ling entered and crossed the room to stand in front of them. With easy grace, he knelt down between them. “I trust everything is to your liking.”
“It is,” she replied.
His expression grew serious, and he stared intently at her. “You haven’t much time, Your Highness. There are those who would see Jacques Montagne crowned as soon as possible. The only thing preventing such an action is his failure to produce the sacred relics.”
“Has he been searching the caves?” she asked.
“His men search the cliffs day and night but so far have been unsuccessful,” he said with a slight quirk of his lips. “Without the map, he hasn’t a chance at success. But the Leaudorian people won’t wait forever for a new ruler. There is much talk of doing away with the old ways.”
“No!” She stood and paced in agitation. “Damn him. Damn him to hell.”
Father Ling remained silent, and she regretted her outburst. “I am sorry, Father.”
“You needn’t apologize, Your Highness. I am all too aware of all Jacques Montagne has done to you and your family.”
“How are you aware of these things?” Merrick spoke up, suspicion laced in his voice.
Father Ling turned regally to him. “I know many things, your lordship. For instance that you are a deeply troubled man. You have many unanswered questions about your brother’s death. Questions that have plagued you for years.”
He rose and placed a hand on Merrick’s shoulder. “Soon, my son. Soon, you will know all there is to know. Until then be careful of those you trust most.”
He looked back at Isabella and held out his hands. “Rest now. I will come for you when it is time.”
Simon stared at the older man as he left the room, his mouth gaped open. He whirled back around to Isabella. “How did he know those things? And what did he mean I will know all?”
“I don’t know,” she murmured. “But you would be well served to heed his words. Father Ling is never wrong.”
Simon rubbed his eyes, fatigue marking the beginnings of a headache. He felt as if he had stepped into an alternate world. One he had no control over, and one that mystified him.
The monk’s words had struck a chord in him. A painful reminder of the questions he indeed had surrounding his brother’s death. Questions he had buried long ago in an attempt to cope with the overwhelming sadness and anger.
Isabella’s entire country made little sense and he felt himself spiraling further into some sort of sick fairy tale. But she seemed to take it all very seriously. Was it any wonder she was unlike any other woman he had ever encountered?
Directing his attention back to his food, he chewed the now tasteless meat and chased it down with a large swallow of wine.
Across from him, Isabella stared at him over her fork. “Is something bothering you?” she asked.
“No. This is all rather different,” he said by way of explanation.
Her mouth twisted in a knowing smile. “Yes, I suppose it is. Especially to an oh-so-practical Englishman.”
He smiled at her teasing and marveled at how he sat across from the future Queen of Leaudor thinking how much he loved her.
He dropped his fork and it clattered loudly on the plate. His stomach clenched and he closed his eyes. It wasn’t shocking. In retrospect he wasn’t sure there was any one moment when he fell in love with her, but she had gradually inserted herself into his heart and soul. And now that he had said it in his mind, he was filled with dismay.
He opened his mouth to speak and just as quickly, closed it again. The words stuck solidly in his throat. How could he say to her what he had never voiced aloud to another human being? The mere idea of baring his soul nearly sent him crawling in discomfort. Almost as bad as the idea of ultimately bidding her farewell.
How could he possibly say goodbye to her when it was all said and done? Forget how perfectly their bodies fit, how much joy she brought him, her smile, her spirit and her fire. If he lived a hundred years, he had no hope of ever meeting her equal.
“Merrick, are you sure you are all right?”
Her concerned voice penetrated the heavy fog swirling around his mind. He forced a smile to his lips and took his fork back up.
“Yes, everything is fine.”
But everything wasn’t. In a few hours, the beginning of the end would commence.
Chapter Twenty
Neither Merrick nor Isabella slept, though they rested on the pallets laid out for them. She was wound too tightly over the upcoming journey into the caves to close her eyes. Finally, she assumed a cross-legged position on her silken pillow and attempted to relax through meditation.
Her mind swam as she fought against tension and anxiety. She focused on the images of her mother and father and her two brothers. Suddenly she could hear her mother’s laughter, see her father’s smile, see Davide concentrating on his sketching. Only Stephane remained distant in her memory so she reached further, trying to bring him closer to her, but the only image she could conjure was of the bloody hand Jacques had hel
d.
Dispelling the awful picture from her mind, she concentrated instead on her father. She needed his wisdom now more than ever as she prepared herself to take over where he left off.
He stood in front of her, his expression uncharacteristically solemn when it came to her. Her brow crinkled as she fought to try and remember the memory associated with her current image.
When it is time to hand down a legacy, it is necessary to remember that things are not important. The written word is the most valuable contribution. Long after everything else is gone, the written word lives on. Even when the paper has faded and worn, the words exist in our hearts and in our memories to be written down again and again for our children.
Her eyes flashed open, her breathing erratic. She could still hear the echo of her father’s voice, and she looked frantically around. Her gaze lighted on Merrick who watched her intently from his pallet. “Are you all right?” he asked in a concerned voice.
“Yes,” she said, though her voice still wavered. “I was just remembering something my father said.” But she didn’t remember him ever saying those words to her. Could she have forgotten?
She pushed the episode to the back of her mind as a monk entered the room and stood before her. “It is time, Your Highness. Father Ling awaits you in the sacred chamber.”
She stood and took a deep breath. She glanced over at Merrick and he smiled reassuringly at her. As she followed the monk from the room, Merrick fell in beside her. He reached over and squeezed her hand then whispered, “What do you say we go into that cave, retrieve the relics then get out and go after Montagne?”
She smiled, her anxiety lessening under his attempt at levity.
They entered a small ceremonial chamber where Father Ling stood behind an intricate wood carving of Leaudor’s national symbol, the sun. The other monks were assembled and stood in two rows on either side of Father Ling.
