Immortal Hope: The Curse of the Templars

by Claire Ashgrove

  With a glance around to ensure no one witnessed his unauthorized departure, Tane darted outside and jogged across the darkened lawn to a communal truck. He tossed the duffel bag across the seat, then carefully set the bread and cans inside.

  The engine rolled over soundlessly. Foregoing headlights, he ambled down the long drive to the street beyond the temple’s iron gates. He glanced heavenward, murmuring a simple prayer he would not arrive too late. Then he flipped the lights on and sped out into the night.

  * * *

  Anne sat at a table of twenty or so men in the long dining hall, Merrick across from her. A couple hundred more gathered at the surrounding tables. While he talked with the men flanking him, she tuned out the noise and turned her concentration inward.

  The sudden failure of her second sight when it came to Merrick bothered her more than she wanted to admit. She hadn’t really realized how much she depended on it, until it refused to tell her anything more about the knight who was assigned as her guardian. It’d be so much easier to discover what she wanted if her vision would cooperate. She could get the answers and never have to explain a thing to Merrick. She could disappear before he ever discovered her tattoo, and this business about having to take some oath wouldn’t be an issue.

  If she didn’t have the sneaking suspicion that taking those vows would tie her up here eternally, she was half tempted to tell him their marks matched just to learn the Templar secrets. Then again, aside from the fact doing so would be completely devious, the memories of his death put an abrupt halt to that line of thought. Being bound to someone who would eventually die couldn’t possibly end well for her.

  No, it would be best if she stayed just long enough to accomplish her purpose and then leave, having never told a soul about their identical tattoos. Thanksgiving break began this week—as long as she delivered a note to Dr. Knowles, she had time to explore the secrets here. Maybe when she was back at home she and Merrick could work out some sort of agreement—as much as she hated to admit it, the man was kinda growing on her. Grumpy and arrogant as he was, she couldn’t deny the effect he had on her system. That damn smile of his turned her world upside down almost as much as the prospect of proving her thesis did.

  “Dine,” Merrick insisted as he jabbed at her bowl with his spoon, the gesture jerking her out of her thoughts.

  Anne stared down at the greasiest bowl of … glop she’d ever seen. Merrick said it was stew. But her eyes—and her stomach—refused to consider this mushy concoction as anything but garbage. “Oh. Hell. No.”

  She pushed the bowl away and fought back the urge to whimper. She was so hungry her stomach was in knots. But even starving people had their standards, and that bowl of crap defied the minimal ones she possessed.

  Spoon poised near his mouth, Merrick lifted one reproachful eyebrow. The men on each side of him—men Merrick hadn’t wasted time in discovering they weren’t meant for her—stared at her as if she’d just committed blasphemy. A blush crept up her cheeks, and she offered Merrick a weak, apologetic smile.

  “’Tis food, Anne.”

  “No it’s not.” No wonder everyone around here had massive chips on their shoulders. How long had it been since they’d had a decent meal? “Is there maybe some salad somewhere?”

  Merrick’s other brow shot up. “Salad?”

  His companions continued to stare. Behind Merrick, a stranger with long ash-blond hair turned to looked over his shoulder. His gaze narrowed. Cold blue eyes flashed. Dangerous energy assaulted her.

  Anne swallowed down unexplainable foreboding and met Merrick’s soothing onyx stare. The uneasy tension in her belly dissolved. “Yeah, you know—lettuce, celery, carrots, croutons?”

  A chuckle shook his shoulders, but he refrained from smiling. “A man does not eat leaves.”

  Just like they didn’t believe in radios. Somehow that didn’t surprise her. She dropped her spoon to the table, folded her arms over the scarred surface, and gave each gawking face a sugary-sweet smile. The two men hastily turned their attention to their meal. Behind Merrick, the nosy stranger abruptly turned back to his meal. Anne gestured at her bowl. “If I’m going to eat greasy crap, I think I’ll take McDonald’s. Or maybe Pizza Bob’s. He delivers, you know.”

  Merrick indicated her food with his spoon. “What did you tell me earlier? Ah, aye, get used to it.”

  “Not on your life, big guy. Where’s the chef?”

  “Our cook attends the kitchens in the mornings. Before dawn, he prepares the daily meals.”

  Well no wonder the stew looked like some Sci-Fi Channel alien slime. Slow cooking was one thing, but twelve to thirteen hours would turn lead to liquid. She pointed at the loaf of bread sitting at Merrick’s elbow. “Pass me that, would you?”

  He slid the carving board in front of her.

  Anne skipped the knife and picked up the whole loaf. Gnawing off one hard end, she chewed and told herself it tasted like fresh-baked bread, not the stale piece of cardboard that it resembled. “You do realize,” she said around her food. “If it weren’t for this whole immortality thing, you’d all die of heart disease, right?”

  Merrick’s mouth thinned into an unamused line. Slowly, deliberately, he set his spoon in his bowl and leveled her with a frown. But as the man on his left erupted with laughter, Merrick’s tight features relaxed. The dark look in his eyes faded, and once again, she stared into the fathomless coals that sucked her in and left her shivering.

  A slow smile tugged at his mouth. Neat, even white teeth broke free, and Merrick gave into a soft chuckle. With a shake of his head, he resumed eating.

  “Will you take me to McDonald’s?”

  “Nay.”

  She tore off another chunk of bread with her teeth and rolled her eyes. “This is terrible, Merrick. How can you call this food?”

  He looked to the man on his right—Nikolas, Anne recalled from her earlier introduction. “She does complain much, does she not?”

  Nikolas’ green eyes lighted with unspent amusement. He clapped a sympathetic hand on Merrick’s shoulder and gave Anne a nod. “’Tis my blessing she is not meant for me.”

  “Aye,” Merrick affirmed. “I would have to gag her, were she mine.”

  She spluttered. A dozen different curses bubbled to her throat, but she couldn’t decide which one to use first. Screw you, held the most appeal, but she suspected instead of putting Merrick in his place, the phrase would only make things worse. Either that or he’d take her meaning entirely out of proportion.

  Merrick gave her an innocent look, lifted his hands in defense. His dark eyes danced with laughter, and Anne choked on surprise. Teasing. The man was teasing. Just when she thought she’d gotten used to his grumpy side, he changed tactics.

  Beyond Merrick’s shoulder, the blond knight gave her a sneer seconds before he let loose a derisive snort. The aggressive, daunting energy pummeled into her, skittering apprehension up her spine. She leaned across the table, her hand on Merrick’s forearm to capture his attention. He bent forward as she lowered her voice and whispered, “Who’s that man behind you?”

  At once, Merrick’s features turned hard as stone. She felt the rigid nature of his muscles as they tightened beneath her hand. Alarm buzzed in her head.

  His voice was nearly inaudible. “’Tis Ranulf of Stotfold. Stay away, he—”

  The rest of what Merrick said was lost to the sudden commotion in the room. Spoons clattered into bowls. Hearty hales of greeting rang out, only to fade to murmurs, then nothing as a thick hush descended. Heads turned toward the massive open arches that opened to the long commons. Straining to see around the sea of oversized men, Anne searched for the cause. Her gaze settled on rich chocolaty hair and sharp aquiline features that were drawn in deep concern.

  Mikhail jumped up on a tabletop with a cat’s grace. “Knights Templar, some of you know by now that we have suffered another heavy loss. Some of you have already received orders and prepare to leave. For the rest…” He dragged his hand do
wn his face and rubbed his chin. His pause carried an ominous threat, and he scanned the faces closest to him. On a deep breath, he projected, “Maggie gave her life for us last night. Azazel holds the second nail.”

  Murmurs broke through the gathered knights. Heads dipped toward one another, their whispers assuming a frantic cadence. Anne looked to Merrick for an explanation. Yet he remained impassive, only the subtle shake of his head telling her now wasn’t the time.

  Mikhail waved the rumble down with his hands. As the men fell silent, he continued, “I have sent word to Raphael, requesting he tell us the location of the third. Whilst I await his response, I need all of you at the ready. Do not concern yourself with the gates unless I specifically instruct you to leave.”

  Merrick’s gaze narrowed as he sucked in a sharp breath.

  “What’s he talking about?” she whispered across the table.

  He didn’t answer. Instead, he covered her hand with his and gave it a squeeze. Anne instinctively waited for the tugging of her mind, but it stayed silent.

  Anne frowned. Nails? What kind of nails? And who was Maggie? Another woman like herself?

  The men surrounding her stilled, their expressions grim, their postures rigid.

  “Sir Merrick, Lady Anne, a word with you?” Mikhail called before he climbed down off the table.

  The way Merrick jumped out of his seat confirmed Anne’s suspicion Mikhail hadn’t asked. She tossed her bread onto the table. Not like she intended to eat any more of it anyway. She’d rather gnaw on leather. At least it might have some flavor.

  As she rose, another commotion broke out. Benches ground against the floor, men hurried to their feet, and the scrape of steel against steel rose above the commotion. To her abject horror, in near-perfect choreography, every last man dropped to one knee and set his sword on the ground in front of him—except for the blond who had glowered, and Merrick, who guided her gently to his side.

  Doing her best to ignore the blatant hatred emanating off Ranulf, Anne looked to Merrick, hoping he’d tell her what to do. But the only help he offered was a smile. In fact, he looked almost pleased. What the hell?

  “Th-that’s really not necessary,” she squeaked through a closing throat. “Please, don’t.”

  This had to stop. Now. If another man prostrated himself in front of her, she’d step on his toes to get her point across. No more bowing, no more oaths, no more ceremonial anything. Pleased to meet you worked just fine.

  No one moved.

  “Make them get up,” she hissed at Merrick. “I’m not going to return all those swords. I refuse.”

  He chuckled. “Such is not necessary. Give them your blessing.”

  Her what? She’d never been any good at speeches. Lecturing she could do all day, but say something formal, and she turned into a mouse. “What do I say?”

  “Whatever your heart holds.”

  “What if I don’t say anything?”

  “You shame them.”

  Great. Just great. All she needed was a couple of hundred men’s shame to weigh her down. Nothing could ever be simple. She cleared her throat. “Please stand. We are equals. And uh…” She kicked her toe into the floor. “If you must fight, God be with you?” Gnawing on her lower lip, she waited to see if she’d said enough. Lord, if she hadn’t, she’d turn tail and run. To heck with their shame. This was mortifying.

  Nikolas rose. Followed by the man on Merrick’s left. Then another, and another, until the room hummed with movement.

  Merrick tucked her hand atop his forearm. He escorted her out of the dining hall and into the commons where Mikhail waited.

  Anne stared at Mikhail, the men’s odd behavior forgotten, along with Ranulf and his cruel laugh. In the dim light of torches, the faint outline of Mikhail’s wings shadowed the wall behind him. Though they weren’t solid, and she couldn’t see them if she looked straight at him, in his shadow they were unmistakable, like someone painted them on the stone in a matching shade of gray-black. Her mind struggled with the unimaginable, but the more she fought against what she wanted to deny, the more reality settled in.

  Destroying what remained of her doubt, that same powerful sense of peace and tranquillity engulfed her as Mikhail smiled. “Anne, I trust you are finding things to your liking?”

  She hesitated. Did she dare tell him what she thought of their food? Of the fact she couldn’t watch her favorite late-night sitcom? That she didn’t even have a change of underwear? Oh what the hell. They’d brought her here. “You need a new cook. One who knows the value of a salad. And I’d kill for a mindless moment of television along with a hot shower.”

  Despite Merrick’s scowl, Mikhail laughed. “Then you shall be pleased to learn your chambers are completed. I believe you shall find them more to your liking than the simple rooms the men inhabit below.” He gestured at the sweeping staircase that led upstairs.

  Anne glanced at the decaying staircase warily. Old wood took on a grayish shade, and a well-worn carpet blanketed the treads. Faded paper clung to the walls, a forgotten reminder of what was once a great mansion. On the landing, a cracked and dingy window offered a view of the front lawn. She inhaled deeply. Surely upstairs had to be better. At least it couldn’t get much worse than that.

  “Merrick will you escort her?”

  “Aye.”

  Anne’s stomach rumbled as she set a foot on the first stair. Looking straight ahead, she prayed Merrick wouldn’t mention her stubbornness over the stew.

  She should have known better.

  He dipped his head to her ear. “If you had supped, your stomach would not make such noise.”

  The wash of his warm breath against her neck sent a shiver rolling down her spine. As he drew away, she caught the lingering scent of his cologne, a blend of sandalwood and something else she couldn’t quite define. Something with a touch more spice. The aroma teased her nose, set off butterflies in her belly. Lord, he smelled good.

  His body brushed against her arm as he rounded the landing, and she almost tripped. In less time than it took to blink, the grumpy knight who carted her off against his will became a man. One who turned her on with so little effort it was pathetic. The feel of his body curled against hers assaulted her memory, setting nerve endings on edge. Her insides turned to liquid with the surreal sense of intimacy that came with his leading her upstairs, and she issued her body a sharp reminder to behave. He wasn’t taking her to bed. To her room, which might have a bed in it, but this wasn’t anything but duty.

  At the top of the stairs, a warm light peeked from beneath a door at the far end. Through the surrounding darkness, she noted sagging wallpaper, cobwebs dangling in corners, and a crooked chandelier. She’d stake her savings on the fact Mikhail believed she would be impressed with the mansion’s former grandiosity. Compared to her own house, however, this all felt sad and gloomy.

  Merrick pushed open the door, and the hall filled with light. He gave her a gentle shove, ushering her inside.

  Anne came to a standstill two feet into the expansive room. Her jaw dropped, matching the expression of disbelief that widened Merrick’s eyes.

  Tasteful wall coverings cast a blue-gray comfort against cornflower blue draperies with lace sheers. The ceiling, nearly twelve feet in height, added to the luxurious effect with its painted decals and three-toned molding. Her heart skipped a beat as she took in a crystal chandelier that looked like it belonged in some grand ballroom, not a vast sitting room in a decrepit building that once served as a charitable hospital.

  A polished mahogany entertainment system housed a flat-screen television and a stack of colorful CD’s. She wandered closer, ran her fingers down the plastic spines, and marveled at her favorite titles. Joy of all joys, a bookcase in the corner held all her prized reference books.

  Gabe. No doubt about it, he’d had a hand in this.

  She turned slowly, admiring a simple yet plush white couch, two stuffed recliner chairs, and a glass-topped table. Part modern, part a page from Victoria
n couture, the room made her former residence look small and insignificant.

  Merrick inspected the bookcase, then wandered to a pair of French doors. Turning a brass handle, he eased them open, and Anne drew in a breath of awe. Dazed, she stepped inside.

  Beyond, her bedroom took up twice as much space as the antechamber. It wasn’t nearly as feminine as the adjoining room, but olive-green walls offset thick white carpet and gave the bedroom warmth. A vanity, a dresser, a tall wardrobe—each piece of furniture was a deep mahogany with brass accents. But the bed …

  The bed was heaven here on earth. Big solid corner posts gave way to intricately carved head- and footboards. Amid a flourish of swirls and other accents, a Templar cross dominated the rich wood. Mountains, simply mountains, of pillows invited her to flop down, roll around, and get comfortable on what looked like a mattress made of down.

  She pushed on the edge of the mattress and smiled. Yes. Feathers. Oh God, she could sleep here for eternity.

  A movement near the doorway caught her attention, and she looked up to find Merrick shifting his weight, a pinched look on his face. So the big guy felt out of place, did he? She chuckled to herself. He better get used to it. According to his claims about matching marks, someday he’d have to share this with her.

  She winced as the random thought sent a fresh burst of fantasy through her mind. Images of Merrick and her tangled up in those quilts, his big body sliding against hers, scalded behind her eyes. His kiss, his hands, his simply amazing ass.

  A blush crept into her cheeks, and she hurriedly turned away before her imagination took over. She couldn’t get caught up in the reality of the unimaginable, nor the incredible effect of her handsome knight. She was leaving in a week, not planning a future here.

  Foregoing an inspection of the attached bath, she meandered back to the sitting room and curled up on the couch, her feet tucked beneath her. She gave the cushions a hearty pat. “Come tell me what Mikhail was talking about.”