Immortal Hope: The Curse of the Templars

by Claire Ashgrove

  Halfway across the sitting room, her nerves kicked in. What if she made an ass out of herself? What if this plan failed miserably, and Merrick laughed at her? Worse, what if on her way to his room, she ran into those creeps from yesterday?

  Damn, if she were smart, she’d sit here until Merrick came for her. But no. She’d wasted enough time hoping Merrick would come around. She had to get to the inner sanctum with enough time to really study whatever was down there.

  Steeling herself, she swallowed down the rising butterflies and yanked her door open. She’d never been afraid of her shadow before, and she didn’t intend to turn into a timid mouse because four men didn’t know how to behave. Surely, the rest of them knew self-control, and Farran couldn’t be the only man around who’d answer a shrill, help!

  Merrick, on the other hand, wasn’t apt to be so agreeable to her logic.

  She chuckled. Tough. This was her day to be in control. Not his.

  With a deep breath to chase off the last of her jitters, she descended the stairs.

  As she passed the common room, a handful of men whipped around so fast she had to stifle a giggle. They stared as if they’d never seen her before, and as she acknowledged them with a gracious smile, Anne noticed the odd band of crimson on each man’s left arm. When she turned for the stairs that led to the stone works below, the clatter of steel brought her up short. She glanced over her shoulder to find all five of them bent on one knee, their swords on the ground in front of a flattened foot. Heads bent, they watched through the tops of their eyes.

  Shit. Now what?

  “Ah—” Her confident smile wavered. “I think I already said this. That’s not necessary.” She edged closer to the stairs. “So. Um. Get up?” When they didn’t lift so much as a finger, she wrinkled her nose and took another step toward the stairwell. Trying again, she pulled the words she’d used before from the recesses of her mind. “God bless you, if you must fight.”

  She waited half a heartbeat before the man on the farthest end reached for his sword. Anne didn’t hang around to see if the others followed. She spun and bolted down the stairs. That nonsense had to stop. One way or the other. If she had to send all of them a handwritten message they could carry in their damn pockets, she’d never face another bended knee again.

  Though the encounter managed to erase her worries about Merrick. She continued down the hall, lost in thought, jarred only to the present when her ankle smacked into something hard. Glancing down, Anne found another pristine white surcoat folded on the ground. The crimson bars of the Templar insignia reached out along the sides, but otherwise the cross was concealed. Once more, a rather plain broadsword lay atop the stack.

  She lifted her gaze and scanned the hall, noting another bundle well beyond Merrick’s door. Evidently, Mikhail didn’t care about his knights’ discretions. She couldn’t blame him. The vow was minor to begin with, but after a thousand years, if he’d punished everyone who felt the urge to scratch an itch, his holy army would be rather impotent.

  With a lift of her skirt’s hem, she stepped over the bundle and continued on to Merrick’s door. There, she stood motionless, her hand poised to knock. This was it. Her future lay in her success. She must remember to maintain her cool.

  Deciding knocking would take away some of her desired impact, she turned the handle and let herself in. Her eyes widened as she sucked back a squeak of surprise.

  Merrick lay sprawled out on the bed, one bare thigh poking from a tangled mess of covers. Thick arms folded over his pillow with his nose tucked against his bicep. She swallowed hard as her gaze traveled across the broad expanse of his shoulder blades, down to his trim waist, and rested on his covered buttocks. Dear God, he slept in the nude.

  Oh, this was such a bad idea.

  She’d never considered that he might sleep naked. Her pulse now chaotic, she backed up, intending to return to the hall and knock. Only, she tripped over something on the floor, and stumbled into his table. A wooden candlestick toppled, dropped to the floor, and rolled toward Merrick’s bed.

  Cringing, Anne stood motionless. Dread rolled around in her belly, tightening it into a hard lump as she realized just how stupid her idea had been. He was going to be seriously pissed. She’d left her room alone, woke him up rudely, and the man wasn’t even dressed. Crap, crap!

  The bed creaked, and she peeked through her lashes. Merrick had turned his face the opposite direction, bent his knee. Otherwise, he hadn’t moved. Expelling a long breath of relief, Anne glanced around the room, noticing for the first time the state of disarray. Clothes everywhere. Overturned furniture. His rumpled bed. What in the world?

  “God’s teeth, what are you doing here?”

  Anne flinched at the sound of Merrick’s harsh voice. Her gaze jerked back to the bed to find him on lifted elbows, his scowl as dark as night.

  Searching for courage she didn’t feel, she forced a smile to her face. “Good morning.” She paused only long enough to swallow, then continued, determined to ignore the way her insides resembled Jell-O. “We didn’t get anything accomplished on this matched mark thing yesterday. I wanted to get an early start.”

  He arched one eyebrow and eyed her with contempt. “You invade my chambers to tell me ’tis time to play matchmaker?”

  Anne’s determination surfaced when she was confronted by his usual surly attitude. He would not intimidate her, no matter how he tried. If he really thought a bit of grumpiness would dissuade her, he had a heck of a lot to learn, especially when she had so much at stake. She stepped deeper into his room, bent over, and picked a half-folded shirt off the floor. With a merry smirk, she tossed it in his face. “Get up. We have work to do.”

  “Nay.” He tossed the shirt back on the floor and flopped back onto the bed. “Leave me.”

  Anne sensed opportunity, and like a falcon diving for its prey, she swept in to goad him into action. “Listen, big guy, it’s not my fault you went to bed hard and miserable. Whatever tantrum you had in here, get over it.”

  His expression darkened as he slowly lifted to one elbow, exposing the glorious expanse of muscle that was his chest. Her belly fluttered, the sudden urge to crawl into that bed tugging at her senses. She glanced away, focusing on the window. If she’d learned one thing, it was that throwing herself at Merrick accomplished nothing.

  “Woman, you test my patience.”

  “And you test mine,” she shot back. A wave of satisfaction rolled through her as his glower deepened even more. The other thing she’d learned about this man—when he was angry, he was far more prone to action. “I want to find my intended. Today.”

  * * *

  Merrick could not decide which he found more infuriating—the fact Anne rudely awakened him, or that she had done so when she looked more beautiful than ever.

  The early morning sunlight set sparks to life within her long auburn tresses. Washed, she must have brushed her hair a thousand strokes or more, for the thick lengths shimmered like spun silk as they cascaded down her back to peek beneath her elbows. A lock tumbled over her shoulder, followed her sweater’s deep neckline and curled across the swell of one creamy breast. The sweater itself, although simple, looked as soft as a cloud, and he knew the skin beneath resembled satin. Her simple skirt accentuated the full flare of her hips, then dropped in loose lengths to swirl about her ankles.

  His eyes followed the trim lines of her body to her toes, then up to lock with hers, and his mouth went dry. Her cheeks bore a touch of pink that emphasized the fullness of her rosy lips. Her eyes, however, rendered him unable to breathe. Highlighted by the color of her sweater, they were as blue as an ocean, and every bit as fathomless. They sparkled with her smile, danced with her light laugh.

  Trapped between his hips and the mattress, his cock stirred. His stomach quivered as something deep inside plummeted into a bottomless abyss. Saints’ blood, she was simply stunning.

  He could no more rise from the bed than he could pretend he was immune to her. His body felt li
ke hewn stone, his muscles strained so miserably. Grinding his teeth together, he tore his gaze away and studied the sheets.

  Her intended. She wanted to finish the search today. He should be joyous. Her pairing freed him to fulfill his duty to Fulk. ’Twas what he wanted, was it not?

  If so, why did he feel as if he had just tripped off a high cliff?

  “C’mon, get up, big guy.” She slapped a shirt across his hip, her chuckle as unnerving as her smile.

  “Leave me be, Anne. I am in no mood for your wit.”

  To his disbelief, she laughed once more and started for the door. Yet where he expected her to pull it open and exit, she instead bent over and swept up a stack of his clothes. She set them on his table, then one by one, folded each article into a neat square.

  “What are you doing, damsel?”

  “Cleaning up your mess.” She smoothed the wrinkles out of his long-sleeved red shirt and flashed him a smile. “I don’t think you want this clutter around if you’re going to have friends in and out.”

  “What nonsense do you speak of? ’Tis my chambers. I have no cause for visitors.”

  Undaunted, she shook out a jumbled heap of black, then tucked the sleeves inside. “I’m going to use your table. I thought it would be a good idea to write down the marks as we find them. That way, if other women come, you can pair them easily.”

  His table? He grumbled beneath his breath. Not only did she wake him, but she intended to take over his personal effects as well. Damnation if the sight of her tending to his laundry did not set his heart to tripping.

  Defeated, Merrick rolled onto his back. “All right, little demon. We shall do things your way. The sooner your curiosity is sated, the sooner I shall find peace.”

  Light and airy, the musical notes of her laughter washed over him, stirring his already warm blood. “I thought you might agree. Now get dressed.” She tossed his jeans into his lap.

  Shifting around the edge of the table, she subtly presented her back. Though he felt not the slightest bit of modesty, he recognized the gesture as a symbol of hers and quickly tugged on his jeans. He slid his legs off the side of the bed and bent for a shirt, choosing a long-sleeved gray jersey. Once donned, he stood to tuck it in. The shapely curve of her backside caught his attention as she bent forward to smooth another square of fabric. Merrick choked on a renegade groan.

  “Where do these go?” Anne turned around with a stack of shirts between her hands, spoiling Merrick’s fantasy of bending her over the table and nuzzling the delicate skin at the back of her neck.

  He reached for his clothes, only to have her pull them out of his reach. Their fingers brushed. Her smile faltered in time with the trip of his pulse. Then, her eyes lit and she regained her composure. “I’ll do it. You go wake your friends.”

  Annoyed beyond all measure, he stalked to the wardrobe, pulled open a door, then stomped into the bathroom. Wake his friends. Find her intended. Turn her over to another man’s keeping …

  He pushed his fingers through his hair with a mutter. She asked the impossible. Nay, not her. Gabriel, the archangels, the Almighty, they all expected sainthood.

  Merrick took a moment to wash the sands of sleep from his eyes, then returned to the adjoining room where Anne busied herself with making his bed. He deliberately avoided watching her—’twas too tempting to push her into the pillows and resume last night’s play. Instead, he stuffed his feet into his boots and swiftly stalked to the door.

  Halfway there, he made an about-face and caught her by the arm. She turned, blue eyes wide with surprise. Without thought, Merrick gave in to the longings he had dreamed of and dipped his head to capture her mouth.

  Anne flatted a delicate palm against his cheek, the gentle press of her fingertips enough to assuage the fierce heat in his veins. He softened his lips, allowed her perfume to settle into his senses and soothe all the conflict that raged inside his mind. Like this, he felt whole. In her arms naught else mattered, not the pledges of centuries, not the darkness that threatened to consume him. He knew only one thing—the magic of her.

  Slowly, thoroughly, he kissed her. If this was to be their last moment together and she would walk out of his chambers with another man, he wanted to remember the sweetness of her mouth until he succumbed to taint of evil. He did not try to delude himself into believing he did not want her to remember this as well. To remember him.

  For he could no longer deny he wanted nothing more than to mark her in such a way she would never forget him, though she might give herself to another. ’Twas beyond the measure of rationality, a yearning he should feel shame over. And yet he could not bear the thought that in a few hours she would walk away. That he would look upon her from afar and never again know the simple pleasures of her touch, her concern, her breathtaking smile.

  A low guttural murmur rumbled in the back of her throat, awakening the desire that lay dormant in his blood. He eased the kiss to a languorous close before temptation possessed him and he did more than take liberties with her mouth. Cupping the back of her head in one hand, he pressed her forehead to his and took a deep breath. ’Twas time. He must resign himself to the purpose Gabriel chose for him and stand witness as she discovered her mate.

  Loathing what he could not control, he released Anne and strode from the room.

  CHAPTER 20

  Anne traced a nail down the length of a jagged scar embedded in a roughened palm. She took care to keep the caress light, the movement slow. She studied the nondescript mark, her mind automatically comparing the man’s hand to Merrick’s. This one’s fingers were fatter. His palm awkwardly large. And he desperately needed to learn the value of lotion.

  Pretending interest in these strangers lost its appeal after she’d witnessed the hope in the second man’s eyes dim, then flicker into nothingness. Though maintaining the charade came easily enough, now on the tenth potential knight, she felt more like a betrayer than any preordained savior. Her heart broke a little more with every grim expression, every brusque nod.

  But as she snuck a glance at Merrick from the corner of her eye, the agitated way his jaw worked when she took a few moments to delay her verdict, said her efforts were working as she’d hoped. He’d paced all the way through her initial conversation with this man, only stopping to lean against the table’s edge when this knight presented his hand. Every once in a while, when she caught him looking, his eyes sparked with the same unmistakable fire of a man who couldn’t chain his jealousy.

  She lifted her chin enough to look at the man through veiled lashes and found what she hoped was another sultry smile. “You have strong hands,” she murmured. She ran her fingers down the length of his as she’d seen Sophie do on more than one occasion when she tried to hold a man’s attention. “I am sure they will please your lady, but I’m afraid this scar doesn’t match.”

  With a gentle squeeze, she released his hand.

  The man’s body sagged ever so slightly as he offered her a deep bow of his head. Wordlessly, he crossed to the door, where Merrick already waited to excuse him. Merrick clapped the knight upon the shoulder, his smile having disappeared after the first go-around, and pulled the door open.

  Another knight entered before the first cleared the doorway.

  Anne pulled in a deep breath and summoned a bright smile. “Good afternoon.”

  This one wore the curious band of crimson on his left arm, and instead of taking her hand to bring it to his lips as all the others had, he dropped to a knee. “Milady, I am Gareth of Aletorp and honored to be in your presence.” In a fluid movement, he drew his sword and laid it before his foot.

  Anne’s stomach rolled over, and she held back a groan. “How many times must we do this?”

  The knight lifted his head. Soft brown eyes brimmed with confusion. “I beg your pardon? I have yet to swear my oath.”

  Anne looked to Merrick for an explanation. Head down, he moved back and forth in front of the window, too intent on ignoring her exchange to be of any use. He
r brows furrowed as she studied the man in front of her. “I would swear the entire temple was at dinner the other night.”

  Gareth chuckled low. “Mayhap they were.” He shifted, twisting just enough to bring his left arm in front of his body. A band of crimson cloth wound around his bicep. “This brands me as Raphael’s. We have only just arrived. ’Twas indeed a delightful surprise to find a seraph in attendance.”

  “Oh.” She felt the rush of heat in her cheeks and sought to cover her embarrassment with another smile. “Well, to tell you the truth I hate this part.”

  When Gareth laughed, his eyes twinkled. His features held the arrogance of youth, and the roguishness of the devil. Handsome, indeed, Anne didn’t need anyone to tell her Gareth knew his way around women. He was just the kind of man they’d fall all over, and she instantly liked him.

  “Then let us end it quickly.” He dropped his chin to his chest with a dramatic air.

  Anne couldn’t help but laugh. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re trying to charm me.”

  “But of course. Only a fool would not attempt to win the affection of one so very enchanting.” A grin set off a solitary dimple.

  The movement at her side came to an abrupt halt. As Anne bent down to pick up Gareth’s sword, she glanced at Merrick and clamped her teeth down on her lip, silencing another burst of laughter. His glare held the threat of black thunderheads that waited to unleash deadly bolts of lightning, and that baleful look was directed at Gareth. One hand held the pommel of his sword in a death grip. The other worked in agitation at his side, his fingers curling and uncurling, only to repeat the pattern again.

  Before he could notice she watched him, she averted her eyes and focused on returning Gareth’s sword. “You, sir, are a flirt.”

  Neat white teeth broke through his broad smile as he leapt to his feet and sheathed his weapon. “The better we shall pair then, milady. For the same runs in your blood, I fear.”