“Some would say so, aye.” Mark had nodded to him and looked away to the south.
“And that is why my mother was condemned to hell?” Luke had continued the questions, unable to help himself in spite of the pain the answers had caused.
“Your mother is not in hell, Luke."
“You took her from there.”
“Aye. She was unfairly judged. Angels are not beyond making errors. You should know that! I have always stood at odds against some of my brothers.”
“Then you are saying you are an angel?”
“Perhaps some would say that.”
“I would like to see her.”
“That could be arranged,” Mark had told him.
“What is the significance of this place, Sir?” Luke had looked about at the bricked patio surrounding the dark stone.
“Simon of Grenoble brought this stone here from Mt. Sinai. It is a piece of the same rock upon which the Law was written. The same as the stone tablets contained in the Ark of the Covenant. The stone on which the fate of mankind was put down in ten simple laws and given to Moses.”
“And the star?”
“It is the symbol of the words ‘as above, so below’. The upright triangle represents the realm of God. The Father at the apex, the Son at his right and on His left, the Holy Ghost, His conscience. The lower, inverted triangle represents this world. At the bottom is the Abyss and oblivion. To the right is the underworld and the realm of spiritual creatures. To the left is the overworld and the realm of man. In the center is Zin-uru. Unity. The place of the All where man, angels and the creatures of spirit, the Sons of God, both above and below, come together with God in perfect spiritual light. It is the goal of all endeavors of man and angels to reach this Unity. The symbol is called the Gem of Alchemy. The upturned triangle represents gold and light, the spiritual elements. The downturned triangle represents blood and water or the material elements. The combination of the spirit and matter is Unity. Always Unity.”
“I don’t understand,” Luke had refused to accept the things his brother told him.
“Yes you do. You are denying yourself. You are of the line of the Dragon. The same line that has descended from the Annunaki, the shining ones of Atlantis, of Noah and of his sons, the line of Solomon, of David, of Jesus Christ. You will be King of the Western Isles in the likeness of your forebears, Arthur of the line of Pendragon.”
Mark bent slightly and placed one hand on the stone in the center of the six-sided star where Paddy Puffingtowne had once worked his magick to produce an alchemical substance from clover leaves. He closed his eyes and seemed to be listening to something Luke Matthew could not hear for several seconds. When Mark had raised up again, he had smiled slightly and then had looked him in the eyes and said “There is nothing you can do about it, Luke Ramsay. You will be king and I will see to it nothing stands in your way.”
Luke had left him there in Simon’s garden and walked straight across the meadow to his home, mulling over what Mark had said. Wondering where Merry’s daughter would eventually fit into the picture and what he should tell her of the child. He knew in his heart what Mark had told him was true. Despite his own personal feelings about his brother, he had never lied to him and he’d never told him faery tales or things that did not come to pass. If Merry’s daughter was the child of Marduk, she would be immortal and she would be around for a very long time. If he lied to Merry now, it would only delay the inevitable and she would never forgive him and never, it seemed, was a very, very long time. But he did not want to spoil her trip to St. Patrick’s. It was the major force in her life at that moment that had promised any happiness for her.
She still found great joy in pondering the mysteries she had learned and she strangely enough seemed to have some rather fond memories of St. Patrick’s Island during their exile there. Her enthusiasm was almost childlike in its wonder and fascination and he was partially grateful she was interested in the Arthurian legends and Merlin and so forth. Surely she would be pleased to know she had become part of it. His son, Michael Ian, would be equivalent now with Mordred, produced in much the same way as that son of King Arthur who had been conceived by Arthur's half-sister, Morgana.
Did that mean Michael Ian would someday stand against him? He could not believe it to be so. Mordred had grown up without his father’s love and had then rejected the King's love when presented with it. Michael had benefited not only from his father’s love, but, as it turned out from the love of his grandfather as well. And Luke was quite sure Michael loved him in return. Michael also benefited from the unruly attentions of his cousin, Luke Andrew. Mark’s son practically doted on Galen and Michael much to everyone's surprise.
If he would be King and Merry would be Queen, then Michael would be a Prince. And Michael would stand with him when the time came. When the time came… for what?
He entered the rear door of his house quietly and found his way upstairs where Merry had thrown herself across their bed and cried herself to sleep. Luke pulled off his boots and lay down across the bed beside her. He had done this same thing many things whenever his insensitive behavior had sent her to her bed in tears, but never had he done such a terrible thing to her before. In all his long life, he had done many things, not the least of which had included actually killing women when the need arose, but striking his wife had never occurred to him before even when her words cut him to the bone. It simply wasn’t done and now he’d broken his last taboo. There seemed nothing left to do, but accept whatever penance she cared to dish out.
“Merry… Meredith.” He stroked her face with one finger. There was a bruise there where he had struck her and his heart hurt even worse at the sight of it. She opened her eyes tentatively and squinted at him. “Merry, do you realize you are my life? And when I strike out at you, I strike my own heart with a knife that slashes my life from me? Do you realize I am but a simple country bumpkin burdened with many things of great consequence I do not understand?”
She did not answer.
“If it would help, I would stab myself and bleed for you,” he said and pulled his dagger from his belt. “If you think it will help, I would let you do it to me.” Violence begets violence. That was the rule. .
She focused on the blade and narrowed her eyes sharply. With a quickness that surprised him, she took the dagger and pushed him over on the bed, coming down on his stomach, knocking the breath from him. She held the blade at his throat and leaned over his face.
“Would you?” she asked. “Would you die for me?”
“I would!” he told her solemnly. “Go ahead and test the truth of it.” He held his head back and exposed his neck for her. “But if you kill me, you will regret it.”
“Why?” She pressed the blade against his skin. "Why would I miss you, Luke Matthew Ramsay?"
“Because,” he told her. “Who would make your breakfast? Who would wash your clothes and draw your bath and sing you to sleep?”
“I could find someone else!” she told him and watched in fascination as the razor sharp blade caused a fine bead of blood to appear on his throat, but he did not flinch. Her anger scared her. She had never been prone to anger or temper tantrums. She loved life, loved people in general and normally had an upbeat personality even in the face of disaster, but her loss was too great. A child! Someone had taken her child from her and it could not be forgiven or forgotten. She actually felt she may have deserved Luke's anger, but he shouldn't have struck her. Never. Ever.
“Who would die so willingly simply because of your beautiful face right now? You would be my last vision here on earth and I would be happy with that for all eternity,” he asked her. “Murder me and set me free! But remember, I would haunt your dreams and my blood would stain your linens.”
“Luke Matthew Ramsay!” She sat up on his stomach and tossed the dagger on the floor. “You make me so mad!”
“I know.” He lowered his chin and looked up at her. “But I would not want anyone else to kill me.”
“No need to beat me senseless. I have already gone crazy. I am the King of Insanity and you are my Queen. Soon we will sail away on the Sea of Madness and live in Utter Lunacy for the rest of our days.”
“Then while you were insane, did you speak to your brother?” she asked him on a more somber note. She had no intention of letting go of the subject had caused them both such pain.
“I did,” he said and was glad to see her face light up at least.
“And so I was wrong. You are not afraid of him?” She frowned.
“And so you were right. I am terrified of him; but, I am insane and so therefore, terror does not stop me. I stood in the face of the dragon and challenged him with a toothpick on your behalf.”
“So what happened?” She fell on her side and propped her head on her hand.
“He gave me his sword and offered his head to me.” Luke closed his eyes and smiled grimly.
“You’re lying through your teeth!”
“No, I’m not. He told me many things. Great secrets. You like secrets, Merry, I know you do.”
“Not secrets I don’t know!” She slapped at him.
“If I tell you, they won’t be secrets!” He laughed and took hold of her blonde curls in one hand. He pulled her to him and kissed her tenderly. “But you know I can’t keep secrets from you. I never have. You are like Delilah, the evil Philistine woman, who trapped Samson.”
“Evil Philistine? You’re no Samson! I know he didn’t do that, Luke. So tell me what you learned.” She looked down at him.
“What will you trade for it?” He raised both eyebrows.
“Would you make me your Delilah then? Trading love for secrets? Should I cut your hair before or after?” Her frown deepened.
“Did I ask for anything in particular?” he replied with a question. “Why do you think I would trade love for secrets? I might want something else.”
“All right then. I’ll make you some tea.”
“All right then. But… you will make me some tea and then we will finish packing. When we are lying under the stars on the Isle of Ramsay, I will tell you my father’s secrets and you will understand many things.”
Merry hesitated. It was the first time she had heard Luke refer to Mark as his father. This was very serious. Something awful had happened when he’d confronted the Chevalier du Morte. Something that had affected him profoundly and it showed on his face. She suddenly did not want to know. She could see he had changed somehow and it frightened her.
“You promise?” She smiled broadly at him in spite of her reservations.
“I swear it,” he said with conviction and placed one hand over his heart. “But remember, Meredith, knowledge does not necessarily bring happiness.”
“I can handle it,” she lied and climbed off the bed. “Cream and sugar?”
“Of course.”
“And vanilla?” She called from the bath, and he heard the sound of running water.
“Are you making tea in the tub?” He pushed himself up and frowned at the open door.
“Of course. What kind of tea did you think I would make for you, your Highness? You said yourself I am the Queen of Insanity! And when you come in here, don’t let that big, white rabbit follow you!”
Chapter Seven of Fifteen
A good name is better than precious ointment
Lucio walked up the pebbly road toward the keep on St. Patrick’s Island. His eyes strayed again and again to the roof the great structure where he could see the cross atop the bell tower. She would be up there, perhaps, even watching him as he carried his bags up the road from the gate.
Behind him, Vanni and Selwig struggled along with their own bags, laughing and pointing and talking together in the elven language. They had been almost catatonic with wonder during the boat crossing from Scotland to the island, and Vanni had made him promise he would buy a boat for them in the future, and further, had tried to make him promise they would go out and sail around the world. But Selwig had become very upset at this suggestion and flatly refused to accompany his son on what he considered a completely foolhardy endeavor. The little healer had almost fainted from relief when St. Patrick’s green shores had come into view on the blue horizon of the Irish Sea. He had been convinced sea monsters were going to eat them or, at the very least, they were going to fall off the edge of the world at any moment.
At the moment, he clutched his brand new yellow bag, Levi had sent him, to his chest and carried a leather bag full of God knew what slung over his shoulder. Vanni half-dragged his own black leather bag full of neatly folded clothes in the dirt complaining clothing should not weigh so much, and the elves never had to pack anything other than their bows and arrows.
Luke Andrew tagged along behind them, trying to herd them toward the keep as they stopped time and again to look at the sights offered on the castle grounds. He, too, glanced up at the roof of the keep with a wary eye.
Konrad and his grandson, Apolonio, waved to them from the top of the round tower as they passed and Lucio’s heart fell at the sight of Mark Andrew walking toward them from the steps of the main fortress.
The Knight of Death was dressed in his traditional black attire and walked slowly, with his hands stuffed in his pockets, leisurely puffing on one of Paddy Puffingtowne's pipes. Michael Ian and Galen Zachary were out on the greensward in front of the pasture with Louis and Oriel and Thaddeus. They were alternately knocking golf balls across the open expanse toward the northwestern wall and playing croquet with Oriel in between golf swings. The smell of barbecue drifted to his nose, and smoke billowed from a silver cylindrical pit near the foot of the round tower that served as an eyrie for the falcons. Simon, Simeon, Philip, Zeb, Izzy and Reuben sat in lawn chairs near the pit watching the ‘athletes’ on the bowling green. The Golden Eagle smiled in earnest at the sight of Reuben and the smile was returned. It was good to have him back, at least. The occupants of the island looked like they had been here for years, rather than two days.
Lucio and Luke Andrew had held off, purposefully avoiding the flight over in one of the helicopters with the others. The object of concern was in Luke’s bowling ball bag and they wanted none of the more sensitive members of the group to become suspicious of its passing. Upon seeing his father approaching, Luke Andrew immediately veered toward the group of men around the pit. He thought better of getting too near to Simon of Grenoble and headed for the ladder at the foot of the round tower’s elevated door. The terrible luck he usually experienced when touching or transporting the skull had not plagued him this time, and he had to believe what Vanni had told him about the thing.
It apparently wanted to be brought here. He dropped his bags casually, but carefully, on the ground and then went back to join them. Vanni and Selwig followed suit and piled their own bags atop his. Selwig slung his yellow bag over his shoulder and followed after Vanni.
Greta appeared from the direction of the postern gate and was running ahead of her mother toward them, waving and calling to Vanni. Her brother and Vallen Martin, along with Christopher Stewart were hauling a long wooden table toward the tower. Oriel called Greta, Vanni and Selwig over to the game, and Luke Andrew sat down in an empty chair with the others. Lucio continued on to meet Mark Andrew, drawing him away from the precious package near the tower.
“Brother,” Lucio set his bags down and greeted Mark in the Templar fashion. “I see everyone made the journey in safety.”
“Everyone is here except Levi and his guest,” Mark Andrew filled him in and took one of the bags from Lucio, when he picked them up again. He glanced toward the children and saw a young girl of perhaps twelve or thirteen who was running across the greensward in pursuit of an errant wooden ball. He did not recognize her. She picked up the ball and then looked directly at
him as if she knew he was looking at her. The Knight jerked his head around and started after his Brother. “Some new faces. The good brothers have prepared our rooms for us and the Master’s men have graciously left the keep at our disposal. Your room is the same as before.”
“Good.” Lucio looked up at the keep involuntarily.
“You cannot see her from here,” Mark Andrew told him as they walked toward the open doors.
“You presume too much.” Lucio glanced at him in aggravation. “Does it show?”
“Like a high beam in the fog,” Mark Andrew told him. “What I don’t understand is why you are so desperate to see her you would coerce the entire Order to support you in your efforts to sway the Grand Master to allow you to come here. Why is that? Quite a feat even for our fair-spoken Eagle.”
“She is not the only reason I wanted to come here,” Lucio told him truthfully. “I am stir crazy.”
“You are crazy. That much is true.” Mark Andrew smiled at him as they entered the great hall. “What will you say to her?”
“I have no idea,” Lucio grumped irritably as he headed for the stairs at the far end of the hall.
“I will go with you,” Mark Andrew told him and he stopped abruptly.
“I do not need your assistance.” He turned about slowly.
“You might.” Mark dropped his bag on the floor and met his gaze evenly.
“I won’t.” Lucio bent to heft the bag again.
Mark Andrew shrugged slightly. “Is she expecting you?”
“I think so.” Lucio turned and trudged up the stairs.
“And what will you do when he finds out?” Mark removed the pipe from his mouth and followed him half way up the winding staircase.
“That depends on him.”
“Ahh.” Mark stuffed his hands in his pockets, turned and stepped lightly down the stairs. He made his way back to the open doors and stood watching the game again puffing his pipe thoughtfully. For just a moment, he had the urge to run across the grass and join them.
The Jealous God Page 15
