Immortal Protector

by Claire Ashgrove

  He bent and dusted a light kiss across her forehead. “Will I see you later this eve?”

  “I don’t know,” she murmured.

  The motion of his hand brought the side of his palm in contact with the medallion around her neck. He lifted it from her breastbone and held it between thumb and forefinger. In the turn of circumstance, he had quite forgotten about the necklace. Now, ’twas a reminder of the danger that lingered near the abbey.

  “Who is Armand, Catherine?” he asked quietly.

  Her brow furrowed, though she did not open her eyes. “If he was Templar and you are too, why are you asking me?”

  “Nay.” Releasing the medallion, he rolled onto his back and braced his hands behind his head. “I do not mean the man. I mean why you avoid discussing him. I know what he is to my Order—what is he to you?”

  When she remained silent, he turned his head to discern whether she slept. Her resistance to conversation showed in the pursing of her lips and the deepening of her frown.

  “Very well,” he said staring at the tall ceiling once again. “I shall tell you who he is to me. He is a most eccentric man, mayhap even a bit dim-witted. He slept with a whore, who convinced him she bore his child. When our…commander…insisted the child be cared for by another, Armand defied everything and everyone to keep the boy close. Armand Dupris died shortly after he secured the boy in a home where he could watch over him.” He slanted his gaze to her, gauging her reaction. “He is a bit similar to you when it comes to children in need.”

  Catherine blew out a hard breath that stirred the tendrils of hair still clinging to her temple. “Fine. I don’t know anything about Armand Dupris. But one of my sperm donor’s grand-something-or-others was a Templar knight. The prioress knows this. I’m convinced she gave it to me out of some preconceived notion I have a sentimental connection with that man.”

  “’Twas not so difficult to share, aye?” Though he took care to keep his voice light and teasing, behind the veneer, shock ricocheted through him. His mind raced in rapid circles. The curse he and his fellow brethren bore forbade them to sire children. Their seed was sterile and useless. For her to possess a direct ancestral tie to the Templar, someone had to believe a sterile knight could produce an heir. He knew only one man who fit—Armand Dupris.

  And if the prioress gave her that necklace, she either held full knowledge of Catherine’s ancestry, or she was completely ignorant. Both possibilities added to Iain’s unease.

  “No, it wasn’t so bad,” Catherine admitted as she rolled onto her side and snuggled close. She rested her head on his chest, draped an arm around his waist. “But this is better.”

  Reflexively, he wrapped one arm about her and tipped his head to breathe in the fragrance in her hair. “Sleep, mademoiselle,” he whispered. “You have earned it.”

  She made a sound that could be called naught else but a purr and rubbed her cheek against his pectoral. “So have you. Join me in dreams?”

  “Aye,” he murmured.

  He lay still in the big bed, enjoying the relaxed feel of her delicate body folded against his, one hand stroking her sleek hair, even as he turned things round and round his mind. Why could one man’s delusions be of interest to Azazel? What had happened to the child who caused such ruckus? Could Catherine indeed have a connection, even if blood did not bind her, to Armand Dupris? And if she did, why was such an insignificant relationship, a false one at that, so very significant?

  If the prioress indeed did know, it made the connection to the demons at the abbey that much more disconcerting. Iain despised the idea of returning Catherine there at the light of dawn, leaving her when he well knew the threat in the not-so-distant trees. But she remained blessedly ignorant, and he suspected, should he tell her, she would become terrified.

  ’Twas only one thing he could think of to do—seek out Mikhail once again. Involve the very Order he could not find faith in.

  Catherine woke to the scatter of gentle kisses across her mouth and cheeks. She opened her eyes to splendor—Iain leaning over her, his bare broad shoulders caging her against the bed, the lower half of his body delightfully weighing her into the mattress. She gave in to a contented smile and looped her arms around his neck.

  “Good morn, mademoiselle,” he murmured.

  “Mm.” Good, yes. Absolutely incredible. And if it were any other morning, she’d roll him over and spend the next few hours in this soft bed. But it wasn’t a random, lazy Saturday. She had to sneak into the abbey before anyone noticed her all-night absence, and she had a long, boring day of filing three boxes worth of papers and old journals ahead of her.

  Not to mention a lecture of the most terrible kind from Sister Helen Margaret.

  And she needed to decide how to go about leaving the community.

  Choosing not to think about her inevitable departure and how awkward that confession would be, she focused instead on the more immediate issue—getting inside the archives room before the entire community knew she had been out all night long.

  With a man.

  Despite herself, she giggled, earning a curious lift of Iain’s eyebrows.

  “What amuses you, my sweet?”

  “This. Us. My situation. I’m twenty-eight years old and about to sneak inside my home like a teenager all over again.” Only back then, she hadn’t ever snuck back in once she’d snuck out. This was rather fun, on a very juvenile level, and if she ignored the more serious issues waiting for her, of course.

  She slid out of the bed still chuckling and gathered her clothes, when her exact predicament hit her fully. Her skirt in one hand, she froze in place. In a few short hours she would have no home. Her car was toast. School wasn’t yet out for the semester, and the only friends she could lean on were cloistered within the abbey walls.

  Slowly, her gaze pulled to Iain as he crossed the room, gathering his own clothes that lay scattered across the floor. A bubble of pleasure rippled beneath the surface of her skin as she took in his strong physique, his broad back, the way defined muscles bunched as he moved. He was truly something special, in all senses of the word. But relying on him? Did she dare ask him to help her pick up the pieces to her life when they’d known each other only a few short days?

  The idea terrified her. Only one man had ever proved reliable. Her adoptive father.

  “Catherine, what bothers you? You look as if you have witnessed a ghost.” Iain’s voice filled with concern as he went still, his head poking out of his shirt, the sleeves not yet stretched fully across his shoulders.

  Heavily, she sank onto the edge of the mattress, accepting the reality of her decisions the night before. “I have to leave the abbey.”

  Iain pulled his shirt on the rest of the way and sat beside her. “Is that what you wish to do? Or are you meaning they will remove you?”

  She shook her head. “No. They’d work through these things with me if I wanted to stay. But I wouldn’t be here if that’s where my heart was.” Exactly what the novitiate director had been trying to tell her for entirely too long. They’d known she wasn’t cut out for community life. She just hadn’t noticed everything on a broader scale.

  It had taken Iain to make her see the truth.

  She lifted an uncertain gaze and met the tender concern in his own. “I…don’t know what…to do now.”

  A tentative smile touched his mouth before he leaned across, gathered her in his arms, and kissed the top of her head. “We will work this out together.”

  Pushing out of his arms, she shook her head, a bit of panic settling in. “I don’t have a place to stay, Iain. If I tell them today, I don’t have anywhere to go. I don’t have a car to get anywhere, even if I did. I have to work, I have to pay bills, I have—”

  “Catherine.”

  The low sound of her name, spoken with the faintest degree of amusement, brought her colliding thoughts to a halt. She looked at him. Simply looked at the man who’d opened her eyes to life.

  “You can figure nothing out in me
rely your underwear.” He gestured at the skirt in her hands. “Dress first. ’Tis the only immediate solution. I possess a truck. Anne’s house is open. We will find you a car this weekend, and we shall work this out together.” He kissed the top of her head again and stood to fasten his jeans.

  He made it sound so…simple.

  Could it really be that easy?

  Iain headed for the door. “Is your phone in your purse? I will put my number in it. Should you need anything today, I will be at the temple, less than an hour away.”

  Yes, it could be this simple. As uncomfortable as it was, she could lean on him. It wasn’t like they’d be moving in together, not like she was leaping before she looked. She was just relying on a very special person who seemed more than willing to allow her to do so.

  As the vise around her lungs let go, she slid into her skirt with a faint smile.

  Twelve

  Luckily, the abbey still slept when Catherine let herself in the side door, only the few earliest risers shuffled about in the dining hall. Hearing more bustling down the hall that led to her dormitory, she skipped the idea of changing her clothes. The only person who’d witnessed what she left in yesterday was Regina, and she wouldn’t venture down to the archives.

  Catherine bit back a lump of guilt and snuck down the dim corridor that led to the basement archives. Geez Louise, this was exactly like being a teenager again. She was tip-toeing, for goodness’ sake.

  Shaking off her discomfort, she sucked down courage, reminded herself she was a grown adult, and walked with more confidence to the stairwell, where she descended like she would any other morning. Whether she was an official member of the Benedictine Sisterhood or not, the prioress needed help putting this new collection away and cataloguing it appropriately. She didn’t have to be a nun to get precious work accomplished.

  She inserted her key, only to find the door already unlocked, telling her that despite her attempt at duplicity, Prioress Mary Suzanne already knew about her absence. Not that she was late…just that someone had already gone looking for her this morning. Because she’d missed prayers. Because, once again, she hadn’t phoned.

  Okay, do this, get this over with. Iain said he’d help.

  As long as Sister Helen Margaret didn’t show up before Catherine spoke to the prioress, this wouldn’t turn out so very bad.

  Catherine let herself inside the spacious room with its rows of shelves and musty historical documents. Whether there were any true relics down here, she didn’t know. It wouldn’t surprise her, however, to find something coveted buried in a forgotten corner, covered with decades of dust.

  The three donated boxes sat waiting for her near the small desk to the left of the door. She stopped short in front of them, staring dumbfounded at the words splashed across the side in black marker—Jonas Carpenter Estate. Her hand shook as she set her keys on the edge of the desk. How long had it been since she’d seen her birth grandfather’s name?

  Don’t be silly. There’s a thousand other Carpenters in this world.

  But how many Jonas Carpenters were there?

  With a frown, Catherine reached for the intake sheet on the top of the stack and read it carefully. Hapscott Realty donated the boxes upon Jonas Carpenter’s death as set forth by the terms of his trust, should his singular heir, Frank Lawrence Carpenter of Springfield, Missouri, no longer be living.

  Her knees buckled, and she gripped the edge of the desk to keep from falling. Frank Lawrence Carpenter—so her sperm donor was dead.

  She shouldn’t care. She had never met the man, had never seen a picture to have a face to put with his name. By all rights, if she hadn’t found her mother’s journal and read it one afternoon when she’d been alone, Catherine wouldn’t even know his name. And yet something wrenched painfully behind her ribs. Her eyes pricked with tears.

  No, no, no. She sniffed back the stinging wetness. She would not cry over a man she’d never known. She’d already done more than enough of that.

  Straightening her shoulders, she pulled in a deep breath, pivoted on her heel, and stalked out the door. Prioress Mary Suzanne should have given her some warning of what awaited her in the archives, instead of leaving her to stumble onto what remained, in sum total, of the family she had never been part of.

  Had Jonas known about her?

  She pushed the question aside, and banged on the prioress’s office door.

  A strong, elderly voice called out, “Good morning. Come—”

  Catherine shoved the door open before Mary Suzanne could finish her greeting. It banged into the wall, causing the aging woman to startle as she watered a hanging plant. Water spilled down the front of her turquoise blouse. “Catherine. Good heavens, is everything okay?”

  “It might have been, if you’d given me some warning about the donations that Sister Helen Margaret had me work with today.”

  Genuine confusion crinkled her wrinkled brow. “I’m sorry, I’m afraid I don’t have the faintest idea what you’re talking about.” She gestured at a chair. “Sit down, please, Catherine. Tell me what has you so upset.”

  There was no sitting for it—she was too worked up to remain still. She shook the intake sheet at the prioress. “This! You might have warned me that you accepted my birth family’s things!”

  Shock widened the poor woman’s eyes, and Catherine’s angry sails deflated. She didn’t know—she sincerely didn’t know where the boxes came from.

  “I’m so sorry.” The prioress’s strength visibly faded, and she weakly lowered herself into a chair. “I would have never…oh, Catherine, I had no idea. It was just a routine phone call. Hapscott said they had a delivery. We take so many things from them, I let them unload while I attended other things.”

  She plucked her glasses off her face, polished them thoroughly, and repositioned them on her nose. “They belong to your family?”

  With much less fire than she’d possessed seconds ago, Catherine rattled the intake sheet again. “According to this. And it seems my birth father is dead as well.”

  Mary Suzanne bent her head and massaged her temple, silent for several moments. With a deep breath, she collected herself again, and her usual, warm, approachable expression returned. “Have you had coffee yet this morning, Catherine? I haven’t, and I could use some now.” She rose from her chair, crossed the room to the gurgling coffeepot behind her antique walnut desk.

  “I…no, I haven’t.” Feeling extremely small and embarrassed over the way she’d yelled at the woman, Catherine sat uneasily on the edge of a chair.

  “How about we both go through those things when we finish coffee? I feel terrible that you were given such a surprise. Helen Margaret signed off on the intake sheets for me, and you know how she can be about rules and guidelines.”

  Oh yes, Catherine knew all too well. Helen Margaret would have likely found it fitting punishment for taking her commitment so lightly. There were just some people who didn’t know how to be anything other than bitter—she was one.

  Catherine chewed on her lower lip. She really hadn’t intended to subject herself to demands for explanations just yet. She’d barely had time to get comfortable with the decision to leave the abbey, let alone have time enough to plan what she’d say.

  Mary Suzanne pushed a steaming mug of coffee beneath Catherine’s nose, her watery blue eyes full of kindness. “Something else has been bothering you lately too. You are so close to Sister Regina that I’d hoped you would open up to her. Is there anything I can do?”

  Using the offered mug as an excuse to avoid conversation for another minute or two, Catherine accepted and lifted it to her lips.

  “I have never known you to be impulsive. Not when it came to important matters,” the prioress continued, taking her seat once more. “And yet, you’ve never been completely content here. When you’re free from the bureaucracy of education and can reach the students in need, you’re much happier.” She looked over the rim of her mug, a smile crinkling the corners of her eyes. “This yo
ung man—does he quiet that part of your soul?”

  Catherine’s eyes widened, and she choked on her swallow. She hastily set her cup on the end table before she dumped it into her lap. When she’d recovered, she blinked at the older woman. “How did you . . .”

  Chuckling, the prioress set her own mug aside. “I was young once too, Catherine. And I have counseled many an engaged couple wanting to marry within the church. He looks at you much the same way.”

  “But, when—”

  “He picked you up for work yesterday, didn’t he?” With a near grin, she pointedly shifted her gaze to her office window.

  Catherine’s cheeks flushed with heat. She hadn’t even considered the prioress might witness her unexpected, early morning visitor. Confronted by a sudden rush of shame, she hung her head. “I must leave the abbey, Prioress.”

  “Must? There is never a must. Is this what you want to do?”

  The same thing Iain had asked. Her heart fluttered as the way he’d held her came to life in her mind. “Yes.” Catherine nodded, her shame sliding away. “Yes, it’s what I want. I love all of you, but my heart isn’t here.”

  Knowing touched Mary Suzanne’s eyes. Wisdom and compassion that had earned her the title of prioress. “Nor has it ever truly been. You found an escape from the sorrow of Bob and Linda’s deaths, a place to matter where you’d hoped you could make a difference. But the community has never been home to you.”

  No, it hadn’t. Catherine saw it now. But it had taken an incredible man to wake her up, jostle her back into life from grief that hadn’t let her go, and fire passion in her once more. Not just the physical kind either. The kind that came with helping Darrin and kids like him as well.

  “You have not answered my question, Catherine. This young man—”

  “Iain.”

  “This Iain, then. Does he quiet your soul?”

  There was no need to think about it. Her answer was as swift and immediate as a strike of lightning and every bit as chillingly exciting as well. “Yes,” she answered in an emphatic whisper.