Immortal Surrender (Curse of the Templars)

by Claire Ashgrove

  Mikhail looked unconvinced. “I will take that as a nay.”

  Uncomfortable, Farran shifted his weight and searched for a chair. Spying none, he assumed a position against the wall. Ankles crossed, arms folded over his chest, he waited for the reason of their assembly.

  Anne slid out of her chair to stand before the men. With a hesitant glance over her shoulder, she sought Mikhail’s permission. He granted it with a short nod. For several long heartbeats, she stared at her hands. Then, lifting her head, she fixed her sky-blue gaze on Farran.

  Apprehension raised the hairs at the nape of his neck. Meaning filled her stare, a silent message full of warning. He jerked off the wall as her voice filled the small chamber.

  “I’ve seen Noelle’s death.”

  CHAPTER 19

  Silence engulfed the room as the men waited for Anne to continue. Farran’s pulse thumped dull and heavy, trumpeting the anxiety that rushed through his veins. He glanced at his brothers’ faces, searching for some sign of disbelief, another who might give him reason to believe the seer spoke falsely. His heart drummed heavily when he found only shock on all but Merrick’s. In their commander’s expression, Farran read concerned acceptance.

  In one heavy blow, Farran understood the gravity of his circumstances. He could not abandon Noelle when her life depended on his protection. No matter how he longed to separate himself from the confusing feelings she stirred, he could not leave her defenseless. She was his seraph. His responsibility. Until she took her oath, he could not entrust her fate to anyone else. Most especially now that the evil presences that had gathered beyond the temple’s gates.

  Elation blended with despair and turned his insides into nonsensical mush. He could not stay with her, yet he could not leave. To garner her oath faster, he must stay. To protect himself, he must leave. Damnation! Gabriel could not present him with a more intolerable situation. He had asked for naught of this.

  “I saw only a brief flash.” Anne’s voice quavered. Her eyes darted between them all, refusing to settle on Farran. She breathed deeply, and her words came out in a rush. “She’ll die at the hands of a dark knight. She’s not afraid of this death, which leads me to believe she knows him.”

  For the smallest fraction of time, her gaze paused on Farran. He stiffened in defense, but before he could determine whether accusation glinted in her eyes, she looked away. The gesture, however, was not lost on Lucan.

  Bolting forward in his wooden chair, he thrust an accusing finger at Farran. “You will kill her.”

  Fury launched through Farran with a catapult’s ferocity. He lunged at Lucan, his hand on the hilt of his sword. Naught would make him harm a woman. He would take his own life before the darkness in his soul could drive him to such actions. “You speak your own death sentence.”

  Lucan met his advance by leaping to his feet. “Nay, I do not. You will fail to obtain her oath, and you will kill the seraph!”

  Caradoc stayed Farran’s arm before he could draw his blade. One angry jerk halted Farran in his tracks. With his free hand, Caradoc twisted Farran’s arms behind his back and restrained him. Wanting naught else but to strangle Lucan for the insult on his honor, Farran twisted in outrage. His glare held Lucan’s in open contempt.

  As Lucan took another step toward Farran and opened his mouth to hurl another vile accusation, Merrick grabbed him by the collar. He hauled Lucan backward, separating the two men.

  “Enough!” Mikhail’s voice bit through the crackling tension. “You serve naught by fighting amongst yourselves.”

  Farran glowered at Mikhail. “His tongue begs punishment.”

  “Does it?” Mikhail’s voice rose with authority. “Who amongst us knows the precise moment the change will come over them? Even I cannot say. It could be a knight, a demon, an insignificant shade. You cannot guarantee you will not kill her.” His eyes pulled to Lucan, and he added in a softer, more meaningful tone, “Nor can Lucan be certain she will die at your hands.”

  Farran struggled for freedom, lurching forward against Caradoc’s imprisoning hold. But his brother’s arms held fast, refusing to grant him an inch of release.

  “Declan,” Mikhail addressed the silent Scot. “You keep your thoughts unto yourself. What say you to this?”

  Declan pushed a hand through his auburn hair and rubbed a knuckle under his chin. “Given we canna ken her fate for certain, seems to me the guard you ordered upon her discovery should be enforced.”

  “Aye,” Caradoc agreed from behind Farran. “We have neglected it with Farran at her side. ’Twould only be smart to return to it.”

  The idea of posting a guard outside his chambers struck Farran like a hammer to his knuckles. He would not have his brothers, not even Caradoc, overhearing what occurred between him and Noelle. He jerked against Caradoc’s hold and barked out, “Nay!”

  His reaction surprised even him. Shocked at the first thought that raced through his mind, he fell into silence. Why should it matter? He certainly did not intend to revisit another instance of this morning. All the guards would hear would be an occasional argument, mayhap his snores from the couch.

  “Sir knight, calm yourself,” Mikhail instructed. “None here seek to offend you. ’Tis only the seraph’s safety we consider. Use your head.”

  Use his head. Aye, he could do with a good dose of logic. If only he could find it through the ridiculousness that haunted him after the taste of Noelle’s sweet mouth. Saints’ blood, he felt like a madman, best served by being locked in a forgotten dungeon.

  He pulled in a deep breath and ordered his thoughts to behave. Noelle’s safety was all that mattered. Had she been Lucan’s, or any other man’s, he would have uttered the same as Caradoc.

  “Och! The lass should be told of her fate,” Declan continued. “She canna resist an oath if she kens about her death.”

  A chorus of agreeing murmurs and nodding heads followed Declan’s suggestion. Farran twisted a shoulder and freed himself from Caradoc’s grasp. He shook his head in violent protest. Careful to keep his tone even, he argued, “You may have your guards, but you may not tell Noelle.”

  “All the more reason to believe—”

  Before Lucan could finish the thought, Mikhail lifted a hand to order silence. He turned to Farran with lifted brows. “Nay? You do not think she would benefit from understanding the risk?”

  Farran let out a heavy sigh and studied his boots. “She is already afraid. If you push her further, she shall run. Outside these walls, none can keep her safe.”

  “Then what do you propose, Farran?” Anne asked quietly.

  He lifted his head to look squarely at Merrick. “We shall teach her to fight, as you are teaching Anne. She is my responsibility. I will stay with her. The rest of you”—he glanced at each knight in turn—“shall look to her safety when I am not at her side.”

  On a decisive dip of his chin, Mikhail confirmed, “’Tis agreed then. Who will take the first watch?”

  “I shall.” Lucan stepped out of Merrick’s hold.

  Farran could not contain a derisive snort.

  “That bothers you, Farran?” Lucan challenged. “Do you not trust me to protect the Order’s treasure?”

  The message was silent, but it gleamed behind Lucan’s narrowed eyes and the tight set of his jaw. I do not trust you with the seraph’s safety. Farran’s arm twitched with the longing to slam his fist into Lucan’s nose.

  Before he could fully curl his fingers, Caradoc ushered him out the door. He urged Farran down the hall and into his chambers where he firmly shut them in. “Calm yourself, Farran. Lucan cannot help his words. You know the darkness makes him suspicious. As it fuels your anger.”

  An irritated hiss seeped through Farran’s clenched teeth. Begrudgingly, he acknowledged the truth and sank back against the heavy wooden door. He buried his face in his hands, then dragged his fingers down his face as the fight left him. “His seraph should be found soon, or I shall have to strangle him.”

  The halfhe
arted threat elicited a chuckle from Caradoc. “What’s this? Humor I hear? I have not heard you jest in so long, I know not what to say.” Amusement fled his features like a veil drawn over his face. His gaze hardened. “If you seek to strangle someone, look to Declan.”

  Declan? What had the Scot done besides suggest the impossible? Farran queried Caradoc with furrowed brows.

  Caradoc moved to his barren table with a slow shake of his head and braced his hands on the scarred wood. “He is odd of late. Whilst you slept, he fidgeted in his chair as if he hides something from us. I know the injury I gave him has not healed enough to let him fight, so ’tis not his soul that concerns me. However, I worry all the same.”

  Farran shrugged. ’Twas not uncommon for a knight to seek the solitude of his thoughts when the darkness encroached. Sometimes ’twas easier to face the changing of one’s soul when no one could observe. “He does not care for the fated pairings. You know this.”

  “Nay, ’tis something else. When Mikhail mentioned the return of the Sudarium, Declan volunteered to take it overseas. Too eagerly for a man who has spent the last several weeks in virtual seclusion.”

  “Could it not be he wishes a change of scenery? An escape from seeing the seraphs that do not belong to him? You know he took Anne’s pairing hard.”

  “Mayhap. But when Mikhail mentioned Tane had begged to prove himself, even Merrick did not protest as much as Declan.”

  “Tane?” At the mention of the traitor, Farran bristled. “He stole a seraph. He should not be allowed within these walls.”

  “I agree.” Caradoc straightened and clasped his hands at the small of his back. “But Mikhail does not. He has assigned the Sudarium’s return to Lucan and Tane. Whilst he will not overrule Merrick’s desire to have Tane banished, he insists Tane’s sword is necessary.”

  Farran’s mind snatched on to the one important factor. Dismissing all thoughts of Tane, he asked, “Lucan is leaving?”

  A grin crossed Caradoc’s face. “Aye. In four days.”

  “Thank the saints.”

  As the last of the tension fled Farran’s body, he dropped into the solitary chair at Caradoc’s table and tossed an ankle over a knee. “Tell me, old friend, how do you convince one who does not believe in the Almighty to take an oath that binds her into service?”

  Caradoc’s grin broadened and he chuckled beneath his breath. “Your work has become easier.”

  “Aye?” Relief flooded through him. The faster Noelle came to believe, the less time he would have to spend with her. At this point, the temple in Europe looked heavenly compared to spending another minute in the close confines of her room.

  “Mikhail has granted Noelle access to the relics. The archangels have created a laboratory for her, at Gabriel’s directive. He is convinced she will be unable to deny the proof that lies beneath her hands.”

  Relics. A laboratory. Farran could think of naught else that would please his scientific seraph more. He moved to his feet. “She shall enjoy it. When may I take her to the inner sanctum?”

  “Whenever you wish.”

  “I shall do so now.” Mayhap, in so doing, he could make amends for his earlier actions. He was not sorry he had spoken the words, but indeed, he despised the fact he wounded such an innocent soul. He moved to his feet, offered Caradoc a thankful nod, and swiftly exited.

  * * *

  Declan hurried down the stairs that led to the innermost heart of the temple. With a glance over his shoulder to ensure no one followed, he took the right-hand corridor. At the third closed door, he rapped three times, as he had been instructed.

  The door swung open soundlessly.

  He stepped inside, and a black robed figure shut him in. Declan glanced around the room, noting four others also bore the same ceremonial attire.

  “You have reconsidered?” The voice that had approached Declan several weeks before came from behind him.

  He turned around, tried to peer through the heavy folds that cloaked the knight’s face and left only a scarred nose and a ghostly mouth in sight. “Aye. I ken the truth of what you speak.”

  The man seemingly in charge lowered his chin, allowing the hooded garment to completely shield whatever reaction he might have had. “You will give us your pledge?”

  “Aye. For what meager time I am granted in this form, I swear myself to the Kerzu’s purpose of restoring the Order’s true design and eliminating those who threaten us from within.”

  In unison, all five men lowered their hoods to reveal faces he knew well. Against the wall, Eadgar, Aelred, Godric, and Hrodgar stood unmoving. Men he had served with when the last grand master, a pawn of the ignoble Church, led them all to a slaughter at Saladin’s hands. Beneath a sun intent on burning them all to cinders, they had fought unfaltering until wounds too grievous for a mortal to survive forced them to fall down in false death.

  Leofric, an aged man who had fought at the mighty William’s side and knew not the meaning of the word dishonor, moved in front of the four men. His quiet demeanor, his stoic features demanded respect Declan could not deny. He bowed his head in deference.

  “What brought you to this conclusion, Declan?”

  “They wish for the traitor’s return.”

  “Tane?” Leofric drew back in surprise. He quickly masked the shock with a thoughtful tug of his brows and chewed the inside of his cheek. Hands clasped behind his back, he paced the floor in front of the other four. “’Tis concerning news indeed.”

  He stopped suddenly, his gaze piercing Declan in place. “You understand you have been chosen because your soul is so close to changing?”

  “Aye.”

  “And you further understand that we search for those who have fallen from our true purpose. That your work involves relaying what you discover to us. That, even if those you are closest to defy the oaths we swore centuries ago, you will hand them over to our means of justice?”

  Declan swallowed thickly. Already Merrick had betrayed several of the vows. His very refusal to allow Tane’s execution after Anne’s abduction went against the Code. Traitors were to be removed from service by an archangel’s blade. Further, the decision all four made to allow Noelle access to the relics before she swore her oath broke several more. To turn in those he was closest to bordered on a different type of treason. Yet he must do something to stop the ruination of the Templar purpose. He would not take a seraph, no matter the circumstance. Which meant his death was imminent. He could not leave this earth knowing he had allowed the Order to fail.

  As if Leofric understood his torment, he smiled. “Worry yourself not with Merrick. He has sworn himself to Anne. His path is no longer our concern. Use only what knowledge you bring to this meeting to guide your actions when you leave.”

  Relieved from the burden of having to confess what he already knew, Declan breathed easier. From this day forth, this very hour, he would do what he could to guide his brethren on the right path. Or he would simply stay away. “My thanks, good Leofric.”

  Leofric gave a dismissive wave of his hand and his smile broadened. “There are knights amongst us who are not truly knights. ’Tis those we must locate. Now let us speak in more detail. We shall share what we know. Please, sit down.” He swept his hand to a neat row of five chairs.

  Declan and the other four shuffled forward and dropped into their seats. Perched on the edge of his, Declan waited, his life full of new purpose.

  CHAPTER 20

  Noelle sat on her bed, her knees pulled up to her chest, her chin resting on them. She stared at the torc that poked beneath her short-sleeved shirt. Miniscule bands of red lay beneath the gleaming metal, evidence of the encounter that brought her to her knees. She tried not to think about it. Tried to convince herself the pain she’d experienced was a matter of her arm swelling while she slept.

  In her heart, in the most scientific portions of her brain, she knew swollen tissue had nothing to do with the encounter.

  Somewhere around the time she’d decided to give
up the idea of fleeing and instead simply changed her clothes, the pressure reduced to little more than a firm press. That too defied logic. Inanimate objects didn’t possess the ability to think or to adapt behaviors based on surrounding circumstance.

  The damn thing behaved as if it lived.

  A thought that made her want to laugh aloud. If someone had said it, she would have. The very concept was as fantastic as believing in the Tooth Fairy or sitting up all night and waiting for Santa Claus to shimmy down a chimney.

  And yet, the torc, the pain she’d experienced, was as real as any lost tooth or present under a tree.

  She turned to rest her opposite cheek on her knees and gazed out into the empty front room where Scat Cat lounged in the open doorway. Silence filled the small apartment, oppressive and foreboding. Any minute now, Farran would return, and she’d have to face inevitable punishment. Her stomach had balled up so tight over her imagined possibilities that even the pangs of hunger no longer registered.

  If he didn’t hurry up, she’d go crazy waiting.

  Or she’d go crazy trying to figure out how a metal alloy suddenly acquired the high reactivity of a halogen.

  A faint thump outside her door made her jump. Sitting bolt upright, hands fisted into the quilt beneath her, she stared at the door. He was here. Her freedom had come to an end.

  Through a grimacing squint, she watched the door slowly open. As predicted, Farran entered. He took his time closing the door and removing his belt. Then, he turned around and his gaze blistered into her.

  Damn, oh damn. If she had to be stuck with something magical, why couldn’t it be a bottomless hole she could disappear down?

  She closed her eyes, bracing for confrontation.

  His footsteps padded closer. A floorboard creaked near the side of the bed he’d slept on. The mattress gave with his weight.

  “Noelle?” His deep baritone washed over her, stirring to life the traitorous butterflies in her stomach. “Does something pain you?”