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Immortal Surrender (Curse of the Templars)

Page 20

by Claire Ashgrove


  Anne saved her once again with a reassuring squeeze of Noelle’s forearm. “I’m sorry. I’ve made you uncomfortable.”

  “N-no,” Noelle stammered. “It’s okay. I’m just not used to such honesty.”

  “The truth is, I wanted to stay.” Anne rounded the landing and pointed at the stairs that led to the main level. “It took me awhile to realize I wanted to stay forever, but I was never opposed to a short visit. I had to fall in love before I knew I couldn’t leave.”

  “And you don’t miss home?”

  “This is home. I hope you’ll come to think of it that way too. It’d be nice to have another woman around.”

  Doubtful. She might have an amazing lab to play in and a room full of artifacts that could occupy her for months, but it didn’t change the fact home was in Washington, D.C. Unlike Anne, Noelle didn’t have a guy trying to convince her to stay either.

  She stumbled as she took a step. What the hell was she thinking? Even if she did have a man sweet-talking her, she wouldn’t consider staying in this place. She wasn’t that desperate.

  Anne grabbed Noelle’s elbow, steadying her. “You okay?”

  Noelle summoned a grin, along with a shrug. “Just clumsy.”

  “Well, we’ll work on that. We can’t have you stabbing yourself in the thigh.”

  Another grin stirred Noelle’s humor, and she found herself laughing. “That would be my luck.” Although, to her credit, when she’d taken fencing in high school, she hadn’t been half bad, even though she hated every minute of it.

  “If that happens, Farran will never forgive me. Here, come this way. This is the entertainment room. Over there”—Anne pointed at the arches Farran had led her through earlier—“is the dining hall. Meals are served at six, twelve, and six. Right now, they’re pretty simple, but I’m working with Simon on some new chefs and new menus. Give me another month, and meals will be edible.”

  Noelle glanced around at the conglomeration of oversized sofas, recliner chairs, and rough-hewn wooden tables. The wide-screen television at the far end sat dark, as unused as the furniture. Strange they’d have such niceties and rarely use them. Seth was always carrying on about football and beer and having the guys over.

  Her expression must have revealed her confusion, for Anne explained, “The men haven’t ever really embraced modern conveniences. They shoot some pool, but they’d rather train in the yard when they aren’t out watching the gates.”

  “The gates?”

  “Yes.” Anne opened her mouth to say more, then covered her words with a smile. “I’ll let Farran explain the gates.”

  Noelle shrugged. Probably better not to hear more talk of the supernatural and unexplainable coincidences. Beyond the fact her mind had experienced more than enough for one day, the idea of spoiling an amicable conversation left a stale taste in her mouth. As long as she could pretend Anne was normal, she could like her.

  “Let’s go see if my armor fits you, and I’ll show you the other things on the way to the indoor commons.” Without waiting for Noelle’s response, she hurried her up the stairs to their neighboring rooms. “Merrick’s already waiting on us,” she said as she motioned Noelle through the door.

  Absent or not, Merrick’s presence hit Noelle like a physical force. His cologne lingered in the air. A shirt lay draped across the back of a chair. In the corner, a tall stand supported chain mail that matched Farran’s, complete with an identical white surcoat. Noelle’s gaze pulled to the couch where an afghan lay in disarray. Beside it, tucked against the foot of the couch, two pairs of socks nestled together—one fuzzy and feminine, the other large and masculine.

  Each way she turned, something that marked this room as much his as Anne’s caught her eye. A belt on the bed, the open wardrobe that exposed both his clothes amid Anne’s skirts. In the bathroom, their razors sat side by side—Anne’s pink and lavender, Merrick’s chrome and black.

  The merging of belongings struck a chord of longing in Noelle’s heart. What would it feel like to share everything with a man? To have someone be as much a part of life, as all the things that identified someone? They slept in the same bed, a treat Noelle had enjoyed for a scarce few minutes before Farran spoiled it all. How would it feel to spend every morning waking to kisses like the one he’d shared with her?

  “Over here.”

  Anne’s voice pulled Noelle from the wanderings of her mind, and she followed the sound to a small closet in the corner of the bedroom. Inside, Anne tugged on a heavy padded vest. She thrust it at Noelle with a grin. “Try this.”

  One look at the garment, and Noelle knew it wouldn’t fit. Anne’s bust exceeded hers by at least a full size. No way would that thing begin to do anything else but hang like a bulky sack. Nevertheless, she held her arms out and allowed Anne to slip it on her. Her fingers quickly worked the laces along the sides, snugging the strands of leather tight. When they would close no further, she stepped back with a frown.

  “Well, it’s a little big. But it’ll work until Raphael can have one made in your size.”

  It would work? Noelle glanced down at the weighty covering with doubt. If she had to execute any move of skill, the darn thing would fall down to her elbows. A wry smirk tugged at her mouth. She shouldn’t care. It’d just be another example of how terribly she lacked grace.

  “Now what?”

  “Now we go to the yard. We’ll work with wooden swords today. But Merrick won’t wait to pair you with metal. A couple days at most, and you’ll have your own short sword.”

  Joy. She’d been overjoyed to quit fencing and be free of all the aches and pains. But this had to be better than sitting in her chambers alone all night. If relearning swords gave her company until she could tell Farran about the Sudarium and go home, she’d put up with it.

  Anne elbowed open the door. “Merrick won’t take it easy on you just because you’re new either. Expect to go to bed sore.”

  “I’m really not too sure about this, Anne,” Noelle protested at the top of the stairs.

  Anne hesitated and looked over her shoulder. Her blue eyes hardened. Her voice lost its lighthearted lilt. “You are a seraph, Noelle, whether you want to believe it or not. Azazel, the Lord of Darkness, will do all he can to kill you. Farran has sworn to protect you, and you were chosen to save him. To do so, you must protect yourself.”

  An unexplainable shudder wafted down Noelle’s spine and needled particles of ice through her veins. Anne’s tone, the absolute conviction in her expression, left little room to accuse her of being crazy. Yet she couldn’t possibly be right. The Lord of Darkness? Even what little Noelle recalled of Sunday school said Satan was the master of evil. For that matter, she couldn’t even remember hearing the name Azazel.

  “Hurry, there’s a movie on I want to see tonight. It starts in an hour.” Anne’s joviality returned along with her bright smile. She rushed down the stairwell, forcing Noelle to take the stairs in double time.

  As they reached the main floor, the front door swung open and a dark-haired man stepped inside. He glanced around, his eyes darting wildly until they came to rest on Anne. For a moment, he looked as if he might smile. But the pull at the corners of his mouth disappeared as quickly as they stirred. “Is Merrick present?”

  Anne answered with a slow, tenacious nod. “He is. But it wouldn’t be wise to approach him, Tane. Can I help?”

  Tane twisted his hands together, then shoved them into his pockets. He shifted his weight, looked at his boots. “I wanted to discuss the money.”

  “Oh that.” Anne chuckled softly. “Don’t worry about it, Tane. I’ll talk to Merrick and get it for you. I promise. But you should go. Before someone sees you here.”

  Hope lit vivid green eyes, and the smile he’d tried to contain broke free. “You will contact me?”

  Moving closer, Anne gave his arm a squeeze. “Of course. What you’re doing’s noble. Merrick knows that. He just doesn’t want to see you.”

  “Very well then, milady. I shall
await your call.” With only the briefest curiosity, he looked to Noelle before vanishing out the door.

  Noelle turned to Anne, eyebrows lifted.

  “That was Tane.” She chewed on her lower lip, her expression tight with concern. After several seconds of silence, she explained, “The men here all suffer from tragedy. The longer they live, the more difficult it becomes to separate from those issues. It’s why Farran’s always angry. Why Lucan is suspicious…” She trailed off, her stare fastened on the closed door. “And why Tane kidnapped me.”

  “Kidnapped you?” Disbelief lifted Noelle’s voice several decibels. “He kidnapped you, and you’re helping him? My word, Anne, just what kind of crap did they feed you here to make you think that’s okay?”

  “You’ll understand in time.” With a wag of her fingers, she beckoned Noelle down the hall. “Tane is trying to open a shelter for homeless teens. The Order has money like you wouldn’t believe. He can’t help himself, and working with those kids gives him purpose. I’ve seen how they respect him. He can make a difference.”

  “But…” Unable to find the words, Noelle trailed off with a tight frown.

  “Farran’s good to you, isn’t he?”

  The abrupt subject change caught Noelle off guard. At once, the memory of his kiss, of the weight of his body pressing into hers, slammed into her. She shivered with the impact, recalling just how good Farran could be when he wasn’t carrying on about demons and angels. “Sometimes,” she conceded in a whisper.

  “Like Tane, like most everyone here, Farran’s a good man. He’s a little rougher around the edges than the rest of them. But give him time. Let him prove himself to you. Like Tane, he can make a difference in your life. The real man will show through if you give him opportunity.”

  Give him opportunity? Did that mean she could do something that might make him find her more desirable? She flinched at the idea. Even if she wanted him to find her irresistible, she didn’t have the slightest clue how to accomplish that. When it came to men, they were as foreign as that piece of wood in the basement.

  The twisting of her heart made the obvious unavoidable. Reluctantly, she surrendered to the illogical realization she did want to make a difference to Farran. She couldn’t keep him, couldn’t abide by his beliefs, and yet every time he stood within two feet of her, her heart did a little tap dance against her ribs. And the kiss, that incredible kiss … She’d give her eyeteeth for this morning to have meant something.

  From the corner of her eye, she studied Anne as they walked down the hall. She knew Farran. She knew men. Maybe Anne could give her some advice.

  A blush crept in fast and furious, negating the thought. No, aside from Farran, Anne was the last person Noelle wanted to look stupid in front of. She’d only feel more insecure if she confided her naivety. Better that she say nothing at all. In a few days, it wouldn’t matter. She wouldn’t be here to care. Farran, along with Anne, would be strangers she’d leave in a dark corner of her memory.

  They passed the commons, stalked down a wide carpeted hall, and entered a padded room the size of a gymnasium. Merrick sat in a folding chair in the middle, two wooden swords lying across his lap. He stood, his eyes only for Anne as they approached, and again Noelle felt the foreign pang of yearning. To be looked at like that, like no one else was present … She surrendered to a wistful, inward sigh.

  “Are you ready, Noelle?”

  Before she could answer, Merrick arced an arm across his body, and the flat length of the makeshift weapon thumped into her stomach. She doubled over, gasping for breath.

  “Use that to remember. Never allow your opponent to anticipate your actions,” Merrick instructed in a low, even tone.

  CHAPTER 23

  Farran rose and dusted his hands on his jeans. The crisp winter breeze stirred his hair. In the chill, he caught the scent of snow. Christmas would come again. Each year it passed, another day of celebration and merriment he did not share. This year would be no different.

  He turned his face to the full moon, seeking answers in its silver glow. For centuries, he had sated his physical needs in exchange for a handful of coins, unashamed. Not even the Order’s code of chastity, nor the punishment for breaking it, gave him pause. He was a man. He would suffer the temporary loss of sword and robes to keep himself sane. And oft he had.

  Yet Anne had run him through like a pike.

  She will know.

  So deeply did the claim puncture, the prospect of a stolen hour of escape with Leah soured.

  ’Twas what brought him to the gardens to sit in the dark. He should not care whether he wounded Noelle. It should matter not if the truth of his preferences moistened her fawnlike eyes.

  Still, for a reason that eluded him, he did not wish to cause her pain. He knew only that he wished to keep intact the happiness she had shown him.

  Make it blossom.

  A realization that shook him to the core, for it rang too similar to the innocent hope he had harbored, a long-ago summer, with a maid named Brighid.

  He blew out a breath, watched it cloud before him. The breeze stirred again, and he embraced the cold. Icy fingers slid beneath his clothes, across his skin, and into his veins where the biting sting tempered his overwarm blood.

  Lowering his gaze, he scanned the perimeter’s iron gate. Beyond, the rustle of dried leaves set his senses on alert. Azazel could send his foolish shades. He could order all the horrific nytyms to attack. He could even instruct his shape-shifting demons to aid his foul knights. Farran would meet them all with a smile to match their wickedness. But Azazel would not harm Noelle. Not as long as breath remained in Farran’s body. He would walk with Azazel’s minions in hell before a claw could touch her pretty face.

  The simmering of anger stirred in his veins, and he looked away. Tonight they would fight again. But not now. Not yet.

  A shadowy flicker behind a distant window made him squint. Silhouettes faced off, swords in hand. In a dance he knew by heart, they circled slow. A hand thrust forth. A body jerked back. Long hair slashed sideways, and the evader returned the strike.

  Curiosity prickled his skin. Did Noelle practice? He shuffled a heel against hard-packed earth, fighting the pull of discovery. Before his eyes, the figures came together in a clash of blades, and one stumbled back. Fell.

  Like sparks set to dried rushes, his temper flared. He ground his teeth together and stormed across the lawn. The rear door gave easily beneath the slap of his palm, and he stalked down the hall to the indoor training room. If ’twas her, he had words to say. She was too inexperienced to parry thus.

  As the doors swung open, Farran halted in place. Where he had expected to find his seraph still in a crumpled heap, she stood toe-to-toe with Anne. Pulled back in a ponytail that brushed her waist, her long hair swayed with the graceful rhythm of her body. Perspiration dampened straying strands that clung to her face, and her cheeks were flushed. Rosy, to match her parted lips.

  To his amazement, exhaustion did not slur her actions nor cling to her expression. If his eyes did not mistake him, behind her glasses, excitement gleamed.

  Farran stood unmoving, counting off the elementary paces in his head. Parry, back, parry, thrust, parry … Feint? Where had she learned to feint?

  Anne stumbled against her own force, Noelle’s surprise maneuver catching her off guard. She rose, her back meeting the edge of Noelle’s blade. Beaten, Anne set her hands on her knees and panted.

  “Again,” Merrick barked. “’Tis twice she has caught you in that trick, Anne. Use your head.”

  Twice. ’Twas not a lucky step. Pride swelled through Farran. With the sudden infusion, his heart thumped hard. A heavy beat he would have never imagined possible, yet one he could not hope to deny. With the next weighty drum, his awareness of Noelle intensified. The way her body arced and twisted, the way her hair swung wild. With relentless persistence, she pursued Anne, each clack of her wooden blade drowning him deeper in all she was. Simple scientist, innocent maid, aggressi
ve warrior, gentle healer—he knew not which he preferred, but he craved them all.

  She possessed so many different layers. And God help him, he wanted to peel every fascinating one away until she stood before him, utterly bare.

  “She is good. ’Tis as if her arm is blessed by the Almighty,” Merrick commented at Farran’s side. “Tomorrow, I shall give her a real blade.”

  Unable to tear his eyes off the vision of angelic beauty before him, Farran could only murmur, “Aye.” Indeed, she took to the sword naturally. A fact that contradicted the clumsiness he found so inexplicably enchanting.

  * * *

  Noelle was all too aware of Farran’s unexpected presence, and her nerves kicked in. She struggled to keep her focus on Anne and the effortless way she wielded her wooden sword.

  She’d been doing good, damn it. Good enough she didn’t feel quite as insecure around Anne. What Merrick had instructed after his surprise attack had somehow connected with her former lessons, and like before, her scientific mind clicked them in place. Swordsmanship was like physics. The calculations only a derivation of theories. Once she’d grasped the hang of the heavier weight in her hand, everything else came naturally.

  Even her clumsy feet recalled the long-ago dance.

  But now, with Farran watching, the cadence in her mind stuttered … along with her arm. She hesitated a split second too long, giving Anne the advantage. Anne swept in to drive her sword down on Noelle’s wrist.

  A startled cry escaped at the biting smack, and Noelle’s hand faltered. Her fingers released. The blade clattered to the floor.

  “Enough,” Farran barked. His harsh tone softened as he added, “For tonight. Noelle grows weary.”

  A low growl threatened to possess her. Weary? How the hell would he know? She had another few rounds left in her yet.

  In defiance, she picked up her sword and faced Anne in an open stance. Anne’s slight head shake, however, terminated their spar. “Go with him,” she urged quietly.

 

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