Immortal Surrender (Curse of the Templars)

by Claire Ashgrove

  He considered telling her his suspicions her hands had more to do with his healing than Uriel’s talent with a needle. Before he could decide how to begin, she slid into his lap and laid her head on his shoulder. “No. I’m not mad. But don’t keep things from me. Even Anne had the decency to tell me I’d die.”

  Farran bristled. Anne had no right to tell Noelle such. ’Twas not her place. The damage she could have caused … Even Declan’s lies would not come close to such disaster.

  At the remembrance of his brother’s strange behaviors, Farran eased Noelle out of his lap. “I must speak with Mikhail about Declan. ’Twill not take long.” He let his lips linger against hers, hating that he could not lie down beside her and nestle into her warmth. But this strange comfort of sleep would come soon enough. He could wait the twenty minutes necessary to fulfill duty. Besides, the little bit of distance his absence would create, would give him time to prepare for the offering of his eternal service.

  Her eyes remained on him as he dressed, their brazen path as heated as her hands.

  * * *

  Noelle sank into the pillows as the outer door thumped shut. She had her explanations and had done her best to pretend the truth didn’t bother her. Honestly, the meaning of her oath disturbed her greatly. With it, another voice joined in. Farran’s as he tried to tell her what she was.

  I shall gain the light that lives in your soul.

  On the heels of his haunting echo rose Anne’s reminder that the oath would save his life.

  It didn’t take a scientist to come up with the translation—those Latin words held the key to his salvation. In keeping silent, she doomed him to a fate she didn’t entirely understand, but knew could only be horrific.

  She had no right to barter with his life.

  Then again, he’d said the fighting made the darkness grow. If she found a way to keep him from battle, she wouldn’t be playing Russian roulette with his soul. From the way he had made love to her tonight, she sensed his feelings deepened. Could it take that terribly long to win his loyalty? His love?

  She’d settle for his loyalty. Once she earned it, his love couldn’t be far behind.

  Decided, she curled into the pillows and gave in to a soft smile. Tomorrow she’d tell him about the Sudarium. When she explained why she’d hidden it, he’d have no reason to be furious. Especially not when he’d kept things from her as well.

  * * *

  Hushed voices beyond Mikhail’s door stilled the hand Farran lifted to knock. Mayhap now was not the best time to cast more suspicion on Declan’s character. If he waited for morning, he could ease the news of deliberate betrayal with the declaration he had won Noelle’s oath.

  Aye, he would start the morrow fresh. Spend the night with Noelle. Learn to live again.

  He turned away to do just that, when the mention of his name brought him to a halt.

  “You can’t tell Farran, he’ll be furious,” Anne insisted.

  Mikhail countered firmly, “’Tis his seraph. Her mistakes become his as well.”

  Farran cocked his head, his scowl intact. What wrong had Noelle committed whilst he slept?

  “No, no, no!” Anne exclaimed. “I didn’t tell you so you could drive another wedge between them. Can’t you do whatever it is you do and magically make it reappear?”

  The heavy scrape of chair legs against wood signaled Mikhail left his desk. His voice grew closer. “I have already done so. ’Twill be here in a few hours.”

  Anne’s voice rose an octave. “Then what is the big deal? Do your stuff, Mikhail. Fix it.”

  “I cannot.” He paused before adding, “Will not. The big deal, as you say, is a quarter-sized hole in the fabric where a mouse feasted. What would you have me do, Anne, claim ignorance? ’Tis dishonest. Noelle will face her wrongs.”

  “Phanuel’s an angel,” Anne argued. “He’ll under—”

  No longer content to eavesdrop, Farran barged into the room. If Noelle had erred, he would know about it now. Whilst he had yet to speak the words, in spirit she had his loyalty. His duty was to defend her, even if she committed wrongs. And he could not bring himself to believe anything Noelle had done was more than a misunderstanding. “What wrong has Noelle committed?”

  Anne’s squeak drew his dark scowl. She backed up as if his glare threw fire, her face as white as a ghost’s. “Farran.”

  “Aye, Farran. Now tell me what you speak of.”

  Wild eyes darted to Mikhail, who had resumed his chair. Farran followed the path of her gaze, and when she offered naught more, he challenged Mikhail. “Do you suffer from the loss of your tongue as well? Tell me what wrongs you accuse Noelle of!”

  Mikhail folded his hands in his lap, his stare unblinking. “I see you have pledged yourself to her. Congratulations, sir knight, for making such a monumental step.” He eased to his feet, crossed to the cabinet behind his desk. From the lower drawer he produced the satchel Noelle had sent with Lucan. He tossed it across the mahogany surface where it came to rest in front of Farran. “You are prepared then to defend her for hiding the Sudarium. She will need your sword should it not return with Gottfried tonight.”

  Farran stared at the leather bag in disbelief. He had seen her hand the very sack to Lucan. She had not touched it since. Mikhail’s claims must be false. He shook his head against the closing of his throat. “You are mistaken. I have been with her since she gave the bag to Lucan. He brought it here. It has not left your office.”

  “Good, good.” Mikhail nodded. “You shall need the meaning behind your words.”

  His goading tone needled beneath Farran’s skin, striking fury. Farran curled his hands into fists to fight the urge to reach across the desk and grab Mikhail by the throat. Every muscle stiffened like a board.

  “Striking me will solve naught, de Clare. Curb your temper before you come to regret it.” Mikhail strode around his desk, grabbed the satchel from the top, and pushed it into Farran’s hands. “You shall find it full of clothes. As did I when Anne came to me this morning. Noelle kept the relic in her purse. She hid it in her room at Bethany’s adytum.”

  Each word Mikhail uttered pierced through Farran’s heart and turned it into a sieve. As his chest constricted to agonizing limits, he looked to Anne, hoping beyond all measure she would claim Mikhail false.

  She shattered him with the sad shake of her head. “It’s true, Farran. The only reason I told Mikhail—”

  “Damnation!” He slammed his fist down on the desk hard enough to make it shudder. Absolute devastation rose to choke him, and he spun for the door before it could suffocate his air.

  “Stay where you are,” Mikhail commanded. “There is more for you to hear.”

  By God, he could stomach no more. Noelle had betrayed him. Deceived them all. He had thought her pure, and behind her innocent smile, the same vile nature Brighid possessed lay in wait. Did no woman not know the meaning of deceit? Even Anne betrayed, for with her rightful honesty, she condemned Noelle.

  One hand tight around the doorknob, Farran halted, yet he did not turn around.

  “Noelle will face her misdeeds, Farran. Should the Sudarium arrive as planned tonight, tomorrow she shall take the damaged cloth to Phanuel. There she will confess what she has done to the Angel of Judgment. As your ward and mate, you will accompany her. The punishment Phanuel demands, you too shall share.”

  His spine stiffened to stone. Traverse the seas at her side, when he could not bear to look upon her? He would rather descend into Azazel’s hell. “Nay, find someone else. We have exchanged no vows.”

  “She is your seraph. The duty is yours alone.”

  Farran jerked the door open and stormed into the hall. How dare she play him false. To think he had been minutes away from swearing himself to her. If he had, he would have no choice but to champion her to Phanuel. Her misdeeds would be seen as his, and once again, he would carry the mark of traitor. ’Twas bad enough she would bear the brand. That he must stand and bear witness to it. But he would not pay
the price at her expense.

  “Farran, wait!” Anne called from behind.

  “Leave me be.”

  She caught up before he could round the corner and grabbed him by the elbow. “Wait. It’s not what you think. Ask her to explain.” Her voice held urgency. Her eyes begged. “Please, Farran. Don’t shut her out.”

  He looked down to where her fingers dug into his arm. “Take your hand off me before I give Merrick reason to draw his sword.”

  Her gaze flickered, and her lips parted as if she meant to speak. When she said naught, Farran shook his arm free and left her standing in the hall.

  He mounted the stairs two at a time. Each step that took him nearer to her room distanced him from Noelle. She had played him for a fool, and like the fool she thought he was, he had fallen into her wily trap. She would explain herself, but not before he made it clear she meant naught to him. That he would take his leave the very moment they returned from Spain.

  He let himself inside her room and slammed the door shut. The bang brought her upright on the couch. She whipped around with a startled yelp.

  In the next instant, Farran knew her act had been deliberate. Her body pulled away, distancing herself from him like a cornered mouse. And those tawny eyes he had come to adore filled with shame.

  * * *

  “I can explain.” Despite the frantic stutter of her heart, Noelle held Farran’s furious stare. She told herself she wasn’t afraid of him, only of what might happen between them. That he might walk away from her forever. Anne had predicted devastation … Clearly, she’d been right.

  But only someone who lacked the value of life would mistake his deadly glower. If she’d been a man, she’d have found herself facing down the point of his sword. Maybe already run through.

  “I care not to hear your words.”

  She rocketed to her feet, her fear replaced by sudden anger. She’d given him the chance to explain. Had even forgiven. While she wouldn’t hold out for his acceptance, she refused to suffer his belligerence. “Well you’re going to. You came back here for something—what was it, Farran? Your keys? Maybe your belt? It damn sure isn’t me, is it?”

  His jaw clenched so tight she was certain his teeth would crack. He took a threatening step toward her, then thought better of it and stopped. “Do not test me, damsel. You will not emerge the victor.”

  “I don’t want to be the victor. This isn’t about who wins, who loses. We are partners, not pawn and master.”

  The anger that rolled off him crashed into her like waves. Though he stood several feet away, the heat of his body burned. His nostrils flared, his eyes glinted like sharp daggers. In every way he was a dragon, and she the prey he sought to trap.

  Trap her, he did. Three determined strides brought him in front of her. He grabbed her by the shoulders, his grip fierce enough to make her flinch. Dipping his head, he brought his gaze level with hers. “We are not partners. We are finished, Noelle.”

  She did her best to find her courage and ignore the biting sting of his words. With a shake of her shoulders, she twisted out of his grasp. “You of all people should understand. You kept your secrets. You didn’t want me to be afraid.” When he reached for her again, she evaded his grasp. “I was afraid, Farran. I thought you were crazy!”

  “Aye, I was crazy to believe in you.” Abruptly, he turned and disappeared into the bedroom. When he reemerged, he carried a pillow and the heavy comforter. He tossed them onto the couch, then sat down, once more in control of his emotions. As he snapped the blanket out, his voice rang eerily flat. “I returned to inform you we leave in the morning.”

  “We? I thought you said there was no we. And just where are you taking me?”

  Farran smoothed out his pillow. Reclining, he tucked his hands behind his head. “Mikhail has ordered you to return the Sudarium. I am to escort you, to ensure follow-through. You will tell Phanuel what you have done, and you will assume the blame for the relic’s damaged nature. You will, in all ways, subject yourself to his judgment.” He glanced up through the tops of his eyes. “And damsel, you shall do so alone.”

  That he could dismiss her so easily wafted chills down her spine. She crossed her arms to warm herself, and stood watching him for several silent moments. He looked at ease. As if he didn’t give a single damn he’d cut her loose from him.

  Damn him.

  Inflamed by his refusal to give her the same opportunity for explanation that she’d given him, she stalked to her room. The slam of her door satisfied her wounded pride, however, it did little for her breaking heart. Like a scrap of trash, he’d tossed her aside. One error. One insignificant act. Nothing like his failure to tell her he would turn into something evil. Or that by staying with him, she risked her life.

  CHAPTER 35

  Farran stood in the shadow of Spain’s majestic Sancta Ovetensis, his mood as black as the building thunderheads above. He had tossed and turned all night. Woke once to the sound of his own shouts when the nightmares returned. Not long after, he had awakened to find Noelle nestled in his arms. He had held her then, grateful for the peace she offered. Despising himself for the weakness she created.

  Why she had comforted him when he had treated her with such disgrace, he could not fathom. But as he reflected on their argument, he realized she did not throw her errors in his face and place the blame on him. Unlike Brighid, she did not fault him for her failures.

  And the more he compared the two, the more difficult ignoring Noelle became. He had feigned sleep on the plane, stared out the window in the taxi. She made no attempt to draw him into conversation, yet she made her presence known with the occasional brush of her hand, the touch of her eyes, her refusal to stand less than two feet away.

  Now as twilight descended upon the concrete courtyard and they approached the cathedral’s arching doorway, he could not understand why she did not turn from him in disgust. ’Twas what he wanted her to do. ’Twould make abandoning her to her mistakes much easier on his guilty concious.

  Last eve, he had treated her worse than a dog. When he ached to hear her explanation and longed to believe the words she would speak, he blocked himself to everything, including all consideration.

  He paid the price now, as she confidently thumped on the private entrance. She should be the one who hung her head. Yet nay, ’twas he, who felt shame.

  The heavy door creaked open, dwarfing the minor priest who stuck his head outside. On seeing them, a hearty smile smoothed ruddy cheeks. “Good eve! Please, come in. Father Phanuel expects you. He is most anxious for your arrival.” The thick Spanish accent that clung to his words gave his voice a melodic cadence.

  As they entered, Noelle extended her hand. “I’m Dr. Noelle Keane. This is…” She glanced at Farran, her eyes full of unspoken question. Recovering from her brief hesitation, she put more effort into her smile and finished, “My companion, Farran.”

  Companion. He almost snorted. He was her guard. As he had been when he met her—no more, no less.

  The priest beamed under the bright glow of Noelle’s smile. “Ah, Dr. Keane! Spain is indebted to you. That you have finally proven what we’ve long suspected brings pride to Oviedo.”

  What would the priest say once he knew her carelessness caused the shroud damage? Before he could consider the thought fully, the man ushered them into a wide, echoing hall.

  “I regret Father Phanuel is not here to greet you. He is with a patron in need of guidance. He asked me, please, to show you to the Cámara Santa where he will attend to you shortly.” The man stopped before a barrier of iron bars. Upon producing a set of ancient keys, he inserted one and twisted an equally ancient lock. The gate squealed open. “You may enjoy Christ’s treasures while you wait.”

  As he followed Noelle, Farran took in the bright lamps that beamed down on glass cases and jewel-encrusted gold crosses. But what caught his breath was not the manufactured light and ancient relics. ’Twas the overhead incandescence, one that came without a source and lacked the sh
arpness of man-made light. A holy aura that flooded the stone chamber and soaked into his soul. He basked beneath it, feeling small and insignificant. As if his place within the Almighty’s plan was naught more than a passing speck of dust.

  Noelle browsed with nonchalance, no single sign she was naught but comfortable within the sacred chamber. He bent to her ear. “Do you feel no shame, damsel?”

  She looked up startled. “Why should I?”

  His gaze dropped to the satchel that hung from her shoudler. “For the damage you brought to the sacred cloth.”

  Noelle smiled then, a bright confident parting of lush pink lips that baffled him. The gentle shake of her head sent her hair tumbling over her shoulders like spun silk. “No. I’m human. Made to make mistakes. The Almighty knows what’s in my heart and will forgive.” She shrugged her shoulders, and the sparkle in her eyes brightened. “Mikhail said as much this morning. Phanuel’s an angel—he’ll understand.”

  Farran’s air fled his lungs as if she’d punched him. Mikhail had forgiven her? Why had he said naught?

  He did not have time to contemplate the meaning before Phanuel’s voice boomed down the hall. “Dr. Keane. Farran de Clare. How happy I am to see you!”

  Long dark hair fell in soft waves around a face that held so much beauty the archangel could rival Raphael. He moved with the grace of divinity. The same sublime light glinted in his watchful eyes. Though Farran had never set his gaze upon anything more than a watercolor depiction, Phanuel resembled naught of his imaginings. He was slight of stature compared to Mikhail, weak of arm compared to Uriel. And the Angel of Judgment gave off an air far less threatening than the mighty Gabriel.

  “Come, allow me to show you the cathedral. It’s not often I may have a bit of pleasure before business. The Lord’s work is constant.” He beckoned them into the wide hall with the hearty manner of a parent who welcomed a long absent child.

  Farran shifted his weight. ’Twas disconcerting to be greeted by a stranger with such warmth. He gave Phanuel a respectful nod and assumed his place at Noelle’s side. The need for normalcy, for what he understood no matter how objectionable, made him reach out for Noelle. He settled his hand in the small of her back and ignored the quizzical lift of her eyebrow. But he could not mistake the sway of her body, the subtle shift that brought her closer to his side. Her jasmine-scented warmth washed over him much the same as the light in the Cámara Santa. He suffered his body’s natural response. His blood stirred with awarenes. His pulse skipped several beats. And against his thigh, his cock flinched.