Immortal Surrender (Curse of the Templars)

by Claire Ashgrove

  With the next bright flash, metal glinted near a shadowed heap. She squinted, identifying a cracked blade. Though it was as black as the shadows surrounding it, where the tip had broken at an angle, the metal shone silver. Testament to its original holy design.

  The fall of rock as it cascaded down a heap stopped her in her tracks. What she saw in the faint light stopped her heart. Sword crossed in front of his body, Farran backed into what remained of the high wall.

  Lightning struck again, slicing through the wide opening where the tower had once stood, to arc across twisted metal and light the crumpled wooden supports several feet to Farran’s left. In the dull firelight that quickly spread, she saw him more clearly. He and the dark knight who steadily advanced. Farran’s arms bled freely from a multitude of slashes. His shoulders sagged with the heavy acceptance of defeat. And in his eyes, all the wondrous light she loved had burned to flat nothingness.

  His name rose to the back of her throat. She tamped back the cry, knowing her words couldn’t help him. Maybe her oath, but he was too far away for the serpents around her arm to do him good. Moving quickly, before either man could notice her presence, she exchanged her makeshift club for the broken blade.

  Words might not help, but he’d taught her how to fight.

  She tested the heavy weight of the broadsword between both hands, then gripped it firmly in her right. More accustomed to the short sword she’d used in her training, her shoulder protested. Noelle ignored the burn and set her feet apart. A moment of fear made her arm shake. But as she recalled Phanuel’s words, she somehow found strength.

  This was what he meant. He’d known this would happen. Had, in fact, played a direct role by instructing them to come here. For whatever reason, whatever the outcome, this was preordained.

  She lifted her chin, glared at the dark knight’s back, and shouted the words Farran had once bellowed. “You cannot have him!”

  The dark knight spun around. In that moment, that stillness of time where his empty eyes held hers, Noelle knew she would not survive.

  Azazel’s servant lunged down the debris, rapidly closing the distance between them. She breathed deeply in acceptance.

  “Noelle, nay! Get back!” Farran cried.

  Ignoring Farran’s demands, Noelle braced for the barrage of the knight’s attack. His sword sung through the air. She lifted hers to meet the violent blow. Steel clashed, and Noelle stumbled backward with the force of impact. She quickly regained her footing and crouched, moving in the circle Merrick and her early fencing years had taught her.

  Like Anne. He’s nothing more than Anne, she instructed silently. Though she knew from practicing with Farran the knight’s strength exceeded Anne’s by five, the lie tricked her underlying fear. She drew him in close enough to land a glancing blow to his thigh.

  Outraged, he charged.

  From the corner of her eye, Noelle observed Farran do the same. He half ran, half slid down the pile of rubble.

  She shut him out, unable to divide her concentration. Focusing on the cadence of their aggressive tango, she let her body move naturally, a vessel to the algorithms of her mind and her long-ago competitive duels. He sliced wide at her arm. She twisted her shoulder, fending off the strike. On a lucky backhanded maneuver that returned her blade to its natural position, she caught him in the side.

  Blood was her reward. It trickled down the edge of her blade, though the injury was slight. The sight of it gave her pause. But at the flash of steel, her mind recovered from the shock. She dodged to her left, evading a well-timed thrust. She moved too quickly, though, and the unfamiliar weight in her arm threw her instead closer to the knight. So close she felt the hot rasp of his breath against her hair.

  Panicked, Noelle braced her left hand on his shoulder and shoved with all her might. Searing heat leapt beneath her palm. The knight let out a bellow of rage. He drove in on a wild frenzy, his sword as fast as lightning and every bit as deadly. She arced and twisted, ducked and turned, faltering under the strength of his attack. Summoning stamina, she moved just often enough to prick his armor and remind him she was still worthy of a fight.

  On the second pass around him, Noelle felt Farran’s nearby presence. She redoubled her efforts, determined not to let his noble virtue rise and draw the knight on him. She would not let him die. Nor would she be the cause of that death.

  As the knight stepped sideways and also noticed Farran, his arm hesitated. She spied her opening, glimpsed the unprotected area beneath the juncture of his arm and shoulder. The mercy she’d shown Farran when she observed the same, she wouldn’t do again. With a cry to add strength to her blade, she summoned the last of her willpower and moved in for the kill.

  The broken tip caught for an instant. In the next, bone scraped along the deadly edge of steel. Blood poured forth to slicken her fingers. The knight’s eyes went wide with shock. She wrapped her other hand around the first and hauled backward on the blade, intending to strike once more.

  To her horror, the broadsword refused to move.

  The dark knight’s eyes glinted with victory. With a raspy laugh, he shoved his blade into her stomach and quickly pulled it free.

  Pain erupted through her veins. So great, her throat closed, strangling her scream. She stumbled backward, a hand pressed to the gash in her midsection. Sticky warmth seeped through her fingers. Before her, the knight dropped to the ground where he lay motionless. She lifted her eyes to Farran’s ashen face. As her vision blurred with unshed tears, she crumpled to her knees.

  * * *

  “Nay!” Farran thundered as he raced to Noelle’s side.

  Every bit of emotion he had ever felt swamped him. Anger, hate, envy, and love, yes love, warred inside his heart. Not Noelle. Anyone but her. What hell did the Almighty seek to damn him to? Had he not already paid the price?

  He dropped to his knees and cradled her in his arms. Her breath came faintly. Through his fingers, her blood ran hot. His gaze pulled to the gaping wound beneath his hand. When he saw the jagged flesh, his heart crumbled like the walls around him.

  “Noelle, what have you done?” His throat caught on his whisper. He had just found her. He could not lose her now. What life he had remaining, he could not bear to face.

  She struggled to find a smile. It graced her lips, touched her eyes, but did not linger. “Saved you,” she answered with effort.

  He held her closer, unmindful to the wet warmth that seeped into his clothing where their bodies met. She had saved him. For what reason he could not comprehend. Of all the people who deserved to die, ’twas he for the cruelty he had shown to her.

  His heart broke all over again as she struggled for a breath. Pain flashed across her face with the flinching of her brows, and he watched as her captivating eyes drifted toward some unseen object.

  Filled with the desperation of centuries of suffering, he snatched at the serpents around her arm. The torc tumbled into his palm with ease. Holding her awkwardly, he picked up his sword and dropped it down the blade. “Say the oath, Noelle. Save your life. I will take you to D.C., take you wherever you wish to go, but for God’s sake, say the oath and live!”

  Her lashes fluttered, her focus once again on him. When she did not answer soon enough to his liking, the dam around his fears burst. He yielded to the moisture that pooled in his eyes. Tears fell down his cheeks, washed across hers, and disappeared into her hair. “Say it,” he begged in a whisper. “Can you not see I love you? If I could undo all the wrongs I have done to you, I would. I love you, Noelle.” His voice cracked with emotion, and he gave her an insistent little shake. “Dear God in heaven, I will not live with myself if you should die. Please, say the words. Let my last memory be of your smile.”

  She did smile then, as displaced as it was. Her pale lips parted and she moistened them with the tip of her tongue. Against his fingertips, her pulse fluttered faint. “Meus vita…” A wheezing cough possessed her. She grimaced against the agony. Beneath his hand, she bled even more.


  When she looked at him once again, sadness filled her eyes. “It is too late…” She swallowed with effort and gave him a shake of her head. “For you…”

  His tears fell harder. Unashamed, he let them flow. He could not breathe. Could not think beyond the silent prayers he recited that she would find the strength.

  She drew in one last rasping breath. On her heavy exhale, he heard the words. Faint and weak, she whispered, “Meus vita, meus diligo, meus eternus lux lucis, fio vestry.”

  My life, my love, my eternal light, becomes yours. The meaning rang in his head as she went limp in his arms.

  Before he could release the sob that choked him, his sword flared with white light. A warmth unlike any he had ever experienced ebbed through his veins. Where he had known naught but anger, profound peace settled into his soul. He watched, spellbound, as the serpents came to life. Two golden heads converged, then drew apart. One slithered to the small golden cross etched into the point of balance on his blade. The other sank tiny teeth into the matching sigil at the pommel. One shared body undulated slowly, then moved no more. Bewildered, he traced a finger over the length of the warped quillons. The Almighty’s barrier. No more would shadows creep into his palm and through his blood.

  Noelle twitched in his arms. He looked down to find her expression soft, the deep etchings of pain now smoothed into her usual pretty features. At the side of her neck, the vein that had barely vibrated with her pulse now thrummed with the heavy beat of her heart. Beneath his hand, the wetness ceased to flow.

  She lived!

  His heart leapt to his throat and fresh tears rose to replace the salty trickle of sorrow. He cared not if she said the words to merely save her life. If her oath was not a product of the love he felt for her. She lived. ’Twas all that mattered. Fighting back the urge to shout for joy, he scooped her knees over his elbows and rose to his feet. She could heal at the European temple. When she had, when she woke and he was certain of this miracle, he would honor his word and grant her freedom.

  CHAPTER 37

  Noelle awakened in comfort. The small bed was similar to the one she’d witnessed in the cathedral, but unlike that iron-framed slab of rock, this one supported her with down. A mountain of covers weighed down on her naked body, cocooning her in warmth. But the comfort wasn’t the one she wanted. She wanted Farran.

  She struggled to sit, but the ache in her body made it impossible to rise beyond her elbows. At the door, she spied a brawny figure. Without her glasses, however, she couldn’t identify the man.

  “Milady, you are awake.”

  Noelle fell back into the wealth of softness with a grunt. On his best days, Farran wasn’t capable of that sort of kindness. Not to mention, this man’s voice lacked the soothing timbre of Farran’s voice. “Where is Farran?” she asked, her throat surprisingly dry.

  “I shall fetch him. He bade me wait until you woke, then bring you food and drink. I shall also fetch you a tray.”

  She lacked the strength to tell the man she couldn’t eat a bite. Where the hell was Farran? He’d said he loved her. She’d fought the hands of death to stay with him. For days now, it seemed, she dreamed of him. Of waking to hear that cherished whisper and experiencing the joy when at last she could tell him the same.

  The door eased closed, the stranger thankfully gone. She closed her eyes against the too-bright light and inventoried her aches and pains. Her stomach felt as if she’d been ripped in half. But when she pressed her hand to the place the dark knight’s sword had pierced, she found smooth flesh. Not even the pucker of a scar now healed rose beneath her fingertips.

  But the lingering protests of her sword arm told her she hadn’t been here long enough to heal naturally. Strange she could be so mended, yet still feel as if she’d been hit by a truck.

  She lifted her left hand, curious as to why it tingled. Tiny red blisters marred her palm, giving her a moment’s pause. She held the sword with her right—how had she injured her left?

  Her head hurt too much to think about the oddity. A yawn escaped. While she waited, she imagined the feel of Farran’s arms. How it would sound to have his heart beat beneath her ear. The warmth of his body. The scent of his skin.

  * * *

  Farran jumped at the knock on his door. Dread arose, and at once he felt the urge to retch. There could only be one reason the sound issued from his door. And though he had prayed for it, he despised it as well.

  “Aye,” he barked.

  The door opened, and Gareth poked his head inside. “She is awake.”

  “Aye,” he repeated more softly. With a heavy sigh, he brought himself to his feet. When he found the younger knight still standing in the doorway, he scowled. “Take your leave, I know where she sleeps.”

  Gareth gave him a thoughtful look. A hint of a smirk played at his youthful mouth. “’Tis a sorry day when a maid so fair and lovely asks for a scowling grump.”

  Asked for him? His heart swelled to twice its normal size. As he pursued Gareth out the door, his step felt lighter than it had in centuries. She had asked for him. Mayhap they could … Nay. He had given her his word to return her. ’Twas her freedom that brought about her oath.

  He made his way up the stairs to the sparsely occupied recovery hall. Though the two temples bore similar craftsmanship, the original here in Europe had many more benefits. One of which—the private healing chambers. But Uriel refused to give up his vast infirmary, and here Zerachiel healed. At Noelle’s door, he lifted his hand to knock. On reconsidering, however, he let himself inside. They were oathed, her body he had seen before. Whether they parted or not, no secrets would ever come between them again.

  She looked so tiny amidst the covers he could not help but smile. He went to the bed, anxious for the brightness of her smile.

  Instead, he found her sleeping, her captivating eyes cloaked from his view. His shoulders fell as he sighed in dismay. ’Twas best, he supposed. For in truth, he did not wish to see her celebrate her freedom.

  He eased himself to his knees and brushed a lock of hair away from her cheek. He gathered her left hand between his, brought her knuckles to his lips. “If ever you need anything, damsel, call to Gabriel. I will come.” Turning her palm up, he scattered kisses over the blisters that marked her true gift. His whisper thickened. “No matter what shores divide us, what mountains rise between, I will stand at your side.” With effort, he released her hand, stood, and pressed a kiss to her silken hair. Breathing deeply, he etched in the memory of her sweet jasmine perfume. “But if I must only keep you in my heart, I refuse to return your cat.”

  With that, he turned away and strode from the room. The agony began again. Each step toward Raphael’s large office tightened the noose around his heart. He despised the thought of leaving her. But if he stayed, if he took her where she wished to go, he would not have the strength to walk away. He must do so now, before she could honor duty and convince herself she wanted to stay.

  His knock rang hollow, in mirror of his soul. At Raphael’s welcome, Farran entered the office that doubled Mikhail’s in size.

  “Farran. How is your seraph?”

  “She woke, but sleeps again. I come to request a favor.”

  His blue eyes clouded with concern. “What is your wish?”

  “When she wakes again, I shall be far from here. Take her where she wishes. Send word to Merrick I will accept the duty he requested on my immediate arrival in America. Tell him to bring the cat.”

  One thick golden eyebrow arched with suspicion. “I do not like the sound of this, sir knight.”

  With a respectful bow of his head, Farran backed toward the door. “I am not yours to command, Raphael. Please honor my wishes. I will subject myself to Mikhail.”

  * * *

  Noelle woke again to twilight. On the bedside table, a soggy roast beef sandwich waited. Droplets of water dewed a glass whose ice had long since melted. She pushed to her elbows once more and found herself alone.

  Damn it. She’d sleep
at Farran’s side tonight if she had to drag him to the bed. She couldn’t take another moment of yearning for his nearness.

  Every muscle screamed in agony as she eased out of the bed and pulled on a robe someone had thrown over the back of a plush chair. A wave of dizziness threatened to topple her over. She fought past the swimming of her head, gritted her teeth, and stumbled toward the door.

  Thank God for small miracles—it opened without effort. She poked her head outside to scan the empty hall. Muttering beneath her breath, she padded barefoot toward the stairs. Halfway down, a knight dropped to bended knee and tossed his sword on the tread below her feet. She almost fell the rest of the way down.

  She scolded the man with a blistering frown. “Oh for Pete’s sake, can’t this wait? Where’s Farran?” With her toe, she pushed the blade in the man’s direction. “You’re crazy if you think I’m bending over to pick that up. I can hardly stand.”

  Apology widened the man’s scarred features. He hastened to stand. “Lady de Clare, forgive me. I was not thinking. Might I aid your descent?”

  Noelle had never been more grateful for a bit of chivalry in her life. Accepting his offered hand, she gave him an enthusiastic nod. “Please. I need to see Farran.”

  “He is in his room.” The man flashed her a warm smile. “I am Alaric le Goix, commander of the European Knights Templar. ’Tis an honor to have you within these temple walls.”

  So that’s where Farran had taken her—the European temple. Feeling a bit more secure, she indulged in a smile. “Dr. Noelle Kea…” No, not Keane. She’d said her oath. Her smile brightened as she amended her introduction. “Noelle de Clare. And if we don’t hurry, I think I might pass out.”

  For an instant, she thought Alaric might bend to carry her. But as if he thought better of the notion, he shook his head and offered more support to her arm. Slowly they descended to step into another winding hall. This one reminded her of the chambers beneath the temple in Missouri. Lighted by torches, unadorned door after unadorned door lined the narrow corridor.