That wasn’t my only reason in asking, though. I liked the way Rebecca’s face lit up when she talked about her family and their history. She loved sharing her past and I was more than willing to listen. I had already told her everything I knew about Samantha. The only stories I had left to tell were about Michael, and Rebecca seemed to already know a lot about him.
“Well.” She moved closer, our shoulders brushing together as she quietly answered my questions. “The O’Rourkes have been part of The Order since its birth, during the Crusades. When the Rising in Ireland occurred, they were run out of their ancestral lands. Technically speaking, Tristan was a clan prince. If Ireland had never fallen to the British, he would have been considered one of the High Kings.”
“High Kings?” Confused, my brow furrowed as I watched her.
“In ancient Ireland, there were many kings that ruled the clans.” She sounded like there was nothing more she would like to do than tell me this story in this moment. The tone of her voice was excited and fast, the words flowing from her like a rushing waterfall. “No one king was required to bow to another or his will, but they were responsible for keeping peace between the kingdoms. It’s said there was one who was above them all, though, a single High King, who ruled from the Hill of Tara.”
“And Tristan was that ruler?” Not able to help my surprise, I interrupted her, stopping and staring with wide eyes.
“Yes. And no.” She smiled, clearly amused by my reaction to the tale, and then wrapped her arm around mine, pulling me along the path once more. “He never held the title. Over the years, the throne of the High King would be wrestled away from the original line and stolen in battle. If you were to ask a modern historian, they would tell you that the royal line in Ireland belongs to another family. The first line, though—the pure line, born from the love of a king and his goddess—is the O’Rourke family.”
I didn’t know what to say. For a few moments, we walked in silence, arm in arm, as if we were simply content to be in each other’s presence. Finally, I found the words that I wanted, and I whispered to her again.
“So, you’re saying that, somewhere down the line, you and Tristan are descended from a goddess?”
Nodding, she grinned, still thoroughly enjoying my reactions.
“How can you possibly believe that, though, with everything you know about the world and working in The Order?” Even I could hear the disbelief in my voice.
“Templars believe there is truth in all things,” she replied simply.
“All things?”
“All things.” Her tone was sure and steady, with not a hint of doubt.
“So, do you believe in vampires? Ghosts? Gods and goddesses? What about alien abductions?”
“There is truth in all things,” she replied cryptically. “A story may not be all truth, but there will be a morsel of light in there somewhere. Perhaps there is no being that can turn into a bat, that is burned by the sun, and drinks blood. There could be a being that does at least one of those things, though.”
I raised my eyebrows, giving her a stare that all but said I thought she was crazy.
Laughing, her eyes lit up as she stopped us. “Is this a conversation you want to have right now, or would you like to hear more about my grandfather?”
Conceding, I motioned for her to continue, our arms still linked together as we went on.
“During the first Rising, my family was forced to flee their country. They lost everything.” There was a hint of sadness in her voice, like she personally was grieved by the fact. As she went on, though, she seemed to push the feeling aside, her voice taking on a more business-like tone, as if she were simply reciting facts. “They went to Spain. Tristan was born in La Coruña, where he grew up with his cousins, under the care of his grandfather, after his father passed away. His mother, Rachel, passed a year earlier than her husband. Tristan was trained in the art of sailing and the knowledge of The Order by his grandfather, who died a year and a half after Tristan was officially inducted and given orders as a Templar. He was only twenty. At twenty-two, he was assigned to work on the Adelina, which is the ship he was captain of when he married Samantha, three years later. Together, they would face The Black Knights—and their leader, Thomas Randall—many times.”
“So, that’s why they were so influential.” Impressed, I peered at the sky. “They were at the front of the battle with the enemy.”
“Yes.” She sighed, a happy, proud sound. “He was, without a doubt, one of the most important members The Order’s ever had. The first to suggest that women be treated as equals within our walls. He would set into motion many things that would prepare us for the future. I believe that Samantha, while never an official Templar, worked side by side with him, giving him information that was essential to our survival.”
She glanced at me, the happy expression still on her face. “Your other friend, Mark Bell, did become a Templar, you know. He was a close ally to Tristan as well.”
Shocked into silence once more, I pressed my lips together, my steps slowing. We were nearing the end of the path and I could see the car that had dropped us off waiting on the street, the driver reading the newspaper in the front seat.
It was difficult, to imagine Samantha and Mark both willingly taking part in The Order. They weren’t the type to kidnap or fight with others. Had it been different then? Or were they simply forced to adapt to the surroundings around them?
“I know it’s a lot to take in,” Rebecca whispered, her hand tightening around my arm. “And that you might be worried for your friends.”
“What happened to them?” I suddenly blurted out, pulling away from her. My voice was louder than I’d intended, causing several people to glance our way, but I couldn’t help it. It had suddenly occurred to me that Rebecca knew the answer to the question I hadn’t even been able to ask myself until just now.
“What do you mean?” She seemed confused by my sudden distress.
Moving closer, I wrapped her hand around my arm once more, waiting for those around us to return to whatever it was they had been doing before my outburst. As we continued our slow walk to the car, I whispered, fearful of the answer to the question I asked.
“How did they . . . die?” I asked simply, hesitating at the last second.
“Oh, no, Eric.” She stopped, pulling her hand away, and shook her head. “I can’t tell you that.”
“Why not?” I demanded, following her as she quickly went to the car.
“They are your friends!” She laughed once, as if she couldn’t believe I was asking. “I’m not going to tell you about their deaths! They died centuries ago. You know that. I think we should let them rest in peace.”
“It was bad, wasn’t it?” I moaned. “That’s why you won’t tell me.”
“It’s not that.” She was agitated, stopping in front of the car, with her fingers on the handle. The car started, the driver clearly having noticed our arrival, and she waved in the window, as if asking for another minute. Then, turning to me, she frowned. “There’s a lot of stuff I can’t tell you, Eric, because you aren’t a member. Stuff that deals with the secrets all Templars keep. The death of your friends is one of those things. I can’t say if it was bad or peaceful, or anything.”
The explanation made me feel like she knew something. “Why not?” I pressed. “It’s not like it makes much difference.”
“I can’t, okay?” The reply was more of a growl than anything else, and I stepped back, alarmed. When she continued, it was as if she were holding me personally responsible for what she was saying. “I don’t know, all right? Someone has taken the files. I’ve been searching for them for over a year now and I can’t find them.”
“What do you mean?” Eyes wide, I watched as she yanked the door open, motioning for me to get in.
Once we were seated in the darkness of the car, the privacy screen between us and the driver raised, she rubbed a hand over her face. As we pulled away from the curb, she spoke, her voice low and q
uick.
“I shouldn’t be telling you this.” She frowned, shaking her head. “I’m already in trouble because I couldn’t find the documents. Master Cavanaugh and her second, Peter, had asked for them. But, they’re just gone. There’s record of Tristan taking part in a few key incidents. The last mention of him I can find, though, details a trip that had to do with The Black Knights. It doesn’t say where he was going, or what he was planning to do, simply that he left. There’s no other mention of Samantha, him, or even Mark, beyond speculation of who they might have been. It’s like they disappeared off the face of the planet.”
“What are you saying?”
“Someone took the papers,” she hissed. “Someone recent. I oversee all the files The Order keeps. I have a list, and those registers are supposed to be there. Everything is numbered and cataloged, and there are at least a dozen logs missing. That’s how I came across those letters to Scott, specifically. Normally, I don’t go in and inspect every item we have. But when I couldn’t find those pages, I had to check everything, personally.”
“You’re saying you have a thief. Someone trusted enough to handle the files?”
Her silence was confirmation enough.
“Do you think it’s . . . a Black Knight?” Concerned, I watched as her jaw worked furiously, her arms folded.
“I don’t know,” she finally answered. “But if it is, that means we have been infiltrated. No one will be safe.” There was a hint of defeat in her voice, as well as something I’d never heard from her before.
She was scared.
Without thinking about it, I scooted closer and put my arm around her shoulder. To my surprise, she didn’t pull away. “It’s going to be okay,” I said softly, resting my head against hers. “We’ll find the papers and reveal who took them.”
She snorted. “We?”
I hadn’t realized I’d said it like that, but nodded all the same. “Yes, we. I want to help you, Rebecca. And, like I said before, it’s not like I have anything better to do.”
Leaning back, she studied my face, her emotions a mystery to me. After a moment, she sighed and nodded. “Fine. You can help. But you can’t tell anyone that you are, understand?”
“I swear.” I held my hand up like I was declaring an oath in court and smiled. When she grinned, I felt a strange flip in my stomach, like I’d been going down the stairs and missed a step.
For the first time, I welcomed the sensation. I was falling for her and there was no reason for me to fight it any longer, in my mind.
It was not easy to access the record room of The Order of The Knights Templar.
First, you had to find the right secret door. The mansion was full of concealed passageways like the one in my apartment, some of which were known to regular guests. Others, like the narrow, dark tunnel that led to a hidden, underground floor encompassing the entire building, were mysteries that not even some Templars knew of. It was in that space that the archives of the organization were kept, though, locked away from anyone who didn’t absolutely need to see them.
The entrance was three quarters of the way down a hall filled with modern art and brass figurines, on the second floor. At first glance, it was a large mirror, reflecting the beautiful portrait of a ballerina directly across from it. On the top, left-hand corner of the mirror’s framing, though, the very tip could be pulled out, extending on a small spindle with several notches in it. Then, you had to twist the piece several times in different directions, like a padlock, until you’d entered the right combination. After that, the piece had to be put back in place. A small click would sound, and the ballerina behind you would suddenly slide out of the way, revealing the steep staircase to the cold basement hiding in its frame.
The steps were narrow and dimly lit, making it feel a bit like I were in some adventure movie, about to discover a treasure beyond all imagination.
And what a treasure it was.
Shelves and shelves of tomes, rolls of parchment, paintings, and all other sorts of chronicles waited to be perused. Computers sat here and there. You could search anything you wanted or use the device to look at digitally stored items. The aisles themselves were arranged on a grid, with large lettering on the sides marking what section they were in. It was a trove of knowledge, waiting for someone to come and discover what was hidden in its depths.
A shatterproof glass box protected the sensitive items, encircling those who came down the stairs. Rebecca had told me even the air was filtered to protect the paper. As we stood in the small space, my companion getting her key card ready to open the handle-less door, I couldn’t help but marvel at the amount of information.
“How did this all get here?” I asked her breathlessly, feeling the history nerd in me itching to pour over everything.
“Our main base used to be in Paris,” she replied, swiping her card. A sliding glass wall moved into place behind us, blocking off the stairs, and a breeze rushed through the enclosure. “It’s matching the pressure,” she said offhandedly, pausing in her explanation. After a moment, the entrance in front of us opened, surrounding us with the scent of parchment and ink.
“Anyway,” she continued. “The Order had built a complex called The Temple outside Paris after the Crusades. They used it for several centuries, even as the city grew and surrounded it. However, it became a sort of pilgrimage site. Napoleon had the structure demolished in the eighteen hundreds.”
“So, then it was moved here?” Partially in awe at the things around me, I only half listened as we stepped into the space.
“No. This place wasn’t built until right before the nineteen hundreds, and even then, The Order didn’t acquire it for another century.” She seemed distracted, stopping at one of the computers, her words drifting away.
Pausing, I stared at her. “Where was all of this during that time, then?”
She shrugged, caught up in whatever was on the screen. “It was spread around. Some of it went to England, some to Russia. We didn’t really have one good strong hold until this place.”
Thinking it over, I chewed on my lip. “Could your missing items have been lost then?”
That seemed to pull her from her thoughts. Staring at me, she smiled tightly. “No. I took this position three years ago, when I was twenty-one. As is tradition, I went over all the records with the last secretary. It was partially to help train me, but mostly to make sure the previous Recorder didn’t steal anything. I have handled the stolen papers with my own hands, but I’ve never read them. At the time, I was not particularly enthralled with learning the history of my famous family.” Her voice softened, and I almost didn’t catch her last mumble. “I was quite ready to abandon them altogether, if I’m being honest.”
“What happened?” I couldn’t help my curiosity, it seemed.
She wrinkled her nose, fingers flying over the keyboard in front of her. “A story for another time, I’m afraid.” Finishing whatever it was she was working on, she stepped away from the screen. “Come this way. I’ll show you where the folders are supposed to be.”
Disappearing down an aisle, she didn’t wait for me to follow, the sound of her footsteps echoing. I hurried after her, feeling my breath catch as I passed by some of the collection.
“Everything is arranged by year,” she explained over her shoulder, motioning to the shelves. “We’re passing through the eighteenth century right now.”
Catching sight of one of the volumes on the shelf beside me, I stopped, gasping. “This is written by Benjamin Franklin?” I reached for it, then stopped, not wanting to damage the small volume in any way. It was in a plastic case, with a label clearly stating it was a journal kept by the founding father.
“Many of the leaders of this country have been members of The Order,” she replied easily.
My eyes couldn’t stop bulging as I passed by everything. There were other names I recognized, other images that seemed familiar. There was so much information, though, more than I ever could have hoped for, or any historian could
have wanted, for that matter. It was like I’d found the Library of Alexandria, hidden under the streets of Washington, D.C.
Suddenly, I wondered if the knowledge from that place was here.
Rebecca halted, staring at a particularly empty section of shelving. “Here.” Her voice was all business, but I could see the anger in her eyes. “This is where they are supposed to be. I first noticed they were gone almost a year ago.”
Her words were lost on me. She had paused next to a displayed painting, the colorful canvas facing out like a proud beacon, with a light shining on it and everything. I didn’t know if she had done so on purpose, but unexpected tears abruptly sprung to my eyes.
It was a man and a woman, laughing together, their arms around each other. He seemed strong and confident, handsome, too. The woman wore a green dress, her long, brown hair curled and pinned up around her face in the style of the time. The artist had somehow managed to capture her beauty in their strokes. Most of all, I could tell the couple was happy. I had never seen a picture from the seventeenth century where the people weren’t posed and stern faced.
“That’s her,” I said simply. “Samantha.”
Rebecca nodded, smiling in real happiness as she joined me in studying it. “Yes, Tristan, too. They appear to be a great pair, don’t they?”
“They do.” I laughed, surprised at how touched I was from seeing the art. “Happy, just like you said. Whoever created this did a wonderful job.” The joy seemed to fade from me as I continued to stare, a strange, empty feeling filling me instead. “I need to know what happened to them, Rebecca,” I said softly. “I know they’re already gone, but I need to know that they were always content, like this. Thinking of Sam, drowned to death in The Pit, was horrible. Mark’s death remains a mystery to me. It would be wonderful if I could know for certain they ended up okay. I won’t be able to find peace until I know they didn’t suffer.”
Her hand went my shoulder, squeezing me gently. “Then let’s get to work.”
Stolen Away : A Time Travel Romance (The Swept Away Saga Book 4) Page 4
