“Merci, Monsieur Bell. I am sure it was not easy for you to share all of that.” Bevard, staring at me evenly, regarded me for another moment and then turned to his right, where Tristan was sitting.
“Monsieur O’Rourke. Would you care to pick up from there?”
Tristan spoke of The Order’s attempt to corner Randall in London, but it had been a distraction from the real objective of the Black Knights. While The Order was looking for them in England, they had stolen away Samantha. The travesty had not been discovered for several days, during which Abella had been shot and left to die in Sam’s room. By some miracle, the bullet had only grazed her, though, and she had managed to bandage herself enough that she was still alive when Tristan arrived.
“And what did you tell him?” Bevard asked, addressing her for the first time.
“I told him that his wife had been kidnapped,” she said, her voice shaky. “And described the men the best I could remember.”
“Could you describe them for us again, now?”
“Um.” She looked around nervously, twisting her hands together under the table. “O-oui, Monsieur.”
Silently, I took one of her hands, squeezing it reassuringly. “It’s okay,” I muttered loud enough for only her to hear. “No one is here to judge you, just to listen.”
Nodding, she squeezed back, holding on tightly, and cleared her throat. “I saw Thomas Randall. He was in the front of the group. At the time I didn’t know his name, but I would never forget his face, nor the way he talked to Samantha.”
She delivered her part of the tale quickly after that, grasping my hand under the table the entire time, her fingers trembling every so often.
Others were called upon to give their story, Captain Lomas speaking for a time, Tristan answering questions every now and then as well. Finally, Bevard turned to Sammy, smiling kindly.
“Would you tell us what happened to you?”
She hesitated at first, clearly pained by having to relive it all again. Whenever she fumbled, she would look to me for reassurance, finding whatever it was she needed to continue in my face. By the time she had finished, Tristan had joined in her tears, the pain they shared together obviously very real to everyone in the room. The worst part had been Rachel—their unborn child. Abella had cried freely as Sam spoke of burying the baby, knowing that her father would never get to see her.
After the entire tale had been recounted, Bevard sighed, closing his eyes. All was silent for several minutes, before he stood and began pacing. “Let us reconcile the things we can.”
“The treasure. We know it is safe in the mountain, guarded by the Apache. I have also decided there will be a special team dedicated to protecting it as well. It will be a team unlike any of our others, as it is not sea-bound. I will announce the particulars, as well as those assigned to said mission after I have pondered it longer.
“Dáinsleif—the Norse sword that the Apache gifted to Samantha. Where is it now?”
“At our home, here, in Paris,” Tristan answered. “Kept under lock and key. A weapon that can not be put away until it deals a killing blow is not something we want others to get their hands on.”
“I agree. You may lock it up in the Temple, should you so wish. I trust that you will protect it with your very lives.” Bevard sighed, rubbing his face.
“Captain Lomas. Tell me more of this ship that Randall escaped with.”
“Skíðblaðnir,” Lomas replied. “An enchanted vessel. It will carry anything, no matter the weight or size. The vessel is also capable of travel over water, land, and air. It may be folded to fit inside a mere pocket. Randall could walk the streets of Paris with it and we would be none the wiser. It is also worth remembering that the snake got away with the belt of Thor, so not only can he escape easily, but he will be ten times stronger than any one man, so long as he is wearing the garment.”
Pursing his lips, Bevard sat again. “It would appear that our foe has managed to outsmart us yet again.”
The entire room shifted uncomfortably at that, glances of worry exchanged among each other. A few moments of silence passed while Bevard thought with his eyes closed and then he stood.
“Captain Lomas. You and your crew are given one week of shore leave. You and I will reconvene at that time to decide what path you should take now that your previous mission is fulfilled. I thank you all for your participation today and remind you that this meeting is being held in the strictest of confidence. Do not speak with anyone outside of this room about the things you have heard today. You are dismissed.”
The crew rose practically as one, saluting and moving to leave the space. In less than a minute, only myself, Abella, Tristan, and Sam were left in the room.
“I apologize, my dear, for the hardships you have faced in this time. When we last met, I’d hoped that your trials were at an end.” Smiling gently, Bevard patted Sam’s hand.
“Thank you,” she said, hiccupping after her emotional retelling.
“Mark Bell. I’d never in my life thought I’d meet one time traveler, let alone two.” Grinning, he examined me once more. “You had quite the story to tell.”
“Ten years is a lot of time to cover,” I replied smoothly, leaning in my chair. Abella’s hand still rested easily in mine, neither of us having let go as we listened to the harrowing tale we had lived through.
“If you should so desire, there is a spot here for you, among The Order. You may carry the brand of a Black Knight, but you are no scoundrel, that much is certain.” He watched me intently and I felt myself stiffen some at the offer.
Abella, sensing my sudden distress, squeezed my hand, smiling as she watched.
“I had planned to ask for him to join my crew, should ye still be thinking I’m deserving of a ship, Grand Master.” Tristan grinned at me as well, the formality of the meeting dwindling into nothing between the five of us.
“Pffft.” Bevard rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “Deserving. Of course you’re deserving, soldier. You’re one of my best men.”
Tristan blushed at the compliment, coughing to cover up his surprise.
“Monsieur Bell is more than welcome to join your crew, should he wish. We have plenty of opportunities for him, if he feels his place is among the Knights. He would be a perfect fit for the new team I wish to station in this Arizona, as you called it. The Apache are already friendly with him and trust him. It would make matters much easier when it came to setting up a partnership with them.”
Abella sucked in a sharp breath that only I heard, her grip on my hand tightening even more. Grimacing, I pulled my fingers out of her grasp, rubbing them gently.
“To be completely honest, Grand Master, I don’t know what I would like to do.” Frowning, I stared at the people around me. “For the longest time, all I could think of was finding a way to get home, to my own time. I know now that it isn’t possible, at least not in any way that I’m aware of. Pandora’s Box is at the bottom of the Treasure Pit, where it will stay until Samantha finds it in our own time.
“I left the Apache because I felt like I didn’t have a purpose. I suppose I did the same thing in Mexico City. I don’t want to feel useless here, too.” Sighing, I smiled tightly. “I guess what I’m trying to say is, yes. I will join The Order.”
A general murmur of happiness coursed through the room, though Abella seemed more worried than happy. It made me want to laugh; I knew she was thinking of the new team in the desert. She’d shared with me on our journey to Paris that she’d found the place horrible. It was very clear she was imagining what it would be like to live there full time at this moment.
“I would also like to stay with Samantha and Tristan, if it really is my choice,” I added. “I was never much of a desert rat to begin with.”
This made them all laugh, Abella especially. Relief washed over her features and she slumped back in her chair, as if she’d been waiting on the edge of her seat for my answer. “You will make a wonderful crewman,” she said seriously. “Perhaps,
even a doctor again, if you wanted.”
“Maybe,” I agreed. “I guess we’ll have to wait and see what Captain O’Rourke wants me to do.”
Looking over at him and Samantha, I felt my stomach twist. What was I doing, agreeing to go everywhere with them? I should have been staying away, learning to let go of my feelings. Instead, I was allowing myself to be deluded into the idea that Sammy still needed me, that I could still love her and not feel like it was killing me every day.
Tristan had asked for my help, though, hadn’t he? He wanted me to be part of his crew. He wanted me to see Sam every day. He wanted me to help pull her out of the hole she was in. I was only doing what her husband wanted.
Grimacing, I tried not to show my sudden discomfort to the group. I was still walking a dangerous line when it came to Samantha and no one seemed to be noticing—only Abella. She always caught on to my thoughts about Sam and was somehow clued in when I was feeling upset or aggravated. She didn’t approve of how I felt, I was sure, but she’d never said anything to me about it directly, choosing to let me find my own way down my path to self-destruction. For some odd reason, I had a feeling she would be there at the end, too, offering a hand to help me out of the pit once I’d hoisted Sam out ahead of me.
Frowning, she stared at the pair as well, biting her bottom lip. The look she gave me as she turned her attention to me was one of warning. Don’t mess up, it said. Don’t act selfish and ruin what they have.
“We’ll have the initiation ceremony in a week, then,” Bevard was saying, oblivious to my reservations and the warning Abella was giving me. “Until then, you all have shore leave as well. Enjoy your time off!”
Kneeling, I made sure to keep the great sword in my grasp steady, the point resting on the ground in front of me. Both hands rested on the hilt, the pommel and blade guard forming a cross across my face. An old sheet had been draped around my shoulders, meant to recreate the tabard of The Knights Templar from the age of the Crusades.
“The Grand Master will anoint ye with the oil, then,” Tristan continued, standing before me in demonstration. “On yer forehead, shoulders, and chest, in the sign of the cross, savvy? While he does so, I will utter a warrior’s prayer, as your guide through the initiation ceremony.”
“What then?” Staring up at him, I resisted the urge to laugh. It felt like we were playing pretend, not preparing for my entrance into a secret society. This was a normal room, not a sacred, hidden space. Everything about this space was as plain as it could be, with a burning hearth, couches and seats to rest in, rugs on the floor, and green paint highlighting the walls around us. Behind me, the entrance to the hallway sat. To my right, a large window, looking over the outside world like some magic mirror waiting to tell a story. And yet, it still somehow felt like the special place we imagined it to be.
Tristan, standing in front of the fireplace, nodded. “The Master will bid ye rise and introduce ye to the congregation as the newest member of the Brotherhood. After that, ye’ll be a Templar for the rest of yer days.” He smiled, offering his hand to me as I got up. “Any questions?”
“Was there always this much ceremony involved, or is this something you started in the past three hundred years?” Samantha, seated by the window in her combat training clothes, crossed her legs and folded her arms, eyeing her husband curiously. It wasn’t the first time she’d butted in to our rehearsal, nor, did it seem, did she have any intention of stopping her inquisitive mind soon.
Regarding her with caution, Tristan cleared his throat. “Aye. I suppose it has always been done this way. Why do ye ask?”
“I’m just wondering if it will change at all in the future. Slavery will be illegal. Perhaps the portion detailing how new recruits are no better than slaves would be omitted. It also seems a bit redundant, asking three times if he understood what he was committing to. Would they really allow someone to back out at that point? When equality is finally recognized as a basic human right across the board, will they honor that truth? Will The Order finally allow women to join their ranks? Or will it always be a group of mysterious men, determined to keep the fairer sex from destroying their eternal man cave?” Snorting, she shook her head, peering out the glass pane beside her.
Tristan remained silent for a moment, closing his eyes and placing his fingertips on the lids—a sign of him trying to control whatever it was he’d been about to say—before folding his hands together and looking at her once more.
“Samantha. I know ye do not approve of how many things are in this time, but ye must give the rest of us the chance to come to yer same conclusions. Yer time is hundreds of years away. That’s decades worth of people evolving their minds and discovering new ideas. Centuries worth of change and progression. Ye can’t demand that everyone fall in line with ye now. It doesn’t work that way, lass.”
“I don’t need you to tell me how things work,” she replied, rather sharply, turning her steely gaze on him once more. “I’m reminded of my place every day, thank you.”
Sighing in frustration, he crossed his arms. “That’s not what I meant, and ye know it.” Turning to me for assistance, he tilted his head in her direction, a slight pleading in his eyes. I didn’t know why, but he always seemed to think I had something to say that would get her to immediately drop the subject, especially when it came to matters of the future.
“I think what Tristan is trying to say is . . .” Floundering, I stared at her, trying to decide where I was going with the conversation. “The world needs time. Even in our century, there are still struggles with equality and acceptance. We’ve come a long way, but only because of the backbone that was built for us by history. We need to let the people of today build us our world of tomorrow. They aren’t ready to be as progressive as we would like. Yet.”
Raising an eyebrow at me, she turned her attention to the window once more, arms still folded tightly across her body.
Glancing at Tristan, I shrugged, not thinking there was much more I could do to help the situation. Sam was in one of her moods again. It was easy enough to tell she was upset she was being excluded from the ceremony, happening in three days’ time.
At first, she had asked most of the questions, seemingly fascinated by the whole process. Soon after, she apparently realized it was going to be a male only affair. I wasn’t sure if she’d come to that conclusion herself or if Tristan had informed her, but either way, she had taken to tearing down the pomp and circumstance of it all whenever she had the chance. Her feelings were hurt, I realized, but there was nothing I could do about it. Technically speaking, we had already broken the rules by telling her how an initiation occurred. The information was supposed to remain secret and was sacred among the men, but Tristan hadn’t even blinked when she asked him how it all came together.
The longer I watched them, the more I realized that the pair didn’t have many secrets between them, if any. Their relationship was an open book, with everything shared. As long as I could remember, I’d hoped for a relationship like that. Seeing them sharing that made me wonder if I would ever find someone I trusted as much as Sam to share my life with.
Surprisingly, it was getting easier to be around her. I’d thought that it would be pure torture, watching her love someone else, but it was calming to my nerves. There was always a reminder she wasn’t mine to pursue. Sure, I still loved her, but I could breathe easier now, sleep through the night, and look at Tristan without feeling an extreme amount of prejudice toward him.
The silent space between us all seemed to be growing more tense with each passing second, Sam staring out the window, her foot bobbing quickly in the air. Tristan, staring at her, frowned, the expression seeming to somehow deepen on his face, a dark cloud covering his eyes. Not knowing what to say or how to keep the impending argument from breaking out, I took to examining the ceiling, chewing on my bottom lip, my hands fiddling with the sheet draped over me.
“Tea time.” Abella’s voice in the doorway drew our attention, a tray of pretty chi
na cups covered in hand-painted, blue flowers and a matching pot held in her hands. She curtsied quickly, the brown dress and her long, white apron brushing against the wood floors as she did so. Moving through the sitting room with ease, she set the tray down on the coffee table Tristan and I had moved to the side of the space, busying herself with filling the cups.
A breath of relief slipped from me and I smiled, wondering how she always managed to have perfect timing. Had she been waiting in the hall? Or was she just that lucky? The tension eased some as she moved around, apparently oblivious to the high emotions she’d walked in on.
“Madame Fairfax has informed me that dinner will be served at five in the afternoon. Cook has prepared a lovely feast for this evening, with the hog Samantha picked at market yesterday.” Turning toward her lady, Abella held out a cup and saucer, waiting for Sam to take it.
“We’ve been smelling it all afternoon,” I offered, beaming at her as she flashed me a smile. “I can’t wait to taste it.”
“I agree,” Tristan replied wholeheartedly. “It will be a welcome respite from the cabbage and beans, though Cook prepares those as well as any in his profession I’ve met. Sam?”
His wife had yet to take the offered drink, staring at it with a blank expression. Blinking, she seemed to come out of her own thoughts, her features falling. “Abella did all the picking. I just told them where to send it.” Her tone had gone from angry to tired and she rubbed a hand over her face, rising from her seat. “I have a headache and think I’ll lay down for a while. Excuse me.”
If Abella was affronted by being ignored, she didn’t show it, pulling the cup away and holding it close to her chest. She curtsied, moving away as Sam rose and left the room.
Watching as she disappeared into the hall and then up the stairs, I felt a pang of sadness for her. I’d often seen her shut herself off from others when she’d been a prisoner on Randall’s ship. It was one of her most used self-preservation techniques, but I’d never expected to see her use it here, among her friends and family. I’d thought she was doing better, going out with Abella, laughing over cards with Tristan, cutting down her practice time in the courtyard. Clearly, she was still suffering with her invisible wounds, though. Any delusions I’d had that my presence was helping her were just that—delusions.
Hidden Away (The Swept Away Saga, Book Three) Page 10
