Taking the sword from me, Tristan fiddled with the pommel for a moment, taking a deep breath as he watched the street outside. After a moment, he turned to Abella and I, smiling tightly. His formed seemed to deflate, a sadness overcoming him, and his expression fell. “If ye’ll excuse me,” he said quietly, taking his leave and following his wife.
“Have they been fighting again?” I asked Abella, moving to close the door to the room so our conversation would be private.
She shook her head. “I’m afraid it’s something more that they are both struggling with.”
“Do you know what it is?”
She smiled sadly, nodding. “The babe, Rachel. If she’d not passed away in the womb, she would have been born sometime in this past couple weeks. It’s created much tension between them, but not out of anger. They are mourning.”
The realization washed over me like a cold shower and I dropped my head, cursing myself for having not realized. All the activities we’d been doing, the time I was spending at the house, Sam’s moods, it all made sense now that I knew what was going on. What if I had said something careless, making it worse for the pair of them? It hadn’t even occurred to me that their joint despair would be made fresh because of the date.
“Is there anything I can do to help either of them?” Crossing the room, I picked up a cup from the tray, motioning for her to join me on the couch.
“I don’t think so. They want their daughter, Mark. Tristan has never even seen her.” Her eyes teared as she spoke and she looked at the glass she held. “I should have been there. I promised Monsieur O’Rourke I would watch after his wife for him. I should have insisted the ruffians take me with them, too.”
“Abella, no.” Setting my drink down, I reached for her, cradling her face in my hand and forcing her to look at me. “They wouldn’t have taken you. Do you hear me? They would have killed you. Hell, they left you for dead when they came for her. If you’d insisted you come along, you would have been dead for sure and we wouldn’t even be having this conversation.
“And what could you have done, if you were brought along? You would have been a prisoner. The men would have raped you repeatedly and there wouldn’t have been anything I could do about it. Randall could’ve killed you just to scare Sam. The chances that you would have made it out alive in that situation are next to none.”
The tears trembled past her eyelashes and slid down her face, wetting my hand as I rubbed her cheek with my thumb. What I said had scared her some, but she still shook her head, wanting to argue.
“Regardless of what would have happened to me, I would have been there for Samantha. It was my job to take care of her and I didn’t do it.” She hiccupped, trying to pull away, but I wouldn’t let her.
“There was nothing you could have done,” I replied roughly. “I was there, and there was barely anything I could do. I couldn’t stop them from attacking her. I couldn’t stop Rachel from dying. I’m not just trying to make you feel better. I’m telling you the truth. Nothing could have been done, by you, me, or anyone else to change what happened. Not even Tristan could have stopped the miscarriage if he’d gotten there in time.”
Scooting closer, I placed my other hand on her face, holding her steady as I spoke, wiping the tears away as they fell. “Besides all that, if you hadn’t been here to tell Tristan what happened, he might not have ever found her. You are a hero in this story, Abella. You survived a gunshot! You helped track down a pirate, the leader of the Black Knights! You fought side by side with The Knights Templar and didn’t even hesitate! You nursed many men, myself included, back to health. We would have died without you—I would have died without you, and on more than one occasion.”
The statement seemed to surprise the both of us and I stopped short, staring into her wide eyes, her tears having slowed to an occasional droplet here and there. “I would’ve died without you,” I repeated softly, laughing in spite of myself. It had never occurred to me that she was the reason I was alive until just now. “I owe you my life, Abella. You may not have been able to save Sam, but you saved me. That’s a debt I’ll probably never be able to repay.”
Hiccupping, she blinked, setting her cup to the side and touching my hands with her own. “It was nothing. You needed help and I gave it. I don’t want you—or anyone—to feel that they owe me a debt. I only did what was right.”
“There are many people who wouldn’t have done it.” Grasping her fingers in mine, I rested our hands in our laps, staring at them in contemplation. “I don’t know if I ever thanked you. I’m sorry for that. It should have been one of the first things I did, when I was shot and when I almost drowned.” Staring at her face, I smiled, feeling a strange swirl of emotions. “Thank you, Abella. Thank you for saving my life. Thank you for being there when I needed you. Thank you for being my friend.”
She laughed slightly, her face turning red, and then cleared her throat, turning toward the door. She seemed uncomfortable for some reason, like she didn’t know what else to say. “I have chores I need to do,” she stated, her tone almost regretful. Her youthful face was sad when she turned back to me, her lips trembling. “I don’t want to leave you in here alone, though. Or have you stop saying such nice things to me.” She laughed again, her hand fidgeting against my own.
For once, I agreed. Not wanting her to leave either, I tightened my hold on her, smiling. “Stay here, then. We haven’t talked in a long time, not like we used to. Sam won’t mind if you don’t help with the chores. You’re not an actual servant here. I’m surprised to see that you act like one.”
“I enjoy the work.” She shrugged, peering at the closed door once more. “Sam is always telling me I don’t have to help if I don’t want, but I am hired to be her maid. It’s not fair to the other servants if I don’t do my part. Besides, it’s all I know.” She frowned then, looking at me as if she were suddenly ashamed of herself. “I’m not a Lady, like Sam. I don’t attend Court regularly and the dresses I helped make for years were never ones I meant to wear myself. In my most desperate hour, the only place I had to turn was the streets and the grace of God. I’m not meant to live the life of someone higher. I’m happiest here, doing work with my hands and staying out of the politics of those around me.”
Nodding, I smiled softly, understanding what she was saying. “I’m no Lord,” I offered. “This life we live now is one that I’m not familiar with. However, should you ever be in your most desperate hour again, you can feel comfort in knowing that you can come to me. You may not be a Noble Lady, but you are a woman of great worth.”
The door opened suddenly before she could answer and we broke apart, a wave of heat washing over me, Abella rose quickly, smoothing her dress and wiping any remaining wetness from her face in a rush.
Tristan, having not noticed the two of us together, shut the door behind himself, sighing. Turning, he smiled at the both of us, as if he’d been hoping we were both still here. “She’s fine. The headache will pass with rest.” It sounded a bit like a white lie, his nose twitching some, but I didn’t question him. When he saw that we weren’t going to press for more details, his shoulders relaxed and he nodded. “Mark, would you like to go over the ceremony again?”
Glancing at Abella, who had also turned a light shade of pink, I smiled. “I would love nothing better.”
Yawning, I covered my mouth, looking around the space in mild awe. The amount of building the Templars had managed to hide underground was staggering, to say the least. Even more impressive, they had somehow kept anyone from discovering it.
The room I stood in now was a marvel of engineering and design, somehow managing to replicate the feeling of being in a large cathedral. Giant, stone pillars twisted up from the cobblestone floor, flowing into the arched ceiling like water. Tapestries hung over the walls, candelabras lighting the space every few feet. Just ahead of me, a pair of gigantic wooden doors waited, locked until the initiation ceremony would begin. The hum of hundreds of men sounded lowly from the other side,
filling me with an excitement I’d yet to feel when thinking of joining up.
Beside me, Tristan waited with his eyes closed, mouth moving along to some silent prayer he’d been reciting since arriving at the center of the Temple, where the most sacred of duties were carried out. He wore plain clothes under his long tabard, the large red cross of The Order stretched across his chest and back. It looked every bit the same as it did in history books, marking him clearly as a Templar. The leather belt around his waist also housed a sword, long and heavy, like the ones we had practiced with. I’d never thought of him as a highly religious man, but, watching him now, it was clear that he had a relationship with his God, whomever or whatever it might be. He took his position as a Knight seriously and with reverence, something he had bid me do as well.
Glancing at my boots, I felt somewhat naked next to him. I wouldn’t be given a tabard or sword until the ceremony was underway. All I had with me at the moment were my boots, pants, and shirt that I’d usually worn on board the ship. Tristan had said this wasn’t the place for finery and to dress as I would for comfort. Titles and wealth did not matter in this place and showing them off was considered in poor taste.
I was the only recruit coming in tonight. When the clock struck midnight, Tristan would usher me through the doors and into the fold, guiding me through the steps and requirements of the ceremony until we reached the Masters. After I answered their questions, I would be passed on to the Grand Master, to complete the process. Every Templar who was close enough to attend would be there, watching. It made me feel something akin to stage fright, but I knew in my gut that it would all turn out fine.
“Are ye ready, a dhuine?”
Staring over at Tristan, I nodded, swallowing hard. “Are you?”
“Aye. I thank ye for the honor of letting me be yer guide in this endeavor.”
“It’s not like I knew anyone else who could do it,” I muttered, eliciting a laugh from him.
“I suppose that’s true. Still, it is my great pleasure to do so.” Somewhere overhead, a bell began to ring, signifying that midnight was upon us. Crossing himself, Tristan turned toward the door, squaring his shoulders, ready to perform his duty. The hum of voices on the other side dimmed to nothing, everyone ready for the ceremony to begin.
Taking a deep breath, I watched the entrance, waiting for it to open so Tristan could lead me inside. One minute passed, and then another. Fidgeting, I looked to my guide for answers, but he seemed just as confused as I was.
Suddenly, sound came roaring through the space, the doors flying open with a bang, revealing chaos in the inner Temple. The men were scattering around the room, holding blades to one another, shouting in everyone’s face. I couldn’t hardly see past the few men in the front, stepping back in alarm as a fist fight broke out.
“Ye there!” Tristan yelled at the man who had opened the doors and was trying to escape out into the waiting area. “What’s happened?”
“The Grand Master!” He stuttered, pointing to the back of the room were several ceremonial curtains should have hid the Masters and Grand Master. “He’s dead! Murdered on his seat!”
Shocked, Tristan froze, the expression on his face melting into one of horror and disbelief. Gazing into the space ahead of us, though, he seemed to gather himself, shaking his head, and then leapt into action. “Get inside and close the doors,” he ordered, grabbing me by the arm and propelling me forward. “Do not let a single soul leave, either of ye!”
The fight just in front of us was spilling into our space, the men rolling across the ground, pummeling each other. Someone drew a knife, brandishing it defensively, trying to stay out of the muck of the match.
“Inside!” Tristan roared, striding into the midst of the argument and kicking one of the men in the stomach. “Get yer arses moving!”
Whether it was the tone of authority in his voice or the murderous glare in his eyes, the men listened, seeming to come to their senses as they picked themselves up. As soon as we were all in the inner Temple, he pulled the doors shut, locking them tight.
“Wait here,” he said to me, looking me hard in the eye. “Do. Not. Move. Ye’ll understand in a moment.”
Frozen in uncertainty and mild fear, I peered over the room, trying to make sense of it all. It appeared to be much like the waiting room outside, save the stone pews that were set into the floor. A set of stairs rose up at the head of the room, resting beneath a faux stained-glass widow that was illuminated from behind by candlelight. I could see the spot where I would’ve stood during the ceremony, as well as the hidden seats of the Masters. If it hadn’t been for the riot occurring in front of me, I would have thought we were in a place of sanctuary and peace.
“Order!” A voice boomed over the racket, the firing of a gun catching everyone’s attention. At the head of the room, up the steps and in front of the white sheets, a man held his pistol over his head, smoke curling from the end. “There will be order in this Temple!”
A few of the scuffles continued, one so close to us that Tristan grabbed one of the rabble-rousers and yanked him back, breaking up the fight.
“Listen to the Master,” he hissed, pointing toward the man on the steps.
“How do we know the Masters ain’t the ones that killed Bevard, eh?” the man hissed, pulling himself out of Tristan’s grasp. “How do we know it wasn’t you?” He glared at Tristan with disdain and distrust, eyeing him like he was no better than dust.
“Shut yer mouth,” Tristan growled, letting just enough threat slip into his tone that the man stepped back.
The crowd settled some and I was able to catch a glimpse of several men moving the long curtains around peering behind them. Blood had soaked the ends of one and for a split second, I thought I saw the Grand Master, seated on a padded chair, his sliced open neck available for all to see. Before I could assess if that was what I was actually viewing, though, the crowd shifted again, still arguing and fighting with one another.
“It was someone in this room,” I said to myself, surprised. Suddenly, I understood why they all were fighting—they were accusing each other of doing the deadly deed. Friends were turning on each other at the drop of the hat, desperate to discover the traitor among their midst.
“Order!” The Master yelled again. “You dolts! Do you not realize that by fighting you have helped the traitor hide his blade? The blood of Bevard was the only mark we had to catch him with!”
The men weren’t listening, though. They were still shouting, shoving, accusing. Huffing in annoyance, Tristan began shoving his way through the group, trading a punch here and there with anyone who thought of getting in his way. When he finally reached the steps, he had blood spatter on his white tabard and his chest was heaving. He didn’t want to talk to the crowd, though; instead, he made his way to the curtains, disappearing behind them for a moment. When he returned, he crossed himself, a pained expression on his face.
The gun fired again, the bullet hitting the ceiling and sending rock chips raining down on one corner.
“Enough!” The Master’s face was red and wild, his voice booming through the space so loudly that the men actually stopped to listen to him. “All of you! Put your weapons away and prepare to give a statement. You will not leave this room until your statement has been recorded! Anyone caught trying to leave beforehand will be arrested and put in the tower.” Fuming, he looked over the group, disgust on his face. “When I find who did this, I will gut you like a pig myself.” Spitting on the ground, he motioned to the exit in the back of the room, right where I was standing. “Line up! If you fight further, you will be taken care of. Save your accusations for the recorders!”
A few men pushed through the crowd, taking their spots at the doors, firm expressions on their faces. They had gathered paper and quills from somewhere along the way, ready to fill the Master’s order.
“What about the Grand Master?” The shout had come from the middle of the room, the asker unknown, but the Master nodded all the same, g
lancing behind him and crossing himself.
“He is among the angels now. Once we have given our own account of our activities this evening, myself and the other Masters will take him to rest and inform his wife and daughter.” He paused, clearly upset by the prospect of having to tell the family that their husband and father was dead.
“What then?”
Turning to the three other men on the steps, the Master made a questioning gesture toward them.
“Not to be unkind, but . . .we must vote,” one of them hesitantly replied, his French accent thick with sadness. “The Order cannot continue on without a leader, especially when the Black Knights are so active and among us.”
This caused the group to shift uncomfortably again, glancing at each other in suspicion. My mind raced as I watched them all, the tension in the room making the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
“More information will be spread through the usual channels, as we make it available,” the first Master added. “But, yes, there will need to be a vote.”
Murmurs swept through the crowd at that, causing him to hold his hands up for peace. “Please. Let us focus on the matter before us.”
The crowd was ignoring him now, though. Some of the men were making their case as to why they should be the new Grand Master, others were arguing about the motives of the murder.
“Black Knight!” someone shouted, another gunshot ringing in the air. The man in front of him fell, clutching his chest, and the chaos erupted once more.
Tristan, appearing out of nowhere, came to stand by me. “This is madness,” he stated, glancing around the room in disgust. “Someone in here has murdered our leader and they will walk away without a single ounce of regret. The statements will do nothing; the Masters are floundering. They are too shocked to see that the murderer is slipping away right before their very eyes.”
Hidden Away (The Swept Away Saga, Book Three) Page 11
