The Immortals I_Lucas

by Cynthia Breeding

  Con man. Lucas’ eyes bore holes through the man’s back, but he didn’t notice. Sara was looking flustered, but at least she withdrew her hand.

  “Have we met?” she asked.

  Mr. Smith hastily made the introductions. “Mr. Caldwell will need a few days to go through my authenticity papers to have the facts straight on each weapon.”

  Lucas caught the questioning look in Sara’s eyes and shook his head slightly. They would have to wait on the manuscript. She nodded imperceptibly.

  “I can pull those documents,” she said and set her purse on the coffee table and walked toward the door. “Where would you like for me to put them?”

  Mr. Smith frowned, apparently just realizing that Caldwell presented a dilemma. Sweat broke out his balding forehead and he dabbed at it hastily with the linen handkerchief from his breast pocket. “Well…” Then he brightened. “What about the billiard hall? It has several tables and chairs and Mr. Caldwell could spread out the paperwork. That would leave us free to look at the manu—“

  “Ah. Don’t worry about that,” Sara interrupted quickly. “Professor MacDonald is already working on the matter, remember? And Mr. Ramsey, I believe you wanted to examine some Scottish earthenware from the sixteenth century?”

  “Aye, lass,” Lucas said promptly, going along with her story and admiring her quick thinking. “I canna believe the wee bit of luck that led me here. Laird Smith ‘tis a most generous mon to let me have a peek at the artifacts.”

  Mr. Smith preened little at being called a laird and Lucas almost laughed, but realized that Caldwell was regarding him strangely.

  Sara caught the look too. “He’s an archeologist,” she said.

  “Ummm,” he said slowly as he assessed Lucas. Then he gave Sara an engaging grin. “May I help you carry the documents that I’ll be needing?”

  “That won’t be necessary,” she answered. “I’ll just need my key for access and be right back.” She started for her purse, but Caldwell put up a hand to stop her. “Allow me.” He leaned down to pick up the purse, but his hand brushed against a brass candlestick that toppled onto the purse knocking it off the table.

  “I’m terribly sorry,” he said as he quickly slid the tube of lipstick and a few coins back into the purse. “How clumsy of me.”

  “No problem.” Sara had reached him by that time and took the handbag, digging through for her key. “I’ll be just a few minutes.”

  Both men watched her go and again, the hair began to bristle on the back of Lucas’ neck again. Caldwell turned to look at him and gave him a cold smile.

  “She’s going to be mine, Highlander. I just wanted you to know.”

  The wolf growled, straining to be released.

  “Well, well,” Mr. Smith said. “This should be interesting.”

  * * * *

  Sara latched the door to the library and crossed the thick Aubusson carpet. She reached up and tugged at one of the leather-bound books. The bookcase slid silently to one side and Sara pressed her thumbprint against the small technology pad that would allow her access. The door clicked and she descended the steps into the concrete-lined bunker that her boss had especially built in case of nuclear fallout. It was comfortably furnished with overstuffed leather chairs and sofas and a huge master bed. In a strange mix of the twenty-first century and the Middle Ages, there was storage for six months of Army rations, supplies of batteries to run laptops, radios, and a small T.V., oxygen tanks and protective body gear and several thousand beeswax candles, for the one thing the bunker lacked was a generator. There was no way to ventilate it. The other intriguing thing about this underground secret was the vaults. The big walk-in one she didn’t have access to, but the files she was looking for were available. She pulled several portfolios and stacked them. Then she paused.

  There was another smaller vault recessed into a wall, hidden by a rather imperfect replication of the Mona Lisa. The irony of her smile in a cheap painting protecting the valuables in the safe always made Sara smile too.

  She glanced at her watch. In five minutes the timer would go off and she would have exactly one minute before it reset itself. Should she wait?

  Sara knew that Professor MacDonald would be diligent in his work, but she knew also that Lucas did not want to wait. And, she admitted to herself, neither did she. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, his dire prediction had struck a note of alarm deep inside. The Sisterhood was going to meet tonight. The moon was full. If she knew where the danger lay, she could use the energy of the circle to call on the power to help.

  The vault clicked softly. She swung the picture out, opened the door and removed the manila envelope. Returning the picture to its place, she gathered the portfolios and climbed the stairs. She slipped the document behind a book and returned to the study.

  “Ah! There you are,” Mr. Smith exclaimed.

  “I’m sorry I took so long,” Sara explained a bit breathlessly. “One of the files was misplaced and I had to hunt for it.”

  Her boss frowned, but she didn’t give him time to react. “Mr. Caldwell, if you’ll follow me?”

  “Call me Al,” he said with a smile and took the portfolios, letting his hands run over hers slowly. “Will you help me sort through these?”

  Sara hesitated. There was something unsettling about the man. Maybe it was just that he too smooth-talking or maybe it was the fact that he had actually held her hands in a most proprietary way. His touch had made her shiver.

  “I believe I had an appointment for this morning,” Lucas spoke from across the room.

  “Yes,” Sara turned quickly and caught Mr. Smith trying to hide a grin. “You did.” She turned back to Caldwell. “I’m sure you’ll have no trouble sorting things out. The billiard hall is the first door on your left.”

  His eyes hardened, although his smile stayed in place. “I may have some questions later.”

  “Of course,” Mr. Smith interrupted. “I’ll just show you to the room myself.”

  Sara waited until they were both gone. “I pulled the document.”

  Lucas’ eyebrow rose. “Do you think that wise?”

  Now he was questioning her? First he made it sound like the Apocalypse was headed their way and now he had all the time to wait? “I thought we needed to save the world before something evil destroyed it.” She softened the tartness in her tone with a small smile.

  He didn’t return it. “Don’t even jest, Sara. It’s too close to truth.”

  She stopped herself from rolling her eyes. What could a document written in middle-Gaelic say that would have such an impact? She wondered if he were trying to go all da Vinci Code on her with his grim predictions of news that would shake the world. Well, she’d soon find out.

  “Come,” she said and then, as the corner of his mouth quirked up, she realized how that had sounded and felt herself grow warm. “I’d like to,” his eyes said and heat blazed through her. Damn, but he was unsettling.

  Sara ignored the look and led the way to the library, closing the door behind them, but not locking it. She didn’t need to be giving this hot little fantasy of hers any more ideas. She pulled the envelope out from behind the book and handed it to him.

  He sat down at a small desk and spread the papers in front of him and began reading. Sara sat down on the sofa near the desk and watched him. He was as tense as a mountain cat ready to spring. The fingers of his large, strong hands flexed and stretched on the table as he read, reminding her of a big cat retracting its claws. He raised an eyebrow from time to time and on occasions, he frowned, but he didn’t look up.

  It was nearly lunchtime when he finally gathered the documents and put them carefully inside the envelope. He sat back and rubbed his eyes.

  “Well?” Sara was about to burst from curiosity. He started and she wondered if he’d forgotten that she was there. She had hardly moved a muscle for nearly three hours and not spoken a word.

  “It’s as I suspected,” he said. “The Sacred Hallows are in the United
States. I have to find them.”

  “Hallows?” she repeated, her mind running a rapid data search through Celtic history. “Are you speaking of ancient Hallows of the Tuatha de Danaan?”

  Lucas looked surprised. “You’re familiar with them?”

  How much to tell him? That the Tuatha de Danaan were the people of the Goddess? When she had told the second important man in her life—the one after the crook and before the adulterer—that she practiced the Old Ways of Brighid, he had called her a witch—not the good kind—and accused her of bewitching him. Blessed be. As if that’s the way the Goddess worked. He’d also tried to sully her reputation and nearly ruined her business. Best error with caution.

  “The Celts, their culture and religion, have been an interest of mine. Kincaid is an Irish name. I’ve done some research.”

  “And?”

  “The Spear of Lugh always flies true. The Sword of Nuada protects its bearer. The Dish represents the Round Table and makes men equal, and The Cup of the Dagda provides healing.” No need to divulge the inner truths about the Hallows. Not yet.

  “Can you imagine what power a corrupt and evil man might have if he were to possess all four?” Lucas asked softly.

  “There’s plenty corruption as is,” Sara answered. “From terrorists to heads of business and government.”

  “And that corruption would endure for eternity, multiplying itself.”

  “So what does the manuscript say should be done?”

  He studied her as though assessing how much he should tell her. And that irritated her. It still seemed a little melodramatic to her that Fate hinged on an anonymous source, but if the Hallows really did exist, there was more than one way to save the world. The inner, hidden path of the Goddess was subtle, but stronger than the outward path of men. She leaned forward. “I risked my life for that document. I want to know what it says. All of what it says. Now.”

  For what seemed like an impossible amount of time, he said nothing as he continued to appraise her, his amber eyes penetrating hers. She forced herself to hold his gaze and not drop hers to that full sensual lower lip he was worrying with his very white teeth. Then finally, he nodded.

  “It’s hard to know where to start.”

  “The beginning would be good.”

  “Are you familiar with the history of the Knights Templar?”

  She stared at him. Like who wasn’t? There’d been enough books out about them recently. “Well, let’s see,” she said. “There were nine Frenchmen who made the trip to Jerusalem, supposedly to make the path for pilgrimages safer. Only for years, they never left the site of Solomon’s Temple nor did they increase their numbers. They did some excavating. When Acre fell, they escaped the area carrying whatever treasure they found and managed to make themselves rich by establishing banking in Europe. How’s that?”

  The corner of his mouth quirked up. “In a nutshell, pretty good. And you’re aware of the Inquisition that nearly destroyed them?”

  Sara nodded. “The French king, Philippe, owed them a lot of money. To pay his debt would have weakened France and put his kingship in jeopardy. But the Templars owed allegiance to no one except the Pope. Fortunately for Philippe, Clement V was weak and easily convinced that the knights were really heretics trying to bring down the Church. There were mass arrests made on October 13, 1307. A Friday. That’s why we’re superstitious about Friday the thirteenth.”

  Lucas tilted his head. “I’m impressed. What else do you know?”

  She tried to ignore his hooded look. “I hope my little history lesson has something to do with what you just read?”

  “It does. Please continue.”

  “Their treasure—Solomon’s treasure—was never found. The banks had been emptied prior to the raid. Supposedly they had been tipped off and had ships waiting at La Rochelle and Le Harve. But the ships were never found either. An interesting story.” She became aware that he was watching her mouth as she talked and her breath caught. “What does it have to do with the manuscript?”

  “Do you know anything else about the Templars?”

  She was getting exasperated. How could the man be so sexy and stay so focused? And why couldn’t she? Stay focused, that is. Sara took a deep breath. “Only that some of the Templars supposedly made it to England and Scotland and were given refuge.”

  “Tis true. ‘Twas a secret squadron of them that helped the Bruce take Bannockburn. It was on the orders of the Bruce himself that Commander Randolph hold back his contingent until Edward’s men felt sure the victory was theirs and let down their guard. Aye, it was grand, the Brits tripping over themselves to flee in the face of the red crosses. The fact was, the Bruce’s spearmen could fair walk across the Burn without getting their feet wet, thanks to Edward’s dead men.”

  Sara narrowed her eyes. “You make it sound like you were there. How do you know all of this?”

  His golden eyes widened and then he grinned. “I’m a Scot. Twas the fodder of childhood stories. When Scotland had its own king.”

  “Would you please get to the point?” Her patience was beginning to wear thin.

  He stood and stretched and Sara tried not to notice that the polo shirt he was wearing this morning stretched tight across his chest and revealed bulging biceps. She noticed a fine gold chain around his neck that dipped into the vee of his shirt and wondered what hung at the end of it. It was enticing looking at it and her hand itched to reach inside his shirt and pull it free.

  He came around the desk to sit next to her on the couch, one khaki covered thigh brushing hers slightly. Damn, there was that heat again, sizzling its way to her very core. A slow pulsing began between her thighs and her breathing shallowed.

  His amber eyes fixed on her mouth and for a crazy moment she thought he was going to kiss her. Wanted him to. No, she didn’t. She needed some space. She shifted away from him slightly. If he noticed, he didn’t say.

  “Will you please go on?” Goddess, even her voice was raspy. “What does Bannockburn have to do with the document?”

  “It’s Commander Sinclair, actually,” Lucas said. “Henri Sinclair inherited the Earl of Orkney title and it was in those northern islands that the Templar ships landed.”

  “Along with their treasure?”

  “So it’s told in Gaelic lore. In 1398, Henri sailed a well-armed ship across the Atlantic to a place he called New Scotland…Nova Scotia. The legends say it carried Solomon’s treasure with it.”

  “But wait. That would have been nearly a hundred years before America was even discovered!”

  Lucas shrugged. “In 1434 a map was produced that matches parts of what is now Massachusetts, well before Columbus made his trip. Anyway, the Sinclairs had also received the barony of Roslin and as peace began to become a reality, another descendent, William, was appointed Hereditary Patron and Protector of Scottish Masons.”

  Sara rubbed her forehead. “I’m beginning to get a headache. And the Masons were Templars?”

  “Not directly. But Sinclair was. And the Templars were always and forever guardians of the Treasure…and especially, the Hallows.”

  She groaned a little. For a man who was so powerfully built and virile, Lucas really could wind around a tale like an ancient bard. “Are we actually speaking of the Holy Grail?”

  “Bear with me. It’s a long story.” As she winced, he lowered her hands and began tracing small circles on her temples with his thumbs.

  She was amazed at how surprisingly gentle his touch was. Not only did the pain slip away, but her shoulders relaxed and the tightness in her neck disappeared. The pain slipped away and the tension in her shoulders left as well. She closed her eyes.

  “That’s it,” his voice soothed like warm honey mixed with bourbon. “Let go. I need for you to understand what I’m about to say.”

  His fingertips massaged her scalp lightly alleviating the last bit of tension and impatience. She could have stayed cradled in his hands forever. Reluctantly she opened her eyes to find him gazing
at her intently.

  “Ready to go on?” he asked.

  She was more ready to go on then he knew. But he hadn’t meant that. Lucas was all scholarly at the moment. Inwardly, she sighed. “Yes.”

  “There had always been a Templar centre at Ballantradoch—Roslin—but with Master masons at his disposal, William began building a chapel with plans for a grand cathedral to keep the Church happy. Or so it was told.”

  Sara knit her eyebrows together. “You’re saying that the cathedral was never meant to be?”

  Lucas shrugged. “Perhaps. But the chapel was built for a definite purpose and it wasn’t particularly Christian.”

  She nodded. Any follower of Brighid was aware that Rosslyn Chapel had more pagan symbols than Christian. There were well over a hundred pictures of the Green Man in the chapel. One couldn’t get much more pagan that the God of Fertility, sometimes known as Cernunnos or the Horned One. And on the Goddess path, all things seek balance. The rose, associated with the Divine Feminine for time beyond Time, was evident everyway, even in the name of the chapel itself.

  “I’m familiar with Rosslyn Chapel,” Sara said. “It’s part of the curriculum for a course that I adjunct.”

  Lucas sat back and grinned. “You don’t look like a teacher.”

  “And what are teachers supposed to look like?”

  His grin broadened. “Not like you. But go on.”

  Hmmm. If he wanted her version, he was going to get it. She had visited Rosslyn

  just two years ago. “Well, for one thing, the William Sinclair you speak of has a floriated cross on top of his tombstone with eight points—symbolic of the eight years it takes the morning and evening star, Venus, to complete a cycle. The rose at the center of that cross, along with five-pointed stars and pentacles everywhere, conveys the path she took.”

  She paused to see if he was keeping up and then wondered if that had been a mistake. His eyes were trained on her like he was a hungry wild beast who’d just found dinner. She cleared her throat.

  “Roses are associated with Mary Magdalene. The five petals of the rose also symbolize the five stages of female life. Eros in the Green Man and Venus in Mary Magdalene. The balance of masculine and feminine.”