Immortal Hope (40 page)

The men filed up the stairs in pairs, their voices somber, if they spoke at all.

In no mood for conversation, Merrick evaded Mikhail’s expectant look and fell into step beside Gareth, following Caradoc and Nikolas. At the top of the stairwell, Gareth clamped a firm hand on Merrick’s shoulder. His usual jovial smile missing, he gave Merrick a hard look. “She loves you.”

Like a blade slicing through his flesh, Merrick’s heart bled. He grimaced, the truth too powerful to confront. “Mayhap,” he allowed in quiet murmur.

“Go from this, Merrick. What proof have you that her intended still lives? Take her away. Take yourself from this madness.”

Stiffening, Merrick set his jaw. “I cannot. I swore my oath, the same as you. Another as well. Whilst I might accept the condemnation of the Order, I pledged salvation to my cousin. Until he rests eternal…” Merrick shook his head. “Nay. I cannot break my vows.”

“Then pray well, and I shall stay at your side.”

Merrick turned away from Gareth’s earnest stare. Grief poured down upon him in great buckets. He had but found her. He cared not about her intended, she had rooted herself so deep into his heart, and that disregard bore down on him like a vise. That he could turn from his brothers so easily spoke to the stain upon his soul. ’Twould be a better fate for all, should he not return. Whilst Anne would mourn, she would not bind herself to one who possessed no honor.

Aye, he would welcome his fate, take comfort in the knowledge Gareth would send him unto the Almighty when the felling blow forever claimed his soul. Anne would rise above her sorrow, become a great lady among the men. She would suffer no more of his selfishness, of his dishonorable acts.

Accepting what he could not change, Merrick shoved his way into his chambers. He looked to the bed, pictured her sleeping there. She lived in the table, still positioned where they had recorded marks. Her perfume clung in the air, a scent he longed to capture and take with him.

Closing his eyes, he stifled tears that had not risen since his mother’s death. God’s teeth, he would never forget his demon Anne.

CHAPTER
32

An hour of ghostly silence had Anne jumping at every sound. Below, the house was as still as death, the only interruption in the deafening silence, the occasional slam of car doors and a departing silver vehicle.

Merrick had been annoyed with her plea, might very well have left without saying good-bye. Her chest heaved in unison with her empty stomach. She’d never forgive him if he had. This wasn’t happening. Couldn’t be. It didn’t make sense either. Mikhail had mentioned the vow. Had specifically said with it, Merrick would be forced to lead. Yet he was leading anyway. There had to be a way to make him see reason and choose her, their love, over all the deaths, the risks.

Another set of footsteps preceded the slamming of the front door, and Anne darted for the window once more. Ten more men piled into a silver SUV, swords in one hand, duffel bags in the other. The vehicle’s lights cut through the heavy rain as it reversed. Barreling through the open iron gates, it disappeared down the narrow street.

She’d had enough waiting. Oath or no oath, she’d convince Merrick to leave with her. If she could have just ten minutes alone with him, she’d tell him everything. Somehow, she’d make him agree.

Foregoing shoes, she ran from her room, down the stairs, and skidded to a stop in the vast commons area. The television sat dark and silent. The chairs were empty. Anne rubbed her arms as a chill crept down her spine. She’d never seen the house so desolate.

Following the sound of hushed voices, she made her way to the stairwell that led to the private rooms beneath the house and descended into the stone depths. As she walked the halls, she passed small gatherings of knights, all absorbed in conversation. For the first time since her arrival, no one turned to look. Not a single man noticed her presence.

She stood in the centermost corridor, debating whether to try Merrick’s room first or whether he would be with Mikhail. Deciding to try the closer destination—his room—she pivoted around, only to collide into a wide chest. Startled, she backed up, an apology ready on her tongue.

Farran’s grim features silenced her words. He caught her by the shoulders, steadying her, all the while studying her with his usual dark frown. Anne flinched beneath his scrutiny, certain he’d send her back upstairs, tell her she had no business down here.

Instead, Farran turned her around and pointed toward the narrow doorway that led to the inner sanctum.

Anne looked at him in wide-eyed disbelief. The man who didn’t know the meaning of a smile wanted her to enter?

“Be quiet, milady. Stay out of the way.” With the hushed warning, Farran gave her a nudge toward the stairwell.

Her heart skipped a beat over the prospect of finally discovering the Templar secrets. She checked a threatening squeal of delight and forced her demeanor to look calm, disinterested. The history would wait a little longer. Merrick’s life wouldn’t.

Still, her curiosity refused to step aside as she slowly descended and studied the time-honored symbols etched into the walls. A bright sun, a quarter moon depicted with a face, the star of David, a horse bearing two riders—all carried meanings she and her colleagues had only guessed at through the years. Would she learn their true purpose? Was there, somewhere down here, a key to the pictorial cipher?

At the bottom of the never-ending, crude stone steps, Anne came to a standstill, and a soft gasp tumbled loose. The air was cooler, tinged with dampness. But where the stonework above was simple and crude, this was nothing less than breathtaking. A page ripped straight from ancient Europe reached out all around her.

Towering vaulted arches, nearly fifty feet tall, supported a mosaic ceiling painted in bright color. Fleurs-de-lis, crosses, knights and a dozen other mystical symbols were carved into the massive stone blocks that created the base of the arches. In the joints, the areas designed to give cushion to the shifting of the earth, intricately detailed gargoyle heads merged with floral patterns and ornate scrollwork.

She took a tentative step into the candlelit nave and spun in a slow circle, amazed by the exquisite hand-tooled art. As she turned, her eyes followed the designs, and another piece of history clicked into place. Like the Temple Church in London, this too mimicked the layout of Jerusalem’s Church of the Holy Sepulchre. Only, where the others opened into a larger, rectangular area, the nave here branched in two opposite directions, two short halls, both lit with torches that illuminated a series of wooden doors.

Moving to her right, Anne rounded a thick column. Her gaze followed the bright play of lights and the glitter of gold filigree along the walls to a stone-topped altar draped in crimson cloth. Head bowed, Merrick bent on one knee before an ornate golden cross.

He wore the regalia recorded by scholars—pristine white surcoat over a hauberk of chain. His sword extended beyond his left thigh, and his long dark hair dusted across his shoulders. Anne’s heart tripped at the sound of his low voice, the deep baritone murmur echoing off the massive walls. He spoke in Latin, a melodic language she hadn’t heard beyond the classroom.

One hand braced on the column of stone, Anne stared speechless. The reverence of the temple soaked into her. Men lived and died here. They had been doing so for centuries. Each swore his life to the cause, and had done so willingly, even knowing the threat he faced. No one forced their hands. No one pressed them into service.

The low melodic cadence of Merrick’s prayer mingled with her awe, each hypnotic syllable unveiling secrets that had been beneath her nose the entire time. The threat the Church feared had nothing to do with symbols, or relics, or even battles. What cowed the mighty clergy was faith. Faith in brothers, in mankind, and above all, in the Almighty. The symbols meant nothing if no one believed. An ark was a box, a grail a basic cup.

The vows these men took, the noble purpose they truly lived by, generated thousands of followers, numbers so high and property so vast they could have easily formed their own nation. In a time where clergy could be bought, where power came from purchased loyalty, the Templar jeopardized the Church’s reign of fear. Tied so tightly to the corrupt vassals of religion, one word contradicting the Church’s position on anything, and the Templar possessed the ability to turn religion upside down.

Sabotaging them became a necessity.

Goose bumps lifted the hairs on her arms. Merrick couldn’t leave with her. She didn’t dare even ask. This wasn’t just something he participated in, something he could turn away from. It
made
him. Men counted on him, angels depended on him. Like this simple stonework that picks and chisels turned into art, the simple man born a noble bastard transformed into beauty with purpose. In every sense of the meaning, every fiber of his being, Merrick was Templar.

As he rose and crossed himself, he turned toward her. His stormy eyes locked with hers, and Anne’s heart swelled. She loved him. More than the knowledge she’d craved, more than the career she’d worked for. Merrick du Loire meant everything to her, and just as she couldn’t ask him to abandon what he was, she couldn’t walk away. Somehow, she had to find the courage to stay. She could art over her tattoo, fill her role—whatever it was—without ever taking the damning oath that would claim Merrick’s life.

Anne rushed across the floor. “Merrick…”

He grabbed her to him. In the fierceness of his kiss she felt his love, heard the silent words her heart longed for. When he released her, the hitch in his breathing made her belly flutter. He touched his forehead to hers and gathered her hands between them to press a kiss against her knuckles.

“Come back to me, Merrick,” she whispered.

He withdrew, closing his eyes to pain she couldn’t understand. When he looked at her again, those onyx portals filled with sorrow that clawed at her soul. His throat worked as he swallowed, and he pulled in a deep breath. “I cannot come back to you, Anne. You belong to another man.”

The claws raked deeper, shredding her into pieces. “No,” she protested.

Firm resolution turned his features hard. “You will write down your mark and leave it with Gabriel. You shall be safe whilst I am away—Tane will fight with us, then shall be removed from the Order.”

“Merrick.” She tugged at her hands, desperate to touch him, to draw him back into her arms and convince him out of this insanity. He loved her. She loved him. This business of her stupid tattoo was all red tape. She’d tell him. He couldn’t make her swear an oath that would kill him. But he’d know who she belonged with, and he’d have to return.

He held her wrists fast. “No, little demon,” he murmured. Leaning forward, he pressed his lips to hers in a lingering, chaste kiss. “You will always have my heart, but you are not mine to love.”

“But Merrick, I—”

A firm bellow she knew all too well cut her off. “Anne!”

I love you.

Merrick whipped around. Over his shoulder, Anne glimpsed Gabe’s unmistakable gray dreadlocks. Ignoring her former boss, and God’s messenger, Anne pulled on Merrick’s shoulder. “Merrick, I belong with—”

Gabe caught up to them and clasped her elbow. “Anne, let Merrick go. You have plenty of time to kiss him later. Come with me—I must teach you your role in this battle.”

Merrick kissed her cheek then released her hands. “Always my heart,” he whispered as he turned away.

Torn, Anne took a step toward him, intending to stop his retreat. But Gabe held her fast, the pressure on her arm forcing her to follow him. “Oh, for God’s sake, let me go, Gabe. He’s leaving.”

“Yes. As is every knight.”

“But you don’t understand.” She plied at his fingers. “I have to tell him I love him, or he’ll leave
me
!”

With a shake of his head, Gabe led her into one of the connecting rooms and laughed. “Don’t be silly. The oath you took won’t let him leave you. If you’re fighting, it will work out. You two are bound for eternity. Or did Merrick neglect to tell you that?”

The hair on the back of Anne’s neck lifted. Something wasn’t right. Gabe was entirely too jovial in the face of death. If they were bound for eternity, that implied Merrick couldn’t die. She stared at Gabe, afraid to even breathe.

His smile vanished. His eyes dropped to her arm, as if he could see the armband beneath her sleeve. “You
did
take the oath didn’t you?”

With a gulp, Anne shook her head.

Gabe closed his eyes and slowly presented his back. Looking skyward, he mumbled, “Why must your humans be so infinitely stupid?”

That was enough to jerk Anne back to her senses. Her pride reared, and she folded her arms across her chest. “I’m not stupid.”

“No?” Gabe whirled on her. His usually warm blue eyes burned with bright anger. “Of all the seraphs, Anne, you were chosen as the first because of your knowledge of the Templar. I didn’t have to explain as much. I expected you’d have no trouble accepting the ways; that you’d be delighted at the prospect of living among the men you’ve studied for so long. Yet you stand there and tell me you haven’t taken the oath that makes you a part of the Templar world?”

She pursed her lips, refusing to react. She didn’t intend to stand here and be scolded like a child.

“Was Merrick’s explanation unclear? You love him—why would you condemn him to death?”

Anne’s jaw dropped open. “Stop.” She held out a hand. “Just stop. Mikhail said I would save someone. Merrick explained very little about this oath, only that I had to take it. What
he
doesn’t know is that damned oath is going to kill him. I saw it, and I heard it from Mikhail.”

Gabe’s gray eyebrows furrowed deeply. He eased a hip onto a worn tabletop and folded his hands in his lap. “What do you mean you saw it?”

“My visions. Since the day I met Merrick, I’ve seen him laid out in death. Face beaten. Sword on his chest. Blood on his surcoat. Dead, Gabe.”

His frown deepened, and he scratched the top of his head the way he always did when he was in thought. A few silent seconds later, he asked, “And what did Mikhail say?”