Immortal Trust (42 page)

“In effect.” He opened his door and motioned for her to do the same. When they stood in the parking lot, amidst the colorful cars belonging to the tourists lined up near the front entry, Lucan covered the reliquary with his coat and stuffed it beneath one arm. With his free hand, he took hers, in part to still his own disquiet, for touching her calmed the anxiety thrumming in his veins. The other—sheer pride. He would not have any man within question whom she rightfully belonged to, even if all knew he had journeyed across the sea to retrieve her.

“We will go in through the side.”

She matched his quick pace, chin tucked against her chest to ward off the wind that rolled through the valley. Ahead, a brass-studded wooden door swung open in greeting. Gareth stood within.

Lucan pulled Chloe to a quick stop just inside the plain stone entry. “’Tis one thing you must know. Should any man offer you his sword, you need say naught when you return it. But we will use the tunnels in hopes of avoiding the distraction.”

She blinked, then furrowed her brows. “Offer his sword?”

“’They are bound to swear loyalty to you.” Before she could ask further questions he could not easily answer, Lucan gave Gareth a nod of readiness and struck off down an off-shooting corridor that wound behind the public-access buildings and the château proper to the chambers buried in the cliff.

He slowed, allowing Chloe to take in her surroundings at her leisure. Though he had long ago become accustomed to the sigils in the walls, the cipher that only those who upheld the Code could read, and the hand-tooled stone, he gave her time to trace her fingers along the chiseled marks. She studied. She admired. And yet she said naught. No single word slipped passed her lips until they had walked almost a mile and entered the vast central chamber of the inner sanctum.

Chloe stopped spellbound and gaped up at the mosaic ceiling and the elaborate arches carved into the natural rock. “Ho-ly…” She exhaled through her teeth.

“Aye, holy,” Lucan agreed as he surveyed the works of the masters and allowed the presence of the divine to infiltrate his awareness. “Welcome to the temple, Chloe.” He lowered his voice in reverence. “’Twas built by the men who took their oaths just before I. Men whose hands were guided by the archangels. No more sacred place exists in this world. Not even the temple in America knows this greatness.”

He watched as her eyes scanned over gold gilt reliefs and life-size statues of knights, gargoyles, and the angels themselves. Observed as a shiver possessed her and she inched closer to his side, as if the magnitude of it all was too much to take in at once. He tugged on her hand, drawing her down a wide hall off the circular nave. “You may look to your heart’s content after we speak with Raphael.”

Wide eyes rested on him for a painstaking heartbeat that stirred to life all the deep emotion he had tried to stifle. The urge to sweep her into his arms, haul her against his chest, and devour her parted lips until she could not believe in anything but the magic that flowed between them struck like a fist of stone. His chest swelled so painfully he thought his ribs might crack. Saints’ blood, how could she not feel the same magnetic pull? How could she believe naught else but that they were fated? The very air crackled with the energy they shared.

Steeling himself against the uncomfortable tingling of his skin, he set his hand on the heavy iron knocker and dropped it against the aged wood.

“Yes?” Raphael called from within.

“’Tis I, Lucan.”

“Come in, Sir Lucan.” Raphael’s low voice drifted through the heavy wood. “Gareth, wait outside.”

Lucan pushed the door wide, allowing a golden wash of light to spill into the hall. He escorted Chloe inside, his nerves as unsteady as his pulse. He feared the hope that this meeting might change her mind, yet he could not stamp it out of existence. More than the oath of seraphs and the healing of his soul, he longed for her acceptance of their love. Of him. The man who had come to at last find faith in something—her.

“Chloe Broussard.” Raphael stood from a rich mahogany chair, hands outstretched to take hers. His lyrical voice resonated through his chamber, as if he had mayhap sung the greeting. “How I have waited for this day, when a seraph would stand within my temple. Mikhail quite gloats that he has seen the coming of two.” A smile broke across his regal features to light his blue eyes with the crystalline sparkle of a deep tranquil pool. “Blessed am I to welcome the loveliest.”

Chloe flushed so deep and hot, Lucan nearly laughed aloud. She dipped her head, her shyness setting in. But she allowed Raphael to take her hands, and as she found the courage to lift her gaze to his, Lucan knew the moment she had opened her mind to her seraph’s status. She looked not on Raphael’s face, but behind him, at the wall where the shadow of his majestic wings could be seen. With a gasp, she took a step backward and bumped into Lucan’s chest. He set a hand on her shoulder to steady her resulting forward stumble and to offer his silent support.

“Thank you for returning to me the Veronica.” Raphael paid no heed to her reaction and bent his tall frame to set a kiss upon her cheek. “I understand you have questions concerning why we allowed it to remain in the ground for so long and how it came to be there in the first place?”

“Y-yes. I think.” She tugged her hands free, turned away from both Lucan and Raphael, and distanced herself by standing at the opposite end of the room, closer to the door. As if she sought to flee, should the conversation become too uncomfortable.

“I think, ’tis best suited for you to hear it from the man who was charged to protect the Veil originally.”

Lucan stiffened, knowing this might well push Chloe to the limits of her cooperation. Too much too soon, and she had a habit of retreating to the safety of what she believed she understood. Yet he could not argue with Raphael. ’Twas his charge. His relic to guard, and his man to command. So Lucan waited. Stiff as a board, jaw clenched and fists tight against his thighs as the office door opened and Alaric le Goix stepped inside.

At once, Alaric drew his sword and dropped to a knee before Chloe. He set the long blade before his prostrated foot, laid his elbow on his bent knee, and bowed deeply over it. “Milady. I am Alaric le Goix, commander of the European Knights Templar, and I pledge myself unto your service.”

Chloe’s eyes jumped to Lucan. In them, he read the combination of disbelief, wonder, and confusion. But ’twas not his place to offer an explanation. Instead, he encouraged her with a subtle nod of his head.

Tentatively, she reached down and picked up the heavy broadsword. Shaking arms extended, she offered him the weapon. Alaric wasted no time in collecting it, standing, and quickly sheathing it. As he did, he gave her the smile that had won over many a fair maiden in their earliest days, including his long-ago wife.

In that instant, Lucan came to understand Raphael’s decision to introduce her to le Goix. No other man could present himself, nor their circumstances, with such grace. If anyone were to lift the burden of unease from her shoulders and make her feel at home, ’twould be the eloquent commander.

“I understand you have been exploring my home. I do wish you could have seen it in its glory. ’Twas a grand place to rear children once. The forest full of a day’s adventure and the grounds safer than any keep within the province. We did not want for much there. Now, I fear ’tis naught but a ruin.”

To her credit, Chloe smiled. She glanced at a nearby chair, then to Lucan once again. He gave her permission to sit with a slight gesture of his hand. He, however, remained with his back to the wall, one booted ankle crossed over the other.

Alaric pulled a stool out to sit across from her. “I would like to apologize for the trouble my ring created. You see, when I took the Veronica from Rome, to protect it from the brigands of Charles’ barbaric army, I was injured.” He extended his hand, palm up and splayed his fingers wide. Using the index finger of his opposite hand, he traced a deep scar that ran between the inside of his third and fourth fingers. “I foolishly grabbed a blade meant for my head. My hand swelled, and I left my ring with the reliquary, intending to return for it. I did not make it back before the castle toppled in an attack by troops from Lorraine, and I quite forgot about my ring over time.”

He chuckled. “Listen to me go on. I am sure you have no desire to hear about my follies. Milady, may I offer you a tour of this temple? There are all kinds of things I am sure would catch your interest within.”

“Um.” Chloe twisted her hands in her lap.

“We have many other relics in these chambers of stone, equal to the Veronica. Has Lucan told you the importance of it and why Azazel covets it?”

For the first time since they had left the château, her eyes sparked with interest. She shook her head. Leaned imperceptibly forward.

“Azazel challenges the Almighty’s throne. With eight relics, he will obtain the power to ascend and claim that holy station. He possesses the nails from the crucifixion. They bear the power of the blood. He possesses the Sudarium of Oviedo.” He stood to open the reliquary and withdrew the cloth. Gingerly unfolding it, he set it across her knees so the dark stains were visible, and tapped one large splotch. “If the Veronica is joined with the Sudarium, it reveals not the face of Christ as many would have you believe, but instead, the language of Raphael and his brothers. The words unleash the power to set Christ’s tears into the Spear of Destiny, which grants Azazel the right to claim and hold the holy crown.”

Chloe squeezed her eyes shut tight. Shook her head as if she tried to shake off the news le Goix delivered. When she opened them again, she frowned so deeply her brows became one. “Maybe that tour would be nice after all.”

“Aye. As you wish.” Alaric collected the cloth and passed it to Raphael. “Let us start then in the inner sanctum. We shall talk about this curse we all suffer, and the fates of those who crafted the walls.”

As they headed for the door, Lucan stepped forward, intending to join them. But Alaric thwarted his designs with a halting lift of his hand. Chloe stepped through the doorway, and Alaric shook his head at Lucan. “I will look after her, Sir Knight, as if she were my own.”

Every last particle of Lucan’s being revolted at the idea of leaving Chloe’s side. ’Twas his fate they discussed. His place to teach her the role she must fulfill. Yet, in his heart, he knew he was too close to her to succeed. He cared too much for her, and what they shared alone was enough to give her hesitation. Hating that he must accept what he did not wish to confront, he gritted his teeth and backed away.

CHAPTER 39

Darkness had fallen by the time Alaric escorted Chloe back to Raphael’s office. With the heavy walls of stone around her, she couldn’t see the night sky, but the hearty aroma of meat, potatoes, and fresh bread drifting through the corridors announced sunset.

Her hand tucked into the crook of Alaric’s elbow, she followed along wordlessly. Silence fell between them, though he had talked most of the day. He explained the purpose of the Templar, much the same as Lucan had. He explained the seraphs, but where Lucan had shared only the most prominent information, Alaric told her of Anne and Noelle, of the threats they had overcome, of the fate that awaited the knights who weren’t yet paired.

Her mind reeled with the knowledge he imparted. The facts that seemed so fantastical but could be backed by artifacts and documents he’d shared with her as well. Written accounts no mere human had seen, or ever would. Journals crafted by the archangels that held so much power, she felt the might within seep into her skin.

The final evidence she needed to be convinced of everything came with a brief phone call to Noelle. Alaric left her to talk in private, and though Noelle had been called away, Chloe heard enough to realize her wrongs.

And she’d been so very wrong.

Now, armed with the knowledge of centuries, she understood her purpose. Lucan’s purpose. It was a bit surreal to think she’d descended from angels. That the Almighty chose her for this role long before she had ever taken her first breath. But the revelation also gave her strength she’d never before experienced. Beyond all the battling of demons and dark knights, she existed for one reason. Sure, Alaric could talk about how her oaths would aid the Templar cause, but all the justifications stopped with one. Lucan. She alone could heal him.

He’d known it from the day they’d met. He had bent over backward to prove himself to her, and she’d shoved him aside at the first rocky road they encountered. She’d allowed Julian to interfere with what her heart understood, and she’d wronged Lucan. Maybe even more so than his murderous brother had. At least
he
had possessed reason, no matter how thin it might have been. All she possessed was a handful of excuses and a whole lot of spinelessness.

Alaric knocked on the door to Raphael’s office but opened it before anyone could bid him entrance. She stumbled in after him, feeling Lucan’s presence and yet unable to look at him for fear, now that her eyes had been opened, she might see the hurt she’d caused. She looked to Raphael instead and gave herself a swift mental shake. An archangel. Good Lord. If someone had told her she’d stand in the same room with one of the angels of creation, she’d have laughed until she wet her pants. Today, however, she’d met two. Raphael, and the healer, Zerachiel. Incredible didn’t define the experience. It came close, but …

A hand settled on her shoulder, the pressure familiar, the gesture one she knew by heart. Her pulse ratcheted up a notch as she caught Lucan’s masculine scent. Hers.
His.
She’d been so afraid of getting hurt that she’d seen what she wanted to see. Heard what she chose to hear. He ought to be thoroughly disgusted with her by now.

Raphael’s smile touched her seconds before he looked behind her, presumably at Lucan. “I believe ’tis time for me to dine.” He stood from his chair and grabbed a thick cloak from an iron spike embedded into the wall. “Alaric, come and share with me your news.”

“Aye, sir.” Alaric caught her by the wrist. Bending at the waist, he slid his fingers down to clasp hers and lifted the back of her hand to his lips. “A pleasure, milady. I shall look forward to our next meeting.”