Templar Scrolls

by Jasmine Walt

  It couldn’t be a literal vision. In any case, my head hurt just thinking about it. I hated riddles.

  I wandered the lower floors of the castle. It was uncanny how many things I forgot over my lifetime, but I could always find my way to a weapons room. My feet led me into the armory. The smell of steel and leather and the faint tinge of blood instantly lifted my spirits.

  Medieval weaponry coated the walls. There was a case of modern and revolutionary guns under lock and key in the corner. Electronic gadgets and gizmos were splayed out in another case. Weights, punching bags, and sparring dummies were tucked neatly into another corner.

  I ignored all the modern toys and headed to the wall of swords. They were all strung up by their hilts. The leather handles looked like soldiers in a straight line with their bulbous chests proudly protruding, ready to be taken into service.

  There was an array of single blades and doubles, some curved, others straight. A line of arming swords caught my eye. These I knew were lightweight and well-balanced weapons that allowed excellent thrusting in combat.

  Above them hung broad swords with straight, two-edged blades favored by cavalrymen. On one side of the broad swords were falchions, sickled blades that were reminiscent of a machete but topped with a cross guard. To the other side were heavy long swords. A soldier, or knight, would need both hands to swing such a beautiful weapon.

  “Leave your hands where I can see them.”

  I looked over my shoulder at the sound of the deep voice. Arthur came out of the corner. He was shirtless. Cotton pants hung low on his lean hips. Sweat dripped down from his chest until it met the waistband of his pants. Either from his movement or from his sweat, the waistline looked slogged and slipped down further. His feet were bare. That was what struck me as the most intimate—his long toes striking the hard floor.

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “I’m probably the only woman here not interested in playing with your toys.”

  He quirked an eyebrow. At the moment, his dirty-blond hair brought to mind a Viking god instead of a Celtic warrior.

  My gaze glanced off his defined chest and went over his shoulder to the swords on the opposite wall. “Okay, that’s not entirely true.”

  He grabbed the hilt of an arming sword. He rotated his wrist, and the blade of the sword whistled a tune as it cut through the air. “You think you can take me?”

  Now I smirked. From the Iron Age to the Internet Age, I’d had men flirt with me. They used every manner of pick-up line from What a fine set of chalices you have to Is your name Wi-Fi? Because I’m feeling a connection. But in any period, if a man challenged me to a duel, their long sword had a better chance of getting some action than their tongues’ attempts at flattery.

  Arthur tossed me the sword, and I caught the hilt in my right hand. I took a moment to admire its craftsmanship. They didn’t make them like this anymore. From the corner of my eye, I saw a flash of steel. I raised the sword in my hand and met Arthur’s blade.

  “I forget how old you are,” I said as steel met steel. “I don’t want to be accused of abusing the elderly.”

  “I’m used to keeping my weapon up all night.”

  Our eyes connected. His steely gaze twinkled in challenge as mine darkened in acceptance. Now this was my kind of foreplay.

  I’d flirted with kings in the past. I’d even batted my eyelashes at a Greek god or two. But never an Arthur. They’d always been married and deeply devoted to their women. This was the first unattached King of Camelot, and he was coming straight for me.

  He struck out, lightning quick. I dodged the blow easily, resetting my stance. Arthur planted his massive thighs into the floor, facing me head-on. He was using a heavy broad sword. One-handed. Extending upward from his groin.

  “Oh, Arthur,” I said in my breathiest Marilyn Monroe voice. “Is that a sword in your armor or are you just happy to see me?”

  He grinned. Then he released one of his hands from the hilt and made a come-hither motion at me. My grin spread as my grip tightened. I charged. When our blades connected, the force of my thrust knocked him back a foot.

  “You don’t speak like a woman in a committed relationship.” He raised his sword over his head and brought it down. I blocked him with my blade, but his strength set my teeth rattling. I grunted and used nearly all of my strength to push the warrior back another foot.

  “You don’t move like a woman who has had a man recently either.”

  Here was the thing women needed to understand about a knight before climbing into the saddle with him or allowing him to climb up a balcony into her bedroom window: Knights were chivalrous to a fault. But that mostly pertained to witches. Any knight would lay down his life for a witch. Those kinds of women were sacred, holy beings in a knight’s eyes.

  But human women and Immortals were fair game.

  “I just got out of a long relationship,” I said.

  Arthur advanced. He brought his sword up from down low.

  I hopped out of the blade’s path. “I’m kinda dating someone right now, though.”

  “Kinda?” He whipped his blade in a figure-eight pattern that I matched and then stepped into to get a blow at his solar plexus. He grunted but kept coming, thrusting his dagger straight for my gut.

  I turned my body to the side, barely missing the pointy tip. “It’s in the beginning stages. Kinda.”

  “Kinda?” Arthur struck again. This time, our swords met with a loud crash. We both were breathing hard from the exertion.

  “We were in a relationship before. But it didn’t work out. We’re trying again. Kinda,” I said. “It’s complicated.”

  “Relationships always are.”

  “Which is why you’re a confirmed bachelor.”

  We were in a tight clench. The sharp edges of our swords made a slicing sound as we braced against each other, searching for dominance. He was close enough that I could extend my lips and test the whiskers of his beard to see if they were soft or prickly. We were close enough to kiss. Instead, we struck again with our swords.

  “Not for long,” he said. “I’m going to propose to Gwin.”

  “You’re going to marry your brother’s widow?”

  I dropped my guard. Which was obviously a mistake in combat, but a huge mistake with this man. Arthur never let his guard slip.

  He body-checked me as I’d done twice to him. The force of his blow sent me stumbling backward. I tucked and rolled, then came up in a low crouch, sword at the ready. A good thing, too, because he was on me the moment my head came up.

  “But you don’t love her,” I said as I tucked and rolled again. This time when I stood, I was behind him. The move gave me only a split second before his broad sword swiped at my midsection. I felt the whisper of the blade on my belly button.

  “I care for her,” he said as he thrust toward my right side. I stepped into his movement and shoved the hilt of my sword into his side. He grunted and took a step back. “But more importantly, it’s the right thing to do. She was groomed to be the lady of this castle.” He thrust to my left side. “I need to produce an heir.” He thrust to my left side again. “It’s best for all.” He aimed and thrust his sword straight for my heart, but his advance came up short.

  “That is so romantic,” I deadpanned.

  “I’m Celtish, not Roman. We do what we must.”

  My sword had been extended, ready to make another pass, but now I recoiled. “No woman wants to be a must. We all want to be a need.”

  Arthur lowered his sword. “I don’t understand the difference.” His brow crinkled as he regarded me.

  “Of course you don’t.”

  I charged, not giving him a moment or an inch of mercy. Arthur gave as good as he got. The room filled with our grunts as we met iron with iron. The sounds of metal scratching and scraping filled the room along with the pounding of our feet as we thrust toward each other, dug in our heels to dig deeper, and then advanced again and again.

  We came together a final time, g
iving the blows everything we had. But neither of us relented. We both collapsed to the floor, breathing hard.

  “It’s an honorable decision,” he said after a few moments of catching his breath.

  I gulped down a lungful of air before responding. “You know she doesn’t believe Merlin’s dead?”

  “I wish that were so, but it’s been nearly three decades. He couldn’t survive off the grid for that long. He wasn’t the strongest man to begin with.”

  Arthur and Merlin were born half a century apart. That was like being a decade older than a sibling in normal human time. So, they weren’t very close. Especially with Merlin sick in bed for most of his life. The current Arthur had grown up healthy and strong. He’d taken over many of his father’s duties by the time Merlin had gained some strength with Gwin’s help. But it didn’t mean Arthur didn’t care about his older brother.

  “He should have never left the castle on his own,” Arthur said.

  “He wanted to be like his heroic brother.”

  “Heavy is the head that wears this crown.” Arthur gave a humorless laugh, then he quickly sobered. “Merlin had been going on and on about hearing the voice of God. We thought it was the magic overwhelming him again.”

  I turned on my side and looked down at him. I’d always thought of Arthur as an overbearing overlord. But he looked like a man in this moment. Just an ordinary man with a mountain of responsibility on his shoulders. I knew the feeling.

  “Sometimes I feel that I’m failing,” he said.

  My eyes went wide, but he either didn’t see or chose to ignore my shocked expression. His gaze stretched up to the ceiling. His arm was thrust over his head, and his chest rose and fell rapidly as though he’d just finished tumbling his lover and was now telling her his darkest secrets.

  “I’m certain it was the Templars who got my brother. We never found his body. A witch and her family were murdered today. They lived out in a remote place, but somehow the Templars found them.”

  Arthur the Third had been a boy during the final witch hunts of the late 1800s. His grandfather had lost his life in earlier hunts. I knew the very thought of anything harming someone in his charge cut him to his core.

  “Circe wasn’t a powerful witch. She was nearing the end of her life. What kind of bastard would prey on a weak woman?”

  He closed his eyes as his face scrunched in pain. It was such a human moment. I didn’t know what to do for him. I’d never seen Arthur as human.

  “We’re stretched thin, and I’m trying to protect them all,” he said. “There are those who are stubborn and won’t come back to the castle where they can be protected until we root out the Templars. I don’t have enough knights to station at every ley center. It’s the Grail they’re after—it has to be. They haven’t been this active for hundreds of years. I can’t let them get to the Grail. I need your help, Nia.”

  He turned to me then. His eyes wide, his face unguarded just like his body that was splayed on the ground next to me. His most vulnerable parts were unprotected.

  “You have it.”

  I was a sucker for threats of genocide. If someone was trying to eradicate an entire population, I was the first to raise my hand to stop it.

  “Thank you,” I said, hefting myself up to a sitting position and then coming to stand.

  “For what?”

  “I needed a good tumble.”

  “Anytime,” he said, laughing.

  Arthur’s laugh sounded like a broken thing. But he took my outstretched hand and rose alongside me.

  10

  My eyes were a little blurry when Arthur and I stepped over the threshold of the armory. The sun had set and last meal would be served shortly. The great smells hit my nose, a low whistle hit my ears, and red hit my eyes.

  Ginger-haired Lance came to a dead stop in the middle of the hall. He took in Arthur’s bare, sweaty chest and the bruises darkening his skin. He took in my mussed hair and the slight swelling of my upper lip where Arthur had gotten me. They were such minor wounds to beings like us that would be completely healed within the hour. But I was sure the sight of it looked as though we’d been doing something other than sparring.

  Lance arched an eyebrow at Arthur. The brow raise was loud and clear for Dude, did you hit that?

  Arthur didn’t even bother to correct his second-at-arm’s thoughts. He rolled his eyes and headed in the opposite direction. I wasn’t a witch, so my virtue needed no protection. I had to defend myself.

  “It’s not what you think,” I said.

  Lance rubbed his chin, a grin on his face. “I think he’s getting some.”

  “Oh, he got something all right—a beat down.”

  “So you two were playing with his swords?”

  I jerked my fist beside my head, ready to unload.

  “I’m kidding.” Lance held up his hands in surrender as he laughed. “Nice work on that blow to his gut, though.”

  I inclined my head at the compliment, preparing to head off to my rooms. I needed a shower before the meal. But Lance reached out and stayed me.

  “Hey, I wanted to ask you something.”

  I waited patiently for him to speak again. Then waited a little less patiently a minute longer. By the second minute of him chewing at his lip and searching for words, I became entirely impatient.

  “So you’re single now?” he asked.

  I looked up at the redheaded warrior. In that moment, he looked like a schoolboy trying to get up the courage to ask the popular girl out. Lance and I had flirted a couple of times over the decades. Harmlessly, though. I’d been in a committed relationship longer than he’d been alive.

  “Yeah…” I said the single syllable slowly, stretching the word in two.

  “How long did you wait until you jumped back into the saddle?”

  My face contorted in absolute confusion. Saddle? Horseback riding?

  A laugh trickled down the hall, and Lance’s eyes shot up like a heat-seeking missile. I looked over my shoulder to see two blonde women coming down the stairway toward us. Gwin and Loren were engaged in conversation as they moved slowly, stopping every moment to talk animatedly. Gwin looked like the perfect miss next to Loren’s bad girl. It was clear which woman was saddled with Lancelot’s attentions. And his reference became clear.

  “I waited six weeks,” I said.

  I wallowed for six weeks after breaking up with Zane before I considered dating Tres. I didn’t tell Lance that I was still stutter-stepping my way toward the new horse in the race.

  “I think twenty-five years is a long enough mourning period,” I said.

  “What?” Lance blinked and looked down at me. But only for a moment.

  It was as though when Gwin was near, his eyes found her, like a magnet. And she was no better. I saw her attention wasn’t on Loren. She looked from the side of her eyes at Lance as Loren continued to chatter on.

  “Maybe now’s your chance,” I said.

  Lance opened his mouth, but no words came out. Then he brought his thumb to his lip and chewed at the nail. He hunched up his shoulders and let out a sigh. It was fascinating to witness. I’d watch this man smooth-talk his fair share of maidens and lightskirts. Yet when this single woman came anywhere near him, he turned into an untried youth.

  “I always thought you and Gwin would wind up together. I was shocked when she married Merlin.”

  That snapped him out of his infatuated daze. “Merlin was a sycophant who took advantage of her kindness and good heart since the day she was born.”

  I had to listen close, as his Scottish brogue was a thick layer on his tongue as he spoke ill of Gwin’s departed husband and his leader’s brother.

  “God rest his soul,” he tacked on begrudgingly.

  “Oh, well tell me how you really feel.”

  He stared down at me in confusion. “She didn’t love him. She pitied him. Her mother pushed the match, thinking she’d position her daughter to be the lady of the castle. And Gwin has always done what sh
e thought was best for all. But she was nothing more than Merlin’s sick nurse for most of his miserable life.”

  Lance looked up again. I knew the moment his gaze found her. His jaw unclenched. His eyes softened. His mouth went slack. This dude had it bad. But he wasn’t making any move toward her.

  “Lance, a word of advice. You’d better hurry up and tap that before another man swoops in.”

  But he wasn’t paying attention to me anymore. Gwin and Loren were just feet away from us.

  “Hey, Lancey,” Loren said as she came up. “Have you heard the news? Gwin and I are cousins, which makes us family.”

  “What?” he said. “Oh no, no. Gwin and I aren’t related. I mean, we’re family because we’re all one community here. But not by blood. Anyway, I need to…”

  He took a step but bumped into Gwin.

  “I’m so sorry,” Gwin said.

  “No, it’s my fault, my lady.”

  He held onto her for a moment longer than prudent. Then the two seemed to realize they had an audience. Lance bowed and took off down the hall. Gwin watched him go. Loren and I looked at each other.

  “I was just coming to check and make sure you had everything you need,” Gwin said.

  “I do,” I said. “Do you?”

  Her smile faltered. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Gwin, I know what it is to hold on to someone when they’re gone. But it’s okay to move on.”

  “I do know that it’s time to move on.” Her gaze trailed down the hall as Lance turned the corner.

  “Maybe it’s time to get back out in the field,” I said. “Merlin would’ve wanted you to be happy.”

  “I know what I must do,” she said.

  So it wasn’t going to take divine intervention to get those two together. I patted her hand. “Good, and it’s okay.”

  “I know that Arthur is going to propose.”

  I frowned, my palm stilling over her knuckles. I felt the cold of the gold band from her first husband there. “You don’t have to say yes.”