Immortal Hope: The Curse of the Templars

by Claire Ashgrove

  He sucked in a sharp breath as she took his stirring cock into her hand.

  Aye, far more important things to put his mind to.

  * * *

  Twilight filled the room with shades of gray when Merrick finally extracted himself from Anne’s arms. He sat up with a yawn, rubbed the back of his neck. His gaze fell to her, and he could not stop a smile from lifting the corners of his mouth. Curled on her side, her hair splayed across his pillow, she looked far lovelier snuggled into his bed than he had fantasized she might.

  He trailed a fingertip down the length of her slender arm and let out a sigh.

  ’Twas done. He had betrayed all he knew, shredded oaths, and he could take none of it back. Worse, he had betrayed her as well. Whilst she might not agree presently, when she discovered her intended, she would hate what Merrick must do now.

  He eased from the bed and quietly went to his wardrobe. Removing his ceremonial surcoat, he folded it over his arm. From the corner of the bed nearest the door, he picked up his sword. Then he laid them both in the hall.

  If he possessed a single ounce of nobility, he would take himself to Mikhail and ask to leave the temple. But beyond the blood of kings that ran in his veins, he had never been a noble man. For the moment, Anne belonged to him. Until the edicts of the heavens forced him to relinquish her, he would not let go so willingly. Mayhap they would never discover her intended—he could very well be with Azazel.

  Mayhap it would not matter. Merrick could be blessed with death before he must witness her with another.

  Damnation, the woman had weaseled herself so deep he was naught but a weak babe. Soft. Vulnerable in a most embarrassing way.

  He eased the door shut and turned back to the bed.

  Anne’s mesmerizing blue eyes locked with his. She propped herself on one hand and gave him a beguiling smile. “Whatcha doing?”

  He pushed a hand through his hair. “We must speak of this, Anne.”

  Her light strawberry brows puckered. “Why do I have the feeling you’re going to show me to the door?”

  Easing himself down to sit beside her, he caught her free hand in his. “Nay. But what I have done, I am not proud of. I took what I wanted, with no care to the oaths I have made, and I have offended you.”

  Anne’s expression softened. She lifted to her knees, leaned forward, and pressed the pads of her fingers to his mouth. “Shh. I wanted this. You haven’t offended me.”

  Merrick caught her hand and brought it to his chest. The sincerity reflecting in her eyes made it near impossible to concentrate on the things he wanted to say.

  Anne refused to cooperate. She tugged on her wrist. When he did not let go, she leaned in, those amazing breasts brushing against his chest, and pressed her mouth to his. There she stayed, her lips moving softly against his, until he gave in and yielded to the kiss.

  Long, velvety slides of her tongue urged away his regret. Where they touched, the warmth of her bare skin soaked into him. He settled his hands on her waist and drank his fill, though he would never get enough.

  Anne eased the kiss to a lingering close. Her lashes fluttered up, revealing those incredible sky-blue eyes, and Merrick’s heart skipped a beat. He gathered her close. Held on tight whilst he breathed the sweet lavender perfume in her hair. “Are you hungry?”

  Leaning back into his arms, she wrinkled her nose. “Not for the stuff upstairs.”

  “What if I were to take you to dinner? It has been told to me, I believe, women prefer a meal and wine before they remove their clothes.” He tried to stifle his grin, but his mouth twitched.

  Laughter turned her smile radiant. “It’s a little late for that, don’t you think?”

  As if she shared the same insatiable desire to touch that forbade him to leave the bed and dress, she kept her hands in constant motion. Fingertips glided over his shoulders, down his arms, up his belly to slide across his chest. Her gaze followed, what he witnessed within those azure depths humbling him. Wonder. Delight. No woman had ever looked at his body in such a fashion, and caught beneath the power of her inquisitive stare, Merrick held his breath, uncertain how to respond.

  Her nails traced the long scar that spanned the left side of his body. When she furrowed her brows, he sensed the wound concerned her, but she did not ask. Instead, she pressed her lips to the jagged flesh and rubbed her cheek over his heart. Touched, Merrick settled his hand on the crown of her head and held her in place.

  “Mikhail won’t care if you leave?” she asked.

  “Nay, he has no reason to keep me here.”

  “But he said … What if you have to fight?”

  Chuckling, Merrick looked down at her. “Damsel, ’twould be hard to do when presently I have no sword.”

  Anne jerked out of his grasp. “What?”

  Merrick shifted, unwilling to tell her exactly what happened to his sword. Once a serious matter, the custom was little more than formality now that their numbers were so small. Still, setting out his sword and surcoat announced his shame. Certainly she would not appreciate the symbolic habit.

  “What did you do with it?”

  “’Tis in the hall awaiting Mikhail.”

  He could tell she did not grasp his meaning by the confusion that clouded her delicate features. She lifted an eyebrow, punctuating her unspoken question with a sideways tip of her head. A sudden rush of embarrassment seized him, and he looked away from Anne’s twinkling blue eyes. Bollocks, this should not be so difficult. ’Twas not as if he had not bedded a maid or three in front of his men at arms. Why did this one make the subject so tedious? He averted his gaze so he would not have to see her reproach. “The oath we swore eight centuries ago came with certain punishments for certain misdeeds. Should we break the oath of chastity, we are to surrender our coats and swords. ’Tis impractical these days, but a formality we keep. Mikhail will collect my belongings and do with them as he sees fit.”

  When she did not immediately respond, he slid his gaze back to her face. To his complete amazement, laughter danced on her lips.

  “What amuses you so? You do not mind that the entire Order will know I have taken you to my bed?”

  Still chuckling, Anne shook her head. “Did you forget I’ve studied your Order all my life? I know the Code. I’ve seen the surcoats in the hall. I just wanted to watch you squirm a bit.”

  Merrick grumbled. ’Twould figure she would delight in his discomfort. And yet, though he could not fathom why, her amusement soaked into him, making it impossible to contain a smile. Catching her by the hand, he brought her knuckles to his lips. “Do you wish to sup, or do you wish to bask in my humiliation?”

  * * *

  There was something fantastically erotic about having the entire Order know she’d given herself to Merrick. Merrick led these men. He founded something—even if unwittingly—that had transcended time. And he chose Anne. She who had always been second best to Sophie.

  Maybe it had something to do with a secret voyeurism. Like having sex in the open and running the risk of getting caught.

  Maybe it just felt damn good to not have to hide her growing affection for this man.

  Whatever the reason, Anne’s belly fluttered like a horde of bottlenecked butterflies at the light caress of his lips. He could unravel her so easily. She choked down a gasp and pushed aside the growing heat in her veins. Dinner with Merrick meant an opportunity to talk. “I could eat out. But I have a favor to ask.”

  Merrick’s mouth curved with a smirk. “What do you wish, little demon?” He leaned back on the bed, pulling her astride his lap. Mischief danced in his dark eyes as he gripped her waist and rocked her hips against his.

  Laughing, Anne wriggled out of his grasp. “Okay, big guy. Tempting, but I’m starving.” She ignored his dramatic mutter and picked up her sweater and discarded bra. Choosing her words carefully, so he couldn’t hear the anxiousness that roiled inside her, she said, “I want to learn more about Azazel and what these demons are. More about the secrets of your
purpose.”

  “’Tis information you should possess.”

  A little rivulet of excitement worked its way down to her toes. He would tell her. Holy cow, she’d done it! Seducing him cracked through that polished armor. Not that she’d really seduced him. Making love to Merrick had been completely natural. Spontaneous. Extraordinary.

  Still, they’d forged an intimate bridge, and he was at last welcoming her into his world of secrets. Her heart swelled at the realization.

  Merrick stood up, giving her a mind-boggling view of firm buttocks. God, she’d made love to him twice, and just looking at him turned her insides to liquid. She’d half hoped that by exhausting herself with him, she’d gain control over the potent effect he had on her.

  If he had let her explore, she might have tempered it somewhat. Instead, Merrick had commanded her in the bed, the same way he commanded her out of it. Only, under the power of his kisses, she allowed him to get away with it. No, not just get away. She liked his dominant desire. She didn’t have to wonder if she pleased him—he let her know exactly what he liked.

  While she pulled on her sweater and buttoned it up, she watched him finish dressing. He really was quite spectacular. Incredibly male.

  And hers.

  She blinked, catching the wayward thought. Hers maybe according to some mystical prophecy, but she couldn’t keep him. He belonged to her only for the duration of the week—which was rapidly passing. She had no business getting sappy over this. She couldn’t let herself get emotional. Her career was hanging in the balance, she hadn’t gained the answers to prove her thesis, and her visions predicted Merrick’s death. No matter how tempting he was, she needed to stay focused on her purpose here—discovering the Church’s motivation.

  Find the answers, keep Merrick from dying, get back home. Deal with the emotional fallout later.

  Still, it had been so long since she’d allowed herself to enjoy a man’s company, she couldn’t bring herself to deny the pleasure Merrick offered. As long as she kept her emotions in check, a bit of fun, coupled with great sex, couldn’t harm anything. Besides, she genuinely liked his company.

  So she told herself as he stepped into her skirt and smoothed the fabric. A little wrinkled, but she didn’t want to waste time with changing. Merrick wanted to take her out in public. It didn’t take a genius to recognize the treat for what it was. His archaic speech told her he didn’t make a habit of spending time in the modern world.

  Glancing up, she caught his heated stare. Onyx eyes followed the movements of her hands, then locked with hers. Heat crawled up her neck and into her cheeks. “Why are you staring at me?”

  Bemused, he shook his head. “My hunger for you is insatiable, Anne.” He snatched hold of her hand and dragged her close to kiss her thoroughly. When he drew slowly away, she felt his heart thud against her breast. Her resolve to keep him at arm’s distance shattered. “Stay with me tonight?” she whispered.

  That dark gaze flashed with bright intensity. He cupped her face in his large palm and brushed the tip of his nose across hers. “I would have it no other way.”

  Anne eased out of his embrace before the thrill that bubbled in her veins got the better of her, and she couldn’t. She stepped into her boots, zipped them up, and combed her fingers through her hair. With a shaky smile, a product of the quivering in her belly, she said, “I’m ready.”

  Merrick threaded his fingers through hers before opening the door. As she stepped over his folded surcoat and polished sword, a giggle bubbled in the back of her throat. His. She was his. Sensible or not, she liked the sound of that.

  CHAPTER 22

  Tane moved quietly through the corridors. Thoughts of Marie and her younger brother ran amok in his head. Last night, whilst the wind blew cold and fierce, he had caught her standing beneath the 12th Street Bridge with little more than scarves wrapped around her body. Sixteen years old, and she had all but undressed for the leering middle-aged man by the time Tane had arrived with a paltry offering of canned tuna and bread.

  The man put up little fight when Tane insisted he should leave. Were it not for the fact the piece of filth had not yet given Marie coin, Tane would have had to use his fists.

  He had arrived just in time. But what would the poor girl attempt tonight to keep her brother from starving? She refused to seek shelter in a home, believing social services would take David. Likely they would. However, Marie could not see how a separation might serve them both well. She would have time to finish her education. Young David would never spend another night with only a trash-barrel fire to keep his skinny frame warm.

  Tane refused to bear responsibility for Marie’s ruin. And yet he could do naught without the Order’s full support. The Templar Knights’ coffers overflowed. Their stores of food were an embarrassment to the hunger Tane witnessed on the streets. They could spare what Marie needed. They could provide warmth, shelter, and see the siblings did not suffer.

  To accomplish this, however, Tane must sway Merrick. As Merrick was the only living member of the founders, his input carried weight. Tane intended to obtain his approval before the night drew longer.

  He rounded a corner and continued down the long, darkened hall that led to Merrick’s chambers.

  Merrick understood the loss of one’s birthright. He would sympathize with Marie’s mother’s death and her family’s disownment. Merrick would understand. If he did not, Tane was prepared to battle for what he wanted. When Caradoc found an old woman wandering the streets, unable to recall her name, Merrick granted Caradoc’s request to establish her within a home. When Farran’s former whore found herself heavy with another man’s bastard, Merrick established her in a small apartment with someone to watch her babe so she could attend the university. Marie deserved no less than those two. Tane spent equal time at Merrick’s side, had proven his loyalty along with all the others. His requests deserved equal consideration.

  Tane winced against the unwanted rush of emotion. Nay, in his heart he knew Merrick favored no knight. His decisions had naught to do with preferring one man over another. God’s teeth, this envy would turn him inside out. A fairer leader, Tane had never known—Merrick would not turn aside one in need.

  He would help Marie.

  As Tane approached Merrick’s door, his steps slowed. His stare riveted on the folded surcoat and offered sword, and he slowly curled his hand into a fist. It could not be. His eyes must deceive him.

  Squeezing them shut, he willed the nightmare away. Yet when he looked, the evidence lay at his feet, Merrick’s confession announced as plain as day. He had seduced Anne.

  White-hot fury arced through Tane. He clamped his teeth together, silencing a bellow of rage. Anne belonged to him. Her mark would match if he could but navigate a few moments alone with her. But Merrick …

  Tane kicked the sword, sending it clattering across the narrow corridor. Merrick be damned! He had no right to touch what did not belong to him. Anne was no spoil of victory, was not a simpleminded whore. She was a seraph, and Merrick sullied her for his own selfish pleasure.

  He pressed his hands against his temples with an anguished groan. Nay, not Merrick. Merrick did not possess the selfishness required to mislead the lady Anne. ’Twas not his nature. ’Twas this damnable darkness plaguing him, convincing Tane to believe his brother would forsake oaths for bawdy pleasure. If Merrick claimed the maid, something deeper transpired.

  Could it be his brother cared for her? Or mayhap she for him? The idea sent an icy chill rippling through his limbs. He had waited too long to convince Anne into spending a few minutes alone with him. He had bided his time, waiting for the right moment, praying the next time she looked upon his face she did not widen her eyes in fright. In so doing, he had sent her straight to Merrick’s bed.

  God’s blood, he would not stand for this. The maid belonged to him, she would save him from the darkness so rapidly overtaking his soul. A truth the entire temple would learn in proper time. A fact Merrick would soon come to regret.
He would never again touch the fair maid with eyes like a summer’s day. As for Lady Anne, once she left the temple, whatever feelings she might hold would fade. However long she required, Tane would wait. She would forget Merrick. But she would not spend another day within his company.

  Fists balled, Tane stormed down the hall. Aye, he would see his intended at his side, as their fates were written.

  * * *

  Raphael gently set the pristine surcoat and plain broadsword on top of Mikhail’s desk. “I thought you might wish to see this.”

  Eyeing the offerings of one who had broken his oath, Mikhail frowned. Too many had arrived this week. With Anne’s discovery, the vows the Templar knights took centuries ago strained. If Merrick did not quickly find her intended, Mikhail feared what might become of the noble knights.

  He let out a sigh and gestured at the corner where several other surcoats lay in a heap, the swords already restored to their rightful owners. “Return it. If I kept all the surcoats and swords I found outside the doors, I would have an armory larger than the sea. Do you still collect them from your men?”

  Raphael shook his head. “Nay. But it would not be wise to leave this particular bundle in the hall.”

  Mikhail slowly lifted his gaze to Raphael’s. His usual merriment failed to light his eyes. Where oft a smile laid, his mouth tightened with concern. Though archangels carried the Almighty’s words, they lacked the gift of foresight, but in Raphael’s serious expression, Mikhail experienced a moment of divinity and heard the certain answer to the question he must ask.

  He shifted in his chair, laid his pen atop the ledger of numbers. No mark identified the surcoat, the sword was as plain as every Templar knight’s. Yet Mikhail knew without question it belonged to Merrick. Still he must ask. Perhaps he would be incorrect—by all that was sacred, he hoped he was. “Why?”

  “’Twas outside du Loire’s door. He is away. Anne is not in her rooms. I presume they are together.”