Merrick beckoned with his fingers. On silent steps, they inched forward toward a large, jutting slab of stone. The sound of water grew louder as it plunked into a hidden reservoir. The lantern Nikolas carried illuminated the narrow passage, filling the distant enclosure with a warm beacon of light. Enough brilliance to enrage a waiting foe.
Strangely, no beastly howl filled the cavern. No screech of rage erupted through the stillness.
Exchanging guarded glances, the men converged into a tighter group. Swords at the ready, they moved forward as one collective unit, rounding the protruding stone into a large, towering grotto.
The light bounced off stalagmites, glinted against watery stalactites. Against the far wall, a gaping maw expulsed a fetid stench, and from deep within, the moans of souls lost unto time spewed forth. Merrick’s gaze riveted on the open gate, searching through the dense dark for a sign of glowing eyes, a shadow’s ripple.
A pop from the lantern echoed like a warning horn, and all seven men froze. If Azazel’s minions had not been aware of their presence, they certainly would know now. In a handful of heartbeats, the vile creatures would spill forth, claws and fangs ready to shred them to pieces. If they were lucky, no fallen knight would defend their unholy ranks this night.
Nikolas eased the lantern to the floor and slid his bow from his shoulder. Nocking an arrow, he pulled the bowstring tight and motioned for the men to spread out. William the Strong joined Nikolas. Behind them, Geoffrey aimed a crossbow above their coif-covered heads.
In unison, they loosed their arrows. Three broadheads soared through the cavern, plunged into the gate, and disappeared into the vile fog. When naught happened, they repeated the attack, this time firing two arrows per each man.
Stillness reigned.
“Naught is here,” Farran observed.
“Yet the gate stands wide open.” Lucan moved closer, his sword extended in front of his body. “They should be present. We have seen naught leave or enter.”
Unusual to say the least. Merrick turned his gaze to the cavern’s ceiling, searching for another means of escape. Mayhap Azazel’s evil beasts had chosen a different route. However, naught but solid stone and a cluster of sleeping bats lurked overhead.
“Close the gate,” he instructed. “Azazel has never left an open portal unattended—we must take this to Mikhail at once.”
As Farran, Caradoc, and Geoffrey moved to shove the massive boulder back into place, Merrick shared a knowing look with Lucan. Neither would dare to speak their thoughts, but both realized something far darker had occurred tonight. What it was, they could not guess. Yet an open, unattended portal could only be a harbinger to something deadly. Something had come out. Or worse, someone had been invited in.
Merrick sheathed his sword and pushed his coif off his head. Stuffing it under his arm, he shook out his hair and let the cold air cool his scalp.
“Farran, you will drive. Return us to the temple immediately,” Merrick barked.
He picked up the lantern, waited for the slab to settle into its deep groove, then took off at a brisk walk, retreating from whence they had come.
“What do you make of that, Merrick?” Nikolas asked as he jogged up beside him.
“I do not know, but it cannot be good. ’Twas not even a being inside.” He did not voice the suspicion that turned his stomach into a mass of knots. ’Twas the certain kind of diversion Fulk would attempt, should he seek to draw his enemy away from his real target. He would be the most skilled of Azazel’s knights, and he would understand his threat lay with his cousin, Merrick. Should he wish to avoid Merrick’s sword, he would send them elsewhere.
A tactic Merrick shared with his cousin. Particularly when faced with limited numbers.
Convinced of the theory, Merrick quickened his pace and jogged down the rest of the corridor, forcing his men to assume the same tempo or be faced with the cavern’s dark.
CHAPTER 28
The hollow sound of tires skidding to a stop against gravel brought Anne to her feet. She leapt out of her chair and rushed to the window, flinging aside the curtains to look down at the parking lot. Dust rose beneath two silver SUVs. In unison, eight doors sprung open and seven men filed out. All seven walked, unaided, to the front door at a purposeful stride.
Her heart flipped against her ribs as joy soared through her. “Merrick,” she whispered as her fingers curled into the thin sheers. Home at last. Safe.
She breathed a sigh of relief, and the tension that had coiled in her shoulders relaxed. She bowed her head, pressing it to the cool glass as a smile broke across her face. Any minute now, he would walk through the door. He’d take her in his arms, kiss her until she couldn’t see straight, and she’d let him know in every way she could contrive, how very glad she was to see him.
Then she’d do what his safety demanded and drag him into a conversation where she revealed their fated pairing and begged him to abandon all this. If he refused, when he slept, she would leave.
Frowning against the unpleasantness that clamped her belly down tight, she dismissed the thoughts of her possible departure. Heaven above, she’d miss this man. For as long as she breathed, she’d never again find this kind of bliss. He’d gotten under her skin, dug down so deep she didn’t stand a chance at forgetting him. She had to explain tonight. No matter how he protested, no matter how angry he became at her suggestion he leave all this—and he would most assuredly—she must find the courage to convince him to walk away. If he did, the mark would never threaten him again. They could live their lives together, without the worry of his duty to protect the nail and the death it would bring.
If he refused, she would leave to prevent the destructive fate from occurring. Without her oath, Merrick would stay alive. Maybe not safe from harm, but alive.
Anne turned from the window and went to her bedroom where she pulled on a long, hunter green nightgown. Belting her robe around her waist, she sat down on the bed and picked up a book off her nightstand. As she stretched out her feet, something heavy hit the floor. She glanced down to see the dagger Gareth had left her with, its long blade glinting in the lamplight. Bending over the edge of the mattress, she plucked it off the floor.
A rustle at her door brought her smile back in full force. She snapped upright, her pulse a rapid tap-dance in her veins. Holding her breath, she willed herself to wait, to resist the urge to leap out of the bed and meet Merrick at the door.
It opened slowly, as if he expected her to be asleep. Anne silenced a giggle by chewing on her lower lip.
When he stepped inside, Anne’s smile vanished. Instead of Merrick, she stared at Tane. His expression was anything but joyous. He stalked toward her, determined.
A scream rose in the back of her throat, and she scrambled backward. The headboard thwarted her retreat. Tightening one hand around the dagger, she stuffed it behind her and slid off the opposite side of the bed, keeping her distance.
“Lady Anne, stop,” he commanded in a low voice. From the doorway, he held up one hand, palm out. “I will not hurt you.”
Anne swallowed hard, mistrusting the glint in his green eyes. Though perspiration turned her palms clammy, she wound her fingers around the bone hilt more securely. “Merrick will be here any minute, Tane. You better leave.”
He shook his head, a wry smile curling one corner of his mouth. “Nay. Merrick and the others speak with Mikhail.”
Panic pressed down on her hard. Her lungs constricted, together with her throat, and she fought for the ability to breathe. His eyes held a far different light than any other time she’d encountered him. Somehow darker. More brittle. She glanced at the narrow space between him and the doorway. Could she make it to the doorway before he caught up with her?
As if he sensed her intention, he widened his stance and blocked her escape.
Anne’s mind worked in triple time. She couldn’t go out the window—the drop to the ground would break her legs. She didn’t dare scream. He’d reach her long before anyone made
it up the stairs. And unless he was so close she couldn’t hope to miss, the dagger in her hand was useless. If he got that close, he’d overpower her.
Yet contrary to the signs of imminent violence, his voice wasn’t clipped, his features weren’t tight. A strange surge of peace wafted off him, conflicting with the dangerous energy he’d radiated earlier tonight.
She willed the panic from her mind. The only possible way out of this would be to keep Tane talking. If she could stall long enough, cooperate just enough to make him believe she’d go along with him, Merrick would be here to diffuse the situation. Though Lord help him—she feared Tane wouldn’t come out unscathed.
“What do you want, Tane?”
He pointed at the bed. “Sit.”
She glanced at the fluffy comforter, then looked to him once more. Hesitantly, she set a knee on the mattress, then another, all the while her gaze glued to his body, looking for some sign he intended to pursue her. In the middle of the bed, she knelt, the hand that held the dagger still planted in the middle of her lower back.
“You will come with me, Anne. You will say naught until I grant you leave to speak. I have no desire to harm you.”
“I don’t want to go—”
Against his thigh, he clenched a hand into a tight fist. “I have not given you leave to speak.”
Anne gulped down a sob, nearly choking. Oh God, she should have locked the door. But never in a million years would she have thought someone would be stupid enough to break in. These were her rooms. Her safe haven, given to her by Gabriel.
Approaching the edge of the bed, he reached for her.
She flinched, anticipating the pain of his fingers. But to her surprise, he did nothing more than stroke her hair.
“So pretty. I had wondered if it was soft.”
As his strong fingers brushed against her shoulder, her vision blurred. At once, her second sight kicked in, and images of Tane flashed rapid fire within her mind. Tane amid a great hall, sitting in a chair of velvet, a beautiful woman at his side. The woman gazed at him in adoration, a look he returned tenfold. Then Tane at the head of a mighty army, and at his side, another knight bore a standard she didn’t recognize. They led a long chain of prisoners alongside the parading horses. A man stumbled, and a knight slammed the flat side of his sword into his back. Tane rode over, stuffed his blade beneath his man’s chin, his glower fierce.
The third scene brought her to the present, showing Tane confined within what she presumed to be his room. He knelt before a small altar, made the sign of the cross across his chest. It shifted once more, painting a picture that stole her breath. Beneath a graffiti-covered bridge, he squatted beside a raggedy teenage girl and a younger boy. From within his duffel bag, Tane produced several cans of food and a loaf of bread that resembled the hardened loaves Anne had dined on. The young girl wept, threw her arms around his neck, and held on tight. Tane embraced her as a brother might, then let her go to rumple her hair.
As her senses returned, the visions fading to black then slowly restoring her sight, Anne gazed up in wonder at the man who touched her shoulder. What kind of man fed homeless children then kidnapped women?
He ran his hand across her hair once more, and Anne concentrated on his energy. Beneath a hardened layer of what she could only describe as hate, waves of compassion oozed forth. It tangled with something she couldn’t recognize, a foreign matter she’d never encountered. There, that generosity got lost, unable to rise to the surface.
“Put out your hands,” he instructed.
Determined she could somehow reach in to his buried goodness, Anne thrust her hands in front of her. He didn’t want to hurt her, she sensed that innately. Whether he would, if she resisted, was a variable she didn’t care to chance. Besides, no matter how she might like to consider otherwise, in the depths of her heart, she knew she couldn’t use the dagger to hurt him. She didn’t have it in her to physically harm a human being—particularly when she recognized no immediate threat.
His gaze fell to the dagger in her open palm. Approval sparked in his eyes. “Good. You keep yourself protected. ’Tis wise until your oaths are said.” Holding her wrists in one hand, he plucked the dagger from her palm with the other and tossed it aside.
Before she could react, he wound a thick scrap of cotton around her wrists, then looped a sturdy rope in place. With a snug yank, he cinched her wrists together. “I do not wish to gag you, Anne. Will you stay silent?”
Wide-eyed she looked up at him. His expression twisted, as if he anguished over his actions. It lit hope within her, encouraged the confidence her behavior was the right approach. Nodding, she agreed.
Tane stepped back from the bed. “You will come with me now.” He hauled her into his arms. With Anne’s knees dangling over his elbow, he carted her out of the room and pulled the French doors shut. In the hall, he flipped off her light switch, shut the exterior door, and bounded down the stairs.
The cold November air penetrated her flimsy nightclothes, and Anne shivered as he carried her to a truck. Though her hands were tied, they shook with fear. Safety lay with Merrick. Trusting her second sight got her bound, and though the instinctual need to scream her head off pounded at her senses, she couldn’t shake the suspicion that if she did, whatever decency Tane possessed would shatter.
He set her in the passenger’s seat, locked the door, and shut her in before he climbed behind the wheel. The engine purred to life, the dash lights filled the cab with a neon blue glow.
Anne whimpered.
At the sound, Tane turned up the heater. “You may not speak yet,” he murmured.
* * *
Merrick shifted his weight as he stood before Mikhail. Every instinct he possessed demanded he rush to Anne, inform her he had returned. Yet duty instructed him to suffer through the necessary delay. No matter how he craved her, he could not cast aside the more important matters.
“You say you found naught?” Mikhail looked between the seven gathered knights.
“Aye. ’Twas barren,” Nikolas answered. “We fired nine arrows into the maw, and naught came forth.”
Mikhail rose from his desk to pace before them. Head bowed, hands clasped behind his back, his steps were slow and thoughtful.
“I suspect ’tis a diversion.”
Merrick’s interjection brought Mikhail to a stop. Pivoting, he stared at Merrick. “A diversion?”
Merrick nodded. “Have you heard any other reports?”
The grimace that crossed Mikhail’s features served as answer enough. He dragged a hand down his face and closed his eyes. “There was much disturbance at the third gate. So far, it has held, according to Raphael. He is there now, watching. But I fear you are correct, Merrick. Louisiana calls to Azazel. I had hoped I was wrong, but he plans to move on the third nail.”
“Then we are to leave?” Caradoc asked.
Mikhail shook his head. “We wait for Raphael’s word. ’Tis possible the gate will hold. Until we know Azazel’s true strength, we dare not anticipate an attack, for if we leave en masse, we will certainly reveal our hand. He will track our movements. Have you all formed a strategy?”
Merrick expelled a breath he had not realized he held. “We have. Gareth will require the details, but they are simple enough we can inform him should the need arise.”
“Good. You will meet with me tomorrow to discuss it. For now, go and rest.”
As the men relaxed their rigid stances and filed toward the door, Mikhail called out, “A moment, Merrick.”
Tempering a groan, Merrick hung back and waited for the door to close. When it latched in place, Mikhail surprised him with a smile. “I thought you might wish to know of Anne’s endeavors today.”
He could not help but wince. If the last time he had left proved anything, he could only imagine what kind of trouble Anne had created for herself today. Had she finally sated her curiosity and breeched the inner sanctum?
Low and warm, Mikhail’s chuckle bounced off the walls. “’Tis n
ot as you think. She has tamed Simon.”
Merrick’s eyebrows shot up his forehead. “You jest.”
“Nay. Gareth relayed to me she spoke with Simon at length. In stroking the old man’s pride, she has convinced him to hire on three chefs and reevaluate the menu to accommodate a woman’s taste.”
A laugh rumbled in Merrick’s chest, then rose up his throat to break free in a hearty burst. “’Tis a tactic of a lady—to know her servants’ needs and negotiate their tempers. She will do well within these halls.”
“You need to find her intended. She cannot accomplish anything with the men on edge. Her oath must be sworn, and my knights need to free themselves from the distraction.”
Dutifully Merrick nodded. Though he would rather walk over hot coals than locate her intended, he knew he had delayed long enough. She should already be paired. But his selfishness had gotten in the way. “I will commence the hunt again tomorrow. If I may have your leave, I would like to attend to her.”
“Of course. Gareth said she was quite distressed over your absence. Go. Tell her you have arrived in one piece.”
Anne distressed. Merrick suspected he would never get over the way her worry warmed his blood. Unable to hold back his smile, he gave Mikhail a crisp nod and pulled open the door. A few more minutes and he would hold her. Taste the sweet honey of her kiss. His cock stirred at the thought, swelling against his thigh as he anticipated the warmth of Anne’s body against his.
“Merrick, a word with you?”
Pivoting, Merrick checked a frustrated mutter. His gaze settled on Lucan, who leaned against the wall. Recalling he had wanted to speak to his friend about his lapse in duty, he beckoned Lucan to join him as he marched down the hall.
“You did not tell me Ranulf accosted Anne.”
Lucan choked on whatever he had intended to say. “I was not aware such had happened.”
A fission of annoyance slid down Merrick’s spine. As he had suspected, Lucan had not taken his duty seriously enough. He ground his teeth together, biting off sharp reprimand. When he felt in control of his reaction enough to chance words, he said simply, “If you had been near her, not only would you have known, but she would have also not experienced Ranulf and Gottfried’s threat.”
Immortal Hope: The Curse of the Templars Page 27