“Du Loire!”
Dimly he recognized the distant call of his name. The voice grew closer, the bellow louder, and Merrick clung to the sound. Each syllable pulled him back from unconsciousness, slowly restored his vision. He sucked in a deep breath, and lifted his chin, setting his jaw against the pain and willing his body to cooperate.
He would not die this way. ’Twas not the death he desired.
Staring into the face of his attacker, Merrick eyed the way Fulk lifted his sword above his head. The strike was predictable—a quick cut meant to sever heads. ’Twas a favored move of his cousin’s and Merrick waited. He had one chance to emerge victorious, and he would not waste his energy.
Time moved in slow motion as the blade descended toward his neck.
At the last moment, Merrick threw his weight into his good leg and propelled himself to his feet. Fulk’s sword connected harmlessly with Merrick’s left shoulder. But Merrick’s blade sank deep into his cousin’s gut.
Agony ripped down Merrick’s spine. He used the last of his strength to jerk his broadsword up, elongating the wound. Fulk’s eyes rounded in disbelief, and the angry beast inside let loose a deafening bellow. As the horrendous noise tapered into a whine, recognition flashed within Fulk’s features. His expression softened. His dark eyes returned to the familiar shade of olive.
His whisper washed across Merrick’s face. “Cousin.”
Merrick did not have time to consider the oddity of what had just happened. In the next moment, a wispy film of white spiraled heavenward. On its heels, however, the darkness spilled forth.
It flooded into Merrick, consuming him with insatiable rage. As if some beast clawed at his insides in a desperate attempt to escape, his body lit with fire. The need to wretch bore down on him with a hammer’s fury, and he instinctively reached for his sword.
Through the bleary haze, he saw only shadows, the ability to decipher between friend and foe an impossible task.
“Merrick.” A hand clamped down on his shoulder.
He knew the voice, and yet he could not place the face. Confused, disoriented, Merrick whirled with a ferocious sweep of his blade.
He did not know whether his attack struck true. Whilst he struggled to make sense of his surroundings, something heavy slammed into his temple.
Darkness blanketed his mind.
CHAPTER 34
Anne turned off the water faucets and stepped out of the shower. She bathed to wash away her shame. As she bent over and took a towel to her hair, the lavender light of dawn spilled through the bathroom’s entryway. Morning. Somehow, she’d made it through the entire night without crumbling into pieces.
A door slammed outside her window, and the towel tumbled from her hands. She stared at the sheers, unmoving, caught between the terrifying fear Merrick had met a terrible fate and the joyous realization the men were home.
The sound of a second closing door pulled her out of her stupor. She bolted to the window. Outside, an entire line of parked vehicles framed the house’s porch, telling her she’d spent far longer in the shower than she’d imagined.
She grabbed yesterday’s clothes off the floor, dressing as she ran for the door. She dashed into the hall and darted down the stairs, her singular thought to find Merrick. Dead or alive, she had to see him. Had to apologize. Oblivious to the cold stone beneath her bare feet, she jogged through the common room, following a pair of men she didn’t know. “Wait,” she called as they stepped into the stairwell.
The pair looked back at her, their somber expressions making her heart skip a beat.
“Where’s Merrick?”
The two knights exchanged wary glances, then wordlessly continued down the stairs.
Sirens screamed in Anne’s head, angry peals that warned her something terrible had happened. Fighting back a wail of despair, she pushed past the two knights and sped down the steps. At the bottom, she took a sharp turn to her right and hurried toward Merrick’s room. Why he would have gone there, instead of to her, she didn’t know. Unless Tane had told him, and he was so angry he didn’t want to see her.
The alternative was too terrible to consider, and she blindly made her way down the hall until she reached his open door. There, Lucan and another man she didn’t recognize stripped Merrick’s bed.
Her world tilted dangerously on its axis. Digging her fingers into the wooden door frame, she hung on tight. No. No! She swallowed hard, willed her voice to cooperate. “Where’s Merrick?”
Lucan turned slowly, the sheet slipping from his hands. “Milady,” he murmured. “I did not expect to see you here.”
Anne ground her teeth together to quell a rush of panic. Her stomach flipped wildly at the way Lucan’s eyes didn’t quite meet hers. He turned away, sidetracked by the shirt Merrick had left on the ground when he’d lost his self-control to jealousy. Picking it up, Lucan continued in a low voice, “We lost the nail. Nikolas perished. Gareth is with Uriel. So many others…” Straightening suddenly, Lucan looked at her as if he hadn’t seen her there before. “You should not be here, Lady Anne.”
A wave of sorrow washed through her as she pictured Nikolas’ face. Dead. And Gareth injured—just as her second sight had portrayed. Oh God, did that mean …
“Lucan, where’s Merrick?”
He stared at her, his eyes vacant and unseeing. Then he shook his head. “Merrick injured Caradoc.”
Oh for God’s sake, this was going nowhere. While his strange behavior could be attributed to shock, it did nothing to soothe Anne’s rapidly rising panic. He was evading her question. Through a closing throat she choked out, “Damn it, Lucan, where’s Merrick?”
His brows furrowed faintly, and he looked beyond her into the hall. In a voice so low she had to strain to hear him, he answered, “He is with Farran. But milady—”
Anne didn’t wait for him to finish. Following the directions Merrick had given her the first day she’d arrived, she raced to Farran’s door. For fear he’d refuse to answer if she knocked, she barged inside.
The room was empty. Only the duffel bag on Farran’s bed hinted to the fact he’d been here.
Where the hell were they?
Hurrying through the long corridors, Anne made her way to the infirmary and pushed open the wide double doors. Where the room had been empty, save for Declan, the last time she’d entered, occupied beds lined both walls. Uriel bustled between them, checking IVs, carting bandages, all the while muttering to himself. But Farran was nowhere in sight, and no one matched Merrick’s size.
Distraught, she closed the doors and leaned against them. Tears welled in her eyes, her frustration at impossible limits. The vision that had haunted her plagued her memory, filling her head with all kinds of nightmares. She covered her eyes with her hands, not only to stop the flow of tears but to ground her thoughts.
Downstairs. There were too many vehicles outside to account for the few men she’d encountered so far. They had to be downstairs doing something important. Something she’d probably get in trouble for interrupting. Anne no longer cared. If she didn’t find Merrick, she’d break down in the hall right here.
Striking off at a purposeful pace, she marched to the stairwell that led to the inner sanctum. At the top, she peered down into the dim depths below and watched as several men in black Templar robes hurried back and forth. They were down there all right. And she’d be damned if they stopped her from entering.
She started down the stairs slowly, half expecting someone would yell at her to stop. Footsteps followed behind her, slow, steady beats that matched her own. After about ten steps, she realized the man could have stopped her at any time. Instead, he waited for her. As if she had every right to be in their sacred place.
Encouraged, Anne picked up her pace and took the narrow steps two at a time. When she reached the bottom, she scanned a group of men gathered near the altar and muttered a curse. The only way she’d find out if Merrick or Farran was with them would involve interrupting their prayers. Damn. She pulled i
n a deep breath, resolved to the only option she could find. If Merrick prayed with them, she’d suffer through a thousand years of his temper. As long as he was okay. Nothing else mattered.
Mikhail nodded at her as he hurried past, sword in hand. At the sight of blood drops on the stone behind him, Anne’s eyes widened. She turned her head, following the direction he took, and gasped as he entered the same off-shooting hall Gabe had dragged her down.
Her gaze settled on an imposing figure standing before a closed door. Arms crossed over his chest, feet spread wide, Farran stood at rigid attention, his stare glued straight ahead. The grimace on his face was unmistakable, and her heart tap-danced as she recognized his features. She’d never been gladder to see the surly knight. He might be unpleasant, but she’d come to realize he was honest. If anyone would tell her about Merrick, Farran would—and he wouldn’t mince words.
Her skirt tangled around her legs as she ran down the corridor. He looked up as she entered the hall, and Anne didn’t need anyone to tell her he wasn’t happy to see her. His jaw tightened even more, and his brows drew together so severely they threatened to become one. Refusing to be intimidated by his unfriendly demeanor, Anne slowed her pace and walked up to him. “Where is he?”
“He does not wish to see you.”
Anne blinked. Did Merrick know? Was he that angry with her? As the questions pummeled her mind, she gradually heard a deeper meaning to Farran’s response. If Merrick didn’t want to see her, he was still alive. Her pulse jumped, a wave of fierce emotion surging through her.
“Is he in there?”
“Aye.”
Anne reached for the door handle, but Farran moved to block her. Positioning himself firmly in front of the opening, he barred her from entry.
“Let me in, Farran,” she demanded evenly.
Farran set his hands on her shoulders and bent down to bring his gaze level with hers. “Anne, he is not himself. He waits for Mikhail to bless his soul and send him from this earth. He told me very precisely he did not wish you to see him like this.”
Like hell. If Merrick was alive, she had an oath to swear. Farran could talk until he was blue in the face, and it wouldn’t matter. She was going inside. No matter what it took. “I don’t give a damn about what he said. Let me in.”
He shook his head. “I cannot. I gave my word.” His fingers tightened on her shoulders, and he turned her away from the door.
Frustration welled. The man she loved was injured. Quite possibly dying. Oaths, vows, honor … She’d had enough. More than enough.
In a moment of sheer insanity, Anne did the only thing she could think of. She spun on her toes and decked Farran in the jaw.
While she doubted her punch had done any real damage, he was so shocked by it, he let her go. Which freed her to do the only other thing her self-defense classes taught her—drive her knee into his groin. A low blow, yes. But desperate times called for desperate measures.
When Farran doubled over, Anne bolted through the doors. The sight that lay before her eyes, however, stilled the frantic beat of her heart. Atop a long table, Merrick still wore his surcoat and mail. His helm sat on the floor, his sword rested on his body. Just as in her vision. But her second sight had never shown her the large crimson stain around his thigh.
She closed her eyes, unable to tolerate the sight of his blood. Her stomach protested with a violent lurch, and for a moment she thought she might faint. But the low, anguished moan that drifted from his makeshift bed jerked her from the dizzying sensations.
She steeled herself with a deep breath. This was Merrick. She had the power to heal his wounds. Save his life.
Reaching behind her, she pulled the door shut and lifted her chin. Quick, determined steps brought her to Merrick’s side where she set her hand on his shoulder and pressed a kiss to his battered cheek. “You came back to me,” she whispered.
Merrick’s lashes fluttered up. His gaze locked with hers. A flicker of confusion passed over his eyes before they welled with emotion. He closed them, licked his lips, then tried to lift his hand. The effort provoked a grimace that tore at Anne’s heart. He dropped his arm back to his side. “Aye,” he answered on a hiss.
His fingers free from the pommel of his sword, Anne fitted her hand in his. Though she didn’t want him to see her tears, she felt them slip down her face and laid her cheek against his shoulder. His fingers tightened around hers.
The gesture spilled her heart to overflowing, and Anne cried harder. “You can’t leave me. I won’t let you. You already ran away once before I could tell you I love you.”
Merrick’s grip turned into a vise. Beneath her cheek, his shoulder shook.
* * *
To Merrick’s shame, he could not order the wetness from his cheeks. Hours now, he had lain here, wanting naught more than to leave this world before Anne discovered they had lugged him home. When he learned he had turned on Caradoc, Merrick had fought Farran about his return, insisting they put an end to him on the field. Weak as he was, however, he had no means to enforce his words. Against his wishes, they brought him home to die by Mikhail’s sword so his soul would know purity, and he could join those who found salvation at the Almighty’s feet.
Now Anne had found him. The words he had longed to hear but could never accept tumbled off her lips. She loved him. He whom she could not have. Bitterness filled his throat, the impossibility of their circumstances too much to bear. He did not want her to remember him this way. Could not tolerate the idea of knowing she grieved.
“Anne, stop,” he ordered thickly. “Let me remember you as hopeful.”
She rubbed her cheek against his shoulder. The feel of his armor could not be comfortable, but the gesture had him wishing she would never stop. What he would give to find the strength to wrap his arm around her, hold her close one last time. Yet even as he imagined the feel of her soft body against his, the darkness rose to torment him. A sliver of rage needled through his veins. ’Twould not be so difficult to take her with him in death. If he dug deep enough, he could find the strength to choke off her air. Then she would never leave his side.
Merrick snatched at the remaining shards of light in his heart. Nay. He would never hurt this woman. He had to make her leave before Azazel’s poison touched her. “Anne, you must go.”
With a sniffle, she lifted her head and shook it in defiance. “I’m not leaving you.”
He grimaced at her resolve. ’Twas the thing he loved the most about her—her courage. Yet now he wished she would be meek. “Mikhail will be here soon.”
“Then let him come.” She let go of his hand and slid her armband off.
Through a wary stare, he watched as she reached for his sword and pried it from his hands. “What are you doing?”
She lifted the pommel away from his body and dropped the armband around it. Then she leaned across him, gathered both his hands, and looked into his eyes. “Meus vita, meus diligo, meus eternus lux lucis, fio vestry.”
Merrick’s heart drummed to a stop. My life, my love, my eternal light becomes yours—the oath of seraphs. What in the name of the saints was she doing?
With the last of his strength, he lifted his head and frowned at her. “’Twill not work, Anne.”
She gave his hands a shake. The tears trickled harder down her cheeks. “Just say it. Say it, damn it.”
Too weary to fight, he let out a sigh. It could hurt naught, and if it made her happy, he would do it. If ’twould make her smile, make her leave, he would say whatever she desired. He closed his eyes, wishing with all his might the words were not just a meaningless recitation.
“Meus vires, meus mucro, meus immortalis animus, fio vestry.” My strength, my sword, my immortal soul, becomes yours.
A warmth unlike any he had ever experienced slid through his veins. Through his closed eyelids, a white light burned, and Merrick opened them in disbelief. His sword shone bright, the light coming from the armband. Before his eyes, it morphed, elongated. Then moved.
The light extinguished like a snuffed candle.
As the heat spread through Merrick’s body, all but the ache within his thigh disappeared, and new strength flowed. On a gasp, he lifted to his elbows. His gaze searched Anne’s face, his vision blurred at the sight of her radiant smile. “How?” he asked in wonder. “I have seen your body, Anne. Where is your mark? Why did you hide it from me?”
She pulled her hands free and wiped at her face then stepped back to set her bare foot high upon the table, beside his thigh. With a lift of her skirt, she revealed her ankle for the first time. “When I touched you, I saw a vision of you like this and overheard something Mikhail said that made me believe if I told you, you’d die.” Her gaze filled with anguished remorse. “I didn’t know how wrong I was, Merrick. Forgive me, please.”
Merrick traced the outline of the tattoo that matched his own with a shaking finger. Forgive her? When she had sought to protect him? Nay, ’twas naught to forgive. Overcome, he dropped back on the table. “Come here so I may hold you.”
Gently, she laid herself against him, and Merrick gathered her into his arms. His mouth found hers, his kiss full of all the emotion that welled in his heart. His—’twas too incredible for words. He lost himself to her sweet taste, unashamed of the tears that crept from the corners of his eyes to blend with hers.
The door crashed open, jarring them apart. Anne’s eyes widened, and she whispered, “Uh-oh.”
Lifting his head once more, Merrick found a very furious Farran standing in the doorway. His face filled with color, his eyes burned dark. Merrick needed no one to tell him the anger that clouded his brother’s expression had everything to do with Anne, but for some reason he cared not. “Leave us,” he ordered.
Immortal Hope: The Curse of the Templars Page 33