Above, the trees quaked with the vile presence. The birds had long fled, and even the crickets fell to silence. Evil pressed down upon Farran like a heavy fist intent on smashing through his chest. Cold. Oppressive.
Nearby.
With a violent shake of his head, he cleared the blackness from his vision. He dragged in a deep fortifying breath and adjusted his grip on his sword. He heard the hollow cackle long before he saw the creature. Filled with the aching sorrow of a thousand lost souls, the chilling sound filtered through the overhanging branches to caress him with a promise of slow death.
He had only enough time to bring his sword in front of his chest, and the trees broke. A pair of snarling demons, too enraged to hold their human forms, hurtled toward him. With no way to retreat, Farran did the only thing he could. He flattened his back to the hulking oak and prepared to defend.
The first struck out like the lash of a whip. Claws raked down his chest, tearing links of mail apart. Then ’twas gone, and the second lunged forward. Farran blocked the blow to his left side, prepared to counter, but the creature retreated before he could do so much as twitch his arm.
’Twas a favorite game of demons. Pick off pieces until naught was left but bone. They worked in pairs to overwhelm their opponent. When they finished toying with their prey, they would share the spoils.
Farran studied their movement, attuned his mind to the rhythm of their coordinated strikes. Lunge, retreat, lunge, retreat—he counted off the paces. When the beast on his left rushed in, he swung his right arm in a wide arc across his body and cleaved the ghastly head in two. The demon’s body fell to a shadowy heap, and its vile spirit quickly did its damage.
Agony wrenched through Farran’s body. Through clenched teeth, he let out a strangled cry. But the expulsion did naught to lesson the blinding strike of lightning that set his blood on fire. His knees gave out, and he buckled to the ground.
A hideous battle cry deafened him as the remaining beast lumbered closer. Farran struggled to right himself, to see past the blearing of his vision. He squinted through the beads of sweat that rolled into his eyes, but the sting made focus impossible. In the time it took to swipe his forearm across his eyes, the demon struck home. Claws cut through Farran’s clothing where his mail had been torn. He felt his flesh tear. Screamed at the scrape against his bone. Blood poured forth, oozing down his ribs into the waistband of his jeans.
Panting, he doubled over, trying to squeeze the rent flesh back together. He fought for the strength to rise. Between great rasping gasps, he eyed the evil predator. He would not give up the fight. If he were meant to die here, he would do so with his blade stuffed in the creature’s gullet.
’Twas then he noticed his attacker’s hand. Where claws should have curled in synchrony with the other mangled fist, naught but rent flesh dangled from the useless limb. A fresh new bout of rage erupted within Farran’s soul, and as the demon lunged for him again, he threw his weight into his sword.
The blade sank deep into the creature’s gut. Beady yellow-green eyes went wide with shock. On a grunt, Farran pulled his sword free to plunge it in once more. He jerked his arm up, widening the wound. A gargled noise burst from the demon’s throat, and then it collapsed.
As the shadows pooled into the barren ground, Farran yielded to the darkness he was to become.
CHAPTER 32
Merrick surveyed the men around him, counting his brothers. All were present, save for one. Lucan bled from a wound to his head. Caradoc favored a wrenched knee. Tane cradled a cracked wrist. Even Declan left the field holding his arm, his former injury not yet healed. But Farran was nowhere to be found.
Not wanting to call attention to the matter after last night’s bickering, Merrick limped to Caradoc’s side, his own wound aggravated in the fight. He set a hand on Caradoc’s shoulder, gaining the younger man’s attention. “Where is Farran?”
Caradoc’s expression turned to ash. He straightened to his full six-foot height to look over the gathered heads. His gaze stopped on the same faces Merrick’s had, then canvassed the remaining knights gathered near the gates. With a slow shake of his head, he conveyed he did not know.
Merrick nodded at Declan, indicating Caradoc should inquire. When he started for the Scot, Merrick turned for Lucan. Distracting Lucan with the same unobtrusive gesture, he asked, “Have you seen Farran?”
Lucan’s frown was as harsh as the man’s they sought. “Nay. He is not present?”
A deep dark foreboding settled into the base of Merrick’s spine. He had witnessed Farran in the midst of battle. To leave the field was not in the hardened warrior’s nature. That he did not gather with the rest of them spoke ill. Of possibilities Merrick did not wish to consider.
“He passed me not long ago,” Tane supplied as he stepped up to join the pair.
Merrick automatically tensed. To be certain, they had needed the banished knight’s arm, but Tane had trespassed too severely for Merrick to welcome his presence. Whilst Anne might find forgiveness easy, ’twould take far longer than the passing of a month for Merrick to do the same.
He looked beyond Tane, unable to meet his stoic stare. “Where?”
“There.” Tane indicated a place in the road where two tree limbs jutted out at an angle. “He went within.”
“Damnation,” Merrick muttered. As dread turned his gut into a fist of iron, he scowled at Lucan. “Gather the others.”
The silence spanned heavily whilst Merrick avoided conversing with Tane and waited for Lucan to return. He shifted his weight, rocked on his heels.
Tane broke the quiet first. “Thank you.”
Cringing inwardly, Merrick slid his oath-breaking brother a sideways glance. “Do I wish to know what for?”
“The money.”
Ah. The explanation for why he had come. Anne must have sent for him. She had spent the last several days pleading Tane’s defense in hopes Merrick would relent and bequeath the desired funds. He had, if for no other reason than to cease her wheedling. But he had not expected she would send for Tane on the very day he relented and gave her the draft.
He cleared his throat. “Aye. It seems you have a champion in my wife.”
“Lady du Loire is the truest lady I have ever known.”
To Merrick’s relief, Lucan returned with Caradoc and Declan. He turned to his men, his expression grave. “We must find Farran.” Or what was left of him. “Tane saw him go into the trees.”
Five men marched to the broken branches in silence. They ducked under the thorny sprigs, brothers as they once had been before Azazel had used their weaknesses to create divides. For the first time in many years, no suspicion, pain, jealousy, or self-doubt could rend the bonds of unity. Farran dominated their thoughts. Brought them all together.
They spanned out a sword’s distance apart, each responsible for the eight-foot diameter path he walked. Their boots crunched dried leaves. Their breaths curled out before them. And in the oppressive silence, they fell into the comfortable patterns they knew as intimately as they knew their names.
“Over here!” Caradoc hollered from Merrick’s left.
Merrick cut through a thick clump of dead shrubs and rushed to the grove of flattened grass Caradoc stood upon. Behind him, the hurried tromp of boots announced the others followed.
The bitter taste of bile rose to the back of Merrick’s throat as he looked upon the bloody scene. Crumpled at the base of a hundred-year-old oak, Farran lay unmoving in a scarlet heap. His sword rested just beyond his open hand. Beneath him, the ground pooled with crimson.
Merrick had witnessed death a thousand times before. So oft had he heard the guttural cry of life snuffed out, he had become immune to the sound. Yet now, as he looked upon one of the truest brothers he could claim, all the centuries of combat could not quell the churning of his gut. He choked back the sudden, violent need to vomit and forced himself to join Caradoc at Farran’s side.
“He breathes, but barely,” Caradoc murmured.
As Merrick reached down to test Farran’s pulse, Caradoc’s arm shot out to block his hand. “Nay. The darkness taunts him. Though he is broken, he still retains the need to fight.”
And so it had come to this. When Farran’s salvation lay in his very bed, he would meet a different kind of angel. One who came with the quick slash of Mikhail’s sword. Merrick turned away, unable to stop the unexpected rush of moisture to his eyes.
Of all the people who would come to Farran’s defense, Merrick had never imagined ’twould be Lucan. He bent down behind Farran and stuffed his hands beneath his arms. “We will take him to Uriel. Not to Mikhail.”
“Aye,” the collective male chorus agreed.
Together they lifted him, avoiding Farran’s struggles. Where Farran found the ability to fight, Merrick could not imagine, but he too had come this close. Had turned on Caradoc in a blind rage. Mayhap hope remained.
But as he assumed a position near Farran’s right shoulder and drew the man’s weight onto him, Farran’s broken whisper explained far more than curses brought by archangels.
“Do not … let her … see me.”
’Twas Noelle, not darkness, that possessed Farran to fight. Encouraged by the discovery, Merrick hastened his step.
* * *
At the base of the stairs, Noelle gnawed on a fingernail. Beside her, Anne paced as she had since the rest of the men returned. Noelle knew without being told, someone was hurt. The grave expressions on the passing knights’ faces said all she needed to hear. And when one man made the fatal mistake of holding her gaze too long, the sympathy reflected in his green eyes told her everything else. The someone was Farran.
Worry consumed her. Even the night her parents had died, she hadn’t felt so hopeless, so on the verge of complete breakdown. The man had turned her inside out. Twisted her so tightly she didn’t know which end was up or down. Less than one week, and she couldn’t tolerate the thought she might lose him.
“They come! Fetch Uriel!” a voice ordered from the window in the billiards room.
A second later, the door burst open and the men clamored inside. Two at his feet, two at his head, one holding his hands on his belly, they carried Farran in a stretcher hold. At the sight of his blood and the scarlet trail he left behind, Noelle’s empty stomach heaved. She rushed to him and clutched at his hand. “Farran.” Her other hand dropped to his side, coating her palm with warm wetness.
Somehow, unbelievably, he managed a hoarse chuckle. His eyes opened to laugh at her, but the light that glinted within was dark, void of the warm tone of ale. “You have … what you … desired.” A rasping cough possessed him, and the men struggled to maintain their hold.
Anne came up behind her, drawing Noelle away by her elbow. Noelle stepped back to let them pass, yet she failed to move far enough away she couldn’t hear Farran’s heartless words.
“You … shall go home now.”
Her hand flew to her mouth, silencing her gasp. Surely, he couldn’t think she’d want him to suffer this, just to go back to D.C.? That she’d be glad if he died?
The pressure on her elbow increased, and Anne urged her toward the stairs. “There’s nothing we can do, Noelle. Uriel will take care of him.”
Noelle jerked free. All the frustration, all the pent-up confusion, and every last drop of annoyance she felt for Farran broke with Anne as its target. “Let go of me! I’m sick to death of everyone treating me like a child. I don’t give a damn what you want me to do—I’m going with him!”
The first sign Anne could be anything but sweet shone in the harsh, angry lines of her face. She caught Noelle’s wrist, clamped her fingers down so hard her nails bit into Noelle’s skin. With a fierce jerk, she dragged Noelle toward the ascending stairs. “You may think you understand, but you’ve hardly scratched the surface. You’re going upstairs before Farran kills you.”
Noelle didn’t have time to process the words. Anne yanked again, and Noelle tripped over the bottommost tread.
* * *
Eyes closed to block the brightness of light, Farran lay in the infirmary, taking stock of what he knew, what he thought he knew, and what he could no longer comprehend. He could not understand why no one had blocked Noelle from seeing him. Why they had given no consideration to her fears and allowed her to wait with the seasoned Anne in the entry hall. Her stricken features, her ashen complexion, was obvious even to him as he wavered on the edge of consciousness. ’Twould be a wonder if she could ever look on him again and not see a monster.
He knew he had hurt her with his words. The darkness he had consumed would not let him stop them from sliding off his tongue. He knew too that his brothers feared ’twas more than his tongue he could not control. And although evil boiled in his blood and threatened to snuff out his senses, he held it at bay, the last vestige of light inside his soul far stronger than he had ever imagined.
He would swear upon his sword when Noelle had touched him, her fingers restored warmth to the ice flowing in his veins. He could not decide, however, if ’twas a caress of divinity or his body’s mere reaction to having her show such care. He would further swear he had heard her shout she would attend to him in the infirmary. And yet she made no appearance. Had she changed her mind, or were her words a mere product of his fantasy?
He sighed, the effort of which shot pain down to his toes. Grimacing, he tried to temper the burn, but it sizzled like the blade once pressed to his belly.
A comforting hand came to rest upon his shoulder. “’Twill heal, brother. But will you?”
Farran turned his head to find Declan studying him. A fresh new scar on the Scot’s face tugged around the hard set to his mouth. Too healed to have come from this night of fighting, it puzzled Farran. Until tonight, Declan had made no appearance at his brothers’ sides for several weeks. When had he earned the scar? What creatures did he fight?
Not wanting to consider the possibilities, Farran told himself ’twas not unusual for a Templar to follow duty even when Mikhail forbade them to attend the gates alone. He found the strength to answer, “I am fine.”
A touch of Declan’s good humor sparked behind his rugged face. “Och, Farran, ’tis a hole the size of a fist in your side! I donna think you are as fine as you claim.”
“Uriel has stitched me shut.” Farran’s gaze flicked back to Declan’s, and he furrowed his brow, hating to reveal the extent of his craving for Noelle. Yet the nagging voice that demanded to look upon her heavenly face would not stay quiet. “Send Noelle to me. She will speed my healing.”
Declan took his hand away. With one step backward, he sealed the doubt in Farran’s mind. “She doesna wish to see you, brother.”
The words were not unfamiliar. More than one serving maid within Clare had said the same. Yet the brittle rejections hundreds of years ago did not carry the sting of daggers quite like Declan’s low murmur. Before Declan could observe the shameful mist that gathered in Farran’s eyes, Farran turned his head back to the wall.
* * *
Declan exited the infirmary under Leofric’s expectant stare. He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and gave his new commander a crisp nod. “’Tis done.”
Deep inside his shadowed soul, a splinter festered. He had wounded Farran. Used the man’s fears against him to earn a place within Leofric’s honorable faction. With Farran’s insistence on staying with Noelle before their oaths were sealed, he had disobeyed the edicts. He brought impurity upon the Order. Yet the awareness Declan had twisted the eternal dagger embedded in Farran’s heart did not carry the same reward Leofric had promised. He did not feel proud. He felt naught but shame.
Leofric rewarded Declan’s actions with a tight smile. “It becomes easier.”
Indeed, he hoped so. He lacked the time to waste. His spirit shied at slaying Azazel’s creatures, and the lifting of his blade required far more than strength of arm. He was not long for this world. When he left, he wished to make a mark upon it.
The tap of feet upon the stone stairs
sent Leofric into the shadows beyond the mounted torch. His waspish whisper scraped through the empty hall. “She comes. I shall stay to witness. When you finish with her, we shall discuss your next responsibility.”
Declan took his position at the infirmary’s door. He lifted his eyes to the stairwell as the soft treads grew nearer. In the next heavy drum of his heart, Noelle emerged. She looked left and right, ensuring no one witnessed her approach. And then her widened eyes settled on him.
She had not expected to find a guard.
Her composure returned with the adjustment of her glasses. She took a bold step forward. “I wish to see Farran.”
The words he must utter tasted as vile as horse piss. He could not stand the thought of wounding this lovely creature. This woman who had done naught. She belonged to Farran. How the Almighty brought them together should not be tampered with.
And yet, Leofric’s words surfaced to give him strength. Their bond cannot be pure if they first indulge in sin.
Declan drew in a deep breath and held her defiant gaze. “He doesna wish to see you.”
CHAPTER 33
Noelle pushed away from the window and the gray skies beyond. She gathered up her cat and cuddled him close. Her tears had stopped, but the ache in her heart lingered. Even after the passing of two days, and still no word from Farran, she couldn’t convince herself not to care. Couldn’t stop the worry or the pain of Declan’s words.
For more than forty-eight hours, he’d lain behind those guarded doors, and she couldn’t bring herself to try again. Anne swore he improved. That this distance was some result of misplaced male pride. But Anne hadn’t heard his whispered barb. All Anne—and everyone else—could seem to think about was some foolish idea Farran would hurt her.
Immortal Surrender (Curse of the Templars) Page 28