Rage, more fierce than any anger she’d ever known, took control of Isabelle. She clawed at his arm. “Get your hands off me! You didn’t care to give truth a chance. You have no right to keep me from her.”
Driving her elbow behind her, she made contact with his body. He groaned. His iron grip loosened. She took full advantage of the slip and whirled around to face him. “You did this! She’s gone because some stupid relic meant more than your daughter. I believed in you. Trusted you. He can be harmed, Isa.” Isabelle let out a derisive snort. “Not him. Her. You killed my daughter!”
Caradoc winced as he cradled his right arm in his left and pressed it to his chest. The heavy bloodstains on his arm gave her pause but did nothing to assuage her pain. She’d given him oaths. Sworn herself to him. Not once had he given her insistence that September was his any consideration. If he had, if he’d given her half of the faith she’d given him, he’d never have allowed this to happen. She swiped the unchecked tears from her cheeks, swallowed down a building sob, and shook her head in dismay. “Then again, you didn’t want children. Guess that works pretty damn well for you. Don’t worry, neither one of us will be burdening you now.”
“Isabelle, I made many mistakes.”
“Mistakes?” Her shrill exclamation hurt her own ears. She held up her hands, September’s blood a dark crimson stain against her ivory skin. “Look at this! This is all I have left of her. She’s gone! Gone!”
“Nay,” he argued in a near whisper. “Her memory will live on.”
Enraged beyond all measure of control, Isabelle drew her hand back and struck out. Her open palm cracked against his cheek, smearing September’s blood across his face.
* * *
Caradoc gritted his teeth against the fire that spread over the side of his face. Isabelle’s words stung far more than she could imagine. Yet he did not offer protest. In many ways, he deserved the piercing barbs. ’Twas the reason he had surrendered the tears, and if he could unravel time to the morning she had informed him she had birthed his child, he would have gathered Isabelle in his arms with joy.
Moreover, what stilled his arguments, what kept him from defending himself against her wrath, was the pain that reflected in her eyes. She had not lost just her daughter, but herself as well. And naught he could say could heal that soul-deep wound. He ached to gather her close, to hold her until her tears ceased to flow. To grieve with her, for his own heart had cracked with the realization of his wrongs. Now it bled as freely as hers, and naught he could do would sew the rends back together. No words could restore September to life. No apologies could undo his failures.
“You didn’t care because you couldn’t believe she was yours. If you had any idea what it was like to be a father, you’d have never allowed this to happen. But no, you were too worried about a relic. A stupid piece of priceless glass, not a life you’re sworn to protect.”
“Nay!” The word burst free of its own accordance. He set his jaw to temper the spark of anger and ground out, “I gave him the tears. He was to leave you both in peace.”
The confession landed on deaf ears and a hardened heart. With her blink, fresh tears coursed down her cheeks. “She called for you. She always believed in you, and I always knew you’d disappoint her somehow. Tonight, she called for your help, and the father she idolized came too late.”
The raw honesty cut deep, and Caradoc felt tears burn his eyes. “Do you think I did not hear her? That I did not try to come?” He lifted his wounded arm as high as he could manage, displaying the awkward way it dangled above the wrist and the blood that ran freely down his arm. “Your Paul was no demon, Isa. ’Twas Azazel disguised, and I did not win that battle. But never, never, would I have wished this upon you. Upon September.”
Her gaze skipped to his wounded arm, then jumped quickly back to his. Bitterness burned bright behind her watery eyes. “Yet you were so willing to barter with her life.”
’Twas all he could do to keep from yanking her into the deep shade further down the path where he could shake sense into her. Instead, Caradoc caught her hand with his good one, and gripped her fingers tight. “I heard her cries. I heard my name and loved. I will not stand here and allow you to tell me I willingly sacrificed my daughter, a miracle I cannot explain and do not understand, when I am only guilty of failing to know ’twas Azazel who had taken her not the demon you described in your nightmare.”
She tried to pull free and he increased the pressure of his fingers. “I loved, Isabelle. Her. You.”
In a voice so low he had to strain to hear her above the rustling leaves, she answered, “You’re too late.”
Like she had just run him through with a hot poker, Caradoc’s air lodged in his lungs. Struck to the very core of his being, the pain in his arm yielded to the pain that seized his chest. “You cannot mean this, Isa.”
Using the back of her wrist, she smeared the wetness from her cheeks and sniffed. “Go. Take your friends and leave me with September. I don’t want them here, I don’t want you here. She has always been mine, and this I can’t…won’t…share.”
He swallowed hard, unable to believe what he was hearing. Anger rose to smother the fiery claws that raked him from the inside out. He had not forsaken all he knew to lose Isabelle as well, and by all that was sacred, he would not allow her suffering to divide them eternally. “We are bound, Isabelle. You cannot sever those ties, no matter how you may wish to. I hurt as you do, but turning against one another will not bring September back.”
Her eyes flashed, warning him he tread upon dangerous ground. Ignoring the bright glint, he dragged her close to his body, then shifted his grip to her shoulder. Aware the pressure in his fingers could not be pleasant, he guided her to turn and look at the spot where September lay on the ground and the four who surrounded her. “I will not allow her death to be meaningless. ’Tis our duty to her to stop Azazel. And if we should fail, if your heart cannot move beyond the wounds it has suffered, thousands like her shall suffer the same fate.”
“It’s your duty, not mine. There can’t be a we, Caradoc.” Her shoulders sagged beneath his hand, revealing all the sorrow she could not put into words. “Once maybe. Not anymore.”
She twisted in an attempt to face him once again. He released his hand, slid it down to her elbow, allowing her the freedom she sought. When her eyes met his, he nearly stumbled beneath the raw canker they revealed. He had witnessed much in his long life, but never the depths of sorrow that reflected in those indigo portals. Never had he watched someone’s soul whither the way Isabelle’s did as she searched his face for words he did not know.
Leaning forward, she brushed her mouth across his and touched her fingertips to his cheek. Her hand lingered, as did her lips, and in the crisp night air, their mingled breaths warmed his face. His arm useless, he captured her lower lip between both of his in a futile attempt to hold on to what he knew he had lost.
What he could never regain.
“Go home, Caradoc,” she whispered.
He closed his eyes as everything inside him crumbled into pieces. A thousand protests rose, but they remained in his throat, pleas as worthless as his ability to fight. He could not imprison her, and yet he did not know how to let her go no matter the errors he had made.
Isabelle withdrew and her hand slid down his cheek to tenderly touch his injured arm. His fingers twitched, the desire to cling to her hand and forbid her from leaving too strong to remain still. Yet with the slight motion, the broken bones ground against one another, and Caradoc grimaced.
In that brief moment where agony consumed him, he caught the softening of her expression, the empathy she could not hide. It gave him hope. Encouraged him to find the words, no matter how pitiful they might sound. “Isa, wait. Do not—”
“I know you—you’re Noelle. And you’re Chloe. Where’s my daddy?”
Caradoc froze as September’s sweet voice floated through the quiet.
Chapter 38
Isabelle couldn’t believe he
r ears. She dropped her hand from Caradoc’s injured arm and slowly turned to stare at the two women kneeling at the faceless angel’s feet. Between their bodies, long blonde curls bobbed as September struggled to sit upright. Flanking the angel, both Templar knights stood in stoic silence.
“Rest, September.” Noelle set a hand on September’s shoulder and eased her to the ground.
Barely aware of the fact she was moving, Isabelle set one foot in front of the other and walked toward her daughter. Alive. She’d held her lifeless body. Felt the stickiness of her blood. And yet, somehow, she was speaking.
“Mommy? I want my mommy.” September’s voice rang clear and strong, void of the tremor of fear that had filled her cries for help.
“September?” Isabelle called softly. She had to be dreaming.
“Mommy!”
The happy exclamation was all Isabelle needed to abandon her disbelief and rush to September’s side. As she reached the two women, Chloe helped Noelle to her feet and the pair stepped aside to give her room. Isabelle hit the ground, tears of joy coursing down her cheeks. “Oh, sweetheart!” She wrapped her arms around September and held her tight. “I love you. I’m so sorry. So very sorry.”
True to her independent nature, September pushed free of Isabelle’s fierce hug and shook her head. Hazel eyes lighted with her innocent smile. “Don’t be sorry, Mommy. I saw the angels. Not the ones like you, or Noelle, or Chloe, but the ones with real wings. They sang me back to sleep.”
Blinking back the tears that refused to stop, Isabelle framed her daughter’s face in her hands and gazed at her cherubic face. Blood still clung to her hair, turning thick platinum hanks dirt-brown. Dirt streaked across her cheeks, along with several angry red scratches. But the light in her eyes was real enough, and her smile full of the same excitement that accompanied any other time she talked about the angels.
Her bright expression faltered, however, as she struggled to look beyond Isabelle’s shoulder. “Where’s Daddy? He was s’posed to be here too.”
Caradoc. Isabelle’s heart twisted. Had she run him off? Twisting, she sought to find him in the shadows where she’d seen him last.
Instead, her gaze fell on his boots, no more than four feet away.
He didn’t look at her as he passed her side. She couldn’t blame him; she’d said atrocious things. But worry had her gnawing on the inside of her cheek. He’d claimed he had accepted September. Would he now?
Silently, he eased himself to his knees, his expression hard. But as he made to cover September’s hand with his own, the grimace that set into his mouth revealed the sheer will it required for him to move at all. Isabelle’s gaze dropped to his wounded arm, seeing for the first time how deeply the injury pained him. It was a wonder he was on his feet, that he’d remained standing throughout their terrible argument.
“Daddy!” September bounded forward and threw her arms around his neck. “I knew you’d come. I knew it.”
“Aye,” Caradoc murmured thickly as he slid his good arm around her and hugged her to his chest. He tucked his chin into her tiny shoulder, hiding his face in the long blonde hair that matched his in color.
Isabelle sat back on her ankles and folded her hands in her lap. A strange mix of happiness and jealousy came with observing the way her daughter clung to Caradoc. For so long it had been just the two of them. She’d hoped she might see this day, but she’d never considered the full reality of sharing September. She wanted to hold her daughter. Wanted to have this precious miracle all to herself. Stepping aside didn’t seem right. And yet, at the same time, the secret part of her heart that had dreamt of Caradoc returning to them, didn’t want to intrude.
Another, more deeply buried part, didn’t fully trust Caradoc had accepted September. He hugged her now, yes, but only a truly callous man wouldn’t.
September wiggled out of his embrace and rose to her knees to kiss his cheek. As he tipped his head to look at her, moonlight illuminated his expression. Isabelle’s breath caught at the sight of tears trickling freely down his cheeks.
“Don’t cry, Daddy.” With a smile so sweet it could soften stone, September wiped the wetness off his face. “We can heal your arm. It won’t hurt anymore.”
At that simple innocent observation, Caradoc’s barely tempered expression cracked and the tears that had trickled began to flow steadily. He dropped his head, his long hair hiding his face as his shoulders shook.
Struck by the profound display of emotion, Isabelle’s heart twisted. She’d been so hard on him. So brutal with her words. All the while, he’d been suffering right along side her. True, he’d said such, but she’d been too blinded by her own pain to consider his. And he, with his typical strength and resolve, had stood there and taken her low blows.
He hadn’t exploded on her. He hadn’t faltered once throughout this whole mess. He’d stayed strong and resilient from the moment she’d told him about September’s kidnapping until right now, when his daughter, in her innocent loving way, showed more concern about his broken arm than the fact that she’d survived the unimaginable.
Isabelle reached forward and set her palm on his knee. Though he didn’t look up, his good hand covered hers. His fingers squeezed.
September nudged her way between them both and laid her head on Isabelle’s shoulder. “Can we go home, Mommy? I don’t like it here.”
“That sounds good to me, sweetheart.”
“With Daddy?”
Isabelle laced her fingers through Caradoc’s. “I think that’s up to him, honey.”
With a long sniff, Caradoc reclaimed control over his emotions and lifted his head. Reddened eyes met Isabelle’s, held her gaze for several seconds, then looked beyond her at his friends. “I do not know if such is possible.”
Why, thundered through Isabelle. He’d given up the tears. Sacrificed the relic Azazel coveted. Eight hundred years of conviction, archangels, and brotherhood—he’d turned his back on it all. For them.
“Come,” Farran interrupted. “Let us return to the villa for the night. Noelle is weak.” He wrapped a muscular arm around Noelle’s shoulders and drew her into his side.
Remembering herself, Isabelle hurried to her feet. She rushed across the pavestones and gave Noelle a fierce hug. “Thank you.”
Noelle’s smile was faint but genuine. “Don’t thank me. It’s all just part of what we’re here to do.”
What they were here to do…the same thing she was supposed to do. “What is that, exactly?” Isabelle glanced at Chloe.
The lithe blonde slipped her hand into Lucan’s, rose to her toes, and kissed his cheek. “Heck if I know. But killing demons is a great deal better than running from them.” She inclined her head toward Caradoc who was standing with September supported in his good arm. “I think maybe you’re ahead of the learning curve.”
Confused, Isabelle scrunched her eyebrows together. “I don’t understand.”
“Nor do I,” Lucan grumbled.
Farran chuckled. “Your daughter, Lady Isabelle.”
Isabelle’s frown tightened. “What about her?”
“That she is mine,” Caradoc answered as he joined Isabelle. He leveled a meaningful stare on Lucan. “My flesh and blood. A gift the archangels forswore we could not have.”
At the same time Chloe let out a squeak, Lucan’s eyes widened with surprise. He opened his mouth, snapped it shut, then exclaimed, “But the curse forbids such.”
“’Tis what Merrick believed as well,” Farran remarked quietly. “’Twould seem the archangels did not feel it necessary to inform us though we could not sire mortal children, we are capable of fathering those who are not quite such.”
“Merrick? Merrick shall be a father?” Lucan asked in disbelief. “Why did he say naught?”
A chuckle rumbled near Isabelle’s ear. “If you have seen fit to forgive me, our daughter sleeps. Shall we return to our room and leave them to sort the secrets out?”
As if she’d sensed Caradoc’s intention to leave,
Noelle set a palm on Caradoc’s dangling and bleeding arm. Soft light emanated from her fingertips, provoking Caradoc into a gasp. He jerked back.
“Nay, Noelle. Lest the archangels say otherwise, I am unworthy of your gift.”
Isabelle winced. He might have sacrificed a relic, but he was by no means unworthy. “Please, Caradoc—”
“Nay. ’Twill heal in time.” Softening his voice, he added, “Let us be finished with arguments for the night.”
Acquiescing, she reached out to take September from his arms. He turned aside, forbidding her the opportunity, and she couldn’t help but give into a faint smile. While Lucan continued to drill Farran for answers, and Chloe grew an ever-greater shade of white, Isabelle tucked her fingers into Caradoc’s sword belt and followed him out of the decrepit garden.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered as they entered the great hall.
He took a deep breath, expelled it with force. “As am I, sweet Isa. If I had but listened to your—”
“Shh.” Giving him a nudge at the waist, she encouraged him toward the courtyard and the car.
* * *
From a chair in the corner of the room, Caradoc watched Isabelle and September sleep. What he had witnessed tonight defied the limits of his imaginings. That he had survived an encounter with Azazel alone was a feat no man could claim. That his daughter now breathed, made the rest of the events insignificant.
And yet, the throbbing of his arm made it impossible to believe he had dreamt the horrors.
His daughter. The thought still gave him chills. He had spent over eight hundred years believing he would never know the role of father. Aye, September was proof enough she carried the blood of immortals. If he had listened close enough, he would have recognized her gifts defied even Isabelle’s. Surely then, such evidence would have convinced the archangels to intervene on her behalf.
Immortal Sacrifice: #4 The Curse of the Templars Page 31