The memory slammed into me with such force it took my breath. It was the beginning of the end for Cal, as small as it seemed then. He’d flown into my quarters, huffing and puffing, his jacket and neck tie askew, as if he hadn’t even bothered to dress himself properly before coming. Even his hair, as wild as it always was, had seen better days.
Startled awake by the sound of the heavy, wooden door bouncing off the wall of the tiny room, I bolted upright and rubbed my eyes, wincing as I stared at him. Cool November air flooded the open entrance behind him, sending a shiver across my naked chest.
“Did ye hear?” he demanded, grasping the knobs of my bed.
“Hear what?” I asked, yawning.
“King James has been run off his throne by William of Orange. At this very moment, he sits in the court of the King of France, asking for aid.” His pupils flashed, his body unable to hold still, rocking to and fro as he gripped the metal frame.
I made a face. “What did ye wake me in the middle o’ the night to tell me for?” Returning to the prone position, I rolled onto my stomach and pulled the sheet over my head, willing him to leave.
As a rule, The Order did not meddle in the affairs of countries. We were impartial when it came to war, uncaring if anyone sought our assistance. The fact England was currently crumbling to pieces with yet another battle raging on her shores was of little consequence to me. It had been much the same for most of my life. There was more cause to worry if England wasn’t sticking its nose into a mess it couldn’t handle.
My cover ripped from me and I yelped, flipping over. “What?” I demanded grumpily.
“William of Orange is a Protestant!” He spit the phrase, his lips curling around it with disdain.
“Oh God,” I moaned, glowering at him. “What difference does it make? There are many people in this world, who follow countless religions. It makes no difference if they are a king or not.” I reached for my blanket, but he yanked it farther from me.
Frustration flashed over Cal’s features and he shook his head violently, instantly dismayed I didn’t see what he did about the situation. Throwing the spread on the ground, he growled. “Do ye not understand? If a Protestant sits on the throne of England, it means more suffering for our kin in Ireland!”
Raising my eyebrows, I motioned for him to continue, not understanding where he was going with it.
“Do ye not follow the news of our homeland, brother? Have ye no comprehension of the unlawful way our family has been treated, of the wrongs they have suffered under the rule of a Protestant king?” He barred his teeth, anger rolling off him. “Their lands stolen! Lords banned from serving in their own Parliament! Murdered in their own beds, simply because their king disliked their hold on the land he wished to possess. King James at least tried to reverse those actions when he took the throne. He labored to reclaim what was stolen, to return the control to the people.”
“But he is still their king,” I interjected, my own distaste for politics darkening my visage. “And the king of England. And Scotland. And every other godforsaken country he deems his, without regard to what they may want.” Skittering from my bed, I rose to my full height, staring him in the eye with a frown. “It matters not to me, who rules my homeland. The true kings were ran out long ago, the High King forgotten by those who should have remembered him best. Ireland is a captive and always will be, so long as her history remains ignored.”
Rolling his eyes, Cal snorted. “Would ye feel the same if ye were the king yer heritage says ye should be?”
Waving in dismissal, I went to gather my bedding. “That life was never destined to be mine. I do not mourn the loss, nor wish for the responsibility such a role would require. I don’t want to be a Lord, either, as the clan kings are now.”
Cal grabbed my bicep, pulling me toward him, his speech low. “Ye know as well as I do, I wasn’t meant for the power ye could have wielded. Yet, I would see Ireland returned to her former glory, ruled by the High King and blessed by God to always remain so.”
“And King James can do that?” I asked, skeptical. “A Scotsman, whose only real alliance with Ireland is the fact it is full of Catholics?”
Cal guffawed, excitement shining in his visage. “He can take the first steps, aye. Under King James, our people would have freedom, so much so we may convince him to give it to us fully.” A shadow passed over him, then, as if someone had doused the fire and plunged him into darkness. “But if William of Orange wins this war, the Irish will suffer needlessly, stripped from their rights and homes, treated like chattel for the taking.”
The glint in his eyes and the belief in his voice made me pause. He was so hopeful, so convinced in his reasoning.
“What do ye plan on doing?” I asked hesitantly. “Ye can’t join his army. The Order won’t allow it.”
“No, they won’t,” he agreed. Looking over his shoulder, he peered out the door, pausing for a moment, listening. Then, he came closer to me, whispering quickly. “There is something else we can do. We have been planning, waiting for the right time to execute.”
“We?” Confused, I pulled away, studying him. “Who is we?”
He grinned. “I have a friend, a fellow Jacobite, who hails from England. He has studied the Templar’s resources and learned her secrets. He believes he may have found a way to end war and suffering. Ireland has given him the chance to test his theories. If they succeed, not only will Ireland be free, but so will all men, from all rulers who would condemn them.”
Unconvinced, I stepped away. “Who?”
He grinned, knowing he had managed to convince me to look into this with him. “His name is Thomas Randall.”
“Did he know?” Samantha asked me, her eyes locking with mine as I paused in the story. “Was he aware Thomas Randall was becoming a Black Knight? Were they of the same mind?”
I shook my head. “I don’t think Thomas even knew he was on that path.” Glancing toward the cave entrance, I watched the storm clouds on the horizon, coming into view as the wind rustled the tree and bush branches around the hole.
“How could he not?” she asserted, her voice faltering as she reconsidered what I’d told her so far. “He planned to use the treasure for a purpose other than what The Order dictated. By definition, he was already a Black Knight!”
Turning my gaze back to her, I smiled gently. “Every villain believes he’s doing something good at the start, love. Randall was no different.”
“So you did what?” Her tone was commanding and insistent, her gaze hot as she examined me, waiting for the reply. “You can’t have bought into whatever he was planning.”
The statement caused an ache inside me, the tendrils of fear crushing me once more. “I did,” I whispered.
Shocked, she moved from my side. I could almost see the tiniest bit of her trust in me fading into nothing, her lips turning downward. The fact that I was slowly chipping away at her image of me ripped at my insides. She deserved to know the truth, yes, but I half wished I could remain the hero she saw me as.
“It didn’t sound bad, in the beginning,” I quickly went on, attempting to preserve a fraction of the regard she held me in. “I knew it was an act the Masters would frown on if they discovered us, but it was harmless as a whole.
“Randall had been going through the records of The Order. It was his assignment to assist in caring for them, given to him when he joined the Templar ranks two years ahead us. He took a special interest in the treasures and their abilities, learning their legends and studying the gods who created them. I did the same, for many of our initial meetings.”
Samantha seemed to accept that easily enough, easing some of my anxieties. She scooted by my side, putting her head on my shoulder, sighing as she gestured for me to continue.
A slow breath left me and I closed my eyes. We’d reached the moment I knew she would fall from me, the decision that would bury me, smothering me from her life. “So,” I confided, doing my best to keep my voice from trembling, “when Randall
suggested we quietly begin gathering the Irish artifacts, I believed—as he and Cal did—it was the right thing to do. The Order had stolen those things from my people, robbed them of their power, and set them on the path to their demise. In my heart, I was certain if we gave each relic back, King James would win the war and Ireland would be free again one day.”
She remained silent, her grasp locked around my arm. It was as if she were frozen, refusing to believe it.
Suddenly, I was struck with the urge to convince her, to make her see exactly how awful a person I was. She needed to understand I was a liar and a fake, not worthy of the love and attention she’d given me. The need to pummel my indiscretions into her was destroying me.
Grunting, I pushed her away, going to stand in the center of the cave. “I stole artifacts from The Knights Templar.” My voice did quake then, shame filling me to the brim. Tears threatened to fall on my cheeks, disgust at my actions threatening to overtake me. The secret I’d kept for so long, the truth of my broken honor and untrustworthy nature was finally free.
But it wasn’t enough.
I needed to tell her the rest, to show her my full betrayal. Now I’d begun, there was no way I could stop the tale. My conscience refused.
Swallowing hard, I kept my back to her. “Cal and I were responsible for making sure the artifacts made it on to the correct ship, staying concealed. It was easy, altering the log books, having items that never should have been in our hands delivered right into our studies.” I laughed, the humorless sound like a knife to the ear. “So incredibly easy. Before six months passed, I alone had put away enough money to finance a war with England. We’d yet to discover any of the major items we wished for, though.”
Pausing, I folded my arms, chewing on my lip. I could still see the chest I’d buried in the woods outside the city, filled to the brim with gold and silver coins, statuettes, and a ring that once belonged to the High King of all Ireland.
There was so much I did not understand then, my young self believing I could fix the world’s problems. It hadn’t occurred to me I was doing something so horrendously wrong I could be condemning my soul to Hell for eternity. Black Knights were practically non-existent, the last uprising having occurred over one hundred years before. That fact alone was most likely the reason we hadn’t been discovered. No one thought to search for suspicious activity, the Templars assuming themselves safe from betrayers.
Shaking myself, I went on. “Of course, Irish artifacts are very scarce, even for a Templar.” I didn’t bother to see if Samantha was still with me. She remained silent, the lack of response making me too nervous to check on her. I half feared she was already gone.
Clearing my throat, I explained. “Lia Fáil—The Stone of Destiny—was already in Ireland, set in the ground at the Hill of Tara. The High King has been crowned there from the beginning, since the very first man to claim the role stepped onto the rock and it shouted for joy at his presence.
“Retaliator, better known as Excalibur currently, has yet to be found. If our meeting with my great-grandfather in Atlantis has any sway, it would appear the sword returned to whatever deity produced it.
“That left only two relics we could use. The Cauldron of Plenty would ensure King James’s army didn’t starve, but it was useful for little less. No, what we really wanted, what we craved to discover and have sent to us, was the Red Javelin.”
“What’s that?” Sam was trying to hide the judgment in her tone, but I heard it all the same. The sound was both relieving and horrible.
I faced her at last, pursing my lips before answering. “A weapon,” I stated. “Destined to find yer enemy no matter where they hide. One throw is all it takes to rid the world of yer greatest foe.”
Her eyes narrowed. “And you planned to do what with it? Give it to King James?”
“I thought that would be a good course of action, aye.” Dread threatened to overcome me, the memory of what actually happened coming to the forefront of my mind. “But once the artifact was in our possession, a different plan was decided on.”
We had gathered on the beach, late in the night and far from any settlements. Randall, who had the good fortune of finding the Red Javelin, had been burying his treasures there, the sand covered chest sunk deep into the earth, hidden from those who could wish to discover it. Torches, stuck in the earth by our feet to light our way, flickered in the wind, a storm brewing off the coast, lightning flashing in the distance.
“Are ye sure this is the best idea?” I asked hesitantly, the three of us surrounding the hiding spot, shovels in our grip as we stared at the battered box.
“It’s the only way it will work,” Thomas insisted, hopping into the hole. Grunting, he grabbed the handles on either side of the booty and hefted it heavenward, pushing it through the sand to Callaghan and me. Winded, he climbed out after it, brushing his palms off on his shirt. “If we were to send it to King James, how would he know what to do with it? We could tell him what it is, but he may not believe us.”
“Or he will refuse to use a heathen item in his battles,” Cal agreed, jerking toward the spot he wanted to set the chest. “We cannot take it to him personally and could therefore risk losing the Javelin entirely. I am not willing to chance it.”
Agreeing grimly, I shuffled across the ground with him, breathing heavily as we set the case down. Randall slid to the earth beside it as soon as we let go, muttering he’d get the relic and meet us in the circle he constructed a few yards away. As I walked to the area, I glanced over my shoulder, making sure he was out of earshot, and then whispered to my brother. “But giving it to a goddess? Condemning a man to Hellfire for eternity, simply because his religion is wrong? Something feels off about this, Cal. I don’t like it.”
Exhaling, he closed his eyes, clearly annoyed by my skeptical nature. “Ériv is the patron goddess of Ireland, Tristan. The whole country is named after her, for God’s sake. If we give her the spear, she will use it to free our homeland once and for all.”
“But how do we know her greatest enemy is William of Orange?” I pressed. “What if it’s another god, or a foul beastie? I say we give the Javelin to King James. He will see reason when he realizes we tell the truth. The Pope himself could not fault using such power to secure a victory for the Catholics in this war.”
He shushed me, peering at Randall before lowering his voice. “Thomas has done the research and decrees this path as the best. I trust him. Do ye not?”
Biting my lip, I glared at him, wanting to disagree, but knowing it would make no difference at this point. My gut told me something was wrong, but I’d no proof or real inclination to put a stop to what we were about to do.
“I know ye fear what Grandfather would think of all this,” Cal stated, his shoulders slumping. “I agree he’d be none too pleased with the both of us if he knew what we were doin’. But, imagine the joy he will feel when Ireland is free. I can see his face when the news reaches him even now. Then, it will not matter what we did or did not do.” He placed a gentle hand on my shoulder, squeezing lightly. “This is right. I feel it in my bones.”
“Are you ready?”
My attention diverted, I watched as our partner strode toward us, a small rod with a pointed end in his hands. Behind him, the chest sat closed, locked tight, torch light casting strange shadows over it. The fire did the same thing to Thomas’s face, plunging him into darkness one second and shining on him like light from heaven the next. It was the weapon he held that captivated me, though, my stare going to it like a bird to its prey.
“That’s it?” I asked, surprised.
The Red Javelin was underwhelming, after what I’d read of it. It was much smaller than I’d anticipated, perhaps as long as my shin. Its color matched its name, except for the point, which was a bright silver. Gold rings rested every few inches along the metal shaft, the four of them even less impressive and threatening than the rest of the artifact. They were covered with writing, a few of the letters unfamiliar to me. As Rand
all neared our circle, I could feel the power coming from the thing, pulsing through the air with an electric force that made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.
In response to my reaction, Thomas flicked his wrist and the Javelin extended, springing to a height taller than my own.
Backing up, I eyed the thing with more reverence. “How did ye do that?”
“There’s a button, here,” Thomas replied, showing me as he entered the circle. When he pressed it, the weapon shrunk to its previous size, a series of clicks and scrapings sounding as the handle collapsed in on itself.
“What does the writing say?” Cal questioned, studying it in awe.
“You tell me.” Randall shrugged. “I don’t speak Irish.”
Leaning closer, I glanced at the writing, grimacing as I didn’t recognize the words. They appeared Gaelic at first glance, but upon looking further, I couldn’t decipher what any of them meant.
“It’s the language of the fairies,” Cal stated quietly, reading as well. “A warning, from the people who live under the hill, perhaps?”
“Tír na nÓg,” I whispered, catching sight of the name. Anything that mentioned the Otherworld wasn’t good. It was said you couldn’t enter without being invited or taken by something that lived in the mystical realm, and even then you may never make it out alive again. A shiver moved through me, the feeling we shouldn’t be doing this strengthening.
“It matters not,” Thomas maintained, shrugging away the fact we didn’t read the warning. “Let’s get started, shall we?”
Taking the sharp end of the spear, he sliced it across his palm, his blood dripping into the sand as he stepped to the pile of rocks we stacked together. Taking a deep breath, he knelt and placed the cut against one of the stones, leaving a partial handprint behind. Then, looking over his shoulder, he grinned.
“Who’s next?”
Stolen Away_A Time Travel Romance Page 17