The only good thing about the rampage was it created a straight shot path to follow, leading straight to the castle at the center of the city. Taking in the tall fortress, I was suddenly struck by how similar it was to the Temple in Paris. A tower extended from one side, the rest of the building a simple square of impenetrable looking stone. The gates to the courtyard lay open, broken and hanging from their hinges.
“He did this without even having the Silver Hand,” Sam muttered beside me. “He played his cards wisely, this time. I can’t believe I fell for it again.”
“Be on your guard,” I warned her, holding Excalibur in a ready position. “We know not if he has the Hand already.”
She nodded, falling into step behind me, the two of us carefully moving toward the fortress. As we entered the courtyard, it was instantly clear this place was just like the Temple. Every window and door was in the same place, each stone an exact match to the ones in Paris.
“They copied this place,” I stated in awe. “The Templars.”
“There.”
Sam’s voice pulled me away from admiring and focused me back on our task. She was pointing at a door just ahead, the only one slightly cracked open. A bloody handprint smeared the frame, Randall’s gory trail continuing.
“He’s going to the main vault.” The pathway laid out in my mind instantly. In Paris, the room was mostly empty, save a few decorative pieces The Order kept. Here, though, it was sure to be filled to the brim with unspeakable amounts of gold and priceless items. The Silver Hand, no doubt, would be on display there somewhere, waiting for the villain to get his grubby paws on it.
I ran forward, bursting through the door and following the direction I knew he’d be taking. Everything inside me demanded I not let him get away this time. Not again, not after all we’d suffered because of him.
He stole the ichor from the treasure I, personally, was responsible to protect. My wife was kidnapped from me, beaten, and dragged through the desert. The Belt of Thor and Skíðblaðnir, a magical boat, were taken from the cave in Arizona, robbed from the treasures they resided with. The blood of the Norse and Apache gods were carried away by him, too, his smug face laughing as he flew away. We’d taken his hand from him, and yet he returned to take another. His power grew with each encounter we shared, the dangers of his continued living growing with every step he took.
By the enchanted and powerful sword I held in my hands, his reign of terror ended now. I was the High King of this realm and my will would triumph over his, no matter the cost.
Moving so fast that I left Samantha behind, I followed the twists and turns of the torch lit hallways, descending into the depths of the castle. My footsteps echoed in the space, ringing in my ears. Red handprints touched the walls every few feet, surely marking the path Randall was on.
Finally, the doors to the main vault sat before me, a sliver of light passing through the crack between them. A shadow moved across the opening and my heart jumped.
It was now or never.
Hurling myself forward, I burst through the doors, searching for Randall. There was more than I’d expected to be in this place, the amount of treasures staggeringly larger than any of the other vaults I’d been to. Piles of jewels and coins covered the floor, a narrow path twisting through the space. Fabrics and weapons stood on display, as well as paintings and plants. It seemed to glitter with magic, the room humming with the force of it. On the other end of the space, four glass boxes hung. A plain, black cauldron rested in one of them, the two displays beside it empty. On the other end of the row, a silver hand rested on a golden pillow. It too, sparkled with power, as if it were eagerly awaiting the touch of some poor, unsuspecting soul.
Randall stood before the case, his back to the Silver Hand as he glared at me, eyebrow raised.
“You are entirely too predictable, did you know that?” Haughty, he folded his arms, his gaze flicking over me. “Playing right into my plans. You’ve been my puppet this whole time. How does that make you feel, I wonder?”
Growling in response, I barred my teeth, feeling an animalistic rage build inside me.
He smiled, the sneer fading from his face in an instant. “I thought so.” He slowly pulled one of the displayed swords off the rack it rested on, raising the point toward me. “I will give you this, though. I’d no idea you were the High King. That was a surprise not calculated for. However, having royal blood doesn’t make you king. The filth here don’t seem to understand that. You must possess both the right and the will to claim the power.” Smiling, he gestured to himself. “Like me.”
Remaining silent, I watched him, trying to form some kind of plan to keep him from getting the hand.
His features turned dark, his own teeth gleaming in the light as he hissed at me. “Yet, once again, you are the one with all the means I require. Tell me, Tristan, what have you done to deserve any of the things you have been given? Why are you the better choice, over me?” His face reddened with fury. “It cannot be your noble birth. I am the bastard son of a duke, after all.” Stepping forward, he made his way toward me, his words stinging and hateful as he addressed me. “Why were you chosen to protect the treasure on Oak Isle, when I was your senior and more knowledgeable of the task? Why should you get the woman the gods chose to send through time?” Stopping a few feet from me, he continued to glare, his hatred for me burning in his eyes. “You have been handed everything you’ve ever possessed,” he claimed bitterly.
Rage grabbed hold of him and he shouted, spit flying from his mouth as he screamed at me. “Even the blood of the gods, the one thing I have sacrificed my entire being to obtain, the essential piece of my map to success, you have held the entire time!” Chest heaving, he pointed the sword at me again, madness filling his features. “I have planned and suffered and sacrificed to get what I want and your ancestor is a goddess. Her power runs through your veins. It is as if the heavens are mocking me, taunting me by giving you everything I could have or ever will want.”
Frowning, I continued to stare at him, knowing the moment of attack was close by. His words were slurred and quick, his form twitching from the effort it took him to keep from launching himself at me right this very instant.
“Perhaps the heavens are trying to inform ye that ye were never meant to have their favor in the first place,” I answered quietly.
“And you are?” He scoffed, laughing slightly.
Swallowing, I tightened my grip on Excalibur. “These powers ye have taken will destroy ye, Randall. I’ll make sure ye don’t harm anyone else on yer way to Hell.”
Screaming in fury, he launched himself toward me, shoving the point of his sword forward as he did so. He seemed only a step away from foaming at the mouth, his eyes bloodshot and wide as he attacked.
Side stepping his advance, I turned, raising Excalibur like a spear, and threw it at the glass box holding the Silver Hand. The blade soared through the air, shattering the container into a million pieces and stabbing clean through the palm inside. A strange scream echoed, a dark liquid dripping from the palm, the magical glitter about the relic fading into nothing as the light of Retaliator ate away the darkness inside.
“What have you done?” Randall screamed behind me, his sword clattering to the ground.
“Predict that, did ye?” Giving him my best snarky smile, I turned, balling my hand into a fist and pulling my arm back. Before the bastard knew what was happening, my fingers connected with his nose, a satisfying crunch sounding as I broke it.
Crying out, he fell backward, grabbing his face. Then, in an instant, he kicked me, striking my ankles and sending me sprawling across the floor.
Rolling onto my stomach, I avoided the jolt he intended for my groin and got to my feet, taking a step back as he found his own footing.
He came at me with his right, swinging his fist toward my face and narrowly missing. The left arm follow, his stump passing by the front of my face so close I could see the pores of his skin. When he tried again with the right, I
found the entrance I’d been waiting for.
Ducking under his arm, I punched him in the kidney and then the back of the neck, knocking him into a pile of jewels.
Turning, he grabbed a fistful of the precious stones and threw them at my face, shouting as he pushed himself forward and caught me around my waist, knocking us both to the ground.
“So help me God,” he growled. “I will leave this place with at least one of the things I intended to obtain!”
Punching him in the jaw, I managed to wriggle from underneath him, pulling myself to my knees. Adrenaline pumped through me, making me feel that much stronger. As I got to my feet, Randall grabbed my shoulder, yanking me back toward him.
I knew he was going to bite me right before it happened. There was a strange peace in knowing what his plan was and realizing it was going to be more painful than I could have imagined. He wasn’t going to just eat me. Randall would suck the blood from me, claiming the power of the goddess he believed ran in my veins. The revelation was so shocking, I couldn’t think of what to do to fend him off, my body freezing at the image of being attacked in such a manner.
His teeth sank into my skin above my collarbone, cutting through the muscle, ripping apart vessels that sprayed into his mouth. I could feel him sucking the gore from me, greedy and quick, the motion causing my heart to flip in a panic. He groaned as the hot liquid soaked into him and I was faintly aware of my own screaming, my hands digging into him as I tried to pull him off. He refused to let go, though, his jaw locking.
With a start, I realized he was going to take the whole chunk of skin with him. If he didn’t devour me entirely, I’d bleed out before anyone had the opportunity to save me.
And, then, suddenly, Cal was there, in front of me, prying my body away from the monster that would destroy me. He was shouting something at me, screaming as he dragged me away. His hands pressed against the bite mark, putting pressure on the wound that bled freely.
Glancing back at Randall through the haze, I saw Samantha behind him, her sword raised high. With one quick movement, she slammed the blade down on Randall’s kneeling and bloody body, the blade sticking into his back and robbing him of the his life yet again.
William MacDonald banged his gavel on the table several times, glaring at the Templars as they continued to shout at each other.
“Order!” he commanded. “I will have order during these proceedings!”
Sighing, I scratched underneath the shackle on my left wrist, wondering if sitting on the floor would be frowned upon. It wouldn’t be any different than being kept in the brig, where’d I’d been for the past week while the Grand Master decided what to do with me.
“He deserves to hang,” one of the members of the seated crowd behind me cried seriously, rallying those around him to the same conclusion. “He’s broken his vow!”
“His brother, too,” another man said. “They’ve been rotten from the start. Confessed to their crimes themselves! Hang them!”
Glancing to the right, I watched Cal as he stood there with his eyes closed, shackled and appearing grief-stricken by what was happening.
“Tristan is a valued member of this Order. Yes, he’s made mistakes, but who among us has not? I say we allow him a pardon for his crimes.” The Master seated beside MacDonald frowned, his ancient hands trembling as he shared his thoughts.
“If we pardon him, why not others? Where is the line by which we rule? Tristan O’Rourke is a Black Knight and deserves to be treated as such!”
“Thomas Randall is alive,” a different member reminded them all. “Returned to us by O’Rourke for judgment.”
“Only after he took him for his own purposes!”
The ship rocked gently with the ocean waves beneath me. I imagined, if it had been quiet enough, I might have been able to hear the harbor outside. Dublin was a bustling hub of activity, one I’d not yet had the pleasure of exploring.
True to his word, Mark had convinced MacDonald and his men to meet me in Ireland. His confession to them remained a mystery to me, as did his location. As far as I could tell, he wasn’t with the crew that came to decide my fate.
The lot of them had been waiting on the Hill of Tara, shocked when the ground opened beneath them and emitted myself, my pregnant wife, my brother, and our maimed captive. No time was wasted in clapping me in irons and dragging me away, much to Sam’s displeasure.
Grinning to myself, I thought of her beautiful face. If I died today, I hoped they would let me see her, one last time.
“I will have order,” MacDonald demanded again, pounding the table. Finally, the room fell silent, impatiently waiting to hear what he had to say.
“Callaghan O’Rourke,” he started, focusing on my brother. “Ye have confessed to theft from The Order. Normally, such a crime is punished by death.”
Cal didn’t flinch, meeting the Grand Master’s gaze evenly. By this point, I assumed dying didn’t scare him at all. But, I knew he wanted to live, to reclaim the life that was stolen from him.
“However,” MacDonald continued. “After hearing of the trials ye’ve endured and their toll on ye, I am reluctant to add my name to the list of those who have wronged ye.”
His brow furrowed, his attention turning to me. “As for ye, Tristan, I’ve not many kind things to say to ye. Ye’ve refused to follow my orders, stolen from this organization, kidnapped important information sources, and more, I’m sure. Yer fellow Knights are split on what should be done to ye.”
Pursing his lips, he stared at the table, as if deciding right then and there what our fates would be. Then, gazing at the tiny assembly, he nodded.
“I see before me two men who have done wrong, but are still good. Their intentions were pure, albeit stupid, and I willna sentence them to die for that.”
The deck burst into sound, MacDonald waiting for silence before continuing.
“I hereby strip the O’Rourkes of their ranks and titles within The Order. They are Templars no more, but common folk, and will live out their lives in exile as such.”
Stiffening, I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Somehow, I was being allowed to live and have what I wanted—peace, with my family.
From the sound of the gallery, my prosecutors realized this, too.
“We have no precedence for such a ruling,” one of the leaders reminded him softly. “And what about Randall?”
“Aye,” the Grand Master agreed. “We have no precedence, but we’ve done many things lately without that. Thomas Randall will remain in my custody at the Temple, until I have no further need for him.” MacDonald met my gaze as one of the Masters moved forward and unlocked my chains. “Be gone from us. Ye are our brothers no longer.”
One year later
The tiny fishing boat rocked back and forth with the swell, the net I’d cast earlier in the day pulling in with ease. The fish inside flopped about the bottom of the boat as I pulled them from their home and I uttered a brief prayer of thankfulness for a good catch.
As soon as the net was in all the way, I brushed my hand through my hair, glancing toward the sky. Soon, it would be dusk and I’d return home to Samantha and Michael.
Grinning to myself, I thought of my son. The lad had been completely unexpected and instantly loved by the both of his parents. Even now, at only three months old, he grew like a beanstalk and ate like a horse, calling on his poor mother at every hour of the day and night to state his thirst. This evening, he’d be receiving his first solid food, as Samantha called it. She was quite excited to see how he would take it.
I, too, was interested in what he’d think. I would enjoy having my wife to myself for a night again.
Turning the bow of my tiny sloop toward home, I started down the coast, waving as I saw familiar faces on the shore. Normally, Callaghan shouted his silly stories to the girls and bragged about our catch with the men. Sickness had grabbed hold of him as spring warmed into summer, though, and he remained in his bed these three days, attended by Samantha whenever possible
.
After a short sail, our tiny, sea-side, hilltop cottages appeared on the horizon, built close together so as to share resources. Cal was thrilled to have a home of his own and took immediately to caring for it. The stone walls and thatch roof were regularly inspected by him and the pathway between the two homes always clear and lined with some plant he’d fancied and dug up to share with the rest of us.
Smoke curled from the chimney of Cal’s house, black and thick. Hopeful the sickness had left him at last, I smiled, making a note to stop and visit with him before bed.
A man waited on the dock I’d built for myself, his form dwarfed by the hill top rising behind him. It wasn’t anyone I recognized personally, but something about the way he stood instantly alerted me to his affiliation.
The Templar Knight patiently waited for me to tie my boat and gather the day’s catch into a waiting barrel.
“Tristan O’Rourke?” he asked, standing tall, his hands behind his back.
Before I could answer, another cry caught my attention and I looked, catching sight of one of our distant neighbors. She waved her hands frantically, pointing toward the cottages.
“Fire!” she screamed. “Yer house is on fire!”
Dropping the barrel to the ground, I ran as fast as I could, darting up the hill. The smoke I’d assumed was from the chimney hung heavy in the air, the top of Cal’s home blazing fiercely.
“Tristan!” Samantha called my name, running toward me with Michael in her arms. Her face was black and covered in soot, tears in her eyes. “I couldn’t get him out,” she screamed. “Cal was lost in the smoke and I couldn’t breathe—he’s still in there!”
Horror flooded me as I turned back to my brother’s demolished home. The neighbors were frantically passing buckets of water from the well, throwing them on the blaze with no effect. Then, suddenly, a form appeared in the doorway.
“Cal!” I shouted, running toward him.
Stolen Away_A Time Travel Romance Page 31