Was she so desperate for a child that any man would do as long as it was one of them? He went over the entire sequence of events in his mind. Had she been with Lucio Dambretti all that time?
Your woman is very pleasant. We had a nice, long visit. Why had Lucio said that? Dambretti was murderous when his temper was up and certainly, the man had lost his temper, but he had never lied to him. Lucio was many things, but he was not a liar. But then of course, he had not said anything outright. He had only said that they had a long talk and Merry was pleasant, no? She was certainly pleasant and extremely talkative. He could attest to the truth of the statement, but it had been a remark fraught with implications.
Mark pressed one hand against his forehead and frowned down at her. It hadn’t been Lucio’s words, but the tone, the inference. It was entirely possible that the Italian had simply used a small truth in such a way as to instill suspicion. Ramsay had no experience with this kind of thing. He had no frame of reference other than his past dealings with Lucio and that was not promising. Of course he had entertained a few passing fancies and there had been plenty of trouble because of them. None had ever had the chance to bloom into actual love, but Lucio had been there. It was in truth no wonder that the Rule said the company of women is a dangerous thing. How could one woman so complicate his life? Water dripped from his clothes and his hair onto the floor forming puddles around his boots.
He suddenly wanted to go back down the hill, find Lucio and cut out his heart for having put such conflicting thoughts in his head. But that would not be a very good idea under the circumstances. He wanted to yank Merry up by her hair and demand to know what had Lucio had been talking about. But that would not be very good either. He was stuck. Go? Stay? Kill her? Kill Lucio? It didn’t make any sense. What did he care? She was nothing but sin and trouble for him. Lucio had been his Brother long before she had been his lover and the company of women is a dangerous thing.
A streamer of water suddenly broke from the puddle around his feet and ran under Merry’s shoulder. She flinched as the cold liquid soaked through her blouse and then opened her eyes. The black boots in front of her face brought her wide awake and she looked up only far enough to see the blade of the sword and the dagger Mark held in his hands. Without waiting to see who had come to be in the little room with her, she let out a short, terrified shriek and scrambled away from him across the floor of the building on her hands and knees.
Her reaction startled Mark and triggered an instinctual reaction in his brain.
He went after her automatically.
She covered her head with her arms and screamed incoherently, begging him not to hurt her.
He didn’t know what had happened. Her actions instantly angered him. Such a reaction would certainly fit the suspicions in his mind, if she thought he had found out… found out what? What was she doing? Did she expect him to murder her? He grasped her arm and dragged her roughly to her feet. She jerked away from him and flattened herself against the wall of the observatory staring at him as if he were a demon straight from hell.
“Mark!” Her expression changed as she realized who he was. She ran to him and virtually leaped into his arms. He caught her from the air, pressing the hilts of the weapons to the small of her back. She held his face between her hands and kissed him again and again. The sword and the dagger clattered to the floor behind her as he relinquished his grip on the weapons and held her close while she cried against his wet shirt. She told him tearfully how worried she had been and how she had thought she would never see him again and how she thought he had been killed or had left her without saying goodbye and on and on.
The only thing he could think of was Lucio Dambretti! He had to know the truth.
“Merry,” he said gently and tried to disengage her arms from around his neck. “Merry!”
She let go of him and stepped back, smiling at him through her tears.
“Merry,” he began again and her smile faded as the expression on his face registered on her mind. “I have to know.”
“Know what?” she asked suspiciously.
“About Lucio,” he said simply.
“It was awful!” she said, misinterpreting the meaning of his question. “Maxie is a horrid, horrid man. I told Cecile to get rid of him a long time ago, but he was cheap. Room and board and a couple hundred bucks a month, cash. You can’t get round the clock security cheaper than that, she told me. I knew I should have put my foot down long ago and got rid of him myself, but I was a little bit scared myself living out here with just us two women in that big house. I’m really sorry for what he did to you and to your friend.”
“That’s not what I mean, Meredith,” he said and closed his eyes. How could she? How could Lucio do this to him? “I mean what were you doing in the room with them? How long were there before Maxie came?”
“Whaaat?” Her eyes widened. “What do you mean?”
“You were with him... upstairs,” he said again too simply. He didn’t know any other way to broach the subject. “I waited for you a long time.”
“When?” she asked, frowning at him, disbelief written on her face.
“Last evening,” he told her. “When you left me in your room. You were gone a long time.”
“My God! What are you asking me, Mark Andrew?” Her face contorted in anger and she no longer looked innocent. “Are you accusing me of sleeping with him? You saw him! You pulled the knives from his hands! What are you saying?”
“He said…” Mark stopped. He couldn’t tell her what Lucio had said. Lucio had said nothing. “He said…” he tried again and then stopped.
There was no need to say more as the realization of what he was not saying sunk into her brain.
She stood staring at him and then she was leaping on him again, but not with kisses this time. She hit him in the stomach with her fist then slapped him surprisingly hard on the face. He grabbed his side, but there was little real pain. She grabbed his arms and banged her forehead against his chest in frustration, all the while telling him how much she hated him for thinking such a thing of her. Contrary to his belief, she was not a whore and she did not go around throwing herself into bed with strangers. That she had somehow known from the moment she saw him that he was the one she wanted to spend her life with, that he was everything she had ever dreamed of. And now he had hurt her more than she had ever imagined possible. Now she hated him! Hated all of them! Cecile had been right. Etceteras. Etceteras. Et… cet… te… ras...
This reaction, he could deal with. This emotion was all too familiar to him. He blinked at her in confusion momentarily and then suddenly took her wrists in his hands, holding her easily in place. She continued to shout and kick at him. This was much more normal. He understood this. Plain and simple rage. Hatred. Rage. Fighting.
He pushed her hands behind her back, bringing her close to him and then forced her back and down until she lay on the floor beneath him. This was how it always was. There was no love here. Only hatred. She hated him. He hated her. A familiar red haze clouded his vision as he began to pull her clothes from her with one hand while she kicked and screamed at him. It was just too easy. Too easy. He kissed her neck and she stopped screaming. Too easy. He covered her mouth with his and she stopped screaming. He let go of her hands and she pushed against him. Suddenly she relaxed under him and wrapped her arms around his neck. He froze. This was not right. Not the right reaction at all. His desire to hurt her fled from him, leaving him bereft of feelings at all. Hollow and sick. He raised his head and looked down into her clear blue eyes. She smiled up at him, astonishing him and he thought he would throw up.
“You don’t have to play games with me, Mark Andrew,” she told him breathlessly. “All you have to do is ask.”
“Ask?” He looked at her in amazement.
“But it certainly is kinky,” she said and giggled. “You scared the bee-jesus out of me.”
“Kinky?” His mind drifted between reality and some other plane where he was no lon
ger Mark Andrew, but something or someone entirely different. He saw a laughing man of Arab descent wearing a blue turban fastened with a huge yellow gemstone. He felt himself go limp from head to toe and everywhere in between. Cold sweat stood out on his brow.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she frowned at him when he relaxed on her. “I didn’t mean to spoil the effect it for you.”
He rolled over on his back and stared up at the clouds through the overhead windows, breathing shallowly through his mouth. He closed his eyes and she got up on her knees next to him. He could not believe what had almost happened… again. His soul had to be as black as the pits of hell.
“Oh, this is a bad cut,” she said as she looked closely at his hip where Beaujold had slashed through his pants with his broadsword. “Does it hurt?”
“Not nearly as bad as my heart,” he told her and put one hand on his chest where he could feel his own heart pounding. She had no idea what had almost happened to her. It would never work between them. He really was dangerous just like Cecile had said. He had some kind of sickness in his mind. Something that he felt he had only just discovered about himself and something that he intended to remedy… one way or another. Simon didn’t have his particular problem in his mystical bag of healing tricks.
He allowed his mind to drift in a blurry state of confusion while trying to calm his heart. It was very nice here in the tiny observatory. Yet, only a few hundred yards away, three Knights who would have his head waited for him to return and somewhere out there was another, waiting for him to make a mistake and there were others if these failed to accomplish the mission. More than he cared to think about. But the observatory seemed somehow displaced from everything else like an impenetrable fortress that no one could breach. A dozen such places flashed through his mind and he saw different observatories made of different materials, situated in different places. Mud bricks, stone, wooden. All set high on cleared mounds, hills or mountain sides. Each one surrounded by silvery circles of water illuminated by the light of the full moon. Was he an astronomer as well as an alchemist, assassin and rapist?
“I would really like to check that out,” she told him quietly and he realized that she had been talking to him about his wounds for several seconds. She scooted around on the floor and pulled off his boots, then started unbuttoning his pants.
“Check what out?” he asked in alarm and grabbed her hands, thinking of what had just happened, or more precisely what had not happened and his subsequent thoughts about Simon d’Ornan.
“That cut on your leg, silly,” she giggled and brushed his hands away. “And I need to look at your stomach and your back. Those were awful wounds. And if there is any time left, I’ll examine your other… parts.”
“Trust me. I know how my other parts are doing,” he rolled his head back and forth on the hard floor and began to laugh.
She stopped what she was doing and looked at him in surprise. It was the first time she remembered hearing him actually laugh out loud. It was a pleasing sound and suited him very well. She could imagine him laughing at a great many things, but this was not funny. Perhaps his sense of humor was as morbid as his trade.
“What’s so funny, Chevalier du Morte?” She frowned at him and goosed him in his ribs. “Did you think I was going to take advantage of you… again?” She laughed at him.
“No! Yes! I mean, would you? I am at your mercy, but remember, I’m injured so you must be gentle.” He couldn’t remember the last time he had truly laughed aloud. The sound of it was strange in his own ears. She crawled over him, carefully avoiding his hip and lay next to him on the hard wooden floor. He kissed her feverishly on her neck and face and the world seemed to retreat, leaving them in their own private dimension.
“Don’t you ever worry about anything important?” he whispered in her ear and wrapped his arms around her. “You haven’t even asked me about what happened. We may be killed any moment.” His words were incongruent with his actions. He didn’t seem to be incapacitated in the least, nor did he seem overly concerned about dying at the moment. In fact, he seemed oblivious to the world outside their tiny sanctuary.
“The Indians like to say ‘It’s a good day to die’. I don’t care what happened. All that matters is that you are here with me now,” she told him softly. “Just love me before it’s too late.”
(((((((((((((
D’Brouchart sat in the leather armchair in the library with a glass of brandy in his hand. Montague stood in front of one of the tall bookshelves, perusing the titles of the numerous volumes there as if he were in a public library. Cecile leaned against the desk with her arms folded across her stomach. They were waiting for Maxie to return with the Chevalier d’Epee. Sir Montague kept clearing his throat and coughing as they conversed, obviously displeased with the topic of conversation. He purposefully kept his back to the woman as he tried to concentrate on the titles. He would have given anything for the opportunity to browse this library at his leisure, but the woman had said something that made his mind reel and vision blur. She had asked the Grand Master to explain what she would have to do to become a Templar, if she decided to try it at a later date.
“You would have to prove yourself,” the Grand Master was telling her. “Submit to an investigation of your character. Show that you are worthy of the title. Study the works of the ancient Church Fathers. Accept the Christ as your Savior. Learn the secret doctrines kept by the Order. Learn the true nature of Christianity as the Christ taught it. Learn the history of the Order… the true history. Learn your trade, so to speak. All those things and more. Apprenticeship takes years. But there is something that you must know.”
“And what is that?” She asked him raising one eyebrow.
“There are vows,” he told her casually. “You would have to take the vows and pass through the Initiation.”
“I hardly see a problem with your initiation,” she shrugged. “I have read as much as I could find about it. Surely there is nothing involved that I could not manage to survive. Is it true that you spit on the cross, worship a severed head and exchange obscene kisses?” Montague almost choked before controlling himself. These were the trumped up charges of the Roman Church which were used against the Templars during the Inquisition. Untrue. Lies, misrepresentations and slander that had brought about the early demise of some very decent men.
“You most likely know nothing of our Initiation,” he shook his head condescendingly. “What you have read is but speculation, guesswork, lies at best or, even worse, accounts taken from the confessions tortured from the Brothers during the Inquisition and most of them were but servants, not Initiated Knights or Officers. I believe that there is one part of the vows that you would find most difficult, my lady.”
“And what part is that?” she asked him, displaying some amusement at his archaic mannerisms.
“The vow of chastity. The thing that you find most amusing about us. Never to allow your lips to touch the lips of women. Avoiding the company of women. Could you do that?” He raised both eyebrows.
“Wouldn’t it be the lips of any man for me?” she asked in surprise.
“No, why should it be changed to accommodate you?” he asked. “I believe that the vow in its present form would suit you just as it suits the rest of us. You would have to give up your sex life, mademoiselle. Simply put, wanton association between men and women is forbidden, but in your case, it would be the same since you insert yourself into the male role. Once the vow is taken, we devote ourselves to the Order and the fulfillment of its goals. If an action does not benefit the entire Order, it is not indulged simply for pleasure. If an association between the sexes is for the purpose of procreation, the bearing of children, then such associations are acceptable, even for Templars. Otherwise, chastity is required of the Knights of the Order.”
“That’s preposterous!” She laughed. “Your Knights are not sexless, sir. I can attest to that.”
“My Knights are only human,” he countered. “That is wh
at confession is for.”
This was the same thing Dambretti had told her. It didn’t make sense.
“But that is not to say that you would be free to do as you please and then confess as often as you need to cover your sins. We are not Born Again Christians, Miss Valentino. We take our vows quite seriously. The Initiation Rites were designed to sort the truly devout from the riffraff. The enlightened from the profane. The wheat from the chaff, so to speak. You would not make it through the Initiation unless you were sincere in your devotion to God and, in order to do that, you must know who God is.”
“But it doesn’t matter,” she shrugged. “I don’t want to be one of your Knights. I just asked out of curiosity. I only want to share their immortality. I couldn’t care less about your vows and your moral responsibilities and your arcane lifestyle. It holds no interest for me and immortality would not affect my lifestyle in any way that I know of. I see that it does nothing to quell the desires of the flesh. I mean, it doesn’t make you impotent, does it?”
The Red Cross of Gold I:. The Knight of Death Page 50