After that, I left her to go after Randall and Sam. We didn’t see each other until the battle inside the mountain was over. Something was different then, like she blamed me for leaving her behind.
It had never been the same.
Glancing over my shoulder at her again, I felt the embers of that friendship warm some. We’d spoken together on the journey home, yes, but only about superficial things. Now that the excitement of war was settling, perhaps we would find our balance as friends again. Heaven knew I needed a friend right now.
Upon seeing me watching again, Abella grinned outright, checking both ways before hurrying across the lane to meet me. “You look like a pastry,” she said in a matter of fact tone as soon as she was close enough for me to hear.
Snorting, I smiled, offering her my arm. She took it easily, a slight redness to her cheeks, and we moved toward the next stall, silent for a moment.
“Are you excited to be visiting the Temple?” Her tone was curious and innocent, the smile she gave me sweet and teasing at the same time.
Glancing around at the old fortress, I shrugged. This place had been one of the great strongholds of The Order before they were very publicly demonized and executed in the thirteen hundreds. I’d since learned it was only the Black Knights who were executed and kept imprisoned here, but the knowledge made me view the place in a more negative light. So many bad things had happened here. Who knew how many secrets were still hidden in these walls?
“It’s not exactly what I expected,” I confessed, stopping to stare at a collection of quills and ink. “I thought it would be more . . . empty.”
Laughing, her eyes sparkled as she peered around. “It was at one point, I’m sure. Over time, it filled with people who loved the arts and finer things of life. Many of the souls you see now probably live inside the abandoned Temple itself. I know for a fact that the musicians who play at the gate live inside the old chapel with many others who are otherwise homeless. Despite its grim history, I would say the Temple still has a legacy to uphold, oui?”
“You know the musicians personally?” Grabbing onto the one new piece of information she’d given me, I nudged her on to the next stand, guiding her through the crowd of people around us.
“Oui. I stayed here a few nights after leaving my father. Not as a beggar—I sang for my bread.”
Stopping in surprise, I looked at her fully once more. “You stayed here? I thought Father Torres put you up in Notre Dame.”
“He did. I was only here for three nights.”
“But . . .” Confused, I looked at her hand resting on my arm. The scars from when her own father had tried to cut her hand off were still visible.
Flexing her fingers, she cleared her throat, causing me to glance up at her face again. “I was . . . proud. The people here helped bandage me up the best they could. After the three days, though, I knew I would die if I didn’t get help, but I was a wanted thief. I knew if I went to Hospital that they would turn me over to the law. So, I went to the cathedral and claimed sanctuary. The priests paid the baker I’d robbed and the charge against me was dropped. After that, the Father introduced me to Samantha. You know the rest.”
Placing my hand over hers, I stared at her intently. “I’m sorry,” I said softly. “Truly. To be so young and to have suffered so much doesn’t seem fair.”
Clearing her throat, she shrugged, looking down at our touching fingers. “What is life, if not one trial after another? It’s not the suffering that matters in the end. It’s the person you were during the hardship. A test from God cannot be failed if you rely on him in all things and trust that they have happened for a reason.” Lifting her head, she met my gaze, a sad smile playing on her lips. “Even now, we must each suffer. If we are lucky, we will get our reward before we are in Heaven.”
Surprised by the maturity of her statement, I simply stared at her with wide eyes. When I finally found my voice, it was quiet and hoarse, as if I were afraid of hurting her feelings. “You were a good person before your trials, Abella, and you’re still a good person after. Whether or not it was a test from God, you didn’t deserve the things that happened to you. If you ask me, you should get whatever reward you desire right now.”
Laughing lightly, she blushed again, flexing her fingers under mine. “You are too kind, Monsieur. I’m afraid that if you say too much more, it will all go to my head.”
Grinning, I opened my mouth to reply, but stopped short, having caught sight of Samantha once more. She was with Tristan, holding his hand, pointing to something at one of the stands, her face lit up like the morning sun as she spoke with him.
The all too familiar stabbing of my heart seized me and I felt my features fall, a sadness filling me as I watched them.
Abella, confused, turned and saw them as well, her shoulders slumping some. Removing her hand from my arm, she smoothed the front of her dress, turning to face me again. “Samantha is as beautiful as ever today.”
“She is,” I agreed.
Abella straightened, as if squaring herself for battle and I suddenly realized I’d hurt her feelings. Scrambling to find some way to make up for it, I gaped for a second, looking around as if I were hoping someone would feed me a line to say.
“You do a wonderful job of dressing her,” I rushed to say. “I bet she’d be lost without you.”
“The woman would wear a pair of breeks and a loose shirt every day if I didn’t insist she at least clothe herself like a proper lady.” The hasty compliment seemed to smooth her ruffled edges some and she sighed. Then, everything about her seemed to deflate and her voice caught in her throat, her gaze turned toward the ground. “She would still be beautiful, even without my help. Excuse me, Monsieur.” Turning sharply, she walked away, her hands held tightly together in front of her. I didn’t know if I’d been imagining it or not, but it had looked like there were tears gathering in her eyes as she dashed away, her lip trembling as she held her head high.
“Abella!” I called out, feeling like I’d majorly goofed up our friendship, yet again. Guilt coursed through me, creating a pain in my heart, and I jogged a few steps in the direction she’d gone.
“Abella!”
The group of shoppers closest to me all stared in my direction, watching as I gaped after her. A few of them whispered, some even giggling, before I gave them all a glare that would silence even the chattiest of women. Scattering, they finally cleared, but Abella was still nowhere to be seen.
“Is everything alright?” Coming up beside me, Samantha watched as Abella disappeared into the crowd, curiosity written on her face. “What did you say to her?”
“Honestly? I have no idea. We were talking and then she left.” Raising my hands in surrender, I continued to look around, hoping to catch sight of her so I could properly apologize for whatever it was I’d done to upset her.
Sam raised an eyebrow, clearly not believing me, and folded her arms. “What were you talking about?”
Flustered, I glared at her, huffing. Normally, I loved talking with Sam. Right now, though, I didn’t much feel like telling her how I’d been ogling her in her dress. “We were talking about you and what a good dresser she is, if you must know.”
“What’s amiss?” Tristan stepped beside Sam, putting his hand on the small of her back and pulling her into the crook of his arm. “The lass acted as if she were ready to break down right in the aisle.”
“What? No! I have no idea what I did.” What were they talking about? We were just talking! Abella had been fine one moment and then she was upset the next.
A flash of thoughtfulness and then understanding passed over Sam’s face and she nodded, picking her skirts up out of the way. “I should go get her. We’ll meet you at the door.” Popping onto her toes, she kissed Tristan quickly on the lips, grinning as she pulled away. “Don’t you go in without us!”
“I wouldn’t dream of it, love.” Laughing, he grabbed her hand and kissed it as she moved away, smiling like a man who had found a gold mine.
Watching her leave, he muttered something in a language I didn’t understand, placing a hand over his heart.
“I didn’t quite catch that.” It sounded colder than I’d intended, but Tristan still treated me as a friend all the same.
“Grá mo chroí—love of my life. I’ve not seen this side of her in some time. Did ye know, she only insisted on one hour’s worth of sword practice this morning before she agreed to get ready?” He continued to grin, basking in the moment as she wandered away. “She seems to do much better when she knows she will be out and about. It helps when ye come to visit her as well.” He sighed then, some of his happiness diminishing. Pausing, he glanced over at me, as if trying to decide a difficult decision, and then nodded.
“Ye know I can not let pass the feelings ye have for my wife, Bell. I will be the first man to admit that it’s difficult to see her struggles lighten so when ye are around. But, ye were there for her when I couldn’t be. I think ye remind her that she can be strong—of who she was before . . . Rachel.” He swallowed hard, frowning as he looked in the direction the women had gone. “She’s still broken, mo shíorghrá. So much so that I can’t seem to find all her pieces on my own.”
Staring after her as well, I felt the overwhelming sense of guilt build inside me once more. I had some of those missing pieces. He knew it, I knew it. There was no use in denying it. I’d been picking up the pieces of her soul as it shattered all around me since the day Randall dropped her in front of me, bloodied and beaten. The only problem was that I didn’t know how to give them back, or even if I could.
She was holding me together just as much as I was her.
Motioning for me to join him off to the side, he stepped over to a section of wall, peering around to see if anyone was listening. When he was satisfied that he could speak freely, he hedged again, muttering to himself in Gaelic.
“Will ye allow me to petition for ye to join my crew?” Tristan asked suddenly. “I know it’s hard for ye, being around her, but it’s good for her. Wherever my ship sales my wife is sure to go; ye’d not have to part from her until ye were ready.”
Shocked yet again, I gaped at him. “I’m not a member of The Order. If anything, they’ll see the brand on my arm and hang me right on sight.”
“Ye would be safe, so long as I was captain. I’m sure Bevard would agree to induct ye to The Order, should ye wish, as well.”
He watched me expectantly, eyes searching my face for any hint of answer. “This isn’t an easy thing for myself that I’m asking, Bell. But, it’s not for me. It’s for Samantha. I’m not so blind and proud as to not see that ye do her good. I can put my own insecurities aside for her. Can ye?”
Giving him a hard stare, I folded my arms. He was really laying it on thick, trying to get me to agree. Why? Was Sam worse off than I thought? The fact he was even asking for help was a huge sign that she might be. What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t stay to help her? Could I put my own fears and pains aside to help her again?
Finally, I sighed and nodded. “I’ll think about it. I don’t have much else to do here, though, do I?”
“A dhuine choir!” Sounding thoroughly pleased, he clapped me on the shoulder, motioning for me to move ahead. “We’d best get inside, now. It’s not wise to keep the Grand Master waiting when it comes to a meeting like this.”
Leading the way, he wove through the crowds of people, stopping here and there among the vendors, sharing a friendly word, before stopping at a store where the merchandise overflowed into one of the actual rooms of the old Temple.
Tapping his finger on the table, he waited for someone to come assist him.
“May I help you, Monsieur?” It was a small Englishman, with eyes so wide he might have been an owl in a past life.
“I inquired about a paining last week and was told it has been finished?”
“It would be inside then, Monsieur.” Stepping to the side, he allowed Tristan to pass.
Motioning for me to come, Tristan strode inside, weaving through the tall aisles of products. When we reached the wall at the back of the room, Samantha and Abella were already there, waiting. They had been whispering together but stopped as soon as we appeared.
Abella, glancing at me quickly, turned away from us, wiping her face for some reason. Sam, putting her hand on her shoulder, smiled at Tristan, nodding.
“We’re here,” he said to me.
“This is the door?” I asked incredulously, looking at the solid stone barrier.
Reaching out, Tristan tapped the same pattern he’d been doing on the table, the rhythm sounding as if it were second nature to him. Suddenly, the wall cracked, a rectangular opening appearing. As the stones slid across the floor, I saw a long passageway behind the secret entrance, leading down into the earth. A guard stood duty, apparently having opened the door when the correct password was tapped onto the rocks.
“Oh mon,” Abella whispered, her eyes going round.
“Wait till you see the rest of it,” Sam said under her breath.
Passing through the secret entrance, Tristan led us farther and farther down the hall, each step taking us to a new point underground, until I thought we must be at least a full two stories beneath the surface. Finally, we turned down another hallway and doors began to appear on each side. They had names and symbols carved into them, like a conference center in a big hotel would use to identify where a group would be gathered. The floor, plain stone before, was now of a higher quality, the walls decorated in many fine paintings and tapestries. At the end of this hall, a large, double-doored room sat waiting, the oak entrance thrown open in welcome. Inside, I could see several of the crew from our adventure in Arizona gathered around a table. The buzz from their chatting felt warm and welcoming and I found myself smiling, happy to be among people I knew again.
“Capítan O’Rourke.”
Captain Lomas, the man who had helped lead the Templars into the desert and fight in the mountain, held out his hand to Tristan, shaking it firmly. “It is good to see you again, friend. I did not think I would miss your company, but I find myself sorely lacking in good jokes this past week.”
Laughing, Tristan clapped him on the shoulder, appearing genuinely happy to see him as well.
“Señoras,” Lomas added stiffly, bowing to Samantha and Abella. It was clear that he was much less pleased to see the two women again.
“Señor Bell.” Shaking my hand as well, he smiled tightly, the scar on the side of his face making him look like a monster you would find hiding under your bed.
A banging on the table caught everyone’s attention then and we all turned, watching the ancient man who had slammed the cup down repeatedly. He seemed as if he would topple over at any minute, his hand shaking slightly as he placed his cup on the table top. Balding, with white hair patches, he could have used the wig I refused to wear. Still, he was dressed in his finest, his voice strong and steady as he addressed the group.
“Thank you all for being on time,” he said smoothly, smiling. “S'il vous plaît, have a seat.”
The room rustled as those who were still standing found a place at the table. Sam and Tristan ended up just beside the old man, while Abella and I claimed seats a few places down.
“For those of you who I have not yet had the honor of becoming acquainted with, please allow me to introduce myself. I am Bevard, the Grand Master of The Order.” Pausing to cough into his handkerchief, he cleared his throat and continued. “You’ve been called here today to help make an account of the past several months and your mission in the Americas. While I was briefed on most of what occurred while I was at the King’s Court this past week, I would ask that you leave nothing out. These are trying times among our Brotherhood and I would wish that we are able to find the roots of corruption on this day and cast them into the fire.”
“Here, here!” One of the men called, raising his flask and drinking from it.
The room shared a chuckle, the seriousness of the situation lifting some, and Bevard
smiled. Then, his attention turning to me, he pursed his lips. “Mark Bell, oui?”
“Yes, sir.”
He nodded, settling into his chair and folding his hands together over his stomach. “Would you tell us how you came to be on Thomas Randall’s ship? From the beginning.”
I told them everything. The words flowed out of me like water, at times seeming impossible to stop. Samantha had been the only other person I’d told the story to in full, and even then, I hadn’t shared each detail the way I did now. Wide eyes watched as I explained Oak Isle, the Treasure Pit, and how I worked on the wreck of Randall’s ship in the future. It was as if the whole room was holding its breath when I told them of the vase and how I had opened it, only to be caught in a sand storm and carried through time.
They heard each Apache name, discovered each pang of loneliness I’d suffered in Mexico City. I told them of Angelica and how I’d run from her, fearing I was falling in love. I explained my fear of changing the future, my decision to finally take my place at sea, the place I knew best because of my university degree in piratical history. I told them of my training in medicine and how I’d worked with the ship doctor, only to be pressed into service by Randall when he attacked us.
Confessing to every murder I’d committed under his rule made me feel sick. There was no judgement in their eyes, though. They understood what choices I’d made and the consequences that had followed. When I finally arrived at the point where Samantha had shown back up in my life, I stopped. It felt like it had been hours. Maybe it had been. Either way, I felt a lightness that I hadn’t before. The air around me was filled with acceptance. For the first time since I’d arrived in Paris, I felt like I was part of the brotherhood again. Looking up from the table, I glanced around, seeing the supportive faces around me. Samantha was smiling sadly, her hand clutched in Tristan’s. Beside me, Abella stared at me with tears in her eyes.
Hidden Away (The Swept Away Saga, Book Three) Page 9