Knowing her boss’s affection for the melodramatic, Sara added, “Just think, Mr. Smith, you may be the one man who can save the world.”
He preened. “Well, in that case…”
* * * *
Baylor took a sip of Dom champagne and looked over at the girl whose hands were still bound to his headboard and whose legs were splayed and shackled to the bedposts. He slapped her nipples lightly with the leather strap he held causing her to squirm and arch her back.
“More,” she murmured.
He laughed and brought the small whip over her body and watched her body tense in anticipation of the sting. It excited him to see the buds tighten and to know she enjoyed the painful pleasure. He flicked the whip in empty air.
“I think I’ll make you wait,” he said and took another drink. Then he leaned back against the headboard. “I knew you would be good for me, Morgan,” he said and lifted the manuscript from the bedside table. “Now that I have this, it’s just a matter of time until the Power is mine.” He rubbed the whip between her spread legs. “Tell me, did the warlock get to enjoy your cunt when you distracted him so nicely for me?”
Morgan’s lips set in a thin line. “No.”
“Too bad,” Baylor said and with a quick turn of his wrist brought the whip down on her clitoris. Morgan writhed and tried to lift her hips. “But rest assured, little witch, that when the Hallows are mine, you will have to the power to do anything you want to him. Anything at all.” He brought the strap down on his own cock to give her an idea of what he meant and she smiled.
“I’ll look forward to that,” she said as her eyes took on a feral look.
“Then would you like to thank me in advance?” he asked as he reached over and undid the fetters on her hands.
“Yes, Master,” she said as he released her legs.
“Then you know what to do.”
She gave him a coy look and licked her lips before she turned around and dropped to her hands and knees.
He grabbed hold of her hips and drove himself into her anus, loving both the feel of the rigid canal and her stifled scream of pain. Ah, yes. Taking a woman in the ass really let her know who was boss.
And soon, the world would know who was boss too.
* * * *
Sara glanced at Lucas covertly from the side of her eye later that afternoon. He was researching on Mr. Smith’s computer while she sat in the comfortable chair in front of the desk, the Templar shield propped up beside her. His tawny hair just brushed the collar of his shirt and his face in profile highlighted the straight nose, strong jaw and full lips. She remembered how passionate his kiss had been and how she loved the taste of him and sighed. They had a job to do and precious little time to do it in. But where to look next?
She spread a deck of Arthurian Tarot cards across the desk. The deck was done by a woman named Anna-Marie Ferguson and Sara had been using them in place of the traditional Rider-Waite deck for several years. Maybe they would hold a clue since the Hallows were ingrained in the Grail legend.
She picked up the Ace of Spears card labeled “The Grail Lance”. “Before the Christians associated this with the spear of Longinus,” she said, “it was believed to have been the Celtic Spear of Redemption.”
Lucas nodded although he didn’t look up. “The Tuatha de Danann Hallow. We knew that.”
“But,” she said as she picked up the Major Arcana Sun card, “it was also known as the Spear of Lugh. The Sun God.”
Lucas’ hand stilled and he turned to look at her. “Yes?”
“The sun represents consciousness just as the moon does the subconscious. As the sun rises, its warmth increases, just like Gawain’s strength increased until the sun reached it zenith.” She smiled. “It’s an interesting contrast. The spear represents the element of air, something which you can’t see. Intuition, inspiration to create…” She broke off and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, Lucas was still watching her, an odd expression on his face.
“I think we have to use logic here as well as intuition. We already think that “dawn’s gate” is east because the sun rises there. And if the spear is the ancient Sun God’s, that would make sense. And we know, esoterically, that east represents birth or inspiration.” She paused. “How far south could Sinclair’s men have gone?”
If he were surprised by the change of subject, he didn’t show it. “They discovered America,” he said. “There’s no reason to think they wouldn’t have followed the coast south to see how far it would go.”
“Exactly. And where were the first settlements in America?”
“I’m Scottish, remember?” Lucas said with a smile.
For a moment Sara lost herself in his whiskey-colored eyes and then let her gaze center on his full, sensual mouth curved up, revealing strong, white teeth. Teeth that could become fangs, she reminded herself sternly. Damn. She forced herself to refocus.
“The first settlement was St. Augustine in 1565,” Sara said, “although there had been a couple of attempts before that. Then in 1584, Roanoke colony was established although it didn’t last long. If the Sinclairs moved the Hallows because of the Scottish Inquisition, which didn’t begin until 1590, either of those two locations might be a possibility. They were already here.”
She fingered the cards and picked up the Queen of Spears. Dindrane. “How appropriate that she would be its queen,” Sara said softly, “for it was she who led Galahad aboard the ship that took the Grail to Sarras.”
“I remember that,” Lucas said.
“What?”
“I mean, I remember reading something about that legend.” Lucas stood and came around to her side of the desk. “But don’t forget the possibility that the manuscript may have been written much later, perhaps only fifty years ago.”
Sara rubbed her temples. “Don’t overwhelm me. Let’s go with my theory first. It’s a place to start.”
“Once we’re there, where would we look?”
“Somewhere where there are both roses and oak trees, according to the verse.”
“Gardens maybe? There must be hundreds of them.”
She looked up at him. “It must be some place where there is a balance of power between the male and the female. That’s what the oak and the rose symbolize. Where could we find that?”
Lucas frowned. “If we were in Europe, I would say old churches. The cathedrals that the Templars built always included pagan feminine symbols while supposedly supporting the male-dominated Roman church. Here, I don’t know.”
“Churches might be a good place to start then.” She smiled suddenly. “Baylor probably wouldn’t think of looking there.”
Lucas paused. “Even if he did, it’s one place Baylor couldn’t look.”
* * * *
Sara hated keeping secrets from Michael or from Brianna, but how could she tell them that Lucas was a shape shifter? And that, Goddess help her, she was in love with him? But at least now she understood his elusiveness. Lovemaking wasn’t exactly the time anyone was the most rational and if the wolf slipped out…
“I can’t believe that man actually tried to burn you alive!” Brianna said as she set white candles at the quarters of the pentacle rug that took up most of her living room floor. “What did the police say?”
“They’re investigating the death of the two men in the car. Michael gave them a description of Baylor—said he’d passed him as he was coming to my place. He didn’t mention what happened to me.”
Her friend stopped selecting sticks of incense and looked at her in astonishment. “Why on earth not? That demon tried to kill you!”
“What would I say, Bri? That some stranger got it into his head to carry out a witch’s execution out in the middle of nowhere? For what reason? And if I said I knew who he was and that he wanted the manuscript so he could search for the Holy Grail, the media would have a field day with it; that is, if I weren’t sent to John Peter Smith Hospital as a psycho case. And you know how Mr. Smith feels about being dragged into
anything that might include a search of his private vaults.”
“I still think you should have reported it.”
Sara shook her head. “Lucas says the last thing we need is a horde of people searching and digging and snooping.”
“Ah, your Highlander god,” Brianna said, “and why didn’t he get to you sooner?”
If only she could tell her friend that he did. That he had saved her life. “He came as soon as he could,” she said stubbornly. “He had to track Michael from a distance so Baylor wouldn’t think he was being followed.”
“And Michael,” Brianna replied as she set the onyx bowl filled with water in the middle of the pentacle’s inner circle, “how did he let himself get taken? His magick should have been more powerful than that.”
Sara thought again about the illusion of the fiery sword. Sometimes she wondered if Michael did, indeed, have gifts he hadn’t shared with the Circle. “Baylor had a real gun,” she answered, “we were both concentrating on that. No one suspected a drug-laced taser.”
“It drives home my point,” Brianna said. “I know how strong Michael is and from what you’ve told me about Lucas, he sounds like one of those medieval warriors that protected the pilgrims on the Crusades—“
“Templars,” Sara said with a laugh since history had never been Brianna’s thing. Then she sobered remembering the Celtic cross that Lucas wore. The one he had given to Michael…
“Whatever. The thing is if these two alpha males can’t protect you, who can?”
“Brighid.” Sara winked at her friend. “Woman power and all that. Now, are you ready to scry?” Brianna had the gift of Sight and Sara had hoped she could provide some clue as to where they might search.
“I’ll try,” she said as she knelt down by bowl and closed her eyes to meditate.
Sara lit the candles, softly calling the quarters as she moved clockwise around the circle. Then she lit the appropriate incenses—frankincense, sandalwood, honeysuckle and musk—and placed them in their holders. She sank down opposite Brianna.
For long minutes Brianna stared at the still water, eyes glazing. And then it began to stir, sloshing from one side of the bowl to the other. Her friend’s eyes widened, but Sara could not discern what she saw. Which was just as well, considering that she had fainted the night of the new moon ritual when she had seen the Templar warrior overcome by what she now recognized was Baylor.
Brianna reached out her hand and the water stilled. Slowly, she shifted her gaze to Sara. “Wind,” she said, “a storm at sea.”
“A hurricane?”
“I don’t think so,” Brianna answered and shivered. “I felt cold. There was this huge tree in a graveyard that split in two.” She sighed. “I’m sorry. That’s all I Saw.”
The Druid’s tree! And a graveyard. Churches had graveyards. Sara could feel the tiny hairs on her arms begin to rise. They were on the right track after all!
She hugged her friend and they closed the circle, sending the elementals back to their respective homes. “You’ve done more than you know.”
Brianna hugged her back. “Just come back alive, will you?”
* * * *
Baylor hung up the phone in his new hotel room. The man he’d paid to interpret the manuscript had been exterminated. Now all he had to do was place another call to a high-ranking Mid-Eastern official who would allow the news to trickle down to exiled leaders that holy Christian relics would soon be found that, if defiled by members of the True Faith, could yield power for them. That ought to be good for another few rounds of frenzied jihad. He snorted. Mortals were so easy to manipulate.
The phone rang just as he was about to pick it up. Only Caldwell knew he was here. “Yes?”
“She’s alive.”
It took a moment for the words to sink in. How could she be? He’d seen the fire begin to burn before he left. The warlock had been out cold. The Templar, immortal though he was, would have needed at least an hour to heal before he could resume shape. She would have been roasted by then.
“We’re talking about your working partner, I assume?” Caldwell would be calling from his cell and Baylor didn’t want to take the chance on being intercepted.
“Correct. I went by this morning to pick up some papers I’d left.”
On purpose. Baylor had not wanted to draw attention to Caldwell by having him suddenly disappear from Smith’s right after Sara Kincaid’s death.
Damn the witch. She has more lives than her proverbial cat-familiar. And she’s eluded me—ME—twice. Twice! It was a good thing he didn’t believe in self-flagellation. For himself, that is.
“What do you want me to do?” Caldwell asked.
“Nothing.” He could hear the surprised silence at the other end of the phone.
“Could you repeat?”
Baylor sighed. “You heard me. Nothing. She’s not the main concern now that I’ve got the manuscript. The Templar is. He’s the one we have to watch.”
“Got it.”
“Is the GPS still working on the bitch?” Baylor asked.
“Give me a minute.” There was a short pause. “Yeap. I’ve got the blip on my mobile. Still working.”
“Good. Then we can follow them. If they find anything before I can get this damn script figured out, I’ll be there to take it away from Ramsey.”
Caldwell laughed. “I’ll take care of the girl.”
“You do that,” Baylor said as he hung up. Good luck. He suspected Brighid’s divine hand in Sara Kincaid’s charmed life. And if that were true, the bitch would be as powerful as the Templar. Odds Baylor didn’t like.
He needed to screw some woman hard. He thought about Morgan, but he’d left her bloodied yesterday and she’d need time to heal. He didn’t want her ending up in an ER with a mandatory police report filed.
Hell, a street whore would be better anyway. One that would suck his dick and think he was playing games as he put his hands around her throat. And who knows? Depending on how skilled that tongue is, I might just let her live.
Chapter Twelve
The flight to Jacksonville had been uneventful even though Lucas had scoured the airport at both DFW and in Florida when they landed. Even now, as their rental car was headed south along A1A toward St. Augustine, he kept looking in the rear-view mirror.
“Do you really think we’re being followed?” Sara asked.
“After what nearly happened to you, I’m not taking any chances,” Lucas answered and gave her a brief smile.
Why did he have to look so seductive? The smile wasn’t meant to be anything more than reassurance, but she could still taste those full, sensual lips slanted on hers and feel him mouth her breast gently, letting his tongue tease her nipple and then suckling long and hard only to lightly flick the taut nub with the tip of his tongue again, prolonging the delicious agony. If only she could convince him that she was not afraid of his wolf, even if it did emerge.
“You’re being quiet. Penny for your thoughts?” Lucas asked.
She felt herself blush. Probably not a good idea to tell him. “Just looking at the water,” she said as she gazed past him to the turquoise blue of the Atlantic. ‘It’s so much prettier that the water on the Texas Gulf.”
“That’s because this has a sand bottom and the other side is mud.”
“It’s flatter, too,” she said. “The Gulf in Texas always has swells of three to five feet.”
Lucas arched an eyebrow. “It might get choppier soon. Looks like a cloud bank on the horizon.”
She studied it. The clouds did seem unusually dark. “Probably just one of the afternoon tropical thunderstorms that roll through,” she said. “The last week of April is too early for the hurricane season.”
Big drops of rain began to fall as the drove into St. Augustine and Sara took out an umbrella as they pulled up in front of the Cathedral Basilica near the heart of the city.
“Let’s see when this was built,” she said as they walked up and she looked at the cornerstone. “1793
.” She tried not to sound disappointed. “Too late if the Sinclairs came here in the late sixteenth century.”
“This is the present church,” Lucas answered. “It may be on the same spot as the first church was. Let’s check out the cemetery. Your friend did mention graveyards, not the churches themselves.”
Sara brightened. “That’s true. Let’s see if we can find an ancient oak tree and some rosebushes.”
Again, she was disappointed for there were no trees big enough to be even a hundred years old.
The rain increased in intensity as they took cover in the car. Lucas’ wet linen shirt clung to his body, outlining the hard muscles of his shoulders and arms. Sara longed to unbutton his shirt and dry that broad chest with a big, fluffy towel and then move down…Goddess, will I never stop fantasizing? Then she realized Lucas was staring at her own chest. Glancing down, she saw how her wet T-shirt outlined the mounds of her breasts. Her nipples hardened on their own accord, poking at the thin fabric.
Lucas tore his gaze away and cleared his throat. “There are actually three churches that belong to the Basilica,” he said as he quickly picked up the tourist information they had gotten earlier. “Want to check those out?”
“Sure,” she said in a voice that didn’t sound too steady.
The first one they drove past had a modern curved front with lots of glass. “This one is way too new,” Sara said.
They drove to the next one, located on Martin Luther King Avenue. “St. Benedict the Moor,” she read. “Sounds interesting.”
Lucas stopped the car and they braved the weather to make a quick tour of the graveyard, again with no practical results. As they returned to the car, Lucas pointed up.
“That rose window reminds me of the European cathedrals,” he said. ‘One of the earliest ones was at Abbot Suger near Paris in the 1130’s. A century later, when the Templars were established in France, they placed them in Notre Dame, Laon, and Chartres.” He paused. “They always had the windows face west, although later in England, the window in Westminster Abbey faced north and the one in old St. Paul’s cathedral faced east.”
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