Immortal Hope (25 page)

CHAPTER
19

The halls slumbered as Caradoc wound his way through the maze of corridors, a small plate of eggs and fried ham in one hand. In the other, stiff black coffee, so stout he could stand a spoon in it, sloshed at the lip of a heavy pewter tankard. For a meal, it left much to be desired. For the first breakfast he had enjoyed in a good twenty-five years, it smelled like heaven.

Mikhail’s order to remain at the temple proved nowhere near as confining as he had anticipated. Truth be told, he much preferred the reversion to a normal schedule. Of all the knights, he suspected the nocturnal life bothered him most. For when the sun set, especially this time of year, the air cooled, and the chill set into his bones, making the aches in his body unbearable at times. With daylight, he could bask in the warmth of the sun and imagine rolling fields of heather, the sweetness of a maid’s summer kiss, the ease of a life long gone by.

“Caradoc, a word with you.”

His head snapped up at the gruff bark. His coffee sloshed onto his hand. “Zounds,” he muttered as he hastened to juggle his dishes and shake off the scalding drops. “What is your need, Tane?”

“’Tis a sensitive matter.”

Caradoc nodded at his chamber door. “Let us go inside.”

Tane, in a strange moment of deference, bobbed at the waist before he flung Caradoc’s door wide. “Milord.”

Unimpressed, Caradoc frowned at the younger knight. “What has come over you?”

“It has been many moons since I have had cause to recall my good manners.”

With a harassed sigh, Caradoc slid his plate atop his rickety table and rolled his eyes. “I suppose you would have me simper over your hand and tell you, Sir du Bruiel, ’tis a pleasure to break my fast with you?” He let out a snort. “Enough of this foolishness. Our former status means naught.”

Caradoc looked to his food. He grumbled inwardly, accepting the simple pleasure of a hot morning meal ’twas now forfeit. He drank deeply of his coffee and set the mug down. Easing into his chair, he asked, “What is on your mind, brother?”

For several long moments, Tane said naught. He moved to the opposite seat, sat down with one ankle across his knee, and studied Caradoc as if he had something of great import to relay but could not find the words. Then a blankness settled across his features, an expression that made Caradoc question whether his friend had forgotten his intent. But as hope rose, and he began to believe he might yet enjoy his morning meal, Tane gave him a crisp nod. His eyes sparked with interest, an earnest gleam that at once set off warning bells inside Caradoc’s head.

His brother was up to no good.

“The maid,” Tane began slowly. “She is not Merrick’s?”

Caradoc’s gut twisted uncomfortably. Something did not sit right in the way Tane’s features hardened. “He would not have brought her to us for our marks, were she his.”

The churning in his gut became a cyclone as Tane’s green eyes lit with fire.

“She belongs to me.”

Every fiber in Caradoc’s body tightened like a rope stretched taut. No good could come of this. Were the maid legitimately Tane’s, brothers would come to blows, for Merrick’s devotion to her defied the simplicity of their shared oath. Should Tane be wrong, the zealot’s gleam in his eyes warned Caradoc he would not surrender easily. Choosing his words with care, he asked, “You know this how? Have you seen her mark for yourself?”

“I was shown it in sleep. ’Tis a half-moon scar, to match the mark left on my arm by a scoundrel’s blade.”

The bells of warning in Caradoc’s mind screamed like angry horns. Through the passing of years too many to count, not once had Tane mentioned a gift of foresight or prophecy through dreams. ’Twas highly unlikely such would set upon him now. More plausible, Tane’s recent tendency to create excuses for the things he desired, and justify the reasons he should possess them, drove this declaration.

Yet to insinuate such would stain his brother’s honor. A taint Tane would seek to amend through blades. And Caradoc had no desire to fight a man who could not control the effect of darkness on his soul. Best to end this discussion quickly. Bring it to Merrick’s, if not Mikhail’s, immediate attention.

“Mayhap you should disclose this to Lady Anne? Allow her to confirm your … knowledge?”

“Aye. ’Tis my intent. I wished to share my news and seek your aid should Merrick refuse to see the undeniable proof.”

Ah. Tane sought an ally. A second, should the maid bring brothers to blows. Caradoc shook his head. “I will take neither side, old friend.” As Tane’s features clouded with anger, Caradoc hurried to add, “I expect Merrick shall honor what is intended.”

“You do not think he will deny me what is rightfully mine?”

Caradoc leveled his friend with a dark frown. “You ask that of Merrick? He who was denied his birthright? Do not shame him, Tane.”

With a sharp draw of air, Tane rose to his feet, his mouth pinched into a tight line. “Very well. Good day, Caradoc.”

Caradoc watched the younger knight leave through a narrowed gaze. Aye, Azazel’s darkness worked its vile magic through his brother’s blood. ’Twas time to speak to Mikhail.

*   *   *

Inside her closet, Anne stared at her clothes. A woman could learn a lot from what a man picked out for her to wear, and judging from what Merrick brought back from her house, he despised jeans. Not one single pair of denim, dress slacks, or casual pants came home with him. Instead, he chose every one of her long skirts. Floral prints, plaids, and plain, everything she owned that hung at least calf length. The guy evidently liked his women covered below the waist.

Not so much above the waist, however, she observed as she fingered a long-sleeved sweater. Though she’d had dozens of plain tops suitable for the classroom, Merrick chose the softer fabrics, like the lightweight cashmere Sophie gave her last Christmas. He packed nothing with a plain neckline and seemingly went for everything with a V-neck. None of her warm turtlenecks made the cut, none of her cable-knit sweaters. Things she’d call delicate, although she’d never really considered them that way before.

More feminine.

Anne smiled. He’d given her the ammunition. All she needed to do was find the right combination.

She plucked a navy blue sweater off the hanger and sifted through her skirts, settling on white. A thick band of navy wound around the hem, then blended in to a pattern of flowers that spanned the fabric to the tops of her calves, before graduating into plain white that hugged her waist and hips. It matched her more comfortable black boots.

Changing quickly, she ran a brush through her hair and chose to leave it loose. The only nonessential Merrick brought from her bathroom was a tube of lip gloss, and she smeared some on her lips. With one last look in the mirror, she headed for her door.

Halfway across the sitting room, her nerves kicked in. What if she made an ass out of herself? What if this plan failed miserably, and Merrick laughed at her? Worse, what if on her way to his room, she ran into those creeps from yesterday?

Damn, if she were smart, she’d sit here until Merrick came for her. But no. She’d wasted enough time hoping Merrick would come around. She had to get to the inner sanctum with enough time to really study whatever was down there.

Steeling herself, she swallowed down the rising butterflies and yanked her door open. She’d never been afraid of her shadow before, and she didn’t intend to turn into a timid mouse because four men didn’t know how to behave. Surely, the rest of them knew self-control, and Farran couldn’t be the only man around who’d answer a shrill,
help
!

Merrick, on the other hand, wasn’t apt to be so agreeable to her logic.

She chuckled. Tough. This was her day to be in control. Not his.

With a deep breath to chase off the last of her jitters, she descended the stairs.

As she passed the common room, a handful of men whipped around so fast she had to stifle a giggle. They stared as if they’d never seen her before, and as she acknowledged them with a gracious smile, Anne noticed the odd band of crimson on each man’s left arm. When she turned for the stairs that led to the stone works below, the clatter of steel brought her up short. She glanced over her shoulder to find all five of them bent on one knee, their swords on the ground in front of a flattened foot. Heads bent, they watched through the tops of their eyes.

Shit. Now what?

“Ah—” Her confident smile wavered. “I think I already said this. That’s not necessary.” She edged closer to the stairs. “So. Um. Get up?” When they didn’t lift so much as a finger, she wrinkled her nose and took another step toward the stairwell. Trying again, she pulled the words she’d used before from the recesses of her mind. “God bless you, if you must fight.”

She waited half a heartbeat before the man on the farthest end reached for his sword. Anne didn’t hang around to see if the others followed. She spun and bolted down the stairs. That nonsense had to stop. One way or the other. If she had to send all of them a handwritten message they could carry in their damn pockets, she’d never face another bended knee again.

Though the encounter managed to erase her worries about Merrick. She continued down the hall, lost in thought, jarred only to the present when her ankle smacked into something hard. Glancing down, Anne found another pristine white surcoat folded on the ground. The crimson bars of the Templar insignia reached out along the sides, but otherwise the cross was concealed. Once more, a rather plain broadsword lay atop the stack.

She lifted her gaze and scanned the hall, noting another bundle well beyond Merrick’s door. Evidently, Mikhail didn’t care about his knights’ discretions. She couldn’t blame him. The vow was minor to begin with, but after a thousand years, if he’d punished everyone who felt the urge to scratch an itch, his holy army would be rather impotent.

With a lift of her skirt’s hem, she stepped over the bundle and continued on to Merrick’s door. There, she stood motionless, her hand poised to knock. This was it. Her future lay in her success. She must remember to maintain her cool.

Deciding knocking would take away some of her desired impact, she turned the handle and let herself in. Her eyes widened as she sucked back a squeak of surprise.

Merrick lay sprawled out on the bed, one bare thigh poking from a tangled mess of covers. Thick arms folded over his pillow with his nose tucked against his bicep. She swallowed hard as her gaze traveled across the broad expanse of his shoulder blades, down to his trim waist, and rested on his covered buttocks. Dear God, he slept in the nude.

Oh, this was such a bad idea.

She’d never considered that he might sleep naked. Her pulse now chaotic, she backed up, intending to return to the hall and knock. Only, she tripped over something on the floor, and stumbled into his table. A wooden candlestick toppled, dropped to the floor, and rolled toward Merrick’s bed.

Cringing, Anne stood motionless. Dread rolled around in her belly, tightening it into a hard lump as she realized just how stupid her idea had been. He was going to be seriously pissed. She’d left her room alone, woke him up rudely, and the man wasn’t even dressed. Crap,
crap
!

The bed creaked, and she peeked through her lashes. Merrick had turned his face the opposite direction, bent his knee. Otherwise, he hadn’t moved. Expelling a long breath of relief, Anne glanced around the room, noticing for the first time the state of disarray. Clothes everywhere. Overturned furniture. His rumpled bed. What in the world?

“God’s teeth, what are you doing here?”

Anne flinched at the sound of Merrick’s harsh voice. Her gaze jerked back to the bed to find him on lifted elbows, his scowl as dark as night.

Searching for courage she didn’t feel, she forced a smile to her face. “Good morning.” She paused only long enough to swallow, then continued, determined to ignore the way her insides resembled Jell-O. “We didn’t get anything accomplished on this matched mark thing yesterday. I wanted to get an early start.”

He arched one eyebrow and eyed her with contempt. “You invade my chambers to tell me ’tis time to play matchmaker?”

Anne’s determination surfaced when she was confronted by his usual surly attitude. He would not intimidate her, no matter how he tried. If he really thought a bit of grumpiness would dissuade her, he had a heck of a lot to learn, especially when she had so much at stake. She stepped deeper into his room, bent over, and picked a half-folded shirt off the floor. With a merry smirk, she tossed it in his face. “Get up. We have work to do.”

“Nay.” He tossed the shirt back on the floor and flopped back onto the bed. “Leave me.”

Anne sensed opportunity, and like a falcon diving for its prey, she swept in to goad him into action. “Listen, big guy, it’s not my fault you went to bed hard and miserable. Whatever tantrum you had in here, get over it.”

His expression darkened as he slowly lifted to one elbow, exposing the glorious expanse of muscle that was his chest. Her belly fluttered, the sudden urge to crawl into that bed tugging at her senses. She glanced away, focusing on the window. If she’d learned one thing, it was that throwing herself at Merrick accomplished nothing.

“Woman, you test my patience.”

“And you test mine,” she shot back. A wave of satisfaction rolled through her as his glower deepened even more. The other thing she’d learned about this man—when he was angry, he was far more prone to action. “I want to find my intended. Today.”

*   *   *

Merrick could not decide which he found more infuriating—the fact Anne rudely awakened him, or that she had done so when she looked more beautiful than ever.

The early morning sunlight set sparks to life within her long auburn tresses. Washed, she must have brushed her hair a thousand strokes or more, for the thick lengths shimmered like spun silk as they cascaded down her back to peek beneath her elbows. A lock tumbled over her shoulder, followed her sweater’s deep neckline and curled across the swell of one creamy breast. The sweater itself, although simple, looked as soft as a cloud, and he knew the skin beneath resembled satin. Her simple skirt accentuated the full flare of her hips, then dropped in loose lengths to swirl about her ankles.