Chapter Three—The Riddle #2
Now he was questioning her? First he made it sound like the Apocalypse was headed their way, and now he had time to wait? “I thought we needed to save the world before something evil destroyed it.” She softened the tartness in her tone with a small smile.
He didn’t return it. “Don’t even jest, Sara. It’s too close to truth.”
She stopped herself from rolling her eyes. What could a document written in middle-Gaelic say that would have such an impact? She wondered if he were trying to go all The Da Vinci Code on her with his grim predictions of news that would shake the world. Well, she’d soon find out.
“Come,” she said and then, as the corner of his mouth quirked up, she realized how that had sounded and felt herself grow warm. “I’d like to,” his eyes said, and heat blazed through her. Damn, but he was unsettling.
Sara ignored the look and led the way to the library, closing the door behind them but not locking it. She didn’t need to be giving this hot little fantasy of hers any more ideas. She pulled the envelope out from behind the book and handed it to him.
He sat down at a small desk and spread the papers in front of him and began reading.
Sara sat down on the sofa near the desk and watched him.
He was as tense as a mountain cat ready to spring.
The fingers of his large, strong hands flexed and stretched on the table as he read, reminding her of a big cat retracting its claws.
He raised an eyebrow from time to time, and on occasions he frowned, but he didn’t look up.
It was nearly lunchtime when he finally gathered the documents and put them carefully inside the envelope. He sat back and rubbed his eyes.
“Well?” Sara was about to burst from curiosity. He started and she wondered if he’d forgotten that she was there. She had hardly moved a muscle for nearly three hours, and not spoken a word.
“It’s as I suspected,” he said. “The Sacred Hallows are in the United States. I have to find them.”
“Hallows?” she repeated, her mind running a rapid data search through Celtic history. “Are you speaking of the ancient Hallows of the Tuatha de Danaan?”
Lucas looked surprised. “You’re familiar with them?”
How much to tell him? That the Tuatha de Danaan were the people of the Goddess?
When she had told the second important man in her life—the one after the crook and before the adulterer—that she practiced the Old Ways of Brighid, he had called her a witch—not the good kind—and accused her of bewitching him.
Blessed be. As if that were the way the Goddess worked.
He’d also tried to sully her reputation and nearly ruined her business. She’d best err with caution this time.
“The Celts, their culture and religion, have been an interest of mine. Kincaid is an Irish name. I’ve done some research.”
“And?”
“The Spear of Lugh always flies true. The Sword of Nuada protects its bearer. The Dish represents the Round Table and makes men equal, and The Cup of the Dagda provides healing.” No need to divulge the inner truths about the Hallows. Not yet.
“Can you imagine what power a corrupt and evil man might have if he were to possess all four?” Lucas asked softly.
“There’s plenty of corruption as it is,” Sara answered. “From terrorists to heads of business and government.”
“And that corruption would endure for eternity, multiplying itself.”
“So what does the manuscript say should be done?”
He studied her as though assessing how much he should tell her.
And that irritated her. It still seemed a little melodramatic to her that Fate hinged on an anonymous source, but if the Hallows really did exist, there was more than one way to save the world.
The inner, hidden path of the Goddess was subtle, but stronger than the outward path of men.
She leaned forward. “I risked my life for that document. I want to know what it says. All of what it says. Now.”
For what seemed like an impossible amount of time, he said nothing as he continued to appraise her, his amber eyes penetrating hers. She forced herself to hold his gaze and not drop hers to that full sensual lower lip he was worrying with his very white teeth. Then, finally, he nodded.
“It’s hard to know where to start.”
“The beginning would be good.”
“Are you familiar with the history of the Knights Templar?”
She stared at him. Like who wasn’t? There’d been enough books out about them recently.
“Well, let’s see,” she said. “There were nine Frenchmen who made the trip to Jerusalem, supposedly to make the path for pilgrimages safer. Only, for years, they never left the site of Solomon’s Temple nor did they increase their numbers.
They did some excavating. When Acre fell, they escaped the area, carrying whatever treasure they’d found, and managed to make themselves rich by establishing banking in Europe. How’s that?”
The corner of his mouth quirked up. “In a nutshell, pretty good. And you’re aware of the Inquisition that nearly destroyed them?”
Sara nodded. “The French king, Philippe, owed them a lot of money. To pay his debt would have weakened France and put his kingship in jeopardy. But the Templars owed allegiance to no one except the Pope. Fortunately for Philippe, Clement the Fifth was weak and easily convinced that the knights were really heretics trying to bring down the Church. There were mass arrests made on October 13, 1307. A Friday. That’s why we’re superstitious about Friday the thirteenth. ”
Lucas tilted his head. “I’m impressed. What else do you know?”
She tried to ignore his hooded look. “I hope my little history lesson has something to do with what you just read?”
“It does. Please continue.”
“Their treasure—Solomon’s treasure—was never found.
The banks had been emptied prior to the raid.
Supposedly they had been tipped off and had ships waiting at La Rochelle and Le Havre.
But the ships were never found either. An interesting story.
” She became aware that he was watching her mouth as she talked and her breath caught.
“What does it have to do with the manuscript?”
“Do you know anything else about the Templars?”
She was getting exasperated. How could the man be so sexy and stay so focused? And why couldn’t she? Stay focused, that is. Sara took a deep breath. “Only that some of the Templars supposedly made it to England and Scotland and were given refuge.”
“’Tis true. ’Twas a secret squadron of them that helped the Bruce take Bannockburn.
It was on the orders of the Bruce himself that Commander Randolph held back his contingent until Edward’s men felt sure the victory was theirs and let down their guard.
Aye, it was grand, the Brits tripping over themselves to flee in the face of the red crosses.
The fact was, the Bruce’s spearmen could fair walk across the burn without getting their feet wet, thanks to Edward’s dead men. ”
Sara narrowed her eyes. “You make it sound like you were there. How do you know all of this?”
His golden eyes widened and then he grinned. “I’m a Scot. ’Twas the fodder of childhood stories. When Scotland had its own king.”
“Would you please get to the point?” Her patience was beginning to wear thin.
He stood and stretched, and Sara tried not to notice that the polo shirt he was wearing this morning stretched tight across his chest and revealed bulging biceps.
A fine gold chain around his neck dipped into the vee of his shirt and she wondered what hung at the end of it.
It was enticing to look at and her hand itched to reach inside his shirt and pull it free.
He came around the desk to sit next to her on the couch, one khaki-covered thigh brushing hers slightly. Damn, there was that heat again, sizzling its way to her very core. A slow pulsing began between her thighs, and her breathing shallowed.
His amber eyes fixed on her mouth and, for a crazy moment, she thought he was going to kiss her. Wanted him to. No, she didn’t. She needed some space. She shifted away from him slightly. If he noticed, he didn’t say.
“Will you please go on?” Goddess! Even her voice was raspy. “What does Bannockburn have to do with the document?”
“It’s Commander Sinclair, actually,” Lucas said. “Henri Sinclair inherited the Earl of Orkney title, and it was in those northern islands that the Templar ships landed.”
“Along with their treasure?”
“So it’s told in Gaelic lore. In 1398, Henri sailed a well-armed ship across the Atlantic to a place he called New Scotland…Nova Scotia. The legends say that ship carried Solomon’s treasure with it.”
“But wait… That would have been nearly a hundred years before America was even discovered!”
Lucas shrugged. “In 1434 a map was produced that matches parts of what is now Massachusetts, well before Columbus made his trip. Anyway, the Sinclairs had also received the barony of Roslin, and as peace began to become a reality, another descendent, William, was appointed Hereditary Patron and Protector of Scottish Masons.”
Sara rubbed her forehead. “I’m beginning to get a headache. And the Masons were Templars?”
“Not directly. But Sinclair was. And the Templars were always and forever guardians of the Treasure…and especially, of the Hallows.”
She groaned a little. For a man who was so powerfully built and virile, Lucas really could wind around a tale like an ancient bard. “Are we actually speaking of the Holy Grail?”
“Bear with me. It’s a long story.” As she winced, he lowered her hands and began tracing small circles on her temples with his thumbs.
She was amazed at how surprisingly gentle his touch was. Not only did the pain slip away, but her shoulders relaxed and the tightness in her neck disappeared. She closed her eyes.
“That’s it.” His voice soothed like warm honey mixed with bourbon. “Let go. I need for you to understand what I’m about to say.”