Chapter Three—The Riddle #3
His fingertips massaged her scalp lightly, alleviating the last bit of tension and impatience. She could have stayed cradled in his hands forever. Reluctantly she opened her eyes to find him gazing at her intently.
“Ready to go on?” he asked.
She was more ready to go on than he knew. But he hadn’t meant that. Lucas was all scholarly at the moment. Inwardly, she sighed. “Yes.”
“There had always been a Templar centre at Ballantradoch—Roslin—but with Master masons at his disposal, William began building a chapel with plans for a grand cathedral to keep the Church happy. Or so it was told.”
Sara knit her eyebrows together. “You’re saying that the cathedral was never meant to be?”
Lucas shrugged. “Perhaps. But the chapel was built for a definite purpose, one that wasn’t particularly Christian.”
She nodded. Any follower of Brighid was aware that Rosslyn Chapel had more pagan symbols than Christian.
There were well over a hundred pictures of the Green Man in the chapel.
One couldn’t get much more pagan that the God of Fertility, sometimes known as Cernunnos or the Horned One.
And on the Goddess path, all things seek balance.
The rose, associated with the Divine Feminine for time beyond Time, was evident in every way, even in the name of the chapel itself.
“I’m familiar with Rosslyn Chapel,” Sara said. “It’s part of the curriculum for a course that I adjunct.”
Lucas sat back and grinned. “You don’t look like a teacher.”
“And what are teachers supposed to look like?”
His grin broadened. “Not like you. But go on.”
Hmmm. If he wanted her version, he was going to get it.
She had visited Rosslyn just two years ago.
“Well, for one thing, the William Sinclair you speak of has a floriated cross on top of his tombstone with eight points—symbolic of the eight years it takes the morning and evening star, Venus, to complete a cycle. The rose at the center of that cross, along with five-pointed stars and pentacles everywhere, conveys the path she took.”
She paused to see if he was keeping up and then wondered if that had been a mistake. His eyes were trained on her like he was a hungry wild beast who’d just found dinner. She cleared her throat.
“Roses are associated with Mary Magdalene. The five petals of the rose also symbolize the five stages of female life. Eros in the Green Man and Venus in Mary Magdalene. The balance of masculine and feminine.”
“I’m impressed,” Lucas said.
For a moment she thought he was being sarcastic. Men often were when she started talking about the real strength of women, but Lucas looked serious, his amber eyes studying hers.
“Go on,” he urged.
“There are also rumors and speculation,” she said, “that a vault that cannot be accessed lies beneath the chapel…that it contains everything from Solomon’s treasure to a manuscript written by Jesus himself. And what it has to say may not be in keeping with Christianity as we know it.”
Lucas smiled. “I think you’ve been reading too many recent bestsellers.”
“Maybe. I said it was speculation. I’m sure it’s good for tourism, at any rate.” She let her eyes slide to the envelope. “But there is another rumor about the Holy Grail being embedded in the Apprentice Pillar.”
“I wish it were so simple,” Lucas answered with a sigh.
“Then we wouldn’t have to worry about the wrong people getting hold of it.
William didn’t complete the chapel. His son, Oliver, did and set sail to Nova Scotia to bring back whatever had been taken there earlier.
Perhaps it was the treasure. They wanted the vault to hide something. But the Hallows are no longer there.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Do you know what happened in 1590?”
“That really isn’t my area of expertise…” But thinking further, she said, “Wait. Wasn’t there another witch hunt started? This time in Scotland?”
“Aye, lass. Your knowledge of history is good. There is nothing like mass hysteria to launch a feeding frenzy. Evil reigned. Women were burned because their husbands found themselves impotent. Children were stoned because they might have eyes of different colors. There was no reasoning with the zealous priests who made a mockery of their own church. Anything of real value—like the Hallows—was moved to a place of safety.”
“Nova Scotia?”
“I don’t think so. Or, at least not all of them.
” Lucas motioned toward the papers lying on the desk.
“It seems they were to be separated, hidden in different parts of the New World.
That way, if a Hallow were found, the power would not be compounded four-fold.
The document basically rambles on about exploration in the New World.
And it ends with the words. “Fait accompli. Whatever it was, the mission had been successful.”
“So does the paper offer any clues?”
“Several, but one important one, from what I can tell.” He reached over to the desk and picked up his notes. “On every page, there is a line that doesn’t quite fit in with the rest of its paragraph. I took those lines out and put them together.” He handed her the paper.
“Where roses climb to heaven,
Lugh’s lance will wait,
Near to the Druid’s tree,
Enter dawn’s gate.”
“Does this mean anything to you?” Sara asked.
“Only that it refers to the Spear, obviously.”
Voices sounded in the hall. Sara jumped up and grabbed the envelope. She stuffed it behind the closest book just as the door opened.
“There you are!” Mr. Smith said cheerfully. “I was wondering where the two of you had gone off to. It’s lunchtime!”
Beside him, Al Caldwell was frowning.
Sara took a step back, away from the bookcase, and ran solidly into Lucas.
“Steady there,” he said as he put a hand on her shoulder to balance her.
With his other arm he reached around her to return a book she hadn’t noticed he’d taken.
For a moment she was engulfed in his embrace and she breathed in the scent of him.
His warm breath teased the nape of her neck as he leaned into her to give the book a push.
“Stubborn book,” he murmured against her ear, whetting her appetite for something other than lunch.
Both Mr. Smith and Mr. Caldwell were openly watching them, the visitor with narrowed eyes. Her boss was smirking.
Sara reluctantly stepped away from Lucas. “Perhaps we can finish this discussion…” She looked wildly at the title of the book, Le Morte D’Arthur, that he had just shelved. Pick a character. Quick! “…about, uh, Lancelot later.”
Lucas’s eyebrow arched. “Lancelot? By all means. I think I may know a few stories you haven’t heard.”
It wasn’t until later that she wondered what he’d meant by that.
****
Baylor picked up the phone in his expensive Dallas hotel suite. He’d been waiting all day for this phone call and he didn’t like waiting. Not at all. “Yes?”
“The tracking device is in her purse,” Caldwell said.
“Good. Any problems?”
“Nah. I just was really clumsy and overturned it—”
“I meant, have you been able to locate the document?” Sometimes even his best men seemed daft. Baylor hated not being able to get directly involved himself, but with his eye patch he was too memorable if there were trouble.
“Oh.” Caldwell hesitated. “I haven’t seen it. But Ramsey is here and he spent the entire morning with the girl in the library.”
Baylor growled in frustration. That damn Templar had been a thorn in his side for centuries, fouling up some of his best evil intentions. He often wondered just what gods had created another immortal. In his time, Ramsey had not been on Avalon.
“Do you suppose,” he asked sarcastically, “that they may have been reading the manuscript in there?”
“No doubt,” Caldwell replied somewhat defensively, “but my host—who’s crazy as a loon, if you ask me—stayed with me the whole morning, jabbering on about his stupid swords. I had to actually take notes.”
“Don’t underestimate Mr. Smith,” Baylor said softly. “He’s a wealthy man and didn’t get there by being stupid.”
“No, sir.” Caldwell said promptly. “I did try to get into the library after lunch, but it was locked. I didn’t think it would be good to pick it.”
Baylor sighed. “And why not? It’s one of the things you do, isn’t it?”
“True. But there’s a copy of the document that may be available.”
“Oh?” Baylor reached for his brandy snifter and swirled the contents and sniffed. “Where is it?”
“Some old professor named MacDonald has it. I heard the girl mention it when she cut off Smith. I’ll just put a tail on her when she goes to get it.”
“You do that,” Baylor said, “and soon. If the Templar has already read it, that puts him ahead of us in this race.”
“No problem.”
“And one more thing. Make sure the tail cleans up. I hate messes.”
“Understood.”
Baylor hung up the phone and poured another brandy. “This time, I will win, Templar. I will win.”
****