Chapter Eight—Theories
When Sara arrived at the mansion the next morning, Lucas was already working at the computer in the study.
Sunlight streaming in the window caught strands of tawny hair that dipped just past his collar and turned the hair to molten gold.
The bronze tone of his skin made her think of a golden god again as she stepped through the doorway.
He looked up at the sound of the door closing. “I’ve been Googling for churches of Mary Magdalene,” he said as he rubbed his neck. “There are thousands of links about her, but very few churches are actually named after her in America.”
Sara peered over his shoulder at what he’d written on a notepad, trying not to let his clean, soap-and-leather male scent make her take leave of her own senses again.
It took most of her will power not to finger the gold chain that was visible above his collar and pull the cross out. But her questions would have to wait.
“Mary Magdalene Church of Divine Gnosis,” she read. “That sounds interesting.”
“It’s on-line,” Lucas answered. “Hard to hide a Spear in cyberspace.”
“What about this one?” she pointed to another entry, every nerve fiber aware of his closeness.
“It’s an Orthodox mission church,” he replied. “They have temporary quarters in a Knights of Columbus hall in Fenton, Michigan. Again, not established enough for a Spear to be hidden.”
She looked at the rest of the short list. Nothing on the East Coast that would indicate a “dawn” setting. Then she remembered something. “Let me have the keyboard,” she said.
Lucas stood, letting her have the chair. He leaned over, one hand braced on either side of the armrests, his warm breath tickling her ear. How was she supposed to concentrate like this? Sara just hoped her hands wouldn’t shake. She Googled “Black Madonna.”
“More Gnostic information,” he commented as she scrolled down. “And a whole lot of New Age stuff too. Where are you going with this?”
She shook her head as she added “Churches” to the search. “Black Madonnas are scattered all over Europe, especially France,” she said, “and they always relate to Mary Magdalene. I’m checking to see if there are any in the United States.”
“Try that one,” he said as he pointed to a link.
It turned up two statues. One was a shrine in Missouri built in 1938 and the other was dedicated to Our Lady of Czestochowa in Doylestown, Pennsylvania.
Sara felt a rush of excitement as she read the article and then realized that the building had been dedicated in 1958.
“It’s too new,” she said dejectedly. “For the verse to make any sense, the building would have had to exist at least a hundred years or so.”
“Or the plans for it would have needed to be known,” Lucas added. “It took Sinclair five years to plan Rosslyn and over forty to build it.”
Sara clicked off on the computer. “I may have been wrong,” she said with even more despondency. “If the manuscript was written in the sixteenth century, how many buildings over here are three hundred years old? This isn’t Europe.”
Lucas massaged her shoulders, rubbing the tight spot near the right side of her nape. “Don’t get discouraged. I have a feeling that whoever brought the Hallows over here was perhaps more gifted than an ordinary person.”
She tilted her head, giving him more access to her neck.
Talk about gifted and not ordinary. Goddess, how did Lucas know that spot always tensed up when she got stressed?
His hands were pure magic, but the warmth that was flowing to other parts of her body were casting a different kind of spell.
One that made her want to tug his hands down to knead her breasts while she ravaged his mouth.
Or opened his zipper and wrapped her hands around him…
“How’s that? Feel better?” As if he read her thoughts, he stepped back.
Reality check. He wants to keep this platonic. Get a grip. “Yes, thanks.” She tried to keep her voice calm as if she received massages from men who looked like golden gods every day. “What did you mean that the person was more gifted?”
Lucas moved to a chair near her and sat down. “What I meant was that Sinclair would not have given the Hallows into the care of someone who didn’t have some kind of extra protection.”
“You’re talking beyond guns and swords and guards?”
Lucas nodded. “A carrier of one of the Hallows more than likely traveled alone and dressed simply so as not to attract unnecessary attention. If the person were “warded” in some special way, why couldn’t that person also be shown where to put the treasure and guided to write the code words in the manuscript? ”
She felt goose bumps rising at the thought. “That’s a lot of what-ifs,” she said.
“Maybe.” He shrugged. “Rosslyn wasn’t built for the Christians, as you know. Perhaps a priestess of Brighid was granted special Sight.”
Sara felt a distinct nudge in her mind and she looked sharply at Lucas.
Did he have any idea that she worshipped the Goddess?
And that her own intuition still told her the Spear was somewhere in the Northeast?
But his expression was bland as he met her look.
“So you think that this…priestess…would know that two or three hundred years later a building would be placed in a significant location and point the way to a Hallow?”
“Is that really so unusual? Prophecies have been made from beyond Time. Look at Nostradamus.” He smiled a little. “And the Spear was probably the last to be buried.”
“Why?”
“It was the one Hallow most seen,” Lucas answered. “Excalibur, the Grail, and the dish from the Round Table all disappeared after Arthur’s death. The Spear did, too, but it somehow resurfaced.”
“How do you know all this?” Sara asked.
For a moment he hesitated, his eyes darkening to brandy color. Then he pointed at the computer. “Research,” he said. “It’s all there if you look hard enough.”
“So tell me.”
“You know the legend says that the Spear will fly straight and true and never turn against its holder?” When she nodded, he added, “Did you also know that it was once the Spear of the Sun god, Lugh?” She nodded again and he gave her a strange look.
“Well,” he continued, “legend has it that the god chose to become human and wield his Spear for the good of mankind, but in the transformation, it was lost to him. It surfaced with Herod the Great. Lancelot carried it for Arthur. It found its way to Helena, mother of Constantine. Charlemagne led his people with it, and then it disappeared, to be recovered during the First Crusade.”
“By the Templars?”
He nodded. “Some say it was the first thing they discovered.” He paused with his eyes closed, his hand clenching as though he were holding the Spear himself. Then he gave himself a shake and looked at Sara. “We must find it before Baylor does, since the power works for whoever owns it.”
“But it has other powers too, doesn’t it?” Sara asked.
Lucas looked wary. “Like what?”
This was as good a place as any to plunge in. To give him a hint of what she was. She wasn’t sure why she wanted to. It was more of a feeling that he needed to know.
“I’ve done some arcane studies,” she said and shifted a little in her chair as Lucas’s gaze intensified.
“As part of my degrees in ancient and medieval history. In Earth’s beginning, Fire met primal Ice, and then came Wind, bearing the Wisdom that would allow the elements to co-exist, but itself unknown. ”
Lucas looked fascinated. Which was more than she could say for 99% of her students when she taught the course.
“Wind also tore at the World Tree, Yggdrasil, and fashioned a Spear from one of its branches. So the Spear is symbolic of wisdom, insight, and inspiration. The Spear of Lugh lights the way to that wisdom just like the sun lights the day.” She stopped, surprised that Lucas’s eyes hadn’t glazed over.
Her students would probably have been asleep by now.
But a brightness shone in his eyes that made her think of the sun itself blazing through them. And he looked tense, like an animal about to spring. She could almost see him brandishing the Spear. A mighty Highland warrior, bare-chested, biceps flexing as he hoisted the weapon overhead…
“I…never thought of it like that,” he finally said.
She pushed the image of that powerful body out of her mind and started to continue when his cell phone rang. With a look of annoyance he answered it. Then the look was replaced with a scowl and a soft curse. He looked over at her as he disconnected.
“I’ve been called back to Scotland,” he said.
****
What an absolutely rotten, stinking time to be called back to Scotland Yard.
An old professor had been murdered and Balor was more than likely stalking them.
He was pretty sure he had been lured out that night in Halifax, and he had his suspicions about this recall too.
Not that he thought Commander Nolan could be influenced even by Balor.
Lucas hadn’t met a man more honorable or dedicated to his work since Arthur’s time, but it seemed strange that security had somehow been breached in the museum that held the still unclassified artifacts from his last dig.
And Lucas was the one who had done the official inventory.
He thought about Sara as he settled into the business class seating of a Boeing 737, where he could stretch out his long legs.
It was madness, he knew, to keep finding excuses to touch her.
Hell, how could he make himself so hard just by massaging her neck?
The glimpse over her head at the computer revealed the tops of rounded breasts and he’d fought the urge to lean down and give her an upside-down kiss.
He had barely contained the wolf as she arched and bared her neck to him.
And yet, he realized, the wolf’s low growl in anticipation of the bite had not happened. But he couldn’t trust the beast.