Chapter Seven—Clues #2
“So the story goes.”
“Ah, well,” she said, “that story has been passed along in other myths too. Taliesin, the Great Bard, was said to have been given to the sea. There’s even a version of King Arthur gathering boy babies and setting them adrift in order to make sure his incest-begotten son, Mordred, was killed.”
“Arthur would never do such a thing.”
She looked at him, puzzled. He looked so serious. To lighten his mood, she laughed. “Were you there?”
He started and then he smiled. “That would be hard to do, wouldn’t it?” He picked up the check. “Let’s go. I still have things to show you.”
They drove a short way to where the Taunton River emptied into Assonet Bay.
On the east side of the bay, Lucas pointed out a large rock with symbols inscribed in it that were of the same style used in the inscription on the knight’s effigy.
“It’s called Dighton Rock. More mid-1300s,” he said.
“Do you remember Longfellow’s Skeleton in Armor? ”
“That was about a Viking warrior, wasn’t it?”
“Longfellow’s version. The skeleton of a knight in armor really was found here. It was actually preserved until the mid-1840s when a fire destroyed the museum. One more thing,” Lucas said as they drove on.
They stopped in Newport, Rhode Island, near the water and got out. A round tower of gray stone greeted Sara. A series of eight ten-foot-high arches rose from the ground with a floor built across them. The walls of the tower itself were three feet thick.
“What is it?” Sara asked. ‘Who built it?”
Lucas shrugged. “It could have been an early lighthouse. There’s a hearth of sorts in the middle of the floor.
” He pointed to the ledges around the edges.
“There are torch holders there. Maybe it was used as an astronomy center, a solar/lunar indicator.” He squinted up against the sunlight to look at it.
“Some say the Vikings built it. But its design is the same as the Templar churches, round with eight arches.”
“So you think the Templars were here? That the Spear may be here?” She felt a slight shiver begin in her spine. Could they really be that near?
He smiled. “No Spear. The place has been too cleaned out. But the Templars… I think Henry Sinclair was here. He was the guardian of the treasure. The symbolism of the tower is strong. Eight is the number of infinity and the circle never ends. I think he built this to let a future seeker know that the Hallows are eternal and that they are here in the United States.”
“So where do we start to look now?”
Lucas shook his head. “The clue must be in the verse.”
“Where roses climb to heaven…” Sara said.
“Roses are symbolic of the feminine and ancient goddess worship…” She rubbed her temples, sure that another “vision” headache was coming on, and wondered if Lucus would massage her head again like he’d done before.
His touch really was magic. Stop it. Don’t spoil the day with fantasizing about something I can’t have. Shouldn’t have. Can’t have…Stop it!
He was looking at her strangely. “Are you feeling all right?”
She took a deep breath. “I’m okay. My head’s just spinning with all these thoughts.
The Sinclair tomb at Rosslyn—the Guardian’s tomb, I think you called it—had a Sword and a tall Chalice engraved on its top with the face forward and the rose cross plainly visible.
A rose cross.” Her head felt like it was going to launch itself off her shoulders.
“The rose is also the symbol for Mary Magdalene. Didn’t the Templars dedicate their churches to her? ”
Lucas nodded. “Go on.”
“Well, then. Wouldn’t it make sense to start researching churches in the U.S. that might have been dedicated to Mary Magdalene? How much higher can a rose climb than to become a saint?”
“You may have something there,” Lucas said with a hint of admiration.
Sara nodded. “And Mr. Smith has a vast collection of stuff related to the Magdalene. He got hooked when he read Holy Blood, Holy Grail.” When Lucas raised an eyebrow questioningly, she shrugged.
“My boss has eclectic tastes. This one appealed to him because, as he said, ‘Who else but the Catholic church could pull off casting a woman first as a whore and then making her a saint?’ He even has copies of various paintings done of her. Maybe if we could trace one of them to an actual church here in America or ones that have black Madonnas like they do in Europe—Oh!” She grimaced and rubbed her left temple as the sudden pain struck.
Lucas was beside her in an instant, a steadying arm around her shoulder, the fingers of his other hand already gently stroking her forehead, easing the pressure.
“Aye, lass. The channeling gets to be too much, I ken. Ye just relax now. There’ll be plenty of time to sort through all this once we get back to Texas.”
She listened to the deep rumble of that beautiful brogue. She could keep this platonic. She really could. But just for one small second, she wanted to be closer to him. It would mean nothing really. Really. She laid her head on his shoulder.
“That feels so good.”
For a moment, she felt him hesitate and then he tightened his grip ever so slightly around her shoulders. Just enough to press her breasts softly against his chest.
This was strictly one friend comforting another. That’s all it was. Really.
****
Michael was waiting at the DFW baggage claim when they landed.
The man was getting to be a real pest, Lucas thought as he watched him hug Sara.
The entire flight home he’d warred with himself, remembering the lush fullness of her breasts as he held her and reminding himself that it was as dangerous for her as it was for him to get physically involved.
The wolf could only be kept in check while Lucas controlled his own emotions.
And he’d told her—by the Dagda, he wished they hadn’t been interrupted—that he wouldn’t let that happen again. And he couldn’t.
“I’ll take you home,” Michael said and reached for her bag.
Lucas picked it up first. “That won’t be necessary. I can take her home.”
For a moment, the other man studied him and Lucas got the distinct impression that those dark eyes were delving deeper into his psyche than was necessary.
He brought his shields up with force and the corner of Michael’s mouth quirked up before he turned back to Sara.
There was some kind of invisible power there, but Lucas couldn’t determine if it was for good or bad.
“Brianna had a…an ‘occurrence’ yesterday,” Michael said carefully, and Lucas wondered what kind of code he was speaking in, for Sara immediately alerted to it as his wolf would have done.
“Is she all right?” Sara asked.
Michael looked troubled. “Not sure. You know she sometimes gets spells…” He glanced at Lucas and then back to Sara. “She’ll feel faint and need to rest. But this time, she got sick.”
“You were there?”
He shook his head. “Morgan was with her. She’s the one who called me. Seems like they were having tea.”
Tea? Another code maybe? “Who’s Brianna?” Lucas watched as Sara exchanged a quick glance with Michael.
“My best friend,” Sara answered and reached for the suitcase Lucas was still holding. “I really need to go and see her. I’ll come by the mansion early tomorrow morning and we can start that research.”
Reluctantly, he released the bag. She was obviously in distress.
The last thing he wanted to see was Michael put an arm around her shoulders.
Hell, he’d been comforting her himself just yesterday and it irked him to see another man doing it now.
And he definitely did not like the look of triumph on the guy’s face as they walked away.
Lucas glanced at his wristwatch and then pulled out his cell and dialed Gavin’s number. It would be dark in London by now. The vampire answered on the first ring.
Briefly, he told him what had happened in Nova Scotia and asked him to start the subtle unlayering of protection that Balor always kept around him.
Fangs—vampire or wolf—next to the jugular could bring amazing breaches in confidentiality.
He could hear the grin in Gavin’s voice as he responded. Nothing like a good hunt and release.
“Just one more thing,” Lucas added.
“Sure. What?”
“See what you can find on an American named Michael McCain. Let’s make sure he isn’t one of us.”
****
“You’re sure you’re okay?” Sara asked. Brianna’s face was still pale and, although normally energetic, she was propped up in a recliner in her home.
“I think so,” Brianna answered. “I guess the Sight was a little too strong this time.” She shivered a little.
Sara leaned forward from the sofa. “You’re sure the warrior you saw was wearing an eye patch?”
Brianna pulled the cardigan she was wearing closer, although the room wasn’t cold. “Yes. Dressed in black. Lightning bolts everywhere.”
“The same image I saw in the cup,” Sara said softly and sat back. Who was the man? She recalled seeing someone like him—he looked like a pirate—at the auction. Could it be the same one? And why was he dressed as a medieval warrior?
“Tell her the rest,” Michael urged.
“There’s more?”
Brianna looked decidedly uncomfortable. “Sometimes the visions are just symbolic, like the Tarot cards.”
“And sometimes they’re not.” Sara wasn’t blessed—or cursed—with the Sight, but she knew the strong threads of truth that were woven with her own intuition. And she remembered the unusual scrying at the full moon. If this image had come to two different people, it was important. “Tell me.”
“You were in it.” Her friend’s voice dropped almost to a whisper as if she were afraid someone was listening.
“Your hair was cut short, and you were tied to a stake. There were wood faggots all around you and the man—Goddess, I can still smell the evil stench!—was crackling that lightning all around you, playing with the bolts, taunting you with setting the kindling on fire.”