Chapter Twelve—Revelation #4
Sliding her hand up and down, alternating between soft and hard pressure, she bent and began to slowly lick around his head.
He balled his hands into fists at the sheer pleasure as she gave it more attention.
He lapsed into a brogue. “Aye, lass. I doona ken how much of this I can take.” And groaned as her only answer was to take more of him into her mouth.
Did she really want him to climax this way?
In all his long life, he’d known only one other woman who did.
But what Sara was doing now, alternately swirling her tongue around his shaft and sucking soft and hard on the head, while one hand cupped his balls, was sending him nigh into oblivion.
He’d give her one more chance. He shifted his balance and placed one hand on her head, gently tugging it back.
“I’ll be a happy mon if ye finish pleasuring me with just yer hand.”
Her eyes smiled at him as she sucked hard enough to make deep hollows in her cheeks, and then she tugged at his balls. With a roar, the beast leaped within him and he convulsed, every muscle rigid, as his seed spilled out.
When he opened his eyes, she was lying between his legs, her breasts pressed against his groin, her head on his belly. He stroked her hair.
“Did I hurt you? I felt the beast—”
“Shhh,” she said as wrapped contented arms around his waist. “I felt him, too.”
His hand stilled. “You felt him?”
“Yes.” She sat up and looked at him and a slow smile played across her lips. “Like I said, your big beastie is just a puppy. He likes me.”
He stared at her. Now that he thought of it, the wolf had grown quiet, quite content to sit there and loll at him with a doggy grin.
Maybe his little witch had worked magic after all.
****
It wasn’t until late in the afternoon that they reached the Fort Raleigh National Historic Site near Roanoke.
The mellow feeling of contentment and complete saturation of her senses through Lucas’s sensational lovemaking had stayed with Sara throughout the day, even with the hassle of getting a tow truck out there when the cell phone finally worked again.
And tonight, she had already decided, she’d take that puppy for a real romp.
She grew wet just thinking about Lucas filling her completely.
“There’s lots of marshland and oak stands,” Sara said as they crossed over Albemarle Sound and she looked at the small dots of islands behind the Outer Banks.
They parked the car at the Visitor’s Center and picked up a map and then began walking along the Thomas Hariot Nature Trail.
“The oaks are old enough, anyway, to fit our theory,” Lucas said as he looked up at the Spanish moss hanging from them.
Sara consulted the map. “And there are Elizabethan Gardens! This might be it, Lucas! Oaks and roses!”
They left the trail and entered the gardens through a replica of a Tudor gatehouse.
“How very English!” Sara said as they started down carefully tended paths between flower beds.
She looked down at the brochure. “It says here that the gardens are a memorial to the Lost Colony.” She looked up in disappointment.
“No sixteenth century explorer would have known that roses would be planted here hundreds of years later.”
“Let’s look around anyway,” Lucas suggested, “although if someone actually hid the Spear in the bough of one of these trees, it could take days, if not weeks, to search.”
Sara nodded dejectedly. “And if it were buried, I doubt we could get permission to dig for it.”
Still, they walked, Lucas craning his neck up toward the trees, Sara keeping her eyes on the ground for any kind of mound or stone grouping that might be a marker. Finally, an hour before the park was to close, they turned back.
“Another dead end,” Sara said, “and we don’t know if Baylor is getting any closer than we are.”
“Hey.” Lucas leaned down and gave her forehead a kiss. “Lose that frown. While we’re here, we might as well take in a history lesson and watch the film they offer at the Center.”
As they waited for the film to begin, Sara said, “I didn’t see any really old churches in Manteo that had rose windows. Did you?”
Lucas shook his head. “Too bad we aren’t in Europe. You could have a field day with all the cathedrals.”
An older lady with silvery hair cut short turned around and smiled at them. “I hope I’m not interrupting, but I couldn’t help overhearing. Are you looking for rose windows that are authentic reproductions of the medieval ones?”
“Yes, we are,” Sara answered as she leaned forward. “Do you know of any around here?”
“Here? No. I’m from Maine. But we do have a church in Lewiston, Saints Peter and Paul, that has a rose window modeled on the one from Chartres, France.
In fact, French is still spoken at one mass each week.
The entire cathedral rivals anything I’ve seen in Europe, and I’ve been there several times. ”
As the film began and the lady turned around, the fine hair on Sara’s arms began to rise.
If Lucas was right and the manuscript hadn’t been written until maybe even the twentieth century, what would be a more perfect American site to hide the Spear than one associated with a French cathedral?
A Templar cathedral. Templars had been the guardians and the Sinclairs had provided refuge for Templars and become the guardians.
And then the first line of the verse flashed in front of her, obliterating the movie screen.
“Where roses climb to heaven…” How much higher could a rose be than near the lofty ceiling of a Gothic cathedral whose massive spires were symbols of reaching to heaven?
She plucked at Lucas’ sleeve. He looked down and gave her a smile.
“We’re going to Maine, aren’t we?’ he asked.