The Immortals I: Lucas by Cynthia Breeding (2)

Chapter Five

“A wolf attacked you?  How terribly bizarre!” Mr. Smith exclaimed as she told him, Alan, and Lucas what had happened the next morning. “And, of course, how horrible frightening,” he added as Lucas frowned at him from across the room.

“But you handled yourself very well,” Alan said with a smile as he stepped closer to where Sara was sitting and laid a hand on her shoulder.  “I admire brave women.”

“At the moment, I was thinking more of survival,” she answered and tried not to fidget as Alan patted her arm. 

“It might be wise not to put yourself into the path of danger,” Lucas said with a scowl.  “What possessed you to go to such an insolated place by yourself?”

What possessed him?  He had been cool and detached ever since she’d gotten to the mansion and now he was insinuating that she had been foolish?  She wasn’t a child!  She stood up and walked over to him.

“It’s my parents’ place.  I go there when I need to unwind.  Nothing like this has ever happened before.  Maybe the wolf was rabid or something.”

“A rabid animal would not have turned and run,” Lucas replied dryly.  “And didn’t you tell us there were two wolves?”

She could still see the big lobo in her mind, the gorgeous fur coat and how he had seemed to laugh with his tongue lolling out.  “The other one seemed docile enough.”

Lucas raised an eyebrow.  “Docile?”

‘Well, yes.  He made no attempt to attack me.”

A strange expression flitted over Lucas’ features.  His eyes darkened slightly and a corner of his mouth quirked up as he leaned toward her.  “Never trust a wolf, lass.”

She glared up at him, wishing she didn’t have to tilt her head so much but she barely came to his shoulder.  Now he was being pacifying. “I wasn’t going to try and pet it or anything.”

His eyes fixed on her upturned face and his gaze settled on her lips.  She wondered when he’d stepped closer, for his own sensual mouth was only inches from hers.  Her breathing became shallow as she felt his body heat.

He seemed to hover there for an eternity and then he looked into her eyes, the whiskey-colored depths of his seeming to search her soul.  “Ye’ve no idea what the beast could do,” he said softly.  “‘Tis better ye stay in town while there’s work to be done.”

He’d slipped into the brogue again and she was beginning to realize he did that when he was intent.  He was trying to warn her about something and she didn’t think it was about a maverick wolf in the country.  But he was right.  They needed to work on the manuscript and she needed to tell him the story she had thought of to give Mr. Smith.

“I’m sorry my absence yesterday delayed your cataloging the medieval earthen ware,” she said formally as she moved toward the door.  “We’ll get right on it.”

Alan Caldwell blocked their path.  “I still have questions about the swords,” he said and picked up her hand.  “If the Scotsman is going to hold you prisoner all morning looking at pots, the least I can do is take you to lunch.  We can talk then.”

“That sounds like a marvelous idea,” Mr. Smith said.

She’d almost forgotten he was in the room.   Being held prisoner by Lucas wasn’t a bad idea…going to lunch with Alan was. There was something about him that she didn’t trust and she wasn’t sure it was just his smooth speech and good looks.  Lucas was devastatingly good-looking too, and she trusted him…  She stopped herself.  Did she trust Lucas?  Michael had made a point about power and corruption.

She withdrew her hand as easily as she could.  “It might be better if we just ate here.  The chef does wonderful things to a salad.”

“Nonsense,” Mr. Smith insisted.  “After the fright you had yesterday, you need to indulge yourself.  Go to the Top of the Dome.”

She groaned inwardly.  Driving into Dallas and fighting the traffic near Reunion Tower was the last thing she wanted to do.  ‘I’m really not dressed for that.”

“We’ll keep it simple then,” Caldwell said.  “But your employer is right.  You are definitely a lady that deserves to be indulged.  And I won’t take no for an answer.  I’ll meet you back here at one o’clock.”  He gave Lucas a triumphant look and walked toward the billiard hall before she had time to answer.  Lucas glowered after him.

“Well,” Mr. Smith said as he settled behind his desk and looked at them expectantly.  “What have you learned?”

Sara went to the door and peered into the hall before she closed it and took a seat opposite Lucas.  In the chair this time and not the settee.  It seemed she couldn’t think straight when she was that close to Lucas and her version of the story she was about to tell needed to seem authentic.

“I’m not sure if Mr. Ramsey has had time to finish his translation,” she said carefully, leaving some wiggle-room for him.  “I wasn’t quite able to complete Professor MacDonald’s notes, either, given the circumstances, but here’s what I think we have.”  

Lucas gave her a quizzical look and she hoped he wasn’t going to interfere.  If what he said were true about the Hallows’ real power, the less people who knew, the better off they’d be.

“You were right, Mr. Smith.  The manuscript does seem to talk about the Holy Grail.”  She waited while he gleefully clapped his hands several times.  “I assume you’re familiar with the Otherworldly progression that Percival saw when he visited the maimed Fisher King?”

Mr. Smith nodded.  “Of course.  Candle bearers, a spear that dripped blood, a platter to catch it on and finally, the Grail Maiden, carrying the chalice.”

“Did you know that Galahad collected all these things after the defeat at Camlann?  And that he took them with him when he sailed to Sarras?”

Her boss looked dumbfounded and Lucas tilted his head to study her.  She just hoped he’d let her finish.  “It’s a rather long story.”

“We have time.  Tell me.” Mr. Smith said.

“Please,” Lucas added, his golden eyes flickering with amusement.

She ignored that.  He should be looking serious.  If he wanted any kind of funding at all, Mr. Smith would need to think the treasure was really big.  And what could be better than a twenty-first century quest for the Holy Grail?

Briefly, she told him of Galahad’s arrival in Jerusalem and later, the Templars unearthing the treasures and the finally bringing them to Scotland under the guardianship of the Sinclairs.  And that the Sinclairs may have brought the treasure to an island in Nova Scotia that had a mysterious pit built on it.

Mr. Smith was silent a moment and then his eyes widened.  “Are you telling me there’s a chance that all three artifacts might still be together?”

“Maybe.  But Galahad took Arthur’s sword with him as well.”

Her boss looked at her bug-eyed.  “Excalibur?  Are you saying it exists?”  He put a hand dramatically over his heart.  “My dear, do you realize the value of finding both the Holy Grail and Excalibur?  And to think I’d own both in my private collection!”

Lucas cleared his throat.  “Having just seen a small part of what you own, I can imagine how you must feel.  I’ll admit, having been on the dig that unearthed the manuscript, I’d like to see these relics myself.  But perhaps the humanitarian thing to do would be to allow the world to see them as well.  If I remember the legend, the Holy Grail was supposed to be a healing instrument and the round platter symbolic of the equality of the people.  The Sword of Truth and the Spear of Light offer tolerance and understanding.  With the right marketing and promotion, perhaps people would learn to believe again.  What a service you would do to allow the world to experience that.”

Sara nearly gaped at him.  Here she was, trying to revive a myth and he was

interweaving the real story into it.  Then she frowned. Marketing and promotion sounded so commercial.  So potentially corrupt.  Did Michael have a point after all?

Besides, if the Hallows really were found, their power needed to stay secret and hidden.  Real power and strength came from within and it was the way the Goddess worked.  Change the way people think and people changed their behaviors.  And with the Hallows, that work could be done through the universal network of white witches.

“Perhaps Mr. Smith is right,” she said.  “It might be too dangerous to expose such artifacts to the whole world.  What if the wrong person got a hold of them?”

Lucas narrowed his eyes thoughtfully.  “Ummm.  Perhaps it might be wise to keep them private until all of them are found.  It would make a much better impression to offer the whole collection at one time.”

“Yes!” Mr. Smith clapped his hands excitedly.  “I would at least own them for awhile until I made a decision.  Now I think the two of you should make plans to travel to this Oak Island you told me about.”

Travel with Lucas?  The two of them alone?  A thousand butterflies fluttered madly about her stomach, batting their wings against each other.  Her blood heated as her pulse suddenly raced.  She found herself gulping for air.

“I doubt that there’s anything in Nova Scotia worth spending time on,” Lucas said.  “Modern treasure hunters have scoured the island and the infamous Money Pit keeps flooding despite recent attempts at excavation.”

Sara’s blood chilled at his words.  He didn’t want to travel with her.  Maybe all of this tingling response she had to him was all one-sided.  He’d certainly not acted interested in her this morning.  But did he think she was just going to sit in Texas and wait for him to make all the discoveries?  Well, he’d better think again. 

“I think it’s an excellent place to begin,” she said and looked straight at Lucas.

“I agree,” Mr. Smith said.

Lucas held Sara’s gaze.  For a fleeting moment, his amber eyes turned predatory, but then the look disappeared.  “I travel light and fast.  No frills.  ‘Twoud be hard for a lass to keep up.”

She lifted her head.  “I’m the queen of carry-on.  I’m sure I can handle whatever pace you set.  Try me.”

A corner of his mouth quirked up.  “Ye might have a care what ye ask for, lass.”

* * * *

“They’re talking about finding the Holy Grail and Excalibur, for Christ’s sake,” Caldwell whispered into his phone.

Baylor could hear the tinge of excitement in his voice and he sighed.  Mortals—eve con-men it seemed—got all sentimental over the grail.  Like there really was something spiritual and mystic about it.  The cup held power and the man who held the cup controlled that power.  To yield it as he pleased.  To control the world.

By the devil’s own horns, he’d tried to lure Galahad down that path centuries ago.  To see what could be had if one but wanted to use the power. Galahad had refused to be swayed, not by comely young women who bared their breasts for him, nor for gold or the promise of fame that would surpass Lancelot’s.  The Hallows had slipped away from Baylor, aided by the Immortal who had helped the boy sail away.

“Did they say where they were going to look for it?”  He tried to keep the impatience out of his voice.

“Something about an island with oaks.  In Nova Scotia, I think.  I couldn’t hear that well through the door.”

Baylor reached for the bourbon decanter in his hotel room and poured a healthy swig into a shot glass.  He was aware of the island.  Isolated and hardly inhabited, it had been a perfect hiding hole for pirates.  In the late eighteenth century three boys digging for lost treasure discovered a shaft that led to a platform ten feet below the surface.  The platform’s planks were rotted and they removed them only to find another shaft and another platform and then still another at ten foot intervals.  Finding nothing of value, they finally gave up, but the mystery remained of why anyone would dig the shafts.  In the early nineteenth century interest was revived and more digging—and more platforms—were found. 

More than two hundred years later, at a cost of millions of dollars and several lives, the shaft had still not been penetrated.  Back in 2004, they’d even tried using cryogenic freezing to keep the tunnels from flooding.  The last he’d heard, its owners put it on the market for $7,000,000.00. 

But no one knew when the original shaft had been dug and the Hallows had disappeared with the rest of the Templar treasure in the early 1300s.  He had cursed the goddess Brighid then, for he knew she had completely shrouded those ships from his view, just as she kept Avalon hidden from him.  Still, it wouldn’t hurt to be waiting at Oak Island when they got there.  If they discovered anything, it might be worth talking to his foreign investors about.

“Let me know when they’re leaving,” he said.  “And how are you doing on the assignment I gave you?”

Caldwell laughed confidently.  “Don’t worry there.  I’m taking the chick to lunch.  Maybe we’ll have a little afternoon delight.”

“Just make sure you get the copy before you leave.”  Baylor tossed back the rest of his bourbon.  “And don’t forget the video.”

* * * *

Lucas laid down his notes on the small desk in the library and rubbed his eyes.  Not that there was anything wrong with his eyesight.  The words blurred in front of him because he wasn’t concentrating on them.  All he could think of was Sara.

How in the hell was he going to keep this thing platonic if they were going to be traveling together and she’d be sleeping in the next room?  The thought of her slipping out of some tiny bit of sheer lingerie and stepping into the shower naked in the morning aroused him more than anything had in years.  He pictured himself with her, watching the water glide over satin shoulders and flow over soft mounds of breasts, sliding down the slight swell of stomach to nestle in dark curls at the juncture of thigh.  His hands would follow the water’s trail…

He tore himself out of the fantasy.  God, she wasn’t even in the room and look what she did to him.  He didn’t need to look.  He could feel what she did to him.  The wolf growled. 

“Not now!”  He wondered if he’d ever tame the beast.  He thought about what Sara had said earlier about the lobo being docile.  If only she knew. 

No, it would be better if he could travel by himself.  Balor must surely have recognized him yesterday.  He would know they were both after the same thing and would be watching.  Another reason to travel alone.  Lucas could lure him away and Sara would be safe if she stayed in town.  And Caldwell should be leaving in a day or two.  Perhaps he’d wait until the man was gone.

Lucas looked at his watch.  It was well past two o’clock.  Sara should have been back from lunch with Caldwell.  She had suggested grabbing hamburgers at some local mom-and-pop operation about a mile from here.  How long did it take to eat a burger?

He felt the hair start to bristle on the back of his neck even as a chill went through him.  The wolf whined.  Something wasn’t right.

He hoped he could find the damn restaurant.

* * * *

“You’re a fascinating woman,” Caldwell said smoothly as he finished a Dos Eqius and set the bottle back on the table.  “But I’m sure you get told that a lot.”

Sara squirmed.  She had long since finished her burger and gone to the restroom and now sipped sparingly on the margarita he had waiting for her when she got back.  The beer was Alan’s third and she was getting a headache listening to him talk.

He motioned the waitress over.  “Another round,” he said.

“No, really.  I’ve got to get back.  There’s work to do,” Sara started to get up and then sat back down quickly, feeling a bit woozy.  Wow. The bartender must have put in a double shot of tequila.  She’d only had half the drink and she was the one driving.  Better let the effects wear off.  “No more for me, thanks.”

“As I was saying,” Alan continued, “I think it’s great you’re running your own employment agency and working for Smith.  How do you do it?”

She wasn’t sure why she had told him about the temp agency.  She guessed it was because it would keep her from talking about work and the manuscript.

“The agency pays the bills.  The historical stuff is my hobby.”

“When do you have time for a social life?”

She giggled.  Picking three losers had been enough.  Who needed a social life?  But why was she giggling?  It wasn’t even a funny question.  Some tequila.

“Well, there’s Michael…”  Now why had she said that? 

Caldwell tilted his head.  “You have a boyfriend?”

She giggled again.  At her age, she wouldn’t call any man she went to bed with a boy.  “Uh, he’s a friend.  We…work together.”  She blinked to bring Alan back into focus and felt her stomach lurch.  “I don’t think I feel very well.”

He was instantly sympathetic.  “There’s a flu bug going around.  Why don’t I drive you home?”

Her head started swimming and she grabbed the edge of the table to balance herself.  “I hardly ever get sick.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Alan said as he reached for her purse.  “May I get your car keys out?”

She nodded dumbly.  There wasn’t any way she could drive.  The room was spinning.  She didn’t feel sick.  She felt drunk, but she didn’t know how that could be.

Alan took her keys and placed them in his side pocket and then pressed down to make sure they were safe before he came around the table and helped Sara up from her chair.  “Just put your arm over my shoulder,” he said as he led her toward the exit.

The door nearly hit them in the face as it flew open and Lucas stomped in.

“Sara! Are you all right?”  He lifted a hand and tilted her chin.

She peered at him owlishly.  “Lucas?  Wh…whath are youth doing heere?”

He gazed at her steadily.  “Are ye drunk, lass?”

“I dun know.”

Lucas shifted his look to Caldwell.  “You got her drunk?”  His voice was low and flat and only a fool would not have alerted to the danger.

“No!” Caldwell said quickly and undraped her arm.  She stumbled into Lucas who caught her securely by the waist.

“Where were you going with her?”

“She got sick, man.  I was taking her to her place and then I was going to call a cab from there.”

“Right.”  Lucas dug into his pocket and pulled out a set of keys and handed them to Caldwell.  “My rental.  Take it back to Smith’s.  Give me her keys.”

“Wait a minute,” Caldwell protested.  “What are you going to do with her?”

“I’m going to make sure she’s okay,” Lucas answered.  “The keys.  Now.”

Reluctantly Caldwell pulled them out of his pocket and brushed his thumb against one of them flicking off a bit of clay-colored debris.  “Here.  Don’t rape her.”

Lucas’ eyes glowed pure gold and Caldwell instinctively stepped back.

“I’ve never forced myself on a woman.  Have you?”

Caldwell’s cell phone rang.  With a look of relief, he answered it.  The look was quickly replaced with a frown.

“No, sir.  I wasn’t able to get what you asked.”  There was a pause and Caldwell turned pale.  “Yes, sir.  I’m on my way.”  He disconnected and took a deep breath.  “I’ve got to go.”  Opening the door, he turned back.  “Later, Highlander.  We’re not through yet.”

* * * *

Sara curled up on her sofa, wrapped in a blanket and held her aching head, while Nim twittered nervously in the air.  It wasn’t enough that she’d gotten rip-roaring drunk in the middle of the afternoon for no reason, but to have to ask Lucas to stop the car so she could be sick was the ultimate humility.  She didn’t even want to face him.

“Here, lass.  Drink this.”  Lucas sat down on the couch beside her and held out a steaming mug of tea.  “Black cohash.  Good for stomach upset.”

Trembling, she reached out and he placed the cup in her hand and wrapped his over hers.  His hands were warm and strong and Sara felt energy effusing through them, sweeping over her like a gentle breeze.  Her nerves steadied and she took a sip of tea.

“How did you know about cohash?” she asked.

“It’s an old medieval remedy, isn’t it?  Something that maybe Nimue would have used in King Arthur’s days?”

Beside her shoulder, the faerie stilled and stared at him.  Sara didn’t notice for Lucas still embraced her hands and the warm, fuzzy feeling was quickly turning into something more like flaming heat.  Heat that pricked at her nipples and seared through her belly and kindled a throbbing between her legs.    Maybe something in her face gave away her lecherous thoughts, for Lucas suddenly dropped his hands.

“You’ve got quite a collection of unusual herbs,” he said.

What to tell him?  She could just about imagine his reaction if she told him she was a practicing witch.  There were few people who understood white witches followed the Goddess way and didn’t go around casting spells or curses. 

“I’m into holistic healing,” she said.  “I prefer natural remedies to drugs.”   He lifted an eyebrow, but remained silent and Sara prayed that he hadn’t found the baneful packets.  They were only used for protection and sometimes, clairvoyance, although that wasn’t really her thing.  The vision in the cup two nights ago had been enough.

“Interesting décor, too,” he said as he got up and moved across the room to study a painting over the fireplace.  The setting was a lush, grassy hill dotted with grazing sheep and resting dogs.  A dove sat in the single hawthorn tree that stood at the base of the hill, almost lost in the snowy flowers.  A circle of standing stones crowned the summit.  Inside that circle a woman stood, clad in a simple, sleeveless gown of white, a 

small golden sickle hanging from a silver belt.  Her bright red hair cascaded down her back and her arms were raised in supplication.

Lucas turned to Sara questioningly.  “Brighid,” she said.  “Goddess of Eire.”

He turned back to the painting.  “Aye.  It looks verra like her.”

“Pardon me?”

He seemed to give himself a little shake and then he crossed the room to sit in a chair close to the sofa.  “One of my ancestors had a likeness of her,” he said.  “She is the Goddess of the Highlands, too.”

“Is”, not “was”.  Interesting.  “The Christians even adopted her as St. Brigit, the midwife to the Virgin,” Sara said and watched for a reaction.  “When they couldn’t eradicate pagan beliefs, they simply converted them into Christian practices, like they did with Samhain and All Saints Day or Eostre and Easter.”

Lucas glanced again at the picture.  “The important thing is that she’s remembered, don’t you think?”

All Goddesses are One.  Sara took another sip of tea.  “I suppose so.”

He looked around the room and Sara suddenly wondered if he’d recognized any the symbology spread about.  None of her Three Losers had.  On the side wall, encased in a silver frame were three pictures of the moon in its waxing, full, and waning cycles against a night sky.  Maiden, mother, crone.  Behind her and above the sofa was an intricate wooden carving of vines and roses, signifying the blending of the masculine and feminine elements of the Blood Royal.  A figurine of Venus, holding the five pointed morning and evening star in her hand, stood on the coffee table. And, on the fourth wall, a painting of gypsies gathered around a night fire, the wagons behind them, while a girl with long black hair danced for them, her skirts swirling above bare feet.

Lucas pointed at the picture and smiled.  “That looks like you.  St. Sara is the patron saint of the gypsies.  Are you named for her?”

She stared at him, wondering if he really did understand what he saw.  The darker-skinned Sara that Mary Magdalene brought with her to the south of France had been her daughter and the Rom were indeed descendents.  And they were her ancestors.

“Actually, I was.”  She noticed a fleeting look of surprise in his golden eyes and wondered what he’d think if he saw the Black Madonna that was in her bedroom.  Thoughts of him actually being in her bedroom—and naked in her bed with maybe just a tiny bit of sheet covering him—caused all the butterflies to start fluttering again, not to mention an anticipatory tingle that she was beginning to identify as sheer lust when it came to thinking about the man.  Better stay focused.  Think about Madonna—not the current Material Girl—although the statute in her room didn’t have anything to with the Virgin Mary, but spoke of an entirely different bloodline.  My bloodline.  But how much can I tell him?  Be safe. Keep it casual.

“My mother always admired the gypsies.  Their freedom to roam and their closeness of family.”

“I can understand that,” Lucas said.  “Do your parents live nearby?”

“No.  They were both killed in a car accident when I was eighteen.” 

Lucas got up and moved beside her on the couch.  “I’m sorry to hear—”  he started to say when the doorbell rang.  Then,  “Do you want me to get that?”

“I’ll do it, thanks.  I’m feeling better.”  She went to the door and opened it.  “Michael! What are you doing here?”  Had he been that serious about tracking Caldwell and Lucas down?

“I called Mr. Smith,” he said as he stepped into the living room, “but he said you’d gone home.”  He stopped at the sight of Lucas sprawled on the sofa, the blanket in a heap beside him.  “Am I interrupting something?”

I wish.  She felt herself blush, even though nothing had been going on other than in her mind.  “No.  I just got ill at lunch and Lucas drove me home.”

Lucas came forward and extended his hand. “Lucas Ramsey.  And you are?”

“Michael McCain,” the warlock answered as they shook hands, but his dark eyes scrutinized Lucas.

“He runs the agency for me,” Sara said quickly as the two men stared down each other.  “So what brings you here?  Trouble with one of the temps?”

He shook his head.  “Nothing wrong there, but I’ve got bad news.”

“What?”

“Maybe you’d better sit down,” Michael answered and took her arm to steer her toward the sofa and sat down with her, only to find Lucas already in place on the other side of Sara.  His eyes widened a little.

Even Sara wondered how Lucas had moved so fast.  But Michael’s serious expression took precedent.  “What?” she asked again.

“It’s Professor MacDonald.  He’s dead.”

Sara gasped.  The poor old man had been in rather frail health, but he had seemed okay when she left him on Friday.  “How?  Did he fall?  Have a heart attack?”

Michael fidgeted and looked away.  Then he took a deep breath and turned back.  “He was shot.  Multiple times.”

She felt the blood draining from her face as the room swirled and then Lucas was holding her head down, a steady hand on her neck.

“Breathe deep,” he said.

She struggled not to hyperventilate and slowly sat up.  Lucas fingers lightly massaged her shoulder and, for once, she felt only comforted by his touch.

With a slight glare at him, Michael picked up her hand.  “The place was ransacked.  Whoever did it was looking for something.”

A slow dread began to build, like a piece of molten lava in her stomach. She whispered, “The papers?”

“I think so,” Michael answered.  “Nothing seemed to be missing.  All his antiques were still there.  His wallet was on the floor, the money still in it.”

The lump hardened in her stomach.  “This is my fault.  If I hadn’t taken the papers to him, he’d still be alive.  Or if I’d let him keep a copy—he was so thrilled to read the manuscript—now I’ve killed him.”

“Ye dinna,” Lucas said, smoothing her hair back from her face.  “The person who did this would have killed him anyway.”

“You know who did this?” Sara asked as tears welled in her eyes.

“I think I know who ordered it.”

“Maybe someone who doesn’t want anyone else to know what the document said,” Michael replied.  “Just where were you Friday night?”

Lucas’ eyes deepened to whiskey-color as he regarded the warlock.  “I’ve no alibi, if that’s what you’re asking.  I went for a drive to familiarize myself with the surroundings.  And how did you find out that the professor was dead?”

Sara felt the electrical charges flow through her as Michael probed Lucas’ mind.  “I will not be a conduit!” She flashed the message to Michael mentally.  “You must ask permission before—”  To her surprise, she felt the surge of energy reverse itself and flow back to Michael.  Did he withdraw the force or had Lucas returned it? 

Michael arched a dark eyebrow.  “I drove out there this morning.  Since I talked with Sara Friday night, I had a few questions of my own to ask.  Robert filled me on what happened.” 

Sara wiped at her tears with an edge of the blanket.  “And where was Robert during all this?  He’s supposed to take care of him!”

“He says he got a phone call from Parkland that his daughter had been in a car accident.  The professor told him to go.”

“Let me guess.  The hospital never called?”  Lucas’ face was grim. 

“No.”  Michael said and then narrowed his eyes.  “You said you think you know who ordered this?”

“He goes by the name of Adam Baylor.  On the surface, he runs a brokerage house in London.”

“London?” Sara asked.  “Do you think he was at Sotheby’s?  Is that how he knew about the document?”

“He knew. He doesn’t like to be seen.  He probably sent one of his henchmen to bid on it.”

Sara thought back.  “There was a nervous young man there who bid on it.  He kept looking back, but there wasn’t anyone there.  Or at least not for long.  I thought I saw a swarthy looking person with a patch over one eye—”  She stopped as Lucas hand stilled on her shoulder and then dropped.  “What?”

“So he was there then.”

Her eyes widened.  “That was the man responsible for the professor’s murder?”

“You need to call the police,” Michael interjected.

Lucas sighed.  “It won’t do any good.  He cloaks himself in layers of protection.  Whoever the hit man was, he wouldn’t know who really hired him.”

“How about Caldwell?” Michael asked. “I find it suspicious that both of you happened to show up so conveniently.”

“I asked Scotland Yard to run an Interpol check on him,” Lucas answered and smiled at Michael’s look of surprise.  “Nothing definitive came back.  He’s been involved in a few questionable disputes regarding some angry husbands, but nothing criminal.  Anyway, Balor would never use someone who could be so directly identified.  He’s far too clever to use mass communication also when he has other sources he can use.”

“What sources?” Sara asked.

Lucas grimaced.  “The brokerage is set up to launder money and provide funds to terrorists.  Afghanistan, Iraq, Iran…the civil unrest in Lebanon and Nigeria…the pending oil problem with Venezuela…the drug cartels in Mexico…you name it.”

“But if you know this, why can’t the British arrest him?”

“Don’t think they haven’t tried.  The open set of books he keeps is legitimate.  He never deals directly with the funneling of the funds.  Again, layers of protection.  Even those who were arrested could only give the partial names of whom had hired them.”

“But why does he do it?” Sara asked.  “And why kill an innocent old man who didn’t have what they were looking for?”

“Because he can, Sara.  Because he can.  He likes inflicting pain and misery.”  A hard, predatory look came into Lucas’ eyes and again, she thought she saw the angles of his face change and narrow slightly and then the image was gone.  “Some men are Satan’s own spawn.”

He didn’t have to tell her what would happen if the Hallows fell into Balor’s hands.  She shuddered.  He hadn’t been exaggerating.  Civilization really would be destroyed.

From her perch on the mantel, Nim began to keen softly.

Chapter Six

Lucas paced the floor of the bedroom in his host’s home, feeling as confined as the wolf would be in a cage.  He hadn’t wanted to leave Sara alone, but her friend, Michael, had insisted on driving him back here.  Damned honorable of him.  Lucas hadn’t missed the guy’s attraction to her.  He’d found Sara’s car keys in his pocket and he’d gone back to return them.  At least the guy wasn’t there.

Not that he could blame McCain.  It had taken every bit of centuries-old will power to convince himself that he was just being supportive, massaging her neck.  What he really wanted to do was slide his hands down her arms and around her waist and pull her up against him.  He’d cup and knead her breasts while he nuzzled her neck and kissed that vulnerable spot just below and behind the ear lobe and then let his hands slide down her ribs to her belly and press her back…  The wolf growled menacingly and he shook his head in agitation.  Better not to think about Sara.  The beast wanted out, hungry for the blood of the person who’d murdered the old man.  Enraged, the wolf could easily mistake the powerful emotion of lust for something else. 

And lust is what he felt, he told himself.  Nothing else.  Certainly not anything like love.  There was no room in his long life for love, not when he had to recreate himself every fifty years and his lover grew old and withered away.  Besides, he had allowed himself to love once—in only a worshipful way as a knight to his sworn lady--but the results had been disastrous on a whole fledgling nation.  He became a hermit for a long time after that.  And then he found the Templars.

Still, Sara was powerfully alluring.  Her body was soft curves that he wanted pressed against him while he ran his hands through the cloud of silken hair.  With the wolf’s keen nose, he could pick up her unique womanly scent from across the room.  And yesterday had been nearly over-powering.  Grief did that, he supposed.  Her shields had been down.

And that surprised him too.  He’d blocked McCain’s mind probe, but it had channeled through her.  There was something a little bit mysterious about Sara.  The herbs he’d found—he hadn’t seen crushed mistletoe since the Druids worshipped in oak groves.  The symbols of the Sacred Feminine—as the goddess Brighid was referred to in these times—scattered around her apartment suggested something that ran deep below the surface of personality and beautiful looks.  He’d known the faerie, Nimue, since Arthur’s time.  She didn’t attach herself to anyone unless they had a Gift.

He paused in his pacing and thought of his sister, Brighid, the bestower of Avalon’s Gifts.  The painting on Sara’s wall had startled him, for it was a rendering of Avalon, a place he didn’t know if he would ever see again.  He had lost his own sun-god divinity when he came to Earth, so only Brighid could part the mists for him now.  And with the Christians, Muslims and Jews at each other’s throats around the world, the gentler teachings of the Goddess path were receding deeper into shrouded veils of secrecy.

It was a blood-thirsty world, this twenty-first century.  The Mongols, Romans, Huns, and Saxons had been brutal.  The World Wars and Vietnam had taken lives, but this…  This was Balor’s triumph.  He had finally gotten the perfect combination.  Suicidal terrorists in countries that had the capabilities for weapons of mass destruction. 

And Balor was close.  First the wolf attack and now the murder.  He doubted that Sara had gotten ill on one drink.  He suspected that Caldwell had slipped something into it, although he couldn’t prove it, since Sara had refused to go a doctor.  Drugging women to make them compliant disgusted him.  Strike One, as the Americans said.  If Caldwell were somehow linked to his grandfather, that would be Strike Two.  Gavin was still working on that.  If Lucas ever found out that Caldwell was behind the slaying of that old man, he would release the wolf with pleasure.

But first the Hallows must be found.  After the murder and whatever had transpired at lunch with Caldwell, he didn’t want to leave Sara alone.  He knew she had a gun, she’d showed it to him before they left, but a gun wouldn’t stop Balor. 

He’d have to take her with him.  But how he was going to manage to keep things platonic, when even now his cock grew hard thinking of her, he didn’t know. 

* * * *

“So it was going to be a little ‘afternoon delight’, yes?”  Baylor asked Caldwell from the recesses of the hot tub in the private men’s club of his hotel.

Caldwell fidgeted with the jacket he’d taken off, the steam from the water forming beads of perspiration on his forehead.  “The drugs were working.  She’d agreed to let me take her home.”

“And you let Ramsey get in your way.”  Again.  He was getting tired of the Templar.  Something would have to be done about him.

“I didn’t have much choice.”

Baylor contemplated him with his good eye while he took a slow sip of cognac.  Waited long enough until he could see sweat rolling off Caldwell’s face and staining the armpits of his shirt. 

“Warm?” he asked impassively.

“Yeah.  It’s…it’s hot in here.” Caldwell stammered.

They keep the room at a friggin’ sixty-eight degrees because of the tub.  He knew damn well why Caldwell was sweating.  He had failed him.  And men paid for that.  Caldwell knew it.

“Then take off your clothes and join me,” he said.

“Ah…no, thanks.  Maybe I could just wait for you outside?”  Caldwell took a step backward toward the door.

“It wasn’t a request.”

Caldwell stared at him and for a moment, Baylor actually thought he might refuse.  Adrenaline surged through him.  None of his quarries ever got away.  By the demons he commanded, was his prey going to give him cause for chase?  He needed to be brought to heel.  He lifted the patch over his eye slightly and turned toward the man.

Caldwell doubled over in pain, clutching his belly.  “My god, I feel like a knife has been run through me,” he gasped.

Baylor smiled benignly and settled the patch back over his eye. “Sorry.  It must have slipped.”

Caldwell wasn’t stupid.  It didn’t take him long to figure it out.  He hung the jacket on the back of the chair and took off his shirt and pants.  Pulling off his socks, he started to step into the tub.

“Alan.  You know the rules.”  He took another sip of brandy while he watched the man’s emotions play over his face.  Surprise.  Shock.  A flash of anger.  Resentment.  Caldwell had never been disciplined before.  This might be even more enjoyable that he had thought.

“I’m waiting.”

Caldwell looked a little desperate, but surprisingly his voice was calm.  Baylor gave him a mental point for that.  This game was going to be fun.

“I prefer getting naked in front of women, not men,” he said.

“Apparently you aren’t too successful with that,” Baylor answered and was pleased when the other man winced.  “I want to make sure you really are a man.  If you are, then maybe I’ll let you try to take the girl again.  You know what to do.”

Baylor could feel the strength of the other man’s hatred and it nourished him as he inhaled it.  Perhaps he should make Caldwell fondle him instead.  He had no preference on who gave him release when he wanted it.  And he was beginning to want it.

“I think I may bend the rules a little, just this once,” he said pleasantly and suppressed a smile at the relief on Alan’s face.  He finished off the drink and set the glass down beside the tub.  “Since you’re acting like an adolescent about taking your skivvies off, you can pump my cock instead.  If you succeed in jacking me off, I’ll know you can probably make a woman come.”

In a flurry of movement, the briefs went flying and Cantwell began masturbating, his eyes closed, his face red.

“Ah.  Humiliation.  I like it,” Baylor said.  “Shall I finish for you?” 

Caldwell didn’t answer but jerked harder and faster until with a groan, his seed shot out.  Baylor laughed as he sank into the tub.

“You could at least thank me.”

Caldwell opened his eyes to mere slits.  “For what?”

“Oh, come now.”  Baylor stopped and gave a short bark.  “I forgot.  You just did.  But the thanks should be for letting you obtain your own pleasure without the pain that I usually require.”

He grunted.

“Hmmm.  You are most unappreciative,” Baylor admonished.  “Well, that bit of chastisement was for disappointing me.  I had wanted to see a video of the bitch being screwed.  Hard.  You were right.  She has nice tits. “This,” he said as he reached over the edge of the tub to pick up something, “is going to be a reminder that you didn’t get the copy that I asked for.”

Caldwell’s eyes widened as he looked at the cilice Baylor was holding.  The spikes on the leather belt would penetrate the flesh when strapped on his thigh and tightened.  “God Almighty, where did you get that?”

Baylor gave him a cold smile.  “Actually, I find it highly ironic that some Christians think their benevolent God wants them to use this.  It really is more of a devil’s tool.  I’d nearly forgotten about this device.  It was kind of Dan Brown to bring it up in his book.”  He stroked the smooth leather slowly and sensually and then turned it over to run his fingertips over the points.  He rubbed a drop of blood off one.  “I sharpened them to make it more effective,” he said and held it out.  “Do you want to put it on or shall I?”

“If I refuse?”

Baylor touched his eye patch.  “How much pain can you take?  The cilice would seem a merciful weapon.”

Caldwell took a deep breath.  “I know you can cause harm when you lift that eye patch.  I also know you like making the victim suffer slowly.  But what good am I to you dead or totally incapacitated?”

Baylor’s adrenaline surged again.  By the Unseelie Court!  The man had balls.  He hadn’t had anyone stand up to him—really stand up to him—since Hitler.  And Adolph had truly considered himself a god of equal stature.  Pity.  Ultimately, it cost him the war.  Baylor refused to consider anyone an equal.  But still, he enjoyed a game of cat-and-mouse with someone who had guts.

“What good are you to me now?”

“I can still get the copy.”

“How?  If she gets sick again, she won’t blame it on a drink.” 

“I have a key to her place.”

Baylor raised an eyebrow.  “How did you get that?”

Caldwell allowed himself a small smile.  “I didn’t know if I’d need it at some other time so I decided to take the precaution of making an indention when I put her keys in my pocket.  A little modeling clay is a good thing to carry.”

“Hmmm.”  Yes, his friend Adolf would have liked this man. “Perhaps I can reserve judgment for a bit.”  He laid the cilice down on the floor.

“I can get in tonight if you want,” Caldwell said.

“No.  Not so soon.  That damnable Ramsey will be hovering over her for a day or two.  And if she goes to Nova Scotia the copy will no doubt go with her. See what you can find out at Smith’s first.  No sense in taking the risk of getting caught for nothing.  I don’t tolerate mistakes well, as you know.  Don’t fail me this time.”  His hand just barely touched the leather belt.

Caldwell went just a shade pale.  “I won’t fail.”

* * * *

Sara was more determined than ever the next morning that Lucas would take her with him.  Professor MacDonald wasn’t going to have died for nothing.  She stomped down the hall to the library and opened the door.

Lucas stood by the window, looking out at the gardens that were carefully tended.  With the sunlight filtering in, it cast him in golden shadow, making him look like a bronzed Celtic god.  She caught her breath at the broad expanse of his naked shoulders, and then realized he was wearing a tan polo shirt drawn tight over hard muscles.  Better not think about Lucas nude.  She had a mission to accomplish.

“If you think I’m going to stay here in Texas while you chase down the Hallows, you’re wrong,” she said a little too loudly.

Lucas turned away from the window, his amber eyes seeming to glow in the sunlight.  “Good morn to ye, too, lass.”

Did he have to look so devastatingly irresistible? Mission, remember? “Sorry,” she said in a softer tone.  “It’s just that I have to do something to avenge the professor.  And I can’t stay home while—“

“You may come.”

Come?  Did he have to put it like that?  Muscles clenched deep in her belly as she of his shaft deep inside her, thrusting hard.  She felt herself blush.  Stop it!  “What made you change your mind?”

He gave her a slow, lop-sided grin.  “Maybe I just thought I was fighting a losing battle and decided to surrender.”

She didn’t think he lost many battles, but the thought of him “surrendering” gave her imagination whole new ideas, like listening to him moan in earnest as she slowly licked the length of his erection and then teased its head with the tip of her tongue.  Stop!  That lop-sided smile wasn’t helping matters.  It could melt glaciers.  Big ones.  Hello?  Remember the Three Losers?  Don’t fall for a sinfully wicked smile again!  She lifted her chin.  I’ll just keep this businesslike. She sighed and mentally zipped his pants up. She was glad that Nim had stayed home.  The faerie would have given her a good poke.

“Good.  I’m glad that’s settled.  When do we leave?”

“Not so fast.”  Lucas sat down at the small table and motioned for her to join him.  “Let’s take a look at these verses again.”

He shuffled some papers while she took a seat.  “I think the lines that your friend brought up, makes it pretty clear that we need to look for the spear first,” Lucas said as he handed a sheet to her.  “But I don’t know about the second one.  Roses climbing to heaven?  There are hundreds of thousands of trellises in gardens everywhere.  And a Druid’s tree would be an oak.  Pretty common.”

Sara studied both verses for several minutes.  “Hmmm.  Dawn could mean that the spear could only be seen in a certain light, perhaps.”  She looked at the second verse and suddenly recalled Michael’s calling of the quarters during the full moon.  She sat up straighter.  “Directions,” she said.  “I think that’s a clue.”

“Huh?  Ye doona make sense, lass.”

“Yes, I do!  What direction does “dawn” come from?  East.  Are you familiar with the Tarot?”

“Fortune-telling?”

“No. The disc/platter/pentacle’s element is earth and its direction north.  The chalice, of course, holds water and its direction is west.  The direction of sunset and the Otherworld, according to Celtic legends.  The sword is fire—as in the avenging archangel Michael—the direction is south.  And the spear,” she said with emphasis, “is the element of air and its direction is east, just like dawn.”   She put the paper down triumphantly.  “And Nova Scotia is east of here.”

Lucas gave her a little smile.  “Unless the world has shifted off its base, yes.”

“Then what are we waiting for?  Let’s go to Oak Island.”

“I still think we’re wasting both time and money to go there.  In over two hundred years of excavating, and millions of dollars spent, not to mention lives lost, nothing has been found.” Lucas raised a brow. “There’s a reason it’s called the “Money Pit”.  It’s also privately owned.  We probably couldn’t even set foot on it.”

“Ah!  I did some research on the internet last night,” Sara said.  “It’s currently for sale.  Now if the owner wants to sell it, he’s going to have let people see it, right?”

“And we look like millionaire investors looking for a place to throw away our money?” Lucas asked.

Sara thrust her chin out.  “Well, I’m sure a Scotland Yard man could figure out a way to gain access.”

Lucas hid a smile and gathered up the papers.  “Has anyone ever told you you’re a wee bit stubborn?”

She looked out the window. “Never.”

The smile burst into a grin.  “You aren’t too good at lying either.”

“That’s because I’m out of practice.  I prefer telling the truth.”  Sara turned back to him.  “Okay.  Maybe I am a “wee” bit stubborn.”  Michael had used the word “tenacious” more than once and even Brianna had cautioned her about being willful.  She had to be careful in rituals not to influence others by projecting her will.  Hmmm…she prodded the edge of Lucas’ mind just a little and got a fleeting image of a large dog curled up asleep.  And then nothing.  His shield snapped up.

She found him watching her, his golden eyes trained on hers.  “Are ye into mind games, lass?”

She got the distinct feeling that she was dabbing a toe into some very deep and dangerous waters.  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He slid his chair closer, placing one hand on the back of her chair, his arm trapping her between the table and his body.  With his other hand, he cupped her chin, forcing her to look at him as he leaned forward.

“Ye are a channeller, lass.  I felt it yesterday.  Who are you?  What else are you?”

Before she could answer, she felt his mind touch hers.  It was with such strength that she felt as though she had been pushed against a wall and held there.  Not that her willing body would have minded the actual physical act.  Trapped by his arms, his muscular body pressed hard against her breasts and abdomen, with no place to turn and every wiggle only increasing the pleasurable fiction…  By the Goddess, I can’t let him see that!   She closed her eyes and concentrated on making her mind go blank. 

The pressure inside her head eased and when she opened her eyes, he had released her, a somewhat amused expression on his face.  Dear Goddess.  She hoped her face wasn’t flaming like her errant body was.  She jumped up and started toward the door.

“I’ll just go and make the flight and hotel reservations.”

“One room or two?” Lucas asked teasingly.

Damn!  He read my mind.  She didn’t answer, but slammed the door behind her.

* * * *

He shouldn’t have teased her, Lucas thought as they stood waiting for their luggage at the Halifax airport the next day.  Not when he knew too well what the wolf could do and that he had to keep this relationship platonic.

But he hadn’t expected to enter into such a purely erotic and physical scene.  Even now there were moments when he could still feel the soft sponginess of her breasts crushed to his chest, the hard nipples penetrating his shirt.  Her soft belly had rotated against his and in a moment, if she hadn’t closed her mind off to him, he would have slipped a leg between her thighs and had her ride him… The wolf perked up its ears.

He groaned slightly as the baggage carousel began to turn.  All he had wanted to do was teach her a lesson not to go probing into other people’s minds uninvited and look what it got him.  Sara affected him far more than any woman had since he joined the Templars.  This was not going to be an easy trip.  At least she had booked two rooms.

They proceeded on to clear Customs and then to car rentals.  They grabbed some lobster rolls at the ever present Golden Arches and were soon headed east for the relatively short drive to Mahone Bay.  Once there, they turned left at Grandall’s Point onto the causeway.  Lucas had managed to get clearance through the offices of Triton Alliance and when they reached the gate near mid-island, they were dispatched through.  They circled the swamp and finally came to a small parking lot that had been used for workers of the many drilling projects that had been done.

It was just past noon and the calm waters of the bay reflected the deep blue of an almost cloudless sky.  Spring this far north was still crisp and cool and he noticed how Sara pulled her windbreaker closer.

“You’re cold. Do you want my jacket?”  Before she had time to answer, he stripped it off and placed it around her shoulders.  He lifted her hair out from under it and settled it on her back.  He thought he felt a quick intake of her breath.  

“You’ll freeze,” she said.

“This flannel shirt will be fine,” he said.  He hadn’t felt really cold in centuries.  “Come this way.  The original pit is over there.”

They walked a short distance to a fenced off area.  “This is as close as you’re going to get,” Lucas said. 

Sara looked frustrated.  “There’s no marker or explanation or anything.”

“This isn’t a tourist spot,” Lucas answered, “at least, not yet.  Depends on who buys it, I guess.  But you’ve got to admire the intelligence of whomever built this.”  He pulled some notes out of the pocket of his jacket, his fingers grazing the top of her breast and smiled inwardly at her sudden intake of breath.  “Over two hundred feet deep, oak platforms every ten feet, charcoal filter at forty feet, coconut fiber found at sixty, and finally, at ninety feet there’s an inscribed stone.”

She looked up at him. “And a Halifax professor deciphered it to read that forty feet deeper lies two million pounds of treasure.  I got that off the web.”

Lucas nodded, thinking how blue her eyes were in this crisp, clean air.  “So they kept digging deeper.  Then somewhere below one hundred fifty feet, they finally hit a vault—cement, no less—but all that was recovered eventually was a piece of parchment with the letters ‘vi’ or ‘ui’ on it.  But the real ingenuity,” he continued, “was the two flood tunnels that kept booby-trapping any efforts to reach the bottom of the pit.”

Sara’s brow furrowed in thought.  “I think I read that they cross the island and were hidden in manmade beaches. Right?”

“Yes,” Lucas answered and stuffed the notes in his jeans.  Better not take a chance on touching her again.  The wolf’s ears were pricked forward.  “Whoever designed this had more than a passing knowledge of advanced hydraulics, because those tunnels could move six hundred gallons of ocean water per minute.”

“Quite a feat,” Sara agreed, “considering this was all supposed to have been built over four hundred years ago.  Now who would have the kind of knowledge needed to build something like this then?”

“Somehow I don’t think that’s a question,” Lucas said with a smile as he watched the sunlight glisten almost raven-blue off Sara’s dark hair.  He resisted the urge to curl some of the silky strands around his finger.

“It isn’t,” she answered, seemingly unaware of his distraction.  “Masons could have done it.  Like the ones who built Roslyn Chapel in the 1400’s.  Men who descended from the Templars who fled to Scotland.  The Templars were builders of great cathedrals in Europe, weren’t they?”

He nodded, remembering the round design that was typical of a Templar church.  The circle was more pagan than Christian.  Which made him think of the picture in Sara’s apartment and the standing stones of Avalon.  How much did Sara really understand of those power symbols in her home?  He didn’t dare probe her mind again…not unless he wanted to suffer the effects of a painful erection.

“Are you listening?” she asked.

He forced himself to refocus, especially since the wolf had alerted to his interest.  Did those full pouting lips have to be so inviting?  “Yes.  Go on.”

“I think it all ties in.  If the Sinclairs had claimed this island before the Scottish Inquisition, why wouldn’t they move the treasure here?  And certainly, the Hallows would be the most important!”

“The Templar’s treasure may indeed lie down below,” Lucas answered, “but the guardians of the Hallows would never have left them together.  What if, somehow, the wrong person—like Baylor—found them?  The Sinclairs would most certainly have hidden them in four separate locations.”  Hell, I told Galahad to take only the Grail to Sarras, but would he listen?  For six hundred years--until Payen’s original Templars and I could begin digging at Solomon’s Temple—the treasure lay vulnerable..

“Well, if they’re here, they’re safe,” Sara said in a dejected voice.  “There isn’t anything you or I can do that hasn’t already been tried.”

“That’s why I think this whole thing was built as a ruse.  No one can get to the bottom.  Would the Sinclairs really want to keep the Hallows hidden forever?”  He paused and then added, "Aren’t we forgetting the verse?  It says, “Seek first the Spear”.  Wouldn’t that indicate that the Hallows are in four different places?”

She looked up at him, hope rekindling in her eyes.  “That’s true.”  Then her face fell.  “But even if the Sinclair ships came this far, where else would they have gone?  America hadn’t been discovered yet.”

Lucas laughed.  “Don’t be too sure about that.  I could tell you stories of both the Norse and the Celts being in America five hundred years before Columbus.  But seeing the doubt on your face, perhaps I could show you something tomorrow that would prove American shores had been breached before 1492.”

“What is it?” Sara asked, letting the excitement rise in her voice.

Lucas grinned.  “Ah, lass.  Ye’ll have to wait.”

She grabbed his arm. “Come on!  That isn’t fair!  Tell me!” 

He shook his head, secretly enjoying the warmth of her touch as she clung to him, face uplifted.  All he would have to do his dip his head a little to claim her soft lips…

“Ye’ll just have to sleep on it, lass.”

The wolf growled.  He suspected he might not be getting any sleep at all.

* * * *

Baylor stepped out from behind some scrub bush a good distance from the money pit.  He couldn’t take a chance on the Templar’s wolf scenting him, but he’d still been close enough to see that they hadn’t found anything important, although the fact that the girl—what had Caldwell called her?  Sarina?  No. Sara.—was keeping a tight hold on a big leather purse gave him a good clue the manuscript copy was in it. 

There had been some animated conversation though and then the girl had stepped close and Ramsey had almost kissed her.  It was something Baylor filed away for future use.  He’d follow them and wait for nightfall.   If Ramsey took her to his room, he could search her’s.  And if not…  He shrugged. He was very good at what he did.

* * * *

Sara sighed contentedly as she looked out the dining room window in their hotel to the softly rippling sea.  The moon had just begun to wane and its silver light danced upon the small waves like thousands of tiny diamonds.  Maybe now she could get Lucas to talk to her.  Maybe more?

“It really is pretty here,” she said.    

“It’s probably the flattest piece of land in all of Canada,” Lucas said as he poured her some wine and then reached for his water.  “And the fishing off the Grand Banks some of the best in the world.”

“And most dangerous,” Sara answered.  “Didn’t you see The Perfect Storm?”

“Aye.  But ye should sail the Hebrides in the winter sometime.  Even wearing five layers of fine Shetland wool and having foul-weather gear canna keep the howling wind and churning sea from turning a man into ice.”

“No, thanks,” she said with a laugh and a shudder.  “Some risks I don’t need to take.”  She took a sip of the Chardonnay he’d ordered and then stopped as she realized his eyes were on her mouth.  She tried not to think about the risk she was taking at the moment.  Or maybe she did want to.  She was confused.

On the entire flight up here, he had worked on a laptop computer.  But the cramped express jet that the airlines were using these days to save money still had their thighs touching on occasion.  She had tried diligently to read a book, but she had to keep reminding herself to turn the pages. 

He’d also been strictly business at the money pit until that very last remark about showing her something tomorrow.  She had felt his muscles tense on his arm when she’d touched him and his lips had been just inches from hers.  She was almost positive he had dipped his head toward hers.  And now, in this very romantic setting, he was talking about geography?  And wearing five layers of clothes?  She wondered if it was a subtle warning on his part.  The happy little buzz from the wine faded.  Fine.  She certainly was not going to throw herself at him.  Definitely. Not.

He motioned for the check and yawned.  “It’s been a long day and we have an early flight.”

Not exactly a romantic gesture.  So be it. She wasn’t ready to go sit in her room. Sara glanced at her watch.  “It’s just past ten o’clock.  I think I’ll take a walk and smell that fresh salt air.  We don’t get much of that in Dallas.”

“I can’t let you go by yourself.”

It sounded like an order to stay in, not a suggestion that he’d join her.  Like she didn’t go out after dark back home?  “I won’t wander far.  I’m sure it’s perfectly safe with these many tourists about.”

“It’s not that,” Lucas answered and glanced around.  “I’ve had the feeling all evening that we’re being watched.”

Sara looked around too.  As much as she didn’t want to admit it, she’d had the same feeling.  That something sinister lurked in this peaceful place.  “I don’t see anyone who looks suspicious.  Maybe our nerves are on edge because of the murder.”

“So you feel it too.”  It wasn’t a question and she looked up at him.  The candlelight reflected in his golden eyes like tiny bits of flame and she was reminded suddenly of the wolf who had chased the other away.  Its eyes had looked like tiny bits of flame lit them too.  Suddenly she shivered.

“You’re cold,” Lucas said, “and with the sun down, it’ll be colder outside.  If you want your walk, wait until morning.”

She didn’t argue as he took her arm and led her toward the stairs.  They stopped in front of her door and he took the key from her, unlocked it, and stepped inside.  For a moment, the butterflies rallied for a flight from their perches in her stomach.  Was he really thinking of staying with her?  It was an odd way to go about it.  And he hadn’t even asked her if she wanted him to stay.  Really, a certain amount of etiquette did apply here.  She wasn’t just going to jump into bed with him!  Much as I’d like to…

He handed her the keys and stepped back into the hall.  “Everything’s fine here.  I’ll be next door if you need anything.  Just call.  I’ll wait until you bolt the door.”

He closed it and she slid the lock into place.  She should have known he was just making sure there weren’t any bogeymen sitting in the corners.  She really had to get a grip on her fantasies.

* * * *

Lucas was stopped by a worried-looking waiter just as he was about to enter his room. 

“Sir.  I’m glad I found you. Your wife left her purse at the table.”  He handed the leather bag to Lucas who dug into his pocket for a tip that the young man accepted.

For a moment, he thought about knocking on her door and returning the purse, but it had been difficult enough making himself leave the first time after seeing the king bed turned down for the night.  If she answered the door in lingerie, he wasn’t sure that he’d be leaving again any time soon.  Wife.  He hadn’t even corrected the waiter.  I don’t need to start thinking like that. Not with what I am. Decision made, he entered his own room and stashed the bag inside his suitcase and locked it.  Then he sniffed the air.

Balor was close.  He had felt the oppression all evening, just hovering on the edges of his senses.  It was the reason he didn’t want Sara outside this night.  But now he would find him.

He walked to the window and opened it.  They were on the second floor of a small, private inn and below him was a terraced garden with a small gazebo, its canopy not far from the window.  An easy leap for a powerful wolf.

The wolf alerted in anticipation as he stripped his clothes.  His sense of smell was much keener when he was in the lobo’s body, even though the shape-shifting was exhausting.  He closed his eyes and concentrated on becoming one with the wolf.  He felt his face elongating, the muscles in his jaw and throat strengthening as he dropped to all fours and crouched, waiting for the powerful haunch muscles to fully form.  His amplified hearing picked up no movement from next door.  Sara would be safe until he got back. 

He leapt through the window, landed on the canopy, and sprang to the ground.  His enhanced night vision adjusted to the darkness immediately.  His sensitive nose told him there were no humans in the garden, but he wasn’t seeking a human.

Staying in the shadows of buildings, he loped easily down the sidewalk, turning left into a side-street and then right and right again until he came to an expensive hotel with a liveried doorman.  Trust Balor to spare no expense.  He sniffed cautiously at the sidewalk, sending the mental message to the doorman that he was merely a scoundrel dog.  Balor had been here, but his scent was old. 

Turning, he followed the scent back to the water near his hotel.  And then it was gone.  The wolf nearly howled in frustration.  Balor had gone into the sea to avoid detection.  But where was he now?

Lucas made the leap back to the window, his paws sinking into the thick carpet on the floor of his room.   Before he made the transformation back, he scented once more.  Nothing.  No one had been here. 

He put on his shorts and pants and lay down on the bed.  Sleep would come swiftly as it always did after the change.  The last thing he did was check to make sure his sgian dubh was under the pillow.

Near dawn, he was awakened by a shrill scream piercing the air.  Sara!  Grabbing the knife, he bolted out the door, nearly knocking down a guest from across the hall who was sleepily rubbing his eyes. 

The door to Sara’s room stood open and as he entered, he saw her cowering in bed, a silver fork from the restaurant clutched in one hand.  There was blood on the prongs.

He closed the door to on-lookers, assuring them she had a nightmare.  Then he quickly crossed over to the bed and sat down, gathering her into his arms.

“What happened?”

She sank into his embrace, the hand with the fork in it encircling his neck.  Gingerly, he dislodged it and put it on the nightstand.  Silver, even plate, was something he avoided.  So did Balor.

“I woke to find someone in my room.  He was searching for something, so I pretended to be asleep.  I heard him curse.”  She took a deep breath and Lucas could feel her shudder and he drew her closer.  “Then he came to the bed.  “He said something like, “Bitch, you’ll pay for this” and then he reached for me.”  Sara paused and tightened her hold around Lucas’ neck.  “I stabbed him with the fork and he cursed again.  That’s when I started screaming and he turned and ran.”

Lucas gently pushed her head down onto his shoulder and stroked her hair.  If he hadn’t been so drained, he would have sensed Balor the moment he’d entered the room.  Even now, the stench of evil clung to the door. 

“You’re all right now.  It’s over.  He won’t be back.”

Her other arm had found its way around his waist and he tried to ignore the warmth that was spreading through him.  Her hair smelled of roses and he could see the pale swell of her breasts beneath the blue silk nightgown that she wore. 

“How can you be so sure?”

“What?”  Focus, Ramsey.

“That he won’t be back?”

“You’ve made too much noise.  Half the hotel was in the hallway.”  And Balor knows that I’ll be on guard.  He probably watched me leave—no doubt deliberately left the scent for me to pick up—and knew what the after effects of the change would be.  He had the opportune moment, but it’s gone now.  But I can’t tell Sara.  “Besides, it’s almost light outside.”    

“Was it him?  The Baylor guy?”

“I’m sure it was,” Lucas replied.  “Remember the uneasy feeling I had?”

She snuggled closer.  “Me, too.  He was looking for the manuscript, wasn’t he?”

“Yes.”  Suddenly he remembered his door was still open.  “I’d better go get it.”  Reluctantly he removed her arm from around his neck and slid her off his lap.  “I’ll be right back.”

“No.  I’m coming with you,” she said as she looked at him, her eyes still showing her fright and her lips trembling.

Her lips…full and lush and parted slightly.  He dipped his head to lightly brush a kiss across them and heard her sharp intake of air.  Her satin arms encircled his neck again and he ran his fingers through her hair, holding her in place as his mouth covered hers, gently at first and then with increasing pressure, drawing the bottom lip in and sucking on it, then softly kissing the corner of her mouth, teasing her. 

She moaned and leaned closer, her breasts grazing him.  His hands slid down her shoulders and around her back, and he pressed her against his chest as his tongue sought entrance.  Her lips parted in invitation and he slowly explored her mouth, his tongue alternating between slowly encircling hers and thrusting hard and deep, only to withdraw and bedevil her lips with airy kisses until her own mouth and tongue were demanding more, thrusting inside his with a passion he hadn’t tasted in centuries. 

They were interrupted by a knock on the door.  Cursing softly, he left a lingering kiss and got up to open the door.

“I wanted to make sure everything was all right,” the innkeeper said anxiously. 

“Yes.  It was just a nightmare,” Lucas replied.  “Nothing to worry about.”

“Well, if you’re sure,” he replied.  “But please, breakfast is on the house.” 

“Thank you,” Lucas replied and closed the door.  Sunlight was filtering through the window as the dawn awakened.  And with it, the spell was broken.  What had I been thinking? I know better than to give in to lust.  The wolf… 

He glanced at Sara, but she too seemed to sense the moment was over for she was tying a robe around her waist. 

“We have a flight to catch,” she said.  “Perhaps we should get dressed.”

He nodded.  “I’ll grab a quick shower and be back to pick you up.” 

It wasn’t until he was standing under the cold water, trying to ignore his still-hard erection that he realized the wolf hadn’t even growled.   

Chapter Seven

Sara was quiet on the short flight from Halifax to Boston the next morning.  She could still taste Lucas’s kisses and feel his strong arms embracing her, keeping her pressed against him. The thought of his tongue teasing her with alternating slow, gentle and then deep, long thrusts made her start throbbing at her very core. 

She had to stop thinking like this.  After Loser Number Three, she realized that she was attracted to good-looking men with an air of mystery about them.  A hint of danger even. Loser Number Three claimed to have worked for Homeland Security and wasn’t allowed to offer much information about his past.  It had been a sheer fluke she found out he was married.  The Loser before him raced sports cars on and off the track.  And the first?  An actor she’d supported because she was drawn to his “Rebel without a Cause” brooding personality.

And all three of them had been subtle in their approaches to her.  No blatant flirting and smooth lines like Alan Caldwell used.  Oh, no.  That ruse would have been easy to see through.  Her Losers had all “talked” to her, seemed to value her opinions, asked for advice.  Made her feel like an intelligent woman.  The passion they’d shared in bed left her no doubt they desired more than her mind.  Then, frustratingly, they would disappear for days on end only to reappear dangling their charismatic selves as bait.  

She had taken enough graduate hours in psychology to know it was the elusive factor that kept her interest.  The fear of male commitment in a seemingly fantastic relationship was the lure a lot of females succumbed to.  That “she” would be the one to change the guy.  By the Goddess, there must be a Bad Boys of America Club somewhere.  Her Losers would be card-carrying members.

She stole a sideways glance at Lucas, seated in the aisle seat beside her.  He was working on his laptop again.  Perfect example.  He appeared to be all business and exuded enough pheromones to make a nun think about removing her habit.

This morning at breakfast in the dining room, he’d acted like nothing out of the ordinary had happened last night.  Like he hadn’t claimed her mouth in hot, torrid kisses that left her breathless.  Like his hands hadn’t glided along the rounded sides of her breasts as he caressed her back.  Like there hadn’t been a promise of a lot more before they were interrupted.  He had merely poured her coffee for her from the carafe left on the table and returned her purse to her.

‘What are you working on?” she asked finally.

He looked up just as the flight attendant was announcing preparation for landing and saved his file.  “Just some notes on Balor that I need to send to Gavin later.  I want him to dig through some layers of protection.”

“Do you think Baylor will try again?” she asked as they entered the terminal.

He glanced down at her.  “With absolute certainty.  He wants a copy of that manuscript.  He wouldn’t have broken his own M.O. and come himself if he didn’t.”

She could feel her eyes widen in surprise.  “That was actually HIM, then?  The one you say is so evil?”

“Yes,” he answered grimly and looked around.  “I want you to stay close to me.”

There it was again.  Words of concern.  A woman might think he cared. 

“Do you think he’s following us?” Sara asked.  “And, come to think of it, how did he know that we’d be here?”

“Precisely what I want Gavin to try and find out,” Lucas answered as they made their way to baggage claim.  “There’s a snitch somewhere.  Caldwell would be my first guess.”

“Mine, too,” Sara admitted, “but he was down the hall in the billiard hall when we were talking to Mr. Smith.  I checked before I closed the door.”

“How about your friend, Michael, then?  Did you tell him we were going?”

“Yes. Why?”  When he didn’t answer, she arched an eyebrow.  “You can’t suspect Michael!  He’s my friend.  I thought someone should know where I was going…”  Her voice trailed off as Lucas’ mouth set in a grim line.

“Just in case I threw you into frigid Canadian waters and your body was never recovered?”  He grabbed one of their suitcases with more force than necessary and nearly hit another passenger. “Sorry,” he said and grasped the next case more carefully and set it down.  “Don’t you trust me, Sara?”

Ah, the sound of the hurt-little-boy.  The Losers had used that, too.  But she found it disconcerting to gaze into his intent amber eyes and looked down.

His hand caught and tilted her chin upward, forcing her to look at him although his touch was gentle.  “Don’t you?”

“I…I want to,” she said.

“Then why don’t you?”  When she was silent, he sighed.  “If it’s about what happened last night—between us—you needn’t worry.  I won’t let it happen again.”

Not exactly what I wanted to hear. 

“It’s what you need to hear,” her subconscious prodded her. 

“I know that.”

“Do you?”

“Oh, shut up!”  Then another thought rolled onto the heels of the last.  Maybe he really doesn’t find me desirable!  Maybe he was just doing what it took so he wouldn’t have a hysterical female on his hands!  Now, that makes me mad. She tossed her chin out of his reach. 

“Michael has his own suspicions about you, too.”  For a moment, she thought she saw his pupils change shape and his jaw elongated.  She blinked.  No, he looked normal.  She must really be tired.  Lucas cleared his throat, only it sounded a little like a growl. 

“Your friend and I may have to have a little talk,” he said as he picked up the luggage and they proceeded toward car rentals.  “But for now, maybe the things I can show you will help convince you that I’m not the bad guy.  Come on.”

She was quiet as they headed out of Logan and he turned north on I-93 and then west on I-95.  She needed some time to assemble her disjointed thoughts.  She knew she was attracted to Lucas and she should be grateful that he had, once more, made it clear that this was to be platonic.  He was exactly the type of man that was dangerous for her.  Yet her traitorous body was already reacting to being in the close quarters of the Saturn coupe they’d rented.  Watching his strong hands on the steering wheel as he wove in and out of crowded Boston traffic reminded her of what else his hands and fingers were capable of.   Like kneading my buttocks and pressing my belly against a really hard erection.  She groaned and quickly changed the sound into clearing her throat.

“Where are we going?” she asked as the small car finally turned off the freeway and headed northwest on S-225.  Goddess, but her voice was shaky.

“Westford,” he answered. 

“What’s there?”

He grinned.  “Didn’t I tell you you’d have to wait to find out?”

She wrinkled her nose at him, determined to control her lustful fantasies and settled back to enjoy the ride.  April in the Massachusetts’s countryside was beautiful.  The grass was turning a lush green and trees were sprouting new buds of spring, which reminded her that Beltane was not too far away.  She wondered if they would find the spear by then.

Lucas drove into the tiny town and parked on Depot Street.  “This is what I wanted you to see,” he said as they got out of the car.

Sara looked up at a huge rock ledge.  Etched into the stone was a six foot carving of a knight with chain mail and a coat of arms.  The hilt of the sword was placed over his heart and the Coat of Arms depicted a brooch, a crescent, a five-pointed star and a ship.

“It’s awesome,” she said.

Lucas nodded.  “The type of helmet the knight wears is typical of the mid-1300’s.  And stone effigies were often made in the British Isles during that time also.”

“Doesn’t the Templar’s Round Church in London have some of these?” 

He gave her an appraising look.  “You do know your history.”

“Or else I watch the right movies,” she replied with a smile.  “So you’re saying that this proves someone came here before Columbus?  But it doesn’t prove whom.”

“I’ll argue that point,” Lucas said.  “Knights were often buried where they had fallen during those times.  The research that has been done on this particular Coat of Arms shows that the brooch is a design used by a maternal branch of the Scottish Sinclairs.” He pointed toward the ship.  “This type of galley came from the Norse and the Norse line on Orkney was the Sinclair bloodline.  This shield was found to belong to the clan of Gunn, which was a branch of the Sinclairs and, in particular, it belonged to Sir James Gunn, who accompanied Henry Sinclair on his voyage to Nova Scotia.”

Sara let the information sink in.  “Then you’re saying that they were here?  In Massachusetts?  In the 1300’s?”

Lucas nodded.  “There’s a second stone with very similar carvings in the Fletcher library here.  We’ll take a look at it before we head south.”

A short time later, they were back in the car and headed toward the southeastern coast.  Since Lucas didn’t want to spoil his next surprise, they talked of current events, listened to music on the radio and, when they stopped for a late lunch near Falls River, got into an a friendly argument over whether the Americans who still painted black and white stripes around their chimneys in New England really were Tories as their ancestors had been.

“I mean, it’s not like they’re terrorists or anything,” Sara said as she took a bite of flaky baked cod.

Lucas’ mood sobered.  “Terrorists.  Balor has managed to take a peaceful religion and turn it into something monstrous.”

Sara tilted her head.  “You say his name strangely.  Baa-lor.  Is that the Scottish way of saying it?”

He hesitated. “Aye.  You could say that.  Adam Baylor may very well be named after the Celtic god of the evil eye.”

She creased her brow, thinking.  “Wasn’t he cursed to be killed by his own grandson so he tried to keep his daughter from getting pregnant only she did anyway and he threw the baby into the sea?  And a sea god rescued the child?” 

“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-1300’s,” 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-1840’s 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 of 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 until he’d at least had time to suckle one of those tight nipples or dip his fingers into her hot, wet well and then slide them along her cleft and give her at least some hand pleasure—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 that 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 needs 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 that 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 her normally energetic friend 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.  Lightening 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’d 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 lightening all around you, playing with the bolts, taunting you with setting the kindling on fire.” 

The fine hair on Sara’s arms rose as she felt the heat of sudden flames scorching her face and her arms, singeing her hair, setting her thin shift ablaze… She coughed on the thick fumes of smoke and gasped for air.

“Snap out of it!”  Michael gave her a shake, a look of alarm on his face.  “Come back to us!”

Slowly, the haze cleared and Sara found herself inside the circle of her friends’ linked arms as they sat on either side of her on the sofa.  She could feel the soothing white energy permeating the air inside their protection.  She shuddered.

“It was so real…and so ancient.  Like I was living in another time period.”

“I’m sorry,” Brianna said as they broke the link and everyone sat back.  “I don’t know what it means, but it affected me the same way. Thank the Goddess Morgan was here when it happened.  She called Michael.”

Sara’s head cleared a little.  “Why was she here?  Of all the Circle, you and I are the ones she likes least.”

“Only because Michael is our friend and Morgan envies that,” Brianna said with a smile as she watched Michael roll his eyes.  “She did seem disappointed when you weren’t here.”  Brianna turned back to Sara.  “She brought over a new herbal blend of tea to try.  She said she’d found in a Mexican curio shop over on the West Side.  It was good.  It smelled a little like new-mown hay.”

Woodrowel?  It was the only herb Sara knew of that smelled like that and it had a very special effect.  She grinned at Michael who looked suddenly wary.

“What?” he asked. 

“Did Morgan offer you any tea when you got here?” she asked.

“Yeah, she did.  I was more concerned over Brianna though.  Why?”

Sara’s grin widened.  “I’d be real careful of what I drank around Morgan, if I were you.”

He looked exasperated.  “Don’t tell me she tried to poison Brianna!”

“No.  Well, maybe just enough to make her ill,” Sara said, sobering at the thought. 

“Why would she want to do that?” Brianna asked.  “She’s a part of the Circle!”

“You said she was disappointed when Michael wasn’t here?”  She looked at him.  “Were you supposed to be here?”

He nodded.  “Don’t you remember us arranging the meeting before we worked the ritual at the full moon?  You were going to fill us in on what was going on with the document.  Then, when you said you were going out of town, I called Bri and cancelled.”

“What does that have to do with my getting ill?” Brianna asked.  “Morgan and I both drank the same tea.”

“Did you watch Morgan prepare it?” Sara asked instead.

“No.  I stayed in the living room while she was in the kitchen.  Why?”

“So many questions.  Can you get to the point?” Michael interjected.

“Okay.  Here’s what I think happened.  Morgan was expecting to find you.  When you weren’t here, she added a little something—maybe  mandrake or foxglove—“

“Just what the average witch carries around,” Michael said wryly.

Sara ignored him.  “We all have those stashed in our cupboards as counter-actions, if need be.” She looked at Brianna.  “Right?”  At her friend’s nod, she continued, “—to Bri’s cup, but not her own.  Then, when Bri got ill, she called you to get you over here.”

“I’ll admit that the woman has tried cornering me a few times,” Michael said, “but I’ve always turned her down.  Why would she resort to such drastic measures to get me over here?  Like I’m going to change my mind?”

“You might have if you’d drunk the tea,” Sara said mischievously.  “Woodrowel is an aphrodisiac.”

Michael stared at her.  “You can’t be serious.”

“I am and I suspect Morgan is, too,” Sara answered and then remembered

something else.  She turned to Brianna.  “Woodrowel is also a hypnotic.  With your natural gift of Sight, it might have triggered the vision you had.  Did you feel yourself go into a trance?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary,” Brianna answered and laid her hand over Sara’s.  “I’m sorry.  Maybe it doesn’t mean anything.”

Maybe.  But the same black warrior throwing lightening bolts wasn’t a good omen in Sara’s book.  And in Bri’s vision, the golden-haired Templar knight hadn’t even ridden to the rescue.

Golden, tawny hair.  An image of the half-naked Lucas bursting into her hotel room the night Baylor broke in flashed through her mind.  Strangely, it was not the comforting embrace that turned passionate that held her attention now.  The cross that he had been wearing on his broad chest did.  A Templar cross with its fleur-de-lei ends.  Why hadn’t she recognized it before?

And the Templar shield that was sold at the auction had been in her vision as well.  Her third-eye chakra began to spin, causing the familiar dull pain as it opened to the astral plane, but all she could detect was pale swirling mists.  The time had not come to reveal what she needed to know, but somehow, she had the feeling that Lucas Ramsey was not exactly what he said he was.

* * * *

Baylor bit off the end of his illegal Cuban cigar and spit it out on the floor.  Across the room, Caldwell poured two single-malts from the mini-bar.  The man had been careful not to gloat in front of him.  Baylor had to give him that.

Damn, but he hated losing.  Flying all that distance to Canada in one of those cramped express jets without food or alcohol available, let alone the First Class service that he was used to, had already put him into a rage.   Slowly strangling a few rabbits, listening to their frightened squeals and fettering the red full-tailed vixen to a tree as he butchered her young kits while waiting for Ramsey and the woman to show up in Nova Scotia had barely taken the edge off.

He knew the jaunt out to Oak Island would prove worthless.  But he had fully expected to pick the bitch’s room lock and walk out with that black briefcase she carried with no problem. 

He had, after all, lured Ramsey out.  Let his scent linger just close enough to the dining room that the damn Templar would do the Change and come looking for him.  That part had worked and losing his scent in the ocean hadn’t been hard, but the water had been cold as a nun’s tits, even to his immortal body.  And the Change back should have had the Templar in a deep sleep for hours.  He had counted on that and allowed himself several hours of diverted pleasure repeatedly raping a teenager who was flouting herself and wearing too much make-up  before he’d gone to the hotel.

The damn purse hadn’t been there.  He’d moved toward the bed to see if she had it under the pillow, but she must have detected him in her sleep.

Which meant she had more power than he cared to think about. 

“What did you find out from Morgan?” he asked as he accepted the drink Caldwell handled him and motioned for the man to be seated.

Caldwell smiled.  “She’s a good screw.”

No doubt.  She’d made it abundantly clear to him in their brief meeting that she was willing to do anything—and here she had let her hand linger on the button of her blouse and given him a coy look—if he’d help her get what she wanted.  If that type of woman expected to be successful in attaining that goal, they had to be good on the follow-through.

He’d pried into her mind.  Along with the usual riches and fame, there was also a man she wanted.   Foolish mortals.  Any time lust or love was at the top of their lists, Baylor could hold that over them.  So he’d agreed to the money and fame part.  She would be getting a call for a modeling contract tomorrow.

“Maybe I’ll try her then,” he answered and was pleased to see a look of displeasure flit over Caldwell’s face.  He made a mental note of it.  “But I meant, have you found out anything about who this Sara Kincaid is?” 

Caldwell looked uncomfortable.  “It’s a little weird.”

“Try me.”

“Morgan confided…”  He paused to let the effect of the word sink in and Baylor gave him a small smile.  “She confided that she was part of a circle of witches that went out on the full moon to worship some ancient goddess.”

“And is Sara Kincaid a part of that group?”

“Apparently she leads it,” Caldwell answered.  “Probably a bunch of women who want to dance around naked under a full moon and get themselves all hot.”  He grinned. “Maybe I’ll ask if I can attend.  Having two or three of them do me at the same time might be a whole lot of fun.”

Baylor hardly heard him.  If this Kincaid bitch were a priestess—a real one from the Auld Days—it might explain why she had been so lucky in eluding him thus far.  

“Did Morgan mention which goddess, by any chance?”

Caldwell looked at him oddly.  “You don’t believe any of this stuff is real, do you?  Maybe I should buy her a broom!”

Baylor curbed his impatience with the man’s stupidity.   Let him think witches flew about the night sky.  He’d learned his lesson well at Camelot, seducing Arthur’s sister, Morgana.  He hadn’t realized her power until she held his body paralyzed, all except for his cock, which she tortuously teased for hours, taking him to the brink, but not allowing him to come.  Ironically, it had been the holier-than-thou Galahad who had accidentally interrupted her playtime, but Baylor had limped about in pain for a week before his erection would go down.  He’d never made that mistake of underestimating a real witch again.

It was better that mortals didn’t know how many kinds of super-naturals there were roaming about.  Let them think werewolves and vampires were the stuff of fiction, that the elementals and the old goddesses and gods didn’t exist.  Or that he had been one.

“Which goddess?” he asked again.

Caldwell frowned, thinking.  “Brenda, or something like that.”

Baylor tensed.  It couldn’t be.  “Do you mean Brighid?”

“Yeah!  That was it!” His face brightened.  “I remember thinking about that old French actress, Bridget Bardot.  Wonder if she’s still around?”     

He didn’t bother to answer.  If the bitch were a true follower of Brighid, Baylor had his work cut out for him.  Brighid—his own goddess granddaughter—had tossed him out of Avalon.  He would have to exercise caution, something he rarely did.  He also had an answer to a centuries old problem.  Sara Kincaid would be his ultimate revenge.

Chapter Eight

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 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 in “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 Madonna’s 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 been 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 16th 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.