Immortal Sacrifice: #4 The Curse of the Templars (24 page)

Caradoc, however, was more sensible.
He gestured at the menu. “One swordfish impanata
,
one chicken. We will have a plate of potato croquettes and two lime sodas.”

While he paid for their meal, Isabelle turned around to survey the historical buildings that framed the
piazza
. Intricate carvings adorned time-bleached, smooth stone facades. Here and there, painted shutters pocked the high walls with vibrant color. Merry voices bounced off the rooftops to blend with a constant undercurrent of laughter. Strange how a place so warm and welcoming could cause her so much grief. She should be awed by the magnificence, impressed with the obvious marks of so many cultures. Instead, she had yet to notice one outstanding fact about Palermo.

Until just now, thanks to Caradoc.

Pressure at her elbow brought her out of her thoughts. Caradoc offered her two plastic cups, which she readily accepted. The first tang of sweet carbonated lime dissolved over her tongue. Better than a Sprite, any day. She took a deeper pull off her straw.

Following the broad expanse of his back, she wove around the tables to a stone bench shaded by a rare Dragon’s Blood tree.
She sat down, unable to stop from marveling at the umbrella-shaped network of skyward reaching branches tipped with spiny leaves. Nature had definitely crossed genes with this creation—it looked like someone had stuck a head of broccoli into the ground and fed it Miracle-Grow. Nonetheless, to have attained its height, it was several decades old. Once more, the timelessness of Sicily enveloped her.

Caradoc took a seat at her side, their food positioned between them.
With a plastic fork, he cut each impanata in half, put one of each of both plates, then passed her one.

She glanced down at the bite-sized halves and chuckled.
“You can eat two of these alone, Caradoc.”

He grinned.
“Aye. But I did not wish to overtax your belly. We can eat again later, if you wish.”

Tenaciously, she took a bite, chewing as if she tried to soften leather.
She waited for the habitual roll of her stomach, but to her delight, it remained still. When she swallowed, Isabelle allowed the flavor of grilled swordfish to engulf her. Her belly knotted, but not in upheaval. Rather, it felt like her stomach had just coiled in on itself in a frenzied attempt to devour the tiny morsel. Encouraged, she took another bite.

Again, silence spanned between them as they ate.
Caradoc watched the bustling people; she watched him. Every now and then, a frown touched his forehead, as if he’d been struck by a thought. But the pucker of his brows smoothed into unreadable calm just as quickly. Was he thinking about September? Work maybe? She never had figured out what brought him to Sicily. No better time than now.

“Caradoc, why’d you come to
Palermo?”

The way he stopped chewing said she’d caught him off-guard.
He took a long drink, then wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. “Duty sent me.”

“Duty?”

“Aye.” As he turned, a bright sparkle touched his eyes, and impishness lifted the corners of his mouth. “The things we are not speaking of tonight.”

“Oh,” she answered with a chuckle.
“Tell me in the morning?”

“You are staying with me then this eve?”

His playful expression took on deep seriousness, intensity that shook her to the core. Was she? She hadn’t really thought that far in advance. In fact, she hadn’t been thinking at all. Morning with Caradoc was just natural. Habit. But his question brought back all the hurdles that lay between them—September, Caradoc’s leaving, Isabelle’s fear he would abandon her again. If she stayed, she’d become more tangled up in him. Leave herself open for devastating heartbreak if he once again turned tail and vanished.

If she didn’t stay, that dream would surface once more.

“May I?” she asked hesitantly.

“You need not ask, Isa.
You know what I desire.”

He desired her.
Of that, she had no doubt. September though…Did he want her as well?

Isabelle accepted with a nod.
September was another subject they weren’t supposed to talk about. That question would have to wait for morning too.

Chapter
23

C
ontrary to her usual zest for food, Isabelle ate like a bird. Caradoc watched as she popped another potato croquette into her mouth and chewed as if she gnawed on leather. He had hoped her enthusiasm would return if she were removed from Shapiro’s, where the demands of business were ever-present. Her smile had, aye. But the rest resembled a mere shell of the real woman.

His thoughts weighed heavily.
She held something back. What, he could not fathom, but ’twas clear she maintained secrets. If she would but tell him…

He sighed inwardly.
She would say naught, for he had forbidden conversation on the very things that plagued him the most.

She set her paper tray aside and picked up her soda with both hands.
This too she sipped as if the straw were three times narrower. Yet she had eaten more than he had expected, given her protests. Despite what he had said, he would understand the details of her dream before another night passed. She could not continue to starve herself.

When she did not set her cup aside in favor of another bite, he recognized her silent signal.
Standing, he scooped up their trash, and then deposited it in a nearby trashcan. He reached for her hand. “Shall we?”

A faint glimmer of the Isabelle he adored showed through the brightness in her eyes.
She nodded, slipped her palm into his. “Where to?”

“This way.”
Stepping around the large tree, he ushered her behind the row of merchant buildings at the base of Mount Pellegrino. There, a narrow path of gravel had been carved out of the thick greenery. Caradoc lifted a low-hanging branch and ushered her beneath the shaded canopy. “A few feet up, there is a break in the trees.”

Grinning, Isabelle glanced over her shoulder.
“How do you know about this place?”

“I have been here before.
Many years ago.” He pointed at the buildings she had studied earlier. “When those were but rock foundations.”

“Oh.”

Her shiver vibrated against his hand, and his frown returned. “Are you chilled?” He shrugged his shoulder, attempting to shed his suit coat.

“No.”

Caradoc paused, perplexed. Slowly, he eased his coat back on.

“It’s just…strange,” she continued in a low voice.
“I don’t question what you’ve told me about your past, but thinking about it is flat-out weird. You were
alive
through every major societal change. You’re—” She stopped abruptly with a shake of her head.

“I am what?” he asked as he guided her over a fallen tree branch.
Evidently, this path had fallen into disuse. No longer did those who tended St. Rosalia’s sanctuary clear the way.

Color turned her cheeks bright crimson.
“
Ancient
,” she whispered.

The first true bit of laughter he had felt all day burst free.
With it, the tightness in his chest eased, and the discomfort he had felt over their circumstances ebbed. “Aye, I am.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Nay, do not be. ’Tis true. Some days I feel older than time.”

As their conversation became more natural, so did the movements of her body.
She walked closer to his side, swung their joined hands in time with her easy stride. Her nearness relaxed him further, and he began to feel mayhap they could move back in time and become the lovers they had once been.

“I noticed you were limping more.
Is the arthritis in your knee worse?”

Her fingers tightened against his, and for one heavenly moment, the curve of her breast brushed his upper arm.
His body tightened, instantly aware of the soft flesh beneath her tailored suit. A glimpse of one lean thigh as she climbed up a rock had him biting back an oath. Whilst he had enticed her on this walk with the deliberate mention of the desire they shared, he had intended to wait until their vows were spoken. But as his gaze traveled over the graceful curve of her heart-shaped bottom, the idea of waiting longer than it took to lead her where no one could stumble upon them, became unreasonable. Why should they wait, when he could indulge himself in the sweetness of her body?

From atop the flat rock, she set her hands on her hips and peered at him curiously.
Gradually, he became aware of the fact he had not answered her question. He shook his head. “’Tis not arthritis but the curse.”

“The curse?”

He climbed up the rock and set his hand in the small of her back, guiding her forward. “Each knight’s greatest tragedy festers inside him along with the darkness.” Caradoc kept his gaze fastened on the trees ahead, unable to keep the truth from her but unwilling to acknowledge her pity. “Mine was a physical event.”

“What happened?”

“Turn here.” Tugging on her elbow, he steered her onto a debris-covered off-shooting trail. His voice rang through the overgrowth with flat acceptance. “Two years afore I took my oaths, I was captured in a battle. I was put on the rack for three days and would have died, had my men not broken through the gates and claimed victory.”

Isabelle’s soft gasp cut through him like a knife.
He flinched, but refused to look at her. What had happened lay in the past. Whilst his body suffered now, once they were pledged to one another, the aches would pass. He would forget again, and the dank dungeon and the coals set to his feet would be no more dominant than the castles and peasant villages he had once known.

“I am so sorry, Caradoc,” she whispered with feeling.

The gentle slide of her hand down the center of his back had him sucking in a sharp breath. He had known no compassion then. Had experienced no woman’s concern, nor the tender touch of a maid’s healing hands. As many men did, he mended alone. Now, the stroke of tenderness touched a buried portion of his soul, a place so deep he had not known it existed. He closed his eyes a moment, shaken by the wealth of feeling that swelled within his chest. He had killed men, known no remorse for the conquests of his youth, and his armies had destroyed villages whose only fault lay in who owned the land they stood upon. As a Templar, though his purpose held great merit, his deeds oft held equal resemblance. Isabelle cared for him beyond what he deserved.

“Are you okay?”
Her gaze latched onto his, deep indigos brimming with concern.

A short breath served to restore his composure.
“Aye. ’Tis in the past, and we are here.” He swept his hand before them, indicating a narrow outcrop on the mountainside that overlooked the turquoise Tyrrhenian Sea.

Isabelle turned into his arms and looped her wrists around his neck.
Her body flattened against his, the warmth of her skin inviting. “Is there anything I can do?”

Though he knew her question held no intimate suggestion, he could not stop his swift reaction.
Blood rushed to his cock, swelling it so fiercely she could not possibly be ignorant to the stiffening against her hip. He curled his fingers into her waist to keep from shifting her position so that her soft flesh cradled his erection.

“You are,” he exhaled.
“You take my pain away.”
I love you, Isa.
How he longed to say the words aloud. Yet the fear they would send her scurrying away and spoil the brief peace they had attained kept him silent.

She made it all the more difficult to keep his roiling emotions in check.
Lifting to her toes, she feathered her mouth over his. Though her kiss was innocent, the brush of her body alongside his hardened cock ground his senses to a halt. He captured her mouth before she could fully retreat, tightened his hold on her waist, and held her in place as he deepened the kiss.

Like sparks set to kindling, Isabelle awakened in his arms.
A quiet sound of satisfaction bubbled in her throat. Her nails pinched through his coat and shirt into the muscles between his shoulder blades.

’Twas all Caradoc needed to lose his senses.
He wound one arm around her waist, sank his free hand into her loose bun, and greedily took possession of her mouth. She tasted like lime, and not once in his life had he ever been so hungry for the bitter citrus. Yet he could not have enough of her kiss, of the slide of her tongue, the impish nip of her teeth. Unable to stop himself, he nudged his hips forward, rubbing his throbbing erection against her sensitive feminine flesh.

The white-hot burst of ecstasy that ripped down his spine, however, forced him to concentrate.
If he did not stop this now and take a few moments to gain control of his body, ’twould be over before they began. Last night had been wrought with need. A frantic coupling that brought pleasure, but the next time he made love to Isabelle, he intended to show her the full meaning of his love.

On a ragged inhale, he broke the kiss and stepped back to distance their bodies.
Her blue gaze smoldered into him, her swollen lips begged for his return. Ignoring the siren’s call of her mouth, he pulled his fingers through her disheveled hair, freeing the pins that had held it into place. They tumbled to the ground near her short heels. “Sit with me a while?”

She gave him an unsteady nod.

Caradoc tucked her hand into his then escorted her to the east side of the ledge where the outcrop butted against the mountainside, forming a place they could rest their backs whilst they looked over the western horizon and the descending sun. He urged her to sit at his side.

Legs stretched out before her, ankles crossed, she leaned into the crook of his arm.

“Tell me about your dream, Isa.”

Her shoulders stiffened.
“I thought we weren’t talking about all that.”

Absently, he played with the long locks of hair that tumbled over her shoulder.
“’Tis not something that stands between us. ’Tis not work or business. I see no reason why we should not.”

In truth, the subject skirted the edge of their agreement.
But if he was to have her oath, he needed to draw her into deeper conversation. The only way he knew how was to learn what kept her so distressed she could not eat. He would wager his very soul ’twas far more than the little she had disclosed the night before. Once he understood her discomfort, he could attempt to ease it with the promise she would eternally sleep at his side and never again experience the nightmare.

* * *

Isabelle almost chortled. Not something that stood between them—he’d realize how wrong he was as soon as he heard the name September. Then this tranquility that had only just begun would shatter. They’d go right back to arguing. The best thing she could do was play it off like she had last night.

At the same time, the gentle way his fingers toyed with her hair and the seductive warmth that ebbed off his body urged her to take him into confidence.
To let down all her protective walls and surrender this vulnerability to the one man who had the internal fortitude to shoulder the burden.

She snuggled into his embrace and fixed her stare on the sinking red-orange sun.
Her lips still tingled from his hard, hungry assault on her mouth.
You take my pain away.
He knew just what to say to break her down. It was more than that, though. One mention of his torture, and she’d been struck with the nonsensical urge to inflict damage on the people who’d hurt him. The thought of how he must have suffered turned her heart over. No matter how she’d like to deny it, how she’d like to pretend she could just walk away from Sicily and never look back, she couldn’t get around the pitiful fact she loved him. After all he’d done, all his hurtful words, that love hadn’t died.