Immortal Sacrifice: #4 The Curse of the Templars (40 page)

Heavy footsteps approached.
The chain lock rattled, and Farran opened the door. “Caradoc?”

“Is Noelle sleeping?”

Stepping aside, Farran shook his head. He gestured for Caradoc to enter. “Nay, she is awake.”

Inside, Caradoc found Noelle tucked into bed and propped up by the pillows.
She picked up the television remote to turn the power off. “Hey, you. How’s September?” Frowning at his cradled arm, she added, “Let me heal that. Don’t be so stubborn.”

Ignoring her remark, he dropped into the nearby chair.
“Why did September require your aid if she is immortal?”

Noelle let out a soft laugh.
“I don’t know if I can explain this right, but I had a talk with Mikhail.”

“You did?” Farran asked.

“Yes. I’m not
always
in my lab, you know.” Her playful grin teased her husband. “I can find my way around the temple now and then.”

Farran scoffed.
“With the aid of a wandering knight.”

’Twas hard to remain immune to their banter, and Caradoc found himself chuckling as well.
The sound brought Noelle’s attention back to him.

“Her gifts are evident, Caradoc, but she won’t come into full power until she reaches maturity.
Until then, she’s vulnerable.” Pausing, she glanced at Farran. “All the children are.”

The slight stiffening of Farran’s shoulders hinted at something Noelle did not say, but Farran remained silent.
Noelle fastened her smile back into place before Caradoc could prod for information. “She’s very gifted. When I was healing her soul, I sensed she knew me. She opened her eyes and called me by name.”

“She has seen you in her dreams.
Anne and Chloe as well. ’Tis the same gift Isabelle possesses.”

Noelle nodded thoughtfully, her countenance sobering.
“Do you think she knew what would happen tonight?”

“Aye.
She knew she would be taken from Isa, and I believe she witnessed her own death.” More quietly he added, “I believe also, she knew I would surrender the tears.”

Reaching across the bed, Noelle laid her hand on his.
Warmth ebbed from her palm, a sensation more unusual than the simple touch of skin. “I’m sure Mikhail will understand. Raphael himself sent Lucan to exchange the veil for Chloe.”

Uncomfortable with the course of the conversation, Caradoc rose.
No matter what she might say, duty remained duty, and he had failed in that service. “’Tis a difference, Noelle. I defied orders. Lucan held permission.”

At the door, Caradoc looked back over his shoulder with a weak smile.
“My thanks for your explanation.”

“Anytime.
Maybe, in return, when we get home you could draw me a map that includes a little more than squiggly lines and vague boxes.” Her grin returned as she winked at Farran.

“Damsel,” Farran warned with false menace.

“Good eve, my friends,” Caradoc called as he stepped into the hall. Noelle might attempt to make light of the situation or misdirect his thoughts with her teasing, but the reality he could not escape. He had defied the archangels. Disobeyed centuries of binding oaths. He dared not hope the return to the American temple and Mikhail would bring celebration.

Chapter
39

A
full night after September’s encounter, Isabelle stood in the center of a large private suite, on the top floor of the North American Temple of the Knights Templar. Though they’d caught the first flight home and arrived just after the evening meal, September’s presence had caused such a stir that Isabelle had little time to orient with her surroundings. Men came and went, wanting to swear their loyalty to both her and her daughter, as well as witness the child they claimed was a miracle.

Now, with the moon high in the sky, she took in the tall arched ceilings and the faded rugs beneath her bare feet.
Though the dust had been removed before their arrival, and clean furniture installed, much work would need to be done to bring life to this set of rooms. But the crisp March breeze drifted through the window near the canopy bed, bringing with it the fragrance of an early spring rain and a promise of hope. She inhaled deeply and pulled her robe more tightly around her waist before wandering into the adjoining room where September slept.

“Are you cold, my sweet?”
Caradoc asked from his seat beside September’s bed. Since she’d asked him to tell her a bedtime story, he’d remained perched in the chair, keeping silent vigil as if he thought she might disappear from sight.

Isabelle shook her head as she crossed to him.
They’d had no time to themselves, and she longed to make true amends for the terrible things she’d said. Standing behind Caradoc, she rested her hands on his shoulders and gazed down at September. “She’s not going anywhere, you know. You told me, yourself, demons can’t get in here.”

“Aye,” he answered with a chuckle.
“’Tis sometimes difficult to believe she is real.”

“She’s as real as you.”
Isabelle slipped her hands over his collarbone and fanned her fingers across hard pectorals. Softly, she pressed a kiss to the side of his neck. “As me.”

Using his good arm, Caradoc trapped her hand and pressed it flat to his chest.
He leaned his cheek against her head. For several long moments, they bathed in the comfort of the other, content to watch September’s even breathing in silence.

But the longer Isabelle remained still, the more she became aware of the enticing heat that emanated off Caradoc’s body.
The comforting scent of his cologne. Last night she’d been too exhausted, and he too injured, to make up the appropriate way. Tonight, desire stirred to life as she listened to the sound of his breathing and felt the thump of his heart beneath her palm. She turned her face to kiss his bare shoulder. “How’s your arm?”

“It pains me, but already it begins to heal.”

Careful not to jostle his wounded limb, she slid around his side to straddle his thighs and eased into his lap. Her fingertips danced across the wide expanse of his chest. “Does it pain you…
overmuch?”

“I have not decided yet.”
The first smile she’d seen in two full days tugged at his mouth. But it remained there, trapped in the corners, stifled by the concerns that plagued his mind. The self-criticism he didn’t voice but she read in the dim light of his eyes.

Isabelle leaned forward, deliberately rolling her hips into his, and she dusted a kiss against the base of his throat.
“There’s a big bed in the other room. The house is quiet, no more knocking on our door. September sleeps like a rock—I promise we won’t disturb her.” Whispering against his skin, she sprinkled liberal kisses from one shoulder to the other. “Maybe I could help you reach a conclusion.”

“Mm.
Mayhap,” he murmured.

With another slow undulation of her hips, his cock stirred to life beneath the tight denim of his jeans.
She dropped her hand, tucked one finger inside his waistband, and teased her way across his abdomen. “Mayhap? I promise to be gentle.”

His breath came out on a hiss, and he brought his mouth down to hers.
His kiss was hard, full of desire, but something was missing. It lacked the usual thoroughness, as if his mind were far from here, despite the participation of his body.

A sudden hammering on the main door spoiled her attempt to draw Caradoc out of his shell.
With a muttered oath, she slid out of his lap. “Don’t you get privacy around here?”

Caradoc stood, adjusted his jeans, and left September’s room.
Isabelle followed. She had just finished closing September’s door when Caradoc’s greeting reached her ears.

“Mikhail.
I wondered when you would come.”

* * *

The tightening that had set root in his body beneath Isabelle’s masterful touch transformed into knots of dread as Caradoc stepped aside to let Mikhail enter. The archangel swept past, his pursed lips evidence he had not come to welcome them with praise. In the dim light of the solitary lamp that burned near their expansive bed, his shadow struck an imposing figure on the faded wallpaper, complete with the wings he disguised from view.

Isabelle glanced at the dark impression, her eyes widening for the briefest of heartbeats before she offered Mikhail a smile.
“You must be Mikhail. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

One eyebrow lifted, Mikhail spared her a passing glance before he faced Caradoc, her greeting left unanswered.

Caradoc remained near the door, prepared to yank it open and instruct the archangel to leave if he chose to insult Isabelle. They would follow immediately, but he would not tolerate further abuse to either his mate or his child. He had erred, accepted this, and would suffer the consequence. But Isabelle and September had done naught to warrant Mikhail’s ire.

“You come back here, with your wife and child, and fail to bring me the tears I specifically ordered you to obtain.”

“Aye.” Caradoc folded his good arm across his chest.

Mikhail mirrored his defiant posture.
Though his face carried the constant presence of divine grace, his silvery eyes glinted like shards of metal, further testament to the anger he restrained. “Were your oaths unclear, Sir Knight? We are amidst a war. You placed a powerful weapon in Azazel’s hands.”

“At his feet,” Caradoc murmured beneath his breath.
If they were to have words, he would rather have it finished than drag the confrontation out.

The quiet response did what he desired—Mikhail’s eyes flashed with righteous fury and his mortal form waivered, revealing the briefest glimpse of the holy power he disguised.
“This is no matter for humor, Caradoc of Asterleigh. Your vows are sacred. I will not abide by such blatant defiance.”

When Caradoc remained silent, refusing to break his level stare, Mikhail slammed a hand down on the entry table.
Beneath the force, it splintered into pieces. “You are a commander of the Templar. Second only to Merrick. You have a responsibility to this Order, and your flagrant disobedience disgraces the men who follow you.”

“Stop.”

Caradoc’s gaze snapped to Isabelle at the same time Mikhail whipped around to turn his thunderous glare on her.

“You have something you wish to say, Lady Asterleigh?”
Though the question contained polite overtones, there could be no mistaking Mikhail’s underlying hostility.

Caradoc groaned inwardly.
He was the one who warranted the punishment, not Isabelle. Yet she had just made herself a target for wrath that could bring her to her knees. Worse, Mikhail possessed the power to snuff out her life with a flick of his wrist, should she antagonize him further.

“Isa,” he protested.

Ignoring him, Isabelle stepped forward in long confident strides. She came to a halt two feet from Mikhail. “This is your fault.”

“My fault?” Mikhail boomed.
“Do tell me how defying orders is my fault, dear lady. For I shall be quick to point out the choice was his.”

“Isa, do not do this,” Caradoc warned.

She did not even glance at him before she stabbed a finger at Mikhail’s chest. “You failed to tell the knights they can have children. You deliberately allowed them to believe otherwise, and if you’d revealed the truth,
he
wouldn’t have doubted September’s parentage for a minute.”

Mikhail’s gaze narrowed into dangerous slits of pristine light.

To Caradoc’s utter disbelief, Isabelle held her ground. “If Caradoc had known about September, we could have consulted you. As it was, he did the only thing he could do, given the circumstances. He was trying to save her life. And for that alone, he deserves not only praise, but an apology.”

Shock nearly knocked Caradoc to the ground.
Over the centuries, he had argued with Mikhail. Now and then, their words escalated into shouts. But even he would not have dreamed of insisting on an apology from an archangel. Moreover, the foundation of Isabelle’s words left him speechless. She had said naught to him beyond her apology. Yet she stood prepared to spar with one who held the power of the Almighty over the merit of his actions. That she found them meritable at all shook Caradoc to the core
.

“The decisions of the Almighty are not for you to judge, Isabelle,” Mikhail thundered.

“No, they aren’t. But
I
will not
abide by
your condemning a noble man who sought only to protect his child, when the burden of error is on your shoulders.”

Caradoc swallowed hard.
Noble
. After all he had done, after he had failed to protect September, she still thought him noble? His chest tightened to painful limits.

Yet he could not allow her to bring about her end by continuing to make demands of Mikhail.
Taking a deep breath, he sought to ease the fist around his ribs. “Isabelle, you should cease.”

She shook her head emphatically.
“I won’t. I won’t have you belittled for doing what you felt was right. You made a decision based on the knowledge you had, and he should respect that.” Fisting her hands on her hips, she stared Mikhail in the eye. “If he cannot, he will not gain my service.”

Mikhail threw up his hands with a verbal explosion in a language Caradoc could not comprehend.
He stared at the ceiling for several moments before he lowered his gaze to once again look at Isabelle. “You are impudent, and you would do well to listen to your knight.”

Color stained Isabelle’s cheeks.
She opened her mouth with what Caradoc was certain would be a colorful stream of curses, but before she could spill a single syllable, Mikhail snuffed her protests out with another thunderous bark.

“I should remove you from this Order!”

The words ran with such power, Caradoc flinched.

“I should demote your rank and forbid you to lead so much as the spiders that build their webs in our corridors.”

Isabelle let out a furious squeak. The sound did not have time to take on intelligent life, for Mikhail held up his hand and she went silent. Whether ’twas because she chose to accept his request for silence, or because he willed her tongue to still, Caradoc could not be certain.