Immortal Trust (29 page)

He tossed her a smug grin. “After you.”

“Oh, hell no. I can’t see in there. I’m not going to be the one to walk into cobwebs.” And no way in the world was she going into that black abyss first. Too many things more terrifying than spiders could lurk inside. She’d left her beloved Egypt because of the things that lurked in the dark.

His laugh bounced off the high walls behind him. “Aye. I shall lead. Though I assure you, you will find no cobwebs. ’Tis Master Reginald’s private entry.” Ducking under the low hanging bulkhead, Lucan entered the darkened passage.

A tug on her hand insisted she follow. As her toes crossed the threshold between light and dark, however, Chloe hesitated. With no light inside, not even a sliver of sun peeking through the massive stone blocks, her fears bolted to the surface.

“Chloe,” Lucan encouraged with another gentle tug on her arm. “I made you a promise, did I not? ’Tis naught to fear in here.”

“I’m coming,” she hurried to cover her ridiculous anxiety. “Waiting for my eyes to adjust.”

“And I am here.” His fingers tightened against hers.

Chloe sank her teeth into her lower lip and took a deep breath. It was just a passage, one that, according to him, was regularly used. Even with the curse, she’d managed to work in underground tombs, and frequently without a light. Still, the encounter the night before had taken its toll, and no amount of logic could stop the hammering of her heart. She gripped Lucan’s hand tightly and shuffled forward.

Lucan’s fingers slid up to her elbow. His body heat drew nearer. Though his fingers were light against her skin, and he touched nothing else, she felt his presence as keenly as if he had slid an arm around her waist. She knew instinctively his chest sheltered her left shoulder. Felt the slight caress of his breath against her hair.

Drawing on the silent strength he offered, she felt her fear diminish. The shadows cloaked all but a faint beam of sunlight that filtered through the entry behind them and illuminated a descending stairwell. She squinted into the blackness ahead.

“I must shut this. Stay still. I am right behind you.”

Chloe nodded.

The stone door rolled effortlessly closed, squelching the last bit of light. Lucan’s hand settled on her shoulder. Warm and moist, his breath whispered over her cheek. At the light press of his lips, Chloe shivered. She summoned a laugh to fight off the nonsensical urge to twist into his arms and drown her fears in the velvet heat of his mouth. How long had it been since she’d kissed him? Six hours at most? It felt like years.

She breathed in the rich spice of his skin, and in the complete darkness that surrounded them, became aware of the warm body behind her. Odd how lack of sight intensified the rest of her senses. She could see more of this man now than she’d ever witnessed in the light. Not just his amazing physique, but what lay beneath the surface. His sincerity. The honesty in his words.

He interrupted the magical spell by moving past her. “Come. I should like to introduce you to Master Reginald. He should be arriving from the nave soon.”

The nonsensical statement jarred her back to reality. Following his slow descent, she asked, “Arriving? Who opened the door?”

His low chuckle reverberated off the walls and scraped pleasantly over her skin. “’Tis operated from the nave. A lever in the wall behind a statue.”

“Why?”

“Because, my sweet, there are things in this chamber only a privileged few may witness.”

They came to an abrupt stop, and Chloe discovered the reason for the pitch black. Lucan put his shoulder against something that moved. A door, she realized, as it squeaked open and illuminated the stairwell with burnished orange light. He ushered her through the entry into a wide room adorned with ancient timber shelves and iron sconces in the walls. Torches, yes torches, brightened intricately carved stone and cast flickering shadows over a mosaic tile floor. A man sat at a plain wooden table against the far wall, bent over a leather-bound book, his long graying hair cloaking his face.

“Hello, Lucan,” he said without looking up.

“Master Reginald.” Lucan strode forward, dragging Chloe reluctantly away from a marble statue of an angel. “I have brought a guest.”

“Aye, I was told to expect Miss Broussard.” He shut the book and stood, his smile warm and welcoming. He extended a hand. “’Tis a pleasure to meet you, Chloe.”

She blinked at his outstretched fingers. How could he possibly have known she’d be with Lucan? Lucan hadn’t phoned anyone since she’d awakened, and she hadn’t consented to come to Laon until midmorning. “B-but … How…?” She blinked again.

Both men chuckled. Reginald clasped her fingers in his, lifted her hand, and brushed a kiss against her knuckles. “’Tis often prudent to forget the how and merely accept what is. I hope your journey was kind to you.”

Journey? They’d driven almost two hours—hardly what she’d call a journey. She squinted at him, studying the deep crow’s-feet at the corners of his eyes and the heavy smile lines around his mouth. Keen eyes held no trace of feeblemindedness, despite his aging features. And though his stubbly beard grew in with a generous amount of gray, the strength in his grip betrayed power beneath his dark clerical robes.

He released her hand, soft blue eyes lifting to hers. “You have come for knowledge, have you not?”

Chloe looked to Lucan, uncertain.

“Aye,” he answered for her. “We would see the markers. And she would like to witness the relics.”

“The relics?” It was Reginald’s turn to show surprise. “I was not aware such permissions had been granted.”

“She digs in dust, my friend. Her permissions are as ours.”

Chloe shifted her weight while they talked about her as if she weren’t present. As she looked on, the two men’s gazes locked. Something passed between them, something silent and full of meaning she couldn’t comprehend. Struck once more by Lucan’s strange mannerisms and unique way of speech, the hair at the nape of her neck lifted. She rubbed her arms to ward off a sudden chill and gave Reginald a smile she hoped didn’t reflect the topsy-turvy nature of her belly. “If it’s too much trouble, really, I can do without.”

“Nay.” As if a greater force spurred him to life, Reginald hurried to a large crate in the far corner of the room. “’Tis no trouble at all. They are right here. Ready for your perusal.” He dragged the crate away to the center of the room. “But let us start with the markers, shall we?”

“Aye,” Lucan agreed.

Motioning them to follow, Reginald crossed to the back of the door they’d entered through. A gnarled finger tapped a deep etching in the stone. A carving that identically matched the unique sword engraved in the le Goix ruins. Chloe’s eyes widened.

“Turn and look beyond you now,” Reginald instructed.

Obediently, Chloe pivoted and discovered Lucan hadn’t followed. Instead, he’d moved to the opposite wall. A torch in hand, he stood with his back pressed to the stone.

“Look above Lucan’s head,” Reginald murmured.

She lifted her gaze to where the bright light flickered on the white lime blocks. Deep shadows filled gaps in the mortar she hadn’t observed before. They stretched to the ceiling in parallel lines spaced exactly a stone’s width apart. Two feet down from the overhead support arch so typical of Templar design, the shadows spanned sideways. Chloe gasped. Her gaze skimmed down the wide length, anxious and hesitant all at once. She didn’t want to look. Couldn’t stop herself.

There, level with Lucan’s head, the shadows soaked into a recessed circular design. She knew that if she moved closer, it too would bear the Eye of Horus. As did the one beneath Reginald’s hand.

“Why?” she exhaled.

Lucan switched hands with the torch, turning the wall behind him into a plain block of stacked stone once more. “Where are you, Chloe? What is the name of this place?” he asked as he fitted the wooden handle back into its empty sconce.

She furrowed her brows, unable to follow his train of thought. “The Templar Chapel.”

“Aye, indeed. And the marks you see identify it as such.” He dusted his hands on his jeans. “They also designate this place as a holding for sacred relics. The same as le Goix.” As he talked, he dragged two chairs to opposite ends of the two-foot-long crate Reginald had moved. “You will find Templar ruins throughout the world. But only those with markers contain the truths of the Church, and no common man will ever bear witness to them.”

He beckoned to her with a lift of his hand. “Come see what was discovered beneath the Temple Mount.”

Chloe’s heart skidded to a stop. Legend after legend claimed to know what the ancient Order found and what they did with their treasure. In a hundred years she never would have guessed she might learn the truth, let alone touch the artifacts. She looked to Lucan, afraid to believe, unable to accept the reality of his claims.

His solemn expression professed unyielding conviction. The light in his eyes, however, spoke to her soul. Laden with meaning, his unblinking stare made it impossible to deny his words. He was giving her this gift. This boon of knowledge that no other person outside of the Church would witness. Entrusting her with secrets that had been guarded for centuries.

The deeper meaning in his gaze penetrated her mind.
Trust me, as I trust you.

He dipped his head toward the large crate. “Open the lid, Chloe.”

No request for a promise she wouldn’t reveal what lay inside. No warning that these were the Church’s alone. Just the unfettered offering. Chills coursed down her spine as her heart twisted painfully. How could she doubt a man who gave without restraint? If he meant to usurp her efforts, he wouldn’t bestow this honor on her. She could easily lead someone back here, release whatever sat inside this hide-covered crate to the world, if he did.

But he wouldn’t. In the depths of her heart, she knew Lucan wouldn’t climb over her to attain his own goals. He wasn’t like Blake. He didn’t even come close to resembling that leech.

Chloe reached between them and slipped her fingers into his. Yes, she could trust him. This didn’t explain how he knew so much, or how he happened to discover all these buried secrets. He couldn’t free her from the demons, or conquer that inevitable divide, but she could trust him until the demons forced them apart.

“Show me,” she said with a smile.

He bent over and opened the lid with one hand, revealing several parchment scrolls tied together with a crimson ribbon. “These are testaments and accounts from the days the Almighty walked amongst man. They, and several other items, are scattered in the bellies of Templar holdings.” Gently lifting out the bundle, he offered them to her. “Would you care to read? Master Reginald has left us to spend as much time as we desire.”

She glanced up, surprised the older man had exited so quietly. Sure enough, the chamber was empty, save for the two of them. Curious, she slipped the tip of her finger beneath the scarlet silk and traced the fragile edge of the topmost scroll. Bits of parchment flaked off and crumbled, giving her pause. “I don’t think I want to harm them.”

Lucan shook his head. “They cannot be destroyed.”

With a shaking hand, Chloe pushed a leather tie off one and gently unfurled it. Her breath caught as she scanned ancient handwriting, so precise, so meticulous it was astounding. But to her dismay, the words were unintelligible, a language she couldn’t decipher.

“What language is this? Aramaic?”

Again, Lucan shook his head. “Aramaic is a language of men. These words came before. ’Tis the language of angels, Chloe.”

The language of angels? Chloe blinked. Impossible.

He must have seen doubt pass over her face, for he leaned across the crate and pointed at the bottom of the parchment in her hands. “That one is signed by Gabriel.” He touched one still in the cloth. “This bears Mikhail’s signature.”

How could it be? He was talking fantastic stories, and he wanted her to believe? Just because the name was indeed legible? Not wanting to spoil the afternoon with an argument, she slipped the ribbon back around the illegible document and passed it back to him. “Summarize for me?”

“Aye, if you wish.” He set the scrolls back into the crate and shut the lid. “This particular collection contains accounts of the angels, the Nephilim in specific. Documented incidents where the fallen ones made mates out of mankind. Details about the stripping of their immortality and a recitation of the prophecy that their descendants would rise again when most needed.”

“When most needed? Sounds a bit like Judgment Day.”

He shook his head. “Nay, they are not the same. Those who carry the blood of angels possess power. The ability to overcome evil. Judgment Day is the judging of mankind.”

Chloe frowned at the hidden etching on the wall behind him. “What’s this have to do with that, other than the sword identifies this place as sacred?”

“The Templar discovered these things. Against the will of the Almighty.”

“But why didn’t they reveal them? They must have brought them to the Church, which yielded their immense power, and I suspect their demise as well. But why not share them with the world? Wouldn’t that give them even more power? That would have prevented the Inquisition and the burnings at the stake for heresy.” Her frown deepened as another unsettling question surfaced. “And why keep them hidden now?”

“As I have mentioned before, there are those who would abuse the sacred knowledge. If placed in the wrong hands, ’twould have caused wars and persecution, changing all you know.”

She gave him a doubtful look. No written word could have that much power or influence unless those documents, or others like them, disavowed the existence of Christ. Highly unlikely since the accounts here specifically pertained to the Almighty and his heavenly aides.

Lucan stood. “In time you will understand more. Let us enter the chapel itself.”

Refusing to stand just yet, she stopped his about-face with a pull on his arm. “Wait. Does all this mean the Templar worked
for
the Church? Is that what you’ve been trying to tell me about the Veronica?”

Pride emanated from his wide smile. “You are very close. The Templar are servants to the Church.”