Immortal Surrender (39 page)

“Aye, I was crazy to believe in you.” Abruptly, he turned and disappeared into the bedroom. When he reemerged, he carried a pillow and the heavy comforter. He tossed them onto the couch, then sat down, once more in control of his emotions. As he snapped the blanket out, his voice rang eerily flat. “I returned to inform you we leave in the morning.”

“We? I thought you said there was no
we
. And just where are you taking me?”

Farran smoothed out his pillow. Reclining, he tucked his hands behind his head. “Mikhail has ordered you to return the Sudarium. I am to escort you, to ensure follow-through. You will tell Phanuel what you have done, and you will assume the blame for the relic’s damaged nature. You will, in all ways, subject yourself to his judgment.” He glanced up through the tops of his eyes. “And damsel, you shall do so alone.”

That he could dismiss her so easily wafted chills down her spine. She crossed her arms to warm herself, and stood watching him for several silent moments. He looked at ease. As if he didn’t give a single damn he’d cut her loose from him.

Damn him.

Inflamed by his refusal to give her the same opportunity for explanation that she’d given him, she stalked to her room. The slam of her door satisfied her wounded pride, however, it did little for her breaking heart. Like a scrap of trash, he’d tossed her aside. One error. One insignificant act. Nothing like his failure to tell her he would turn into something evil. Or that by staying with him, she risked her life.

CHAPTER 35

Farran stood in the shadow of Spain’s majestic Sancta Ovetensis, his mood as black as the building thunderheads above. He had tossed and turned all night. Woke once to the sound of his own shouts when the nightmares returned. Not long after, he had awakened to find Noelle nestled in his arms. He had held her then, grateful for the peace she offered. Despising himself for the weakness she created.

Why she had comforted him when he had treated her with such disgrace, he could not fathom. But as he reflected on their argument, he realized she did not throw her errors in his face and place the blame on him. Unlike Brighid, she did not fault him for her failures.

And the more he compared the two, the more difficult ignoring Noelle became. He had feigned sleep on the plane, stared out the window in the taxi. She made no attempt to draw him into conversation, yet she made her presence known with the occasional brush of her hand, the touch of her eyes, her refusal to stand less than two feet away.

Now as twilight descended upon the concrete courtyard and they approached the cathedral’s arching doorway, he could not understand why she did not turn from him in disgust. ’Twas what he wanted her to do. ’Twould make abandoning her to her mistakes much easier on his guilty concious.

Last eve, he had treated her worse than a dog. When he ached to hear her explanation and longed to believe the words she would speak, he blocked himself to everything, including all consideration.

He paid the price now, as she confidently thumped on the private entrance. She should be the one who hung her head. Yet nay, ’twas he, who felt shame.

The heavy door creaked open, dwarfing the minor priest who stuck his head outside. On seeing them, a hearty smile smoothed ruddy cheeks. “Good eve! Please, come in. Father Phanuel expects you. He is most anxious for your arrival.” The thick Spanish accent that clung to his words gave his voice a melodic cadence.

As they entered, Noelle extended her hand. “I’m Dr. Noelle Keane. This is…” She glanced at Farran, her eyes full of unspoken question. Recovering from her brief hesitation, she put more effort into her smile and finished, “My companion, Farran.”

Companion. He almost snorted. He was her
guard.
As he had been when he met her—no more, no less.

The priest beamed under the bright glow of Noelle’s smile. “Ah, Dr. Keane! Spain is indebted to you. That you have finally proven what we’ve long suspected brings pride to Oviedo.”

What would the priest say once he knew her carelessness caused the shroud damage? Before he could consider the thought fully, the man ushered them into a wide, echoing hall.

“I regret Father Phanuel is not here to greet you. He is with a patron in need of guidance. He asked me, please, to show you to the Cámara Santa where he will attend to you shortly.” The man stopped before a barrier of iron bars. Upon producing a set of ancient keys, he inserted one and twisted an equally ancient lock. The gate squealed open. “You may enjoy Christ’s treasures while you wait.”

As he followed Noelle, Farran took in the bright lamps that beamed down on glass cases and jewel-encrusted gold crosses. But what caught his breath was not the manufactured light and ancient relics. ’Twas the overhead incandescence, one that came without a source and lacked the sharpness of man-made light. A holy aura that flooded the stone chamber and soaked into his soul. He basked beneath it, feeling small and insignificant. As if his place within the Almighty’s plan was naught more than a passing speck of dust.

Noelle browsed with nonchalance, no single sign she was naught but comfortable within the sacred chamber. He bent to her ear. “Do you feel no shame, damsel?”

She looked up startled. “Why should I?”

His gaze dropped to the satchel that hung from her shoudler. “For the damage you brought to the sacred cloth.”

Noelle smiled then, a bright confident parting of lush pink lips that baffled him. The gentle shake of her head sent her hair tumbling over her shoulders like spun silk. “No. I’m human. Made to make mistakes. The Almighty knows what’s in my heart and will forgive.” She shrugged her shoulders, and the sparkle in her eyes brightened. “Mikhail said as much this morning. Phanuel’s an angel—he’ll understand.”

Farran’s air fled his lungs as if she’d punched him. Mikhail had forgiven her? Why had he said naught?

He did not have time to contemplate the meaning before Phanuel’s voice boomed down the hall. “Dr. Keane. Farran de Clare. How happy I am to see you!”

Long dark hair fell in soft waves around a face that held so much beauty the archangel could rival Raphael. He moved with the grace of divinity. The same sublime light glinted in his watchful eyes. Though Farran had never set his gaze upon anything more than a watercolor depiction, Phanuel resembled naught of his imaginings. He was slight of stature compared to Mikhail, weak of arm compared to Uriel. And the Angel of Judgment gave off an air far less threatening than the mighty Gabriel.

“Come, allow me to show you the cathedral. It’s not often I may have a bit of pleasure before business. The Lord’s work is constant.” He beckoned them into the wide hall with the hearty manner of a parent who welcomed a long absent child.

Farran shifted his weight. ’Twas disconcerting to be greeted by a stranger with such warmth. He gave Phanuel a respectful nod and assumed his place at Noelle’s side. The need for normalcy, for what he understood no matter how objectionable, made him reach out for Noelle. He settled his hand in the small of her back and ignored the quizzical lift of her eyebrow. But he could not mistake the sway of her body, the subtle shift that brought her closer to his side. Her jasmine-scented warmth washed over him much the same as the light in the Cámara Santa. He suffered his body’s natural response. His blood stirred with awarenes. His pulse skipped several beats. And against his thigh, his cock flinched.

God’s blood, even when he longed to despise her, his body refused to listen. He gritted his teeth together and tried to focus on what Phaneul was saying.

“Bishop Alvarez began construction in 1308, but what you see now was completed in 1388.”

Noelle reached out to trace a finger over an ornately carved stone column that supported the spanning arched ceiling. “If the early eleventh-century chapel was so honored, and the Church began housing relics before the bishop’s improvements, why then are there no marks of the Almighty’s master masons?” Her gaze settled on Farran in a pointed reference to the Knights Templar. “None of the artistry matches what I’ve seen.”

“You are sharp.” Phanuel let out a short laugh and directed his answer not to Noelle, but to Farran. “Those who held our secrets became a threat to the corrupted Church. As Farran can attest, the year before, the Inquisition, under the directive of Azazel’s pawn, King Phillip IV, and the false papacy in Avignon, took great measures to eradicate our noble knights.”

Snapshot images of his torture flashed within Farran’s mind. Though more than seven hundred years had passed, he could still smell the burning of his flesh, hear the false priest’s vile laughter. He dropped his hand to his belly and fingered the scar beneath his shirt. When he caught Noelle watching, he stuffed his hand into his pocket.

“Although the knights were secretly pardoned at Chinon the same year Alvaraz commissioned work, Alvaraz himself was a product of Avignon. He had the sigils destroyed and new ones crafted in their place. Look here.” Phanuel tapped a small relief not much larger than a doorknob. “You can still see two legs of the Templar cross. They are disguised amongst the detail and have been compromised, but they are still present.” His grin broadened as he gave Noelle a wink. “Lazy masons.”

The long heavy roll of thunder rattled a nearby stained-glass window. Phanuel looked toward the ceiling and frowned as if he concentrated on a distant thought. As the racket faded into silence, a heavy rain pelted down, and his jovial demeanor disappeared. He gave Noelle an apologetic look. “I’m afraid we must attend to other, more important, matters. You have the Sudarium.”

Farran cursed beneath his breath. He had not intended to linger so long. Indeed, he had planned to return outside once Phanuel bade Noelle hello. Now he found himself unable to escape. Forced to stand at her side as she faced her misdeeds. He would share whatever judgment Phanuel decided.

Noelle shrugged the satchel off her shoulder and passed it to Phaneul. “It’s inside, along with all the documents verifying its age.” Her confidence faltered for the briefest of seconds, her anxiety reflected in the shaking of her hands.

As Phanuel released the lock and took out the fragile cloth, Noelle cleared her throat. Farran held his breath.

“You’ll find a quarter-sized hole in the lower left quadrant. I apologize, Phanuel, for damaging the relic. I did not understand”—her earnest gaze shifted to Farran—“many things.”

Phanuel clasped her by the hands, studying her. Farran’s pulse slowed to a stop. Afraid to do more than breathe, he watched. Would the angel whisk her away? Condemn her from this place? Or would he, as Noelle suggested Mikhail had done, grant her pardon?

The archangel did neither. They exchanged no words. Confounding Farran further, she gave Phanuel an understanding nod. In turn, he bent to grace her cheek with a fatherly kiss. After a slight squeeze to her shoulder, he withdrew. “I have some other business to attend to. Father Ricardo will escort you to your room. Let us meet again tonight and take our evening meal together.”

Her smile returned, as radiant as it had been before. “I’d like that.”

“Then it is agreed.” At the lift of Phanuel’s hand, the first priest materialized from the shadowy hall. “Meet me in the Cámara Santa a half hour from now. No more.”

With that, Phanuel stalked away, his long dark robes lapping at his ankles, the Sudarium tucked beneath his arm. Farran found himself at the mercy of Ricardo—and an imminent room with Noelle.

Saints’ blood.

*   *   *

As Farran ducked beneath the door frame and entered the sparse room, Noelle eased the door shut. She had one opportunity for a few undisturbed minutes alone with him, and she refused to waste it. Phanuel and Mikhail had both forgiven her, yet Farran could not. His reasons couldn’t just revolve around the fact she’d kept secrets.

When he stretched out on the simple iron bed and shut his eyes, pretending she didn’t exist as he had all day, she pounced. “When I hid the Sudarium, I thought you were crazy. I intended to leverage it for my freedom.”

His body tensed. The hand at his thigh clenched into a fist. She ignored the signs of warning and stumbled ahead. Whether he wanted to hear it or not, she was going to explain.

“The night I was attacked, I came outside to tell you. I understood my mistake then, but everything happened so fast. Then you were in the infirmary. When you got out, I frankly forgot about the damn thing.”

Driven by determiniation and the hope he could not ignore her touch, she sat on the edge of the bed and rested her hand on his arm. “If you hadn’t left last night, I would have told you this morning. I wasn’t trying to deceive you.”

He jerked his arm away and crossed it over his chest. “Leave it be, Noelle.”

The burn of anger started in her belly. It crept through her chest, out to her fingers, and up her throat. “Leave it be? You kidnapped me, badgered me,
humiliated
me, and then made love to me. Now you want me to just
leave it be
?”

He twisted onto his side, giving her his back. Incensed, she pried at his shoulder. But against her slight weight, rolling him over was like trying to move a boulder. At her wit’s end, she let out a frustrated hiss. Wanting a reaction, any kind of a response at all, she punched his shoulder.

The strike succeeded. Farran bolted out of the bed. “Damsel, mind yourself!”

“Or what?” She gestured at the sword around his waist. “You’ll run me through? Maybe you ought to. Murder would make more sense than your stubborn pride. Take me home—I’ve had enough of your abuse.” Leaping to her feet, she held two fingers in front of her face. “Two archangels have forgiven me, Farran! Who are you punishing me for? Was she so cruel you can find no goodness in anyone at all?”

Like the lash of a whip, Noelle’s words cracked through the air. They pierced through Farran to clamp a vise around his chest. His ribs screamed against the pressure, his gut hollowed out.

She stood before him, her chest heaving with fury. Her eyes blazed such scorching fire he was certain he would burn beneath their gaze. Righteous in her anger, defiant in her unyeilding stare, she dared him to confront the past.