IK1 (19 page)

“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 sixteenth century, how many SEARCH FOR THE SPEAR Cynthia Breeding 82

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. 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.

Reality check. He wants to keep this platonic. Get a grip. “Yes, thanks.” She tried to keep her voice calm as if she received massages from men who looked liked golden gods every day. “What did you mean that the person was more gifted?”

Lucas moved to a chair near her and sat down. “What I meant was that Sinclair would not have given the Hallows into the care of someone who didn’t have some kind of extra protection.”

“You’re talking beyond guns and swords and guards?”

Lucas nodded. “A carrier of one of the Hallows more than likely traveled alone and dressed simply to not attract unnecessary attention. If the person were warded in some special way, why couldn’t that person also be shown where to put the treasure and guided to write the code words in the manuscript?”

She felt goose bumps rising at the thought. “That’s a lot of what if’s,” she said.

“Maybe.” He shrugged. “Rosslyn wasn’t built for the Christians, as you know.

Perhaps a priestess of Brighid was granted special Sight.”

Sara felt a distinct nudge in her mind and she looked sharply at Lucas. Did he have any idea that she worshipped the Goddess? And that her own intuition still told her the spear was somewhere in the northeast? But his expression was bland as he met her look. “So you think that this … priestess … would know that two or three hundred years later a building would be placed in a significant location and point the way to a Hallow?”

“Is that really so unusual? Prophecies have been made from beyond Time. Look at Nostradamus.” He smiled a little. “And the spear was probably the last to be buried.”

“Why?”

“It was the one Hallow most seen,” Lucas answered. “Excalibur, the Grail, the disc from the Round Table all disappeared after Arthur’s death. The spear did, too, but it somehow resurfaced.”

“How do you know all this?” Sara asked.

For a moment he hesitated, his eyes darkening to brandy color. Then he pointed at the computer. “Research,” he said. “It’s all there if you look hard enough.”

“So tell me.”

“You know the legend says that the spear will fly straight and true and never turn against its holder?” When she nodded, he added, “Did you also know that it was once the Spear of the Sun God, Lugh?” She nodded again and he gave her a strange look.

“Well,” he continued, “legend has it that the god chose to become human and yield his spear for the good of mankind, but in the transformation, it was lost to him. It surfaced with Herod the Great. Lancelot carried it for Arthur. It found its way to Helena, mother SEARCH FOR THE SPEAR Cynthia Breeding 83

of Constantine. Charlemagne led his people with it and then it disappeared, to be recovered during the First Crusade.”

“By the Templars?”

He nodded. “Some say it was the first thing they discovered.” He paused with his eyes closed, his hand clenching as though he were holding the spear himself. Then he gave himself a shake and looked at Sara. “We must find it before Baylor does since the power works for whoever owns it.”

“But it has other powers too, doesn’t it?” Sara asked.

Lucas looked wary. “Like what?”

This was as good a place as any to plunge in. To give him a hint of what she was.

She wasn’t sure why she wanted to. It was more of a feeling of he needed to know.

“I’ve done some arcane studies,” she said and shifted a little in her chair as Lucas gaze intensified. “As part of my degrees in ancient and medieval history. In Earth’s beginning, Fire met primal Ice and then came Wind, bearing the Wisdom that would allow the elements to co-exist, but itself unknown.”

Lucas looked fascinated. Which was more than she could say for 99% of her

students when she taught the course. “Wind also tore at World Tree, Yggdrasil, and fashioned a spear from one of its branches. So the spear is symbolic of wisdom, insight, and inspiration. The Spear of Lugh lights the way to that wisdom just like the sun lights the day.” She stopped, surprised Lucas’ eyes hadn’t glazed over. Her students would probably be asleep by now.

But the brightness that shone in his eyes made her think of the sun itself blazing through them. And he looked tense, like an animal about to spring. She could almost see him brandishing the spear. A mighty Highland warrior, bare-chested, biceps flexing as he hoisted the weapon overhead …

“I … never thought of it like that,” he finally said.

She pushed the image of that powerful body out of her mind and started to

continue when his cell phone rang. With a look of annoyance he answered it. Then the look was replaced with a scowl and a soft curse. He looked over at her as he

disconnected.

“I’ve been called back to Scotland,” he said.

* * * *

What an absolutely rotten, stinking time to be called back to Scotland Yard. An old professor had been murdered and Balor was more than likely stalking them. He was pretty sure he had been lured out that night in Halifax and he had his suspicions about this recall too. Not that he thought Commander Nolan could be influenced even by Balor. Lucas hadn’t met a man more honorable or dedicated to his work since Arthur’s time, but it seemed strange that security had somehow been breached in the museum that held the still unclassified artifacts from his last dig. And Lucas was the one who had done the official inventory.

He thought about Sara as he settled in the Business Class of a Boeing 737 where he could stretch out his long legs. It was madness, he knew, to keep finding excuses to touch her. Hell, how could he make himself so hard just by massaging her neck? The glimpse over her head at the computer revealed the tops of rounded breasts and he’d fought the urge to lean down and give her an upside-down kiss. He had barely contained the wolf as she arched and bared her neck to him. And yet, he realized, the wolf’s low SEARCH FOR THE SPEAR Cynthia Breeding 84

growl in anticipation of the bite had not happened. But he couldn’t trust the beast.

He turned his cell phone on the minute the flight attendant announced it was safe to do so and punched in Sara’s number. She answered on the third ring, sounding breathless.

“Hi,” he said. “Where were you?”

“In the shower,” she answered.

He had an image of her standing there, naked, droplets of water running down her silky skin. Or maybe she was toweling off, pressing the cloth against her breasts or bringing it between her legs … he refocused and glanced at his watch. Almost noon. A little late for a morning shower.

“You okay?”

“Sure. I just got back in from running.”

He frowned. “Didn’t we agree you would not take any risks like going out by

yourself while I’m gone?”

“I wasn’t alone. Michael came with me.”

He didn’t know whether to curse or be grateful. He wasn’t too sure just how

much of McCain’s interest in Sara was more that friendly. “Is he there now?” he asked in what he hoped was a casual tone.

She laughed. “He is. Do you want to talk to him and make sure I’m being a good little girl?”

Lucas squelched any thoughts of how she could be good. Suddenly the thought of her standing naked in the bedroom made his stomach knot up. Was the guy in bed watching her? The wolf snarled menacingly.

“Lucas? Are you there?”

He took a deep breath. “Yeah. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I can get Michael,” she said, her voice more serious now. “He’s in the living room watching TV.”

Lucas felt an almost giddy sense of relief. By the Dagda, he was acting like a schoolboy. “Won’t be necessary. Just be careful. I don’t know if Balor is stalking you but he wants a copy of that manuscript. Keep the doors locked … you know the routine.”

“I know,” Sara said. “My copy of the manuscript is locked in my own safe. Mr.

Smith has been digging into the Arthurian legends again and has given me enough work to be too busy to go out. He wants me to find out if Gwenhwyfar actually existed.”

Gwenhwyfar. Small and delicately-boned, ivory skin and hair as pale as

moonlight. Eyes that were a startling light grey. Every movement was pure grace. It was small wonder that Arthur was besotted with her. Half of the knights of the Round Table were. But as fragile-looking as she was, she had steel-like inner strength and more courage that many a warrior. History had much maligned her.

“Sounds interesting,” he replied. “You’ll have to let me know what you’ve

discovered when I get back.”

“I will. Take care.”

Lucas settled back in the leather seat as the flight attendant brought what almost amounted to a meal. Not that he was hungry. He wanted to get the inventory done and be back on a plane heading toward Texas before Balor had a chance to make a move. For now, much as he hated to think about it, he’d have to trust Michael McCain.

* * * *

SEARCH FOR THE SPEAR Cynthia Breeding 85

Sara closed a Web site link and sat back in Mr. Smith’s study, rubbing her eyes.

The amount of non-fiction work on Gwenhwyfar was amazing. There were claims that she was a Pict, a Celt, and a Roman. That she lived in Scotland, Wales, or southern England. That she had fought at Arthur’s side as a warrior queen, that she was Pagan or that she was Christian. That she had willingly plotted with Mordred or that she was abducted by him. That Lancelot had only been her champion and loyal to Arthur or that they had both betrayed their king. How was she going to shift through it?

“You look like you need a break.”

Sara jumped at the sound of Alan Caldwell’s voice. She hadn’t seen him since

she’d returned from Nova Scotia.

“I didn’t know you were still here,” she said and hoped she didn’t sound too rude.

If he took offense, he didn’t show it. “I’m almost through. Just wrapping up a few details,” he said. “Let me take you to lunch to make up for the other time.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“I insist.” He gave her a charming smile. “I feel bad that you became ill.”

“Why? Was there anything you could have done to stop it?”

A look of hurt crossed his face. “I really would like to make for it.”

Mr. Smith entered the study at that moment and Sara inwardly groaned.

Matchmaker that he liked to be, she was probably doomed.

And she was. Mr. Smith waved them off with a big smirk on his face. At least this time, she reflected as she glanced in the rearview mirror as she weaved through traffic on I-20, they’d taken separate cars. And she wasn’t about to leave her food or drink unattended for anything.

She parked her car in front of a local Mexican restaurant. Alan joined her as they walked toward the door. A rather skinny young man reached it about the same time as they did and opened it for them. Something about him looked vaguely familiar, but Sara couldn’t place it. And before she could think about it, Alan started talking.

To her relief, he didn’t seem to be in flirting mode. He asked questions about her temp agency and how she had gotten interested in ancient and medieval history and he seemed knowledgeable about the swords that he had been studying.

“The claymore was the weapon of choice for the Highlanders,” he said.

Sara suddenly pictured Lucas shirtless, the blue woad of his ancestors painted on his face and chest, swinging the six-foot, two-handed sword high above his head as he charged into some medieval battle. For a moment it seemed real. She blinked.

“But the spatha,” Alan was saying, “is more efficient than the long sword.”

“Why is that?” she asked and tried to keep her mind off Lucas.

“It’s shorter and can be retrieved more easily.” He almost snickered. “Haven’t you seen actors trying to pull those long swords out dramatically in the movies? A man with a spatha could move in for the kill before the other sword was out of the sheath and be out of harm’s way.” He leaned forward. “But the deadliest sword was the one the Arabs used. A scimitar. It can slice a human head off as easily as you can cut a well-done steak.”