The Red Cross of Gold I:. The Knight of Death (9 page)

“You know what I want,” she told him. “I want
an audience with d’Brouchart and I want your Key.”

“Of course, I forgot,” he nodded. He could
give neither, even if he wanted to.

“Of course,” she repeated

When she was gone, Mark Andrew finished
folding his clothes and stored them away in the bags before
stashing them under the bed, hoping to make a good getaway soon. If
he was lucky, he could take his belongings with him, if not, he’d
leave them. There was nothing of any real value in the bags. He
stretched out on the bed and stared up at the trim on the wall
paper around the room. It was covered with French fleur-de-lys
designs in blue and white.

How many times had he seen that very same
emblem adorning the shields of the Frankish Knights when he had
served under William of Chartres during the fifth crusade?
Fleur-de-lys. Named after flowers. Entirely wrong. The emblem
represented water. The sea and the men from beyond the sea… He sat
up suddenly, but any further memory fled before his distraught
eyes. He lay back again, ignoring the rumblings in his stomach and
relaxed, breathing deeply, forcefully calming his mind. Images
crawled in black and white, reversed like film negatives across the
backs of his eyelids.

Rats! Rats! And more rats! Hundreds of big,
lazy rats crawling over heaps of dead bodies. Smoke and dust.
Screams and blood. And the incredible smell of rotting flesh. He
sat up again and looked around the comfortable room in terror. He
had fallen asleep. Where did these images come from? He closed his
eyes, took a deep breath and a wild-eyed man wearing a turban and
wielding an ugly curved sword screamed at him and charged. He
tumbled from the bed and stood up before he was entirely awake
slapping his side for his sword and felt his head swim at the
sudden movement. These images were not American and neither were
they Scottish. They were old. Very foreign.

Scotland. The cool, crisp nights and bright,
warm days of late spring in the borderlands. There was no place on
earth like Scotland.

Home! Scotland was home. The woman was right.
He was from Scotland. Of that, he had no doubt as dozens of
landscapes flitted through his mind. His thoughts were interrupted
as he realized someone was unlocking his door… again. Didn’t these
people ever knock?

He waited apprehensively as the door swung
open slowly and then a great sense of relief washed over him as his
Pixie let herself inside the room and closed the door quickly. She
smiled at him impishly.

“I had to see if you were all right,” she
told him and quickly crossed the room to where he stood. She
wrapped her arms around his waist and laid her head on his chest.
He instinctively put his arms around her and she turned her back to
him, covering his arms with hers. The sweet scent of her curls
tickled his nose. She looked down and tapped the ring on his pinkie
finger

“I-A… A-T,” she read the letters aloud. “The
four elements.”

“What?” he frowned down at the top of her
head.

“The four elements,” she said softly and
turned her face toward him, kissing his jaw. “Fire, water, air and
earth. The symbols of the alchemist. Are you all right? Maxie told
me you were bleeding again.”

“Shhh,” Mark hushed her and placed one hand
lightly over her mouth. Did she never run out of words? “How is
that you can trust me so completely when you hardly know me?” he
asked. “Aren’t you afraid to be here with me?”

She nodded and pulled his hand away. “Of
course, I’m afraid. I'm afraid of what you might think of me. A
true and honorable Chevaliere would die before dishonoring a weaker
fellow. And this attraction I feel for you is hard to ignore.”

“A weaker fellow?” His frown deepened. “Are
you referring to me? I would never dishonor you. What we did… I
mean, what I did… what you did… it was… it was…” He had no idea
what to say to her. He didn’t even know her last name. “Forgive me
if I took advantage of you somehow. I thought you…”

“I was talking about me… dishonoring you,”
she giggled. “I know that I caused you to break your vows and I
suppose I should ask your forgiveness, but I believe that you
enjoyed it. Didn’t you?”

“Do you think you need to protect me? My
honor?” he asked incredulously and turned her abruptly about
face.

“If I can,” her smile faded. “But I do owe my
allegiance to Sir Valentino first and the Order of the Rose.
However, I still owe you some measure of security since you are my
responsibility and to that end I will do my best to help you
through this in whatever small way I can.”

Mark placed one hand over his eyes and shook
his head. This was all very confusing.

“Who is Sir Valentino?” he asked after a
moment. “Help me through what?”

“Sir Valentino, I meant Chevaliere Valentino.
You know her. You were just talking with her,” Merry sighed as if
she were talking to a stubborn child. “Cecile?”

“She is not a sir!” he told her. “And you are
very confusing.”

“She is whatever she wants to be. Besides,
the title that corresponds to Sir is Dame and I find that a rather
demeaning address,” Merry shrugged slightly and snuggled closer to
him. “Sometimes she is a sir and sometimes not. It depends on the
occasion. Today she is in the sir mood. But tell me, is there
anything you need?” She looked at him with an expression that did
not seem as innocent as before.

“I need to get away from here,” he said in
earnest. “Will you help me?”

“I can’t do that.” She looked disappointed.
“And, besides, it would break my heart.”

“Oh, please!” he said, pushign her away in
disbelief. This had gone far enough. “You can’t be serious. You
don’t even know me. You call me an assassin. An assassin is a
murderer. A criminal.”

“I know you well enough,” she sniffed and he
thought she was going to cry again. “I’ve already decided.”

“Decided what?!”

He felt his anger rising suddenly as he took
her by the shoulders. Her eyes sparkled with renewed amusement and
the tears, if there had been any in the offing, evaporated.

“That when she is finished with you. When she
gets what she wants, I will keep you for myself.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Mark repressed the urge
to shout at her as well as the terrible desire to strike her to the
floor. To fall on her and take her by force then and there. To show
her who needed to be protected from whom. He raised one hand, but
instead of striking her, he held it out between them as if warding
off the devil, himself, and backed away from her.

Was he a rapist as well as a murderer? It
couldn’t be true. ‘The company of women is a dangerous thing.’ The
words from somewhere long ago rang in his head. He turned his back
on her, crossed himself in the Catholic manner and went back to the
bed. Falling to his knees, he buried his head under his hands and
began to pray into the mattress. Another scripture came unbidden to
his mind. “I sink in deep mire, where there is no standing: I am
come into deep waters, where the floods overflow me.”

When he had finished his prayer, he peeked
back at her from under his hands, hoping not to see her. But she
was still leaning against the dresser with her arms folded across
her stomach watching him. He closed his eyes quickly, crossed
himself again, folded his hands on the bed in front of him and
began to repeat the Rosary. The only prayer he could think of at
the moment.

“In the name of the Unknown Father, in Truth,
Mother of all, in union and redemption and sharing of the powers,
peace to all on whom this name reposes,” he spoke very rapidly. “I
acknowledge one great invisible God, unrevealable, unmarked,
ageless and…”

“Don’t worry. There is no need to panic,” she
interrupted the Creed. “I will do all I can to protect you. I won’t
let her give you to Maxie like she threatened. This time we’ll do
it my way or not at all. I do have some influence, you know. I have
the right. I am named the Holder. What is that you are reciting
anyway? Is it a prayer? I’ve never heard it before.”

Mark Andrew got up and sat on the bed. It was
no use. He could not pray her away, nor could he pray himself out
the situation in which he presently found himself. If Lucio
Dambretti was right, then everything was the Will of God. Lucio!
His friend. His… brother. He did have a brother. An Italian
brother? How could a Scot have an Italian brother? He dropped his
head in his hands and she came to sit beside him.

“The Rosary,” he snapped a belated answer to
her question and got up quickly, leaving her sitting on the
bed.

“That’s not the Rosary. I know the Rosary,”
she objected.

“You see?” He slapped one hand against his
forehead. “You think you know everything and you don’t know
anything about me.” He put his other hand on his hip and turned
around in the center of the room in frustration. “Hell! I don’t
even know anything about me. Of course it’s the Rosary. You’re just
trying to make me think I’m crazy.”

“Well, whatever. You don’t have anything to
worry about. I brought you here,” she continued in her soothing
voice, misinterpreting his stress as concern for his safety rather
than his problem with her proximity. Did she not know how close she
had come to being very badly used and violated? “Ultimately, only I
can send you away or give you up for the ceremonial sacrifice. When
the time comes, I will choose neither. It is not unheard of.”

“It is to me,” he sighed and looked up at the
ceiling. “You’ve been brain-washed. I need to take you away from
here. It is the least I can do for you after taking your virginity.
Just don’t expect anything more than that.”

“My virginity? How did you know?” Her crystal
eyes widened. “I read before that men could tell. I mean, men with
experience with such things could tell if the lady was a virgin.
Well, I guess you would have lot of experience, but I’m
embarrassing you.” She stopped and he stared at her in
disbelief.

“But don’t be silly,” she said and got up and
wrapped her arms around his waist, snuggling close to him again. He
suddenly felt very tired. “I know what’s wrong with you. You
haven’t had breakfast or lunch. You’ll feel better after you eat.
And you must tell me how you knew that I was a virgin. Under the
circumstances, I didn’t think you’d notice.”

“Thank you for noticing my starvation,” he
sighed. “I guess they forgot about me. I was supposed to have
breakfast with your… Sir Valentino.”

The thought of food cheered him in spite of
everything else. He hugged her briefly and then pushed her away as
guilt washed over him. She wore another of the lightweight
sundresses and he could almost see completely through the
delicately flowered material. Another thought threatened to
overshadow his hunger. She had the key to the door in her pocket. A
tiny, pleated pocket just under her left breast. He could see both
the key and her naked breast through the thin fabric. He could have
taken it from her. He could have taken a great deal more from her
than the key, but she was the only friendly face in the place even
if she were totally insane. It was information he needed, much more
than food and certainly not intimate relations with a woman at the
moment.

“It’s almost noon,” he said suddenly. “Could
we skip breakfast and go straight to lunch?”

“Sure,” she agreed and squeezed his hand
before turning toward the door. “I’ll make sure they send up
something… lots of something.”

“This Order of the Rose… how many members do
you have?” he asked as an afterthought.

“Locally or worldwide?” She stopped at the
door, pulling the key from her pocket.

He stared at the key and wondered if there
could be millions of maniacs all over the world like Valentino and
Maxie.

“Locally,” he said, trying to sound
casual.

“Let’s see,” she tapped the key against her
perfect teeth. The perfect teeth framed by soft, pink lips. He
could have kissed the key away from her.

He blinked away the disturbing thought as
another thought occurred to him. A rule of some sort. ‘And for this
none of you must presume to kiss… “Wife, widow, maid, mother,
sister, aunt or any other woman…” he finished the line aloud,
causing her to frown at him as he walked slowly toward her.

“What?” She blinked at him.

“Nothing. You were saying?” he asked and took
her hand in his. Where had that come from? ‘None of you’. None of
whom? Who couldn’t kiss wives, sisters, etceteras?

“Well, the roll is not my responsibility, of
course, but I’d guess about a hundred and sixty-five or seventy.
Give or take a few. Generally about forty per cent turn out for the
ceremonies. Unless they are really big like this one.”

“That many?” He raised her hand and kissed it
in spite of the strange warning ringing in his head. “Do any of
them live here? In the house with you and Valen…?” His voice
trailed off as he kissed her shoulder.

“No, of course not,” she laughed. “They come
and go. Sometimes we have guests in from out of town for a few
days. Texas is a big place.”

“A few days?” He kissed her hand again and
looked into her eyes. Again, he felt that he should be able to read
her mind through her eyes instead of melting into them.

“My dear, sweet, Mark Andrew,” she stepped
back from him. “I am not totally without brains.” She raised his
hand in hers and ran her tongue between his fingers, causing him to
jump in response to the strange sensation. “You are trying to
seduce me into telling you all our secrets. I will not be had so
easily.” She smiled and let go of his hand. “You will have to do
better.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but it was no
use. He nodded instead.

“Though I can hardly resist your charms,” she
continued to smile at him and raised both delicate eyebrows. “I had
promised myself not to take advantage of you again. I don’t know if
I can stand by that promise, if you continue to make advances. And
if Valentino finds out that I’ve already given up my virginity
without the proper ceremony, well, I can’t imagine what she will
say or do.”