“Well?” Sara was about to burst from curiosity. He started and she wondered if he’d forgotten that she was there. She had hardly moved a muscle for nearly three hours, and not spoken a word.
“It’s as I suspected,” he said. “The Sacred Hallows are in the United States. I have to find them.”
“Hallows?” she repeated, her mind running a rapid data search through Celtic history. “Are you speaking of the ancient Hallows of the Tuatha de Danaan?”
Lucas looked surprised. “You’re familiar with them?”
How much to tell him? That the Tuatha de Danaan were the people of the Goddess? When she had told the second important man in her life—the one after the crook and before the adulterer—that she practiced the Old Ways of Brighid, he had called her a witch—not the good kind—and accused her of bewitching him.Blessed be. As if that were the way the Goddess worked. He’d also tried to sully her reputation and nearly ruined her business. She’d best err with caution this time.
“The Celts, their culture and religion, have been an interest of mine. Kincaid is an Irish name. I’ve done some research.”
“And?”
“The Spear of Lugh always flies true. The Sword of Nuada protects its bearer. The Dish represents the Round Table and makes men equal, and The Cup of the Dagda provides healing.”No need to divulge the inner truths about the Hallows. Not yet.
“Can you imagine what power a corrupt and evil man might have if he were to possess all four?” Lucas asked softly.
“There’s plenty of corruption as it is,” Sara answered. “From terrorists to heads of business and government.”
“And that corruption would endure for eternity, multiplying itself.”
“So what does the manuscript say should be done?”
He studied her as though assessing how much he should tell her. And that irritated her. It still seemed a little melodramatic to her that Fate hinged on an anonymous source, but if the Hallows really did exist, there was more than one way to save the world. The inner, hidden path of the Goddess was subtle, but stronger than the outward path of men. She leaned forward. “I risked my life for that document. I want to know what it says.Allof what it says. Now.”
For what seemed like an impossible amount of time, he said nothing as he continued to appraise her, his amber eyes penetrating hers. She forced herself to hold his gaze and not drop hers to that full sensual lower lip he was worrying with his very white teeth. Then, finally, he nodded.
“It’s hard to know where to start.”
“The beginning would be good.”
“Are you familiar with the history of the Knights Templar?”
She stared at him. Like who wasn’t? There’d been enough books out about them recently. “Well, let’s see,” she said. “There were nine Frenchmen who made the trip to Jerusalem, supposedly to make the path for pilgrimages safer. Only, for years, they never left the site of Solomon’s Temple nor did they increase their numbers. They did some excavating. When Acre fell, they escaped the area, carrying whatever treasure they’d found, and managed to make themselves rich by establishing banking in Europe. How’s that?”
The corner of his mouth quirked up. “In a nutshell, pretty good. And you’re aware of the Inquisition that nearly destroyed them?”
Sara nodded. “The French king, Philippe, owed them a lot of money. To pay his debt would have weakened France and put his kingship in jeopardy. But the Templars owed allegiance to no one except the Pope. Fortunately for Philippe, Clement the Fifth was weak and easily convinced that the knights were really heretics trying to bring down the Church. There were mass arrests made on October 13, 1307. A Friday. That’s why we’re superstitious about Friday the thirteenth.”
Lucas tilted his head. “I’m impressed. What else do you know?”
She tried to ignore his hooded look. “I hope my little history lesson has something to do with what you just read?”
“It does. Please continue.”
“Their treasure—Solomon’s treasure—was never found. The banks had been emptied prior to the raid. Supposedly they had been tipped off and had ships waiting at La Rochelle and Le Havre. But the ships were never found either. An interesting story.” She became aware that he was watching her mouth as she talked and her breath caught. “What does it have to do with the manuscript?”
“Do you know anything else about the Templars?”
She was getting exasperated. How could the man be so sexy and stay so focused? And why couldn’t she? Stay focused, that is. Sara took a deep breath. “Only that some of the Templars supposedly made it to England and Scotland and were given refuge.”
“’Tis true. ’Twas a secret squadron of them that helped the Bruce take Bannockburn. It was on the orders of the Bruce himself that Commander Randolph held back his contingent until Edward’s men felt sure the victory was theirs and let down their guard. Aye, it was grand, the Brits tripping over themselves to flee in the face of the red crosses. The fact was, the Bruce’s spearmen could fair walk across the burn without getting their feet wet, thanks to Edward’s dead men.”
Sara narrowed her eyes. “You make it sound like you were there. How do you know all of this?”
His golden eyes widened and then he grinned. “I’m a Scot. ’Twas the fodder of childhood stories. When Scotland had its own king.”
“Would you please get to the point?” Her patience was beginning to wear thin.
