“Aye.” Lucas still felt a moment of pain when he remembered standing in the crowd, helpless to do anything while the Grand Master burned. The wolf had nearly gotten the better of him that day. That evening he had loosed the beast, allowing it to tear out the throats of two of Jacques’ tormentors.
He forced himself back to the present. “The Shield is much older than that, though. It was passed down from the very first Templar.”
“Godefroi de Boullion?” Gavin asked.
Lucas shook his head. “Older still.” At Gavin’s puzzled look, he explained. “A king near Jerusalem who was a friend of Joseph of Arimathea’s converted to Christianity and changed his name from Evelake to Mordrains to prove his complete conversion. His uncle gave him this Shield. He called it the Shield of Wisdom. Anyone who was not worthy to carry it would be severely maimed.”
Gavin slid a quick glance at Lucas. “Who was the uncle?”
“Peter the Fisherman.”
Gavin whistled. “Saint Peter was the first Templar?”
“No. For centuries, the Shield lay hidden in the tomb of Nascien, Mordrains’ brother. And then, a descendent of theirs—a knight pure in heart—found his way to the abbey on a quest for something else entirely.”
“What?”
“The Holy Grail.”
Gavin almost missed a turn. “You’re saying Galahad…?”
“…was the first Templar. Yes.” Lucas leaned back and let that sink in. Not only did the Templars adopt the square, red cross that Galahad had worn on a white mantle, but much of the original Templar philosophy had been taken from him. Refusing to accept Lancelot’s wealth or his title, he had pursued his quest as a poor man, pure in heart, and chaste. Lucas grimaced at that. A lot of the brothers had protested that rule, but Lucas had obeyed it stringently, mostly because he was afraid he’d lose control of the wolf in the midst of climax and hurt his partner. Even today, he kept his emotions tightly under control, lest he loose the animal.
The Templars had been what he needed to still the wolf. By the early Middle Ages, civilization had reared its head again and the wolf did not want to be tamed. A century or two of strict adherence to discipline and penitence had been what he needed, although he allowed himself to fantasize if an alluring woman caught his eye.
Which brought him back to the dark-haired beauty who owned the manuscript.
Getting it from her would be only half the challenge. The other half would lie in keeping her safe from the beast inside. Lucas liked strong, independent, clear-thinking women, and this one also had a natural sensuality about her. He squelched thoughts about running his hand up her thigh, letting his fingers slowly stroke between her folds and sighed. The best thing he could do was keep his hands off her. That would take some doing on his part.
****
Adam Baylor adjusted the patch over his eye and surveyed the sorry lot of men who sat in front of his magnificently polished black oak desk in the massive library in which he took such great pride. Encased in a glass tome on an original Chippendale lamp table was the handwritten first draft ofMein Kampf,given to him by Adolf Hitler himself. A good man, Hitler. One of his best.
“So you let the manuscript get away from us?” he said in a soft voice to the nervous-looking young man who had been at the auction.
The young man, Toby, gulped, his Adams apple bobbing in his thin throat, only too aware that the soft voice spelled danger more than any shouting could have done. “I’m sorry, sir. It was when that other man shot the price up—”
“What were your orders?”
He swallowed again. “To buy the manuscript.”
“Did I tell you how much to spend?”
“No, sir.”
“Did you think I couldn’t afford more than $25,000?”
“N…No, sir. It’s just…”
Adam Baylor raised his eyebrows. “Just what?”
“Just…just that you’ve never given me more than that to spend and…and you weren’t there in the back of the room when I turned around,” he finished in a rush.
“I ask again. What were my orders?”
The young man looked at the floor. “To buy the manuscript, sir.”
Baylor sighed and then sounded almost concerned. “And I gave you a second chance. When you called that you had failed, I initiated Plan B. You failed at that as well. You weren’t able to snatch the portfolio from that American bitch.”
