Page 14 of Knight of the Sword

Instinctively, she leaned into his warm, solid body. He put a comforting arm around her and led her back toward the clinic, taking the key from her shaking fingers and getting them inside, away from the prying eyes of the gathering crowd.

“The police will be here any minute,” she said, her voice quivery. “I don’t know that I can go through this again.”

Michael turned her in his arms so she was facing him. He held her close enough that his body heat enveloped her, along with the now somewhat familiar woodsy scent tinged with a hint of heather. His hands soothed her back in long, slow strokes. His voice rumbled low in a language she did not understand, but the cadence was rhythmic and slow, relaxing her. She should step back…but it felt so good. No one had made the effort to console her since her parents were killed several years ago. If she could just linger a bit—

The blare of a police siren cut off abruptly and she knew she’d have to face them. With a sigh, she began to pull away, but Michael’s hands slid upward over her shoulders and cupped her head. He bent down, brushing her lips with his in a light, gentle gesture that was leisurely, yet promising. Sophie felt herself softening, melting against him, wanting him—

With a start, she broke away, her hand to her mouth, staring at him. What affected her thinking whenever she was near him? There were police pounding on the door, for God’s sake.

His mouth turned up at one corner in a smile, but his eyes smoldered a different message, which she tried to ignore as she made her weak-kneed way to the door.

The problem of a centuries-old dragon showing up on her doorstep was easier to handle than the problem of Michael. Way easier.

Chapter Four

Michael watched as Sophie clipped the stitches with a steady hand, pulling gently to remove them from the little terrier. It was quite a contrast from the emotional state she had been in last night when he arrived at her clinic.

Of course, there had been a big red dragon breathing fire at the silly fools who thought a twenty-gauge shotgun shell would pierce his armor.

Michael hadn’t meant to kiss her, either. Centuries spent as a male—to say nothing of enhanced warlock abilities—told him this woman was not likely to succumb to any intimate gestures without a solid relationship. He had meant to comfort her, ease the despair he felt in her, but the desperation he’d seen in her eyes at the arrival of the police had triggered that kiss. And, by the Goddess, her lips had been soft and warm and moist just like he imagined—

His reverie ended as Mr. Smith entered the study, carrying a folder.

Sophie looked up. “Is that the manuscript?”

“It is indeed,” he replied and sat down at his desk. Princess bounded to him, her three puppies tumbling over each other as they wobbled after her.

Michael laughed and scooped the pups up in his hands as he took one of the two chairs opposite Mr. Smith. “Your mom needs a rest,” he said to them as Mr. Smith slid the folder toward him.

Sophie approached more slowly and sat in the other chair. “Shouldn’t something this old be kept in an environmentally-controlled box or something?”

“Oh, this is just an English language copy,” Mr. Smith said. “The original is in my vault. I have very good security. Go ahead. Read it.”

Michael let one of the puppies nibble on his finger while they waited for Sophie to finish. Princess watched him anxiously and he finally set the pups down and gave her a pat on her head. “There you go, Mama,” he said as she sniffed her offspring.

Sophie put the manuscript down and shook her head. “I can believe the Templars found some ancient religious relics. Anyone who is interested in history knows the original nine spent their time digging around Solomon’s Temple rather than “protecting” Christian pilgrims on Crusade. Stories of the vast Templar treasure are legendary. I can even believe that they managed to smuggle it out of France and to Scotland before that dreaded roundup on Friday the thirteenth. But magical? How can an inanimate object wield power?”

“I don’t blame you for being skeptical,” Michael replied. “You’ve been trained to deal with facts and proof. For the sake of argument, let’s assume the Templars did get the treasure—whatever it was—to Scotland and under the protection of the St. Clairs, who opposed the French king and his somewhat dubious alliance with England. Studying history, it’s pretty safe to bet that it was the Templars who were the “warrior force” that gave Robert the Bruce his victory at Bannockburn. Are you okay with that?”

Sophie shrugged. “I suppose. But what does a lesson in Scottish history have to do with Celtic relics supposedly handed down by some mythical gods?”

Mr. Smith pursed his lips at that. “My dear Sophie— Your name means “wisdom.” Did you know?”

She frowned at him. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Tsk, tsk,” Mr. Smith replied. “A wise woman would be willing to accept new ideas and concepts, wouldn’t she?”

“Concepts, yes, but—”

“Just keep an open mind, my dear.”

Sophie grunted and turned back to Michael. “Go on, please.”

“I’m going to have to backtrack a little for you to understand how this particular manuscript was written,” Michael said. “Excalibur is one of four sacred relics that were entrusted to a secret order of Templars referred to as the Priory of Sion—”

“Are you going to go all The DaVinci Code on me?” Sophie asked suspiciously.

Michael shook his head. “The relics were passed down through the Merovingian bloodline and the Priory was the elite guard trained to protect them.”