The Red Cross of Gold I:. The Knight of Death (21 page)

“Oh,” Mark smiled at him. Of course. He
suddenly remembered where he had heard the words before, but did
not know their significance. Latin. ‘My hope is in God.’ He
remembered saying the very same to the Pixie just after the…. It
had just popped out. “Let’s go then.”

The man dashed forward, caught Mark’s
shoulders and kissed him on the lips. Mark shoved him away
forcefully and raised his fist threateningly above the man’s
head.

“Whattar ye doin’?” he asked incredulously.
“I need breakfast, not love! But if ye do thot again, I’ll ’ave ye
with me eggs Benedict.”

“It is the kiss of the Templars, Brother. Are
you sure you don’t recognize me?” the man stammered. He was clearly
frightened out of skin.

“No! I dunna…” Mark caught himself. He needed
to use the fellow for his own advantage. “I mean. I’m having
trouble concentrating,” Mark told him quite truthfully and backed
away from him.

“I have a plan,” the man said in a low,
conspiratorial voice, greatly relieved.

“No doubt,” Mark mumbled and looked about the
room. He really did not want to hurt the little guy, but the man
was making him very nervous.

“They are onto you,” he continued. “We have
to be careful. They know who you are and they know that you are
just buying time with the memory loss story, Brother Ramsay. We
must get away from here as soon as possible. I’ll need to buy
tickets and make the arrangements.”

“Of course… Brother,” Mark almost choked on
the word. He needed to find out what this new game was.

“Just tell me where we can meet with Master
d’Brouchart and I’ll make the necessary plans,” the man nodded his
head and smiled and the nature of the game clicked into place. It
was a very lame scheme to say the least. Mark almost felt sorry for
the idiot. If this was the best Valentino could muster, then her
resources were poor indeed.

“Oh, we don’t need to bother the Master,”
Mark told him. “You just get my car keys and get me out of the
house and I’ll be on my way and you can go on with your work here…
which is, by the way… commendable… Brother. Oh, and bring my stuff.
The things they took from my car. Do you know where they are?”

“I’ll see what I can do, Brother.” The little
fellow looked very disappointed. He was a pitiful excuse for a spy.
He stepped forward again and took Mark by the shoulders causing him
to freeze. Before he could recover, the man planted another kiss on
his lips. Mark silently thanked God that he was so repulsed by the
man. At least he could be sure that Valentino’s accusations about
the initiations and young boys were indeed lies. The man’s kisses
only made him shudder. Not like Merry’s kisses or even Valentino’s
twisted attentions. He had no desire to throw the man on the floor
and make mad, passionate love to him. He almost laughed at the
absurd thought. Of course, this fellow was no young boy either,
but……….

“Great Scot!” Mark slapped his forehead in
frustration. Valentino was driving him crazy!

“I’ll be back,” the weasel smiled at him and
headed for the door.

“Wait!” Mark went after him and caught his
arm with the intention of taking the key by force. The man turned
and looked up at him, completely trusting this time.

“I must hurry,” the little fellow told him
and Mark’s conscience slapped him. “Miss Valentino’s security man
will be looking for me if I stay gone too long.”

Maxie! The idiot was probably waiting right
outside the door for this fellow, ready to shoot him if he tried
anything. Mark would let him go, this time. When he came back, he
would be ready for him and Maxie. He’d take the key and use him as
cover to get out of the house to his car. He needed to gain his
confidence if possible. Make him think the scheme was working.

“Brother, would you… could you… do you
mind…?”

“What? Anything… Brother.”

The man looked up at him almost lovingly and
Mark cringed inwardly. He thought the man might like to throw him
on the floor.

“Send up some breakfast? They are treating me
terribly. It’s awful here. I miss all my… Brothers. All eleven of
them. There is nothing like a Brother’s love in time of need,” Mark
sniffed, smiled down at him, trying to play on his sympathy.

The man reached for his arm and Mark stepped
back before he could receive another kiss from the man. He felt he
had somehow violated himself just by having called the man Brother,
but it seemed to have worked. The man’s face virtually glowed with
excitement at his perceived success.

“Ohhh, I know exactly what you mean, Brother.
Of course,” the man’s face took on a new expression, one of
disgust. “It’s that woman, isn’t it? She’s throwing herself on you,
isn’t she? Disgusting, I know, but if we can get away perhaps there
might be time for a bit of R and R before we meet with the
Master?”

“R and R,” Mark repeated the phrase and
nodded his head. “Yes. R and R!”

The man grabbed him and kissed him yet again
before he could react. His kiss attack was faster than a fleche
from an able swordsman or an enraged cobra. If the man had come at
him with a rapier rather than lips, he would have been a dead man.
Suddenly, he was gone and the key was turning in the lock. Mark
spit on the floor and wiped his mouth as he listened with his ear
pressed against the door. As he suspected, he could hear the faint
sound of voices in the hall beyond the door.

“R and R,” he gritted his teeth. “Run and
Rip. Run you through and rip out your heart.”

((((((((((((()))))))))))))

“I think it may have worked,” the little
rat-like man reported to Valentino excitedly, when they were alone
in the library a few minutes later. “He told me at first that he
just wanted his car keys, but I don’t think he really trusts me
yet. He let me kiss him three times. And he called me brother
several times. I just need a little more time to convince him.”

Valentino did her best to smile at the man.
Why was she surrounded by so much incompetence? Three minutes with
the bastard and the little fool was falling in love with him. If he
only knew! Ramsay would have had the ferret for breakfast. Oh well,
it didn’t matter… ultimately.

“What did he tell you?” she asked with
failing hope.

“He seemed surprised to see me, of course. He
said we didn’t need to bother the Master. He just wanted me to get
him out of the house and get his car keys. And he wanted the stuff
from his car.”

“Yes, of course. He would ask for that in any
case, or at least, I would if I were in his position. What else?”
She tapped one finger against her front teeth.

“He said he was having trouble
concentrating,” the man added.

“Did he mention memory? Having trouble
remembering things?” she asked.

“He said something in Spanish.” The man shook
his head and sighed. “I don’t speak Spanish.”

“It might have been important. Can you
remember it?” She urged him on.

“Let’s see. Yes, I think so. Something like
‘No con prendo, mia me go’.”

Valentino’s face fell.

“Oh, yes and he asked for breakfast, more
like pleaded for something to eat. He said you were starving him.
You aren’t really starving him, are you? He looks like he would be
a hearty eater, I mean, he looks like he might be one of those guys
that eats like a horse,” the man smiled importantly at her and then
shrugged apologetically. “Do you want me to take it up to him? I
don’t think he would mind and I might be able to get some more
information out of him while he eats. If I could spend some time
with him, you know? An hour or two, perhaps?”

“No, I don’t think so,” she said much too
quickly. What on earth had Ramsay done to this guy to make him
think he’d like to have breakfast with him? Was the idiot crazy?
“You’re right. He eats like a horse. In fact, everything he does
reminds me of some animal or another. Of course I’m not starving
him, John. What did you think he would say? That we’re really nice
guys?”

“Mmm, yes, well, he looked hungry enough to
eat me,” the man said dreamily. “He did remind me of a predator of
some sort. A wild predator, yes. Taming him would put a feather in
one’s cap all right.”

Valentino rolled her eyes and shook her head.
The ferret was crazier than she’d imagined.

“Thank you, Brother,” she said and had to
make an effort to kiss him on both cheeks as required by her
station in the Order. “Maxie is in the control room. Maybe you
should go visit with him.”

“Could I?” the idiot’s face lit up. He had
been in Maxie’s control room before. Perhaps he would have a
monitor in Ramsay’s room.

A half hour later found her sitting on the
patio enjoying the bright morning sunlight while watching her
‘guest’ enjoy a breakfast big enough for four men. Why did he eat
so much? Didn’t he worry about getting fat? No, perhaps immortals
didn’t have that problem. He refused to talk to her while he ate
and he would not drink anything either. She doubted he would have
heard her if she had insisted on talking to him so intent was he
upon the pork chops and eggs. The toast was gone and she’d had to
call for light bread to keep up with his signals. When he had
finally finished the last bit of bread and scraped his plate clean
with one finger, he looked at her expectantly.

“What? You want more eggs?” she asked in
surprise and he shook his head before picking up the glass of
orange juice. “Did you sleep well last night?”

“No,” he said simply. There never seemed to
be time to sleep in Texas. Plenty of time spent in bed, but very
little actual sleeping took place. He looked around the elegant
flower garden in the back yard and wondered where Maxie would be
lurking. There was no doubt the man was somewhere nearby with his
ever-present shotgun or else they were very confident that he would
not run.

“I thought you might like a tour of the
grounds,” she said after a moment. “You might want to stay for a
while of your own accord.”

“I suppose it would be preferable to
confinement,” he agreed, finished off the orange juice and started
on the milk. ‘No drinking with meals.’ Some kind of strange ritual
he felt obliged to observe. Until he knew the reasoning behind it,
he would continue to practice it. Perhaps, he was a superstitious
fellow and just didn’t remember it. One thing he did know was that
he liked almost everything set in front of him. He wasn’t a picky
eater. He took a mug of coffee with him when they left the
table.

They walked down the back steps and out onto
a bricked path that led into the flower garden. When he finished
the coffee, he set the cup in a granite birth bath and stuffed his
hands in his pockets as he looked up into the branches of the old
oak trees overhanging the path. It seemed he could see or hear
something up there. Something fleeting that stayed just out of
sight. Squirrels, perhaps.

The garden itself was more like a small,
private park with manicured flowerbeds, shrubbery and ornamental
trees arranged in tasteful curves and lines that complimented the
natural flow of the land as it rose up the hillside behind the
mansion. She carried her habitual cup of chocolate, alternately
smelling it and chattering about topics he had no interest in
whatsoever. He noticed that the hand print on her face had
disappeared completely. He had expected to see a bruise at least,
but she was the picture of health. No blemishes marred her olive
complexion. In fact her skin was perfect… too perfect and her hair
was immaculate, not a hair out of place. Her fingernails were
perfect. Her teeth were perfect and the blush in her cheeks
reminded him of a child. She would have been a strikingly beautiful
woman if it were not for her personality flaws. Her mannerisms were
a bit uncouth and seemed out of place on such a lovely woman. There
were odd notions in his head that she should be sitting somewhere
beside a warm fire spinning wool, but that was certainly not a
modern portrait of femininity. He knew very well what ‘modern’
women were about, but he seemed completely without practical
experience to draw upon. It was as if he had been living inside a
box somewhere while someone showed him pictures of what the world
was like outside. The unshakable notion that he had always avoided
contact with people in general made him even more curious to learn
exactly what it was that he had been doing with his life.

Mark pushed these thoughts aside before they
drove him crazy. Her sexual preferences meant nothing to him or at
least he liked to think so. To each his own or her own, he always
said, but to whom did he say it? He scanned the gardens for signs
of the bodyguard again while trying to memorize every bush and path
and tree for future reference.

It was nice just being outside in the fresh
morning air with nothing between him and the sky above. He was torn
between leaving her in the garden with a broken neck or waiting for
a better opportunity out of concern for Merry. He desperately
needed to know that she was all right. The new day had dawned and
his resolve to leave had faded when he had been allowed downstairs
without restraints and without Maxie’s ugly presence. The nagging
feeling that there was something he had to accomplish here besides
bedding the Pixie returned. Whatever it was, he hoped to make good
on it and assure her safety at the same time. Perhaps he had been
sent here to rescue her. Perhaps he was one of those fellows that
infiltrated cults and stole away with brain-washed sons and
daughters. They made quite a sum of money for doing such things.
That might explain why was he concerned for Merry’s safety, but how
would he explain his relationship with her to her parents or, worse
yet, her husband? Surely she was as loony as this one and was
probably still mad about what had happened the night before, but he
was there for some reason and he had a need to know what it was.
Every time he thought of leaving now, a terrible sense of dread
washed over him along with the unshakable idea that he had failed
at something extremely important.