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Mark Ramsay, immortal member of the Council of Twelve for the ancient Templar order of the Red Cross of Gold is sent on a mission to America to bring back a traitor to the Order, alive or dead. He is captured by a rival order and falls in love with one of his captors while suffering from a memory loss. By the time he regains his memory, his own Brothers of the Order are out for his head.
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The Red Cross of Gold:. the Knight of Death
The Knight of Death is an action adventure novel describing the misadventures of an 800+ year old warrior monk who serves as Assassin and Alchemist for the ancient secret Order of Templars who have survived the centuries since they were disbanded in 1307. He is a hot-headed Scotsman born around 1160 who has a number of personal issues concerning women and what he believes is a disease he has suffered since the death of his brother during the Fall of Jerusalem in 1187.
His Grand Master sends him on an assassin's mission to retrieve an apprentice who has deserted the Order and run away to America. The apprentice, unfortunately, has fallen in with a rival order that would like nothing more than to extract the secret of immortality and the fabled Philosopher's Stone from Sir Ramsay when he turns up looking for the apprentice.
They throw an unstable alchemical contail in his face and it causes him to lose his memory temporarily. While they are holding him captive, trying to pry out secrets he doesn't even remember having, he falls in love with one of them even though celibacy and the avoidance of the company of women is one of the basic tenants of the Poor Knights of Solomon's Temple's Primitive Rules. By the time he begins to remember who he is, it's almost too late and everyone is out to kill him.
Excerpt
"Valentino told me all about the battles," she said as she led him along the upstairs hall. "It must have been awful. Were you at the battle of the Horns of Hattin? That was awful."
He caught her arm and spun her around. "What do you know of Hattin?"
"Nothing!"
She looked up at him in surprise. The mention of the ancient battle confused and confounded him. He could smell the burning brushfires and hear the screams of the soldiers as the enemy charged up the hillside, killing and hacking everything and everyone to bits, even the horses. Then the vision and the sounds were gone as suddenly as they had come. "She just told me that it was horrible. No survivors. The infidels killed everyone."
"Not true," he objected and shook his head. "There were survivors." How did he know?
"Then you were there." Her face lit up.
"Perhaps. When did it occur?" he asked hoping to gain another to clue to his identity.
She stopped and frowned fiercely. "Let me see…. I know. 1187! There. You see. I have been studying you."
"Did you say eleven eighty-seven?" he asked as she continued up the stairs.
"I believe so. I’m close, aren’t I?" She glanced back at him and he nodded. She was insane. That would make him…. How old? "Twelfth century, yes, I’m sure of it."
"What is today’s date?" he asked her suddenly and she laughed.
"You must be kidding," she answered.
"Of course. I’m a regular comedian," he said sourly and followed her down the hall.
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