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The Red Cross of Gold
Category:
Action/Thriller
Publisher: Creatspace
ISBN-10: 1451531656
Type: Fiction
Pages: 298
Copyright: Apr 7, 2010
ISBN-13: 9781451531657
Price: $3.99 (eBook)
Five years later, 2055, and the Chevalier du Morte’s exile is complete. It is time for him to come back to the Order of the Red Cross of Gold, but he is reluctant. Life has gone on, as well as death, and he must return. The Knight of the Golden Eagle is on the verge of collapse. Simon’s life has come unglued with the birth of his twelfth child, but Mark still has something he must do before he can be readmitted and restored to full status as a Knight of the Council of Twelve. He must return the Secret of the Wisdom of Solomon to his beloved Chevaliere Sinclair. All is well and good until they decide to do a little ‘experimentation’ with the Mystery. The results are disastrous and not only puts Meredith’s life in danger, it allows the Djinn to take control of the imprisoned Queen of the Abyss and the dragon in one swift move. Meanwhile, an unexpected guest gets himself into a world of trouble, when he goes tramping around in the Underworld.
Mark Ramsay's five year exile is over, but terrible things are waiting for him at hom. Simon d'Ornan's short marriage to his beloved Rachel has come to a sad end, leaving him with eleven sons and two daughers.
Mark's homecoming is bitter sweet, but Meredith is more than willing to forgive and forget, taking him back without question, but Mark has a terrible secret that he is not telling anyone and then he makes matters even worse by committing a sin that he thinks is unconfessable.
While he is fighting his own conscience, the Grand Master makes plans to offer a living sacrifice to God. After Meredith almost dies in childbirth, Mark makes his own plans and they do not necessarily mesh with Master d'Brouchart's designs.
The Brothers have a hard decision to make and again, the outcome has deadly consequences and Mark finds himself between a rock and a hard place.
Excerpt
Simon had detached himself from reality long before the ceremony had begun. He smiled and hugged and kissed, but it was all auto-pilot, automatic, mechanical. He looked around at the multitude of flowers his wife had received and imagined himself in his garden in Lothian. Rachel would have loved them all. Her gardening abilities put his to shame. His eyes fell on a particularly large wreath with strangely familiar flowers on it. Pink and white Sceau du Solomon lilies, purple amaranths and blue violets in the shape of a six-pointed Star of David. A hexagram. The Order’s spray had come in its own truck. Red and white roses, gold-trimmed ribbons and lace, but this was something altogether different. This was the same combination of flowers he had first planted around the hexagonal patio that Meredith had built for him in Scotland so long ago now that he had a hard time remembering those days with clarity. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and walked over to take a closer look at the beautifully odd arrangement. A small card in an unopened envelope hung from the stand. He opened it up.
“Peace be with you, Brother. MAR.”
Simon dropped the card and spun on his heel to find Mark Andrew standing directly behind him.
“Brother,” Mark Andrew said and held out his hand, but Simon was immediately in his arms, kissing both cheeks, hanging onto him as if he had come back from the dead… again.
Mark Andrew peeled the Healer from him and held him at arm’s length, blinking and smiling at him.
“You’ve changed your hair, Brother!” Simon informed him and then hugged him again. He let go of him after a few moments and then dragged him toward Rachel’s mother. “Mama! I would like you to meet my… dear friend, Mark Ramsay.”
The woman looked up at Mark Andrew and smiled through her tears.
“Simon certainly has a multitude of friends,” she murmured and then turned as one of her daughters called to her from the front doors.
“You go ahead Mama,” Simon said quickly, hugged her and then pushed her toward the doors, trying to rid himself of her. He’d had enough of her tears and her grief. She needed to leave room for his.
He turned to Mark Andrew and smiled at him again before taking his arm and turning him to look at Rachel. She was beautiful amidst the white satin and flowers.
“You would have loved her, Brother, as much as I do,” he said and then began to cry. Mark Andrew had to catch him when he fell. It was as if he had been waiting for Mark Andrew before he could cry, before he could grieve and before he could give in to his own suffering. As if this might be final penance for the wrong he had committed against the Scot and he wanted to make sure that Mark was there to see it… to appreciate it.
((((((((((((()))))))))))))
D’Brouchart caught John Paul at his Audi and grabbed his arm, spinning him around.
“Sir!” The Master glared at him. “What did you think you were doing in there?”
“Nothing, your Grace,” John Paul answered in surprise. “Giving the eulogy?”
“Why didn’t you read what I gave you?” the Master asked him angrily and von Hetz tried to take his arm, but he shook him off.
“Your Grace, the people…” the Ritter told him in a low voice. Several of the mourners were standing not more than a few meters away watching them.
D’Brouchart let go of the prophet.
“I did read it,” John Paul told him calmly. “I did not find it… fitting.”
“Don’t toy with me,” d’Brouchart hissed at him. “We will speak of it later!” He turned to von Hetz and asked “Where is my son?”
“He is still inside, your Grace,” von Hetz nodded his head toward the chapel. “We may have a problem with him yet. He is not properly grieving. It cannot last. The strain is too great.”
The sound of two people arguing loudly reached their ears and they turned just in time to see Jasmine Dambretti deck her husband with an expensive leather handbag. Lucio fell in the street beside the small compact car they had arrived in and then sat down on the pavement, staring up at her as she ranted at him in Creole French. She kicked him in the knee, turned on her heel and climbed into the driver’s side of the car. Before Montague could reach him, she had driven away down the street, spraying both the English Knight and the Italian with a shower of small pebbles.
Montague pulled the Knight of the Golden Eagle to his feet and then helped him brush off his suit while the throng outside the church looked on in silent dismay.
Mark Ramsay emerged from the front doors of the chapel with Simon leaning on his arm. Everyone turned to look at them and he frowned at their curious stares before spying the Grand Master and John Paul. He practically carried Simon to his father.
“Your son is in need, your Grace,” Mark Andrew told the man angrily. “I should think you would have more care for him than to leave him alone at a time like this.”
“Please, Brother,” Simon shook his head, he was still crying though not so freely as before. “I’m sorry. Father, I’m sorry…”
“Hold your tongue, Simon!” Mark Andrew ordered and turned on the Grand Master. “He doesn’t owe you an apology. And furthermore, I would…” Mark Andrew’s words were cut short as he was almost tackled by Lucio Dambretti. It was almost a repeat of Simon’s greeting for him. He stumbled back under the onslaught of Lucio’s hugs and kisses, blinking in confusion. Louis Champlain peeled the Italian off him and then nearly squeezed the life out of him as the Knight of Death tried to extract himself from the enthusiastic embraces. De Bleu came to greet him, hugging him and kissing him and then kissing his ring as if he were still King Adar. Barry took hold of him next and then Montague and de Lyons. De Lyons actually called him ‘your grace’, much to the vexation of the Grand Master. The intensity of the funeral coupled with their combined frustrations at having been able to do nothing concerning Rachel’s loss magnified Ramsay’s return into something far beyond what it might have been. Mark Andrew could not have planned a better re-entry. His timing was perfect as usual and yet, he had not planned it so. His inability to find the church once he had reached Verona had been the quirk of fate that had put him last in line at the end of the services.
Whether he understood what had happened or not, he was breathless by the time de Lyons let go of him and his anger with Edgard was lost… for the moment. He straightened himself up and tugged on his coat before stepping in front of the Grand Master again, determined to continue with what he had on his mind though he had lost his momentum and his impetus and the warm welcome had gone a long way to improve his dark mood in spite of the sad occasion. Mark Andrew was nothing, if not single-minded of purpose, but this time, the distractions were overwhelming. John Paul reached him and turned him around once more, hugging him bodily before kissing him in the Templar fashion.
“Papa, welcome home,” he said and smiled.
Mark drew a deep breath and nodded to his son and said “John Paul…” he spun around once more to face the master, raising his right index finger toward heaven.
“And furthermore, I would…” he began again and D’Brouchart drew himself up to his full height, preparing for a terrible public scene with his Knight of Death. But Ramsay was cut short once more when Merry broke through the small crowd separating her from Mark. She slammed him bodily into the Grand Master, knocking d’Brouchart into a parked car behind him, causing the alarm to go off. They stumbled off the walk into the crowded narrow street.
“Mark Andrew!” She shrieked in his face as he caught her in his arms and turned around with her in the street. A car honked angrily and someone yelled at them in Italian.
“Merry, fur God’s sake!” he cried and dragged her back to the walkway. He stood looking at her in shocked wonder for a moment before she was in his arms again, kissing his neck and his face and then his lips.
“Brother, please. Sister Meredith!” Simon tugged on her arm and tried to get Merry’s attention. “Mama is watching.”
Mark Andrew pushed her away, but then pulled her back. He wrapped one arm around her shoulders and then took Simon under his other arm.
“Did ye nevar tell yer mother-in-law thot ye’re family was insane, Brother?” he asked the Healer and shot a dark look at the Master before being dragged away by Simon and Merry. Simon’s seven eldest sons came racing through the crowd to surround them. The herd of blonde-headed boys were jumping up and down around them like they were characters in a Mardi Gras parade.
“King Adar! King Adar! Hail to the King!” Reuben shouted in spite of his father’s swats and admonishments.
The children were relieved that the funeral was over. A multitude of other children, along with his little brothers joined the chant as they struggled to make their way toward the line of parked vehicles. The mourners and onlookers erupted into lively conversations about all manner of subjects. It was quite obvious that Simon’s eldest son had never forgotten the night he had met Sir Ramsay in Scotland after the birthday party, when the elves had shown up with their faery fires and drums and Mark Andrew had ridden in on his great black stallion wearing a golden crown and with his golden sword at his side.
“Shhhh! Reuben!” Simon tried to calm the boys down. “Your grandmamma will have our hides. Respect and remember your mama.”
Reuben stopped and then gave his father a big hug.
He then grabbed hold of one of his brothers and ran back through the crowds with the rest of the children following after him. All of them held flowers taken from the church and some of them had adorned their heads with roses and carnations and lilies. Simon had to smile at their childish enthusiasm. Life would go on and Rachel would have been very pleased to see her children laughing.
Mark Andrew pushed and pulled Merry and Simon down the street to where his rented sports car was parked somewhat askew the walkway between two delivery trucks. The black, convertible Mercedes gleamed in the bright sunlight and the proprietor of the business came out to greet them with a shower of Italian epithets to which they nodded and smiled and waved. He opened the door and Merry climbed inside. Simon climbed into the back seat as Mark Andrew slid under the steering wheel.
“Boys,” Simon shrugged apologetically to them. “What won’t they do when the opportunity arises? They have been saints.”
“There you go again, little Brother. No apologies. Whair to?” Mark Andrew asked Simon.
Lucio leapt into the rear seat beside Simon, smiling broadly at them as Mark backed up. His eye was swollen, but he was overjoyed to be rid of Jasmine for a while and a bit.
“I need a ride’a, Brother,” Lucio told them. “It seemsa that my a’wife has… forgotten me.”
Mark frowned at him and then put the car into drive. He made a U-turn in the narrow street and passed back by the Grand Master who still stood at the edge of the street watching them in disbelief. Mark raised one hand to the man, Merry reached across and honked the horn and he hit the gas, forgetting his usual admonition that sports cars, like women were dangerous things. The powerful car skittered and swerved momentarily on the ancient cobbles and then they were gone.
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