He rose and placed a hand on Merrick’s shoulder. “Soon, my son. Soon, you will know all there is to know. Until then be careful of those you trust most.”
He looked back at Isabella and held out his hands. “Rest now. I will come for you when it is time.”
Simon stared at the older man as he left the room, his mouth gaped open. He whirled back around to Isabella. “How did he know those things? And what did he mean I will know all?”
“I don’t know,” she murmured. “But you would be well served to heed his words. Father Ling is never wrong.”
Simon rubbed his eyes, fatigue marking the beginnings of a headache. He felt as if he had stepped into an alternate world. One he had no control over, and one that mystified him.
The monk’s words had struck a chord in him. A painful reminder of the questions he indeed had surrounding his brother’s death. Questions he had buried long ago in an attempt to cope with the overwhelming sadness and anger.
Isabella’s entire country made little sense and he felt himself spiraling further into some sort of sick fairy tale. But she seemed to take it all very seriously. Was it any wonder she was unlike any other woman he had ever encountered?
Directing his attention back to his food, he chewed the now tasteless meat and chased it down with a large swallow of wine.
Across from him, Isabella stared at him over her fork. “Is something bothering you?” she asked.
“No. This is all rather different,” he said by way of explanation.
Her mouth twisted in a knowing smile. “Yes, I suppose it is. Especially to an oh-so-practical Englishman.”
He smiled at her teasing and marveled at how he sat across from the future Queen of Leaudor thinking how much he loved her.
He dropped his fork and it clattered loudly on the plate. His stomach clenched and he closed his eyes. It wasn’t shocking. In retrospect he wasn’t sure there was any one moment when he fell in love with her, but she had gradually inserted herself into his heart and soul. And now that he had said it in his mind, he was filled with dismay.
He opened his mouth to speak and just as quickly, closed it again. The words stuck solidly in his throat. How could he say to her what he had never voiced aloud to another human being? The mere idea of baring his soul nearly sent him crawling in discomfort. Almost as bad as the idea of ultimately bidding her farewell.
How could he possibly say goodbye to her when it was all said and done? Forget how perfectly their bodies fit, how much joy she brought him, her smile, her spirit and her fire. If he lived a hundred years, he had no hope of ever meeting her equal.
“Merrick, are you sure you are all right?”
Her concerned voice penetrated the heavy fog swirling around his mind. He forced a smile to his lips and took his fork back up.
“Yes, everything is fine.”
But everything wasn’t. In a few hours, the beginning of the end would commence.
Chapter Twenty
Neither Merrick nor Isabella slept, though they rested on the pallets laid out for them. She was wound too tightly over the upcoming journey into the caves to close her eyes. Finally, she assumed a cross-legged position on her silken pillow and attempted to relax through meditation.
Her mind swam as she fought against tension and anxiety. She focused on the images of her mother and father and her two brothers. Suddenly she could hear her mother’s laughter, see her father’s smile, see Davide concentrating on his sketching. Only Stephane remained distant in her memory so she reached further, trying to bring him closer to her, but the only image she could conjure was of the bloody hand Jacques had held.
Dispelling the awful picture from her mind, she concentrated instead on her father. She needed his wisdom now more than ever as she prepared herself to take over where he left off.
He stood in front of her, his expression uncharacteristically solemn when it came to her. Her brow crinkled as she fought to try and remember the memory associated with her current image.
When it is time to hand down a legacy, it is necessary to remember that things are not important. The written word is the most valuable contribution. Long after everything else is gone, the written word lives on. Even when the paper has faded and worn, the words exist in our hearts and in our memories to be written down again and again for our children.
Her eyes flashed open, her breathing erratic. She could still hear the echo of her father’s voice, and she looked frantically around. Her gaze lighted on Merrick who watched her intently from his pallet. “Are you all right?” he asked in a concerned voice.
“Yes,” she said, though her voice still wavered. “I was just remembering something my father said.” But she didn’t remember him ever saying those words to her. Could she have forgotten?
She pushed the episode to the back of her mind as a monk entered the room and stood before her. “It is time, Your Highness. Father Ling awaits you in the sacred chamber.”
She stood and took a deep breath. She glanced over at Merrick and he smiled reassuringly at her. As she followed the monk from the room, Merrick fell in beside her. He reached over and squeezed her hand then whispered, “What do you say we go into that cave, retrieve the relics then get out and go after Montagne?”
She smiled, her anxiety lessening under his attempt at levity.
