Gene of Isis

  I had not cried since I was a small child who knew no better than to desire the mundane pleasures of this world, and I despised Devere for my regression. I prayed to god to be merciful and deliver me from this man’s company. My prayers and tears only subsided when exhaustion finally relieved me of consciousness.

  The next morning there was a pounding on my door—I suspected it was Devere come to fetch me and I dreaded the thought of facing him. I could feel how swollen were my eyes and face, and I could not have been more ashamed and disappointed with myself.

  ‘I am not dressed yet,’ I snapped. ‘Please come back later.’ I splashed my face with water from the washbowl and fished for the cotton drying cloth.

  ‘My Lady du Lac. It is I, Sir Christian Molier. Are you unharmed?’

  My heart shot into my throat. I should have been relieved at this turn of events, and I was, and yet all I could think about was Devere. What would become of him if he was captured? Had they caught him?

  ‘Yes, my lord.’ I hurried to dress myself and answer the door.

  ‘Is Devere in there with you?’ he queried.

  I unlatched the door and opened it. ‘No, my lord. I believe Sir Devere had plans that necessitated the taking of his own quarters last night.’

  ‘Then I must be doubly grateful to find you safe and unharmed.’ The French knight bowed to me dutifully. ‘The innkeeper has told us that Devere took the room next door, and yet he no longer seems to be there.’ Molier suddenly hauled me into the corridor, and his men stormed in to search my quarters.

  ‘Will you not accept my word?’ I took offence at being startled and manhandled in this way.

  ‘A thousand apologies, my lady.’ Molier let me go and explained himself. ‘I feared the rogue might be holding you hostage.’

  Obviously, the search of my room failed to produce Devere and I breathed easier when Molier seemed to lose interest in pursuing him. ‘Are you still in possession of your sacred charge?’ he queried. Although I was inclined to, I thought better of telling Molier the truth for fear that it would give him an incentive to pursue Devere. The prophecy that I would be the death of Devere added force to my decision to lie. ‘Yes, I still have it.’

  When Molier had his answer he wasted no time in getting me to the ship he’d acquired for the purpose of sailing down the coast to St Jean d’Acre in the Kingdom of Jerusalem.

  That is where I now find myself, on the final leg of my journey to Outremer. At St Jean d’Acre, Molier informs me, we shall find all we need to begin our inland journey into the Sinai.

  I don’t know what I shall do about the lie I told Molier on Devere’s behalf, but even now I feel my betrayer is keeping pace with our party. Unfortunately, I believe I have not seen the last of Albray Devere, but if he chooses to pursue this quest his death will not be on my conscience.

  It seems rather appropriate that this parchment on which I have been recording events since the fall of Montsègur is now coming to an end. A new start is needed, one that complements my new perspective, which is this: never trust or feel for any man in this world more than the god whom I serve. My beliefs and oath shall never be threatened again…that I do vow.

  LESSON 18

  COERCION

  It was five-thirty in the afternoon by the time I had finished reading Lillet’s account and when I noted the hour, I made for the shower to freshen up before my dinner engagement with Molier.

  It was plain to see why Albray had not wanted me to read the old document, for it did not exactly paint a sterling picture of his character. I must admit I was a little surprised at the way he had played the holy priestess for sport and I could not help but wonder if he was doing the same to me? Albray had warned that Molier was trying to undermine my regard for my knight and protector, and I hated to admit that a tiny seed of doubt had been planted. And yet, I had seen Albray and Lillet together in the astral realms. Whatever had transpired between them in life had certainly not affected their deep regard for each other in the afterlife. But perhaps in the afterlife all was automatically forgiven.

  As I showered, I cursed my lack of spiritual knowledge and reminded myself that I was only getting half of the story as far as Lillet was concerned. Where was the scroll she had penned after this one? Had she had the opportunity to continue her account? I also cursed that I had still only read three-quarters of Ashlee’s account by this stage, and I had yet to discover if Molier was indeed behind the kidnapping of Lady Susan Devere.

  While I dried myself, I resolved to keep my dinner engagement short so that I might continue reading Ashlee’s journal before I retired this evening. I was fast running out of time to unravel the truth behind the Star-Fire Temple locked in the mount beneath me. Tomorrow Andre would return with the white powder I suspected would unlock the ancient shrine. As I had yet to master my psychic skills fully, how could I expect to combat evil forces seeking to misuse the mysterious celestial powers that, according to legend, resided in the temple?

  Once dressed, I summoned Albray, as I had promised I would prior to facing Molier. When he arrived, my knight observed me for a moment, appearing a little taken aback.

  I’ve never seen you wear a dress before…you look beautiful. His compliment was given rather begrudgingly, and I could tell he was perturbed that the occasion was dinner with Molier.

  Thank you. I ignored his jealous air. I’m glad you like it. I placed Albray’s stone amongst the belongings in my bag for safekeeping, as I didn’t want to risk carrying the charm into Molier’s presence. Once Albray was summoned he could sense my need of him just as well without it. I’ll be off to dinner now and I don’t plan to be late in returning.

  You seem distant, Albray noted. You read Lillet’s story?

  The scroll only recorded her movements to where she was sailing with Molier to St Jean d’Acre, I informed him as I retrieved the scroll from my table to return it to Molier. The information seemed to be a blow to Albray.

  That explains your reserve this evening.

  You’re imagining it. I smiled to reassure him.

  I wish I were.

  His persistent argument was starting to get on my nerves. You were wrong about Lillet, okay? She was in love with you.

  Don’t tell me that! he protested.

  I rolled my eyes. What did he want me to say? It’s the truth. I’m sure you had your reasons for toying with her emotions as you did—

  I toyed with HER emotions. That IS rich. It was she who toyed with my heart!

  I held a hand up in truce. I don’t want to go into this right now . .. I’m going to be late for my business meeting.

  Fine! Albray vented his annoyance. Go to Molier.

  I turned and headed for the tent flap.

  But it will serve you no better than it did Lillet, or me.

  Look! I glanced back at him as I exited. Can I count on you this evening, or not?

  Of course. Saving damsels in distress is my lot, I’m afraid.

  I had to leave before I said something I’d regret. And they say women are irrational in love.

  I heard that, Albray called after me.

  ‘Good,’ I muttered, without looking back.

  Don’t mention me in his presence, or the stone, or Ashlee’s journal. He gave me his instructions as an afterthought.

  You must think me daft. I reached Molier’s abode and knocked.

  I waited for the door to be answered and desperately tried to recall the subject matter of the conversations I had had with Albray, prior to Akbar informing me that my tent was probably bugged. I had surely mentioned Albray’s name—probably Ashlee’s and Molier’s as well. Had I mentioned my relationship to Ashlee? Maybe Molier was not aware that I was a daughter of the blood? Doubtful, or why would he have come? For the opening of the gate, of course—the inscription apparently stipulated only that a woman bearing bread was required to enter first. How many people would translate this to mean a daughter of the Grail bloodline?

  Keep an open mind, I reminded myself
. Much of what I knew about Molier had come from a two-hundred-year-old journal and a knight who had been dead for eight hundred years! Time to apply my logical, questioning, scientific mind to this conundrum—it had virtually not had a look-in since I’d met Albray.

  Two hours later, following a very pleasant evening, I stepped back out of the caravan, unharmed and unruffled.

  Molier hadn’t broached any of my taboo subjects. He had given me Lillet’s manuscript to read because it related to the history of the site. Molier’s was the only copy of the scroll in existence, and it had been passed down to him through the ages via his ancestors—along with his melatonin disorder. Either Molier was a very cunning liar, or he did not have my tent bugged and Albray was mistaken in his belief that this was the same man who had taken his life. Maybe, in the afterlife, Albray had lost touch with earthly matters?

  Well, that was pleasant, Albray commented cynically as I entered my tent.

  Yes, it was, I concurred. Sorry if all our industry talk bored you.

  Molier was quite the historian and had told numerous stories about many of the sites I’d only dreamed of visiting, both actual and mythological.

  Albray was clearly unnerved by how smoothly the evening had progressed. I had to admit that from where I stood there was little actual evidence to support his claims about Molier.

  And what did your etheric sight tell you about the man? he queried. Did you not plainly see how dark his light centres are?

  I could hardly sit there and go into a trance, I argued, trying to avoid admitting that the thought had not occurred to me. I think he might have been a bit suspicious.

  Albray did not take the news well. There is no point in having psychic ability if you don’t use it!

  Well, getting mad at me is hardly going to aid your cause. I moved to my desk and switched on the light.

  My cause! He was now infuriated. It’s not my life at stake here.

  I turned to confront him, aware of the intense anger I projected. I never felt under any threat before I met you, I pointed out, and the look on his face told me that I had cut too deep. Even I realised then that I was sounding like Lillet.

  Albray’s jaw was clenched and, for a moment, he could not look at me. Do you want to know what I liked so much about Miss Granville? He finally raised his dark eyes to mine. She was always prepared to give me the benefit of the doubt. She was a good friend.

  My heart sank. I am your friend. I just need—

  He held up a finger to warn me against continuing. Our business this evening seems concluded…so if I may be dismissed? He motioned to the bag in which the stone was hidden.

  I obliged and as he vanished my heart was suddenly mournful that there would be no blissful dreams of love-making this night. ‘All the more reason to keep reading, I guess.’

  FROM THE HONEYMOON JOURNAL OF LADY SUSAN DEVERE

  I have been separated from my journal for some time and have not had the opportunity to chronicle the events that occurred after reaching Marseilles with my husband. I shall do so now, and cast my mind back to the frightful time of my abduction.

  I recall arriving in the lovely seaport of Marseilles quite late in the day. Lord Devere and I found a rather exclusive and lavish hotel in which to take up residency whilst awaiting word from Mr Devere and our dear sister.

  Unbeknownst to me, my lord had arranged a surprise for the following day, and over breakfast in the dining room he announced as much.

  I asked him what I’d done to deserve a surprise and he replied, ‘You married me.’

  It was moments like this which made it plainly obvious to me what a sound life decision that had been.

  After breakfast we strolled down to the huge seaside marina where locals and guests alike were taking their leisure on the water in all manner and size of craft. The sun was shining, the breeze had a warm edge and there was hardly a cloud in the sky.

  ‘Lovely weather for boating, I presume.’ I had never had the opportunity to try leisure cruising before.

  ‘You think?’ My lord’s tone of voice was rather neutral, and my heart sank. Obviously, my surprise lay elsewhere. But when I was led to a wharf where several small, but grand, sailboats were moored, I realised my husband had been teasing me.

  ‘You are going to take me sailing!’ I squeezed his arm tightly.

  ‘Would that be pleasing to my countess?’ He smiled broadly.

  ‘I could think of nothing that would please me more,’ I said, although I did have one worry. ‘I didn’t know you knew how to sail, my lord?’

  ‘Did you not?’ He pretended to be surprised that he’d never mentioned it. ‘Well then, aren’t I the man of mystery.’

  ‘So it would seem,’ I said admiringly, and kissed his cheek.

  When we arrived at our vessel, aptly named My Only Love, I was completely delighted by the single-berth sailboat. The owner told Lord Devere that a large hamper of food was in the cabin as requested and that he would expect our return by evening the next day.

  I was absolutely ecstatic to learn we were to spend a night on the water together. The notion was incredibly romantic, in my opinion.

  ‘What if our brother comes to Marseilles looking for us?’ I asked, wondering if Lord Devere had overlooked this possibility.

  ‘I feel sure it will take more than a day for my brother to resolve all issues with his wife. In the meantime, I cannot see why we should waste the opportunity to enjoy our honeymoon. I have left word with the consulate and a message at the guesthouse that we shall return on the morrow,’ he assured me.

  It seemed my husband had overlooked nothing.

  The day was spent sailing around just beyond the port. We did not want to venture too far, in case the weather turned bad. We needed only enough distance from civilisation to secure a little privacy and room to manoeuvre.

  My lord seemed to be in his element on the water and I admired how he handled the rigging and generally had complete control of the vessel. I played my part several times when, to my great delight, my husband allowed me to take a turn at the rudder.

  Coming on to evening we dropped anchor within sight of the city, had a picnic dinner on deck and then watched the sunset as Marseilles lit up in the distance.

  I don’t think I have ever known a more perfect day, and my relationship with my husband reached a level of closeness that I’d never thought might be possible. He left the Earl of Oxford back at port and was just James Devere, the man—my husband and dear friend.

  At sundown we retired to our cabin which was dimly lit with gas lanterns.

  My husband went first and then lent me a hand to descend the slim stairs. ‘You realise that out here we have no friends to visit, dinner parties or dances to attend. Whatever shall we do with ourselves all evening?’ His cheeky grin was extremely seductive.

  ‘I fear that we shall be forced to retire early, my lord.’ I closed the distance between his lips and mine. ‘And as I have no maid to help me undress, perhaps you could be of assistance?’

  ‘Oh, the hardship of being at sea.’ His kiss lulled me into a state of complete abandonment, and within moments we were horizontal on the cabin’s large bed.

  This seemed the perfect end to the perfect day, until we felt our vessel bump into something and there was the sound of a scuffle up on deck.

  ‘What was that?’ I panicked, my mind instantly leaping to conclusions. ‘Pirates?’

  ‘This close to the harbour?’ My husband’s reasoning set my mind at ease. ‘We’ve probably hit a log or something.’ He shrugged, far more interested in caressing my inner thighs.

  He moved in to resume kissing me, until I held him at bay when we felt another bump.

  ‘Would you like me to go and check?’ he offered reluctantly, knowing full well that that was precisely what I desired. ‘Don’t move.’ He stole a kiss before embarking on his investigation.

  No sooner had Lord Devere scaled the cabin stairs than he was landing back on the floor with a thud, and four ma
sked men leapt down into our quarters—all armed with swords.

  They dragged my husband to his feet and my lord retaliated, elbowing one man in the stomach while managing to retrieve his sword. He began fighting off the other masked men. One of the swordsmen slipped by him, however, to hold a blade at my throat. Lord Devere had no choice but to relinquish his weapon.

  ‘Lady Susan Devere?’ the man who held me captive inquired. Since my husband was held at swordpoint once more, I feared for our lives too much to lie. I nodded, whereupon my husband was asked to turn around and was knocked unconscious with the hilt of a sword.

  I screamed and then begged my captors not to harm him any further. I vowed to cooperate with whatever it was they had in mind for me, if they would only spare my husband’s life.

  The man holding me captive nodded. The others then bound and gagged Lord Devere and left him on the cabin floor.

  I was hauled up the cabin stairs, and I knew that if there was any chance of my kin finding me I needed to leave something behind that might supply a clue—something belonging to my abductors that might have a psychic imprint on it. I pretended to trip and grabbed at the coat of the man in front of me, ripping the pocket from his jacket. I surreptitiously flung the piece of fabric into the cabin behind me, while the man grumbled about my clumsiness. I was hauled upright once again and urged forward.

  Up on deck, it was easy to see that the bump we’d heard had been made by the large vessel that was tied up to our own. ‘Where are you taking me? What do you want?’

  The masked men ignored my questions and thrust me aboard their vessel. I was horrified when I saw the last man to leave our boat raise the anchor.