The Mystic Rose Read Online Free

help.”
    She made to dart away, but he seized her wrist and held tight. “No, Cait,” he said, his voice shaking. “Stay.”
    â€œI will be back before you know it.” She stood, but he held her tight in his grasp.
    â€œNo time, my light. Stay with me.”
    â€œFather, please,” she said. “Let me find help.” She removed his hand and started off once more.
    â€œCaitríona, no!” he said, his voice recovering somethingof its former strength. “There is only one who can help me now, and I will soon stand before him. Stay and pray with me.”
    She turned and knelt beside him, slipping her arm behind his head, fighting down the panic clawing at her heart and blurring her vision.
    â€œListen, Cait. I love you very much.”
    â€œOh, Papa, I love you, too.”
    â€œThen promise me you will not seek to avenge me,” he said, cold sweat beading on his ashen face. “Let it end here.”
    â€œI do not understand. Who was that man? Why did he do this?”
    â€œPromise me!” he insisted, raising himself up again. The effort brought a spasm of pain which made him cough. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. “I know you, Cait. Promise you will not avenge me.”
    â€œVery well, I promise.” She dabbed away the blood with the hem of her blue satin mantle. “Now, lie back and rest a little.”
    Having received her promise, Duncan slumped against the base of the column. “Good,” he sighed, settling back against the cool stone. “Good.”
    Cait put her hand to her father’s cheek. “Please, Papa,” she persisted, “I need to understand.”
    â€œPray for me, Caitríona.” He closed his eyes.
    â€œI will—every day. But I need to understand.”
    â€œRenaud…” He coughed again; more blood came up, staining his teeth and chin. She wiped it away.
    At first the name meant nothing. Then the memory surfaced. “Renaud de Bracineaux? The Templar?” She searched her father’s face for a clue to the meaning of this mystery. “Why?”
    He opened his eyes and tried to smile. “Poor Alethea…I am glad she is not here. She is not as strong as you…” he coughed, and slumped further down, “…take care of her, Cait.”
    â€œHush.” She put her cheek next to his and held him tight, as if to hold off death through the strength of her embrace. “I will watch over her.”
    He raised his hand and cupped his palm to her chin, holding her face so that he could see her. His eyes were hazy, and his voice wavered. “Take my heart…” He gulped air, his voice tight with pain, and forced out the words. “Take it home. Tell Padraig…bury it in the church. He will know what to do.”
    Unable to speak, Caitríona simply nodded.
    â€œSydoni,” he rasped. “Tell Sydoni…my last thought was of her.” His voice had grown suddenly soft and tenuous as spider-silk. “Tell her I…thanking God…”
    â€œI will tell her.” The tears spilled freely down her cheeks and onto her father’s hand.
    Duncan raised his hand and kissed the tear with bloodstained lips; Caitríona clutched his hand and pressed it to her cheek. “Dear heart,” he said, his voice a fading whisper. “I go.”
    He slumped back against the column base with a sigh. In that last exhalation, Cait thought she saw a light flicker briefly in his eyes and heard him say her mother’s name…“ Ah, Rhona…” —the most delicate ghost of an utterance, a word spoken from the threshold of another world, and he was gone.

TWO
    T HE DULL IRON glow of a new day was staining the dark waters of the Bosphorus by the time Cait finally returned to the ship. She stood at the rail and stared with red-rimmed eyes at the dirty yellow gleam burning through the gray cloudwrack like a hot poker singeing