Mystic Warrior (29 page)

Murdoch woke to a child's laughter and the scent of tropical flowers overriding the stench of fish and salt water. Feeling more peaceful than he could ever remember being, wondering whether he was dead, he almost allowed the rocking of the waves to lull him back to sleep.

The cry of “
Land ho!
” jerked him wide-awake.

Placing a hand to his head to verify it would stay on his neck, he threw his legs over the side of the hammock. Balancing precariously with his feet on the deck, he sat up.

Instantly, Lissandra was beside him, her skirt brushing his knee as she offered him a mug of coffee. He didn't dare meet her eyes until he'd swallowed half a cup of the thick brew.

Once assured he was in full possession of his faculties, afraid he looked as if he'd been afflicted with the wrath of the gods, he gazed ruefully into her smile. “I am not my best in the mornings.”

She laughed, and her entire face brightened. It occurred to him that he could wake to the music of Lis's laughter more willingly than to the sun rising at dawn.

“It is late afternoon, and your captain is arguing with our Minutor over the safest port for landing.”

Murdoch frowned, still not trusting the miner, but they were surrounded by water. Surely he could not cause trouble . . . yet. Murdoch preferred to enjoy Lis's laughter for now.

She looked like the angels he had seen in churches, blissful and innocent, although he knew that beatific look hid a sharp mind. He didn't deserve her admiration, but he would bask in it for as long as he was able. At least he had managed not to kill anyone last night. Not that he knew of.

“I ordered the captain to steer a course up Cornwall's west coast,” he said. “How long was I out?”

“You've been unconscious all night and half the day, but I helped you sleep. It was not until they began arguing that I let you wake.”

He rubbed his temple, felt no lingering pain, and nodded at her decision. “If this happens often, it could become awkward. I can't allow you to decide when to turn me on and off.”

She laughed again. “If it were that easy, it would be most amusing to have you for a puppet. But you collapse of your own accord and wake when you wish. I just help you relax.”

He rubbed his whiskered jaw and didn't let his relief show. “Fair enough. I still think we should feed our Minutor to the sharks.”

“If we cannot prove him guilty of any crimes, we will have to free him. Do not take too long with your ablutions, please. Tempers are flaring.”

Lis had left a washbasin of water, a comb, and bread and cheese on the tray along with the coffee. Murdoch made himself as presentable as he was able, grateful that their patients were taking the fresh sea air and had left him alone. The food and coffee revived him.

He didn't take time to shave. He needed to be on deck to guide the ship. Once they reached Bridgwater Bay, they would have to wait until high tide to slip into the mouth of the Parrett River. He and Ian had marked the channels two years ago when Ian had first bought his property. It took expert timing of the tides and knowledge of the currents over the mudflats to reach the place Murdoch had in mind. His keener senses would make him better at the job than the captain.

Once upon a time it must have been possible to sail right up to Glastonbury, but time and tide had changed that. Now flatland dotted with livestock filled the old bay. Still, Ian had chosen his estate wisely for Aelynn purposes. Their knowledge of tides and ability to See what Others could not would allow their swift ships to slip unnoticed up the nearly invisible waterways.

Pierre and Amelie greeted Murdoch as he strolled down the deck. Unaware of Murdoch's extraordinary role in running yesterday's blockade, the crew barely acknowledged his existence. He would have resented that when he was younger but now shrugged it off. He no longer required adulation.

For once, he felt easy inside his skin. If he turned his mind to the problems they faced, anger and frustration would knot him up inside, so he chose to enjoy the sun and the breeze and the brisk sail up the coast. The damned elusive chalice was a problem for another day. For now, he hoped they could reach the farmhouse tonight where he could have Lis to himself.

He kissed her cheek in view of all, claiming her as his own, and she didn't reject his assertion. With the wind billowing his shirtsleeves, he took over the wheel with the assurance of a man who had everything he wanted. For now.

Letting her hair blow back from her face, Lissandra admired the way Murdoch steered them through the murky waters of the estuary even though night had fallen and visibility was limited. Barefoot, unshaven, his queued hair blowing in the wind, he looked like a pirate. Wearing Trystan's breeches and the shirt she'd made for him, he commanded the wheel as if he had the world at his fingertips.

She opened her senses to the dark landscape. She heard the crew grumble that they would run ashore, that there was no wealthy port filled with food and women here, but she understood Murdoch's course. Ian had told her of the land he'd purchased in England, an estate where his wife's horses could run free, a haven the same distance north of Aelynn as Trystan's Breton home was to the south. From Aelynn, on swift Aelynn ships, they could reach either destination in a day.

Under Murdoch's uncanny guidance, the fishing sloop slid down an invisible river channel hidden by willows and reeds. Sleeping ducks and geese flew up in surprise. Small animals onshore splashed into the cover of water. Murdoch gestured for the anchor to be lowered even before she saw the dock.

The shoemaker limped up to stand beside her, puzzled at the silent English countryside. “Are we near London?”

“No, on the other side of the country, but I understand England is not so large a place as France. You may rest here with us until you are strong enough to make the journey. The fresh sea air will be better for your recovering lungs than the coal smoke of the city.”

“We cannot take advantage of your extreme kindness any longer,” he protested. “We owe you far too much already.”

“You owe it to your daughter to be as healthy as you can be,” she reminded him. “There is a town not far from my brother's home. Perhaps you might prefer the coast to London and whoever awaits you there. Take time to consider your choices.”

Pierre did not know to shield his emotions from her, but Lissandra politely shut them out. She already knew he hoped to find relatives in London, that he wondered if the sloop might go there next. In that, she couldn't help him. He had to make his own decisions.

While Murdoch consulted with the crew, and paid the captain the remainder of the fare for their safe journey, Lissandra returned to the cabin to fetch her bag.

After all they'd been through, she longed for the familiarity of home. At the same time, her blood raced in expectation of the possibilities that lay ahead. She and Murdoch had shared the same dream of the chalice. Deep down in her heart, she prayed that meant the holy relic had accepted Aelynn's leader and was ready for the true Oracle to take it home.

But most of all, right this minute, she hoped there was a bed nearby that she and Murdoch could share. She'd had far too little time to experience the pleasures of their bodies, and knowing the uncertainty of the future, she considered wasted every hour they spent apart.

Responding to the tug of Lissandra's desire, Murdoch appeared silently at her side, and took the bag from her hand. “This is all Ian's land. He lets most of it to tenants. There is a tenant farmhouse on a slight rise not far from here. It is not much, but the couple who live there are accustomed to receiving late arrivals.”

“What about our passengers?” she whispered. “Will the crew take them elsewhere?”

“I would like to truss up our Minutor and heave him into the river, but I cannot in all good conscience do that. He's sticking to his story, claiming he traveled straight from his home to Pouchay and knows nothing of a priest or soldiers. He wants to get off now.”

“It's possible,” she murmured thoughtfully. “Or, since he does not reek of guilt, he may believe whatever he's done was in the cause of the justice he seeks.”

Murdoch, who had sought justice in France, and in so doing had set fire to water and nearly killed Ian, knew how misguided the search for justice could become. Wounded creatures of any sort were inherently dangerous.

“We can watch the Minutor now that we recognize his shield. There are minerals in the distant hills, so we can hope he will leave us. As you say, I'm in no position to judge him. Our shoemaker has agreed to disembark also. Unless the farm couple already has guests, there will be room for all. In the morning, we can take other transportation to Ian's home.”

Lissandra accepted the wisdom of his decisions.

At her silence, he hugged her close, and she leaned her head against his shoulder. The beat of her heart accelerated with expectation, and Murdoch chuckled and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. The intimacy of the gesture heated her all over.

“Soon,” he murmured.

“Soon isn't fast enough,” she whispered back.

But it would have to do. The crew assisted their passengers to land, eager to prepare for the turn of the tide rather than be stranded in mud. Frogs croaked in the reeds. Odd plops in the water spoke of nocturnal creatures going about their usual business. Lissandra sensed this was sacred land, blessed by the gods long ago, as mystical as the home she'd left behind but in ways she did not yet comprehend. Ian had chosen well.

The city dwellers stared up at the starlit sky and the Stygian countryside and huddled together on the newly constructed dock. Apparently frozen in his angry thoughts, Badeaux merely waited for direction.

“It's not far,” Murdoch reassured the company. He led the way down a boardwalk built over water overhung with willows.

Lissandra lifted Amelie as if she were a toddler. The child clung to her neck and stared around her with wide-eyed wonder.

“Are there other children here?” she whispered. “Will they like me?”

The child's fears echoed Lissandra's own. “They will like you very much once you learn to speak English as they do. You will need to learn lots of new words.”

“Papa studied English. He can teach me,” Amelie replied proudly. “I already know ‘How are you?' and ‘I am fine.' ” She parroted the phrases in English with a charming accent.

“That is excellent. I think you will like your new home.”

Lissandra swallowed a lump in her throat and prayed she spoke the truth, for unless they found the chalice, Murdoch, like Ian, might end up living here, and she would have to sail home alone.

 

“I wish I understood the will of the gods in matching an amazing woman like you to a scoundrel like me,” Murdoch murmured.

In the privacy of their farmhouse bedroom, he slid Lissandra's sleeve off her shoulder and pressed a warm kiss to the flesh he bared.

“You are not a scoundrel,” Lissandra murmured, running her hands into his hair and releasing the tie that held it back. Every particle of her thrilled in expectation of these next minutes, hours, and she could barely think to speak the words. She flattened her hands against the solid muscle of his chest to feel his heart pound in tandem with hers. “The gods have given you handicaps to keep you humble.”

“Now I am to be a
humble
Oracle? You ask the impossible.” He laughed and pressed eager kisses to her throat. “I don't believe the gods have succeeded in teaching me humility.”

“No, but there is always hope for the future.” As her gown slid to the floor under Murdoch's capable hands, she wrapped her arms around his neck and let him carry her to the tidy bed in their attic room. Tomorrow, she would fear the future. Not tonight.

“You make a most imaginative priestess if you See a wretch like me as a holy man.”

Below them, their company prayed and slept and worried. But for now, they did not need her attention, and for this brief reprieve from responsibility, she thanked Aelynn. “I only interpret as I've been taught.”

“I would that we could do this in the temple. You deserve the blessings of the spirits,” Murdoch murmured as he climbed in bed beside her, not releasing his grip on her until she was under him.

By the light of a single candle, she watched him tug his shirt over his head as he knelt over her. Shadows danced along the bronzed planes of his wide chest and the narrow line of curls that disappeared into the band of his trousers. She had seen him like this many times, and each time was new and even more exciting.

“Our time must come.” She spoke her beliefs, not her thoughts. If she had to think about it, hopelessness would wash over her. “For all we know, we will tire of each other.”