Mystic Rider (33 page)

He found his old friend at a tavern, seeking passage to
England. Murdoch was highly capable of stealing any of the vessels in the
harbor. It was good to know he wasn’t a thief — yet.

Ian sat down on the chair beside him and mentally nudged a
swarthy sailor from the table. When the sailor was gone, Murdoch shot him a
cryptic glare and lifted his mug without speaking.

“Does the chalice show you its purpose here?” Ian inquired,
because he had to know if Murdoch’s abilities were stronger than his own.

“Obviously, it is here to make amacara matches,” Murdoch
replied in a voice dripping with scorn. “First Trystan, and now I must
congratulate you on yours. She is stronger than she looks.”

Ian would have liked to have heard Chantal’s translation of
Murdoch’s tone. Would she hear truth? Perhaps it had been a mistake to leave
her behind, but she was exhausted and needed fresh clothing, and he’d wanted a
moment alone with his old friend.

Which told him right there that he was no longer capable of
killing Murdoch. Something inside him had changed. Ian had spent the better
part of his life knowing more than everyone around him, knowing he was right
when others were wrong. But his had been a narrow world. And now it was much
broader. He did not possess adequate experience or knowledge of this new world
to act as judge and executioner.

He was treading in unfamiliar territory, and it was
invigorating. He felt fully alive again.

“I can’t see past the blood and war that surround Chantal
and her family to my own future,” Ian admitted.

“That is because the future isn’t yet determined. You are
not wholly bonded without the altar.” Murdoch shrugged this off as obvious. “I,
on the other hand, see nothing but blood for years to come. Whether I’m the
cause or not may be up to you.”

Ian shook his head firmly. “No. Your future lies in your own
hands. I can choose to subdue you and take you home. Or I can choose to let you
go. What happens either way is decided by your own actions. The Oracle merely
addled your powers more, didn’t she?”

Murdoch drained his mug and slammed it down on the wooden
table. “Perhaps she did me a favor. I could not have restrained the waterspout
without your aid. I no longer know what I can or cannot do, and everything has
less strength here. Have you noticed that?”

“We draw our strength from Aelynn. Distance would impair it,
yes. That’s to be expected. In my case, it takes only the confusion of a
million voices swirling in my head to diminish my concentration.”

“I was never as gifted that way,” Murdoch mused. “The
weather here is more turbulent, so there is a different energy to draw on than
Aelynn’s, but the future is still cloudy.”

“Return the chalice to Aelynn, and I believe you will find a
different welcome,” Ian suggested, the words coming from a place inside him
that hadn’t existed when he’d left home. Perhaps from the heart that he hadn’t
known until Chantal had opened it.

Murdoch looked startled. “I doubt that. Dylys would fry the
hairs off my head, should she ever see me again.”

“She has passed her leadership on to me and Lissandra. We
share her duties as well as that of Council Leader between us. The land is
failing. Your return with the sacred chalice could make you a hero.”

Murdoch shook his head. “No, it is too late for that. I can
no longer pretend our world is the only one that matters. You have no need of
me there, but they do here.”

“They need you to burn villages with Greek fire and help
rebels to imprison kings?” Ian asked in disbelief. “I think you have wreaked
enough havoc and should have learned your lesson by now.”

“I would not have used the fire near Trystan’s village had I
realized I could no longer control it. And the king’s death has already been
written in the stars. He chose his own fate by selfishly ignoring reality rather
than enacting the necessary changes to help his subjects. How he dies is not my
choice. I didn’t even intend to kill you. I directed the musket ball to injure
in order to force you to heal yourself rather than follow me. I am trying to relearn
what I can or can’t do without causing harm to others, but it is not easy. I
didn’t think I could still call on wind and water. Thank you for that. It is
difficult to practice without my old friends.”

Murdoch’s sorrow was buried beneath his usual bravado, but
Ian felt it — again, in an unexercised muscle he must call his heart. He’d
forgotten until now what it meant to have friends, knowing Murdoch spoke only
the truth. They had been brothers, closer to each other than any men on the
island, but Ian had never acknowledged Murdoch as anything but a challenge.

“I knew you meant only to wound, just as I could not kill
you. But you would have done better not to alienate Trystan,” Ian said without
sentimentality. Neither of them was accustomed to expressing his feelings, but Ian
could grant the gift of understanding.

“Your Crossbreed will teach you what Trystan’s wife has
taught him,” Murdoch warned. “That their people are as important as ours. The
Council will not accept her as leader.”

“That’s an obstacle I will face when I reach it. For now, I
need to remove her family from these shores and bring Chantal and her father
home with me. The chalice must wait a while longer. I give you a head start in
pursuing it.” Ian prayed he was making the right choice in choosing Chantal over
the chalice. Only time would tell.

Murdoch’s eyes lit with fires of hope and challenge. “You
will let me go after it?”

“Didn’t I just tell you so?” Ian asked dryly. “I thought
that was what this conversation was about.”

Murdoch pounded him on the back in delight. Ian choked on
his drink.

“There must be a stray strain of compassion in your
breeding,” Murdoch crowed. “No Olympus would ever be so broad-minded.”

“No Olympus has ever left the island,” Ian reminded him.
“Experience is good for us.”

“Then set Lissy to packing at once.” Murdoch leapt to his
feet and started for the door.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Ian called after
him, hurrying to follow. “I didn’t just release you so you can return to
playing war. I need your help.”

“Of course you do. It’s nice to hear you admit it for a
change.” Cheerfully, Murdoch set out in the direction of the dock.

That was the problem with LeDroit. Give him an inch, and he
took the whole rope. Ian grabbed him by the back of the fancy frock coat he’d
acquired somewhere in the past hour and hauled him into the air. Ian was still
the stronger man — when Murdoch was caught off guard.

The ground beneath their feet trembled. His nemesis still
had stronger earth powers, Ian acknowledged, setting Murdoch down before his
anger caused an earthquake that might swallow the town. The land settled again,
leaving bystanders glancing quizzically around them, possibly recalling myths
of giants who made the earth tremble with their rage.

The two men squared off, glaring at each other.

“What is the price of my freedom, then?” Murdoch demanded.

“I am coming to understand that friendship requires
sacrifices.” Ian stalked toward the water. “Chantal would see me sail away
before she would leave her friends or family.”

“Then she is an ignorant fool to give up what you can offer
her. I do not see the benefit of this sacrifice for friendship.”

“Then consider it payment,” Ian responded dismissively. “I
care not how you label it. I intend to summon Trystan and his ships.”

“Trystan would kill me on sight.” Murdoch turned a corner,
and they reached the end of the road, where a barren strip of shale and sand
stretched to the water’s edge.

“Which is why you will be gone from here before he arrives.
The chalice heads for England. I will hire the next ship out to transport you
and Pauline after it. The horses will provide your entry into that world, so
take care with them. I expect you to see Pauline and her family safely settled
so I may escort Chantal there later to visit. With luck, Pauline’s brother will
seek her out, and you can retrieve the chalice.”

Murdoch raised a derisive eyebrow. “And why should you trust
me to do anything more than take the chalice for my own purposes?”

Ian snorted. “I don’t. Your ambition precedes you. But try
thinking for a change. If you leave Pauline in distress and Chantal discovers
it, she will have the power of the entire island — including Lissandra — to come
after you with a vengeance. Women are not so lenient as I.”

Murdoch’s expressive lips pulled into a wicked grin. “I
could debate many of those assertions, but I need only point out that Chantal
has agreed to none of this, and in fact, isn’t likely to. You may not See your
future clearly, but I See it without the filter of your denial. She or Dylys
will kill each other before they will live together.”

“All mothers have difficulty giving up their sons,” Ian said
without alarm, rather than give Murdoch the pleasure of seeing that he might be
right. “Chantal is a peaceful, reasonable creature.”

“You say that after those war cries she screeched today?
Don’t be too certain. Have you discerned her mark yet? She does not have our
changeable eyes, so if she possesses Aelynn gifts, she must be a creature
created of the gods. Which one does she belong to? I wager it’s not the God of
Peace.”

Ian set his lips grimly. “That is not your concern. Are we
agreed that you will linger a while longer, or must we fight this out?”

Murdoch held back a smirk and waved his hand at the ocean.
“Be my guest. Show me how you will fetch Trystan. Has the bonehead learned to
hear voices in the wind?”

Ian sat on a boulder and tugged off his boots. He had no
intention of explaining to Murdoch or anyone else what he was about to do. Diving
beneath the waves with the intention of asking a passing dolphin to relay a
message to Trystan’s wife, Mariel, who could talk with the fishes, to send him
a ship hardly seemed the act of a rational man. Nor was it likely to help him
maintain the dignity of his position. And yet if by concentrating his pyschic
gifts he could communicate with the stallion, why not also with the creatures
of the sea? Murdoch would no doubt laugh at him, but let him. Bigotry came in
all flavors.

Walking into the channel until he was chest deep, Ian plunged
under the surf and began to swim.

* * *

Chantal woke to the darkness in a large bed. Still groggy,
she lay still, seeking the sound that had woken her while reorienting herself
to her unfamiliar surroundings.

The bedside candle flamed to life without the spark of a
flint. Startled, she blinked, then inhaled sharply.

In drenched breeches and linen, Ian stood beside her. He’d
released his thick, curly hair and made some attempt to dry it so it didn’t
drip on her, but a rivulet of water accented one sharp cheekbone. The rest of
his face remained in shadow.

“I feared you had left already,” she murmured, reaching for
him. After what he’d told her about her father’s origins, she feared many
things, but she still trusted Ian’s honesty. If he said his home could heal her
father, she believed him.

He leaned over and kissed her, threading his fingers through
her hair. His kiss was sweet and hot and blazed with desire, but she sensed
that he held back. She tried wrapping her fingers in his wet linen, but he
merely seared her cheek with his lips and let her tug his shirt over his head,
leaving her holding a damp rag. The candle gleamed on the wet drops on his
chest hair and wide shoulders.

“Your family’s carriage will soon arrive,” he announced.
“They will need our attention when they do. With luck, we can sail on the
morning tide.”

“They’re not here yet,” she said seductively, sitting up but
not pulling the sheet over her nakedness. She’d never in her life been so
brazen, but she no longer felt uncomfortable acting so with Ian. Her nipples
pearled boldly under his approving glance.

“I always come to you in stinking disarray.” He lit another
candle with the first, and the light emphasized the breadth of his bronzed
shoulders and chest.

“Have you heard me complain?” she asked in amusement,
enjoying the intimacy of the quiet conversation almost as well as his kisses.
“You are more human in dishabille.”

He wrapped a leather tie around his hair, his gaze never
straying from her nakedness. “You are a goddess risen from the sea for the sole
purpose of providing me pleasure,” he said with a straight face, although his
eyes sparkled with delight.

She chuckled and pulled her knees up to her breasts,
punishing him for not taking advantage of what she offered. “How much time do
we have? And why am I asking you that as if you’ll have an answer?”

He grinned, then turned to wash in the tepid water in a bowl
on the dresser. “I feel like a groom on his wedding night, on the brink of a
wondrous new adventure. I think I need the formal vows to push me from my
lonely perch into the communal world that you prefer.”

Stunned, Chantal could not immediately reply. She sifted
through all his words, seeking the sense of them, but heard only his excitement
and happiness, and those could be because he would soon be going home. “Vows?”
she finally repeated.

Drying himself with a linen towel, he straightened and faced
her again. His joyful smile struck her with the force of an arrow through her
heart. She thought she might grovel at his feet to see that smile again and
again.

“Marriage vows. I’m taking you home to meet my family. When
your father recovers his health, he will be there to formalize the legal
ceremony. Do I dare ask you now for your consent, or should I wait to show you
how much I can offer?”

Chantal tried not to gape, but she thought her chin might
have fallen to her chest. “Marry? Men do not marry their lovers. You’re
supposed to sail away, never to be seen again.”