Mystic Rider (37 page)

“We should have traveled more often,” she said softly. “The
islands of the Caribbean are also said to be magical.”

“In their own way,” her father agreed. “I saw them as a
lonely youth, learned their music and customs, but they could not match Aelynn.
I had not realized how very much I missed her.”

“You will overcome that impression momentarily,” Ian said in
a dry tone that caused Chantal to glance up at him.

He’d shaved closely that morning, and pulled his unruly hair
into a tight knot bound by leather. But bare legged, with his loose shirt
blowing in the breeze, he still appeared a pirate, especially when he scowled
toward the shore.

Cautiously, she studied the people waiting there as the ship
prepared to dock. If this was to be her new home — even temporarily — she must
learn the ways of its inhabitants. At least she did not feel underdressed for
meeting Ian’s family. The men on shore wore little more than Ian did, and the
women were wrapped in what appeared to be linen sheets.

“Am I allowed questions yet?” She could not keep the mockery
from her voice. Ian had shown her the marvel of freedom, then imposed limits on
the one strength she possessed.

“You may do as you wish,” Ian whispered against her ear,
“but it might be safer and better for our future if we wait until we reach the
grotto where no one may disturb us. And with luck, we cannot disturb others.
There is a hot spring we can enjoy.”

His tone spoke of steaming waters and lovemaking and
shivered down Chantal’s spine. For a sensual promise like that, she might
manage to hold her tongue — just barely.

“I assume that’s your mother in white,” her father said, in
a note bordering on dread. “I thought she would be too busy to greet us.”

Her father had once single-handedly brought an unruly
Assembly into order. Angry aristocrats, clergy, lawyers, and merchants alike
had bowed to his wise oratory. Why would he fear Ian’s mother?

“She does not normally meet ships, but she fears for our
future,” Ian responded. “I do not always abide by her wishes, which causes her
greater fear.”

He spoke of his mother with fondness and respect. Chantal
studied the older woman dressed in flowing white robes. She had high
cheekbones, and silver hair caught in a long braid from which wisps as unruly as
Ian’s escaped. She stood straight and proud, slightly apart from the
fair-haired woman on her left, who also bore a striking resemblance to Ian — his
sister, no doubt. Chantal doubted that his family expected Ian to return with a
fiancée. She shivered nervously.

Mariel joined them. “Council members,” she murmured,
explaining the men on the shore. “They’re waiting for the chalice and Murdoch.
What happens now?”

Ian’s jaw muscles tightened, and Chantal sent him a look of
concern. She had not comprehended the importance of his task — or its failure.

“Nothing happens,” he claimed. “They wait until I am ready
to pursue them again.”

The studious Ian she knew was disappearing behind a haughty
shield of arrogance. Gone, too, was the sober monk and the seductive lover. In
his place was an implacable authority who ruled his world.

She recognized the truth of her shocking revelation without
need of proof. She heard it in the gravity of his voice, finally recognized it
in the deference of the crew, who kept their distance, even acknowledged her
father’s behavior in his presence. The man she loved had the power of royalty
in his home.

She recalled Murdoch’s insulting tones when he’d called Ian
a prince. That Ian used no titles did not mean he lacked nobility or power.

She despised men of rank who wielded their influence as if
they were gods and no man was their equal.

Surely, not Ian —

Yet he’d just said the Council would have to wait until
he
was ready to finish his tasks. That
was like the king telling the Assembly that he wouldn’t accept their
terms — thinking he was a law unto himself, without any consideration of his
effect on others.

Chantal stared at the shore in horror. What in the name of
heaven had she done?

Ian barely noticed Chantal stiffening beneath his hands.
That he arrived home with his amacara instead of the Chalice of Plenty or
Murdoch was a slap in the face to everyone who relied on him. He regretted
that, but he refused to regret his decision. If he was being selfish in
following the stars and choosing Chantal over the chalice, then so be it.

“Mariel, take the children off first, please,” he requested
as Trystan leapt to the pier to tie the ship in place. “Then you can take them
home without their witnessing adult quarrels.”

Mariel snorted lightly. “And I was so looking forward to the
fireworks.” She reached over and squeezed Chantal’s hand. “The Oracle is
terrifying in her ability, but keep in mind she is still a mother, and Ian is
her pet. Not that he looks like one,” she granted, glancing at Ian’s square
jaw, “unless one thinks of panthers as pets.”

Chantal managed a weak smile. “Haven’t you heard? Ian claims
I tame wild beasts.”

Mariel’s laughter trilled the air. “Then you ought to do
just fine.”

“Tame them and
rile
them,” Ian corrected, keeping his hand firmly on her waist. He nodded at her
father, who leaned against the rail, scanning the shore. “Orateur, would you
like to go down with us, or do you prefer to disembark quietly with the crew?”

“Unless Dylys knows I’m here, it might be preferable for me
to keep a discreet distance. I’ll only exacerbate the situation.”

Ian agreed. Bringing a potential Lord of Chaos onshore in
accompaniment with his equally marked daughter could cause a riot. One obstacle
at a time. At least no one knew Chantal’s origins. Yet.

“Besides, I left a fine set of drums here after one of my
voyages,” Orateur continued. “If they haven’t fallen apart, I would like to
find them before the shouting begins.”

Ian wasn’t about to ask what he wanted with them, not now.
There hadn’t been music on Aelynn in his lifetime, but he supposed the talent
could have departed with the Orateurs. He took Chantal’s hand and led her
toward the gangplank. She was such a whirl of emotions that they spilled past
her usual serenity and into his heart. He did not have her efficient means of
calming them. “You’re not humming,” he noted, wishing she would.

“You would risk toppling mountains with my voice?” she asked
with sarcasm.

“I was thinking your humming might calm stormy waters, but
maybe not.” He squeezed her hand reassuringly. “Are you familiar with
Shakespeare’s plays?”

She shook her head, startled from her anxiety by his
question, as he intended.

“I studied some in my youth. He often wrote about
strong-willed women who accept no one’s authority. Think of my mother in those
terms, and you see the task we face.”

“Like Marie Antoinette, who thinks herself above the king?”
she asked derisively.

“Not even close.” He squeezed her hand again, and amazingly,
her apprehension seemed to settle another notch. “Your queen is weak, with
little influence over anyone, including herself. Dylys Olympus has complete and
total dominion over everything in sight, in ways you cannot fathom. She is the
one who shattered a man as formidable as Murdoch and banished him from home.
Only her wisdom prevents her from becoming dictator and keeps her power in
check.”

“Like the queen in a game of chess,” she said coldly. “I
never was good at games.”

Nevertheless, Chantal followed him from the ship with head
held high. She might not understand the power struggle they faced, but
instinctively, she prepared for it. Ian appreciated his mate’s courage.

He knew his mother would not surrender her rank gracefully,
especially to a Crossbreed, and particularly to an Orateur. He did not need the
protocol of explaining to her that Chantal was his amacara. He had declared his
intentions by bringing Chantal home instead of leaving her in the Other World.
The only question remaining was the legal one of marriage, and that had to be
decided by the Council, since his wife traditionally became their Leader.

His family behaved politely while Ian introduced Chantal,
using her married name to avoid the conflict over her father for now. His
mother and sister weren’t the warmest people on the island. From his own
experience, he knew decades of bearing responsibility for an entire demanding
race had taken a toll on their sympathies. He hoped Chantal understood that in
the same mysterious way she had trusted him from the first.

“Your amacara does not have Aelynn eyes,” his mother
declared as her opening volley the moment the introductions were complete. “She
is at least a Crossbreed, is she not?”

“I am a French woman and an Orateur,” Chantal replied,
revealing her dangerous identity before Ian could deflect the question. “Not a
cross anything. Bigotry carries an unpleasant note that grates on my ears, so
you cannot hide it.”

Now that his queen had knocked all the chess pieces flat,
Ian studied Aelynn’s peak for signs of an impending explosion.

Dylys froze, and someone behind them gasped in shock. Ian
squeezed Chantal’s hand in warning, but her mental barriers were as strong as
his family’s, preventing him from nudging any of them to peace.

“Can you hear honesty as I do?” Chantal continued
conversationally, as if she hadn’t just offended an Oracle of the gods. “Ian
sometimes hears things others can’t, but I think he would have told me if he
heard your deception.”

“A Crossbreed is merely someone who has only one Aelynn
parent,” Ian explained in the resulting silence. “It is not an insult.”

Chantal’s long lashes swept upward and her silver-blue eyes
turned to frozen tundra. “To your mother, it is. Her voice screams with dismay
and fear and desperation. Despite what you’ve told me, I think your queen may
suffer the same dislike and fear of those who are different from her as mine
does. It is a universal hazard for those who isolate themselves.”

Quite capable of eavesdropping, whether mentally or from a
distance, the assembled members of the Council began murmuring among themselves.
Ian had intellectually accepted the challenge of what he’d done by allowing his
passion to rule instead of his head, but he was now experiencing the
consequences of his choice. Chantal’s very first words caused dissension.

Still, his faith held strong. “I will need to speak before
the Council of the things I have learned,” he said, diverting the tension of
his family’s shocked silence and overriding any retort his mother might make
once her fury abated sufficiently to allow her to speak. “But Chantal and I
need time to prepare for our vows so I may answer her many questions. And then
we must find teachers who can help with her gifts.”

He nodded at the elder who had stood in his place while he
was gone. “If you would arrange to assemble the Council on the morrow, I would
appreciate it.”

Lissandra closed the distance between them and spoke in low
tones. “You would make her Council Leader?” she asked with a horror she did not
attempt to conceal.

“I will not allow it,” their mother declared. “It is impossible.”

“Nothing is impossible,” Ian retorted, “although some things
may be impractical. That is a discussion for the Council. It may be time to
part with more of our traditions.”

“Those traditions have kept us safe and in peace for
thousands of years!” Dylys hissed. “We have lost our leader and the chalice,
and the island suffers for it. It was your responsibility to correct the
situation!”

“And I will, as soon as you allow me to complete what I have
begun. You abdicated your responsibilities when you stepped down after your
failure to completely strip Murdoch of his powers. If I am to act in your
place, you must allow me to do as I think best.”

“I will take back my position before I’ll allow you to make
this mistake!”

Chantal sighed, crossed her arms, and began to hum. Ian
winced, but he couldn’t resist a scientific interest in the result.

“If you marry her,
you
will have to abdicate,” Lissandra insisted, escalating the argument. “You have
to know she’s unsuitable as leader.”

Chantal’s low hum took on a decidedly warlike edge. The
council members began arguing more loudly, and Trystan’s ship banged against
the pier, bobbing on whitecaps. Ian considered the possibility that her voice
might contain vibrations that resonated with matter. He would have to experiment,
if Chantal didn’t kill him first. How interesting, to find his equal in power
in a woman scarcely half his size.

Caught in the midst of the three strong women in his life,
Ian debated between creating a gale to drive them all home or simply picking
Chantal up and carrying her off. Aware the Council leadership judged his every
action, Ian resisted a malicious desire to appoint Alain Orateur as leader in
his place. Instead, he nodded to his peers, caught Chantal’s elbow, and
practically dragged her toward the path away from the beach.

“We will discuss this in a more appropriate time and place,”
he declared firmly as the wind whipped the palm trees and Lissandra grabbed her
sarong to keep it from blowing off.

“Stop that,” he whispered to Chantal as they walked past
their protesting audience.

“Stop what?” she demanded in a low, angry voice. “I thought
I was behaving exceedingly well by not scratching their eyes out. How
dare
they speak to us that way? They do
not even know me, and surely they know you do what is best for all.”

With a surge of elation that his amacara thoroughly believed
in and supported him, Ian halted at the edge of the jungle, lifted her from her
feet, and kissed her soundly in front of one and all.

The wind died and the waves calmed. So maybe
he
was causing some of the turmoil.