Tarnished Journey: Historical Paranormal Romance (Soul Dance Book 4)

by Ann Gimpel

  “I would hear from her whether she sees herself as yours.” The sea god shoved past Stewart and stood nose to nose with Yara. “I take what I want, lass, but ye agreed to—”

  “I asked a question,” she broke in. “I never said yes to anything. You left too soon.”

  Stewart winced. She’d interrupted a god, and that wouldn’t end well.

  “We had an understanding,” Manandan shouted. “Ye asked what I wanted when I turned down your offer of gold. Since my request was well within your ability to acquiesce, of course I left.”

  “I asked a question,” Yara persisted. “You never used the words mistress or marry or have sex with. From where I’m sitting, your meaning was vague. For all I knew, you were planning to shanghai me to be your housekeeper.”

  Stewart bit back an inane desire to laugh. Clearly not cowed by the god, Yara was brave and resourceful, countering his opinions with reason. Stewart wanted to hug her, but there wasn’t much point in making Manandan even angrier.

  “Housekeeper?” His voice rose. “Housekeeper? I’m a god, woman. Magic accomplishes such tasks.”

  Yara shrugged. “Since I wasn’t raised by Rhiannon, all I understand is life in Romani caravans—or by myself after the Dutch government made it a crime to be a gypsy.” She crossed her arms beneath her breasts and stood as straight as she could manage on the pitching deck.

  A crafty look crossed Manandan’s craggy features. “Ye’ve had little enough of ease in your life, lassie. I could make up for the hard times. Ye’d never want for aught.”

  “It takes more than that to make someone happy. I may be Rhiannon’s child, but until less than a day ago, I viewed myself as human.”

  “I know what women like. Come with me. I have a lovely corner room in mind just for you. It looks down on gardens such as ye’ve never laid eyes on afore. Flowers grow that bloom only in the Otherworld. Ye’d have servants to tend to your every need.”

  Stewart both saw and felt compulsion weave itself with the sea god’s offer. He fisted his hands, wanting to drive them through Manandan’s handsome face.

  A closed-off look etched into Yara’s features, and she tilted her chin at a defiant angle. “Sorry. God or no, I’m not for sale.”

  “I tried to do this nicely,” Manandan snarled. “Let’s see if a year or two in the dungeons doesna improve your attitude. I can afford to wait ye out.” The sea crashed over a railing and formed a glittering nimbus circling him and Yara. Brightness grew around the two, edging upward.

  Stewart pulled power like a madman. He had to intervene before the god’s spell reached its zenith. When that happened, he’d disappear and take Yara with him.

  “Let us help.” Jamal and Elliott closed on either side of him, weaving their shifter magic with his. It was a more potent blend than Stewart would have guessed. Power flared around them in a mixture of blues, greens, and browns, and the scents of their combined power gave him hope all wasn’t lost.

  “Yara! Break free while ye still can,” Stewart exhorted.

  Rather than answer, she extended her arms. Lightning bolts crackled from her fingertips. The wind turned her flame-colored hair into a twisting mass that took one bird form after the next.

  Was it conscious? Either she was channeling her mother, or Rhiannon was on her way. Stewart upped his link with the two shifters and focused more power to break through the pulsing maelstrom of seawater surrounding Manandan and Yara. Even if Rhiannon were racing to her daughter’s side, she might arrive too late.

  As if drawn by the avian tableau playing itself out in Yara’s long hair, Meara flew between the god and Yara, cawing fiercely. Stewart felt like cheering, but his spell required all his attention. Surely, the god couldn’t stand against all of them.

  He doesna have to. All he needs to do is create enough of a power vacuum to spirit himself and Yara out of here.

  Aye, and once he’s gone, we shall feel the full brunt of his resentment.

  No help for that last. Once Yara was safely beyond the god’s reach, Stewart wanted him well and truly gone. He’d faced rough seas before, and he could do it again. The boat was solidly built. It would see them safe to port—with an assist from everyone’s combined magic.

  He hoped.

  I have yet to lose a ship. This willna be the first.

  Manandan shot a blast of blue-tinged power at the vulture shifter, but she evaded him easily with a tilt of her extended wings. Yara took advantage of the momentary break in the god’s attention to fashion an opening in the pulsing water. Once she slithered through, she dropped back until a few feet separated her from Manandan.

  He roared his displeasure. A vortex crafted from seawater swished outward from where he stood, enveloping Yara. She fought against it, power spewing from her as she tried to break the god’s grip.

  Meara went on full attack mode, flying right at the god with her beak angled to take out one of his eyes. Just when she got close, she smacked up against something Stewart couldn’t see.

  Must be the god’s warding. Shit! How would they drill through that? He was holding his spell around Yara and defending himself without expending much visible effort at all.

  Stewart focused his magic, combined with Jamal’s and Elliott’s, at various points in the cyclone around Yara, but couldn’t penetrate it. “I need more,” he cried. “Give me more.”

  “There isn’t any more,” Elliott said, his tone grim as death. “We need to be smart about this. Water is the most potent of the elements, and it’s his strong point. The rest of us use earth and air.”

  “Fire comes to my call,” Jamal panted, “but it’s less than useless against water.”

  “We have to do something.” Stewart shouted to make himself heard above the howling wind and pounding sea.

  Oblivious to the rest of them, Meara flew around Manandan’s head, getting in blows from her beak from time to time. How she determined where rents were in the god’s warding was beyond Stewart since the shielding around the god all looked the same to him.

  At least Meara’s diversion kept the god’s net around Yara from reaching full velocity. Stewart stripped warding from himself and plunged toward Yara. Where the sea touched him, it burned so hot he imagined skin sloughing from his bones, but he kept going until he stood within the circle of water by Yara’s side.

  “That was stupid,” she screeched, her face contorted into a rictus. “Now you’re trapped right along with me.”

  Her lack of faith in him stung, but he pushed it aside. “I hold Jamal’s and Elliott’s magic in addition to my own. Join yours to the mix. Together, we can blast through the enchantment. Ye must believe we can do this, lass.”

  Hope flared in her eyes, turning them deep violet, and the unique feel of her magic augured into him. He didn’t hesitate, just braided it with what lived within him, working as fast as he could.

  The sea pushed against them now with the same hungry icy-heat that had burned him when he blasted through its barrier. “Earth trumps water,” he shouted. “Channel as much as ye can.”

  “It’s my strongest element.” A feral expression made her look like something out of legends, otherworldly and fierce enough to bend fate to her will.

  “On my count of three.” Stewart didn’t bother with telepathy. Meara was still keeping Manandan busy, and if this worked, things would happen fast.

  “One. Two. Three.”

  Magic scoured its way through him; he welcomed its cleansing path. Extreme power always did this, made him feel like he came within a hairsbreadth of dying and being reborn as something pure and innocent, yet ancient and wise at the same time.

  The circle of seawater burst around them, turning into nothing more than foam racing across the tilting deck.

  Stewart didn’t hesitate. He wrapped his arms around Yara and dragged her backward until they were behind Jamal and Elliott.

  Manandan focused a gimlet gaze their way. “Ye think to stymie me with cheap parlor tricks? My sea will make certain this shi
p founders. I’m done with good deeds. And with faithless sluts who doona appreciate me.” He raised both arms over his head and began to chant in Gaelic.

  Meara pecked his outstretched hands until blood flowed, but the god ignored her.

  Magic with a different feel spilled around them, enveloping them in a multihued ball of light. Wind still howled and waves still roared, but the ship righted itself, no longer fighting the restless sea.

  “What the hell is happening now?” Yara sputtered.

  Stewart tightened his grip on her. “I might be mistaken, lass, but I believe your mother is about to make an appearance.”

  Yara tried to evade his grasp. The air around her developed a reddish tinge as anger exploded from her. “I hate this,” she yelled. “I’m more than a goddamned pawn on a game board. You hear that, Mother?” She shook her fist skyward. “Take your fucking help and choke on it. I may have needed you once, but I don’t anymore.”

  Shock ricocheted through Stewart. He opened his mouth to chide Yara for her disrespect, but silvery laughter cut through the howl of wind and the slap of waves.

  A gateway pulsing with violet light formed next to Manandan, and Rhiannon stepped through. Long red hair, twin to her daughter’s, flowed to her feet. She was wrapped in lengths of silver and gold brocade, and an owl sat on each shoulder. A copper torc circled her throat, and rings with violet gemstones adorned the index fingers of both hands.

  She turned her golden eyes on Yara. “Well met, daughter. ’Twould be a sad day, indeed, if ye suffered for want of a mother ye never knew.”

  Chapter 12

  Yara stared at the goddess, who could have been her twin—except for the owls and the eyes—and smothered an inane desire to fall to her knees in a curtsy. She made a grab for her anger, but finding it wasn’t as straightforward as she might have liked.

  “Rhiannon. Timely of you to drop by, dear heart.” Manandan’s words dripped honey.

  She returned her otherworldly eyes to the sea god. “I dinna drop by for you, ye pompous boor.”

  Yara’s ears perked up. Clearly her mother wasn’t thrilled by Manandan, or likely to be taken in by his charms. She’d bet a story lay behind their antipathy, perhaps one Rhiannon might share with her.

  The false smile on Manandan’s handsome face slipped a notch or two, but he plowed ahead. “Your daughter”—he jerked his chin in Yara’s direction—“entered into a bargain with me. Tell her she’s bound to fulfill her end whether she likes it or no.”

  Rhiannon laughed, tossing her head back on her graceful stalk of a neck. “She has no cause to listen to me. I’ve not laid eyes on her since she was two years old.” Her expression sobered, and she narrowed her eyes to slits. “Describe the terms of this bargain.”

  “’Twas simple enough. I’d ensure this boat made it safely to Scotland. In return, she’d come with me.”

  “Come with you, eh?”

  Rhiannon’s expression hardened, adding a ferocious element to her beauty. The owls ruffled black-edged gray feathers in unison and hooted menacingly. “For what purpose and how long?” Rhiannon continued. “Were the precise terms of your proposal laid out, or did ye keep things vague? As I recall, that was one of your favorite schemes.”

  “I doona have favorite schemes,” he sputtered. An owl flew at his head and he batted it away.

  “Och, but ye do. Ye make it sound as if your requirements are elementary when, in truth, they bind others in servitude. Come on.” Rhiannon crooked two fingers. “Out with it. What exactly did ye tell my daughter?”

  Yara stood straighter. “You scarcely need him for that. Once he agreed to see us to Scotland, he asked what I was offering in return. I suggested gold since there’s a lot of it aboard this boat. He told me he had no use for gold, and out of the blue, he said, ‘“Ye’ll do, lass. Ye’re no maid, but I shall overlook that. I will round up Rhiannon and arrange things.’

  “I didn’t care much for the way he put things at the time,” Yara went on. “I started to ask a question, but by then, he’d left.”

  The goddess twisted her mouth into a moue. “Aye, and I hear the truth in your words.” She extended an arm, index finger pointing at Manandan’s chest. “No wonder ye thought it fortuitous I showed up, but I can fill in the blank spots well enough. My daughter, with her newly-discovered, enriched magic, asked the spell book for assistance—”

  “So long as ye mentioned the book,” Manandan cut in, “that tome is an affront. The etching of me is a verra poor likeness. And the description.” He rolled his eyes. “Woefully inaccurate. I demand all of it be removed.”

  “After your misuse of its power, that can be arranged. Best watch it, or I shall see you expunged from far more than that book. I ensured it fell into my daughter’s hands to keep her safe from harm—but I dinna count on your interference.”

  The owl that had been flapping about Manandan’s head returned to Rhiannon’s shoulder, hooting and ruffling its feathers.

  “Humph.” Manandan inhaled noisily, and tendrils of sea raced across the deck to swirl about him. “Not much reason for me to remain—or that daughter of yours. She needs a staunch lesson in respect. Stand aside, and she and I will be gone from here.”

  “Not so fast.” Power sparked from Rhiannon, and the water retreated. “I am not done. Ye felt the tug of summons from the book and saw Yara, her head bent over its pages. She’s a comely lass, and ye believed her easy pickings to add to your overflowing stable of women.”

  Rhiannon dusted her hands together. “Neat trick, if ye could pull it off, which ye verra nearly did. Agree to aid the ship, which costs you nothing, and secure an indentured wench.” Fury blazed from the goddess’s golden eyes. “Ye took advantage of my daughter’s altruism and naiveté. She was willing to place the well-being of her shipmates above her own needs.”

  “I did no such thing.” Manandan adopted an injured tone and expression. “What about my altruism in offering to save the ship?”

  “’Twould be far more believable if ye hadna sent the storm in the first place. It has your stench all over it. Ye enjoy playing with vessels, particularly ones forced to attempt a crossing during the dark months. ’Tis naught but sport to you.”

  Manandan extended a hand. “Rhiannon. Ye’re angry. We dinna part under the best of circumstances, but ’twas hundreds of years in the past. Surely ye can find it in yourself to forgive me.”

  She made a chopping motion with one hand. “I’ll never forgive your deplorable behavior, but doona flatter yourself. I forgot about you long ago.”

  There is a story there, Yara told herself. And a juicy one at that. I bet they were lovers and he cheated or lied or did some other despicable thing.

  “Release her!” Rhiannon commanded.

  “Whatever do ye mean?” Manandan countered.

  Rhiannon moved until she faced the sea god squarely and enunciated her words, biting them off one at a time like bullets. “Release. My. Daughter. From. Her. Bargain. Do. It. Now.”

  Both owls screeched, clearly driven by their mistress’s ire.

  “Fine. Is that all it will take for me to be done here?”

  Rhiannon cocked her head to one side, but didn’t answer, just continued to stare at the other god.

  “Very well.” Manandan flicked a finger Yara’s way.

  It was a small gesture, almost insignificant, so what happened next stunned her. Sensation began in her feet and shot to the crown of her head, making her skin first prickle, and then burn unpleasantly. Her eyes widened. She hadn’t realized the god had wrapped her in a spell until it shattered around her in a hail of crackling so unnerving she hunted for glass shards. Even Stewart hadn’t known since he’d been shocked—and furious—when she told him about Manandan’s terms.

  “W-what would have happened if…if—?” Yara wasn’t certain how to word what she was asking.

  “Had his spell remained,” Rhiannon said, “ye’d have been bound to his will—forever. ’Tis how he ensnares the unsuspecting. Y
e had to agree at the beginning, which ye did because ye dinna have the full story. Once ye said yes, though, ye became his.”

  Yara took an unsteady breath, followed by another. She strode a few paces closer to her mother and bowed her head slightly. “I didn’t exactly say yes, but nor did I say no. Thank you. I’ll need to be more careful. Hiding out from the Dutch government was easy by comparison.”

  A soft smile formed on Rhiannon’s ageless face. “Aye, daughter. Never underestimate the gods. They’re old and canny, and almost never have aught but their own advantage close to heart.” She skewered Manandan with a pointed glance and added, “Particularly the men.”

  “I resent that,” Manandan muttered.

  Rhiannon shrugged. “Resent all ye wish. What ye shall do is this—”

  “I doona take orders from you,” he huffed.

  “In this instance, ye may wish to. If ye doona comply, I shall recount what ye’ve done to our Council, and they can determine an appropriate punishment. Ye dinna exactly lie to Yara, but nor did ye give her enough of the truth to base her decision on. Additionally, she dinna acquiesce to your plan, yet ye bound her anyway. ’Twas a violation of our compact with humankind.”

  “Anyone with your blood is scarcely human,” he countered.

  Not bothering to dignify his comment with a reply, she continued. “Withdraw all your spells from the North Sea, the protective and destructive ones. This ship will survive or founder on its own merits and that of those sailing it.”

  Manandan shook himself from head to foot. “That’s all?”

  “Aye.”

  “If I agree, ye’ll release me without me having to fight my way through your magic and your owls?”

  “Aye,” she repeated, “but I demand your word, sealed by a blood oath.” A silvery blade materialized in her hand.

  “My word is my bond. Blood is scarcely—”

  “I say it is.” She bore down on him, blade extended. “If ye doona pick a body part for my blade, I shall.”