Confidence was key to any military victory, she knew. So even if the serenity Mira radiated was slightly deceptive, she was grateful for it. Just as she was grateful the Purple Rider was there at the “leaving spot,” as it had been designated. Beyond the training grounds stood a circle of stones. Looming large, it topped a perfectly low hill that sported trees across its entire face except where the apex had been denuded by the ancients to raise a stone circle. Finn had discovered the spot, saying the currents’ pulls were strong here. Kesha had agreed, ‘An excellent choice,’ she approved.
Mira, Jeanne, Shelby, and Yvonne had spent the better part of the last two days ensuring that all necessary weaponry and supplies had been moved to the spot and stowed in the trailers in good order. Women really were better at assessing minor details, and Jeanne was fairly confident nothing had been overlooked. She may have had a million and one things on her running mental list, but it never hurt to have a final look over before departure date.
The day after tomorrow.
Her stomach twisted at the thought, but there was no time for dwelling on fear. Que sera, sera, she thought to calm herself, in her angst not realising she was quoting her ex-husband’s favourite maxim.
“Well met, Jeanne,” Mira greeted her as she approached. The young warrior was crouched over a pile of backpacks, cinching one closed. “I have been examining our packs, ensuring all is correct.” Pausing in her task, she set back on her heels, squinting up at Jeanne. “Are you aware we are less two than our number?”
Jeanne frowned. “Are you sure? I counted yesterday and came up with the right number.”
“Nay, we are less two, I am quite certain.”
“Hmmm, how could that be? Case, Shelby, O’Rourke, Tom, me, you...” She began ticking off names of the non military personnel on her fingers. “... Finn, Kesha, Ny-mo,” she concluded. “That’s twelve. You sure there’s not twelve packs?” she asked, crouching across from the girl.
“There are twelve packs,” Mira agreed, “but our number is not twelve. All told, we are fourteen. Therefore, I say we are two less our number.”
“Oh that. Well, I didn’t figure the kids - Paul and Winn - needed to carry packs. I didn’t have any made up for them.”
Mira’s busy hands stilled. Draping one arm over her knees, she cocked her head in a manner Jeanne had come to think of as almost reptilian; in the way a snake’s movements are lithe and graceful. Perhaps she’d acquired it from her bond with her dragon.
“Lady Jeanne,” the girl said, softly but firmly, “no children save Kesha’s offspring are to accompany us on this venture, and that is only because it is a nursing infant unable to remain behind.”
“But Paul and Winn ...” Jeanne started to say. Mira broke her off.
“Paul and Wintergreen are not children. They are young persons, aye, but not children. Soon, they will have matured far beyond their years. This does not bring you joy, I read it in your eyes. But the world we enter is no world for children. Soon, neither will your world be.”
Jeanne dropped her gaze, uncomfortable at being so easily read, uncomfortable with the truths Mira presented. Her voice gentling, Mira reached out, laying a warm, calloused palm on Jeanne’s arm.
“You are a good mother, desiring solely to protect your youngling. There is no shame in this. But now you must think beyond your mother’s heart and of the world itself - earth and humanity will not be well served by children, but by warriors.” Removing her hand, she stood. “Allow them a burden to carry. Sharing the load is a healthy step for them as well as you. Therefore, by your leave, I will go now and make certain that packs are made up for them, like the rest of us.”
Jeanne didn’t raise her head, but she nodded. Next thing she heard was Mira turning on her heel, tramping away through the tall grass. Left alone with her thoughts, Jeanne dropped her face into her hands. No tears came, but still her shoulders shook.
“I can’t do this,” she whispered aloud. “Why me, why me?”
“You talking to yourself?”
Her head snapped up, and she levelled an irritated glare at Tom for disturbing her, more for seeing her in such a weak moment.
“What do you want?”
The instant she uttered the words, she hated herself for how catty they sounded. Tom hadn’t done anything, not really. She just, oh, she was just confused. First Paul, then Mira, now this. Nobody could make her melt like Tom, but nobody could get her back up like him either. Maybe, she admitted in a moment of painful honesty, maybe she really was in love with the Yank.
That would explain everything: the need to lose herself in his arms, counterbalanced by an equal need to maintain her independence. The need to seek his counsel weighed against the need to prove herself his equal: when, actually, there was nothing to prove, nor had he ever done anything to make her feel that way.
She just, she just didn’t want to be in love: not now, not at this time. Look what love had done to her with Mike, leaving her open and vulnerable. Mike had definitely taken advantage of that vulnerability too: with his affairs, his drinking, his constant haranguing, and his streams of verbal abuse. In the beginning, of course, it hadn’t been that way. But then, beginnings were rarely bad. Just endings.
Deep down inside, Jeanne acknowledged that she feared the vulnerability loving Tom would bring, because some time in the future he could use it against her. Just as Mike had. And if there was ever a time she needed to be strong, it was now, when she faced a mission upon which the earth’s entire future hung.
To his credit, the object of her reflections neither flinched from her stinging question, nor retreated. In a show of manliness and gentleness, rare to be found, he knelt beside her, placing a hand - all too comforting - on her shoulder.
“You okay, Jeanne?”
She shook her head.
“Wanna talk about it?”
Again, she shook her head. No. What was there to say? I think I love you, but it scares me to death and, anyway, this is a terrible time to be falling in love with anyone?
“Well, now...” Tom shifted his hand, began rubbing her back in soothing circles. “Dare a thick-headed farm boy like me hazard a guess?”
His self-abasement drew a reluctant chuckle. “Thick-headed farm boy? You’re anything but that.”
His fine mouth, oh, that mouth! - quirked up in a dangerously kissable gesture.
“Many thanks for the compliment, m’lady,” he drawled, “but apparently there’s a lot you don’t know about me.”
“I know enough to know nary a thick-headed farm boy would rise to your position in the world and be called upon to joint lead an expedition like this.”
“Funny, and here I thought you were leading it. You and Mira. You mean I could’ve been out in the forefront, and instead I’ve been content to sit back and be pulled along by the ladies in charge like a bull with a ring in its nose? Sad.” He shook his own head. “Really sad.”
Cocking her head, Jeanne frowned at him. “Are you serious? You don’t really see yourself, and us, in that light. Do you?”
Now the Yank’s grin broke through in full, infectious force. “You, no. Me? Yes.” He touched a fingertip lightly to the end of her nose. “But if I am, Jeanne, it’s only because I enjoy it.” Leaning closer, he murmured in her ear, “There’s nobody I’d rather have lead me around.”
Abruptly, Jeanne thrust off his hands and stood. “Dr. Pinkerton, I think it’s time we were getting back to our respective rooms.”
Tom stood too, puzzlement written all over his face. “Something eating you, Jeanne? What, do I smell bad or something that you suddenly can’t stand to have me near you? What happened to you after we left the Evans’ farm in Oklahoma? Did I do something, say anything? Whatever it is, I’m sorry for it. You know I lo ...”
“Don’t say it!” she cried, putting her back to him.
Her heart pounded like horse hooves on a race track. Unspoken or not, his meaning hung there, quivering in the air between them. I love you.
He’d been going to say it. I knew it as surely as I know my own name. I love you. Tom loves me. So why does that make me feel like laughing and crying simultaneously?
Respecting her wishes, Tom kept his distance, but after a moment said quietly, “Not saying it won’t make it go away, Jeanne. Just like this threat we’re leaving our world to combat: ignoring it, refusing to face facts, won’t make it vanish. Sometimes, we have to look our problems in the face.” He paused. Firmer he said, “And if I’m your problem, if you don’t want anything to do with me, maybe you better turn around, look me in the face, and tell me that.
“I’m no stalker. If you want nothing to do with me, if you can honestly look me in the eye and say you feel nothing for me, then I’ll leave you alone. I swear I will, Jeanne. But before you do, I think you should know I consider you the smartest, sweetest, brightest, most beautiful, hardworking woman I’ve ever met. The best mother, aside from my own, and an incredibly brilliant, dedicated scientist who handles both stress and authority with grace and wisdom.”
Wow.
Mike had said a lot of things, but never paid compliments like this. Somehow, Mike’s compliments had never held such a ring of sincerity, either. Still, there was something not quite right about a man who had nothing except good to say about you. Maybe distrust of her ex had taught her that. Regardless, she waited pensively for Tom to finish, for her to have to turn around and tell him, “I’m not perfect, we both know it, so either you’re completely deluded or else trying to deceive me. And I don’t need either kind of man.”
She never got the chance. Tom’s big spiel ended with a real humdinger: “You’re pretty and capable and fashionable, but...well, Jeanne, along with all that, you’re also the meanest, most stubborn, gritty, strong-willed, pessimistic, aggravating, irritating, touch-me-not of a mountain cat it’s ever been my misfortune to encounter.”
"What the ..."
Furious, she whirled to confront him, but was confronted instead by Tom, hands plunged into his slacks' pockets, rocking back on his heels, a very self-satisfied, teasing smirk on his handsome face. “Liked that, didn’t you?”
“Why you, you ...” she sputtered, unable to forge an insult bad enough.
Her hands were balled into fists. For an instant, she considered striking him. Then Tom saved the day, and his life, cooling her ire just as easily as he’d roused it. Daring a blow, he snuck a hand from his pocket and used it to cup her cheek.
“Hey now, cool off. I didn’t mean it as an insult. I happen to like mean, stubborn, gritty, strong-willed, pessimistic, aggravating, irritating, touch-me-not mountain cats. After all, I can be pretty irksome myself. I may be a lion tamer, but it seems I need a mountain lion to tame me down too.”
Her emotions had fluctuated wildly the past few days. They did so again, flip-flopping so fast it left her breathless. Or maybe that was the slightly scratchy warmth of Tom’s palms and fingers on her cheek, as well as the mixture of love and desire in his eyes. She just stood there, staring up helplessly like an idiot, wishing there was something to say but for all her efforts finding her tongue lashed down tight.
“Jeanne,” he whispered, now framing her face between both hands, “if I wanted to kiss you, would you object?”
Yes, yes, the formerly abused wife thought.
“N-no,” the reawakened woman whispered. Maybe it was his touch, his proximity muddling her self-realizations and logic of a few minutes back, but, after all, how evil could someone risking his life to save the world be?
“That’s good,” Tom grinned, and bent down to take advantage of the offer before it expired. He kissed her sweetly, tenderly, passionately, like she was his last meal and there was no tomorrow; both of them fully aware that, for the two of them, there may not be. When the kiss finally ended, Jeanne felt her eyes burning with unshed tears.
“Tom...”
Pulling her close, he wrapped her up in his strong arms. “It’s okay, Jeanne.”
“No it isn’t,” she complained into the solidity of his chest, voice muffled by the thick weave of his sweater. “What are we going to do? Tomorrow, we’re more than likely setting off into a death trap. Thing is, though, that if we don’t succeed we’ll surely invite destruction upon earth. So, either way, we’re going to die. This is a terrible time to fall in love!”
The Yank chuckled, smoothing her hair from her face. “No time’s a bad time to fall in love, Jeanne. Katrina Elam, an Okie country singer sings, 'I’m gonna love you like there’s no end in sight.' And that’s just what I intend to do. - Jeanne ...”
Carefully, he eased her away from him, tipping up her chin with his free hand while fishing around in his pocket with the other. “I have something very important I want to show you. But before I do, I need to know: can you keep a secret?”
“Absolutely,” she confirmed, eyes searching his face, noting the worry lines crinkling about his eyes-lines that had deepened since Mira’s decision to take Winn along.
Someone who loves kids like he does, kids not even his own, can’t be that bad, can they?
"Well, then...”
Slowly, he raised his hand from his pocket to her line of sight. Trapped between thumb, forefinger, and middle finger glittered a shiny golden band, diamond side up.
48.
WINN AND PAUL
Craigdendarroch Farm
July 2011
“Where do you suppose my mum and your uncle have gotten off to?” Paul inquired of Winn. The two were seated in the dining hall, finishing up a final evening meal of earth food as Paul had termed it. Though he’d said it with mock consternation, there was no way he could disguise his excitement at being allowed to accompany the group. Future hardships meant nothing to him; not yet anyway.
“I dunno,” she answered, spearing a slice of melon and bringing it to her lips.
“They’ve been gone since early morning.”
“Just busy, I reckon.” Shrugging, she lifted a napkin to dab the excess melon juice off her lips.
From the corner of her eye she caught Paul’s suspicious stare. “What?”
“You’re different,” he frowned. “You don’t get uptight like you used to. I mean, we haven’t had a single fight since you left with Mira and came back. What’s with you?”
Winn hid a smile. What wasn’t with her? Meeting Mira had been the single most incredible event of her life. From a dreamy-eyed teen, always lost in fantasy and the surreal, she’d become a real live warrior with a dragon; imagine that, a dragon companion of her very own. It was too incredible to be real, but meeting Lord Dominie, her dragon, had confirmed every secret hope, wish, and desire she’d ever entertained. Dragons were real: even if, in this case, they called themselves M’ntar rather than dragons.
Perhaps her Red wasn’t as slender, delicate, and beautiful as Mira’s Purple, but he was taller, stronger, and capable of even greater endurance. Just one look at the gorgeous scarlet beast, one meeting of their eyes, and she’d known, she loved him with the fierce love that was reserved for a lifelong battle companion.
'GREETINGS, LADY WINTERGREEN,' the dragon had spoken into her mind, golden eyes unblinking, mouth never moving, and just like that her destiny had been discovered. She wasn’t meant to be an archaeologist like her parents, nor an anthropologist like Uncle Tom. She wasn’t meant to be a writer and invent fables of her own. No, she was meant to live out fables, to battle darkness, and most of all to bask in the special bond with her new beloved.
The six months she’d spent among the M’ntar, learning their ways, learning to mind talk, were difficult but pure pleasure. Sure she’d missed her parents, her siblings, her adopted uncle, and even her beloved state, when she’d had the chance to think of it. In all truth, little time had been allowed for homesickness or thinking of anything besides training, training, training. Not only was she schooled in M’ntar skills, in deepening her bond with her Red, and in M’ntar mind speech, she also trained every day in fighting tactics with Mira.
Mira. W
inn permitted herself a tiny smile. Besides the Red, the young medieval heroine was her best friend and closest confidant; they would speak mind to mind, sharing each other’s most intimate thoughts. Due to their similar lots in life, Purple Rider and Rider of the Red, they shared an understanding no other human could hope to match. Besides, it was because of Mira all this change had come about: Winn being named the Rider of the Red, meeting her beloved Lord Dominie, and also getting to accompany Dr. Jeanne and her uncle on their mission to defeat the Watchers and their allies. Mira was her hero, Winn admitted it freely. To that end, she schooled herself as much as possible to be like Mira: confident, unflappable, and unassuming. Perhaps these outward changes were what Paul saw in her.
The Tirnano - Book 1 'FINN' Page 32