She swallowed a mouthful of brandy, and they waited for Josef’s sobbing to subside.
Ian cleared his throat. “Josef. It is getting late.”
Their friend embraced Nikolaus one last time. “Oh, my boy, I should have kept you safe.” He adjusted the canvas sail as if he tucked him into bed. Ian reached a hand to Josef and pulled him out of the grave.
Maggie handed Josef the flask. He took a long draught with trembling hands. It seemed to brace him, for then he took the shovel and threw the first shovelful into the grave. Together Maggie and Ian watched as his nephew disappeared into the dark earth.
Ian began to sing in a foreign tongue, his voice carrying on the wind. The whistling of the bare trees provided harmony to his rusty tenor. It was a mournful song, in a most minor key, and Maggie could not stop the flow of tears.
Ian took the shovel from him and continued to sing.
“He was a good boy,” Josef said between gulps of brandy. “Never hurt anyone. Strong and never complained, so kind. What must I tell his mother? And to die in such a way.”
When the last bit of dirt was piled atop the grave, Ian put his arm around Josef, and Josef’s bass joined him as together they raised their voices and sang to the trees, to the starry sky, to the heavens. Mayhap to God himself, for it seemed their voices carried on the wind, pure and plaintive. Every sorrow she’d experienced cut into her like a knife.
“Ah, my Nikolaus’ favorite song,” Josef said. “His mother taught it to him before he could walk.” Without warning, he broke from Ian and ran to the wagon. “The seeds. We must scatter the millet seeds around the grave, for if we do not, he will rise undead.”
And so the three of them, only one of them understanding why, walked around the grave, and scattered seeds.
Josef’s voice carried across the wind. “It is said by the wise ones if the creature escapes from the grave he cannot help but count the seeds, no matter how many. And if it takes until dawn, the sun will rise and burn him and he can go to his maker. Or to hell. It is what they do in my nephew’s village, to keep the evil at bay.”
Chapter Three
Back at the cottage, Ian urged Josef to eat.
Josef shook his head. “No, I must go home to my Lena.”
Maggie stirred the soup pot, in hopes the aroma of onions and potatoes would cover up the stench emanating from Josef, but to no avail. She cursed her delicate sense of smell. Had the man not bathed, or even changed clothing during his three-month journey? He stood by the fire and took off his topcoat. The odor of unwashed man, fish scales, and fear barreled into her senses like a runaway, dung-covered horse. Her stomach turned inside out upon spotting bits of unidentifiable grey matter swimming in his beard. She was well used to the reek of sailors and workmen getting off boats, but even she had her limit.
“Maggie, are you quite well?” Ian rushed to her side, taking her by the elbow.
“If he goes home to Lena reeking like a rotten haddock, she will greet him by casting up her accounts. Repeatedly. She has enough trouble keeping her gorge down. He will make her more ill than she already is.”
Maggie had just been to see her good friend today, to experiment with another remedy for the morning sickness which had plagued her during her entire pregnancy. Perhaps the sight of Lena’s increased girth would cheer Josef.
“He needs a bath,” Maggie whispered.
Ian winked, eyes glinting with mischief. “A bit of Lena’s ale will make him more pliable for a bath.” Despite the ordeal of the evening, he fair glowed with vigor. “Sit down, man. You must have a bite to eat before you go home. It has been an arduous journey and a horrible night. Some of my wife’s chowder will do you good.”
Maggie ladled out the soup and handed it to the men.
Ian peered at her. “Maggie, you are favoring your shoulder, the one Edward Carter injured. I will take a look at it later. Sit down and eat.” He waited, stern as a magistrate.
She settled onto the divan, and he handed her the bowl of soup, his long, tapered fingers lingering over hers. The fire reflected in his green eyes, making them glow like emeralds. He soon sat beside her with his own bowl, and she could not help watching as he brought the spoon to his mouth. Hours earlier, his mouth had covered her, and made her gasp, then he murmured against her tender skin, words from a distant land.
His sleeves were rolled up, and firelight danced on his tan, muscular arms. How could a man be gone three months and seem to have changed so much? It was not just the soup warming her center. How had his shoulders broadened so wide, his chest straining against the linen of his shirt, the bands of muscles in his neck shifting? She swallowed hard.
Josef had set his bowl on the fireplace and sat hunched over in the rocking chair, his hands between his knees, the bare pate of his head shining in the firelight. Ian rose and patted him on the shoulder. Fibers of his rough-hewn shirt fell to the floor.
“You will be delighted to see how much your unborn child has grown, Josef.”
“Ah, my child!” For a moment, a light came into his bloodshot eyes.
“Yes, but before you go home to Lena, you need to bathe.”
“Bathe?” He looked as if Ian had offered to chop his head off with a rusty scythe.
“Yes, man. Come on, you must bathe a bit.” He guided Josef to the basin and bayberry soap, and set to work loading the pitcher with hot water.
Maggie, for the sake of Josef’s modesty (which clearly he did not possess), and her sensitive nose, headed to the shoppe. “I will organize the…” She didn’t bother finishing her sentence as the conversation between the two men became more heated.
“Take off your clothes.”
“No need, no need!”
Maggie could not help but feel sympathy for the man, having suffered such a grievous loss. But his troubles would be doubled if he went home reeking.
Ian gave it another try. “Your clothes are falling off of you, man. Did you not change them the whole of your trip?”
“Why would I?”
“A wash will make you feel better.”
“I want to go home to Lena.”
“Yes, of course. But do you want her throwing up?”
“Why would she be throwing up still?”
“Just…never mind. Come on!”
Josef let out a yelp, and there were sounds of a struggle and ripping of cloth. “You bastard!”
“You’ll feel better. Lean over the sink, and stop squealing like a lass. You’ll wake the neighbors.”
Maggie peeked through the door to find Ian washing Josef’s hair.
“What in God’s name is swimming in your beard? Here, wash it.” He held the soap out to Josef.
Josef shook his head, flinging water droplets everywhere. He sputtered as Ian took him by the ears and lathered soap into the thick, black beard.
“Must I wash your ballocks for you as well? Have you no pride? Do I look like a bathhouse maiden? Precisely how many layers of dirt can you have on yourself?”
Maggie snickered and tucked her head back into the shoppe.
Ian nagged and persisted until at last he said, “Dry yourself with this. Ho, where did you get this nasty bruise? And some kind of bite or cut in the middle.”
“What?”
“On your side here. It bears watching.”
“Don’t feel it.”
‘If you say so, brute. Well, it’s a shame we didn’t have time for a full bath. I have a set of clothes in my trunk I think will fit you.”
He escaped into the shoppe and riffled through his trunk, muttering to himself like a harassed mother, and gave Josef the clothes. He faced Maggie for a moment and gazed toward the heavens. His linen shirt and breeches had soaked through, and she spied the nutmeg colored hair around his brown nipples and the muscled planes of his stomach. Josef entered, pulling at the new clothes, scowling.
Maggie nodded her approval. “Yes, Josef! There’s the handsome man your wife knows and loves.” She sniffed and smiled at Ian. He’d
worked a miracle.
Ian held the door open for Josef. It was early yet, and the shopkeepers busied themselves setting up their wares and opening their shutters.
Ian glanced back, holding her gaze. “I will be home shortly, Maggie.”
Did he always have those flecks of burnished copper amidst the leaf green of his eyes? She shivered. Contained within the hoarseness of his voice, a wild and restless animal waited, growling.
****
Across the street, Ed the butcher hung a ham outside his shop. He nodded at Ian and Josef, heavy brows knit in confusion. “Welcome back, gents! But why are you not in the warm beds of your women?” He shook his head and returned to his work.
They did not comment but made haste to the Siren Inn, where Josef had been proprietor for seven years. Josef’s acquisition of the Siren Inn would live on forever in the history of King’s Harbour. Old man Stowe had left the inn to his son, now nicknamed Full-Pocket Pete, and in a game of dice, Pete Stowe lost the inn to Josef, their indentured servant since his miserable childhood.
Another story for another time. Ian breathed deeply as Josef opened the heavy door of the inn. Ah! The smells and feel of one of his favorite places on earth made him catch his breath and sent the blood racing through his veins. The smell of pipe smoke, ale, and fish frying, and the musty overtones of an ancient inn.
Sabine, the young foreign girl from the Orient whom Lena and Josef had taken in, held a rag in her hand. Her eyes grew round upon seeing them. “Father Josef!”
Just then, a woman who looked somewhat like Lena, but so very thin, except for the considerable bulge of her pregnancy-surely this could not be hearty, robust Lena-came in from the kitchen, wiping her mouth with a handkerchief. She was pale as parchment. Bits of her white blonde hair peeked out of her cap.
She stopped, dropping the handkerchief. “Josef! Oh, my Josef.” She ran over to him and into his arms, and they kissed.
Ian felt an intruder to their reunion and averted his eyes. He watched Sabine observing them, a light in her almond-shaped eyes.
He leaned against the bar and in Mandarin, Sabine’s native tongue, asked her how she fared. She beamed, for Ian was the only one in town who spoke her language. He had spent some time in the Far East, her native land. She had been sold into prostitution by Edward Carter, and subsequently rescued. She lived with Josef and Lena now.
Edward Carter. Ian fought against the memory of the man who had endangered Maggie last year. Her shoulder pained her, he could tell. And no wonder, for she had done the work of two during his absence.
Then Josef’s gravelly voice cut into the scene like a saw into teak. “Lena, are you ill?” He held her at arm’s length. “You are wasting away.” He rested his hand upon her stomach. “Except for the child, who has grown so much.” He smiled and hugged her, keeping away from her middle as if the child would reach out and bite him.
He turned to Ian. “She could not keep the food down when I left. Mistress Maggie told me it would pass.”
Lena blushed. “Most times it does, Liebchen. Some women do suffer from it until the babe is born.”
He frowned. “But there is nothing to you.”
“It is because every morning,” she paused, swallowing hard. Her face had gone pasty again, as if the mere mention of her nausea would bring it on. “I am sick every morning, all day. I cannot keep food down, not even a biscuit.”
His brown eyes clouded with worry. “My poor Lena.”
Lena put her hands on Josef’s cheek. “How fresh and clean you smell, my love. I have missed you so, dear Josef. And do not worry. I am strong, and now Ian is back, mayhap he will find a potion that will work for me.” And as if the excitement was too much for her queasy stomach, she ran from him and vomited in a nearby bucket.
“Yes, I will indeed work on a remedy, dear Lena.”
Josef ran to her, rubbed her back, and wiped her mouth with the clean handkerchief Ian had given him.
She recovered quickly enough. “Where’s young Nikolaus?”
Josef backed away from Lena, as if the act of burying his nephew would contaminate her. “He is dead.”
“Dead?”
Josef put his head in his hands. “I can still hear his moans, feel his skin burning with fever. Oh God, Lena. He died on the boat like an animal, and we buried him, Ian and I, last night.”
She held her stomach, and Ian rushed to bring a chair for her.
“Sabine,” Ian said. “Pour him some ale. Josef, sit down. I will explain. We do not know why he died. He was ill with something.”
“It is the evil in my town. I saw it with my own eyes.”
“No, Josef, do not say such things.” Lena held him in her arms as he sobbed like a child.
After a time, Josef quieted and fell asleep.
Ian exchanged glances with Lena and took Josef from Lena’s arms. She stumbled as she rose.
Sabine rushed to her side. “Mother Lena, you are tired.”
She shook her head. “I must tend to my husband.”
Ian put an arm around Josef. “Come, man. I will help you to bed.”
The man could barely walk, so pronounced was his fatigue, and the drink had finally taken effect as well. Ian stripped him of his clothes and tucked the covers under his chin.
Josef opened one eye. “Thank you, friend.”
Ian patted his bearded cheek. “Would you like a bedtime story, Jo Jo?”
Josef scowled. “Go away.”
Lena leaned against the doorway. “You are a good friend. My poor husband.”
“Don’t worry, Lena. I expect things will look a little brighter in the morning, when he’s had some rest. And you must get some. I will return tomorrow with something for your vomiting.”
Poor woman. She blanched at the mention of the word.
“Danke.”
Ian nodded and left quietly. The weight of the day lowered over him like clouds, as did the burden of what he must tell Maggie. But could he not just serve her with his body and forget all else? Mist fell upon his face, reminding him of the droplets of Maggie’s sweat last night, as he rolled her on top so she could have dominion over him. He quickened his pace, the exertion helping to quiet the urgency humming through his veins.
Chapter Four
Maggie was dressing her hair upstairs when Ian arrived home.
He stood in front of her, head cocked. “What are you doing?”
“It’s time to start the day. I have mothers to visit, and you must open the shoppe.”
He bent and kissed her forehead. “The people of King’s Harbour can do without us for a spell. I have kept the ‘closed’ sign on the door.” He grabbed her hands from the top of her hair and put them in her lap, undid her hair, then led her to the bed. “Your mothers are not the only thing you need to see to today.” He held her hand against the bulge of his desire.
“I want to touch you Maggie, as I dreamt of doing those long three months. Like this.” He tangled his hands in her hair and kissed her, lips firm and tasting of cloves. He cupped his hands under her breasts. “Ah, see how your breasts have grown so ripe, so full.”
“My body has changed much since you left.”
“You are even more beautiful than I imagined, with our child growing inside you.” He skimmed his fingers from the top of her breasts to the nipple, and circled it, slowly. She gasped at the hard feel of his muscled body, soon naked, warm and hard. His tongue mimicked the light thrusts of his hardened member against her soft center. He slid his hands up her ribcage with painstaking slowness, fingers trailing along the sides of her breast. With one deft movement, an arm around her waist and the other under her bottom, he lifted her onto the bed as effortlessly as a cup of tea.
She ran her hands in his hair and drew his face closer to hers, kissed him harder, for she longed to inhale him, bring him into her to keep him there.
Damn him. She had lived her whole life without his touch, without his bright essence pumping into her, and how she yearned for him, ev
en as her center tightened and pulsed around his hard strength, sending waves of pleasure washing in warm rivulets from her limbs to her fingertips. And one last thrust cast her weightless and rising in the morning light.
Later, they lay facing each other, his hand resting on her stomach. She tucked her nose into his neck, so she could inhale him, the scent of oranges, cloves, a hint of bayberry. They had not had a chance to speak alone about Josef.
“Surely it is just ignorance and suspicion,” Maggie said. “A creature rising from the dead, kept from malicious mischief by counting millet seeds?”
He turned to her, gathered her hair, and spread it over her breasts. “The two of us have seen things no one else would believe. A supernatural being assisted me when I suffered the throes of my affliction and gave me clarity when I needed it most. A holy nun ministered to you in your darkest hour. Is she still with you?”
Maggie nodded. “Even more so, since my pregnancy. It is a feeling often without words. A presence.”
He sat up. “Sweeting, I need to look at your shoulder. I can tell it is bothering you. Why have you not said anything?” He sounded inordinately fierce to her ears.
She sat up and shrugged, wincing despite herself. “We have had other things to worry about. I am fine.”
“Could your sister not have manipulated it like I showed her?”
“If you recall, we ran the shoppe in your absence and took care of our mothers and mothers-to-be. And Sarah’s babe is extraordinarily mischievous, requiring more care than the average child. We did all we could to keep things afloat in your absence.” She heard the shrill tone in her voice.
He grew still. “I know. I am sorry. I don’t want to leave you, Maggie, and never meant to burden you. Had I known you were with child, I never would have left.”
When would she learn to still her tongue? “I’m sorry. I know you must go, to find this litio, the remedy for your condition. Did you?”
“No. I don’t think so. I don’t know what I’m looking for, which makes it difficult. I must only go by instinct, by smell and taste and hope I will recognize it, feel a change within me, when I try it. I sampled many things, but the remedies were not what I needed.” He wrapped her in his arms and buried his face in the space between her breasts. His lips as he spoke tickled her tender skin.
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