Mariel had become like an extra limb he had to learn to cope with. Once she fit into his life the way his goats or his ship did, he’d undoubtedly function better. Until then, he felt as if he listed to one side like a ship with half a mainsail.
He’d obviously been enjoying Mariel’s company too much. She added colorful insights to his black and white world. Still feeling slightly off balance now that they had returned to his new reality, Trystan finally escaped the elderly neighbor to follow Mariel into the house.
A cold sweat broke upon his brow at a low moan of pain from a back room. “Mariel?” he called, crossing the dark front room and trying not to panic.
“In the back,” she called. “Bring the hot water from the stove, will you?”
Moans of agony permeated the suffocating air of the cottage, and he writhed internally. Mariel hadn’t sounded as if she were in pain, but suffering wasn’t part of his world. Aelynn had healers who knew how to relieve pain. This was one of the many reasons they were not to interfere in the Outside World. The inhabitants of one tiny island could do nothing for the primitive conditions in which millions of Others existed, especially when the superstitious and ignorant insisted on burning valuable healers at the stake as witches.
He carried the pot of steaming water toward a room off the side of the kitchen. He could hear the murmur of feminine voices and really didn’t want to intervene. But the anxiety in Mariel’s voice forced him to hurry.
With the window shuttered, the scents of sweat and blood mixed with heat and humidity into a nightmare of confusion and human suffering. He staggered at the unexpectedness of it.
He didn’t know the older woman directing him to set the water upon a washstand, but he recognized a haggard Francine lying upon the sagging bed. Mariel sat at her side, holding her sister’s hand and looking terrified. He didn’t want Mariel to fear anything, but he was helpless to make this scene go away.
The expectant mother looked pale and feverish. Her hair straggled limply on the pillow, and her bloated belly seemed to fill the room as she struggled to sit up, then cried out again.
Even as Trystan set the water where indicated, Francine screamed as if she’d been ripped open. He’d never heard a sound so wrenching. He instinctively reached for his sword, even while understanding his sword would not solve the problem.
In mute appeal, he turned to Mariel for direction, but she was frozen still, letting her sister crush her hand, no more able to halt the agonized screams than he was. She lifted her gaze to him, and Trystan read her terror.
The old woman took a look at him standing there, helpless, and snorted scornfully. “Aye, this is what you men do to your women with your rutting. Take a good look, young fellow, and remember the result of your pleasure, so you’ll think twice about putting your poker between a woman’s legs. Then go. You have no use here.”
Mariel nodded agreement and turned back to her sister. Staggered by the immensity of this scene quivering between life and death, he stumbled back to the kitchen.
By all the gods, this was what Mariel must suffer to bring his heir into the world?
It was a marvel she did not threaten to sever his…poker…and shove it down his throat.
Trystan rubbed anxiously at the maligned appendage for reassurance.
From the other room, Mariel shouted, “Stop that, this instant!”
Biting back a painful chuckle, he jerked his hand from his groin, and wiped moisture from his eye. The shrieking from the other room ended abruptly, and into the silence crept the weak cry of a babe.
Trystan collapsed on a dining chair in the front room. He’d seen injury and pain before. One couldn’t sail a ship without it. But his schooner always carried a healer, and his men were up and smiling within hours of their mishaps. So he’d skimmed along the surface of the real world as a ship skims over the water, never truly knowing the dangerous depths beneath.
Mariel lived in those murky waters. She could suffer agony without relief, as her sister had. She could die in childbirth, or from some accident her primitive world could not heal. And so could his child, should he be so fortunate as to have one. If Mariel still agreed after this. If he could bring himself to torture her in such a manner.
He stared longingly at the front window where the first star of the evening appeared. He could leave while the women were busy, walk to the bay, slip onto his ship with none to notice. He’d be gone before anyone knew, back to the mystic world that was invisible to Others, never to be seen again.
Not without Mariel. He would not, could not, leave her to struggle with the hardships of her world.
Trystan rested his elbows on his knees, bowed his head, and dug his fingers into his hair. She had entwined her way around his heart. He could not force her out if he tried. And the knowledge that he was no longer alone terrified him.
Was this what Others called love? If so, it was maddening and more like possession.
He was two people now, not just himself. He could never act on his own again without thinking of how it would affect Mariel.
He looked up at a light step in the kitchen. He knew how she walked, sensed her presence even when he couldn’t see her. Desired her when he should not. And he was beginning to anticipate the sensation. This possession might drive him mad, but recognizing that he would never be alone again suddenly filled him with pleasure.
Mariel appeared in the doorway holding a bundle of blankets, wiping out his anxiety with a beatific smile. “Come see,” she whispered. “She’s so beautiful.”
The kitchen fire glowed behind her. Ebony ringlets spilled from beneath her cap, caressing her long slender throat. Holding the child like that, she looked like a Madonna from the icons he’d studied in churches on his journeys. And she was his.
The pain in his chest broke free beneath a flood of emotion he could not name. Rising, Trystan peered into the bundle of blankets at a sleeping red-faced babe, but it was Mariel who held his attention. He felt her as surely as if they were lying naked in each other’s arms. She soothed his rattled nerves with her presence, awakened his hopes with her warm voice, vibrated his senses until he felt more alive than he’d ever been.
“She is incredible,” he murmured in reply, but he wasn’t talking about the babe.
At the sensual timbre of Trystan’s voice, Mariel hastily looked up. What she saw in his eyes robbed her of breath and swept away what remained of her doubt. The bond between them throbbed with more than lust. It tugged at the hollow place in her chest where her heart had been until he’d usurped it.
“How is your sister?” His deep voice rumbled in the semi-dark of the unlit room, and she felt the tremor of his fears along with it.
“She is sleeping. I am so glad we arrived in time.” Balancing the newborn in the curve of her arm, she stroked Trystan’s beard-stubbled cheek. “I’ve been told that we forget the pain once we hold the babe in our arms. Would you like to hold her?”
He looked as if he’d rather fly off a cliff, but bravely, he held out his big palms so she could place her niece in them. Once he held the child, he instinctively brought the bundle to his wide chest and pressed a butterfly kiss to her downy hair.
“You’re a natural at this,” she said with a smile. She’d berated this strong man for turning her life inside-out, but his tenderness toward a child banished any argument between them.
“It is not much different from holding a kid that must be hand-fed. They’re very tiny when they’re first born.” The light of laughter lit Trystan’s eyes as he glanced from the child to her. “Perhaps we should stick to raising goats.”
“I’m inclined to agree,” she said tartly, but she didn’t mean it. Not after holding the babe. She craved one of her own, one with Trystan’s studious frown and golden hair.
She ought to be terrified after what Francine had gone through, but watching her sister give birth had made her look at life from a different perspective. If her calm, modest sister could risk such travail to bring a child into
the world, Mariel could do it as well. And as Trystan had reminded her, she would not have to fear losing her ability to navigate the sea if he provided for them while she carried the child. Perhaps she could swim the same as a pregnant dolphin.
“I am out of my depth here,” he said honestly, handing the child back. “You will have to tell me what to do next. Do I find the priest to marry us? To bless the child?”
“For now, you will have to eat from the food we brought with us. Francine has been in labor all day, and there is nothing prepared. I will start a broth for when she wakes. I don’t know if Father Antoine has returned yet. You could go to the church and ask, I suppose, but the christening must come first, and it will be some days before we’re ready for that. We’ll have to prepare a feast and send invitations.”
His brows drew together. “Could that other woman with your sister not make those preparations? It’s imperative that we return before the last day of the full moon. We could sail to Aelynn and be back in days.”
We. Not he. With that one word, Mariel knew the chalice and the moon weren’t all he had on his mind. Her silence still had to be ensured by taking his strange vows. If she did not go back with him, he would be banished, lose his home, his world, his future.
If she went with him, she would come back a different woman. The idea had had time to grow and become a part of her, in the same way Trystan had infused her soul.
She was ready.
Shivering at the immensity of the decision she’d just made, Mariel cuddled her niece to her shoulder and took a deep breath to steady her voice. “There are still coins remaining from those we left with Francine. They will pay Helene to stay with her a few days more. With Helene’s help, Francine can begin the preparations for a feast. I will have to wait until my sister wakes, though, to tell her I’m leaving again.”
Trystan’s golden eyes darkened to a deep indigo she could not read, but it took her breath away just the same. She could stare into his eyes for the rest of her days, fall into them like the deep blue of the sea and never come up again.
“Tell her,” he urged, “and we’ll sail with the tide before dawn. And when we come back, I will take the vows of your church for all to see that you are mine.”
In that moment, Mariel could almost believe that they would be a couple in the eyes of God and church. He meant to return with her. For how long?
She had never prepared for this, but she discovered she wanted it more than she had ever imagined. To wake beside him every day…
But that would still not be. He would return home to marry another and take his proper place in his proper society, leaving her to cope alone.
If her grandmother could do it, so could she.
She studied hard on the man who watched her so hopefully. Even in shirtsleeves, with his cravat loosened to reveal glimpses of golden curls, Trystan looked imposing and all powerful. A stray strand of hair fell from his queue, emphasizing the stubborn strength of his jaw and character. She could never hope to find a man like this again if she should live forever.
She bowed her head in acceptance and hugged the babe. She wouldn’t be totally alone if he gave her a child.
She nodded her agreement to his wishes.
Twenty-six
Hating that they must sneak about like common thieves, Trystan shifted the burden of the sack containing the chalice to his shoulder and placed a proprietary hand at Mariel’s back to steer her past a raucous tavern in an alley near the cliffs.
Francine had awakened to feed her babe a little while earlier. The dread rising in her eyes when Mariel had told her she must leave again created a better understanding of his mate’s concern.
His family was secure against outside dangers. He never had to worry about them. Sympathizing with Mariel’s fears made him itchy, because he could do nothing about them.
“What are all these people doing in a tavern at this hour?” he asked, to distract from his uncomfortable thoughts. He meant the question to be rhetorical. He knew what sailors did in taverns.
“Talking politics,” was her unexpected reply.
“Your country is mad,” he muttered. “If it has not learned to govern itself after this many centuries, how do they expect to correct that fault now?”
“It’s my home,” she replied simply. “Would you leave your home for mine?”
“I can’t. I am the island’s guardian.” He had been relieved when she’d finally agreed to exchange vows with him, but now he had to undertake the burden of educating her on what their bonding meant. “I know you do not understand how our society works, but each of us has a part to play in keeping Aelynn alive and well. Mine is to shield the island from the eyes of Others. Without me, my home would be overrun and destroyed by invaders.”
“And how does it fare now, without you?” She hurried to keep up with his pace.
Trystan could tell from her tone that she asked simply to hear his voice and hide her nervousness while they hurried down darkened streets toward the harbor. There were an unusual number of soldiers lounging about for a port so small. He had the uneasy feeling that the country was gearing up for war, and he didn’t wish to be caught in the middle of it. He tucked the chalice beneath his arm to hide its bulk.
“If I am not there to draw on Aelynn’s power, the fog shield will begin to crumble when the moon grows full and the tide rises. That is why I must return home.” He glanced at the sky out of habit. One more day.
“And you must be on the island to do this?” she asked, following his gaze.
“I have not done it any other way,” he admitted. “We draw our strength from Aelynn.”
“The island, or the god?”
“I will let Dylys explain,” he grumbled. “I am no priest.”
“This way,” she murmured when they reached a street overlooking the sea. “There are ways down to the shore without taking the main road.”
Within minutes they had reached a wall of tumbled boulders that looked impassable. Mariel scrambled onto them as if she were half seal, disappearing over the far side into the inky shadows beyond.
Leaving Trystan to ponder his future with a mermaid, an unnatural child of the sea. He tied the sack to his waist so he might find hand and footholds in the rocks and follow his slippery mate. With any other woman he might plot to hold her on Aelynn once they arrived, but he could never imprison Mariel. How the gods must be laughing.
On the other side of the boulder, she caught his hand and guided him down a rocky cliff path so invisible only she could see it. Trystan could just distinguish his sloop anchored in the inlet where he’d left it, and he let relief carry him down the path. It was obvious the man had no idea what to do with so valuable an item as an Aelynn ship.
“How do you produce your shield?” she asked, scrambling down the rocks as easily as a goat. “Can you not try it from here if you must?”
“I cannot feel Aelynn’s life force from here. I must connect with her and the waters surrounding her. How do you feel when you swim beneath the sea? Is there not some… connection…between you and the water that allows you to breathe?”
“I can feel the sea now, feel the tide changing, the waves breaking as if they’re in my blood.” Reaching the sand, she threw back her cloak and lifted her arms to the sky, letting the salty breeze plaster her garments against her as she exulted in the force of the ocean’s power. “I understand what you say,” she called over the noise of the breaking waves. “I could not feel this in Pontivy, but the closer we came to the sea, the stronger the…connection …as you call it.”
He could feel it, too, a roll of waves rhythmically building to a greater tide, drawing him to Mariel like iron to lodestone. With the chalice bouncing against his thigh, Trystan caught her slender waist, and hurried her along the sand, unable to separate the pounding in his blood from her or the waves and reveling in both.
“The sooner we return to the island, the sooner we can connect on all levels.” He stated fact, but the words emerged as
an erotic promise.
She flung him a look that said she knew and understood and accepted, and his spirits soared with the wind that would take him home.
He’d found his mate, and the primitive animal inside him roared in victory.
***
The perpetual fog around the island crept into the nooks and crannies of the rocky shoals, dancing upon the warm waters in misty whirlwinds of sunlight and shadow as the sloop approached the island in the early twilight of the next day. From here, the island was invisible to human eyes, but Trystan felt its power and sensed the shimmering shield that prevented unauthorized entry.
He glanced at Mariel leaning against the mast, and wondered if she felt the protective force he wielded, just as he felt the sea through her.
Her light muslin gown was wet from the mist and clung to her curves like a second skin. She’d left her cap behind, and her hair streamed in the wind as she sang a tune filled with longing and hope, although even he could not translate the words.
Over this past day, he’d taught her how to set the sails and heel and tack in the wind, and she was keeping an expert eye on the canvas.
As aware of him as she was of the sail, she turned to meet his gaze, and her song changed to one of homecoming—the Siren tune they’d heard when last he’d sailed home.
He knew then that they’d heard Mariel singing, not imaginary Sirens. He didn’t have the answer to all his questions, but he had the answer to an older fable. Mermaids and Sirens were descendants of Aelynn, left behind in the Other World and longing for home.
The straits were too narrow for him to leave the sloop unguided. He could not ask her if there were others like her beneath the waves, luring men from Aelynn. He wished they had many nights ahead to discuss their differences.
Instead of questioning, he turned his attention to the full force of the island swelling inside him. He needed to vent it now by drawing power from Aelynn to heat the sea.
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