Trystan snorted. “You’ll not be rid of me so easily, Madame l’Enforcer. I intend to come ashore and rip your life asunder as neatly as you have mine. Fair is fair.”
Her laughter tumbled like music in his ears. She was his soul mate in truth if she understood his irascible humor.
“My life could use a good upheaval, “ she said cheerfully. “Could you start by throwing the tariff collectors into the bay so we can bring in wheat without paying a fortune for it?”
That gave him something to ponder while his crew hauled sail and weighed anchor in Pouchay’s natural harbor. A few fishing boats stirred farther up the coast, but dawn had not reached the darkened town. How would he provide for Mariel and her family without interfering with the workings of her supremely illogical home? It was one thing to take a mistress in the Other World and leave a pearl beside her bed when he sailed on—but he would have to stay here and behave while waiting for their marriage, and every time he visited her.
He would have to visit often. He could not live long as half a being.
“I hope your sister has arranged our wedding for tomorrow,” he said grimly, “or I might be forced to slay dragons.”
She nodded solemnly in sympathy. “I wish I understood the wisdom of your Ancients in forbidding interference in the world you must live in. It seems to me your strengths almost require that you interfere.”
“We would all be dictators,” he said dryly. “No one claims we have more wisdom than your people. Power is a temptation even for us.”
Brawny Waylan approached, his rolling gait adjusting to the dip and sway of the ship with a sailor’s ease. “The dinghy is ready any time you are. We’ll wait out here until you signal that you’re ready to return.”
Taking his wife’s elbow, Trystan guided her toward the small boat that would take them ashore.
Mariel scanned the cliffs with uncertainty. “I think there are soldiers up there.”
He’d seen the flicker of campfire and the shadows of movement against the night sky, but he had no fear of soldiers. “They have no interest in us. We’re not smuggling contraband.”
“Still, I prefer my beach rather than the harbor, if you don’t mind.”
He’d have to climb like a goat again, in the dark, but it was a reasonable request. He had no desire to deal with obnoxious soldiers before the crack of dawn, either.
Trystan helped Mariel to climb in, then began the silent row to shore. The sun was still a faint orange streak that disappeared behind the towering cliff as they approached the beach.
“I can’t wait to see Francine’s baby,” Mariel said nervously. “I need to learn about diapering and feeding. Do you really think I am carrying two or was I dreaming?”
Trystan tried to imagine his impulsive, generous wife burdened with the mundane tasks of bathing and diapering two screaming infants and could summon no more than a growl of reply. “There are two. I felt them as clearly as you did. I hope one of them has the gentle spirit of a healer or hearthwitch. Two Enforcers would require an army of nursemaids.”
“I’m sure that could be arranged if we acquired the debt of a duc,” she said satirically, with a dismissive wave. “Were you a troublesome lad?”
“I nearly pushed Iason into Aelynn’s maw once. I needed the constant guard of all the island’s inhabitants to keep up with me.” He checked their position from over his shoulder. “Do you see someone by that pile of rock over there?”
Mariel glanced at the rocks where she had once hid her clothing on nights like this. “If so, he’s but a boy or a midget. There, I think he’s coming forward to greet us.”
“Nick!” Trystan said in exasperation, recognizing the boy’s rigid stance at the same time Mariel did. “Has he run away again?”
“I told him he must seek us out if he should need us. Do you think the chevalier has turned into the beast we feared?”
Trystan rowed harder. They were already moving with more speed than any normal man could achieve. Hiding her husband’s skills in the village—as she had done her own—would be impossible. Men were not inclined toward subtlety.
The shadow darted into the low waves and gestured frantically, but his shouts were lost in the pounding of waves against rock.
The oar hit sand. Without waiting for Trystan’s aid, Mariel lifted her hem and clambered out, letting the tide slap against her bare legs as she rushed toward shore. Behind her, she knew Trystan more sensibly pulled the dinghy to safety. She liked knowing she had a man at her back who handled the practicalities and protected her while allowing her to act on her impulses. It added a layer of freedom she enjoyed.
“Nick, is that you? What is wrong?” she called.
The boy rushed to grab her, nearly knocking her over in his haste. Whether he meant to help her from the water or hug her, she couldn’t tell. The wind tore at her hair, and she wrapped an arm around his shoulder, allowing him to lead her into the lee of the tall rocks.
“What is it? What brings you here?” As her toes reveled in the cold sands of home, frantic questions raced through her mind.
“The king’s soldiers,” she thought he said into the clamor of wind and waves.
Trystan strode bare-legged up the shore, wearing the breeches he’d donned while she’d slept. He grabbed her by the shoulders and hauled her into the shelter provided by the rocks.
“The chalice,” Nick gasped, almost weeping. “They are calling me thief and murderer and say the chevalier is harboring me and that we have stolen the king’s chalice. They mean to execute all of us!”
“All?” Mariel inquired, her hand flying to her throat. “Trystan? Francine?”
Nick shook his head furiously. “No, no. Me, and the baroness, and my guardian. There are posters everywhere calling us thieves and traitors.” His breath caught on a sob before he continued. “The king’s troops are surrounding the Assembly in Paris, calling their demands treasonous,” he cried. “And the soldiers here say they are defending the country by executing those who conspire against the king.”
The Assembly—where Francine’s husband had gathered with all the other elected officials of France to solve the country’s weighty problems. Did the king mean to imprison his own government? Alarm whispered along her skin. Was this the beginning of the violence the Oracle had predicted?
“It isn’t the king’s chalice,” Trystan protested. “It’s mine. I paid the chevalier for it before it ever reached Paris. This makes no sense.”
Trystan was right. None of it made sense. But in a country rapidly descending into anarchy, logic was not a major factor in events. Mariel clung to her husband’s arm and waited for his conclusion. Nick wiped his eyes and did the same.
“Murdoch,” Trystan said with finality. “The king knows nothing of the chalice. Murdoch has learned it’s escaped him. Where are your guardians?”
“Celeste has friends,” Nick replied. “We hide with them, but we cannot hide forever.”
“How did you know to find us here?” Mariel asked, fearful others also knew of her hiding place.
“Your sister,” he reminded her. “Here, I am just a boy no one notices, so I slipped away. She told me to watch with the incoming tide. I have been here for hours.”
Mariel turned to her husband, to the tall golden god who had once before refused to help. She understood his reasons now. They were the same this time. He’d been forbidden to aid people who were not his own. He had come ashore merely to complete the legal matters involving his sloop and to marry her according to the customs of her church. He had fought for the chalice, because it was his duty to guard it. It wasn’t his duty to guard Celeste and her patchwork family.
Mariel held her breath as Trystan scanned the campfires on the cliffs, then stared down at her. She couldn’t tell the color of his eyes in the darkness.
“Aelynn does not have soldiers,” he told her. “She has guardians.”
Mariel waited, understanding the torment writhing at his heart, feeling it in her own.
“My duty is to guard our own, and you are mine,” he continued.
“What is mine is yours,” she whispered, grasping his dilemma.
“I must believe Aelynn bound us for a reason.” Trystan straightened his shoulders, then briskly returned to the dinghy and removed their belongings. He threw his coat over his shoulder and buckled on his sword before striding back to them.
His hand curled at her nape. “By taking back the chalice, I have caused this conflict. I will undo it. Nicholas, go back to your guardians. Have them gather what they wish to bring with them and meet me here this evening, after dark. I will take them to safety.” He nodded at the vessel bobbing in the harbor. “Quickly. I have work to do.”
Nick darted glances to both of them, then tore off at a run down the beach.
Not daring to question, Mariel donned the cloak Trystan handed her, then lifted the hem of her sari and followed him up the rocky path to town.
Thirty-one
“I did not think to see you again,” the moneylender said, rubbing his sleep-encrusted eyes. His nightcap dangled over the shoulder as he blearily regarded the newcomer who’d woken him with his hasty pounding on the door.
“Circumstances made it necessary to take the ship so I could pay my debt,” Trystan said. “I apologize, but here is the amount we agreed upon.” He placed the bag of pearls on the man’s desk. He’d taken time to don boots and stockings so he did not appear a complete pirate.
“France is beset by thieves who do not pay their debts.” The moneylender’s eyes gleamed avariciously as he sorted the pearls by size. “The rich prefer to spend without labor, and they borrow against tomorrow.”
Trystan shrugged, eager to be gone. “People who do not work are leeches upon society, unless they are spreading their largesse to the community in other ways.”
“That was how it worked in medieval times,” the moneylender nodded in approval. “But now, we have no enemies for knights to fight, and the ladies use their wealth for jewels instead of charity.”
Trystan thought of Mariel and her sister, starving because their breadwinner had gone to Paris to fight this injustice. Where would the villagers go for food and physicians? He could provide money for Mariel and her family, but no one should have to live as her neighbors did.
It was not his place to interfere, he reminded himself sharply.
“Perhaps there will be a good crop this summer,” he said, heading for the door.
“It’s too late for that.” The old man slid the pearls into his lockbox. “There is no money for seeds, there are few crops in the field, and the king has hired mercenaries to protect him against his own people. Paris is on the brink of burning. I am taking my family from here, as are others with the wealth to do so. I’d advise you to do the same.”
Trystan hurried through shadowed streets with the old man’s prophetic words gnawing at his insides. He had learned leadership from the perspective of a life of comfort and security, but he had a crude understanding of the politics in the countries to which he sailed. He understood that France had gone heavily into debt fighting wars with their old enemy of England. The bad weather had devastated what remained of the poor laborers’ ability to pay increasing tariffs. Without income from taxes, the country had no means to repay its debt.
If the wealthy nobles of Mariel’s country allowed this situation to continue, then they were bankrupt indeed, morally and fiscally, and revolution and war were inevitable.
With heavy heart, he slipped down the alleyways to Francine’s cottage.
Mariel greeted him at the door with a babe in her arms and a smile that warmed his empty heart. Despite her earlier protests that she did not want children, she seemed to take to them with ease and joy.
“I think Aelynn is looking after us,” she whispered to his astonishment, catching his arm and dragging him inside the parlor. “Father Antoine did not return from his sabbatical, and the bishop has sent a replacement. Come meet our new priest.”
A priest. They could be married. With his promises fulfilled, he could persuade Mariel to sail with him. Hope rose.
The tiny cottage was filled to overflowing with white-capped women bearing trays of food, toddlers racing to and fro, and solemn men eating their way through the repast spread upon the table. Trystan gazed about him in bewilderment. Surely he had not been at the moneylenders long enough for news of their return to have spread so far.
Only then did he realize the guests hadn’t gathered for his nuptials. They were here for the baptism. Unlike on Aelynn, her world did not center around him.
As Mariel shoved him past women cooking and chatting, Trystan tried to adjust to his wife’s society. He was not accustomed either to anonymity or domestic hospitality. Council meetings were solemn occasions that did not involve food and children. His bachelor village was more inclined to swordplay and drinking than neighborly gossip. He did not have a large family who might gather on holidays. He wasn’t entirely certain of the appropriate behavior.
Once he was married, he would become one of these people. Frantically, Trystan tried to think of any other Aelynner who might provide some guidance, but he could not.
Before Trystan could panic and balk, Mariel introduced him to a tall, gaunt man in priest’s cassock and collar. A gnarled brown hand gripped his when Trystan extended it. Taking a deep breath, he schooled his mercurial eyes to a neutral gray and lifted them to acknowledge the introduction.
Blue, gray, and aqua twinkled back at him.
“Father Gaston, this is my fiancé, Trystan d’Aelynn. Trystan, Father Gaston is from Quimper. He tells me he was once a fisherman.”
“A fisherman who was called to the priesthood?” Trystan asked, not daring to believe what the priest’s eyes were telling him. A Crossbreed as a priest?
What ability might the man have? Would he understand Mariel and their children better than his narrow-minded predecessor? Of course, unless he’d been born on the island, the priest knew nothing of his Aelynn heritage.
“I could not ignore the miracles that saved my life on many occasions,” the priest replied, not seeming to notice anything abnormal about Trystan, even though his eyes had probably changed to the brown of surprise or relief.
Of course the man didn’t notice. Only Mariel understood about the eyes. The priest was accustomed to seeing changing eye color in his mirror.
The miracles of which he spoke…
Sometime, Trystan would have to have a long talk with the priest and try to discern what special ability had inspired the miracles. Not now, though, with all Mariel’s family around them. But the priest raised wellsprings of hope. Mariel’s excitement fed his.
“God works wonders,” Trystan replied reverently, and he meant it.
“I understand from Mademoiselle St. Just that there is some desire to hasten this marriage?” the priest inquired with a hint of disapproval.
“Madame d’Aelynn,” Trystan corrected. “We exchanged vows in my home, but she wishes to have our marriage blessed in front of her friends and family. We would not be in such a rush except my ship sails with the tide this evening, and we thought that with everyone already gathered for the baptism, this would be an opportune moment.”
The priest nodded his understanding. “In these times, it is difficult to provide a wedding feast as well as a baptismal feast. With such a crowd as this, you are wise. It is a pity the child’s father cannot be here. You will stand in for him?”
Stand in for a man he did not know? Trystan had no idea what was being asked of him, but Mariel’s eager expression reassured him. Odd, how less than two weeks ago he would have rebelled against her requests, but now, he trusted her decisions in her world.
Mariel placed the sleeping infant in his arms, kissed his cheek, and whispering her excuses, hurried to help the other women at the stove.
Trystan stared down at the helpless girl child wrapped in lace. Her eyelids were so fragile that he could see the blue of her blood through them. Tiny rosebu
d lips worked in the first signs of hunger. Fingers scarcely bigger than Trystan’s nails bunched into fists that might someday swim the sea with Mariel’s strength.
The child was the granddaughter of a Seer. Francine’s child might need guidance as much as his own children. This is what Mariel was trying to tell him. If he could not take her sister and family to Aelynn, she must stay here to guide and protect them.
She was right, damn the devil and all below.
Reluctantly surrendering to her wisdom, Trystan cuddled the infant and accepted the introductions and well wishes of the people crowding around him.
These people would look after Mariel when he was gone. He would do his best to make a good impression so he would be welcome whenever he came. They could be his family now.
He was thinking he’d have to be here far more frequently than he’d originally planned.
***
Standing beside Trystan at the baptismal font, Mariel scanned the crowded church with pride and joy.
Francine held the newly christened Marie-Jeanne Rousseau for Father Gaston’s blessing while all their friends and family looked on. She’d even seen Celeste and the chevalier sneak in with Nick earlier. Apparently, they had slipped away without the notice of the soldiers. She hoped they’d hidden their belongings on the beach.
For now, she was glad the chalice had brought them all together, forging new bonds with her father’s family. She wished there was some way of bringing Trystan’s family into their celebration, but they had not even been present at the occasion of their marriage on Aelynn. He’d said they would celebrate at the birth of their children, so she would look forward to that. Nervously, she covered her belly with her hand, still in awe of the miracle concealed there.
Francine stepped back, and Father Gaston gestured for Mariel and Trystan to step up to the altar. This was not the formal ceremony that had blessed Francine’s marriage to Eduard. The new priest had simply questioned Trystan about his faith and agreed to sanctify the marriage in Mariel’s church, so formalities weren’t necessary.
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