Carlton, Amber - Trinity Magic (Siren Publishing Romance)

by Amber Carlton

  “Hmm?”

  She snuggled close, her leg wrapping around his, her arm across his chest. Pure, delicious torture. He didn’t know if he could do it, but he’d try.

  “I’m not going to die,” he said, “but if something happens to me, or if I disappear from your life, I want you to know it had nothing to do with you.”

  “The curse takes everyone who loves me. I’m prepared for it.”

  “It’s not going to take me,” he said. “My soul belongs to you now, remember? If you hold it close to you, the curse can’t touch it.”

  “I will wrap it around my own and hold tight,” Arleigh murmured.

  “Two bodies, one heart. Two bodies, one soul,” Ryder said. “The curse will have to take us both.”

  You’re in love with a goddamned faery, Kendall. How are you getting yourself out of this one?

  Obviously, he wasn’t. He planned to keep her. Why would he let go of the thing he had been searching for all his life? He loved Arleigh Donovan, and if he died…well, he’d deal with that little problem when it came.

  He steeled himself for a night of agony, but falling to sleep in her arms was the easiest thing he had ever done.

  Chapter 21

  Ryder thought he might get seasick, or riversick, whatever applied in this case. The boat, if you could actually call it a boat, rocked unsteadily and looked like it had been around since before Columbus. It had been left out in wind, snow, hailstorms, and rain, and was so thoroughly rotted, water leaked through the bottom. He hoped they would make it to the other side before they drowned in it.

  “Can you swim?” he asked Arleigh.

  “In the water?”

  “Where else would you swim? Never mind, I don’t want to know. Can you?”

  “A little.”

  “Good. It’s been years since I had to save anyone. We’re going to be swamped here. Look at all this water. Stephen had some money. Why didn’t he buy a better boat?”

  “What’s wrong with this one?” Arleigh asked.

  “Don’t get me started. I’ll be glad when we make it to the other side.”

  “We’re ne’er going to get there the way you row. You said you knew how to row.”

  “I’m doing okay. The boat’s moving, isn’t it?”

  “Aye, but, ’tis going in the wrong direction.”

  Ryder glanced over his shoulder.

  “Jesus Christ, we’re moving with the current. I thought I left all my inadequacies at home with all the technical bullshit, but I don’t even fit in here. I can’t even row a Goddamned boat.”

  “You take the name of the Lord in vain very often,” Arleigh said. “Why do you do that?”

  “Bad habit. At least I never started smoking.”

  “What’s wrong with smoking? ’Tis how we make our living. We grow the tobacco for people to smoke.”

  “Yeah, well, in a couple hundred years, the Caindales will be real heroes. Lots of people will be thanking us for that occupational choice.”

  Ryder pulled the oars and swung the boat around. The bank wasn’t too far away—a little more sweat, a couple of breaks to puke, and he would make it fine.

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to row?” Arleigh asked.

  “No, I got it.”

  “You’re heading back toward the island.”

  “Damn it!”

  She took the oars from his hands, settled them back in the water, and began to row. The boat flowed smoothly across the water, and Ryder’s stomach began to calm down. The girl may not be the New World’s greatest cook, but she sure knew how to row a boat. He wished they had a propeller, though. When they reached the opposite shore, Arleigh tied the boat to a tether that jutted from the earth. Ryder glanced around.

  “What, no taxis? What do we do now?”

  “We walk,” Arleigh said.

  The path to Jamestown was overgrown. Ryder clawed his way through a seemingly vast jungle of giant trees that swung branches toward his head, snagged his shirt, and tripped him up with their roots. He slapped at several incredibly large mosquitoes trying to eat him alive.

  “You people need more roads. How do you stand it? All this life. I feel like I’m on safari. I need some Raid, or Off, or something. There’s probably malaria here, right? Or West Nile virus. God, that would be a terrible thing to get. I should have had shots before I came.”

  Arleigh gave him an odd look but smiled. She led the way, and he followed behind her like a good Scout. He wished he had paid more attention during Scout survival training or at least taken notes during Survivor. How to find food that wouldn’t kill you. How to recognize venomous snakes. How to find clean drinking water. How to fish without a pole. How to build a fire. Yep, all of that would have come in real handy here in this colony, but his survival skills were sketchy because, at thirteen, he had been too busy hitting on the babes at the nearby girls’ camp to worry about survival skills, and he usually fell asleep on the sofa while watching TV.

  They walked for over a half hour and, finally, the village of Jamestown came into view. He hadn’t known what to expect but not this. So many people milled around he felt like an extra on a movie set. Craftsmen busily made barrels; others pounded on anvils, slaughtered animals, and prepared lumber for building materials. They were sweaty and dirty and did not jell with the nostalgic notions he had in his mind before he traveled back in time. Traveled back in time? It made him want to puke if he thought about it too much, so he concentrated on the village. For some reason, with Arleigh, he forgot he was in freaking 1639.

  Tired women, dragging buckets and baskets, went about their daily chores with bleak faces and heavy steps. Exuberant children, released from the bonds of chores for a trip to the village, filled the square. They escaped from their preoccupied mothers and raced about, enjoying the chance to be in the company of friends.

  Stalls filled with live animals littered the village, the smells hovering in the air with a tangible stench. Ryder wished he had a gas mask. Booths had been set up in the square, and the merchants sold and bartered wares of all description, and food he would have been afraid to eat. Animal carcasses hung from hooks, surrounded by such a vast array of insect life, hovering and settling, he felt a little nauseated seeing it, let alone thinking of eating it.

  Small boats and several large ships anchored in the river. The sights and smells of the busy dock were overwhelming. Dirty, distracted sailors unloaded cargo, shoving barrels and crates across the wet gangplank, their eyes focused on the enticements of the village, particularly the tavern. Crates and barrels lined the riverbank.

  Sounds filled his ears—the scrape of wood, the crack of lids being pried open, the thump of freight as men pushed it the distance between the old and new worlds. The ships groaning against their moorings and the flapping of canvas in the autumn breeze as the crew gathered the sails nearly deafened him. A man perched high on one of the anchored ships shouted orders. Others tossed bails and packages to the dock below, yelling at one another. Animals were led past them. Their smells took Ryder’s breath away.

  The fort loomed in the distance.

  “Where does Flynn live?”

  “Beyond the fort.”

  “Can we rent a couple of horses or something? I can ride.”

  She looked at him doubtfully. “Do you ride as well as you row?”

  “You don’t think I can do anything, do you? I know I haven’t been hiding in the woods, preparing for Armageddon, but I know a little about this time. I think I’m doing pretty okay. Hell, I should have jumped ship when the faery stories started, but I hung in there. Of course, I guess I didn’t have a choice, because the Weird Sisters haven’t tried to contact me, or extract me, whatever. Hell, I don’t even know if they realize I’m missing. I’m trying here, Arleigh, but this is all new to me. I’m doing the best I can. You don’t have much faith in me.”

  Arleigh took his hand. “’Tis in the company of a madman, I am. You’re wrong about my faith in you. I have all the faith of m
any worlds in you.”

  She pulled him down and kissed him. Right in public.

  “I won’t let you down,” he said. “I’ll fix all this. I promise.”

  “Stephen said that to me.” Arleigh said.

  “I’m not Stephen.”

  “No,” she said. “But I didn’t care for Stephen the way I care for you.”

  “You care for me?”

  She nodded.

  “I care for you, too. Let’s get some horses.”

  * * * *

  Cardew Manor looked like something out of Wuthering Heights, not the newer versions but the old black-and-white version with Laurence Olivier. It looked gloomy and cheerless, an environment where children would be thoroughly out of place. Hell, anyone with a soul would be out of place in that eyesore.

  As the horses carried them toward Flynn’s estate, Ryder could not believe his eyes. Where had Flynn found all of that stone? Gray, cheerless walls surrounded the manor. The house itself looked like it had been transported from the Middle Ages. Turrets rose into the sky to offer a clear view of the surrounding area and warn of invaders. Ryder didn’t doubt Flynn was an unpopular fellow, but what use did he have for turrets and arrow slits?

  “Paranoia, thy name is Flynn,” Ryder said. “What’s with the castle? Could it be any more obvious he’s not from around here? I think the people here should get a clue. I can’t believe there’s not a drawbridge.”

  Dank, dismal, and ugly, but it was certainly prosperous. The horses trotted up the winding path to Flynn’s manor house, and Ryder saw numerous barns and outbuildings. Flynn had his own stables and blacksmith stall, a mill and granary, a separate kitchen with a very large attached garden, and rows of cottages to house his indentures. Flynn had quite the plantation. And river frontage. That would be costly.

  “His land is on the river,” Ryder said. “Why didn’t we row here?”

  “You saw the boat,” Arleigh said.

  Beyond the plantation proper grew the tobacco. Ryder had thought Caindale plantation successful. In comparison, Flynn would have been considered a very wealthy man. The tobacco fields stretched all the way to the horizon. And, he expected, beyond.

  “Well, it’s obvious I’m not going to be able to bribe him,” Ryder muttered.

  “Cameron is a very successful planter,” Arleigh said.

  “I’ll say. Look at this place. It makes our place look like a dirt farm.”

  “You farm dirt where you come from?” Arleigh asked. “What profit would there be in that?”

  “You’d be surprised,” he said. “Did Flynn acquire all this from tobacco?”

  “He’s involved in many things. He also mines, owns a fleet of ships, buys and sells indentures and land, loans money at a profit, sends out exploratory ventures, and exports to England. He is very enterprising.”

  Ryder shifted on the horse, and that jealous knot twisted in the pit of his stomach. He should have been over that. “You know an awful lot about Flynn.”

  “He visited Stephen often, and I overheard conversation. I knew Stephen owed him money. I ne’er knew how much or what for.”

  “He’s a regular First National Bank of Flynn. The guy must be a freaking millionaire.”

  “Aye, whatever that is, I’m sure you must be right.”

  “Could some of this be from his fairyhood? Faeryness? What word would you use? Faeryness sounds kind of gay. I know he’s not gay, but that might be a good thing right now. Women generally can’t leave me alone. They think I’m pretty good-looking. I could use some of my charm if he was gay.”

  “Cameron may laugh sometimes, but I don’t think he’s gay. There’s not much happiness in him.”

  Ryder laughed. Damn, she was cute. “Flynn didn’t catch a leprechaun by any chance, did he?”

  Arleigh’s eyes widened in horror. “No one would try to catch a leprechaun. They can be very nasty creatures.”

  “But they always have gold, right?”

  Arleigh laughed. “You’re a silly man. Where do you find your stories? Leprechauns are cobblers.”

  “Dessert makers?”

  “Shoemakers, Ryder. Don’t you know what a cobbler is?”

  “Oh, yeah, I do. I forgot. If they make shoes, they might have gold.”

  “Aye, they are good cobblers, but they would ne’er give away their gold.”

  “Ok, so he isn’t in league with the leprechauns. What else might he be doing with his faery powers?”

  “He wouldn’t be using powers. He seems to want to live in this human world, so he would behave like a human. Besides, faeries have very little power when dealing with the human world. Most often faeries have only one talent.”

  “And in Flynn’s case?”

  “Desire. Passion. ’Tis all the power and control Flynn has.”

  “That’s a lot of power, Arleigh. You can do anything if you can control someone’s heart. You ought to know that.”

  Arleigh stiffened, her hands tightening on the reins, and shot a withering glance toward him. “I ne’er used my power for gain,” she huffed. “Only for life. Only for sustenance.”

  “And pleasure. You used it for pleasure.”

  She blushed, and her glance darted away from him. “Aye. There was that.”

  “So Flynn could be using his power to control the people around him, particularly the women. He’s a good-looking guy and quite the catch. I’m sure every lady in town has the hots for him. He’s a drop-dead gorgeous bachelor with money. A woman’s wet dream.”

  “He would also be leaving behind a path of dead women,” Arleigh said.

  “Not if he has enough control.”

  Arleigh’s voice was firm, touched with annoyance. “He has great willpower. He must, or he would not exist. He would have died when he should have.”

  They rode through a massive wooden gate and into the courtyard. Uniformed liveried men rushed out of a nearby stable and took their reins.

  The door to the manor opened, and a woman came out. Tall, slender and wearing a pretty green dress with a pristine apron, she looked to be in her fifties. Her black hair was streaked with gray and pulled back under a white cap, but in her vanity, she had left several tendrils peeking out. She didn’t have glasses pushed on top of her head, and she wasn’t standing behind a library desk, but Ryder blinked.

  “Mrs. Cargill?”

  “No, I am Mistress Cullen.”

  “She’s the ban-tee,” Arleigh whispered. “A faery nurse. Watching o’er the children.”

  “Wow,” Ryder said. “I think I know her from home. If this woman is anything like Cullen Cargill, those girls are in good hands.”

  “She has neutral hands, Ryder. Her wants are limited to caring for children. She has no concern for what happens around her.”

  “So she wouldn’t care that Flynn’s a psychopath?”

  “A syco what?” Arleigh’s brows drew down then she tossed her hair. “No, Ryder, she wouldn’t care.”

  “That makes for a pretty good employee,” Ryder said.

  “Would you like to come in?” Mistress Cullen asked. “The children are expecting you. Have a care with them, as they belong to Master Flynn.”

  “They belong to us,” Ryder said. “He’s kidnapped them.”

  “I do not understand that word,” the ban-tee said.

  “Losing battle,” Ryder whispered. “Totally neutral. At least she won’t let anything happen to them.”

  “If something happened to them,” Arleigh said, “the ban-tee would cease to exist.”

  “Well, she still exists at home,” Ryder said, “so that’s a start. At least I know I haven’t screwed things up totally. The girls should be okay.”

  “Are you sure you’re not a seer?” Arleigh asked.

  “Pretty sure,” he said. “I’m just a Keeper.”

  He took Arleigh’s arm and led her through the door.

  * * * *

  The prosperity reflected on the inside of the manor house surpassed the grounds. Flynn
had the best of everything, and obviously the utilitarian nature of his castle did not extend to the interior. Flynn enjoyed luxury. Ryder saw finely crafted furniture, beautiful linens and wools, decorative pottery and gold, elegant chandeliers and rugs.

  “I think I’m underdressed,” Ryder mumbled.

  Arleigh’s glance swept across him. “No, you remembered to put everything on today. You’re dressed fine.”

  The ban-tee led them through the large main hall and toward the back of the manor. She opened the door to a large, dreary chamber. Luxurious velvet curtains hung over the windows, blocking out the glare of the sun. The fabric covering the furniture looked to be silk. The hearth and glistening candelabras cast soft light throughout an otherwise very gloomy room.

  On a sweeping rug that Ryder suspected came from the Orient, lay three little girls, scribbling on parchment. They glanced up when the door opened. When they saw Arleigh, they scrambled to their feet, and the room filled with squeals of delight. Ryder thought his eardrums would burst. He had forgotten how loud and piercing little girls could be.

  They rushed at Arleigh and nearly knocked her off her feet. He had thought her beautiful before, but when she touched the children, her face transformed into something he had not seen in a long time. This woman may not have been their mother, but he could not imagine a mother radiating more warmth or love. Her arms wrapped around the three of them, and they fell to the floor in a bubble of laughter.

  He thought for a second he would go mad from the chatter. An endless rush of questions and answers, a tidal wave of words, spilled from them. Their smiles were so wide he thought their faces would burst. He dropped into a chair and waited patiently while they had their reunion. They were positively in love with each other.

  He thought he had been handling 1639 pretty well, but he was not prepared for this. He looked into the faces of younger versions of Faith, Hope, and Charity. They had the same hair, the same eyes, the same bodies, and the exact same faces. Reincarnation was not the right word. He suspected that, somehow, they had moved through time. Perhaps they had always been. No wonder his sisters were so smart.

  The ban-tee stood near the door. She made no move to interfere with Arleigh, nor did she hinder the girls in any way. Mrs. Cullen/Mrs. Cargill watched in her measured, neutral way. Ryder guessed she, too, had always been, and wondered when the ban-tee had decided to live in the human world. He would have to pay Mrs. Cargill a visit when he got back home.