by Karen Dales
Fernando had watched the casting off with interest, ignoring the fact that the Angel and his mortal had gone below. Now the Noble was above decks again, retreating to the beauty of the night on water. It had been a very long time since he had left England and this newer sleek sailing vessel caught a romantic string in his heart. He had always loved sailing. It was the only part of his initial trip here when he was mortal that he savoured. Only on that vessel more hands were necessary for its functioning. Fernando was amazed that only a crew of seven, including the captain, were needed for the schooner.
Leaning out over the rail, he watched the dark waters of the Thames speed past as the wind whipped up and clouds scurried across the sky, hearkening to an oncoming storm. A smile lit his lips at the ride he knew he was in for and turned to lean back against the wooden rail to stare at the tallest of the three masts. She was a magnificent lady.
The sails bloomed and shuddered in the wind. Rigging, taught between sheets and deck, hummed. Yes, the girl had done at least one thing right, and he was going to enjoy the trip as much as immortally possible. The only dampening to his mood was being driven away from talking with the Angel. Fernando was starting to regret his decision to introduce Jeanie to the world existing in the dark of night.
Pulling out Yang, he watched the light glimmer and dance upon the blade. A shipmate paused in his round, distracted by the nobleman and the knife. He quickly found his pace after a dark menacing glare from Fernando paled him. A quirk of a smile lifted the Chosen’s lips as the young man scurried to his appointed task.
Left alone with his thoughts, Fernando twirled the blade; its sharp point digging into his left index finger. Again, the speculations about the Angel arose. Swearing as he sliced his finger, Fernando ignored the quickly healing cut. A single bead of blood dribbled down his finger only to splatter against the deck. He shook his hand.
What was it that made his mind constantly go back to the Angel? He shook his head. It was like he was drawn to him, almost like a moth to a cold flame. He had seen such a reaction in the girls at Bridget’s house, and even he could not account his sire’s reaction. What made Bridget so interested in the Angel?
Maybe because there is something more to him than he appears.
Fernando gave a yelp and turned around, almost dropping Yang into the river. It took him a moment to recognize that the voice had come from inside his head and it was distinctly Bridget’s.
Embarrassed, he turned around to see if any of the mortals had seen his breach in façade. Finding that he was blissfully alone, he sheathed Yang.
Don’t do that to me, he sent, angrily.
Sorry, love, came the reply. Fernando could sense Bridget standing before her dressing mirror, concern filling her heart. It’s just that when you thought of me, I heard you.
Fernando grumbled and turned to face the receding waters, leaning on the rail. So you decided to pop into my head and answer my questions?
Don’t be angry, love, soothed Bridget. You initialized the contact. I just answered it.
Damning himself for a fool, he realized that Bridget probably sensed that and he knew he was too much out of practice to keep much from her. Luckily as the physical distance grew between them, their connection would become more tenuous.
He felt her frown. If you didn’t want to talk with me then I’ll go.
Fernando let out a sigh. He did not want Bridget angry with him. He did not want possibly their last conversation to be a fight, even at this distance, and he remembered what she said about the Angel. What do you mean there’s more to him than he appears?
Can’t you sense it?
A frown pulled his face and he realized that he could sense something different about the Angel, something that scared him.
He’s not scary, replied Bridget.
Then what is he? snapped Fernando. He did not like Bridget knowing he was afraid, especially of another Chosen.
He’s not like us, love. He’s Chosen, but there is something more to him. A power that I doubt even he is aware of.
Then he shouldn’t have been left alive. The thought came unbidden and he realized how horrific it was. The idea of the Angel becoming one of the Destroyed Ones seemed terribly wrong and he did not know why. He had witnessed the Angel move faster than a Chosen, but that could that be due to his extreme age.
It could, agreed Bridget. Can Notus move that fast?
If the Angel’s sire, who was older, could move like that then he would not have been caught in the Mistress’ web. Nothing about the Angel made sense.
Fernando, you are in a unique position.
I know, he frowned realizing that was what scared him. The Angel was so unlike any other vampire. It was as if the Angel was a light in the darkness and did not even know it.
Fernando, the distance is growing farther; I’m going to lose you soon. He could feel her urgency. Learn what you can and come back to me, love. And, he felt her hesitate, as if suddenly afraid, take care of the Angel.
He stumbled as the connection faded, but he could still feel Bridget’s presence across the miles. Fernando could not understand why Bridget would ask him to take care of the Angel. The Angel was more than capable, and then some, but a frown pulled at his lips. A light in the darkness, he shuddered not knowing where that thought came from or what it meant.
A speckling of raindrops struck the deck, giving prelude to the deluge to come. Glancing up at the sky, Fernando squinted into the wind battered rain and disappeared into the dry safety of his quarters below. The darkness was complete in his tiny cabin at the bow and for a flickering moment he wished there was a light.
Chapter XXIV
He did not know what to expect when he decided to come back to the walled garden within the castle, but he had only moments before he and Notus took their leave of the High Chief and his court. It would be tenuous at best.
He knew that the High Chief was angry with him, and by everyone’s accounts, rightfully so. It was for his protection and for the peace of the realm that Notus was taking him back to Ynis Witrin. But he expected that it had to do more with Notus’ need to delve back into monastic life so as to find absolution for what he had done.
Notus would be furious knowing that his son was standing in the archway connecting the inner sanctum of the fortress to the beautiful garden bristling with new green growth and blossoming flowers. It was the green of her eyes he needed to see one last time and he doubted that Notus would understand. Or maybe he did? He lowered his gaze from the brilliance of the near full moon and frowned. Coming back to the place where they had first met and began their clandestine affair over a year ago suddenly seemed ill devised.
The cool night air enveloped him as he stepped onto the soft grass and entered the garden. Would she be here? A part of him desperately desired to see her, to embrace her, to taste of her lips and body. Another part evoked the new stabbing pain that he knew Notus’ spell had wrought. Divided, only she could answer his questions. Did she remember him? Did she still love him?
The nightingales’ song stilled into silence as he turned down the path and saw her there under the apple tree; its white blossoms glowing in the moon’s magical light. He halted, his breath caught at the sight of her chestnut coloured locks braided and beautifully arranged under a coif indicating her married status.
Swallowing hard, he realized that she had not noticed him. He could hear her soft whispers of love and encouragement to the unborn babe growing within her, its heartbeat strong and vital. For a desperate fleeting moment he wished the child to be his and knew it for a folly. Being Chosen meant never having children.
He stood in petrified silence, watching her until her gaze lifted and found him. It was more than he could bear seeing fear cross her face as she stood.
“I’m sorry,” he stammered, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Sensing his remorse, she stood a little straighter but did not approach.
“Do I know you, sir? You seem familiar somehow. H
ave I seen you at my father’s hall?” Her voice was clear and unafraid.
It was all the confirmation he needed. Notus’ wiping of her memories was complete. Sorrow filled him and he shook his head, unable to look into her green eyes.
“Yet there is something.” Her slippered feet padded along the gravel path towards him.
He had always admired her strength and now it offered him a glimmering of hope. Looking into her eyes, he saw hers grow round as she fully took in his appearance. All hope dashed to the ground, shattering to a thousand pieces as she hitched her skirt and fled. Knowing he had to stop her, he managed to catch her wrist, and turned her to face him.
“Please, sir,” she pleaded, her hands held together between them by his. “I’m a married woman. My husband –“
It was too much to bear. He had to know. “Do you not remember me?” he pleaded.
Frantically, she shook her head, sending stray strands of hair floating. It was the terror in her eyes that finally made him release her and he watched in misery as she turned and ran from the garden. When she was gone, he collapsed to his knees on the gravel, tears streaming down his face.
It was not the knocking at the door by the shipmate telling them they were preparing to dock that woke Jeanie, nor was it the sounds of the moorings locking the ship into place. Jeanie had been up for some time, having slept sporadically through the night. The Angel’s fever induced dreams had made his sleep fitful and there were many times when Jeanie did not understand his mutterings. Those that were clear were just as confusing and made her wonder how many languages he knew.
Rising from the mattress she had dragged to the floor, Jeanie squeezed out from between the Angel and the wall, allowing the blanket to fall, and felt around in the dark for the box of matches she had seen him pack in his suitcase. Victory achieved, she struck the match, squinting at its yellow brilliance and found the lantern. There was enough oil for the wick to catch, illuminating the cabin in a soft glow.
She pulled her dress on over her chemise and went back to the Angel’s side. He had stayed in his torpid state for the duration of the trip and now they were finally in Calais she needed him to wake, if he could. Laying a hand on his face, Jeanie realized that he was not as hot as before. For some reason the fever was diminishing.
“Gwyn,” she called softly, “we’re in Calais. ‘Tis time to disembark.” Jeanie hoped he would feel better once back on land. His face screwed up as if in pain, yet his eyes would not open. Jeanie called to him again.
The explosion of movement caught her completely off guard, sending her sprawling backwards with a cry. A loud resounding crack rang through the berth followed by a groan and the sound of collapse. Turning over, skirts tangling around her legs, Jeanie lifted up to see the Angel crouched, holding the crown of his head in both hands. It was enough to get her moving. She stood up and all but ran in the confined space to fall to her knees before him, fearful that he had badly hurt himself. Quickly gazing up, she saw the damaged joist that he cracked his head upon.
“Let me take a look,” she said. She reached to lower his hands and examine the wound and halted as she saw his eyes.
“Crei?” he pleaded; his eyes wild and haunted as he gazed into springtime eyes. He could not believe she was here, but why was she dressed that way and why did his head hurt? He groaned and pulled a hand away from his head to see blood on it. Nausea swept through him as the ground lifted up and then sank back down. It was enough of a movement to cause him to land on his backside. A vague awareness of where and when he was slowly trickled back.
The woman he thought he knew rose up on her knees and made him bend his head. There would be no evidence of the wound, having healed quickly, but the worry on her face made his head swim. Images of the past and the present slammed into him and he shook his head. He could not understand what she was saying at first and then he gasped. Her facial features shifted ever so slightly, but the eyes, they stayed the same, even to the colour and the shape. The curls decorating her pale neck faded from chestnut to a fiery copper.
“Jeanie?” he whispered, finally recognizing her. It was the epiphany of how closely Jeanie resembled her that set him trembling.
“I’m right here.” Jeanie hunkered down, brushing his hair from his face and was shocked to see tears glittering his face. “What’s wrong?”
Frowning, he rubbed his eyes with forefinger and thumb and found the wetness on his cheeks. Nausea surged up making the room spin and he closed his eyes. He did not know what to say to Jeanie. He was as confused as she.
Something was happening to him and he did not know what it was. The memories of the past, usually forgotten and ignored, were surging to the present, confounding and confusing him. It was not unusual to remember little things, but this was too much like reliving them, with the demons coming back and everything else going on, he began to wonder about his sanity.
A knock on the door saved him from answering. “Miss Stuart, the Captain says you can disembark anytime you wish, ma’am.”
Jeanie twisted to face the door. “Thank ye. We’ll be up shortly.” Turning back to face him, she continued, apprehension filling her tones, “We’re here, in Calais. D’ye think ye can leave the ship?”
He was not sure if he could stand, let alone walk up to the deck, but if it meant leaving for the stability of land, he would crawl if he had to. With Jeanie’s help he rose and clung to the table, carefully avoiding the wood beams overhead. He let Jeanie get their things together while he stood clinging for stability. He felt her unsuccessful attempt to buckle on his sword belt. He took it out of her hands, offering her a tired smile and managed to strap it on before the spinning became too great. Stabilizing himself for a moment by griping onto the table for support, both he and Jeanie waited for the room to stop swirling before he took the heavy cloth from her arms and the clasp from her hand. With her help he managed to encase himself in the comforting darkness of his cloak and went to pick up the suitcases.
“I’ll take them,” offered Jeanie as she shrugged on her mantle. A smile softened her face.
Relief flooded his as he gazed upon the most beautiful woman he had ever known and wished that the trip could have been an enjoyable one for her. He did not remember all that she had done for him, but he knew that she did what she could to take care of him and for that he was immensely grateful.
Jeanie unlatched the door and before she could open it, he laid a hand on her shoulder. She turned to face him, worry still in her eyes. “Thank you, Jeanie. Thank you for everything.”
A smile bloomed on her face and she fiercely hugged him. It was the only thing that kept him standing under the spinning nausea, and he hugged her back inhaling the soft smell of soap from her hair.
“Can we go now?” she asked, pulling away.
“Oh Gods, yes, please,” he sighed and picked up the luggage. Regardless of how he felt, he was not going to allow her to carry the heavy burdens and silenced her protestations with a glance.
Opening the door with an uneasy smile and a shake of her head, hat back in place, Jeanie led the way to the stairs leading to the deck. Stooped in the short hallway, he gratefully followed, eager to finally have the world stop spinning.
Fernando stood on deck at the top of the gang board as they emerged. His tempestuous brown eyes bored into the Angel. Thankfully Jeanie either did not notice or she chose not to care. If only the ship would stop spinning and return his stomach back into place he would have been able to ignore the glare and the pulsations of finely controlled rage that flowed from the Noble.
He halted, forcing Jeanie to stop at his side. He should not be able to feel that. He should not be able to feel anything from any other Chosen except Notus. Dumb fear uncurled itself around his heart and he knew that Fernando saw it despite being cowled beneath his hood.
A smile lifted the corner of the Noble’s lips. “Had a pleasant time?” he disparaged.
“Aye, thank ye,” came Jeanie to the rescue, “we had a verra
memorable time.” She smiled and nodded her head, yet kept her eyes on the angry Noble.
Fernando sucked on his lips, displeased. “I took care of our good Captain.”
“Ye dinna –?” Jeanie’s eyes widened in shock.
“Give me some credit.” Fernando made a disgusted sound. “I paid the man, though I must say that what you agreed to pay him was robbery.”
“Well, if ye wanted to pay less, ye could hae gone and found a ship yerself,” quipped Jeanie. “Ah, but I forgot, ye canna during the day.”
Fernando’s face darkened and he took a step towards her.
“Stop it,” ordered the Angel. He was so incredibly tired of their fighting. Had they not listened to him before the journey? He sadly shook his head, answering his own question. Needing nothing more than to get off the floating torture device, he pushed past the Noble, ignored Jeanie’s gasp of surprise, and descended down the plank for the solidity of the quay. The moment his feet touched the firmness beneath him, the world gratefully ceased its turnings and the nausea miraculously vanished.
Being on solid ground never felt as good as when he left a ship. With closed eyes he took a deep clearing breath and opened them at the sound of Captain Richardson biding Miss Stuart a fond farewell. Jeanie’s polite reply floated on the salt laden breeze and he turned to watch her carefully navigate the ridged planking with Fernando not far behind. A scowl that seemed permanently etched had returned to the Noble’s features.
Suddenly, Jeanie’s heel caught and she stumbled, pitching sideways over the water.
Time stopped and he heard the dull ringing thud of the suitcases as he dropped them to the concrete. Preternaturally he leapt to the base of the gang board in the effort of halting Jeanie’s plunge into the icy dark waters. He stopped, heart pounding in his chest as he watched Fernando grab her by the back of her collar and haul her one handed onto the plank, unceremoniously landing her on her rear. Reaching out, he pulled Jeanie the rest of the way. Her feet never touched the ground until he planted her beside him. The elongated sounds of the lapping water resumed their normal cadence and he held her upper arms as she swayed, disoriented.
