Matthew snorted with amusement. “And have you planned a celebration?” His hand slid down to caress her backside.
“Forget it, the berths are the size of rabbit hutches, and on top of that I get seasick. Very seasick.” Already the swells were getting to her. “But I think I have a gift – of a sort,” she said, meeting his eyes. Not a gift she really wanted to give him, not so soon, but Mrs Parson had agreed with her own diagnosis, muttering something about the consequences of not being able to keep their hands off each other.
“Are you sure?” Matthew asked when she took his hand and placed it on her stomach.
“It’s very early days yet, but yes, I think I am.” She smiled at him before pressing her face into his shirt to hide the confused emotions this made her feel.
“It’s too soon,” Matthew said, but his tone and the way his arms tightened around her, stood in clear contradiction to his words. Between them Rachel squirmed and whimpered, a protest that soon grew into an indignant holler, making them let each other go.
*
After spending most of the initial days in their cabin, Alex finally made it out on deck; unsteady and pale, but determined not to spend any more time indoors.
“Perfect combination,” she muttered to herself, clinging to the railings. “Seasick and pregnant. Whoopee.” She turned in irritation towards Matthew. “How can I be seasick? Look, the sea’s perfectly flat.” More or less; now that she actually looked, the whole horizon was heaving, tilting this way and that. “Oh shit,” Alex groaned.
Matthew gave her a worried look and hefted Rachel higher on his shoulder. “Should you go back inside?”
Alex shook her head and adjusted the heavy cloak closer round her shoulders. “It stinks in there. And it’s much better to be outdoors, plus once I get my sea legs, it will all pass anyway.”
“Sea legs?” Captain Miles appeared by their side. “You’ll never get sea legs, Mrs Graham.” He peered at her. “Feeling better? You look less green today, if I may say so, more of a normal pink.”
“Why thank you; let’s just hope we don’t run into any bloody storms.”
Captain Miles laughed and shook his head. “You don’t like the sea, do you, Mrs Graham? Not one whit of sailor in you.”
“Well thank heavens being a sea captain isn’t top on my career list,” Alex said, turning her back on him.
“But you, Mr Graham, you’re a born sailor,” Captain Miles went on, sounding very amused.
“Aye,” Matthew said in a rather more cautious tone. “It would seem the sea agrees with me.”
“It would seem the sea agrees with me,” Alex mouthed to herself, sticking her tongue out. She straightened up. “I’m taking a walk, and you, Mr Sailor, keep an eye on the baby, alright?”
Alex nearly fell over one long extended leg and righted herself to glare in the direction of its owner, only to find herself face to face with yet another acquaintance.
“Iggy! How nice to see you again!” She extended her arms to give him a hug, but let them drop at the warning look in his eyes. Turning, she found Matthew looming over her, his eyes glued to poor Iggy with undisguised dislike. Matthew gripped Alex by her arm and propelled her forward towards the bow.
“What are you doing? Iggy is a friend, okay?”
“You will not greet other men with such familiarity, and…” Matthew inhaled a couple of times. “Don’t you see it?”
Alex looked in the direction of Iggy; redheaded and light-eyed. Of course Matthew had been reminded of Luke, just as she’d been the first time she met him.
“Not anymore,” she said, “but I definitely did the first time I saw him.”
Matthew threw Iggy yet another ice cold look. “I wish it were Luke,” he said through gritted teeth. “Then I would just lift the bastard into the air and throw him into the sea.” He unslung Rachel’s carrying shawl and handed her to Alex. “Take her, I just can’t. I must…” and with that he hurried over to the opposite side of the ship.
Alex watched him go, saw him stop to steady himself, and knew he was swimming in a sea of anger and pain and that there was nothing she could do but wait for him to come back to her. Even from across the deck, she could see how his hands fisted, and she wondered what particular part of his own personal hell he was reliving. Months at the beck and call of Jones, months in which his dignity was torn off him to leave nothing but a silent obedient slave. Humanity is a thin veneer, Alex reflected, a protective coat that is so easily ripped from us and so very difficult to patch back up. In Matthew’s case, he had lost the capacity to forgive; as long as he lived, one part of his soul would be given over to nurturing the hatred he felt for his brother, and that, in Alex’s opinion, was by far the severest damage done to him.
*
It was an uneventful journey, one day following upon the previous one with no change in scenery or weather. With every league closer to home, Matthew’s restlessness grew. He glared at the empty sails, scanning the horizon for anything indicating that soon there would be winds to hasten their way, and then dropped back down to sit beside Alex on the deck. Early May, more than a month at sea, and when asked, Captain Miles shrugged and said it would be two, perhaps three weeks before they moored in Edinburgh.
“The planting will all be done by now,” Matthew said, “and the lambing as well.” Alex patted his hand as well as she could with a nursing wean at her breast.
“You’ll be back for the harvest. And you’ve done your share of planting haven’t you?” She went a bright pink, making him smile. He lifted Rachel out of her arms.
“She’s asleep,” he said unnecessarily, eyes lingering on Alex’s chest.
“Yeah, food tends to have that effect on her.” She met his eyes, and in his loins warmth surged, a coursing heat that rushed through his veins, pooled in his balls and rose like molten iron through his cock. “Maybe we should all take a nap,” she suggested, getting to her feet.
Matthew’s eyes didn’t leave her face. She blushed again, delicious waves of pink rising up her neck and all the way to her ears. Her pupils dilated, and he knew it was because of him and the wordless promise that all of him was giving her. He let her precede him to their cabin, stifling a smile at the way she was walking, a new-born foal on ice.
He took her on the floor, she on hands and knees and he rising behind her, his hands holding her still. In one of the berths Rachel slept peacefully, and on the floor he just had to…again, and now Alex was naked and so was he, and it was almost as it had been that first time, except that here they lay in a cramped space that enclosed them in dark wood, and the only sky they could see was the glimpse of grey through the small porthole cut into the door, not the miles of empty blue of a summer sky in Scotland. Not that he cared; he was lost to the world, aware only of his warm and wonderful wife.
Chapter 36
2007
“He’s a sweet boy, isn’t he?” Eva said, waving at Isaac.
“Not sweet enough to like it that you’re waving at him in front of his mates,” Magnus said, grinning at how his grandson chose to ignore them, detouring as if by chance in the direction of the football pitch.
“Oh.” Eva dropped her hand, looking somewhat flustered. “I didn’t know.”
“No big deal.” Magnus shrugged and settled himself on the bonnet to wait. “Hi,” he said once Isaac had joined them. “Your Dad called. He’ll be picking you up before dinner.”
Isaac nodded eagerly. “We’re going to see Spiderman 3.”
“Spider who?” Eva asked.
“Action hero,” Magnus said.
“Ah,” Eva nodded, looking none the wiser.
Isaac disappeared upstairs the moment they got back from school, mumbling something about painting the sea, and needing more blues and greens. Eva followed him to the studio and came back down a bit later, nodding when Magnus offered her a cup of coffee.
“He just grabs a brush and throws himself into it,” she said in an impressed voice. “I was up there for what? F
ifteen minutes? And already there’s a sea on the canvas. That boy is going to be world famous some day.”
“He would prefer to be a football player, he doesn’t even like to talk about his painting.”
“Not all that strange, is it?” Eva said.
John looked flustered when he appeared just before four.
“This early?” Magnus said. “He hasn’t even had his cake yet.”
John sat down on a chair and poured himself some coffee. “I just had to get away. This client of mine is driving me nuts.” He shook his head at the cake. “No thanks, I have to be a bit careful,” he said, patting himself on his very flat stomach.
Eva smirked and Magnus huffed, serving himself a huge slice.
“Isaac?” Magnus raised his voice, “Come on down, son. There’s cake.” There was no reply and Magnus shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
John regaled them with a series of anecdotes starring his new client, making both Eva and Magnus laugh when John swore that next time that excruciating barnacle of a man requested another change in his security setup, he’d cram the system code down his throat.
“Where is that boy?” John looked at his watch.
“Probably immersed in his little sea,” Eva smiled, “or otherwise he’s arranging his paint tubes again.”
John broke off a piece of cake. “We have to go,” he said through his half-full mouth, and Magnus nodded and got to his feet.
“Isaac?” Magnus stood by the stairs. “Isaac, come on down. If you don’t hurry, there won’t be any cake left because your Dad will eat it all.”
“I haven’t even had a whole slice,” John protested.
“Isaac?” Magnus frowned, taking the stairs two treads at a time, with John at his heels.
Isaac was sitting on the floor, and in his lap was a small picture. John threw himself across the room towards his son.
“Isaac? What are you doing?”
Isaac just stared through him before lowering his eyes to the wooden frame he held between his hands. He smiled dreamily at it; a small painting in blues and green, all of it swirling together towards a point of extreme depth and light in its centre.
“Herre Gud,” Magnus gasped. “Where on earth…”
“I thought we’d burnt them all.” John attempted to prise Isaac’s fingers off the frame. His arms shook, his hands trembled and he sat back, his face the colour of boiled cod. “Oh God,” he moaned. “I just can’t be near it.”
“Let me,” Magnus made a grab for the painting. Isaac wrenched himself free and flew to his feet, backing away with the picture held to his chest.
“Isaac, come here,” John said, “come here and give Offa the picture.”
“I can see her,” Isaac whispered, his brown eyes huge. “I see her, in there.” He peeked at the painting again.
“Who?” Magnus asked. “Who do you see?”
“Mama.”
“Oh, Jesus,” John whispered, and extended his hand to Isaac. “Give me the painting, Isaac, we have to destroy it.”
Isaac shook his head and moved so that the large table stood between him and the two men. He put the painting down.
“It’s beautiful,” he said, tracing a whirl of blue with a small finger. When Magnus came too close, Isaac retreated below the table, clambering over the old-fashioned trestle legs.
“Isaac,” John’s voice begged, “just get away from it, don’t look at it son.”
Magnus was beginning to panic, a cold sweat breaking out along his spine as he remembered a long gone afternoon when he’d seen a man fade away in front of his eyes in this very room – and all on account of a whispering magic painting. He kneeled and began crawling towards the boy.
It was too late. Bright light poured from the painting, noise rose in waves around them, and Magnus was incapable of moving, the floor heaving like a sea serpent’s back below him. Behind him, John was screaming, for Isaac, for Magnus to do something. Isaac leaned into the painting, a wide smile on his face as his hand reached for an object or person unseen.
“No!” Magnus’s fingers closed around Isaac’s ankle. For an instant he held his grandson suspended, halfway here, halfway in the funnel of roaring painful light, and then with a tug Isaac was pulled free, sucked shrieking into nothingness.
“No! Isaac!! Noooooo!” John howled, high-pitched sounds that tore at Magnus, carried through the open window, and had Eva rushing up the stairs.
“What happened?” she panted. “My God, Magnus, where is Isaac?”
”He’s gone!” Magnus set his shoulders to the table and upended it, sending paints, brushes and jars of turpentine to crash against the floor. “You hear? He’s gone! A seven-year-old boy! I should have set fire to the whole fucking room!” He cursed and kicked, and the little painting sailed in an arc across the room to land by Eva’s feet. She bent to pick it up.
“…I have heard the mermaids singing…” she quoted, collapsing to sit on her knees.
“Don’t touch it!” Magnus said, throwing himself towards her. “Don’t even look at it. Oh God; Isaac!” He picked up the canvas and ripped it apart, strong fingers tearing at the fibres. He fell forward until his forehead hit the floor, hid himself in his arms, and wept.
*
Isaac screamed when he was sucked into the painting. He no longer wanted this, and he tried to claw himself free from the funnel of light. Everything narrowed, his body stretched, and he was torn from where he was to skydive to somewhere else. He fell…and it hurt and he was scared, and all around him time roared, a constant sound of voices and clamour.
He landed with a dull thud. Something in his leg snapped. Isaac lay on his back and slowly the whirling stopped, the ground below him became solid and he could breathe again. He began to open his eyes, hoping that he would be back in Offa’s house, but his nose told him he was outdoors. He could hear birds and creaking branches, the soft flutter of leaves, and when he allowed himself to look he knew he was very far away from home.
He was lying on his back in a heap of last year’s leaves, and above him he saw the huge spreading branches of old trees with the sky a clear pale blue beyond. He tried to sit up, but his leg hurt and he lay back down. To his shame he could smell he had peed himself, and the damp cloth stuck uncomfortably to his crotch.
“Mama?” he called. He’d seen her, there in the picture, so she should be here. “Mama?” he repeated, receiving nothing but a gust of wind in reply. Isaac Lind rolled onto his side and cried.
A hand on his back made him start and he tried to move away, only to whimper when his broken leg was jolted by his movements.
“Shush, laddie,” a voice said, “shush.” Isaac turned to face a very round man with mild blue eyes and scraggly, reddish hair.
“Who are you?”
The man laughed, studying him with interest. “I’m Simon Melville, and you are?”
“Isaac. Isaac Lind.”
*
Simon swallowed back on a surprised exclamation. His eyes flew over this Isaac, taking in a small lad with surprisingly short hair and strange clothes.
“Lind you said?”
The lad nodded.
“And where did you come from?”
“I don’t know,” Isaac stammered, his eyes filling with tears. “I just fell through the painting. I saw my Mama and I fell.”
“The painting? You fell through a painting?” Simon couldn’t keep the disbelief out of his voice.
Isaac nodded in confirmation, holding up his hands in an approximation of the painting’s size.
“And would your Mama be an Alexandra Lind?” Simon asked, ensuring his voice remained casual. In his chest his heart raced, a painful pressure building from halfway up his windpipe and all the way to his mouth.
“Yes,” Isaac said, and Simon smiled at the hope that shone through the dark eyes. “Is she here?”
“Nay,” Simon shook his head. “But she’s coming. Soon, we hope.” He wrinkled his nose at the smell emanating from the boy. “You’ve pi
ssed yourself.”
“I know, I’m sorry.”
“Not to worry.” Simon swept the laddie into his arms. “It happens.”
Chapter 37
The Regina Anne arrived in Edinburgh on the twenty-seventh day of May, and had he been able to, Matthew would have gathered his family in his arms and leapt ashore, instead of having to wait while the ship was moored and the gangway dropped into place. As it was, he was first off anyway, exhaling loudly when he had the solidness of his homeland below his feet. More than two years away… He turned to help Alex and hugged her hard.
“We’re back.”
She just nodded, bending to place a hand on the ground.
“A word,” Captain Miles said to Matthew, snagging his sleeve. Matthew threw him an irritated look; he was in a hurry to be off, had his head full of things he needed to arrange. Transport to Edinburgh, room, horse, deliver James’ letter and Bible to his wife, mayhap drop in on Minister Crombie, and then set off for home. “Go canny.” The captain nodded in the direction of the further end of the wharves. Matthew followed his eyes and saw someone duck out of sight.
“Me?” he asked with some surprise.
“Well, it’s definitely not me, and the moment you jumped off the gangway he popped up, gawking at you.” Captain Miles threw a look at Alex, busy making her farewells. “Your brother seems a most tenacious man.”
“Aye,” Matthew said, all exuberance draining out of him. Any further discussions were cut short by Alex, who embraced Captain Miles before kissing him on the cheek.
“Don’t forget,” she said, and the captain promised that he wouldn’t, he’d personally deliver Alex’s letter to Mrs Parson next time he came by Jamestown.
*
For most of the slow ride from Leith to Edinburgh, Matthew was mute. At first Alex assumed this was due to an overload of emotion, but his continued silence woke an uneasiness inside of her.
He paid the drover, unloaded family and belongings from the cart, and set off up the hill, telling Alex they were making for Minister Crombie’s home.
“We’re staying with him?” Not that Alex minded; she liked the minister in question, a gaunt man who was sensible and kind, tempering a strong faith with a general acceptance of mankind’s multiple weaknesses.
Like Chaff in the Wind (The Graham Saga) Page 28
