Mystic Rider

by Patricia Rice

  “That matter won’t be resolved,” she informed him. “I like my independence. And once you have what you want, you will leave. So there is no future for getting to know each other.”

  “There, you are wrong,” he told her matter-of-factly. “I understand that the heavens cannot predict the future with great accuracy, particularly the distant future, since we all have free will, and our choices affect the outcome of events. But there is no doubt that you are meant to be my mate, and I will do whatever is necessary to make that so.”

  His mate? Shocked at this outrageous declaration, Chantal halted in the middle of the gravel path and gawked. “You believe in astrology?” she asked, unable to find words to question his more bizarre assertion.

  He studied the question in the same thoughtful manner he studied everything around him. “Not precisely in the science of which you speak, although if I had time to examine the theory, I might connect the interworkings of your planets with my heavens. You will simply have to believe what I have Seen until you understand better.”

  Believe what he’d seen? That he assumed they were fated by destiny was too close to the edge of madness — or the heights of arrogance. To admit that he could predict the future was beyond belief.

  Dropping his arm and picking up her skirts, Chantal strode from the garden, humming under her breath. A dove squawked and burst from the bushes as she passed. An old nag pulling a dusty coal cart whickered and fought his reins. Chantal wished for her piano. Or the lovely bell chalice, she amended. Perhaps she could have a bell made. She needed to calm herself.

  “I thought you wished to look for your father and Madame Pauline’s brother.” Ian appeared beside her, sauntering and swinging his stick as if she weren’t walking as fast as she could to get away from him.

  “Why don’t you just ask your heavens where they are?” she asked cynically.

  “Is it the heavens you doubt, or the idea of us as mates that you reject?”

  “Both. This is just some new form of male manipulation. I expected better of you; that is all. I live in a nice house and have the trappings of wealth, and you thought it might be pleasant to acquire them. But that won’t happen. Ever.”

  “I have little use for nice houses,” he said with what sounded like regret. “I must return to my country shortly, and houses cannot be moved. What I desire to keep is you. Surely you do not deny what is between us? I’m finding it very difficult to ignore.”

  She was finding it damned difficult to ignore, too, which made her even angrier. “I am not a possession you can pack in your trunk and carry away. I have a life here, family, friends. It is insane to think I’d throw them all away for the pleasure any man and woman can share.”

  “But you have not shared it with any but one other man, have you?” he said with confidence. “For whatever reason, the gods have decreed that we be together. I’m sure that in the fullness of time, we will understand why.”

  “Your gods cannot tell me what to do. I’m not at all certain that I even believe in my God any longer, not if his church lets babies starve, so don’t expect me to comply with the wishes of fickle deities.”

  “Where I come from, babies do not starve,” he said implacably.

  They turned down the residential street of imposing mansions that Chantal called home. A familiar carriage was just pulling through the gates, and, relieved, she hastened to follow.

  “And you expect me to believe your god only looks after your country and your people? Forgive me for doubting, but that is extremely selfish, even for a deity. Now, I must see if Papa has found Pierre.” She picked up her skirts and began to run.

  Ian arrived at the gate before she did, cool and neat despite the summer heat, looking as if he hadn’t exerted a single muscle. “And then I will speak with your father. This city will not be safe much longer.”

  He took her elbow and marched her up the front stairs as if she did, indeed, belong to him.

  Eleven

  The cold cave of marble and stone that Chantal called home had erupted in chaos by the time they entered the front door. Laughing, crying children and a crowd of servants surrounded a drawn and silent young man. Apparently the prodigal priest had returned.

  Chantal angrily fought Ian’s grasp, but he held on to her as a ship clung to an anchor in a raging sea.

  In his world, he was nearly all knowing and all powerful. In her world, he did not even know how to answer his mate’s questions without violating every law of Aelynn.

  “Pierre, you are free,” Chantal cried from the doorway. “Thank heavens!”

  “Your father paid my bail,” the young man acknowledged over the heads of the children. “Thank him.”

  Ian held Chantal back when she would race to her brother-in-law. “He was in a prison cell of such filth that he fears to harm those he loves,” he murmured close to her ear. “He needs peace and a bath.”

  She shot him another wary look but, surprisingly, did not argue.

  “Marie, Anton! Let your uncle Pierre wash and get the fleas out of his hair while we go to the kitchen and fix his favorite meal,” she called with a cheeriness that brought smiles to all the faces around her.

  She did not seem in the least aware that it was her voice that eased their anxiety, Ian noted. She was too accustomed to everyone responding to her moods.

  Even the weary priest smiled gratefully at her understanding. “You are a sight for sore eyes, Chantal.” His dark gaze drifted to Ian. “Monsieur, I understand you helped free Pauline, for which I owe you much gratitude.”

  “Go, bathe, we will find clothes for you,” Alain Orateur said, patting Pierre’s shoulder and pushing him toward a waiting footman. “Then we will have a feast and tell our stories.”

  Ian assessed Orateur’s haggard, weary look. His limited healing abilities might be of little value in Aelynn, but they were greater than most in this world. He had eased the dog’s pain earlier, although he lacked the necessary herbs and compresses to cure the infection. He could conceivably ease his host’s weariness and the ache in his knee, but first the other man would have to allow it. And it was apparent from the unbending shields in Orateur’s mind that he was unwilling to submit to the access Ian needed.

  “See to the children, and I will see to your father,” Ian ordered Chantal, expecting obedience as he would at home.

  “He’ll want brandy and a footstool. The servants can supply them,” she countered. “What we need is clean clothing for Pierre. Have one of the footmen accompany you to his rooms. They’re not far from here. It might be best to take a portmanteau and pack everything. We need to get him out of France.” Chantal strode briskly after the children, as efficient at giving orders and expecting them to be obeyed as he was.

  The gods surely tested his patience by giving him this contrary woman when he already had more than enough of them in his family. Since he knew more, she must learn to listen to him.

  “Find a portmanteau,” he told a waiting servant as the hall emptied. “I am sure you know more of what Monsieur Pierre will need for a journey than I do. Be quick, if you please.”

  Without waiting for the footman’s response, Ian strode after Alain Orateur. Here was one task he could accomplish immediately. They must come to an understanding about Chantal.

  Her father was settling into a comfortable chair in his study while a maid provided a footstool and another poured a strong drink from a decanter. Alain grimaced at Ian’s appearance.

  “Do we have to do this now?” the older man grumbled.

  “I don’t believe there is time to waste.” Ian mentally nudged the maids from the room. They fluttered a moment, throwing a comforter over their employer, setting the decanter close to his hand, but within seconds they were gone.

  “I always hated how your kind could do that,” Orateur complained. “My daughter won’t appreciate it either.”

  “Life is short, and time is of the essence.” Ian preferred pacing the intricately woven carpet to taking a chair. Mo
tion helped him concentrate, and he needed all his wits about him. “At home, I do not need to use my psychic ability so much, but here, it is difficult for me to explain myself. And I cannot use it easily on Chantal. She is as resistant as you are.”

  “Just explaining why an Olympus has come off the mountain could involve hours,” Alain complained, sipping his drink. “My abilities are of such insignificance that I daresay your family breathed a sigh of relief at my departure, if they noticed at all. So why are you here?”

  “Chantal is my amacara. She could not come to me, so I had to come for her.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Alain spluttered. “Chantal has no gifts other than her musical ones. Aelynn has no use for music, or storytellers, or actors, or any of the creative arts. You cannot take her where she will not be appreciated. She’s my only daughter, and I would see her happy.”

  “I understand what you say.” Ian refused to admit his own doubts about the match. Logically, he should agree with her father. But his desire for Chantal would not allow that. He was not normally a man who acted on passion, but he had learned from Trystan’s experience that amacara bonds were not based on logic.

  “I do not understand the choice of the gods, but that makes no difference,” he continued. “Two years ago, the Chalice of Plenty left Aelynn. Since our duty is to guard the chalice, the gods have expressed their displeasure, with droughts and hurricanes that even the Weathermaker has been unable to alleviate. I have foreseen that Chantal and the chalice are connected in some manner that I cannot comprehend. You know I can do no less than take the chalice back with me, and to do that, I must have Chantal. You are welcome to come with us, if you wish.”

  Ian thought Alain might have an apoplexy. He tried to send healing thoughts, but they didn’t penetrate the older man’s thick skull. Chantal’s father pounded his fist on the chair’s arm.

  “Stop that! Stay out of my head. I don’t need you or your kind, I tell you. I have everything I need, more than I ever had on the island. I have a say in how we are governed. I am respected for my ability to speak clearly and forcefully. I married a woman of great wit and beauty without permission from your damned Council. Why should I return?”

  “Because Chantal loves you. But I would not force you to live where you do not wish, as you cannot take away Chantal’s choice for your own selfishness. You know what an amacara match means. You know my family. You know she will be safe with me. And you must be aware that this country will soon go up in flames. Perhaps you have never experienced war, but surely any man of intelligence would understand what happens to women at such times.”

  “There will be no war. The king has agreed to consult the Assembly. We have a new constitution. I will be a man of great power in this new government. Chantal can have any man she wants. She doesn’t need to breed more arrogant monsters like you.”

  Ian clenched the book he’d picked up but refrained from heaving it. He was a rational man. He could win this battle without physically pounding sense into thick heads.

  “There will be a long and terrible war. When the stars show devastation of that magnitude, there is no denying the event will happen. And if you think I am a monster, then you have not met Murdoch. He killed my father, was stripped of his powers and banished by my mother, and still attempted to burn one of your ports with Greek fire. He’s on the loose in France as we speak. I have come to suspect that he is a Lord of Chaos who should have been thrown into the volcano when he was born.”

  Orateur looked alarmed and tightened his shields more. “Then, go after him and leave my daughter alone. If he’s all that you say, then he’s after the chalice as well. Find it, and go.”

  “I will, but your daughter will go with me. You can name your price for her, and I will see it delivered. You know that I have every port in the world at my fingertips, and that an Olympus does not break his promises.”

  Unflinchingly, Ian met the other man’s glare. Before he could negotiate further, Chantal burst into the study. She’d discarded her short jacket, leaving her breasts covered by a teasingly diaphanous scarf tucked into a bit of printed muslin. Ian couldn’t drag his gaze from her breasts.

  “I have come to see…” She halted in perplexity at seeing Ian. “I thought you had gone for Pierre’s things.”

  “I told you I needed to speak with your father. A footman is far better suited to packing bags than I am.”

  “Of course, whatever was I thinking? Asking a monk to help a man in need — how foolish of me!” She turned her back on Ian and faced her father. “May I bring you some broth or one of Cook’s tea cakes to hold you until dinner?”

  Ian’s patience stretched thin, but he held on to it in order to correct his mate’s erroneous assumptions. “As you are fully aware, a man is not the clothes he wears. I am not a monk. It is important that your father and I come to some agreement as quickly as possible, or I will be forced to use other means — ”

  “Stay out of her — ” Alain’s shouted command broke off with a wince, apparently from a tug of a reminder from his ring.

  Chantal’s big silver-blue gaze darted in concern from one man to the other. “My father does not have your chalice. We must wait for Pauline to discover its whereabouts.”

  “That man is not what you think,” Alain tried to warn her, but his ring would not allow him to say more.

  Ian was glad he wasn’t the only one who was having difficulty talking around the very large elephant in the room.

  “Oh, I daresay he is everything I think and more,” Chantal replied. “But I am not the woman he thinks I am, so it matters little. I have sent word to Pauline that Pierre is free. She should be here in time for dinner.”

  Almost ethereal in her blond loveliness, she flounced out with the air of an angry goddess.

  “I am a decade younger than your mother,” Alain said wearily, pouring another glass of brandy, “but I remember her well. She had just married your father and taken her place as Oracle about the time I left. She was proud and unyielding in her belief that she was right and anyone who disagreed with her was wrong. If she has not changed, she and Chantal will kill each other. You are in over your head.”

  “My mother was the reason you left?” Ian asked, skirting around the argument presented in search of its deeper meaning.

  “She would not allow me to marry her cousin because my family was too far beneath the mighty Olympians. I saw no future in staying. I could talk the Council into agreement, but it would only take her veto to turn me down. She is far stronger than France’s royalty.”

  “But more concerned about the welfare of her people,” Ian pointed out. “It is difficult being responsible for an entire population. My father was strong enough to support and guide her. Chantal will do the same for me, once she is free to grasp who I am.”

  “Are you sure of that?” Alain asked in disgruntlement. “Haven’t you once considered that your gods, or your interpretation of them to suit your needs, might be mistaken? Are you prepared to stand up in the Council and take her for your wife and their leader?”

  No, he wasn’t. Ian acknowledged the truth with a nod. The Council would have great difficulty accepting an Other World leader, and he did not know Chantal well enough to believe she might be a good one. But his faith in Aelynn was strong.

  “I have a sister. There are alternatives,” he argued. “I only know that Chantal is my amacara, and she will give us the heir we need for the future. How can you deny your homeland, your own kind, the leader they require?”

  “I am not denying anything. Chantal makes her own choices. I give you permission to court her, but I do not give you permission to take apart her mind to convince her to think as you do. If she says no, you must accept her decision. That is the promise I will have of you.”

  Ian hesitated, and his gut churned. He had skills, experience, and knowledge beyond the comprehension of most of humankind, but he could not tell Chantal any of that — until she formally bound herself to him at the altar. S
he shielded herself well from his mental skills, but he knew that given time and circumstances, he could seduce her into lowering her shields.

  He did not have the luxury of time. If he gave his promise now, he would have to woo her as would any normal man.

  Orateur watched him with wry amusement. “Wishing for that magical altar of yours, aren’t you? Tie her up, seduce her, and have your way with her. That’s what they did with your mother’s cousin. Took her away from me with that foolish magic. I’ll not have the same done to my child.”

  The gauntlet was thrown. Ian bowed his head in acceptance of the challenge. “I will not take her against her will, but you must remember, that ‘foolish magic’ is from the gods. I cannot control how they will use it.”

  “As long as I know you’re not controlling her, I’m satisfied.”

  Ian knew he did not need the altar to seduce Chantal. He’d already done that. Or she had seduced him. The attraction seemed astonishingly mutual.

  The act of procreation wasn’t the problem. What he needed was a miracle to convince Chantal to bond with him for all eternity and leave all she knew and loved behind, when she had no idea of who or what he was or where he would take her.

  If he failed to make that bond, he could doom his home to the same chaos that reigned here, which meant that failure was not acceptable.

  Twelve

  Tucking three-year-old Marie between the sheets, Chantal smoothed the child’s fine blond hair and kissed her forehead. “Your mama will be up shortly to check on you, so show her how well you rest, ma petite.”

  “Will Uncle Pierre have to go away like Mama said?” Anton asked gravely from the other bed, sounding much older than his five years.

  She hated seeing the children grow up so quickly. They should have no more concerns than she’d had at that age. They should be chasing butterflies through the fields.

  She remembered Ian’s talk of a country with no war and plenty for all, then reminded herself it had no dogs or horses either. No place was perfect.