Lycan Tides: Guardians of Light, Book 3

by Renee Wildes

Kastin eyed him and Niadh. “Giles asked ’bout ye. He thought ye drowned.”

  “I’m Trystan. Tell him Niadh, Ealga an’ me made it t’ shore.” Trystan nodded toward Storm. “Dog saved me life.”

  Kastin shook his head. “Ne’er met anyone with a wolf an’ eagle for pets. Aye, if ye can get the glass, I’ll get the frame.”

  Trystan pulled a blanket-wrapped square from a cart lined with straw, pulled by a massive dog that was the spitting image of Storm. “Where d’ye want it?” he asked Finora.

  “Up those stairs. I’ll show you. Ioain, stay here.”

  Trystan tried not to notice the swaying curves under that skirt as she led the way up the tower stairs to the Light.

  Kastin brought up the rear. The old man pieced the frame around the glass and worked it into the hole in the door. He tested the tar seal, reinforced with tiny nails. “Should hold.”

  “That’s what we thought last time,” Finora muttered.

  Kastin shook his head. “When Cilaniestra pitches a fit, there’s naught we can do. ’Tis easy enough t’ fix.”

  “But expensive.” Finora sighed as she showed the old man out.

  Trystan stared around the Light chamber. He’d seen naught like it. The scent of oil, salt and spent tallow candles burned his nose. Sunlight glinted off mirror and glass.

  Finora reappeared. “Now I can replace the broken latch on that door.”

  “Let me. ’Tis little enough a thing t’ do.”

  “Kastin brought a bolt latch this time. Should hold better. Bran tried to save money, but this should have been done long ago.” Her eyes were sad. “’Tis my fault they’re dead.”

  He shook his head, moved to rest his hands on her shoulders. “’Twas a bad storm. Men are no’ fish. If ships sink, men drown. The glass broke, the latch broke. What the gods create always outlasts what men would make against it.”

  “Bran was lost at sea. My husband.”

  He wondered at the bitter edge to her words. ’Twas not the tone of love in mourning. If ever she’d been a grieving widow, ’twas long over now. “How long’s he been gone?”

  “Four years.” She handed him the new latch. “Lost at sea on the Hope of Lighthaven. Bran never even knew of his son, Ioain.”

  “I’m sorra, lass. Canna be easy raisin’ two littles on yer own.”

  “We manage.” Finora’s tone told him she’d not welcome sympathy.

  She struck him as a woman who “managed” well. Trystan studied the latch. ’Twas an amazing piece of metalwork, a solid bar within a hollow chamber. One solid background nailed to the doorframe, the other to the door itself, and the bolt slid across the seam of the closed door to hold it shut, anchored by metal loops at both ends. The latch handle flipped down into grooves to hold it secure.

  “Who made this?” he asked.

  “The smith, Kale.” Finora handed him a hammer and together they repaired the door.

  He had to meet this craftsman. “Can I come with ye when ye go t’ get Braeca?”

  She nodded. “Sure. I can purchase a few things in the market.”

  He followed her down into the main room, where Ioain played on the floor with blocks under the watchful eye of both Niadh and Storm. “I’ll be back in a bit.” Trystan stepped outside. Niadh followed. In the distance, across the harbor, men worked to repair the smaller light on the breakwater. He turned back to the cottage. Bare bushes shielded the windows, new buds just starting to appear in the branches. High above them, the huge silhouette of a raptor soared through the sunlight. Trystan took a deep breath for a sharp piercing call, a poor substitute for an eagle’s cry. But Ealga dropped onto his shoulder, her talons settling into the scarred leather. He imagined a glint of welcome in her fierce golden eye.

  “Where ye been?” he asked her. “Scare all the wee critters away?”

  She ruffled her buff colored feathers.

  “So, what d’ye think o’ our hostess?” Trystan asked Niadh.

  Amusement tinged Niadh’s reply. “A verra practical woman.”

  Finora was a beautiful, sensual woman, with an air of mystery. Trystan couldn’t shake the feeling that she kept herself busy to avoid the darkness in her soul, a darkness somehow connected to the man she’d named husband. “She’s a born Shifter, no’ made. A critter o’ the sea on land, with human bairns. Wonder what her story is.” He stared down at the village of Lighthaven. “Wonder what they make o’ her down there.”

  “I dinna think she’d welcome yer askin’.”

  “Prob’ly not. Best t’ ask her.”

  “Be int’restin’ t’ hear her answer. Wonder when she tosses us out o’ the house, or how ye plan t’ convince her t’ let ye stay.”

  Trystan wanted very much to stay. He grinned. Spice made a dish more interesting.

  The door opened. Finora and Ioain came outside, followed by Storm. “Time to fetch Braeca, if you wish to come along.” Finora’s hair whipped about her, blew across her face.

  Ioain stared at Ealga. She hissed at Storm and ruffled her feathers. Her talons flexed on Trystan’s shoulder. He reached up to stroke her breastbone, to calm her. “She willna hurt ye, laddie,” Trystan said. “But she’s a wild critter, no’ a pet. Ye can look, but dinna touch.”

  Finora appeared fascinated. “She’s real? She’s not one of us?”

  Ioain and Trystan both shook their heads. “I rescued her as a hatchlin’ an’ raised her. Taught her t’ fly, an’ t’ hunt. Unfortunately, she latched ont’ me. She doesna know she’s an eagle an’ doesna know t’ seek out her own kind. So she stays with me an’ Niadh.”

  “I’ve seen hawkers with hoods and jesses, but naught like this.” Finora smiled. “She’s free to come and go? Will she be all right in town?”

  “Aye, she should be. Best e’eryone gets a good look, so’s they can recognize her. I’d hate t’ pluck arrows outta her—” he glanced down at Ioain, “—rump.”

  Finora’s lips twitched. Trystan was riveted by that lush mouth. ’Twas made for smiling. The darkness that was her companion was not a natural part of her. She swayed toward him, and he found himself holding his breath at her approach.

  Niadh laughed at him. Trystan ignored him, his gaze locked on sparkling brown eyes. She drew close enough for him to catch her scent, that warm woman’s scent, rich and ripe and wild. It stirred an answering wildness within him, clouded his mind. The look in her eyes was direct and teasing, not sensual. Whatever effect she had on him was a natural part of her. She was not doing it apurpose.

  If she ever did, he might not survive.

  “We’ll see about finding a place for the three of you to stay whilst we’re in town.”

  Banished. Trystan wanted to groan.

  “Told ye so,” Niadh remarked. “Who’ll take a wolf, eagle an’ armed barbarian on?”

  “No’ at the moment.” Trystan had to replace his weapons. ’Twas nigh unto being naked.

  Ioain tugged on her skirt. “Stay with us?”

  “Oh, I’m sure he’ll want to stay with his friends,” Finora said. “We haven’t room.” She started to town. Trystan fell into step aside her. Niadh and Storm nudged a sulky Ioain along. “You’ll find your shipmates in The Mermaid Pub. They’ve good food. If you don’t want to stay at Madame Jasmine’s, there are a couple of good boarding houses.”

  Lighthaven proved a bustling little harbor town, the main road flanked by fishing boats, drying nets and stacked lobster traps. Rack after rack of filleted fish dried in the sun. Trystan wrinkled his nose and tried not to grimace as he strode past. Pgah, if he ne’er tasted fish again…

  Shallow boxes of water-to-sludgy-white-crystals lay atop wooden tables. Trystan’s nose told him ’twas seawater drying to salt. To someone from the mountains, salt was a precious commodity. As part of a bride price, a pound of it was more valuable than one entire living goat. The sight of so much of it just lying about staggered him. Farther down the road a woman draped seaweed over drying racks. Another one of those immense dogs sprawled
behind her.

  “I’ll be back for some, Mari,” Finora called to her, “as soon as I get Braeca from school.”

  “I’ll be here.” Mari eyed Trystan with curiosity.

  Finora led the way past various trade shops—the cooper, the whitesmith, the joiner, the cordwainer and cobbler, the tailor. The blacksmith’s was a spacious, open affair. Kale was nowhere to be seen. Then came the potter, the thatcher and the smokehouse. “The school’s in the meeting house, in the center of town,” Finora explained. “The boarding houses and Madame Jasmine’s are just past. The mill and the weaver’s are at the end of the road. The Mermaid Pub’s right on the waterfront.” She turned to Trystan. “We can try the two boarding houses on the way to the school.”

  “As ye wish.”

  At the Twin Fires, Mistress Danette shook her head. “You can stay,” she told Trystan, “but your animals have to stay down in the stable. No pets.”

  “’Tis no’ acceptable,” Trystan stated. “They’re no’ pets.”

  “They’re not people,” the old woman argued.

  At the Shady Oaks, Mistress Biatta proved just as stubborn. “I’m not cleaning dog hair off all my furniture. I run a clean establishment.”

  Finora heaved a dramatic sigh. Trystan tried not to smile on the way to the school. Braeca came running out. “Mama! Mama!” Trystan watched Finora kneel down aside her daughter for a hug. Braeca stared at him and Niadh over her mother’s shoulder.

  “I thought we’d stop by The Mermaid Pub on the way home,” Finora said.

  “An’ try one last time t’ leave us in town,” Niadh commented.

  They entered a cozy wood-and-stone establishment, scented with pipe smoke and burning peat moss from the two fireplaces, sour ale and sweet cider and sharp whiskey. A band played in the corner—squeezebox, fiddle, drum and flute. Men, and not a few women, sat around tables. Some folk were cleaner than others. Trystan’s nose twitched as he passed a pungent old man, but he smiled as he spotted Giles and Jan dicing in the corner with a few fishermen.

  Jan spotted him first, seated as he was facing the door. “Ye’re alive!”

  Giles turned. “Trystan!” He jumped up to clasp Trystan’s wrist in welcome. “I thought ye drowned. I was so relieved when Kastin said otherwise.”

  “I did drown,” Trystan said. “Dog hauled me t’ shore.”

  “Let me buy ye a drink,” Jan offered.

  A serving wench came up with her tray and knelt down to Braeca’s and Ioain’s level. “I’ve nice hot apple cider and cranberry scones fresh from the oven,” she said.

  The children’s eyes lit up and they followed her into the kitchen.

  Finora glared at Trystan, hands on her hips. “So, no boarding house.”

  Giles handed Trystan a cup of amber liquid. “Here. Ye’ll need this.”

  Trystan took a sip. Drenieval whiskey. “Thanks.” Turning to Finora he replied, “’Twas yer own boardin’ houses wouldna take us. I’ll no’ have them in a stable.”

  “Nay, that’s out of the question. There’s Madame Jasmine’s.”

  “Let’s take this discussion outside. We dinna need the whole town’s ears on our words.”

  “You want to take this outside, fine.” Finora marched back out the door.

  Trystan placed his hand on the back of a chair and Ealga hopped down to perch there. He turned to Giles, who grinned. “I’ll have another waitin’ when ye return.” Trystan blocked Niadh’s laughter from his mind as he followed in Finora’s wake. Outside, he saw her slip around the side of the building.

  She awaited him, arms crossed under her breasts. “There’s Madame Jasmine’s.”

  Trystan kept his gaze on her face, not on the shadow where her breasts plumped above her gown. Such sweet curves… He shook his head. “I dinna frequent whores.”

  “I’m not telling you to sleep with them,” she huffed. “They also rent rooms to travelers.”

  He laughed. “Ye’ve ne’er stayed in a brothel. There’s noise—laughter, fights, shoutin’—day an’ night. Music, incense—bloodshed o’er thievin’, or the mere accusation o’ thievin’. Havin’ t’ watch o’er yer purse e’ery second. There’s no sleepin’ involved.”

  She visibly wavered. “Well, I’d hate for you to be robbed, or cast out into the street.”

  “So would I.” He stepped closer. “Ye know, lass, there’s another option.”

  Uncertainty and awareness flashed in her eyes. She took a step back. Her retreat was blocked by a rain barrel. “What’s that?”

  “We could stay with ye. Ye know what we are. We’re safer with ye.” He took a deep breath, savoring her scent as he moved close enough to feel the warmth of her body.

  “You’re safer, but am I?” She searched his eyes.

  He tried not to take offense, but frowned anyway. “Niadh an’ Ealga willna hurt the littles. I swear it on me soul.”

  “I know that. I didn’t mean them.”

  He froze. What had she just said? “Ye think I’d hurt ye? After all ye’ve done for me? Unbelievable.” He turned away afore he said something he’d regret.

  She grabbed his sleeve. “Wait. I didn’t mean to insult you.”

  Trystan spun back and glowered. He curled his fingers into fists to avoid shaking some sense into her. “Well, ye did. What did ye mean? Speak clean.”

  Finora bit her lip. “The only man I’ve ever been with was my husband and that wasn’t a happy relationship. I didn’t wish him dead, but I’m better off for him being so. I haven’t taken up with anyone else since. I’m not looking to now. And I’ve but the one bed.”

  She had to mention that bed. He’d have heeded those peppery words more were it not for the way her eyes darkened, softened, the subtle change in her scent. She might not be looking, but she’d been struck by the same attraction as he. Knowing she wanted him, too, made him hard all over again. He relaxed his hands. “Where’d ye sleep last night?”

  “On the floor next to the bed, in case you needed something during the night.”

  Oh, he’d be needing her in the night and no mistake, but neither one of them would be sleeping on the floor again if he had his way. He wrapped his fingers around her arm and felt her tremble as awareness slid toward desire. “How long’s it been since ye last ogled a mon?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “That’s a personal question.” He breathed in that deep, ripe woman’s scent and his body tightened to the point of aching pain. Desire clouded his mind. He found himself wanting to get closer to this magical, mystical woman. “Ye’re right, ’tis a verra personal question. Humor me. How long?”

  She flushed bright crimson and bit her lip. “Since Bran left.”

  Four years. Unbelievable. Were Lighthaven men blind? ’Twas obvious she harbored no lingering affection for her late husband. His gaze locked on her lips, he curled a hand behind her neck and drew her to him.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Finora whispered.

  Trystan grinned. “If ye need t’ ask, lass, ’tis been far too long for ye.” He raised her wrist to his lips, savored the taste and feel of her skin. He searched her gaze. She looked stunned, embarrassed—and aroused. Her eyes, the scent of her body, didn’t lie. He leaned in to capture her lips, muffling her sound of surprise. She went rigid in his arms. He’d expected that. But when she didn’t smack him upside his head, he knew he had her.

  His mouth moved on hers. He slid his tongue along the lush fullness of her lower lip, teasing, coaxing. He growled when her lips parted, and she returned the kiss. Her hands slid over his shoulders, tangled in his hair to pull him closer. She opened her mouth and whimpered as he pressed his advantage, stroking her tongue with his. She tasted of honey and spice and a woman’s deep need. His body burned as she sucked him into her mouth, her tongue dueling with his. Her fingers tightened against the back of his neck, and she moaned, trembled in his arms. Hot, elemental, more than lust and beyond even need—Trystan could not begin to decipher the depth of his yearning for this woman. A
ll he knew was he had to have her.

  He broke off the kiss, mindful of where they were. “Tell me t’ stay, lass,” he whispered in her ear, nipping at the fleshy lobe. “Let’s finish what we started.”

  She tilted her head in open invitation. “For how long?”

  “Until ye throw me out on me arse.” He trailed a finger down her cheek. “Whene’er ye say, I’ll leave. I’m just here askin’ questions, lookin’ for someone. When I get a lead, I’m gone. I made a promise t’ someone back home, a promise t’ keep.”

  “Will you tell me the tale of this quest?”

  He nodded. “I can tell ye the beginin’, aye. The end’s no’ yet been written.”

  Her eyes sparkled. “I love a good bedtime story. Ioain will be happy you’re staying.” She sobered. “Just don’t break his heart when you leave.”

  “I’m just a temporary house guest,” he assured. “No broken hearts involved.”

  “Good. Then let’s go home.”

  Trystan shook off the shiver of foreboding at her words.

  Chapter Four

  What had she gotten herself into? Finora crossed her arms to hide her shaking hands and watched Trystan’s broad back lead the way into The Mermaid Pub. The tightness in her womb, the wet heat betwixt her thighs, shocked her. The full moon was last night. The burning need should have been over. She wasn’t supposed to respond to a male out of time. Of course, four years was a long time to go without. ’Twas the selkie way to indulge that part of their natures. ’Twas the easiest way to trap them, as she’d learned to her sorrow.

  Why now? Why him?

  Her lips still tingled from his kiss. She quivered at the thought of sharing her bed tonight, of limbs entwined and hot skin sliding against hot skin. What was it about Trystan that made him impossible to resist? She should have put her foot down and left him in town to find his own way. Was it because he wasn’t human, either, but a fellow creature of the moon?

  He was safer with her, away from eyes and questions. But was she safer with him? Ioain wasn’t the only one at risk for a broken heart. He’s not staying long. He has a mission to complete, then a family and home of his own to get back to. A family of his own… ‘I made a promise t’ someone back home, a promise t’ keep,’ he’d stated.