by Chloe Palov
The events of the previous evening had unfurled so quickly, he could only call them to mind in flashes. The quiet hum of rain pounding against the window-panes. The not so quiet guttural moans and lusty sighs. Round one had ended in an exhausted tangle. Round two had been more subtle, more seductive. They’d eaten mandarin oranges in bed, Edie squirting the juice onto his lower abdomen then lapping it up with her tongue, a mass of curly hair falling to either side of his hips. Unable to control himself, he’d grabbed her head and pushed her lower. The pleasure that ensued had been near unbearable.
‘You’re smiling. Broadly, I might add. Just what the heck are you thinking about?’
‘Hmm?’ He glanced at his companion, seeing breasts like smooth melons, legs falling open to expose an overripe fig. ‘I am contemplating the most erotic fruit bowl imaginable,’ he replied.
Edie laughed, no prude. ‘I hear tell you guys have one of those thoughts every ten seconds. Amazing that you ever get anything accomplished.’
‘A pencilled list helps greatly.’
She laughed all the harder.
As he’d already discovered, understanding Edie Miller was one thing, sorting her out another thing altogether. Her early life had been one of abuse and betrayal. And unfathomable pain. Yet somehow she had persevered.
Simply put, he was awed by her strength.
‘What if we actually find the Ark of the Covenant hidden at the church?’ Edie asked out of the proverbial blue. ‘Have you given any thought as to what we would do with it?’
In truth, he’d given this scant consideration, focusing instead on deciphering the quatrains.
‘I mean do we hand it over to a museum? Or do we give it to a church or synagogue?’
‘Perhaps we should wait until we find the Ark,’ he answered evasively.
‘Or maybe you intend to keep it for yourself,’ she pressed, refusing to let the matter drop. ‘Fodder for your next book.’
‘Bloody hell! I must have talked in my sleep.’
‘I’m serious, Cædmon. So far, you’ve refused to give me any answer as to why we’re on this insane quest.’
‘I believe you’ve just hit the nail square on the head. It’s a quest, is it not? Like a knight of old, I seek knowledge and enlightenment.’
‘Oh, puh-lease.’ Her voice fair dripped with derision. ‘Henceforth, Sir Gawain, I would appreciate it if you gave me a straight answer rather than a sound bite.’
Cædmon inwardly cringed at the comparison. In later Grail legends, Sir Gawain, possessed of a singular arrogance, failed to grasp the holiness of the quest. He suspected that Edie had purposely plucked the name from the Round Table cast.
‘All I’m saying is that we need to give this a little forethought before rushing off like a pair of fools into the great unknown. And what about MacFarlane and his holy warriors?’ She stared at him, clearly apprehensive. ‘What happens if we run into them while wandering around in Godmersham?’
Although most fringe groups were all mouth and no trousers, he knew MacFarlane’s group to be the exception to the rule.
‘Rather than succumbing to fearful imaginings, let’s concentrate on finding the blasted Ark.’
A pronounced silence ensued. Uncomfortable, he feigned an interest in the passing shop windows.
‘We can always go to the police,’ Edie suggested, the first to break the unnerving quiet.
‘And promptly be accused of two murders we didn’t commit?’ He forcefully shook his head. ‘We can’t go to the authorities unless the situation absolutely demands it.’
‘And who gets to make that call, you or me?’
‘We’re a team, are we not?’ As he spoke, he slung an arm round her shoulders, marrying trunks, hips and thighs, one to the other. ‘“She winters and keeps warm her note,”’ he murmured into her ear, reciting the lyric from an old English song.
Edie wrapped an arm around his waist. Turning her face up, she smiled. ‘Yeah, I’m with you. I much prefer to make love than war.’
50
Oh man, he wanted to fuck her.
So bad his dick had been standing on end for the last couple of hours. Ever since, peephole video camera shoved against the adjoining door, he’d had a front-row seat on what had turned out to be an unbelievable fuck fest.
At first Boyd had been pissed off he’d been given the surveillance shift. Small wonder Sanchez had been grinning when Braxton relieved him. Who the hell would have thought the curly-haired bitch had the moves of an experienced whore? It’d been all he could do not to jerk himself off against the door like a raghead in an Islamabad alleyway.
The colonel was fond of saying, ‘When lust hath conceived, it bringeth forth sin. And sin, when it is finished, bringeth forth death.’ The Bible verse helped to keep his lusts in check. Usually.
Placing a hand over his crotch, Boyd Braxton rearranged his equipment.
A shop assistant manhandling a bucket of flowers behind a plate-glass window glared at him. He glared right back. And continued on his merry way, Aisquith and the woman one block ahead of him. The streets practically empty of pedestrian traffic, shadowing them was a piece of cake. Besides, the red-headed Brit was too intent on whispering sweet nothing into the bitch’s ear to even realize he had a tail.
On account of the audio surveillance, he knew they were headed to the local bus depot. His job was to head them off at the pass, grateful for the chance to redeem himself after the fuck-up four days ago in DC.
He adjusted his stride, quickening the pace.
As he did, his heart excitedly pounded against his breastbone.
He couldn’t wait for the take-down. Knowing it would happen in ten, nine, eight…
51
Craning her neck to examine a shop window display, Edie caught a sudden flash of movement reflected in the plate glass.
She turned her head. First stunned, then shocked.
It was Dr Padgham’s killer. No more than twenty feet behind them.
Without thinking, she pivoted on her booted heel, placed both hands on Cædmon’s shoulder and shoved him as hard as possible off the pavement.
‘Cædmon, run!’ she screamed at the top of her lungs, realizing too late that she’d pushed him directly in front of an oncoming vehicle.
Car horns blared. Tyres screeched.
Deciding that Cædmon would be safer in the road than in the line of fire, she ran, sparing a quick glance over her shoulder.
As she had hoped, the killer, forced to choose between the two of them, decided to pursue her rather than Cædmon.
Up ahead, Edie caught sight of an aproned man pushing a trolley loaded with cardboard boxes. A second later, he disappeared into a building. Without thinking she followed, surprised to discover the entry led to an indoor shopping arcade, narrow corridors snaking out in several directions. Like he’d vanished into a big black hole, the delivery man was nowhere in sight.
Not so Padgham’s killer, the behemoth having followed her into the arcade.
Edie willed her legs to move that much faster as she veered down a deserted corridor. All of the shops were closed, their darkened windows decked with Christmas greenery. Pet supplies. Home accessories. Jewellery. Leather goods. It all passed in a blurry flash.
Hearing a heavy footfall directly behind her, Edie, frantic, grabbed a display stand wedged into the doorway of a closed gift shop. With a yank, she hurled it to the ground. Roadblock erected, she kept on running.
A second later she heard a muttered curse. Then a crash. Evidently her pursuer had encountered the stand.
Good. She hoped the bastard broke his neck.
Catching sight of plucked and trussed birds hanging from a wall, she ran in that direction. The course adjustment took her down a different corridor, this one well lit. Several shops – a greengrocer’s, a coffee emporium and a butcher’s – were actually open for business, although customers were few and far between. And the ones that were afoot took no notice of the harried woman running past.
> On the periphery of her senses, she became aware of an almost nauseating swirl of fused scents – Stilton cheese, ground coffee, fresh meat. As though a hundred years of smells had coalesced into one uniquely weird odour. She opened her mouth and gulped down a breath of air.
Which is when she ran headlong into a pimply-faced tattooed youth carrying a wooden box of iced fish.
‘Silly cow!’ the teen bellowed as iridescent fish and white blobs of crushed ice arced through the air, pelting him on the head and shoulders. A scatologically detailed rant immediately ensued.
Managing to stay upright, Edie muttered an apology as she sprinted off. Her energy flagging, her leg muscles now protested each and every forward stride. And she didn’t have to turn her head to know that her pursuer was fast closing on her, the collision with the fishmonger almost wiping out her lead.
No more than ten yards away, Edie saw what looked like an exit, the bar across the steel door meaning it was for emergency use only. Fast running out of options, she raced for it. Slamming her palms onto the metal bar, she pushed for all she was worth.
The door swung open.
A heartbeat later she emerged into a narrow alleyway. At a glance she could see that there wasn’t a soul in sight, only a cluster of parked delivery vans.
‘Don’t even think about it, bitch!’
Edie spun round. The moment she opened her mouth to scream, her assailant slapped a hand over her mouth, grabbed a fistful of hair and yanked her towards him. Slamming into his chest, Edie tried to jerk free. Anticipating the move, he let go of her hair and clamped a hand round her wrists. Smiling maliciously, he yanked her arms above her head, pulling her onto her toes. With few options left to her, Edie tried to bite the hand that covered her mouth. Smile widening, her assailant mashed her lips against her teeth. Blood gushed into her mouth. Still grinning, he shoved her between two parked vans, ramming her against a stone wall. Completely out of sight.
Unable to use her hands, Edie tried to knee him, but discovered she couldn’t move her lower body, her assailant’s hips and thighs pressed hard against her own. She was completely immobilized against the wall.
Oh God!
‘I’ve got a little gift for you,’ the behemoth hissed as he crudely and repeatedly shoved himself against her pelvic bone. ‘Nice isn’t it?’
Edie stared into his face – seeing the heavy shadow of stubble, the flared nostrils, the thick lips – noticing everything and anything in a desperate attempt to block out what he was doing to her.
Still thrusting his hips, he licked her face, his tongue moving from her jaw to her temple. ‘Baby girl, I’m gonna split ya right in two.’
Like salt on a wound, old memories flashed in front of her eyes.
Terror turned to rage. This time she’d fight back. No way in hell would she let this animal rape her. Writhing, squirming, Edie did everything she could to free herself.
‘You want it bad, don’t you, bitch?’
Belatedly realizing that her struggles were exciting him, Edie went still.
Within seconds the dry humping ceased.
‘Fucking cock tease!’ Criss-crossed veins bulged on either side of his head. Ready to blow.
Able to feel that he’d gone soft, Edie contemptuously snorted against his hand. Her would-be rapist removed his palm from her mouth. Fist balled, he pulled back his arm.
Closing her eyes, Edie braced herself for what she figured would be a bone-crushing blow.
It never came.
Instead her assailant grunted loudly as he rolled away from her. Edie opened her eyes, surprised to see blood pouring down the side of his face, gushing from those criss-crossed vessels. She was even more surprised to see Cædmon standing a few feet away, a broken bottle gripped in his right hand. Lurching forward, she ran to his side.
The stand-off lasted only a few seconds. Then, like the coward he was, the bloodied behemoth scurried away down the alley, what looked like a gun protruding from his waistband.
Edie and Cædmon stood silent, watching him depart. When he reached the end of the alleyway, he vanished.
‘Did you see that? He had a gun! Why didn’t he use it?’
‘He may yet.’ Cædmon tossed aside the broken bottle. Edie could see that he was furious.
‘How did you find me?’
‘I simply followed the trail of destruction.’ As he spoke, Cædmon glanced up and down the alleyway, his eyes settling on a delivery man who had just emerged from the market.
‘The box of fish was an accident.’
‘Tell that to the fishmonger. Come on! We’re wasting time.’ Grabbing her by the elbow, he steered her towards a black van, MORTON & SONS emblazoned on the side panel in fancy Edwardian script. Exhaust fumes snaked from the silencer.
Cædmon reached for the handle on the back door.
‘Get in!’ he brusquely ordered. ‘Before he goes!’
Edie glanced inside, surprised to see a row of trussed fowls swinging from a metal rod.
‘You’re kidding, right? There’s no way I’m hitching a ride with a bunch of dead birds.’
‘Don’t make me put my boot to your arse.’
Having been manhandled enough for one day, Edie wordlessly climbed into the back of the van.
52
Positioning himself near the rear of the van, Cædmon wedged his foot against one of the double doors, ensuring they wouldn’t be locked inside the refrigerated vehicle. As the van moved off, the door bounced gently against the sole of his shoe.
‘How long do we have to stay cooped up in the chickenmobile?’ Edie grumped, head and shoulders hunched to avoid being sideswiped by the swinging fowl overhead. She held his wadded handkerchief to her mouth, blotting the blood from a cut lip.
‘We remain in the van as long as I deem it necessary. And the birds in question are geese.’ Bound for Christmas tables all across the shire.
He spared Edie a quick glance, still furious about her foolhardy sprint through the arcade, the woman having more blasted moves than the Bolshoi Ballet.
Bloody hell. She nearly got herself killed. Had I not arrived in time…
‘I figured he’d take you out first,’ Edie explained. ‘That’s why I pushed you into the street. To cause a diversion.’
And to ensure that the goon chased after her not him.
I should throttle her.
‘You’re quick on your feet, but that doesn’t mean that you made a wise decision,’ he chastised, not in a forgiving mood. Then, dreading what her answer might be, ‘Did he harm you in any way?’
‘I wouldn’t go so far as to say he violated my person, but he did take a few liberties.’
‘Bloody bastard!’
‘It was nothing. Trust me. Other than a cut lip, I’m fine.’
Cædmon stared into Edie Miller’s brown eyes, able to see the scared, vulnerable child she once had been. He fought the urge to pull her to him, worried that he might say something utterly asinine.
Evidently suffering from no such qualms, Edie crawled towards him, nearly losing her balance when the van made a sudden left turn. He grabbed the bottom of the door with his hand, preventing it from swinging wide open. Despite the anger, he stretched out his free arm, cradling her face in his hand.
‘It’s cold in here,’ she complained, nestling beside him.
Cædmon gently rubbed his thumb over her swollen lip. ‘Thank God you’re all right.’
‘What now?’
‘Taking any form of public transport is out of the question as MacFarlane’s men will undoubtedly be monitoring the coach and train stations. So we’ll remain in the van until we’ve safely departed Oxford. Hopefully, we’ll be able to find a sympathetic motorist willing to take us to London.’
‘Maybe we should notify the authorities.’
‘It’s not as though we can have the villain brought to book. And given your rampage in the market, should you contact the police, you’d probably end up an overnight guest of the Thames Valley Constabulary
.’
‘So where does that leave us?’
‘Floundering about like two –’
‘Geese,’ she interjected, staring at the birds swinging overhead.
‘I was about to say two landed mackerel, but I suppose a pair of frightened geese would do.’
‘No. I’m talking about the first line of the fourth quatrain.’ Snatching the airline bag, she unzipped it, removing the folded sheet of paper with the translated quatrains. ‘Here it is,’ she said, underlining the line with her finger as she read aloud. ‘“The trusted goose sorely wept for all of them were dead.” Do you remember I told you that I once wrote a research paper on the Wife of Bath from Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales?’
He nodded, wondering where this particular projectile would land.
‘Well, these geese reminded me of a line from the prologue to that particular tale. Mind you, it’s been more than ten years, so I’m paraphrasing big time, but Chaucer wrote, “Nor does any grey goose swim there in the lake that, as you see, will be without a mate.” In fact, the whole premise of my paper was that women in the Middle Ages had to wed. Or join a nunnery. Those were the only two options available.’
Admittedly baffled, he raised a brow. ‘Your point?’
‘I just remembered that in medieval literature “goose” always refers to the good housewife. Yesterday, you said that the goose was a symbol for vigilance. And you’re right. Who in the medieval world was more vigilant than the good housewife? I suspect no one ever considered the possibility that the quatrains were written by Mrs Galen of Godmersham, Philippa being the “trusted goose”.’ She folded her arms over her chest, theatrically rolling her eyes. ‘Male chauvinism at its academic best.’
‘I admit that your theory has possibilities. However –’
‘Think about it, Cædmon. How could an eighty-five-year-old man hide a heavy gold chest? What do you want to bet that Galen’s dying wish to his much younger wife was to hide his precious arca from the looters rampaging through the countryside during the plague? Sir Kenneth told us that everyone in Godmersham perished from the plague.’
