She walked beside Rolf, his arm firmly around her. In her cabin, she slipped out of her overalls and damp clothing, and donned fresh woolen underwear, a heavy sweater, sturdy denim jeans and a warm coat. Rolf changed, as well, and by the time they'd both finished, Saunders had returned with mugs of hot buttered rum for each of them.
Miranda sipped hers gratefully, feeling its warmth sing through her veins. Rolf's drink was half-gone with his first swallow. Then he faced Saunders. "How did Morsi expect to achieve this without help, Saunders?"
Saunders waved them both into seats, while he continued standing, watching them, his face seemingly concerned. "He had help. I've learned of the entire plot. It's all very involved."
Miranda sipped her drink again. Rolf downed his. "Who killed him?" Rolf asked.
"His partner. Guess the selfish bastard wanted all the credit for himself." He stroked his beard, his gaze glued to Rolf's face.
"Who?" Rolf pressed a hand to his forehead, blinked a few times, and shook his head as if to clear it.
"Would you believe… Fletcher Travis?"
"Nei." Rolf began to stand. As he did, Miranda saw two of him all at once, and her head was swimming. Odd. Probably shock.
"Not Fletch," she mumbled, her tongue feeling thick and awkward.
"No, not Fletch," Saunders agreed. "Did I tell you about his accident? He took a blow to the head and fell overboard a little while ago. Damn shame he was so clumsy."
"No!" Miranda leapt to her feet, and instantly sagged to her knees.
Rolf leaned over to help her, but sank instead to the floor beside her. He turned an angry glare on Saunders. "You… poisoned the… drinks."
"No, not quite, but close enough. You might have also guessed the identity of Morsi's partner by now, or I should say, ex-partner." He stepped back as Rolf's arm swung out toward him. He reached for the door, stepped through it.
"Morsi wouldn't admit to stealing the Ice Man, Miranda, so I can only assume you did it. Care to tell me where it's hidden while you still can?" She didn't answer. "Ah, well, no matter. I'll find it. Have a nice nap, you two. I'll be taking steps quite soon to insure it is a permanent one."
Miranda saw Rolf's head fall forward, his eyes droop closed, just before her mind went blank and her body limp.
Chapter 16
When she opened her eyes, Miranda knew something was different. She felt the cool air and the constant spray of water on her skin. She felt the sun's heat gradually warming her chilled flesh.
She sat up suddenly, rocking the small boat. She gripped its sides and looked around her, eyes wide. "Oh, my God," she whispered hoarsely.
Everywhere, in any direction she looked—water. Deep, dark blue, ice-cold water. Its surface was a study in ripples and lines, and gentle, ever-moving swells lifted and lapped at the small craft. Far, far away, the brilliant orange ball of fire seemed to rest on the water's surface. There was nothing else in sight. No land, no ice. She didn't even see a seabird circling in the distance. She had time to be grateful for the overcoats they still wore before panic took root, colder than the sea that surrounded her.
A low groan brought her head around. Rolf stirred, but didn't open his eyes. He lay slumped in the rear of the boat, near the motor, his head cocked at an impossible angle, one arm bent beneath him. Carefully, so as not to tilt the little boat, she crawled to him, gripped his shoulders and attempted to make him more comfortable. When she tugged his arm out from under him, he grunted. It must have hurt. His eyes flew open and slowly he seemed to focus, first on her, then on the small boat and the limitless sea surrounding them.
He sat up slowly, his gaze returning to Miranda. He rubbed his left temple with his fingertips. "He put something into the drinks," he said finally. "A sleeping powder." Miranda shook her head in denial as the truth hit home. "It was not Morsi alone who tried to kill us, Miranda." Rolf shifted, lifting himself onto the soft padded seat in the stern. "It was Erwin Saunders, as well."
Again she shook her head. "But why? He was my friend, my father's friend—"
"Nei. He is a man with much greed and a great hunger for glory. He wished to retain all credit for the discovery of the drakkar. And perhaps he meant to find the treasure, as well, to take a goodly share of it for himself. You yourself told me what a simple matter it would be to sell a few pieces, and acquire more wealth than one could spend in a lifetime." As she desperately sought for another explanation, he touched her face. "Travis said it would have been the greatest achievement in your father's career, or in yours. He said you would be in such great demand by universities, you would be able to name your own price."
She nodded, and studied his face. "I just can't believe money and acclaim would be so important to him that he would try to kill—" She stopped short and glanced out to sea once more. "Is he going to succeed this time?"
Rolf laughed. It began as a low rumble deep in his chest and gained momentum until he fairly bellowed. Finally he wrapped his arms around her and hugged her hard. "My sweet lady, your friend picked a poor method to execute the Plague of the North."
He turned toward the stern again, touched the motor. "No doubt this contraption was the first thing to be disabled." To give proof to his theory, he attempted several times to start the thing, but found it uncooperative. He then found the bolts that held it in place and twisted them free with his fingers. Gently he eased the motor up and, with a shove, tossed it into the freezing waves where it disappeared.
Miranda choked back a sob, but too late not to have him notice the small sound. He turned, frowning at the tears that shimmered in her eyes. He eased her up onto the seat at the bow and knelt beside her. "No tears, Miranda. Not only do they cause me unspeakable pain, but they rob you of precious water. You need to conserve what you have in your body." He put his hand on hers. "Have you so little faith in me?"
She sniffed and blinked away her tears. "It hurts me to be so betrayed by someone I once cared for. That's why I was crying."
He nodded. "I know that pain, lady. I've had much experience in that pain." He was silent for a long moment. Then he took the seat beside her, one hand gripping hers tightly. "But he never truly felt anything for you, you know. Or for your father."
"No. He must not have."
"He was pretending all along, even earlier, when he funded the expedition to find me."
"He must have been laughing at us then. He thought it was all madness. But when we found you, he couldn't wait to cash in. I wonder how much of Cryo-Life's backing went into the budget, and how much went into Erwin's pockets."
"He used your father, Miranda. He used you."
She felt her spine grow tense. "He caused Russell's heart attack. He broke in that night, searching for the true journal, the one we found in the computer."
"No doubt." Rolf studied her face as Miranda felt her heart begin to pound, pumping the blood that no doubt colored her cheeks right now. Anger burned a hot path through her veins. Her hands clenched with it. "Although I am sure he didn't intend for your father to die," Rolf added.
"He might as well have. He killed my father and now he's trying to kill us. Damn him, Rolf. Damn him, he'll pay for this!"
When she turned toward him he was smiling very slightly. "Much better. Your eyes glitter like silver when you are angry, Miranda. I much prefer silver to the diamonds in your eyes when you cry."
Her anger was unabated but she filled with warmth toward him. "I think I know how you must have felt after your exile. I don't know what stings more than betrayal. Especially when the traitor is someone you loved."
"In my case, it was little more than a young man's lust. At the time, though, it was the nearest thing to love I had known." He shook his head. "There is no excuse for what I did. Since the object of my wrath was not available, I sought my vengeance upon the innocent coastal villages of Europe."
"I feel angry enough to raid a village or two myself at the moment."
He chuckled, obviously amused at the image. Then he looked arou
nd. "We are drifting at the whim of the currents. Not a safe prospect. We need power, and direction." He grabbed one of the two oars from under the seat. "Behold, a mast." He dragged out the other oar and then set them both down beside him, and rummaged beneath the seats for more tools. He emerged at last with a length of rope and a first-aid kit. He tossed the latter to her. "See if there is anything of use in this box." Then, with the oars crossing over one another in his lap, he began wrapping the rope around them in an X pattern.
He took his time and worked carefully, sometimes unwrapping and re wrapping when he felt it hadn't gone just right. "I will need your shirt. You can keep the coat, but your shirt and mine will be our sail."
Miranda caught her breath. He was truly amazing, her Viking. "You won't need the shirts, Rolf. You can use this." She held up the folded square of impossibly shiny material. At Rolf's frown, she explained. "It's supposed to be very warm. You wrap it around you in case of emergency. It's a sort of blanket." As she spoke she unfolded it, but clutched it to her chest when the wind threatened to rip it from her hands.
Rolf nodded in approval. "Very good, Miranda. Have you any ideas for a rudder?" As he spoke, he painstakingly tied the corners of the blanket to the crosspiece and the main mast. This finished, he laid the newly formed sail to rest, instructing Miranda to hold it lest the wind blow it away.
She watched in wonder as Rolf tore the cushions from the rear seat and pulled a small dagger from his boot. Slowly, steadily, he chipped away at the wooden board. It took the better part of an hour for him to carve a small jagged hole in the seat. He thrust the bottom of the oar-mast into this, tested its stability, and added two lengths of rope to anchor it in place.
No sooner had he raised the sail than Miranda felt the wind pushing them rapidly through the water. She felt the thrill of success sing through her veins, but not for long. Only a moment after she squinted directly into the rising sun, she caught her breath. "Rolf, we're heading east. Shouldn't we be going the other way?"
"You'd have made a fine oarsman, woman." He hurriedly disconnected the rope anchoring one side of the sail. Then he slowly turned the sail until it angled to one side. When the boat rocked dangerously, the wind pushing it sideways, he pushed the outermost edges of the sail closer together, until the thing was pointed, rather similar to the triangle-shaped sails of today's sailboats. Their direction changed gradually, until they moved away from the sun. Rolf anchored the sail and relaxed for a moment. "We travel west by southwest," he told her. "And we still need a rudder."
Miranda dumped the contents from the first-aid box. "This is plastic. You could cut it to the right shape with your knife."
Rolf took the box from her hands, turned it over slowly. He nodded. "Yes, it might work." He retrieved the dagger and went to work once more, stopping periodically to leap to his feet and readjust the sail. Miranda realized it would be frightfully easy to tip over, especially sailing against the wind as they were, and having to cut the boat in and out of it.
Yet she wasn't afraid. Instead she felt an odd excitement stirring within her. She silently thrilled with each demonstration of Rolf's skill and her blood churned with the adventure of it all. The challenge.
All day they skimmed over the waves. Rolf used the position of the sun to gauge them, sailing toward it rather than away once it passed its zenith. Rolf sat on the floor of the boat, behind the sail, so he could maneuver the sail and the rudder simultaneously. They spoke little.
Miranda was cold and her head ached with the aftereffects of whatever Erwin Saunders had drugged them with. She was hungry and before the day waned, terribly thirsty. She spoke of none of this, though, since she knew Rolf must be feeling the same things she was. She racked her brain to think of a way she could boil the water and capture the purified steam.
They sailed past huge icebergs, and once Miranda spotted the dorsal fin of what she swore was a whale, far off in the distance. The day seemed to last forever, but finally, after what must have been eighteen hours, the sun dipped below the horizon. Her eyes widened. "Rolf—"
"Já, we have moved to the south. The current pulls us rapidly southward. We will find the warmth as well as the shore, Miranda. I'll not have you dying of the cold." As the sun sank just out of sight, Rolf lowered the sail, and dropped the anchor over the side. He came to the fore where she huddled in her coat, and sat down beside her.
"Are we stopping for the night?"
"No. Only until the stars appear to guide us. The anchor should keep us from drifting too far, though it will not hold us steady. At the moment we are in a southwesterly bound current, so if we drift, we drift in the right direction."
She snuggled closer. "Put your arms around me, Rolf. Hold me."
He did, and she immediately felt warmer. "Are you afraid, Miranda?"
"No. Strange, isn't it? But I'm not. Aside from a few minor discomforts, I'm enjoying this."
"You are a woman of odd tastes. You enjoy being cold, hungry, thirsty?"
"I enjoy facing insurmountable odds and beating them, although today you've done most of the beating." She shifted her position so she could look up into his face. She ran a hand over his stubble-coated cheeks and chin. "Ahh, your beard is coming back. Soon you'll look like you did when I first saw you."
"You change the subject. You wish to take part in beating these odds you speak of?"
She thought about it a moment. "Yes. Ever since you convinced me to crawl through that mouse hole I've begun to feel differently. Not like myself. More… I don't know… confident, stronger. You know?"
"When once a man conquers his strongest foe and yearns to repeat the battle, this is the mark of a true hero." He looked at her intently. "It was one of my father's favorite proverbs. The fear of that tunnel was your strongest foe, my lady heroine, and now you are eager to conquer all others. I think you like adventure."
She shrugged. "Maybe I do."
"Then you will learn to man the sail and the rudder, and give my tired arms some time to rest."
She tensed in his embrace. "I'd better not. I might get us both killed."
"It isn't so bad. I've died before, remember?" At her look of absolute shock, he smiled, his amused face clearly visible in the pale sub-Arctic night. There would only be a very short period of real darkness. "I was kidding, as you say, Miranda. You have not enough faith in your own abilities. You are a strong, intelligent woman, with more courage than some warriors I have known. You will manage."
She did. He'd known she would. Rolf sat behind her, his arms around her, guiding her hands as she got a feel for the wind in the sail and the rush of the sea on the handmade rudder. He pointed out the stars they would follow, and told her their names in his native tongue.
She was nervous at first, but as she relaxed the knack of handling the boat came to her, as he had sensed it would. "Feel the wind caress the sail, Miranda? There, that gentle change, feel it?" She nodded and easily adjusted the sail to accommodate the shift in the wind.
"This is incredible," she whispered. Her hood blew back and her hair whipped around Rolf's neck. He took his hands away from hers to replace it but she put a hand on his arm. "No, leave it. I want to feel the wind."
He looked into her eyes with understanding. Had he not stood upon the deck amid raging storms simply to feel the power? Instead of replacing his hands on hers, he lowered them, encircling her narrow waist. She was doing well, sensing instinctively what was needed and when. Rolf would know if she made a mistake and he would right it before any harm was done. For now, he'd let her maneuver the boat in the gentle wind and easy current. He leaned over and whispered in her ear, "You are not in the boat Miranda, you are the boat. You are one with the wind and the water and the wood. You see?"
She nodded. "Yes. And with you."
Rolf blinked in astonishment, but realized at once she was right. He was feeling it—too, this union of spirits. The sense of uniting with nature was a familiar one to him. That of uniting with another soul was foreign, and fo
r a second it shook him. Then he thought it over more carefully and he knew that was exactly what he'd felt when he'd made love to her. Union. He hadn't been inside her; he'd been a part of her. They'd been as one mind, one body. He'd sensed her pleasure, her needs, much as she'd seemed to sense his. It had been beyond any experience he'd had in lovemaking, and he knew it had been the same for her, as well. Just like sailing. Just like becoming one with the sea and the wind and the ship. Blessed union. Consummate understanding. He hadn't believed such a thing was possible between two human souls.
His hands rose higher, and he slipped them beneath her coat and then her blouse, cupping her breasts, squeezing them, stilling when her tender nipples blossomed to his touch. They pressed to his fingertips as if pleading for attention and he gave it without hesitation. He bent his head to nuzzle her neck with his lips.
"Your hands are cold," she whispered, tilting her head backward to ease the way for his mouth.
"You wish me to stop?"
"Never."
He angled his head around farther, so he could taste her lips. They were dry, but he moistened them for her. The sweetness they protected was as succulent as ever and he drank deeply of her for a long time. "I want you very badly, Miranda."
"But…" She struggled for words against her rapid breathing. "The sail…"
"Trust me," he muttered, nibbling her earlobe like an exotic fruit. He moved his hands to the snap of her jeans, and in a moment he was shoving them down over her hips, underwear and all. He ran his palms over the warm, bare curve of her buttocks, then threaded his fingers forward, finding her hot center already open and moist.
She made a sound deep in her throat when he probed her. "Do not close your mind, Miranda. Keep it open to everything. Not just me, but the sea and the wind, as well. Feel it all." She nodded, and Rolf removed one of his hands so he could free himself of the constraints of denim and zipper. He throbbed for her, and in a moment he lifted her slightly and lowered her over him. He knelt, sitting back on his heels, her lovely rounded buttocks pressed tight to his lap, her sweet, narrow passage tight around him. Her thighs parted and her knees supported most of her weight, a situation Rolf wished to remedy. He did, slipping his hands beneath her thighs and lifting her.
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