“You are lucky to be alive yourself,” scolded Jeryl gently, brushing the side of her face with his lips. “I looked right at her and was sure she was dead. You had no way of knowing she still lived.” He turned to Letta. “Will the Reliants recover?”
“Korin thinks so,” said Letta. “But it will take a long time and they will be in no position to run their farms until they have recovered. Even then, the only way they know how to farm is by using the dark rahnta to control slaves.”
“We might be able to teach them a thing or two about that,” said Jeryl.
We, thought Delinda. He said “we”. Unwilling to ask his intentions in front of the others, but too tired to get up or to think of an excuse to ask the others to leave them, she looked at him with hopeful speculation.
At that moment, Cristof came through the front door. “Excuse me, Captain.” When Jeryl nodded, he went on. “I’ve seen to the Sheeling. We made anchor in such a hurry I was not sure she was secure, or the water would be deep enough to keep her afloat when the tide was out, but I think she will be fine. With your permission, sir, I promised Garvin I would come back and let him stitch up my arm.” He indicated the soiled bandage tightly wrapped around his upper arm. Jeryl nodded again in dismissal and the man went off in the direction of Korin and Garvin. Jeryl sank into contemplation, his face serious, but one arm remained tightly wrapped around Delinda’s shoulders.
“Has anyone seen Duwall?” asked Delinda, looking around.
“He’s in the stables,” said Ostyn, and Delinda nodded in understanding. Beteria’s death had struck him hard, and he had carried her body out to the stables himself.
Jeryl roused from his meditations. “I’ve been thinking about what Bloduewedd said,” he said quietly, drawing everyone’s attention. “About you having bought your mother’s boy-child at the auction.” Letta and Ostyn, not having heard this part of the story, looked up sharply.
“I remember,” said Delinda. “She did not say which man it was, and I have been to many auctions in the last few months.”
“But only one where Bloduewedd herself was in attendance,” said Jeryl. “And I just remembered something else I do not think I ever mentioned to you. On his first night here, I went into Duwall’s room and found him talking with Lora—or Beteria. They obviously knew each other, and he said he had spent some time on her family farm.”
“I knew they had grown very close,” said Delinda. “But I thought it was a recent thing.”
“No, I think he had known her for years. And he has those eyes…” He looked into hers. “Just like yours.”
“They are common enough here,” said Delinda, but she was not really arguing. She was starting to feel convinced. It made sense—Duwall was resistant to her rahnta, as she had discovered when she tried to ease his pain from a bee sting one morning. If they were of the same line…
“And he is the right age, I think.” He smiled at her. “I think you have a little brother, my darling.”
“My brother,” she said, trying out the unfamiliar phrase. “Jeryl, do you really think so?” The wonder of the idea dazed her. The child her mother had loved so much and been forced to give away, back in the house where he had been born. She sincerely hoped Jeryl was right.
Cristof returned from the other side of the room, a fresh bandage on his arm. “Excuse me, Captain, but since none of the men are too badly hurt to sail, shall I prepare for us to leave on the morning’s tide?”
“Yes,” said Jeryl. “But first I want to speak to them all. Gather them up and bring them here, would you?”
“Yes, sir,” said Cristof, and he hurried off to follow Jeryl’s orders.
Delinda felt as if her heartbeat had lost its rhythm. You must let him go. Even if you will be the new Rahntadrine, you cannot keep him. It would not be fair to ask him to give everything up. She realized she was holding her breath and let it out. She turned her head toward the fire to hide the tears that filled her eyes.
Luckily, she did not have to speak as Letta rattled on about such details as the disposition of the slain soldiers’ bodies, the retreat of the uninjured members of Bloduewedd’s guard and the trouble it had been carrying the unconscious Reliants into the annex, where they slept on, loosely guarded by a few men in case any should awaken.
In only a few minutes Cristof returned, followed by the rest of the crew. Though a few bore bandages and other evidences of their injuries, all were walking normally and seemed to be in good spirits. Garvin abandoned his consultations with Korin and joined them.
“Excuse me, Delinda, this will not take a moment,” said Jeryl, kissing her hand as he rose from the sofa. He turned to face his men.
“I wish to commend you all,” he began, “for your heroic defense of the estate. I asked you to come to the aid of strangers, and you never questioned the rightness of my request, nor did you waver in the face of danger. You have made me very proud, and I plan to spend the rest of this evening writing an account of your deeds and putting my signature to it, so that others will know of your bravery.”
“Thank you, Captain,” said Cristof. “We greatly appreciate your offer to do so, but it can wait until we are at sea. I’m sure you would rather spend your last evening here with your, er, friends.”
“I am afraid that will not be possible,” said Jeryl.
Delinda felt alarm growing in her chest, threatening to cut off her breathing, when he continued.
“You see, Cristof, I will not be going with you.”
Shock registered on the faces of the crewmen and they all began to protest, as Jeryl raised his hands to silence them and spoke again. “Now, now, you will not be leaderless. Cristof here will make a fine captain,” he said, grasping the young man’s shoulder. “And I have confidence in all of your abilities to make it home just fine without me.”
Cristof stood very straight but struggled for words as he was torn between swelling with pride at his promotion and wanting to protest Jeryl’s decision. “But we are already short-handed,” he stuttered. “And if I am to take on the task of captain, then the rest of the crew will be spread even more thinly.”
“Will one more make a difference?” asked a voice from the doorway. They looked up to see Duwall, his face grave, stepping forward. “I know nothing of ships, but I learn quickly.”
Jeryl turned to face him. “Are you certain?” he asked. “After others hear what these men have to tell them of these shores, it may be many years before anyone tries to sail this way again.”
“Men are free where you live,” said Duwall. A ghost of his old grin flitted across his face, but his eyes were full of pain. “No man was born to be a slave, but I think I may be even less suited to it than most.”
Jeryl smiled back gently. “I cannot argue with you on that point,” he said. He turned to Cristof. “What say you, Captain? This man is the most annoying I have ever met and you will probably have to throw him overboard halfway there to quiet him. But he’s a good worker and better than nothing. Do you think you can make him into some kind of seaman before his babbling forces you to feed him to the sharks?”
“He might do,” said Cristof, also smiling. “Since we did not have the opportunity to learn much about this place while we were repairing the ship, maybe he can regale us with some tales of the natives.”
“I have no doubt he can do that,” said Jeryl. He looked at Delinda and saw tears shimmering in her eyes. “What do you say, Delinda. Shall we unleash this miscreant on the rest of the world?”
“Yes,” she said. “I think it would make my…I mean, make me very happy to know he will live free. Maybe he can come back someday,” she added wistfully, “and tell us all about it.”
“Maybe,” echoed Duwall, as he went to stand with the other men who eyed him curiously.
“Well, Captain, you had better get your men to bed if they are to sail tomorrow,” said Jeryl, slapping Cristof on the back.
“Yes, Captain,” said Cristof, then, when Jeryl frowned and shook his hea
d, corrected, “I mean yes, Jeryl.” Cristof blushed, but put out his hand and the two men shook as equals. “You will see us off then?”
“We all will,” said Delinda.
“Well, I will have a lot of people to feed,” said Letta, getting to her feet. Ostyn scrambled to accompany her as she headed toward the kitchen. “I hope I can at least find one or two of my knives.”
As the others departed, Jeryl looked down at Delinda. Her eyes were still glimmering with tears but she was smiling. “I did not know if you would stay. I wanted you to, but I was afraid to ask,” she blurted and would have risen, but Jeryl put his finger against her lips as he sat next to her and took both of her hands in his.
“My dear Delinda,” he said. “Did you really think I could leave you a second time?”
She sighed in contentment as his arms slipped around her, pulling her close. “There is still a great deal to be done, you know,” she said. “My plan is really just getting started. In phase four—”
Jeryl silenced her with a kiss. Phase four could wait for another time.
The End
About the Author
Virginia welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email address on her author bio page at www.cerridwenpress.com.
Also by Virginia Reede
If you are interested in a spicier read (and are over 18), check out her erotic romances at Ellora’s Cave Publishing (www.ellorascave.com).
Beastmistress
Witch’s Knight
Cerridwen, the Celtic goddess of wisdom, was the muse who brought inspiration to storytellers and those in the creative arts. Cerridwen Press encompasses the best and most innovative stories in all genres of today’s fiction. Visit our site and discover the newest titles by talented authors who still get inspired—much like the ancient storytellers did, once upon a time.
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