Halcyon Rising (27 page)

She cast him a quick, surprised glance. “I think so. In fact, I know my father would like nothing more than to experiment with a flying craft, but he fears that is not something he could keep secret from those on the Surface for long.”

He sank back in his chair, imagining a flying machine. Until he had met her, he never would have let his imagination soar so far, but now it seemed that his mind had become something he could not control. The mechanics of how such a thing could be accomplished whirled like a dervish inside of him.

“Is there anything to write with in this vessel?” he asked, his excitement impossible to contain.

She waved toward the sleeping chamber. “Try the desk beside my father’s bunk,” she advised. “Why, do you have an idea?”

“I have a hundred ideas.” He hurried toward the back of the craft and found some thin, crisp white paper and a superior writing instrument. “Tell me everything you know about how this vessel works,” he coaxed, as he sat back down beside her.

She smiled and shook her head. “To tell you the truth, I don’t really understand it myself. I’ve never been good at engineering. But I think this will help.”

Sliding her chair toward him, she revealed a data unit in the desk type portion of the craft that lay in front of him. Her fingers moved swiftly over the keys, then she sat back, motioning for him to take her place. “Here are detailed blueprints of
The Whale
, plus a history of the technology that led up to the design.”

He gave her a cautious grin and moved in front of the screen, feeling like a child who had just been given a fantastic sweet.

Rhoswen watched Sebastian pour over the data unit, her emotions swinging wildly between joy, sadness and a bittersweet poignancy. Again, she was struck by the thought that he had come home, that he belonged in Halcyon, and his time upon the Surface had been a dream.

He looked so comfortable, bent over the data unit, his brow wrinkled with concentration as he scribbled busily on the piece of paper beside him. If her father could see him now, she knew he’d be pleased. Perhaps he’d finally understand why his daughter had defied all the rules for love of him.

They were much alike, Oberon and Sebastian. In fact, she thought that if they spent any amount of time together as equals, they could achieve remarkable things.

Suddenly, he glanced up, his cheeks flushed with embarrassed heat. “Sorry. I am not very good company, am I?”

She waved a dismissive hand. “It’s fine. Take all the time you like. Our trip will take several more hours, and I enjoy watching you work.”

He raised a brow. “Is my ineptitude so amusing?”

“You’re not inept,” she scolded. “You’re brilliant. And I find your total immersion in your subject incredibly attractive. I could watch you forever.”

He held her gaze for a long moment, then reached over and squeezed her hand. “It means so much to me, to have a chance to study this amazing vessel. Thank you for giving me the opportunity.”

She held his hand for a long moment, then let him go, turning back to the control panel and setting their course for Wales. “I plan to dock
The Whale
further north than I did before. Near where the River Clwyd meets the Irish Sea. That should put us closer to the entrance to the caves.” Pausing, she gave him a cheeky grin. “In the meantime, I expect you to design a flying machine.”

* * *

Miranda woke to find afternoon sunlight streaming through the tower windows. So late. In all her life, she could never remember sleeping so late. Sighing, she burrowed deeper into the covers, which still held such pleasant warmth. Perhaps she would stay in bed all day, dreaming of Trevelan…

Scrambling to her knees, she made a quick circuit of the room with her gaze, but he was nowhere to be found. She could find no sign that he had ever actually been there, other than the fact that she had managed to sleep through the night without waking from the cold.

Had she imagined the whole thing? She placed a trembling hand upon her forehead, wondering if she had come down with a fever during the night. She could think of no other plausible explanation. Fanciful imaginings, while either asleep or awake, were not in her nature.

But her skin was cool, even a bit clammy to the touch. Reluctantly, she got out of bed and dressed in the many layers of clothing necessary to help ward off the chill. Several of Hawkesmere’s knights needed her attention, and guilt consumed her as she hurried down the winding stairs to the herbarium on the bottom floor of the tower where she kept her supplies.

How could she have slept the day away when so many needed her help? Lord Simon had angered more than a few people—including the castle’s priest—when he had named her as Hawkesmere’s official healer and encouraged her to move into the secret-filled castle tower that had once been Lord Sebastian‘s private domain. She did not take her responsibilities lightly.

The Trevelan she had nursed back to health could not possibly have been as handsome as the man of her dreams. In fact, she had never seen a mortal being so beautiful. Besides, what flesh and blood man would tenderly hold a woman through the night without attempting to force himself on her? That alone was proof that she had been dreaming.

Stepping out into the bustling bailey, she gave one last regretful glance up at her tower bedchamber. Dream or nay, she prayed he visited her again.

* * *

Sebastian collapsed upon the rocky Welsh beach, panting heavily. The long swim from
The Whale
to shore had made his shoulder ache unbearably. In fact, during the last hundred feet, he had wondered if he had the strength to make it. He feared he had torn Kaylee’s careful stitches wide open, losing the precious gift of blood she had given him.

He turned to see Rhoswen stumble out of the water behind him. “Are you all right?”

She nodded and sank to her knees at his side, shivering a bit despite her thermal suit. “How are you? Is your shoulder holding up?”

“It aches,” he admitted. “Can you look and see if the stitches have held?”

“Of course.” Her trembling hands peeled the stretchy fabric off his shoulder, probing gently.

He bit back a curse as she touched a particularly tender spot, but her brisk efficiency calmed him. If there were ought to worry about, she would not be poking him so roughly.

“It looks fine,” she confirmed, moments later. “A little red, but healing well.”

“That is a relief,” he muttered. “We have enough difficulties already.”

She brushed a few wet strands of hair from his eyes and then pressed her lips to his brow. “Thank you so much for bringing me with you, Sebastian.”

He leaned into her kiss, wishing for more time. His eagerness to get back to Hawkesmere and help his people had driven him thus far, but now he was all too aware that every step he took toward Hawkesmere was one taken away from Halcyon.

With a sigh, he pushed himself to his feet. His time of hot showers, endless information and cleanliness was over. Battle, exhaustion, filth and hunger… these were the things he was accustomed to. He was a fool to imagine ever finding a permanent respite. He could only hope that once they had ascertained Trevelan’s fate, Rhoswen would see that she had to return home.

His brother would never allow him to return to Hawkesmere, and he could not bear to drag her along on the life he was going to be forced to live.

He held up the waterproof pack that contained their clothes, wishing desperately for his destrier. They had a long walk ahead of them. “Shall we change and begin our journey?”

* * *

Rhoswen trailed Sebastian through the thickly wooded forest, fighting her exhaustion. She was having difficulty keeping up with the swift pace he’d set, but didn’t dare ask to take a short rest. She’d promised she wouldn’t slow him down and meant to keep her word.

For some reason he’d pulled away from her since they’d Surfaced. She wished she could delve his mind and see what was going on in his head, but feared what she might find.

Somehow, he seemed to have gotten the mistaken impression that her quest to save Trevelan was about something more than guilt and regret for having put her friend in such a terrible position in the first place. Sebastian seemed jealous, when he had no reason to be.

She wanted to put him at ease, but whenever she tried to bring the subject up, he refused to talk about it. They’d been walking most of the day, and he’d yet to say more than half a dozen words to her. She could only hope that when they camped for the night, he would let her get close to him.

Longingly, she thought of the muscle rub he’d given her on the trip to Halcyon. She wanted that back: that tender hunger she’d fallen in love with. The silent warrior who strode toward a battle he seemed convinced he could not win was a stranger to her.

She pulled her crumpled map from her pocket, studying it as she stumbled along behind Sebastian. Many of the landmarks the ancients had used to mark their way had disappeared due to the vast passage of time, and she was no longer certain she was even going in the right direction.

If she’d read the map right, the entrance to Old Halcyon should be several miles further, past the bend in the river. She prayed it was there. Otherwise, Sebastian was bound to think she’d made the whole thing up as a pathetic attempt to bind him to her for a few more days.

The secret entrance to Titania’s Tower was the only gift she had to give to Sebastian, her only contribution to making sure he lived through the next few days.

“How much further?” Sebastian asked. He gestured upward, toward the threatening clouds on the horizon. “I fear a storm is brewing.”

“Not much further,” she promised. Please, she prayed, let it be there.

* * *

Miranda paused to catch her breath, shivering as the winter wind whipped through her cloak. The trek from Hawkesmere Castle to the village below had sapped her strength and frozen her to the bone, but as she gazed at the small, rickety hut at the very edge of the settlement, all her discomfort fell away.

Almost home
.

Lifting the edge of her damp, heavy skirt, she hurried forward through the melting snow, shifting the weight of her basket of supplies. Not much further now.

Since she’d moved into the tower, all her patients, both those from the castle and those from the village, had come to see her, making it unnecessary to journey down to the village except for cases of dire emergency. Though far more convenient, her new situation had enforced a distance between herself and her family she found hard to bear.

But as she once again shifted the basket of food her position had allowed her to procure, she knew the loneliness was worth it. Her family was the poorest one in the village. Her sister’s husband had once been one of Sir Simon’s bravest knights, but a saber wound to the thigh had left him lame. Now they existed on what Violet earned as a seamstress. With three small children and another on the way, it was never enough.

As she approached the door, Miranda took a deep breath, bracing herself for Garrick’s inevitable anger at her charity. Though admirable, his pride made it difficult to do as much for Violet and the children as she’d like. When she’d lived in the small, crowded house with them, he hadn’t found it nearly as hard to accept her help, and truth be told, she missed the easy camaraderie they’d once all shared.

A chorus of happy shrieks met her knock, and she smiled wistfully as she listened to the children falling over each other in their attempt to be the first to answer the door. She missed the children most of all, though when she’d constantly had them underfoot they had sometimes annoyed her beyond bearing.

“Aunt Miranda!” Gwen threw open the door, a triumphant smile on her small, fey face. The oldest of Violet’s children at the age of five, she shared her mother and aunt’s bothersome auburn hair, though her blue eyes came from her father.

Two year old Nan, a dark-haired little angel with green eyes, followed close on Gwen’s heels, holding out her arms in an imperious demand to be picked up. Setting her basket down just inside the door, Miranda swept the little girl up, spreading kisses all over her grubby little cheeks. “How are you, moppet? Did you miss me?”

“I missed you, Aunt Miranda!” The four year old, Will, picked himself up off the dirt floor, where he’d obviously been shoved by Gwen. Fragile and given to poor health, his slight frame barely any bigger than Nan’s, he had a special place in Miranda’s heart. She’d nursed the dark-haired little boy through many frightening times, and deep down she feared he would not reach manhood.

Violet rose from her place at the hearth, where she’d been bent over a basket of mending. “It’s good to see you, sister.”

Miranda frowned at the weariness in Violet’s eyes and bearing. Though only twenty-two—a full two years younger than Miranda—Violet’s slim body was swollen with her sixth pregnancy, and she looked far older than her years. The grief of losing two of her children in infancy, the stress of her husband’s injury, and the endless hard work had taken their toll.

Though Miranda often envied her sister’s family, she would not have traded places with her. She’d far rather remain an outcast, with at least a little freedom and time to herself.

Crossing the small, cluttered room, Miranda sat Nan down at her mother’s feet and pressed one hand against Violet’s tummy. “How are you, Vi? You look tired. Is the babe well?”

Violet nodded and pushed Miranda’s hand away with a small huff of irritation. “I’m fine. It’s just been so cold this week. We’ve had a rough time of it.” Her gaze slid to the basket Miranda had left by the front door, and then quickly away.

Seeing her sister’s furtive glance, Miranda wondered with a pang how long it had been since Violet’s family had eaten a good meal. “I’ve brought you some things,” she said brightly. “A bit of ham, eggs and turnips, leeks, and a few cups of flour. There’s some beer, as well. I took it in trade for treating Sir Oscar’s gout.”