Claire Delacroix (27 page)

Baird lurched to his feet to give chase, but Ursilla latched on to his arm with remarkable tenacity for her age. Her eyes were bright with determination.

“Leave her be, Mr. Beauforte, and you will see, that there is no one stronger than soft Gemdelovely Gemdelee.”

“I can’t believe that. She’s vulnerable right now!” He shook his sleeve but the old woman’s grip was strong.

Ursilla chuckled to herself, then wagged a playful finger at Baird. “Just because you stop believing in things does not mean they cease to be. There’s more to you than the world might see - look closely, Mr. Beauforte, and you will see.”

Baird stared at the woman for a long moment, not sure what to make of the knowing smile that danced over her lips.

“She’s not Gemdelovely Gemdelee,” he said finally. “Aurelia is just a confused woman who needs some help.” He shook his arm pointedly and to no avail.

Ursilla shook her head. “The only thing of which Gemdelovely has need, is the kiss of her true love, a man loyal in deed.”

“What she needs is to find out the truth about her father,” Baird said tightly. “And to shake herself free of a lot of old nonsense.”

With that, Baird freed himself from Ursilla’s grip and strode to the door, hating his sense that the older woman had been ready to let him go anyway. He dropped some money into the hands of the woman who ran the tea shop, ignoring the wonder in her eyes, and dashed out into the square.

And there, Baird’s fears were proven absolutely right.

There was no sign of Aurelia anywhere.

Baird shoved his hands in his pockets and glared at a kid openly surveying him, the only person on the street. “Have you seen a blonde woman? She just came out of here.”

The boy shook his head and smiled. “Just you, mister.”

Baird turned away in disgust. He checked the trio of streets that made up the intersection of the town, but didn’t see another living soul, let alone Aurelia.

It was as though she had vanished into thin air.

The sign over the Boar and Thistle creaked in the wind when Baird stalked back into the square. Garth’s cab was still beside the curb, but maybe Aurelia had gone looking for a ride back to Dunhelm. Baird shoved a hand through his hair in frustration. It couldn’t hurt to find out.

There was nowhere else to look, after all.

* * *

Aurelia ran.

She was out of the town in no time at all, heading for the coast at dizzying speed. All she could think was that she had to get away, away from Ursilla, away from silly stories, away from a tale that sounded far too familiar for comfort.

Gemdelovely Gemdelee, indeed!

Aurelia scrambled over loose stones, avoiding the black road, climbing over rocks to the shore instead. The coast was familiar, unlike all that was behind her. She did not want to look at Julian’s magic, she did not want to fight to explain great mysteries right now. Aurelia tried to make her breathing come more evenly as she kept her eyes on the sea.

The Vikings would come.

Her father was not dead of grief.

She would not permit Ursilla’s poem to be true.

* * *

Chapter Seventeen

The Boar and Thistle was busy with afternoon traffic, although some of its clients looked as though they had settled in for days, if not months, before. Some appeared to be as firmly rooted in this place as the furniture.

Although Baird had only come in here once or twice, he was hailed by the regulars as he stood on the threshold, blinking in the dim light. He heard a murmur of conversation slide around the pub, those in the know obviously identifying him to the others.

Baird was very aware that he was the center of attention.

“Left the lady shopping, guv?” Garth demanded, continuing on before Baird could respond. “No place for a man while a woman spends his money,” the cabbie declared with a wink and a snort of assent sounded around the bar.

Aurelia was not here.

And she certainly hadn’t asked Baird to leave with her. That old sense of being unwanted assailed him and fought with his concern for her welfare. Maybe he should take this opportunity to see whether he could learn anything about Hekod.

“What can I get you, sir?”

A quick survey revealed that everyone drank very dark brew.

“A pint of your best stout.”

The barkeeper raised his eyebrows appreciatively, and the men grinned. Baird had been identified as a compatriot.

“Why don’t you sit with us, guv, and tell the boys a bit about your work at ol’ Dunhelm?”

It was the best opening Baird was likely to get. He slid onto a stool and took a good look around. The place looked positively medieval with its heavy oak beams stained dark and the walls whitewashed in between the trusses. The ceiling was low and made of dark wood. A variety of antique etchings in cheap frames hung on the wall. They had probably been of virtually no value when they were hung - whenever that had been.

The pub smelled of cigar smoke, with a base of spilled beer, and a top note of bacon and sausages. There was no clock and the leaded windows emitted so little light that it was impossible to say from inside what time of day it might be.

Baird’s beer arrived, frothing over the side and onto the wooden bar. He ignored the foam and lifted the glass tankard to his companions. When he didn’t wince at the flavor of the warm, yeasty beer, their amiability increased markedly.

Baird restrained himself from running a tongue over the film the stout left on his teeth. “I don’t suppose any of you would know anyone named Hekod?”

“Oh, guv!” Garth inhaled sharply. “No one uses that name hereabouts!”

“Why not?”

“It’s a name of wicked bad luck.”

“Powerfully unlucky,” contributed another.

“There’s not been a Hekod here since the first one, they say.”

Baird took another sip of his beer and decided it was getting better. “What’s unlucky about it?”

“Have you not heard the tale of Hekod?” Garth demanded. Baird nodded and the cabby frowned, gesturing with his tankard. “Now, there’s a man cursed with foul luck. Everything in the world he had to his name, a beautiful wife, prosperity and two lovely bairns.” Garth snapped his fingers beneath Baird’s nose. “And every bit of it snatched away from him in his prime.”

“Bairns?”

“Babes! A boy and girl, it is said.”

Garth drained his tankard in one great gulp and set the empty glass on the bar. He glanced pointedly at Baird, then back to the tankard with its residue of foam.

“Another pint for Garth,” Baird said to the barkeeper who shook his head and grinned. He scooped up the glass and pulled another pint, setting it before the cabbie with a flourish.

“Ah!” Garth took a long draught and smacked his lips. “I thank you, guv.”

“Now, what about this bad luck?”

“Ah, well, our Hekod lost first his lovely wife, then his son was killed and his daughter cursed. Add to that the destruction of his estate.” Garth shook his head. “He must have died an unhappy man.”

“It is said he died of grief,” added one of the others.

“And rightly so. What man could bear to lose so much?” Garth set his tankard on the bar and fixed Baird with a steady glance. “You’re seeing why it would be a horrible burden for any bairn to be granted such a name, aren’t you, guv?”

“You’re sure there hasn’t been even one?”

“We’ve no parents cruel enough to curse their own spawn.”

The men nodded sagely at this local wisdom and Baird noticed that the boy who had delivered the pizzas to Dunhelm hovered on the fringe of the group. His eyes were bright and his Adam’s apple bobbed with excitement.

No doubt at the prospect of more tales to share with his buddies.

“Why would you be asking, Mr. Beauforte?” he asked.

Baird shrugged as though it didn’t really matter. “We were trying to think of a name for the restaurant that we’re putting at the top of the bishop’s tower. One of the marketing people suggested we tie into Dunhelm’s history somehow and wanted to use Hekod’s Roost, or something similar.”

Baird took another sip, amazed at how readily they accepted his lie. “I just wanted to make sure there wasn’t an actual Hekod who might take offense.”

Garth gripped his arm with surprising strength, his gaze intense. “You be taking my advice, guv, and don’t be using that name on anything at Dunhelm. It will bring only tragedy and unhappiness wherever it is used and you’ll not be wanting any of that at the Beauforte Dunhelm Resort.”

A curious silence descended over the group and all drank uneasily.

“Well! I’m glad I asked.” Baird forced a smile as he leaned on the counter again. “Do any of you have any suggestions? These marketing people, you know -” he rolled his eyes “- they can drive a man crazy with all their dithering around. I’d love to just walk back in there with the perfect name.”

The boy’s eyes lit up. “What about The Crow’s Nest?”

“Nah,” said one of the others. “It should have “Viking” in it. Viking’s Lair.”

“And what would a lair be to you and me?” Garth demanded with amiable crankiness. “It’s got to be understood by everyone who happens along - you’re wanting a name like The Lookout.”

“Oh! That’s clever!” A chorus of disagreement erupted as the men latched on to the problem.

Baird might even get a name for the restaurant out of this. Even if he hadn’t come any closer to finding Hekod. He worried about Aurelia again. Probably she had walked back to Dunhelm. He’d walk back himself after this beer and make sure nothing had happened to her on the way.

As for Hekod, well, that was another problem. If Aurelia’s father was alive - and Baird was thinking the chances of that were pretty remote - he must have gone to the main island. Maybe the older man had passed away there. Either way, the next logical step was to go to Kirkwall on the main island but it was too late to fly there today.

First thing in the morning, then, Baird resolved and drank more of his stout.

The brew was growing on him, actually.

* * *

Aurelia watched the sun sink, its orange rays painting the sea with fire. The wind tousled her hair, the chill of the night rose from the ground.

On this night, she would summon the Dreaming again.

What if she had surrendered her chastity to Bard and had not won back the control of her Dreaming? There was a kernel of cold fear launched where her heart should have been, but Aurelia refused to think any further about Ursilla’s story.

Aurelia knew the very moment that Bard came to stand behind her. Her heart began to pound, her skin whispered of his presence, but she did not turn around. For a long time, he did not speak and they stood silently together, watching the sunlight fade.

When the sun finally dipped below the horizon and the sky turned indigo, Aurelia tipped back her head to watch the first stars come out. She took a deep breath, not certain what Bard was thinking and less certain that she wanted to know.

“You don’t have to stay out here all night,” he said quietly.

Aurelia turned to find Bard’s eyes dark with concern. “You have been drinking. I can smell the ale upon you.”

“Well, maybe just one beer. All for the good cause of finding your father.” Bard heaved a dramatic sigh and Aurelia had the sense he was teasing her. “Someone has to do the dirty work.”

“Drinking ale?” Aurelia frowned. “This is not labor at all!”

Bard grinned so unexpectedly that Aurelia caught her breath. His stern visage was transformed when he permitted himself to smile.

“You should smile more often,” she said, without having any intention of doing so. “It makes you look younger.”

Bard’s smile faded abruptly. “I’m not that old, you know!”

“But you have seen much, I am certain.”

And done much, Aurelia knew. Her body seemed to remember some of those deeds quite well. Aurelia’s heart pounded as she held his gaze and the air between them heated with rare vigor.

Had there ever been a man whose very glance could make her feel so alive?

“Mmm.” Bard shoved his hands into his pockets and watched her closely. “For an uneducated colonial, I’ve not done too badly.” A twinkle lurked in the green depths of his eyes and Aurelia wondered what on earth he meant by that.

What truly filled the secret corners of this man’s heart? For a man bent on wedding her, Bard did not seem particularly driven to achieve his goal. It was true that things had moved quickly between them, but at their own speed, not at his insistence.

Or was his manipulation so very skilled that Aurelia could not even discern it?

“You should know that I am not this Gemdelovely Gemdelee,” Aurelia said intending to words to be defiant. Instead her voice broke. “I am
not
a story.”

“I know.” Bard sobered instantly.

He stepped closer and Aurelia had to tip her head back to hold his gaze. She was encouraged by the sympathy she found in his eyes and liked that he did not believe this tale any more than she did.

It made Aurelia feel less alone in all of this. Bard lifted a hand towards her cheek, hesitating before his palm cradled her jaw.

“You’re a woman who has lost someone precious,” he said and his voice was low. “I can understand how hard that must be.”

Aurelia’s eyes misted with tears and she was confused that the man who had destroyed her family was the one who offered her compassion. Why did he have to be the one to witness her weakness?

Why did he have to be the one to make her skin come alive with a single touch?

“It’s all right to cry,” Bard said quietly.

“I never cry!” Aurelia dashed at her tears with her fingertips.

“Of course not,” Bard agreed easily and slid his thumb across her cheek, sweeping away her tears in one smooth gesture. “Vikings never cry.” His thumb was warm and Aurelia could smell his skin.

Suddenly she did not want to step away from him. She wanted to go back to his bed, to spend another night locked in his embrace, to spend another night feeling safe, secure and cossetted.

And it was not because she intended to kill him while he slept.