Dark Mirror (36 page)

Relief scalded through her. Tory grabbed his hand, then folded over and hid her face against his bloody guernsey.

And wept.

*   *   *

“Look,” Tory said softly, tears stinging her eyes. “The white cliffs of Dover. We’re almost home.”

Weakened by blood loss, Allarde had spent most of the hours of the trip across the channel dozing with his head in Tory’s lap, but now he was strong enough to push himself to a sitting position against the wheelhouse. Before them the famous white chalk cliffs stretched for miles in each direction, timeless and welcoming.

His hand tightened on Tory’s. “For how many centuries have returning Englishmen rejoiced to see those cliffs?”

“Many.” Tory wiped tears from her eyes with her other hand. The desultory conversations among the soldiers stopped as all gazes turned to the cliffs. “Since there first
were
Englishmen.”

Since Allarde was no longer in danger after his healing, they’d decided not to flag down the hospital ship. He didn’t need a doctor, and stopping to transfer a patient would make both vessels easy targets for the Luftwaffe and German submarines.

Captain Rainford took over the engine room so Polly could rest, but first she’d made a last batch of heavily sugared tea. Tory gulped hers thirstily, needing the warmth and energy after the huge drain of magical energy. She’d made Allarde drink a cup, too.

Even after the tea, Nick was swaying on his feet both from the fatigue of being up two days straight, plus the energy Tory had pulled from him. One of the passengers, a corporal from a Lackland fishing family, took over the wheel while Nick sprawled on the deck and slept like the dead, Polly curled up beside him.

With the cliffs in sight, Nick woke, yawned, and got to his feet. “I took
Annie’s Dream
to Dunkirk, and I should be the one to bring her home.”

The soldier nodded and relinquished the helm to Nick. Tory thought she recognized Lackland harbor.… Yes, Nick was heading straight for it.

As they approached the harbor at an angle, the passengers moved over to that side, gazes hungry. Nick called out, “Don’t all rush to port! We don’t want to capsize this close to home.”

Some of the soldiers moved back to the other side, but all of the passengers were vibrating to get ashore. As they entered the small harbor, Tory was surprised to see a crowd of people waiting. Most of the berths were filled with boats, some with bullet holes matching their own. The sight was very different from when they left.

As
Annie’s Dream
appeared and headed toward her pier, a great cheer rose, echoing from the cliffs. “Can you get to your feet for the triumphal homecoming?” Tory asked Allarde.

He gave her a crooked smile. “I can manage if you help.”

She did, aided by one of the soldiers. Allarde was pale, but by leaning against the wheelhouse and wrapping his other arm around Tory’s shoulders, he managed to stay upright. The engine coughed and quit, but they were close enough to the pier to drift in.

Two soldiers tossed mooring lines to the pier and eager bystanders secured the vessel. The battered passengers began pouring off. With most of them from Lackland, there were cries of welcome and embraces. A soldier bent to kiss the pier, then was swooped into an embrace by a weeping woman who must have been his mother.

There was such a churning of excited villagers that Tory was grateful she and Allarde had their safe spot against the wheelhouse. Softly she said, “I’ll never forget this if I live to be a hundred.”

His arm tightened around her shoulders. “Nor shall I.”

Tory’s enjoyment of the scene was pierced by a sense of great anxiety, but it wasn’t her own. The energy was familiar, and after a moment she realized she was sensing Mrs. Rainford.

A moment later Mrs. Rainford appeared, sliding through the crowd to reach the boat. As soon as she stepped onto the
Dream,
Nick and Polly engulfed her. She locked arms around them both, saying in a choked voice, “God be thanked, you’re home safe!”

Yet even the joy of embracing her children couldn’t silence her frantic mental calls of, “Tom?
Tom?
”

Captain Rainford climbed wearily onto the deck, dirty, damp, and with a beard that rivaled a hedgehog. “Nick and Polly, you planned perfectly. We just used up the last drop of fuel.”

He stopped in his tracks when he saw his wife.
“Annie!”

Blazing with joy, Anne Rainford broke away from her children and surged into her husband’s embrace. Waves of emotion rolled in all directions as they wrapped their arms around each other as if they’d never let go.

Tory sensed that their love had layers she couldn’t yet understand. The shared experiences, the joys and concerns of raising their children, the passion that usually was kept behind closed doors, but which now blazed like the sun at high noon.

Sadly, more separation lay ahead. Even a civilian like Tory knew wars were not won by retreats, even miraculous, heroic ones like the Dunkirk evacuation. Who knew what lay ahead for Britain? But for now, Anne and Tom Rainford were together, being watched with bemusement by Nick and approval by Polly.

As for Tory and her friends—they had done their part. Now they could go home.

CHAPTER 37

It was almost worth going to war in order to feel such peace. Tory lay in the sun, as lazy as Horace, who snoozed an arm’s length away. The dog had kindly guided her to this quiet spot beside a lilac bush in a protected corner of the Rainford property.

If she opened her eyes, she would be able to look across the channel to Nazi-occupied France, but she preferred to ignore that, just as she chose to ignore the occasional distant rumble of war. Far, far better to let her mind drift along on currents of birdsong and sunshine and the exquisite scent of the lilacs blooming beside her.

Four days had passed since
Annie’s Dream
had sailed into Lackland harbor, the last of the town’s little ships to return. Another boat had arrived home just a little earlier, which was why there had been such a crowd.

The entire world had watched the evacuation, awed by the sight of all Britain working together to save their men. Operation Dynamo had officially ended on June 4, and the total number of men rescued had been almost 340,000. That had included the entire BEF, along with about 110,000 French troops.

Granted, tons of equipment had been abandoned across the Low Countries and northern France. But Britain’s bravery and fierce refusal to surrender had paid off. The American president, Roosevelt, had announced that the United States would send tanks and ships and guns and anything else Britain needed to continue the fight against Hitler.

Not that any of the Irregulars knew that at first. They had all slept for days, getting up only to use the water closet and perhaps drink some tea before staggering back to bed or pallet. They’d all lost weight—the heavy use of magic had literally burned them up. Mrs. Rainford had confided to Tory that she was glad to have lost a few pounds, but Tory needed feeding up.

All of them had been awake by the time Prime Minister Churchill had given an amazing speech to Parliament the day before. The Rainford household had gathered in the kitchen to listen on the wireless.

In his magnificent deep voice, Churchill declaimed, “We shall defend our island, whatever the cost may be, we shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall never surrender…!”

Tory had wept openly, and Allarde’s hand had tightened around hers. She suspected he was fighting back tears as well.

Today, the Irregulars would finally go home. It seemed a lifetime since Tory had led her friends through Merlin’s mirror, though it had been less than a fortnight. She exhaled happily. Bliss was lacking only one more element.

A familiar deep power brushed her mind. Then a gossamer touch on her cheek, followed by another and another …

She opened her eyes to see lilac blossoms dancing in the sunshine above her. Swirling gently, they drifted onto her face and throat in a fragile, fragrant rain. Not that she needed to see lilacs dance to know that the last element of bliss was here.

Lazily, she turned her head to watch Allarde approach. Having lost so much blood, he’d been the tiredest of all, but that didn’t make him any less splendid. Like Tory, he was wearing his own clothing from 1803 in preparation for the journey home. Call her prejudiced, but she thought the breeches, boots, and coats of her own time were far more flattering to the male figure than the shapeless garments of 1940.

“You look like a lovely little cat dozing in the sunshine.” Allarde sat beside her on the grass and bent to give her a light, sweet kiss.

She savored the pleasure of his lips on hers. Even when they were apart, there was a thread of energy connecting them, and that intensified when they were together. Even more when they touched. She murmured, “I’m trying to absorb as much sunlight as I can before we return home to gray, wet autumn.”

“Do you think we’ll have any trouble going back to our own time?” he asked seriously. “The process seems rather uncontrolled.”

“I can take us home by concentrating on our destination. I don’t know why I was drawn here the first time, but since Nick knew to look for me, he came right to us. Just as we came here together without a problem.” Tory rolled to her side and rested her head on his thigh, relaxed and happy. “I wouldn’t like to try going to an unknown time, though.”

He stroked her hair, tracing the edge of her ear in a way that made her want to purr like the cat he’d called her. “Strange to think that if all goes well, we’ll be back at Lackland in a few hours,” he murmured. “Mere students again.”

“I’ll be glad for it.” She covered a lazy yawn. “It was an honor to be part of a great and noble undertaking, but I don’t want to do it again! This isn’t our war.”

“Very true. We have a war of our own to worry about.” Allarde rested his hand on Tory’s shoulder. “Hitler and Napoleon both want to conquer the world. And in both eras, it’s Britain that stands alone against the Continental monster.”

“Perhaps that’s why the mirror brought me here the first time,” Tory said, interested enough to open her eyes. “The similarities between our times.”

“I could wish for a different similarity than war,” he said dryly. “I would prefer to die in my own time rather than in a different century.”

Tory sighed, some of the brightness going out of the day. “Is your life still ruled by the certainty of your death?”

“Not like it was, Tory,” he said thoughtfully. “I had my mortal wound, and you saved my life. Apparently Miss Wheaton was right when she said the future isn’t fixed. Now I’m like anyone else. I’ll die someday, but for now, I intend to live life to the fullest.” He bent and kissed her again. “That means enjoying every moment I can with you, my Lady Victoria.”

She slipped her hand around his neck, holding him close so the joyous kiss wouldn’t end. “There is something very special between us,” she whispered. “I’m glad it won’t be wasted.”

Gently he moved her head from his lap and stretched out on the grass beside her. “It won’t.” He smiled teasingly. “I’d be tempted to ruin you, but I’m weak as a kitten from losing so much blood. The doctor who bandaged that scratch on my arm said it would take weeks to get my strength back.”

“Ruination is a wickedly tempting thought,” Tory agreed mischievously. “But what seems possible in a time not our own will look different when we go home.”

“You’re right, of course.” He took her hand, lacing his fingers with hers. “Ruination can wait. What matters is being together.” He sighed. “I suspect it will be difficult to go back to being students in a school that exists to change us. People in this time may not believe in magic, but at least we’re not condemned.”

“That part I like,” Tory agreed. “But I think that when we return to Lackland, we’ll settle back into our usual routine quickly.” She gestured toward France. “All this will seem like a mad dream.”

“The headmasters may lock us all up separately so we’ll never be able to go into the Labyrinth again.” His fingers tightened on hers. “If that happens, we might not see each other for a long time.”

Tory shivered at the thought. “I think I can get us back to the Labyrinth the same night we left. No one will know we’ve left, apart from the fact that we’re all skinny and exhausted.” Except Cynthia, who managed to appear pale and interesting instead of haggard. But she’d worked so hard on the weather magery that Tory couldn’t even resent how beautiful her roommate always looked.

“That will be convenient!” he said, relieved. “Though it will only delay the time when I’m disinherited by my father. Since I’m his only son, he would be happy if he could overlook my magic so I can become Duke of Westover someday.”

“Would he really disinherit you?” Tory asked curiously, thinking that the duke sounded more tolerant than her father had been.

“He won’t if I behave like a proper young gentleman who never had any magic and Lackland was all just a big misunderstanding,” Allarde said wryly. “But we still have a war to win against Napoleon, and I have a feeling that my magic will be needed. It’s unlikely I’ll ever be able to make you a duchess.”