Rise (11 page)

“Wait on the beach,” Bosque ordered Eira and Alistair. “Do not touch the water until I return.”

Without another word, he stripped off his clothes, revealing a warrior’s body. The long lines of his muscles and grace of his movements made Alistair think that Bosque’s magic wasn’t his only weapon. The strange man might prove a worthy adversary on a martial practice field.

Forgetting herself, Eira gave a startled cry as Bosque brazenly tossed her his shirt, chausses, and breeches. Bosque stood tall, facing her, though he was fully naked. “You blush like a maid, Lady Eira. I’m surprised.” He grinned, and Alistair wondered how Bosque could see a rosy hue paint Eira’s cheeks in this darkness. “Still, I trust you can keep my clothes dry?”

She stood paralyzed, staring as he turned and waded into the sea. Alistair watched in disbelief. The firth’s waters were cold enough to kill a man, yet Bosque appeared as comfortable as if he’d entered a hot bath.

Having reached waist-deep water, Bosque suddenly dove, vanishing beneath the blue-black surface. Only the slight ripples at the place he’d submerged gave evidence that the water had been disturbed. The night was silent. Alistair and Eira stood transfixed, waiting.

Bosque didn’t surface. When he’d been underwater twice as long as any man could manage without drowning, Alistair forced himself to speak.

“Can he survive this? Should I swim out to search for him?” Alistair didn’t relish the thought of following Bosque into the sea. The water would cut like knives of ice.

“He said not to touch the water,” Eira said. “We must obey.”

Alistair threw a startled look at Eira, surprised to hear her speak of obedience to anyone. Even Lord Mar.

“There.”

Alistair’s gaze followed Eira’s pointing finger.

Far from shore, the dark waters of the firth stirred. It began as ripples like those Bosque had created when he dove. Concentric circles formed in the water and began to move, turning in on themselves. Soon the sea was churning, and where the firth had been still and dark, it frothed into a violent maelstrom. The vortex of water roared, a gaping and hungry mouth.

Alistair gave a startled cry when, from the center of the whirlpool, a huge tentacle lashed out. Then another. A massive dark shape broke free of the maelstrom, swimming east toward the open sea. Alistair stared after it. If not for the tentacles, he would have thought the creature a whale.

“How do you like my kraken?” Bosque, dripping seawater, was wading back to shore. “She has no rival in the sea.”

Alistair could only nod. Bosque smiled his approval. The night was cold, and Bosque’s skin was slick as a seal’s, but he neither shivered nor were his lips frigid blue as they should have been.

Shaking water from his thick, dark hair, Bosque turned to Eira. “Is my lady Eira also pleased with the night’s task?”

Eira didn’t answer his question, instead shoving the contents of her arms at him. “Your clothing, Lord Mar.”

Bosque took the clothes but didn’t move to put them on, instead standing before Eira, watching her closely. She managed to hold his gaze for a moment, but then looked away.

“Is my body so objectionable?” Bosque asked her, stepping into his breeches.

Still turned from him, Eira said, “Of course not.”

“Then why won’t you look upon me?”

“Why do you care?” Eira asked, lifting her chin in defiance as she faced him. Her face showed visible relief when he tied his chausses and slid his shirt over his head.

Alistair coughed. He was not eager to know where this conversation would lead.

“Yes, Lord Hart?” Bosque turned his attention to putting on his boots.

“Your kraken hunts the traitors’ vessel?” Alistair asked with a slight frown.

Bosque shrugged. “In its own way, yes.”

Feeling a twist in his gut, Alistair asked, “How will it know what ship to wreck?”

“It will not know,” Bosque answered. “The kraken will sink them all.”

“All of them?” The shock in Eira’s question echoed Alistair’s.

“At least all she finds before she desires to return to her slumber in caverns at the bottom of the sea.” Bosque stood up, fastening his cloak. “That will be in a week’s time, possibly a day or two longer.”

“But there are countless ships that sail the western sea to the French ports,” Eira said softly, bowing her head and falling silently into her own thoughts.

“I’m certain there are,” Bosque answered.

Alistair waited for Eira to object, to ask Lord Mar to find a way to send the kraken after singular prey instead of destroying an entire herd.

When Eira lifted her face to the night sky, she began to laugh.

BY THEIR SECOND DAY
at sea, Barrow insisted on going above deck to breathe fresh air. Ember had assumed she’d be the one who was most concerned about Barrow’s recovery, but Sawyer kept a close eye on the knight, like a watchful mother hen. Barrow indulged the woodcutter’s attention, though Ember could tell the knight wearied of Sawyer’s insistence that he spend more time in his berth than walking about the ship.

The four of them stood in the small room. Barrow was sitting up, shirtless, as Sawyer inspected his chest. The dark contusions had lightened but taken on sickly yellow hues. Sawyer assured Ember that the change was a good sign, despite its unpleasant appearance. Though he continued to offer Barrow tonics to help his healing, the concoctions no longer put the knight to sleep.

While Barrow adjusted to his restricted movements, the rest of them were making other accommodations. Packing away their Conatus tabards, Kael bartered his way to more inconspicuous clothing. Much to Ember’s chagrin, that meant she had to trade in her fighting gear for a peasant dress.

While she scowled at Kael, he said, “It’s either the dress or you wear a helmet all the time so no one wonders why a girl is going about in men’s clothes.”

“The disguises are only necessary so long as we’re among the pilgrims,” Lukasz reassured her. “You can dress in the manner of the Guard when we’re away from these strangers.”

Ember grudgingly took the dress.

“There’s a good lass.” Kael grinned at her.

“Even if I’m wearing a dress, I can still hit you,” Ember told him.

Lukasz laughed and asked Kael, “Did you learn anything useful while you procured our new clothing?”

“Nothing more than what we already know,” Kael answered. “The French and English keep their focus on the Welsh uprising. Some say the French have taken to raiding the English countryside, and French vessels bear Welsh soldiers to war.”

“Owain Glyndwr proves himself a capable king and diplomat,” Lukasz mused. “And a festering thorn in England’s side.”

“Good news for us,” Kael replied. “With the attention on Wales, the pilgrimage route shouldn’t be hindered by armies tramping about France.”

“We should make landfall tomorrow,” Lukasz said.

“We’d be there tonight if the captain didn’t keep so close to the coast,” Kael added.

Lukasz shook his head. “A balinger doesn’t love the open sea.”

“Why don’t you all go measure our progress so I can don this lovely dress,” Ember said, pushing Kael toward the door.

Laughing, Lukasz followed Kael.

“My lord, remember, you must rest,” Sawyer tittered at Barrow. “Be patient as you heal, lest you aggravate the wounds.”

“Thank you, Sawyer.” Barrow nodded.

Handing him a brimming cup, Sawyer said, “And drink this down.”

Barrow grimaced but accepted the tonic. Sawyer made a quick bow to Ember and left the room.

Holding the dress, Ember glanced at Barrow and then at the still-open door.

“You don’t think Sawyer would give me something that impedes my recovery,” Barrow said. “Because he’s awfully fond of practicing his medicines on me.”

“Don’t be wicked.” Ember laughed. “Drink the tonic and be grateful Sawyer possesses healing skill.”

Barrow made a sullen face, but he took the tonic in a few swallows and set the cup aside. “He could at least sweeten it with honey.”

“And where would he get honey?”

Barrow shrugged, and Ember frowned at him. “Aren’t you going to leave?”

“Didn’t you hear Sawyer?” He leaned back on his elbows. “I’m to rest.”

“You want to stay,” Ember said slowly.

Barrow didn’t answer, but the barest of smiles graced his lips. Ember closed the door.

Without speaking, Ember laid the dress on the bedside table. She removed the belt upon which Silence and Sorrow were secured and hung the leather strap and weapons from a wall hook. After pulling her tabard over her head, she folded it and set it beside the dress. Standing in her kirtle and chausses, Ember looked at Barrow. He continued to watch her, silent.

Ember slowly lifted her kirtle and the soft chemise beneath, sliding them over her head and shoulders. Placing the kirtle with her tabard, Ember reached for the tight cloth binding her chest from under her arms to her low ribs. Loosening the fabric, Ember unwound the long strip of linen and let it drop to the floor.

When the bands of cloth fell away and Ember was bare from shoulder to waist, Barrow let out an audible breath.

“Do you want me to cover myself?” Ember’s fingers were at the lacing of her chausses, but she could easily don her chemise again before undressing her lower body.

“That is the last thing I want,” Barrow answered quietly.

Nodding, Ember worked free the knots at her waist, then pushed down both her chausses and breeches and stepped out of them.

She reached for the dress, but Barrow murmured, “Wait. Let me look on you for a moment longer, my love.”

His eyes slowly moved over her, and Ember’s skin tingled. She was quiet, but her thoughts were of how much she wanted his hands to linger upon her body as his gaze did.

When she couldn’t bear the ache any longer, Ember retrieved her chemise and slipped it on. The dress was stiff, gray wool with a scooping neckline that revealed the embroidery at the top of her pale chemise. Ember reached around to tighten the dress’s lacing.

“Let me help you,” Barrow said. “Turn around.”

Giving him her back, Ember let Barrow take the laces from her hands.

“I am a novice.” Ember heard the smile in Barrow’s voice. “How tight should this be tied?”

“The dress is meant to fit close to my figure,” Ember told him, “but it shouldn’t pinch or bind.”

Barrow pulled the laces until the bodice was snug at her waist and molded to the curve of her breasts, rounding them against the thin fabric of her chemise. It wasn’t an uncomfortable dress, but it was strange to have her feminine attributes so emphasized when the Guards’ wardrobe strove to minimize them.

When she felt Barrow tie a knot at her lower back, she turned to face him. Her smile was impish. “You’d be a fine lady-in-waiting.”

“I like to think I have many hidden talents.” He laughed, but his eyes were taking her in again.

“Do you prefer the dress to my other garb?” She smoothed the gray fabric of the skirt.

“You are comely, no matter what clothes you wear,” Barrow said. “As well as when you wear none at all.”

He leaned in and lightly brushed his lips over hers. Ember put her hands on his chest, wanting to feel his bare skin. She touched him lightly, wary of his bruised flesh.

“Does it pain you?” she asked, fingers carefully following the pattern of colors that marbled his skin.

“Much less than it did.” Barrow watched her hand move over his chest and stomach. “When you touch me, I could forget altogether that my body still mends.”

“That would be unwise,” Ember said, regretfully pulling her hand away.

“So would this.”

Ember gave a startled cry when Barrow tucked his arm around her back, his other below her knees, and lifted her. Careful to hold her away from his bruised body, he brought her to the berth and set her down on her back. Barrow knelt over her.

“You’re meant to be resting, Lord Hess,” Ember chided, smiling up at him.

He leaned down. “And, alas, I cannot exert myself the way I wish.”

Ember parted her lips when he bent to kiss her.

“Let me show you,” he said, “that I am not entirely infirm.”

Sliding his hand under her back, Barrow lifted her hips. His other hand pulled the heavy wool skirt up to Ember’s waist. He reached for the hem of her chemise.