Perchance To Dream (6 page)

"I don't see you lacking for things to wear," he said, gesturing toward her attire.

"No. But I know it is not always done right. I do not look the same as the women I see." She frowned. "Sometimes I sit for hours and watch them, wondering what their lives could be like with so many of their kind about."

Andrew's brow furrowed. He trailed one callused finger down the side of her face. "It's not right for you to remain here as handmaiden for Margareen. You deserve a life of your own, a family of your own."

She looked away. "Perhaps," she said quietly.

"There is no perhaps, Loreanne."

She glance slid up at him. "If Margareen lives, will you stay?" she asked guilelessly.

Andrew felt he'd been slammed in the gut. He sat back on his heels. "I have a choice?" he asked, his voice deep and thick with roiling emotions.

She solemnly nodded. "So long as Margareen lives, I cannot bind you."

He looked down at his callused hands. They were a worker's hands, the hands of a doer. They never acquired calluses in England, and never would have in his old life. He turned them over to study the hard ridges at the base and the tips of his fingertips. They represented all the changes in his life, and all he'd become in the last year. He could not remain idle, no matter how he might tell himself otherwise. The past was gone, the future irrevocably changed to a different road. He had to return to England, to be the old man's heir, and to save those of his family who stayed behind from sharing Loreanne's fate. He knew that now. It was his responsibility.

He cupped the side of her face with his hand. "Less than a week ago I would have stayed, for I saw no future. Now I do. I know what I must do, and I have you to thank." He lowered his head and kissed her. It was meant to be a light, brief kiss, but the touch of her lips on his fired his soul. Slowly he raised his head and looked at her.

Her eyes turned bright and brilliant silver, their centers blacker than night and rife with shadows that he could not name. She visibly swallowed, and Andrew wondered if she had a lump in her throat as big as the one he felt. He compressed his lips, refraining from comment as he returned to the craft. He knew the truth of what he told her. He could not continue to run from his father. He owed it to those weaker to help them, now, in return.

They worked in silence, sadness, like an oppressive London fog, crept over them, blocking out all else from sight and thought.

It was night before they pushed the floating throne into the water.

"We can adjust the ropes on the sling to keep Margareen higher or lower in the water," Andrew said as they watched it bobble in the water. "The wound is not severe. If she allows it to dry it should heal rapidly. Shall we bring her here, now?

Loreanne nodded, a distracted, worried expression on her face. Andrew watched her with concern. She ran a hand through her hair, then quickly pulled the monk's robe over her head and allowed it to fall in a puddle at her feet. She dove into the water. Andrew drew his brows together as he pondered her melancholy. He dove in after her, taking for granted that the red cap would save him.

Swimming in the dark was an eerie experience, especially when they passed brilliantly hued fish that glowed as they snaked around rocks and through forests of seaweed. Beyond the coral gate death's minions restlessly circled, their soulless eyes capturing attention as if they would absorb them into their beings. Watching them, Andrew did not savor the necessity of moving Margareen past the coral gate.

When they came to Margareen's grotto Loreanne called to the dolphin sentinels to help them, and they fashioned seaweed ropes to serve as halters they could attach to Margareen's shell throne. In a stately court procession that rivaled any the Prince Regent could contrive, they made their slow way toward the caverns. All manner of sea creatures surrounded them. A color guard of natural enemies swam together. Bottom crawling creatures tried to cling to the shell throne, or to tendrils of Margareen's hair that floated past. Margareen was lethargic, put the pull on her hair made her fretful and Loreanne had to separate the well-meaning creatures from her hair.

When they neared the coral gate the shark's frenzy increased, straining the controls the dolphins had over the gateway. Suddenly one slipped past the guards and sped toward the procession, his soulless stare obsessed with Margareen.

Small fish darted every direction, crisscrossing in their panic. Andrew grabbed the Spanish dagger he'd belted to his side and slashed at the harness setting the dolphins free. As they wheeled about to confront the shark Andrew swam to Loreanne.

"Drag Margareen into the caverns! Grab her by the hair if you have to, but get her away from here!"

"But her wound!"

"It will not matter if the shark gets here!"

He turned back to where the dolphins circled the shark, his dagger clenched in his hand. By the gate the shark activity increased, spurred by the success of their fellow. Their numbers exceeded that of the dolphins, though blessedly they did not realize this fact. Nonetheless, Andrew didn't know how much longer the dolphins could keep them beyond the coral gate. He held the dagger out, watching for any sign that a shark could elude the dolphins. He glanced behind him, relieved to see Loreanne coax Margareen off her throne. Though weak, the older mermaid swam, with Loreanne's support, to the caverns.

He looked back toward the shark, his dagger ready. He felt awkward in the water. Without a tail his maneuverability was limited, his speed non-existent. But behind him was the woman who returned meaning to his life. How could he be thinking of leaving her? She needed him far more than anyone in England. For her he would give his life.

One of the dolphins broke for the surface for air. The shark plunged downward then veered right toward the cavern, his heavy muscular tail thrashing the water. The dolphins convened upon the enemy, worrying him backward. The shark frenzy was so great now they were near to tearing any flesh to shreds, blood or no blood. Andrew kicked forward toward the shark and dolphins, his dagger raised. The shark accepted his challenge. He swam toward him with frightening speed, the dolphins close behind, but they hung back, accepting Andrew's right to challenge the shark. Andrew held himself ready, conscious that time stretched as he stared at the black eyes and rows of teeth that charged toward him. His chest clenched. He would have one chance, and only one.

When the shark was upon him he kicked sideways while thrusting upward with the knife. The shark's teeth barely missed his head while Andrew's blade met tough skin that nearly resisted the dagger blade.

They collided one against the other with such force the knife blade went in to the hilt and his head blossomed with pain, his nose filling with water.

Water!

He jerked the dagger out of the shark and kicked away. He shouldn't be inhaling water! He glanced back to see blood trailing like a mist from the wound in the shark, and his red cap caught in the monster's teeth. The dolphins swam away from the shark and headed for the caverns, leaving the coral gate open for death's minions to enter. His lungs hurt as he kicked toward the surface, but he knew he must get air.

He broke to the surface and drew in gulping breaths just as the crowd of sharks from the coral gate fell upon the injured shark, churning the water with their violence. Andrew swam toward the shore, hauling himself up onto the sandy scree as the sharks finished their feeding. He stared out across the cove, watched a dolphin jump in a graceful arc above the blue waters, and looked toward the rocky cliffs that hid the caverns.

Loreanne was lost to him.

Deep inside he felt heavy hollowness. It happened so fast. He never had the chance to say good-bye. Waves gently lapped the shore. He ran his finger through the water as if he could catch a wave and hold it in his hand. But waves, like time, flowed on, ever changing, begging one to savor every moment for so quickly they are gone. His eyesight blurred, and his throat ached.

Loreanne!

Long before he saw her she entered his life, giving his dreams new directions, letting him discover himself and the world. And with her entry she brought peace, a focus for his thoughts that left selfish preoccupation behind. How could he have thought he could leave her? He lay back on the sand, his eyes squeezed shut, though not enough to prevent the slow course of a tear down his cheek.

"You will remember me to the earl, won't you, my lord?" Tauton asked as he handed Andrew a pouch of estate papers. "You will tell him how well the estate is thriving?"

Lord Andrew tucked the case under his arm. "Yes, yes Tauton. And I promise you shall receive credit for your efforts." His response was automatic, for his attention was on the ship he was to board and the wide expanse of sea beyond. In the week since he'd left Loreanne's world he'd avoided all sight of the sea, for the wound was too raw and like Margareen's threatened to seep unto his death. Loreanne! The thought of her constricted his heart and the empty ache returned.

"Oh! Oh my, that is kind of you my lord. I'm sure I never. . . . That is to say, I wasn't. . . ." The little man stumbled over his words, his ears pink with pleasure.

"Stubble it, Tauton."

"Oh yes, my lord. Of course, my lord." He returned toward the carriage driver. "See that all of Lord Carrelton's luggage is safely carried aboard." He turned back to face Andrew. "Have you any last moment instructions for me, my lord?"

"Hmm? Ah, no Tauton," he said absently. "Merely carry on with the plans we discussed."

"Naturally, my lord!"

From the ship the first mate waved they were ready to sail. They only awaited Andrew.

Tauton nodded his understanding, mopped his high forehead with large handkerchief and cleared his throat. "Ah, ahem, my lord," he squeaked. "If there isn't anything else, I should bid you farewell and safe journey."

Andrew tore his gaze away from the water. "Thank you, Tauton."

The time had come. Without a backward glance, Andrew climbed the ship's boarding plank. His fellow passengers had immediately made their way to their quarters. Andrew made his way to the ship's stern. He wanted a lingering look at the island as the ship drew anchor and set sail.

He was leaving a good deal of himself behind, for his heart remained in the cove, ripped out by the shark as surely as if the creature had ripped into his flesh. Nonetheless, he was leaving with more than he'd brought. He left with a wealth of sensibilities and a peace with himself. That was the wealth he'd discovered under the sea.

He reached around under his coat for the knife sheath buckled sideways at the small of his back. He drew out the Spanish dagger. The gems set in the gold handled glittered in the sunlight. It looked too elegant for violence, too dainty for use, yet it had ripped the guts out of that shark and thereby given Loreanne and Margareen the extra time they'd needed to escape. He hoped Margareen survived, for he did not want to think of Loreanne alone.

Gentle, loyal Loreanne.

He gripped the handle of the knife so tightly one of the gems embedded in the handle cut into his palm. He slowly uncurled his fingers, the dagger resting in the curve of his hand. His eye sight blurred and he swallowed around a large lump in his throat. His brow furrowed. He willed his strangled breathing to calm.

Suddenly he heard the staccato chatter of a dolphin. He looked out into the bay. A dolphin jumped out of the water, tossing his head excitedly as it chattered and reared backward.

Behind him there was a loud commotion on deck, and a resounding thwack!

"Out of my way, you insolent fool! Out of my way!"

Andrew turned his head in amazement at the sound of that strident cackle.

"Lady Muirfolk, allow me to escort you. . . ." A harried ship's officer reached out to take the arm of a large elderly woman draped in black bombazine. With one hand she leaned heavily on a silver headed ebony cane. The other hand hung limply at her side.

"I don't need your help. I'm not dead yet!"

"Margareen?" Andrew murmured. He walked toward the steps that led down to the main deck.

"Assuredly, my lady, I meant no offense," placated the officer. "But with your disablement. . . ."

Margareen glared at him.

The young man licked his lips. "It is only that there are many ropes about, and men are so busy with casting off and getting us under sail they are not always mindful of others."

"Humph!" snorted Margareen. She turned her back on the officer and looked up at the stern deck where Andrew stood. "Well?" she bellowed, reminding Andrew of when she sent the little fish tumbling. Behind her grown men cringed.

Lord Andrew Montrose, Viscount Carrelton's smile broadened into a grin. "Yes, Lady Muirfolk," he returned, dragging out her name. He came slowly down the steps, aware his senses were tingling and his heart pounding.

Margareen waited until he stood before her. "Loreanne went into a decline, moaning and moping about. And I lay that at your feet, Carrelton!" She paused and sniffed disgustedly. "Not to be wondered, I suppose, all the young mermen off elsewhere while she stays with a fretting, selfish old mermaid," she murmured.