The Last Guardian (19 page)

The cross began to tremble violently, and Shannow scrabbled at the window. Ahead, the heavens and the sea appeared to merge. All around the window the sky disappeared, and blackness swamped the cross. Shannow screamed
 …

“It’s all right, Shannow. Calm. Stay calm.”

His eyes opened to see Beth McAdam leaning over him. He tried to move his head, but sickening pain thundered in his temple and he groaned.

Beth laid a cool towel on his brow. “You’re all right, Shannow. You were turning as the bullet struck you. It did not pierce the skull, but it gave you a powerful blow. Rest now.”

“Maddox?” he whispered.

“Dead. We shot him down; the others we hanged. There is a committee now, patrolling the town. The brigands have gone.”

“They will return,” he said. “They always return.”

“Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof,”
came another voice.

“That you, Parson?”

“Yes,” answered the man, leaning over him. “Take it easy, Shannow. All is peaceful.”

Shannow slept without dreams.

17

“I
SEE
YOU
have two Bibles,” said the Parson, sitting by Shannow’s bedside and holding the leather-covered books. “Surely one is enough?”

Shannow, his head bandaged and his left eye swollen and blue, reached out and took the first. “I carried this with me for many years. But last year a woman gave me the second; the language is more simple. It lacks the majesty, but it makes many passages easier to understand.”

“I have no trouble in understanding it,” said the Parson. “Throughout it makes one point: God’s law is absolute. Live by it and you prosper both here and in the afterlife. Defy it and you die.”

Shannow eased himself back into the pillows. He was always wary of men who claimed to understand the Almighty, yet the Parson was good company, by turns witty and philosophical; he had an active mind and was strong on debate.

His presence made Shannow’s enforced rest less galling.

“How goes the church building?” Shannow asked.

“My son,” said the Parson, grinning, “it is no less than a miracle. Every day scores of the brethren hurl themselves into work with gusto. You have never seen such spirit.”

“Could it have anything to do with the Committee, Parson? Beth tells me that miscreants are now sentenced to work on the church or hang.”

The Parson chuckled. “Faith without works is dead. These lucky … miscreants … are finding God through their labors. And only three were offered the ultimate choice. One proved to be a fine carpenter, and the others are developing like skills, but most of the workers are townspeople. When you are well enough, you must come along and hear one of my sermons. Though I say it myself, the spirit moves me powerfully at such times.”

Shannow smiled. “Humility, Parson?”

“I am exceptionally proud of my humility, Shannow,” the parson replied.

Shannow chuckled. “I do not know what to make of you, but I am glad of your company.”

“I do not understand your confusion,” said the Parson seriously. “I am as you see me, a servant of the Almighty. I wish to see His plan fulfilled.”

“His plan? Which one?”

“The new Jerusalem, Shannow, coming down from heaven in glory. And the secret is here, in the southlands. Look at the world we see. It is still beautiful, but there is no cohesion. We search for God in a hundred different ways in a thousand different places. We must gather together, work together, build together. We must have laws that hold like iron from ocean to ocean. But first we must see the revelation fulfilled.”

Shannow’s unease grew. “I thought it had been. Does it not speak of terrible catastrophes, cataclysms that will destroy most of mankind?”

“I am talking of the Sword of God, Shannow. The Lord sent it to scythe the land like a sickle, yet it has not. And why? Because it is over an unholy place, peopled by the beasts of Satan and the Whore of Babylon.”

“I think I am ahead of you, Parson,” said Shannow wearily. “You seek to destroy the beasts, bring down the whore? Yes?”

“What else should a God-fearing man do, Shannow? Do you not wish to see the work of the Lord fulfilled?”

“I do not believe it to be fulfilled by slaughter.”

The Parson shook his head, eyes wide with disbelief. “How can you, of all men, say that? Your guns are legendary, and corpses mark the road of your life. I thought you were well read, Shannow. Recall you not the cities of Ai and the curse of God upon the heathen? Not one man or woman or child was to be left alive among the worshipers of Molech.”

“I have heard this argument before,” said Shannow, “from a Hellborn king who worshiped Satan. Where is the talk of love, Parson?”

“Love is for those of the chosen people created in the image of Almighty God. He made men, and he made the beasts of the earth. Only Lucifer would have the brazen gall to mold beasts into men.”

“You are swift to judge. Perhaps you are swift to misjudge.”

The Parson rose. “You may be right, for I appear to have misjudged you. I thought you a warrior for God, but there is a weakness in you, Shannow, a doubt.”

The door opened, and Beth entered, carrying a tray on which was some sliced dark bread and cheese and a jug of water. The Parson eased his way past her with a friendly smile but left without farewells. Beth set the tray down and sat at the bedside.

“Do I sense angry words?” she asked.

Shannow shrugged. “He is a man touched by a dream I do not share.” He reached out and took her hand. “You have been kind to me, Beth McAdam, and I am grateful. I understand it was you who went to the Parson and got him to form the committee which came to my aid.”

“It was nothing, Shannow. The town needed cleaning, and men like Broome would have spent a year debating the ethics of direct action.”

“Yet he was there, I recall.”

“The man doesn’t lack courage—just common sense. How’s your head?”

“Better. There is little pain. Would you do something for me? Would you fetch my razor and soap?”

“I’ll do better than that, Jerusalem Man. I’ll shave you myself. I’m longing to see what kind of a face you have hidden under that beard.”

She returned with a stiff badger-fur brush and a razor, borrowed from Mason, plus a cake of soap and a bowl of hot water. Shannow lay back with his eyes closed as she softened his beard with lather. The razor was cool on his cheek as she expertly scraped away the bristle and hair. At last she wiped his face clean of soap and handed him a towel. He smiled at her.

“What do you see?”

“You are not unhandsome, Shannow, but you’ll win no prizes. Now eat your lunch. I’ll see you this evening.”

“Don’t go, Beth. Not just yet.” His hand reached up and took her arm.

“I have to work, Shannow.”

“Yes. Yes, of course. Forgive me.”

She stood and backed away, forced a smile, and left. Outside in the corridor she stopped and pictured again the look in his eyes as he asked her to stay.

“Don’t be a fool, Beth,” she told herself aloud.

Why not? There’s an hour before you are expected back
. Swinging on her heel, she opened the door once more and stepped inside. Her hand moved to the buttons of her blouse.

“Don’t you read too much into this, Shannow,” she whispered as she dropped her skirt to the floor and slid into bed beside him.

For Beth McAdam it was a revelation. Afterward she lay beside the sleeping Shannow, her body warm and wonderfully relaxed. Yet the surprise of his lovemaking had been in the inexperience he had shown and in the passive, grateful manner in which he had received her. Beth was no stranger to the ways of men and had enjoyed
lovers long before she had met and seduced Sean McAdam. She had learned that there was a great similarity about the actions of the aroused male. He fumbled, he groped, and then he drove himself into a rhythmic frenzy. Not so with Shannow …

He had opened his arms to her and stroked her shoulders and back. It was she who had made all the moves. For all his awesome powers in dealing with situations of peril, the Jerusalem Man was untutored and surprisingly gentle in the arms of a woman.

Beth slid from the bed, and Shannow awoke instantly.

“You are going?” he asked.

“Yes. Did you sleep well?”

“Wonderfully. Will you come back this evening?”

“No,” she said firmly. “I must see to my children.”

“Thank you, Beth.”

“Don’t thank me,” she snapped. She dressed swiftly and pushed her fingers through her blond hair, roughly combing it. At the door she paused. “How many women have you slept with, Shannow?”

“Two,” he answered without a trace of embarrassment.

She walked across the street to the Jolly Pilgrim, where Broome was waiting, his face red with anger.

“You said an hour, Frey McAdam, and it has been two. I have lost customers, and you will lose coin.”

“Whatever you decide, Meneer,” she said, moving past him to where the dishes waited for cleaning. There were only two customers, and both were finishing their meals. Beth carried the plates to the rear of the eating house and scrubbed them clean with water from the deep well. When she returned, the Pilgrim was empty.

Broome approached her. “I am sorry for losing my temper,” he said. “I know he is wounded and needs attention. You will keep the coin. I was wondering … if you would join me at my house this evening.”

“For what purpose, Meneer?”

“To talk … have a little meal … get to know one
another. It is important for people who work together to understand each other.”

She looked into his thin face and saw arousal in his eyes. “I am afraid not, Meneer. I am seeing Meneer Scayse this evening to discuss a business matter.”

“A lease of land, I know,” he said, and her eyes darkened. “Do not misunderstand, Frey McAdam. Meneer Scayse spoke to me because I know you. He wishes to be sure of your … integrity. I told him I felt you were honest and hardworking. But do you really want the lonely life of a farm widow?”

“I want a home, Meneer.”

“Yes, yes.”

She could see him building toward a proposal and headed him off. “I must get on with my work,” she told him, easing past him to the rear of the building.

That evening she was welcomed to Scayse’s permanent rooms at the Traveler’s Rest by a servant, who led her through to a long room where a log fire blazed in a wide hearth. Scayse rose from a deep, comfortable chair and took her hand, lifting it to his lips.

“Welcome, madam. Might I offer you some wine?”

A handsome man, he was even more striking in the light from the fire—his swept-back hair gleaming, his sharp powerful features almost savage. “No, thank you,” she said. He led her to a chair, waited as she sat, and then returned to his own.

“The land you wish to lease is of little use to me. But tell me, Frey McAdam, why you approached me. You will know that no one has title to land. A man takes what he can hold. You could merely have driven your wagon to a spot of your choosing and built a home.”

“Were I rich, Meneer, with fifty riders, I would have done just that. But I am not. It remains your land, and if I am troubled, I will come to you for assistance. You have men riding the high pastures, and it is known that
brigands rarely trouble you. I hope the same will be true of me.”

“You have learned a great deal in your short time here. You are obviously a woman of great intelligence. I find it rare that a woman should combine beauty with wit.”

“How curious, I find exactly the same thing with men.”

He chuckled. “Will you dine with me?”

“I don’t think so. Is the price agreed?”

“I will waive the price in return for dinner.”

“Let us be clear, sir. This is a business arrangement.” She opened the small bag she carried and counted out thirty silver coins. “That is for the first year. And now I must be leaving.”

“I am disappointed,” he said, rising with her. “I had great hopes.”

“Hold on to them, Meneer. They are all any of us have.”

After Beth had gone, Shannow sat up. He could still smell the perfume of her body on the sheets and feel the afterwarmth of her presence. Never before had he experienced a phenomenon like her. Donna Taybard had been soft, gentle, and passive, deeply loving and wonderfully comforting. But Beth … there had been with her a power, an almost primordial hunger that had both drained him physically and elevated him emotionally.