Whistle Down the Wind (Mystic Moon) (25 page)

The women
continued to sleep soundly. Griffin seemed dangerously pale, but he was breathing.
There was nothing more she could do this night. She placed a thick rug on the
floor next to Griffin, lay down, and pulled the coverlet over herself.

The noises
of the creaking ship, the other women breathing in the room, and the gentle
cadence of Griffin’s heart beating next to hers acted as a soothing lullaby.
Within moments she fell into an exhausted sleep.

She didn’t
cross over into Dream Time, although she tried. Instead of a beautiful garden
awaiting her, she found only a thick, solid gate blocking her way. A lock
prevented her from opening it. Whatever mystery lay beyond her reach, it would
remain a secret until she called Griffin back to her.

What would
she do if he refused to heed her call and remained in Dream Time? Humans could
choose to stay there, unaware that their bodies would waste away and die in
this world.

She shivered
and wrapped her arms more tightly around him. She could only hope that love
would be enough.

But could love
truly be enough to save a soul?

Chapter Twenty-Four

“Catlin
Glyndwr, by order of the Master of this ship, you are to open this door!”

The pounding
Catlin thought was in her head woke her with a start. One by one the women
stirred and sat up on their pallets.

Bitsy jumped
from the bunk, her bright green eyes clear again. “Shut up ye bloody rogue, for
the ladies are not yet properly dressed and we won’t be opening this door ’til
they’re presentable.”

“Well, then,
when you are presentable, we expect this door to be opened.” The man on the
other side of the door responded.

“Ach, keep
yer breeches on. I’ll open the door when I’m damned ready and not a moment
afore. Heave off and let these ladies have a chance to clean themselves up.”
Bitsy had planted herself in front of the door with both hands on her thin
hips. Her smile held a trace of rebellious triumph.

“I reckon
they won’t be back fer a bit.” Bitsy stomped across the room and scooped some
of the water from a wooden bucket into the copper bowl. She set that upon the
small brazier and leaned forward to blow on a few hot coals still glowing
underneath. Soon a small fire blazed.

“How did we come
to be in your cabin?” Dorothie Colebank asked. “And is that Sir Griffin
Reynolds asleep there?”

Catlin stood
up and shook out her gown. How in the name of the Goddess could she explain all
that had happened?

“We was all
taken ill, prob’bly with the fever or mebbee even the plague, but Mistress
Glyndwr here, she nursed us back to health,” Bitsy said. “She saved our lives
and likely at her own peril, what with all them worthless sorts on board who’d
just as soon let us die.” She spit on the floor. “God take their souls and send
them straight to hell.”

“Is this
true?” Dorothie asked. “Are we here because we took ill and you’ve been caring
for us?”

Catlin
nodded. “There are some on board who did not agree with my methods of healing.
They tried to stop me from helping you, and Sir Griffin intervened.” She looked
down at the form curled up in the corner of her cabin. “He was badly wounded in
an altercation with some of the crew.”

The women’s
expressions indicated their horror at the story.

Finally,
Dorothie stepped forward and grasped one of Catlin’s hands before falling to
her knees. “We are all most grateful for your healing skills, Miss Glyndwr.”
She rose and the next woman repeated the gesture. When Bitsy finally did the
same, Catlin was choking back tears.

“You are all
going to recover. We can offer prayers of thanks for that.” She nodded at the
water now steaming in the pot. “I suggest we have a bit to eat, then we shall
all get cleaned up as best we can.”

She licked
her lips and pointed at the door, trying to control her trepidation.

“Once
everyone is ready, I’ll open the door.”

The women
each took up a different station. Dorothie set out several pottery bowls for
tea. Bitsy broke the last of the hardtack into fair shares. Lydia, the younger
Colebank sister, sliced the sliver of cheese while Catlin and Sylvie, the
Whitmans’ servant, arranged the pallets so there was more space in the cramped
cabin.

Finally,
they stood around the small table to share the tiny repast.

“Do you
think Sir Griffin will recover?” Dorothie asked.

Catlin hated
to be so brutally honest, but they should all be prepared for the worst. “I
really don’t know. He lost a great deal of blood, but his color seems much
improved today. It’s best to simply let him rest and wait for him to awaken on
his own.” She tried to smile. “As they say, time will tell.”

A gloomy
silence hung in the room. Catlin didn’t want to be so blunt, but much had
transpired on board this ship while these women were under Lord Sheffield’s
evil spell. She must somehow warn them of his wicked purpose.

“I believe
the man responsible for the wounding of Sir Griffin is Lord Sheffield.” She
paused. “In fact, he was most insistent that you all be moved from this cabin,
despite the fact that you were extremely ill and unconscious.”

Lydia's
brows knit together and her lips formed into a thin smile. “I allowed that man
to become much too familiar, and I now regret my impulsive foolishness. Be
assured, my brother shall hear of all that has happened, and he’s a man of
great influence in the Virginia colony.”

Catlin
nodded, but in truth, she feared that once the door to her cabin was unsealed
and opened, her own chances of making it to the colony were slight. Lord
Sheffield wasn’t the sort of man who enjoyed being thwarted over and over
again. He intended to take possession of her and her magic by any means
possible.

And he’d
made it clear that if he could not control her and her magic-- no man would.

“You should
be warned,” Catlin said, “Lord Sheffield has accused me of using witchcraft to
cast a spell upon you and make you ill.”

“How dare he
slander you with such an outrageous lie!” Dorothie folded her arms in front of
her ample bosom. “Most certainly when my brother hears of this deceit he shall
enjoin the Governor to send Lord Sheffield right back to England in chains.”
She sniffed. “I’ve never heard of such foolishness in all my days.”

“Witches is
all ugly with long noses and nasty warts, don’t his Lordship know that?” Bitsy
said. “Even the smallest child knows there ain’t no such thing as a beautiful
witch.”

Catlin
grinned at her scolding rebuke. “Indeed, even a child knows such a thing,” she
said. “But, despite that, I expect to find Lord Sheffield on the other side of
this door when it is opened.” She sighed deeply. “No doubt he shall be calling
for me to be punished. I don’t know what will happen, but if I’m taken
prisoner, I shall rely upon all of you to serve as my witnesses.”

The
chattering voices assured Catlin she needn’t fear losing their support. They
pledged to stand with her against the accusations of witchcraft.

Catlin hoped
their testimony would be enough to save her. Lord Sheffield’s animosity was
palpable. His hate circled her like a great bank of fog upon the sea.

Catlin was
truly beginning to fear for her life.

I lift the
gold cup to my lips and savor the taste of the sweet honey wine. Although I
drink heartily and often of the mead, I never feel drunk. In this place I can
make love, eat, and drink all I want, yet I'm never satiated.

Catlin sits
opposite me, naked as she eats and drinks with me. My dream vision isn't at all
comparable to the real Catlin. In fact, this woman is only a shadow of the true
Catlin Glyndwr. Still, my desire for her burns hot. Even an imaginary Catlin
can fan the heat of my passion.

“I shall be
sad when this dream finally ends, for it’s been a most satisfying interlude.” I
pick up a strawberry and pull the stem off before taking a bite. “But ‘twill be
most interesting to introduce the real Catlin to some of the rather imaginative
techniques you’ve taught me.”

I rub my
wrists where the silk ties had lashed my hands to the bedstead. The dream
creature gazes off into space and frowns as if she is seeing something that
does not please her.

With a
sudden quick movement, she springs from the bed in a blur of motion.

“Where are
you going, cariad?”

She melts
away, just as she’s done countless times.

“Damned
dreams are useless if I cannot control what happens.”

Leaning back
against the soft feather pillows, I wonder if I should try to sleep. I’ve
considered it after one of our more vigorous bouts of coupling, but I fear that
to fall asleep in his dream would mean I’d soon wake up in the real world.

I'm enjoying
this lusty interlude too much to rush back to the world of sickness, treachery,
and death. If this is only a brief respite, I'll relish it as long as the night
keeps me captive. Morning will arrive soon enough and rob me of these
delightful fantasies.

I sit up at
the sound of a woman’s voice coming from a great distance.

“Griffin,
you must return to me, my love.”

Catlin’s
voice—the real woman, not the wraith I found in my dreams.

I stand and
try to walk toward the voice. A large oak door appears, but when I search for a
handle to open it, there is none.

“Griffin,
you must hurry. There is danger here and I need you.”

“I’m coming!
Keep talking and I’ll try to follow your voice.”

I grab the
bedclothes to cover myself. If I am in that murky place between dreams and
reality, I don't want to find myself on the upper deck of the Lady Bountiful in
front of the passengers and crew without a stitch of clothing.

“You must
find a way out and I cannot show you the path.”

I pound
against the door, but it doesn't budge. I walk the perimeter of the room, but
no other exit exists. I slide down the length of the door when I return to it,
my heart is thumping as I recall Catlin's plea, and I sit with my head bowed. I
want to bang my fists against the wood, but I know it is useless.

I'm a prisoner
in this place, and I'm trying to wake up. Yet, for some reason I cannot return
to reality.

“Time grows
short, my love. Come back to me.” Catlin's voice is plaintive.

It breaks my
heart, but I know I'm still dreaming. Catlin has never called me her love. My
heart’s desire is forming her words.

I storm
around the room like a madman. I'm tired of this whimsy and ready to return to
the woman I love. But I'm imprisoned in a labyrinth. Every way I turn is the
wrong way.

Why can’t I
snap myself awake, like I did so many times when I was a child having a
nightmare?

“If you
cannot come to save me, I fear I shall die,” Catlin cries.

The words
chill me to the marrow. Even in a dream I can't accept the specter of death
haunting the woman who is so precious to me. I pound my fists against the door
again. It doesn’t budge.

I fall to my
knees, exhausted. I have to find a way out, for every moment I remain in this
dream state I grow more concerned for Catlin’s welfare. I can't shake the sense
that she truly is in danger.

“Find a way
to come back to me, love. Please.” Her voice trails away.

The room
seems to grow colder and darker.

I stand and
shake off the coverlet. This is foolish nonsense. A man can wake up when he
chooses. I close my eyes.

“I’m
asleep,” I say aloud. “But when I open my eyes, I shall be in my bunk with my
cariad.” I feel an odd impulse to clap my hands three times, as I've seen
Catlin do.

“You cannot
make magic happen with a simple wish!”

The
unfamiliar woman’s voice shocks me. When I open my eyes, a beautiful older
woman with golden hair stands a few feet away from me. She has intense blue
eyes that remind me of Catlin.

“I beg your
pardon, my lady, but I thought all magic was based on wishes.”

“Pah,” she
nearly spits. “All magic is based on desire and intention. When you truly want
something to happen, you must first put everything else aside to manifest that
desire. A wish is something you hope will happen, but true magic is something
you make happen.”

I frown at
her, trying to understand. “To escape from this dream, I must put all my other
desires aside and concentrate only upon that which I want more then anything
else?”

She smiles,
and her expression softens. “Precisely. Magic isn’t made from simple wishes for
things we want. It’s manifested when we understand our heart’s deepest
longings.”

I
understand. This woman is a guide, helping me solve the puzzle of my dream.

She hands me
a baldric and sword. “Sometimes you must fight for what your heart demands. It
is often the only way to find your destiny.”

I take the
items and discover I am fully clothed at her touch.

“You must go
to her, my young Eagle-Lion, for the one who has captured your heart is in
grave danger. But remember this—that which you seek in the darkest of places is
most often illuminated by love. Always trust your heart, for it shall not lead
you astray.”

She gives me
a push towards the door. I pause, unsure, then realize her intention. Of
course, I have to release myself from this prison of shadows and dreams.

With a huge
sweep of my arm, I draw back the sword and strike the ancient wooden door.

Instead of
the sharp reverberation I expected, the sword cuts through the door as if it is
formed from fog and clouds. No splinters of wood fly toward me, instead the
door collapses in a whirl of light and sparks.

A scream
pierces the air. It is from Catlin.

Without a
thought to my own safety, I thrust the sword before me and jump through the
space that only an instant before had been a heavy wooden door. If I plummet to
my death, it matters little. My only thought is for Catlin. She needs me.