Adrian (4 page)

She growled back. “Can I request another monk? This one seems to be broken.”

They stared at each other for several moments before Adrian Hailsworth at last broke the standoff. “No, you can't request another monk. This isn't a market. It's an abbey.”

Maisie looked over Adrian's tall form toward the statues in the courtyard. The ones she could still see from beyond the wall—perhaps six—were all cheeky enough to have turned their very heads to watch her depart. “Fallen Angels Abbey,” she murmured grimly.

Adrian turned his head to see where she looked, and at his movement, the statues faced forward once more, as if completely well-mannered. “Hmm,” he mused, and then regarded Maisie with a faint look of surprise. “That's actually more fitting than you know.”

“I likely know more than you would think is fitting,” she said quickly, and then turned away and began walking down the frozen hillside again, mentally kicking herself.

“Come on,” she called over her shoulder. “If I've nae returned by midnight, the ship will leave without us.”

“Is that part of the fairy tale?” he challenged.

“Oh, aye,” she said, tossing her head and rolling her eyes at the stark winter landscape. Then she muttered under her breath, “Just wait until you meet me dragon.”

B
arely a quarter of an hour had passed before Adrian was kicking himself for his hasty decision to leave Melk. The dark winter sky rushed toward full dark at an astonishing pace, the wind picking up and blasting mean little flurries from the low roiling clouds as the last of the meager daylight seemed to leach from the bone-chilling air.

Ahead of him, Maisie Lindsey navigated the rocky path along the river as if she possessed hooves at the terminus of her legs rather than feet. It took all of Adrian's concentration to merely keep her in his sight, her black cape blending into the jagged shadows as she rolled ahead of him like fog. After a full hour, his leg screamed and pulled with each step, and his buttock began to cramp.

As far as Adrian knew, Maisie Lindsey had not bothered to glance back at him once to be sure he still followed. If she had, Adrian would have tried to engage her in conversation; perhaps then she would slow her pace somewhat. But he would be damned if he would call out to her to beg for reprieve. The way she had looked at him and called him broken outside the courtyard at Melk had stung more than Adrian cared to admit. Although as the wind rushed in his ears and his heart pounded in his chest, as night fell and the cold settled into his bones with an ache that was nearly audible, Adrian was seriously considering bending and picking up a handful of rocks to throw at her. Anything to get her to slow down.

Sweat ran in rivulets down his temples, dripped from his nose; the cold air seared his lungs. A rock turned beneath his boot as he stepped on it and Adrian slid sideways, falling onto the path with a breathy grunt.

He didn't think she had noticed that he'd fallen until he heard the fast little crunches of her footfalls drawing nearer to him in the dark.

“What?” she demanded. “What is it? What's this about?”

Adrian struggled to gain his feet in as dignified a manner as he could manage. It was a trial, as it seemed his right leg no longer wanted to bend at all now.

“I thought I spied a jewel in the road,” he said through his teeth, giving a little hop onto his left leg.

He could see the darker shadow of her outline as she placed her hands on her hips. “What?”

“I slipped.” Adrian sighed. “My leg is—”

His explanation was cut off as Maisie Lindsey gave a great sigh and abruptly left the path to approach the sparse woods to their left. She returned in a moment with what appeared in the darkness to be a long branch. She snapped off the reedy tip and spindly twigs jutting out from its sides and then stomped the thick end onto the road twice—Adrian could feel the reverberations through the soles of his own boots. Then she thrust it at him.

“Here you are,” she said and then spun on her heel. “Now, hurry. We're almost there.”

Adrian reluctantly braced himself against the makeshift walking stick and stepped forward with his right foot. He was amazed to discover that the discomfort was lessened by half, and in moments, he had nearly caught up with Maisie Lindsey.

He was disappointed in himself that he hadn't thought of the thing earlier—after all, it was simply a matter of physics. If the crutch was taking half of the burden of his stride, it would only make sense that his discomfort would be lessened by at least as much, not even considering the completely mental reassurance the stick provided as a way to test out his footfalls on the black road before he stepped. Such a simple, brilliant solution.

Regardless of the thousands of manuscripts at his disposal, life at the abbey was obviously causing Adrian's brain to rot.

To his further astonishment, the longer he walked, the less he felt any discomfort at all. It seemed only moments had passed when Maisie Lindsey veered suddenly to the right ahead of him. Adrian could smell the dormant cold of the river before he crested the edge of the path and looked down to find Maisie's goatlike shadow skittering over the rocks, but what he saw was, again, not what he expected.

This surely could not be Maisie Lindsey's ship—the one that was to navigate the North Sea to the Scots coast in winter. The long black shape on the inky water below seemed little more than a strange, cylindrical raft without even a mast at its center.

Maisie Lindsey stopped at the edge of the river and turned to look back at him. “What are you waiting for? Come on!” Then she gave a great leap onto the vessel itself, not bothering to wait to see if Adrian would follow.

Which he did, and as he drew nearer to the narrow ship, he saw the long oars jutting from the side nearest the riverbank, the slightly domed shape of the deck with its square depression in the center of the vessel, hinting at cabin areas to either side. Not even a railing could be seen, nor a wheel for steering. Its general shape reminded Adrian of the long Norse ships he had seen on occasion, but up close, it was apparent that this vessel was wider, although its keel appeared so shallow as to be nearly flat.

“Come on!” Maisie Lindsey repeated, waving to him from the center of the odd ship. A single lantern hung on a hook to the side of a short black doorway behind her, and as Adrian gathered himself for the short leap from the rocks to the ship, the oars protruding from the side of the ship lifted and turned in unison, showing Adrian the sharp, blond wooden edges.

The sudden synchronic movement unsettled him, and he hesitated.

“Adrian!” Maisie called out. “If you doona get on, you'll be left behind!”

Adrian's eyes flicked back to the twenty oars on the side of the ship facing him, and as if they were obeying a command from Maisie Lindsey, the paddles turned flat edge, moved forward as one entity, and cut into the water.

“Adrian!”
Maisie called again.

Adrian dropped his staff and leapt onto the ship just as it began to turn into the river. He fell heavily onto his right side but gained his feet quickly, only noticing as he did so that he had not cried out in agony.

His leg felt fine.

He took a moment to look across the width of the ship—perhaps a span of only fifteen feet—and saw an identical set of oars on the far side of the vessel, moving in perfect, silent unison with its counterparts on portside.

Adrian turned to inquire of Maisie Lindsey as to the miraculous nature of this unique ship, but she was gone, the low black square of the doorway the only clue as to where she had disappeared.

Adrian turned back toward the river once more, looking around at the land that was blurring into a black wash as the vessel picked up unlikely speed. The frigid air blasted Adrian's skin, but his stance on the decking was sure; it was as if the ship glided through the river as a bird in the air.

This is starting off to be quite a strange adventure indeed
, he said to himself, not realizing the small smile that had sneaked across his mouth.

Then he ducked into the black doorway to find Maisie Lindsey.

 

Maisie threw off her cape onto the low chair as she came into the cabin and lit the lanterns without thinking. She held her breath and spun around, but Adrian Hailsworth had yet to follow her down the short ladder. She would have to mind herself a bit until he got used to her. It would not do to have him attempt to throw himself overboard into the sea halfway to Wyldonna. Maisie would have to turn around and go back to Melk to fetch a replacement, and there just simply wasn't time for that nonsense.

She raked her fingers up into the tangle of curls caught at her crown and blew out a stiff breath as she looked across the tall cauldron to the table laid for two on the other side of the cabin. Her shoulders slumped as she stared at the white fish with lingonberry relish on the metal trenchers, the chalices she knew contained fermented, spiced goats' milk.

She'd been expecting a Norseman.

Maisie glanced over her shoulder to make certain she was still alone as she strode past the cauldron, absently patting its rim twice as she passed. She heard the whoosh and crackle of the flames behind her as she lifted the heavy lid of her provisions trunk at the table's edge. She turned quickly and squatted down to peer out the doorway and saw the outline of Adrian Hailsworth's body coming toward the entrance to the cabin. Then she rose and pulled the meal from the tabletop into the trunk with both arms, resulting in a terrible crash, and then dropped the lid of the provisions trunk closed, just as the Englishman gave a shout of alarm.

“Watch yourself,” Maisie called out. “'Tis a ladder rather than steps.”

“Yes, I see that now,” he said wryly, backing down the short set of rungs.

“Close the hatch, if you would,” Maisie said. She watched him carefully as he slid the thick, square wooden panel into place and latched the bolt.

Adrian turned to face the cabin, and his look of amazement at the tidy space was impossible to miss. “Where was this ship built? I've never seen any of its kind—it's neither a longship nor a cog. But the oars . . . ?” He moved deeper into the cabin toward her, his eyes taking in every corner of the wood-paneled room.

“It's called a crawler,” Maisie supplied, continuing to watch him closely. It was important to get this right. “I'd wager you willna see another of its kind, as they're only made on Wyldonna.” Ah ha! She reached for the lid of the provisions trunk and swung it open, reaching inside until she felt the handle of a jug. Maisie lifted it out and gestured toward the Englishman. “Mead?”

He paused and looked at her with raised eyebrows. “Truly?”

Maisie couldn't help her smug smile as she reached into the trunk again and withdrew two chalices with her free hand. “Made with the finest honey.” She set the cups on the tabletop and poured as he came around the cauldron toward the table. “Wyldonian weather is unpredictable. Crawlers must be ready to navigate water, ice, snow; the smaller ones can be pulled by animals if need be.”

Adrian Hailsworth picked up one of the chalices but, to Maisie's surprise, he waited for her to bring her own cup to her mouth. The manners of a nobleman, she noted.

“But the friction on the wood,” he said. “It would seem that the ships would spend more time in repair than in use if used as sleds on ice or turf.” He took a drink and then swallowed, looking in surprise at his cup. “I'll be damned, but this is good.”

Maisie couldn't help her small smile. At least she'd gotten one thing right today. “That would be true if the bottoms werena clad.”

“Clad?”

“Copper.”

Adrian stared at her for a moment, and then his eyes went back to his cup. “Amazing,” he muttered, bringing the chalice to his lips and turning away from her to survey the cabin once more. “Where are the oarsmen?”

Maisie set her cup on the table and reached into the trunk. What would one keep a mince pie in? “Oarsmen?”

“Yes, I can't guess where there would be enough room on either side to house so many, and yet the ship itself doesn't appear deep enough for them to be below us. One would think we would be right on top of them.”

“One would, would they nae?” Maisie huffed a laugh as she laid a hand on a package wrapped in rough-woven cloth. It seemed as likely as anything. She brought out the dish and set it on the table.

Adrian turned back toward the table, although by now he was on the far side of the cauldron. “I should like a full tour of the bilge in the daylight.”

“Oh, I doona know if that's possible,” Maisie hedged as she unwrapped the cloth from the metal dish. “Nae much room for visitors. Mince?” She tilted the crusty top toward the Englishman and gave him what she hoped was her most beguiling smile.

Adrian Hailsworth's eyes narrowed and his mouth turned down in a slight frown. “That's a mince pie?”

“Well, er . . .” Maisie felt her smile falter as she glanced down at the pastry-topped dish. “I believe it's mince. Do you nae care for mince? Would you prefer fish?”

“Not at all,” Adrian said hesitantly, his frown still firmly in place.

“I've not had mince pie in ages—it's my favorite, actually. Cook at home made the most delicious mince I've ever tasted.”

“Oh, good!” Maisie sighed. “I'm quite certain it is mince, then. Yes. Absolutely sure.” Maisie clasped her hands at her waist and tried to force another cheerful smile at him when he made no further move toward the table. “Are you . . . are you nae hungry?” Her teeth felt like they would crack.

Adrian frowned at the pie, at the cup in his hand, turned his scowl about the cabin, and then his brown eyes landed fully on Maisie.

“I am,” he said. “It's only . . .” He cocked his head and looked suspiciously at her.

Maisie wanted to scream. But she swallowed down her impatience. “It's only what?”

“I must say, I was regretting my acceptance of this mission from the moment I found you pacing in the abbey's bailey. I was quite certain this would be a fool's errand and that I would find myself at the mercy of a savage people. But, so far, I have been treated to a marvel of seafaring engineering, the pleasure of my favorite food and drink, and the promise of—”

Maisie allowed her smile to widen. “A comfortable journey with a beautiful woman?”

Adrian hesitated. “I was going to say the promise of a riddle to solve.” Maisie tried to keep her lips from pursing as she felt the tips of her ears heat.

“Let's just eat, shall we?” she suggested, pulling out her chair and sitting. “After we've dined, I will show you the drawings of Wyldonna Castle, and you can get right to your riddle, Brother Adrian.”