Mystic Warrior (30 page)

Murdoch laughed. “Not in this lifetime.” Propping his hands on either side of her head, he leaned over and plied her mouth with kisses as deep and fiery as the volcano of home.

She thrilled at the certainty of his pledge and surrendered to his lovemaking with all the joy she possessed. With Murdoch's confidence to shield her, she could be as free and irresponsible as she liked. If he stayed with her for long, he would have her dancing in the moonlight like a child again.

The rest of their clothing fell swiftly to the floor. The need was too strong in them to linger over loving caresses. Lissandra arched her hips into Murdoch's, demanding satisfaction when he suckled at her breast. He licked her nipple, and she nearly wrestled him to the bed to get what she wanted. She'd been patient much too long.

Laughing, he rolled over, placing her on top of him. “My queen, I am yours. Do with me as you will.”

And she did. Without shyness or hesitation, she positioned herself over his erect phallus and sank down until she was filled to bursting. His groans of pleasure and desire urged her on.

When she did not move at the rate he desired, Murdoch rolled over again, thrusting deep and high as soon as her backside hit the sheet.

Even in their mating, they competed, but it was a wonderful competition, an encouragement to spread their wings and soar beyond their normal bounds. As she reached the heights, Lissandra dug her fingers into the sheets, clung to Murdoch's pumping hips with her legs, and let her spirit fly free. She closed her eyes at the wondrous liberation of their bodies exploding together. Stars spun behind her lids and the universe was hers for the taking.

In the climactic moment of release, she escaped outside herself and discovered her spirit guide waving with delight. A burst of gold dust showered from her guide's hand, and—

Liquid lightning seared her womb.

Inhaling sharply at the strange sensation, Lissandra tumbled back to earth, only to have Murdoch catch her in ethereal arms, slowing her fall. He stared at her with the same startled wonder she was experiencing as they floated into their bodies, firmly grounded on the mattress. She felt him inside her and out, knew the strength of his muscled arms, the potency of his maleness, the immensity of his spirit.

The tenderness in his midnight eyes brought her to tears.

Not until he kissed away the moisture running down her cheeks did she fully comprehend that she had returned to the real world.

And that a child now formed in her womb, a miracle child, one not conceived at the altar of the gods as expected—and yet powerful enough to make its presence known at the moment of conception.

The vision with which Lissandra had gifted him filled Murdoch with such joy and fear that he contemplated never moving again. Nevermore would he view sex as a mere physical release. It was a gift of the gods as surely as his ability to steer the wind.

A child? Had they actually created a child? Or had this just been a vision of the future? A future he scarcely dared hope to see.

“Your spirit guide has an unholy sense of humor,” Murdoch grumbled, unable to shift from between Lissandra's legs, although he knew his heavy weight must be crushing her.

He was frozen between his own selfish elation and his fear that a child would force Lis to return to Aelynn—where he couldn't follow. Until that moment, he'd not allowed himself to think of the future and what it might bring.
He didn't want to lose Lis again.

“Then I did not dream or imagine that.” She lay there thoughtfully, not crying out in shock or protest over what had just happened.
Shouldn't
have happened, if all they'd been taught was right. Only after their union in the temple should they be blessed with a gifted child.

“We shared a dream before,” he stupidly reminded her, still groping for the sense of their shared vision, and too confused to believe in miracles.

The blood had not yet returned to his brain and was pooling stronger in his loins. He wanted Lis again. He leaned to one side so he could splay his hand over the silky softness of her flat abdomen. “A child is far beyond anything I dared dream. Can it be true?”

“Baby Murdoch.” Her lips turned upward. “A miniature you.”

“The gods forbid such a disaster,” he said with feeling. Still, he swelled with pride that Lis did not regret the possibility of a son like him. “Rather hope for another you.” Another Lis would be a blessing he could truly take delight in. He discovered a sudden overpowering desire for his child to live and breathe in his world, a child fashioned out of the best of both its parents.

An entirely new future widened before him, one he could no longer reject or ignore.

The immense responsibility of a child ought to be overwhelming, but chuckleheaded joy prevented him from seeing any dark side. He turned and ran his hand from Lis's abdomen to her breast and attempted to show her how he felt. “I ought to regret that I have placed the burden of a new life on you, but I know I can trust you to do what is best for it, and I'm proud to bursting that you will carry it for me.”

Tears streaked her cheeks, and Murdoch ached in helplessness that he'd put them there, that he couldn't honestly reassure her that the future would be perfect. He kissed her softly, wrapped her in his arms when she sobbed, and did not mind when she fell asleep on his shoulder.

Now he had two precious treasures to guard. He was no longer a free man but chained to the mundane like all others. He tried not to panic at the possibility of failing them.

After years without any ties, he would need time to adjust to this new bond. Despite his brave words, he feared his heart was too hard and his spirit too calloused to open up and let in the light that Lis and a child would require.

Just as Lis had forced him to think about the future, he would have to
care
again.

 

“They're such beautiful creatures.” Riding through the morning mist, Lissandra patted the proud neck of the bay mare they had found stabled at the farmhouse. She'd never ridden a horse before, but she'd found that connecting with the animal's mind was amazingly simple.

Ahead, the marsh flats spread as far as the eye could see. Willows dipped into rivulets. Egrets took flight in splashes of white. A humid breeze spread thin gray clouds overhead. This land had an exotic beauty all its own.

I carry a child who will inherit the spirit of this land.
She shook her head in disbelief at the enormity of what they'd done. “I see why Ian has become so enamored of horses,” she continued, rather than sink into silent contemplation as Murdoch had evidently done.

They'd made love again when they'd woken. The sexual bond between them was stronger than ever, but no longer as immediately demanding.

She was grateful for that. They would have burned to cinders quickly otherwise. She had observed enough to know that once a man achieved sexual satiation, he often turned his eyes to new territory to conquer, but she didn't sense this desire in Murdoch. She did, however, sense that the child had renewed his determination to shelter her as if she were fragile porcelain.

Which was why she had insisted on riding the mare rather than traveling in the cart with the others. Much as she enjoyed the feminine thrill of a man's attention, especially that of a warrior like Murdoch whose inner vision roamed so far that he could not see the nose on his face, she knew it was selfish to demand his attention when she was perfectly capable of caring for herself.

“Ian uses the speed of the animals to focus his Sight,” Murdoch said gruffly, studying her seat and the harness for the hundredth time, as if they'd come loose if he did not. “I've seen him fly across these flats as if he would take wing.”

And she'd left her brother trapped by duty on the island, unable to take solace in the open space of his new home. Ian was a saint among men who would look after Aelynn even better than she, but he needed freedom to enhance his gifts. She was being shamelessly selfish to stay here.

“Riding does not help you concentrate on your vision as it does Ian?” she inquired.

“No. My sword is the best element for focus I have found.”

She understood his curtness. People avoided madmen waving swords in the streets. It made sense to live in a country at war, where his gifts could be better employed.

And it followed that he would never fit in on an island at peace. Was she horribly wrong about the gods' intent? “I have often wished I could point a sword at the Council and raise the roof over their heads to get their attention,” she mused.

He sent her a look of disbelief at the path of her wayward thoughts. “They would probably run for their lives should you produce a sword.” He returned her to more pragmatic matters. “That's the estate, up ahead.” He nodded toward a rise of land.

They'd left the farm cart carrying their guests some distance behind. Lissandra had lost track of the miles from the coast to this inland country. She knew only that it took longer to arrive here than it did to traverse Aelynn from one side of the island to the other on foot. Horses made it possible to travel much longer distances.

She studied Ian's new home with equal parts wariness and eagerness. That her brother had found a place to live far from the shores of paradise was a matter of much wonder to her.

At first sight, she thought it a larger version of their island cottages. Whitewashed walls sprawled along the ridge, glistening in the sun. Instead of thatch, the roof had slate tiles, but that seemed sensible in this less tropical weather, as were the windows. At home, shutters were all they needed.

“Will Chantal's family be overwhelmed by so many guests when they are already entertaining Trystan and his family?” Lissandra asked.

“Chantal's sister-in-law, Pauline, is a Parisian who loves company. Her children and Trystan and Mariel's offspring will be delighted to have a new playmate. I believe Pauline's brother, the priest, remained in Ireland after the chalice escaped him. Mariel's family . . .” Murdoch shrugged eloquently. “They are plainspoken Bretons. The political arguments are intense.”

“It's hard to imagine my brother living in such worldly company as Chantal's family, or in any company at all. He has ever preferred solitude.”

“He has not been here since the arrival of Trystan and his in-laws,” Murdoch reminded her. “You will understand better why Ian chose this home once you know more of this area.”

“It is a sacred place,” she acknowledged. “I realized that as soon as we arrived. It was once an island, much as Aelynn is. The water is all around, even when it cannot be seen. The gods live here, although they have not been worshipped for a long time.”

He shot her a look of appreciation. “I should never underestimate you. And I always do. Why is that?”

“Because I am female, and you are accustomed to thinking brute strength is all that matters. It was the same when we were children. I wanted to play with babies. You wanted to play with ships and swords. But without babies, there would be no ships or swords.”

He let that sink in while they rode closer.

“I hope you do not resent that you must play with my baby,” Murdoch said, intruding on her study of the house.

She heard his concern—for her. She wanted to wilt in relief that he understood her apprehension. “It is not what I anticipated,” she murmured. “I'm both overjoyed and frightened. I must trust the gods' wisdom in believing I'm strong enough to bear the responsibility of a gifted child conceived without the altar, one with parents as willful as we are.”

“I begin to think the gods are mad old goats who meddle where they shouldn't,” he complained. His ring glowed brighter, and he turned the stone around to hide the light. “You have only just learned what it is to be on your own. Now you are weighed down with responsibility once again.”

“My parents are dead. Ian wishes to live here.” She gestured at the enormous manor. The gabled front had looked welcoming, but extending behind the modest front were long wings on either side. She was grateful the house had only two floors, but its size was still daunting. “That leaves the safekeeping of an entire island to me. I don't think one babe will add significantly to that burden. In fact, having a child to love will give me more to live for.”

The knowledge that she needed a spouse with whom to share her burdens loomed between them. Murdoch still had insufficient control of his destructive gifts to be confined to a peaceful island—a dilemma neither of them had yet solved.

“The garden is lovely,” Lissandra exclaimed in surprise as a glimpse of a rose-strewn wall came into view, diverting her attention.

And that was where they left the matter, because along with the garden, the couple occupying it appeared.

 

Despite her awareness of the simmering animosity between Trystan and Murdoch, Lissandra wasn't prepared for the swiftness of their reactions. Within seconds of seeing each other, they were standing in the rose garden, weapons drawn, muscles flexing. And she hadn't even figured out how to dismount! Trystan seemed bent on cutting her off from Murdoch, and Murdoch seemed intent on cutting Trystan off at the knees in self-defense.

Surely Trystan did not think Murdoch had harmed her? She ought to clout him for his presumption.

She glanced at Mariel for aid, but the Breton mermaid merely rested her hand on her expanded waistline and watched the impending battle with interest. Since Lissandra had always fostered an Olympic attitude of omnipotence, Mariel had no idea that a would-be Oracle couldn't do anything that she wanted. Perhaps that omnipotent image was another facet of her life that must change now that she was not expected to be Oracle.