The Island House (32 page)

A moving shaft of light touched the stone circle. One by one, the monoliths shone against the darkening sky as the cruiser sliced through the sea. How long had the stones stood there? How many people had seen what she saw now?

Katherine pointed. “A fine sight. I have missed the island.”

Freya did not take her eyes from the stones. “I can understand why.”

The note of the engine changed as Dan eased the boat around, setting her on a long, curved course toward Findnar’s cove. He knew the grain of this water, knew when to fight the current and when to use it, but sometimes, even on a calm night, the sea lay in wait.
Because it has no mercy.
“And no conscience.” Perhaps he said the words aloud, he did not know.

Freya glanced at Dan’s rigid profile. He’d muttered something she’d not quite heard. “What do you reckon, good night for a barbie or what? I even remembered the beer.” Two six-packs of Stella Artois bumped against her feet in the bilge.

Dan lined the prow up on the opening of the sea cave. He was sweating.
None of this is real. It can’t be,
he thought.

Katherine said helpfully, “Australian for barbecue.”

“I did not think Freya meant the doll.” Dan dropped the revs, and the hull lost momentum as it idled through a trough; he waited for the swell to build.

Freya needled him gently. “If you get this wrong, we’ll be fish food.”

Dan did not remove his eyes from the cave mouth. “Supportive. Not.”

Behind the boat a gathering crest began to push the hull forward and, coupled with a spurt from the motor, the weight of the
sea carried them under the rock arch and all the way up to the quay.

“Oops—nearly took the prow off.” But Freya smiled as she climbed out of the wallowing cruiser and caught the rope Dan threw.

He shut down the motor and watched as Freya loaded her backpack—beer first, sausages next, then tried to stuff more groceries on top. “You’ll not get any more in.” He knew Freya was worried about his leg. He picked up a loaf of bread, butter, and several cheeses, and relieved her of the vegetables, too, though he managed not to touch her hands.

Katherine hoisted her bag. “We’ve both been on Findnar before, Freya. You don’t have to worry.”

“Okay then, off we go.” Along the beach, Freya paced herself to Dan’s uneven stride, though she hoped it wasn’t obvious. As the climb up the cliff path began, she caught Katherine’s eye. The librarian wasn’t remotely short of breath, though Freya was panting already. She did not look at Dan.

As the top of the path wound into sight, Freya edged past him. “I’ll just light the lamps. Excuse me.”

There was room for two people, but an accidental touch, her jacket hushing against his, gave them both a jolt. Freya stumbled, and Dan flung a hand toward her. “Careful!”

She saved herself but cannoned back against the cliff face; their hands did not touch.

Bemused by the strange performance, Katherine called out, “Are you all right?”

Freya mumbled, “Fine. Take your time.” With a shake she strode away.

The kitchen yawned its usual dark challenge to the open door, but Freya hurried down the steps with much more confidence than
even a day ago, and groped for the pack of matches on the table. Moments later, lamp held high, she stood beside the back door. “Welcome to you both.”

Dan paused.
Freya—she was a Goddess too.
Half-smiling, he drew back to allow Katherine to enter first.
A Norse Goddess in wet-weather gear.

The librarian ducked beneath the lintel, navigating the kitchen steps one by one. “Thank you,” she said.

Freya watched with approval. “They caught you too, the steps?”

“Only once.” Katherine’s voice was wistful.

Dan hobbled toward the basket of peat beside the stove. “A fire, then. Where shall it be?”

Freya rattled the latch down behind her guests. “At the front of the house—on the turf—there’s a great view on a calm night. We shall light a beacon.”
But beacons are warning fires . . .

Katherine was standing at the kitchen table, beside the captain’s chair. “While Dan gets the barbecue going, we could organize the beds,” Freya said to the librarian. “I’ll have to break it to him gently, but he gets the couch.” She did not say,
And you can show me where you used to sleep.

Katherine glanced toward the top of the stairs. “I’ll get the sheets, shall I?”

So, you know where they’re kept.
“Thanks, that would be great.”

So much unsaid.

An untethered silver balloon, the moon sailed higher as they watched.

“Another beer?” Freya waved a long-necked bottle. “Drink them while they’re cold. No refrigeration on Findnar.” She was sitting with Katherine beside the fire in front of the house and hadn’t felt so relaxed in a long time.

Katherine smiled, and they clinked bottles. Firelight suited the librarian, flattered her bright eyes and pretty skin. “I like beer, by the way. Michael taught me how to drink it.”

She looks lovely tonight, Dad, your dear friend.
Freya poked at the embers, and sparks flew up into the dark. She called out, “Fire’s nearly ready, Dan.”

Exiting Compline via the front steps, Dan put a bowl of salad, knives and forks, and a plate of buttered bread on the turf beside the two women. Freya held up a bottle of beer, and he leaned down to take it. “I heard you talking about refrigeration, Freya. Put the meat and milk in the shed—as the year grows old they’ll freeze, if that’s what you want.”

She waved airily. “Ah, but this is summer. Hot, hot, hot.” A flirty leer. Horrified, she paused.
That came out wrong.

Dan arranged sausages on an iron rack filched from the kitchen range. He seemed engrossed.

Katherine stared into the heart of the flame. “There’s something about watching a fire. A sense of connection, I suppose, to all those who’ve been here before.” She pulled her jacket tighter.

Freya muttered, “Good friend, bad enemy where I come from.”

“Bushfires.” Dan turned the sausages one by one, head cocked away from the smoke. “Not a problem here—very few trees—and then there’s always the rain.” He grinned and stood back from the heat, his face gilded by flame. “Scotland was covered in forest once. The Vikings are supposed to have cut the trees down. Or that’s the legend.”

Freya sat up. She asked, “Do you think Findnar was forested?”

Dan half-closed his eyes, staring into the dark. “Maybe, though it’s more exposed here than the mainland.”

“But it does make sense that there were trees here once. Below the stones on the eastern side there’s a sheltered little valley. A couple of big oaks and conifers grow there, plus a fair bit of scrubby stuff—bog willow and such. I thought it must just be a protected
microclimate down there, but maybe not.” Freya got to her feet. “Can I help, Dan?”

“I can just about manage sausages.” Deadpan.

She grinned. “My apologies. You’re a natural.” She started toward the house. “I’ll get the sauce. Can’t have a barbie without tomato sauce.”

“Here.” Dan slung Freya a flashlight. She caught it on the run and took the front steps two at a time.

He called after her. “Be quick. They’ll burn.”

Who will?
Freya shrank from the thought. It wasn’t funny.

“It’s a bit basic.” Freya placed the lamp on the bedside table. “But I hope you’ll be comfortable. I haven’t had time to get started on the house, making it feel more like my place, I mean.”

Katherine stared around the little room. The iron-framed bed filled much of the space. “It’s perfect just as it is.”

“I’m glad you came.” Impulsively, Freya kissed Katherine on the cheek; Katherine returned the gesture with a stiff little hug.

An awkward pause. Freya cleared her throat. “I hope one hot water bottle in the bed’s enough? It’s cold up here.” It was, this late in the night—close to midnight—and the wind had backed to the east.

“A cool room is best for sleeping in. Good night, Freya.” Katherine turned away bravely. The bed would seem very empty. Both of them knew that.

“By the way, I’ve got something to show you tomorrow—very interesting. Do you read Latin?”

Katherine’s look was quizzical. “I do.”

“Well, that’s good. See you in the morning.” Freya grinned.

“But . . .”

“It’s a surprise—something Dad found. Sweet dreams.”

Closing the door softly, Freya padded down to the kitchen. She was wearing football socks and a jacket over thermals, and waiting
for her in the still-warm room was Daniel. How did she feel about that?

“Cocoa?” He held up a mug.

Freya sat at the massive table. They both knew the time for small talk was done. “Thank you, but I’ll sleep well anyway tonight with both of you here.”

That passed without comment.

Dan lifted a saucepan of hot milk off the gas ring, and Freya realized she liked watching him. Fine hands, economy in all that he did.

He caught her glance. “Sugar?”

She shook her head and wrapped both hands around the mug as it was offered. The surface of the cocoa trembled slightly.

Dan sat down on the other side of the table.

If she reached out, she could touch him.

They drank in silence until he said, “So. Where do we begin?”

Freya got up from the table and added more milk to her cocoa—the physical distance made it easier to think, but only slightly.

“A bit of background. There’s something I want to show you tomorrow, and I need your help too. I’ve got a dig going—something I’m searching for—and it will happen faster with more than one pair of hands. It’s important because there are things . . .” Freya, uncertain, tried again. “My father found some artifacts, you see. Significant objects. This crucifix was one of them.” She lifted it out from beneath her clothes so Dan could see. “Dad was looking for a particular grave and, I don’t know, but everything odd that’s happened here—and to you and me”—she felt heat rise in her chest and her throat—“well, I’m certain it’s connected with what he was doing and even with this. I just feel that.”

Dan raised his eyebrows at her fervent tone.

Calm down, Freya.
“Look, I’ve been trying to say—oh, I don’t know, but this—whatever this is—it’s all leading somewhere.”

The kitchen was shadowed, and the old stove hissed gently, its belly full of peat—a big, metal cat. The house was chattering, too,
windows flexing behind drawn curtains, doors shifting a little as the air came and went around the building.

Dan spoke cautiously. “What else did your father find?”

“A lot of things. Believe me, an enormous number of artifacts, some of them very valuable—the kinds of things you see in the best museum collections.”

“Really?” He looked surprised. “But doesn’t the government usually get involved?”

Freya nodded. She tried not to show how anxious she felt. “Yes. There’s all sorts of regulation about troves and hoards, and I’ll have to do something about that, but at the moment . . .” Her voice trailed away. She went to the kitchen dresser and pulled out a drawer. “He thought this was important, though—it was found with the crucifix.” She held out the small lead box.