The Island House (46 page)

“Does this worry you?” Freya sat up suddenly. “I mean . . .” Strange, though, that Dan’s face—here, now—obliterated Simon’s so easily.

“We hardly know each other. Is that it?” He propped himself on an elbow.

“Yes.” She was sincerely worried. “Here we are, necking like two teenagers, just after we saw them . . . not necking. Does this feel real to you, or is it just this place? I mean, it’s not exactly typical behavior for me to throw myself at someone I hardly know.”
It can be. Not exactly a nun, are you?
Sincerely embarrassed, Freya pinched her eyes shut in case he picked up the half-truth. He was smiling happily when she opened them again. “You’re laughing at me.” She zipped her jacket testily.

Dan dropped back on the turf, one arm behind his head. “You’re getting better at picking it though.”

“Says you.” She hesitated, gave in, and wriggled down beside him.
Don’t think.

Dan pushed a wisp of Freya’s wild hair behind an ear and kissed her gently, then harder. “This was my choice. I want this. I like touching you.” Slowly, he unzipped the jacket again. There was no bra under Freya’s T-shirt. His hand cupped one of her breasts. “You have really lovely skin.” He touched a nipple, pinched it gently.

Freya swallowed a breath. “That’s nice. My skin, the compliment I mean.”

“I know what you mean, Freya.” They stared at each other.

“Are you surprised?” She caressed the side of his face, and her fingers found their way to his mouth. He bit them softly.

“So many questions.” Dan moved. He pulled her on top of him. “I’m not surprised, but maybe I can’t believe it either.”

Freya put her hands on either side of his head and stared down at him. “Why?”

“And that’s—”

“Another question. Yes. I know.” But she smiled at him, a shy smile. “Sorry.”

He put his hands into her hair and pulled her down. He felt her heart against his ribs and whispered, “Never be sorry, not with me.” His eyes closed as they kissed. Deeply. Deeper. Until the world spun.

Freya gasped a breath. She rolled to lie beside him, her chest rising and falling as if she’d run a race.

Dan stared at her profile. He traced the line of her forehead, her nose, her mouth. His finger stopped. “We have time.” He half-laughed. “And that’s an irony; it’s the nature of this place that time surprises us both.”

“It’s just . . .”

“Ah . . . just.”

“I’ve never been much good at relationships.” Freya swallowed. “There. Said it.” She tried to laugh. Bravely, she turned to look at him. “I thought I should tell you. Perhaps I’m just impossible or fickle, or too picky.” Simon’s face swung into her mind; she’d definitely been attracted to him. “And I’ve been accused of all three—often at the same time.” Half a grimace, but there was a catch in her voice.

“Does it seem to you that I am concerned, Freya Dane?” Another man would have laughed. Dan did not; he held her glance. “And you are not impossible. Just”—he smiled—“unusual. And a little lost. But you are perfect. I thought that when you first walked through the door.”

She hit him on the shoulder, but her eyes filled with tears. “You did not, you were horrible. I thought you hated me, and I felt like such an outsider.”

“I hide things; so do you. And your father stood between us.”

She stroked his face tenderly. “If I could wish one thing, it would be that you could absolve yourself. My father died, but you did not. Perhaps, if he’d had a choice, that’s what he would have wanted.”

“Why would you say that?”

“Because,” she said slowly, “his death brought me here—and I have met you. He always wanted me to be happy.” She caught her breath. This was true, she knew that now.

Dan knelt and pulled her up. On their knees, they faced each other. “Welcome home, Freya Dane. Welcome home.”

Kissing him, she leaned her full weight against his chest, and they tumbled sideways together.

“Oh! Are you all right? Dan?”
Why? Why am I so clumsy?

He lay on the grass with eyes closed. “Dan? Come on, please.” She crouched beside him, suddenly frantic.

One eye opened. “Impetuous too. Good to know.” He rubbed the back of his head. “Might get me into trouble one day, if not immediately.”

She said, semidefiantly, “Never said I wasn’t, Daniel Boyne.”

He looked behind his shoulder. “I hit something—that’s what hurt.”

There was a swelling in the turf. Dan stared at it intently.

“A stone, maybe. We have quite a lot on Findnar.”

“No, it’s not a stone.” He was picking at the grass, pulling it up with his fingers. “Have you a trowel—and maybe a brush?”

Freya was on her feet and back to Dan in less than three neat seconds. “A trowel, the man says, and my best brush.” She handed Dan the tools and watched, intrigued. He scalped the grass from the lump, and as the soil was scraped away, a straight gray edge revealed itself. Delicately, Dan knocked with the wooden handle of the brush. “This is metal.”

“Wait. Let me get the camera.” She arrived at his side, panting. “You’ve got the knack, Dan, you really have.” She fired off a few quick shots from different angles. “Keep going, let’s see how big it is.”

“Don’t you know?”

Freya stared at him. A long, measuring glance. “Let’s see.”

It was a careful process. As if he had been doing the work all his life, Dan teased soil away. Slowly and patiently, he uncovered a small oblong, not much bigger than the palm of his hand.

“A box.” Freya breathed out.

Dan nodded, brushing soil from each side. “The twin of the other one, but there’s no cross.”

“It’s the unicorn. I asked for one.”

Dan stared at Freya. “What?”

It was evening, the lamps were lit, and Dan and Freya were in the kitchen. She’d had a bath—it felt so good to be clean, and it was good, too, that he was here. It really was.

“So, shall we open it?” Her eyes shone in the soft light.

Dan reached across and stroked her cheek. “You should always
wear blue—your own, unfair advantage in a cruel, cruel world.”

Freya blushed a healthy rose. “And here’s me thinking you a man of few words.”

“I am that. Mostly.” Dan pulled on a pair of Michael’s cotton gloves and picked up the little box. “Ready?”

She nodded. She did not say
Be careful,
she knew he would be.

He held the box to the light, so that each surface was exposed in turn. “I think, in fact I’m sure, that the lid works the same way.”

“Has to be the same maker, just has to be.” Freya breathed the words like a prayer.

Dan went to work with a dental scraper, easing soil, crumb by crumb, from the hinge. He said, absently, “If wishes were horses, beggars would ride; one of Walter’s favorite sayings. Something for the earth if you please, Nurse.” Freya grinned as she passed him a watercolor brush.

He worked the soft bristles along the hinge line. “It’s not damaged, so far as I can tell. The hinge, I mean.”

“So close to the surface all this time, just amazing.” Freya watched him work with pleasure. Dan was so deft and so patient. She was devoutly grateful they were easy with each other now. That was trust, faith too; she believed in Daniel Boyne, his instinct for this work, his born talent. She just did not understand the why of it.

As if he could read her mind, Dan looked up, full into Freya’s eyes. “Happy?”

The room seemed to shift. “Yes.” He made her breathless, he really did.

“Right, here we go.” He worked his thumbnails under the overlapping edge of the lid. “I . . . just . . . do . . . not . . . want . . . to force it.”

There was a faint sigh. “Air.”
From a thousand years ago.
Freya had to remember to breathe.

Dan eased the lid up; it stuck partway open.

“What can you see?” She crowded close.

“You’re in the light, Miss Dane.”

“Sorry.” She leaned back. “Anything in there, though?”

Dan held the box closer to the light and peered inside. He said softly, “There is.” He handed her the box. “You try. Your fingers are smaller.”

She caught the glimmer of a pale shape. After she dragged on a pair of cotton gloves, her fingers felt the size of hammers, but Freya eased the forefinger of her right hand through the opening and hooked it around something—something small and hard.

“Can you get it out?”

Eyes half-closed to feel what she was doing, she eased the object closer, closer. “Here it is!” She brought it out into the light. “Oh, just look at her.”

A tiny ship lay in her palm, a Viking ship—jaunty, spirited. “It’s not a unicorn, though it’s lovely.” Was she disappointed this was a Pagan object? No, not at all.

He leaned closer. “You’ll have to explain that one day. Is it ivory?”

“Whale ivory.” Freya said it at the same time. “Snap!”

The same material as the crucifix?

CHAPTER 33

D
AN WAS
in the kitchen, opening and closing cupboard doors. He called out, “I’ll make an omelet. Got any herbs?”

“I’m not hungry.” In the big room, Freya just wanted to ransack Michael’s card files again; there must be clues somewhere that would help with the ivory ship. “You said you couldn’t cook.”

“I’ve seen it done. Cooking shows.”

Freya slewed around in the chair. “You watch cooking shows?”

Dan limped toward the gas ring and clattered a pan down. “Once or twice, not a hanging offense. Herbs?”

“Try the bottom of the dresser. There’s dried thyme, I think. Might be a bit old.” She pulled the light closer as she opened the first box.
Come on, Dad, time to step up. Show me where to look.
The lamp gilded Freya with a line of soft gold.

“Dong, dong, dong.”

Dan stood in the doorway. “Food’s ready. That was my dinner gong impersonation, by the way.”

“Hmmm?”

He snorted. She was hardly in the same room,
or the same time period, probably.
He marched to the desk. “Time to eat, Freya Dane.”

“The thing is.” She got up reluctantly, and only because he dragged her chair half out. “There’s nothing. Nothing I can find reference to that seems similar to our ship in any way except for the original box and the crucifix.”

“But that’s a start.” Dan towed her to the kitchen. “Sit. Chew.”

Absently, she picked up a fork. “I know the chances are slim, really I do, but there’s so much material to go through. Reams and reams of it, and I should search the stored material properly too.” A surprised look crossed her face. “This is good.”

He grinned. “I’m verra pleased to hear you say that.”

She looked at him fondly. “Say it again.”

Dan chewed and swallowed. “Which bit?”

“
Verra.
Go on, just for me.”

“Verra.
Verra.
” Dan put the fork down. He leaned across and took her free hand. “Verrrrraaaa.” A low growl.

Freya giggled, then sobered. “You make me tipsy, Daniel Boyne.”

He kissed her hand. “A giddy girl, but one who needs to work.”

She looked guilty. “Am I so obvious?”

“You certainly are.” But he said it with a lilt. “Besides, I have something to think about as well.”

“You do?”

“Of course.”

Freya stared at him expectantly. “And?”

He said, “We need to shift that slab.”

She could not quite mask her disappointment. Dan grinned. “And you, of course. I shall think about you, now, that’s a given.”

“Thank you for saying that, Dan.” She leaned across and kissed him softly.

“And very nice you do taste. Egg, a bit of thyme, butter.”

She laughed. “Compliments to the chef.”

Dan leaned his elbows on the tabletop. “But how to hoist that stone out of the ground, that’s the thing.”

Freya ate busily. “Question without notice. Do you mind me working?”

“No. We both want answers. Besides . . .” He looked at her seriously.

The hairs of instinct stood up on her neck. “Besides?”

“We shall savor the wooing if it is slow.”

Freya stared at him, and her eyes filled. “Why did we not meet a long, long time ago, Daniel Boyne?”