Free Mystic Warrior by Patricia Rice Page A

her.”
    He strode out before he could hear her opinion on that.

    Lissandra sighed and released the tight clasps of her fitted jacket. She supposed, in this cooler climate, more layers were required than at home, where they wore little in the way of clothing. Murdoch was accustomed to seeing her with her hair down and barely clothed, so it wasn’t as if modesty was necessary.
    But tonight, his reaction to her loosened hair had been so strong as to seep through his Empathic barriers, warning her that his self-control was fragile. His gifts had always been erratic, but until her mother had attempted to strip him of his abilities before she banished him, he’d always possessed a formidable restraint around her.
    How could she possibly persuade him to come home and save his people with this . . . awareness . . . between them that blocked reasonable discussion?
    It would be easier if she kept her distance, but that did not seem likely in these close quarters—and given their explosive reunion. She had known it was Murdoch and still had not resisted his kiss. She might have killed him, but she had surrendered like a fool instead.
    Still picking twigs out of her hair and clothing, she deflected her self-recrimination by studying the hut to which he’d brought her. A new, well-stuffed mattress rested on leather thongs bound to stout tree trunks. That showed signs of Murdoch’s creation. On the island, wood was rare and expensive, so furniture was usually not elaborate.
    The table had a plank top and was aged enough to be something the woodcutter had left behind, but the gray wood had been neatly sanded and polished to resemble one of Aelynn’s communal tables. At home, they believed that food and company mattered more than the decor.
    But Murdoch was a warrior trained since childhood to wield knives and swords like extra hands; he was not a farmer or carpenter. Despite their peaceful neutrality, Aelynners were bred to protect the sacred chalice and sword. Murdoch had been the most powerful warrior on the island until his banishment. This humble abode revealed an interesting domestic side of him she’d never expected, but where were his weapons? Both Ian and Trystan had said he still used them. She shuddered. She had Seen the warrior’s bloody weapons at work.
    Murdoch returned from putting up the mare in the shelter beside the cottage. She watched him warily as he flung logs on a fire and dumped a bucket of root vegetables on the table. That he knew his way around a kitchen didn’t surprise her. He was trained for survival, and one must eat to survive. That he ignored her was unsettling. She’d expected fireworks and fury, not this frigid indifference.
    â€œHow long will it take you to repair the village?” she asked, determined to have this discussion done.
    â€œAs long as it takes.” He took the empty bucket, threw aside a cloth covering the wall beside the fireplace, and disappeared into another room she hadn’t realized was there.
    Following him to peer into this new chamber, Lissandra gasped in surprise when a dozen tiny candles flared into life, illuminating a rock pool of steaming water. “A hot spring! No wonder you chose this place.”
    All Aelynners were accustomed to the luxury of hot springs and regular bathing. She had discovered such niceties were hard to come by in the Other World, but apparently Murdoch had learned to provide his own. She longed to shed her clothes and plunge into the bath, but the awareness between them was such that she could actually feel him daring her to indulge.
    She might not be able to read his mind, but now that she knew about the bullet wound, she sensed the pain in his shoulder, and the ache of muscles he had strained with his hard labor. She would not be a Healer if she didn’t know these things. He wanted the bath as much as she did. “I’ve brought my medicinal bag with me. A hot soak in water laced with herbs