Free Mystic Warrior by Patricia Rice Page B

would ease your soreness,” she suggested. As a Healer, she could do no less. As a woman—she was asking for trouble.
    Maybe it was time she asked for trouble.
    His crude shirt prevented her from admiring the play of his muscles in the dim light. He filled his pail and waited for her to step aside so he could return to the main room. “I don’t need your help, but the water is warm. Use it if you wish.”
    At his harsh tone, Lissandra retreated and let him carry the bucket to the fire, where he dumped the water into a kettle. A bath could wait until she was alone. “How long have you lived in this village?”
    He shrugged. “Long enough to know I’m not leaving. Ian can have his castle in England. This place suits me. I’ve been looking for an excuse to claim the cottage, so I thank you for it. It’s built into the side of a hill, and the bathing chamber once stored vegetables. It’s warm on cool nights, cool on warm ones. Now that I have water, I have all I need.”
    As he spoke, his Aelynn ring of silence flared with blue fire. Fascinated, Lissandra couldn’t drag her gaze away. Were the gods warning that he lied? Or that he had just denied the obvious? She swallowed hard and sought words, but they wouldn’t come.
    If she remembered her legends correctly, the blue glow proved he was not ready to accept the gods, so the spirit stayed with the ring that had been a part of him since it had been placed on his finger at birth. No wonder his essence had seemed so dim. His inner demons were battling with the gods.
    â€œI see that you and France have self-destruction and denial in common.” She was no simpering miss terrified of Murdoch’s black glares and masculine sulks. Defying his challenge, she removed her confining jacket and returned to examine the bathing room, feeling his tension escalate as she did so.
    This root cellar couldn’t duplicate the spacious grotto they had enjoyed on Aelynn, but his ability to produce a hot spring where there was no volcano said much of why the gods had chosen him. His ability to manipulate earth, wind, fire, and water went well beyond that of any other man she’d heard about. If anyone could save Aelynn, it had to be Murdoch.
    And he had every reason to wish them all dead. She had to be crazed to believe he’d help.
    â€œI have nothing on you in pigheadedness, if you think you can change my mind.” Murdoch leaned his shoulder against the doorjamb and watched her. She’d almost swear his penetrating stare could see through cloth, and she shivered a little despite the heat. “Is Waylan waiting for you at the coast?” he asked. “I can take you back tomorrow.”
    Lissandra unfastened a tie holding together her skirt and bodice. “Waylan should be halfway to England by now. Something called a surveillance committee has been hunting for spies to torture and kill, and it seemed safest for all concerned if Trystan and everyone else left France.”
    â€œI am glad they escaped, but why on earth would Trystan allow you to stay behind?” Murdoch asked in genuine surprise. “Has he lost what few wits he possessed?”
    â€œDo you think me so weak as to let Trystan stand in my way when the survival of my home is at stake? The gods have designated you as our next Oracle. The volcano threatens our existence. Bad weather is ruining our crops. The Council is paralyzed by bickering over what we should do, while our Oracle hides in rural anonymity. Either the whole world is mad, or I am.”
    He snorted. “I am no more an Oracle than the priest in the village, so it must be you who is mad. I have work to do. You can stay here until I am done, and then I’ll take you back to the coast and look for someone to escort you home.” Turning his back on her disrobing, ignoring her pleas, he walked out.
    â€œI did not risk my life so you can send me home like a lost child!”