Dangerous Magic Read Free Page A

lungs.
    “…she is gone to a brother. She does treat you unkind. Ride the waves, boy-o. Ride the waves on.”
    The voice continued, picking at his wounds with scalpel precision, dredging loose a past he’d locked away long years ago. Sparkling cat’s eyes seared the cloying fog like warning lamps. A kiss-me smile curved like the painful tail of a whip.
    A woman’s infidelity had lit the fuse. The charge of mutiny provided the powder. And for one crystal-clear moment as the guards came to arrest him, he’d seen the two meet and ignite before his world exploded in a shower of rage and despair and horror and pain.
    “…Ride the waves, boy-o. Ride the waves on…”
    She disappeared into the thickening fog. He reached for her, but his bonds pulled him taut. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. He thrashed against his restraints. Hurling curses. Then prayers.
    His back arched, scars burning with a phantom pain. Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes, hands clenching as the words pummeled his mind with memories he’d sought to erase first in drink, and then ambition.
    A woman had destroyed him. It had taken all his strength to scrape his way back from the edge of oblivion to wealth and independence.
    He would not risk such treachery again.
    A cool hand upon his shoulder held him down. “Naught but a nightmare.” A murmur like the purr of the ocean became an echo, then a voice, light and clear as music. “You’re safe, Captain. ’Tis but a fever-dream. None will harm you here. I’ll not let them. Sleep and be at peace.”
    His memories dissolved like fog pushed by a cool sea breeze. Panic subsiding beneath her quiet command.
    Another reassuring whisper of breath upon his cheek. A brush of lips upon his forehead, and sleep swallowed him once more.
     
     
    Rafe plucked at the frayed edge of his blanket as he stared up at the wild shadows dancing across the raftered ceiling. It had been days since his arrival, and he grew restless now that his fever had finally succumbed to Gwenyth Killigrew’s draughts. He heard her singing quietly to herself as the knock of the loom’s shuttle kept tempo. Sighing and hoping for sleep to ease his boredom, he shifted upon the pallet. Pain slashed its way down his side. “Bloody hell!”
    The rhythm of the loom ceased. She appeared around the edge of the screen. “You must be healing. I haven’t heard you curse for a night and a day while the fever raged.”
    Rafe gritted his teeth. “Either let me out of this bed or give me something to knock me unconscious. I can’t stand another minute idle upon my back.”
    She pursed her lips over a smile, but laughter sparkled in her eyes. “I won’t give you the dwale. It would do more harm than good. But, mayhap,” she put a finger to her lips, “I have something to keep you from dwelling on things too much.”
    She ducked back behind the screen. Rafe heard her pass into her bedchamber at the rear of the cottage. A moment later she returned, carrying a rolled bundle. She sat down beside him and unfolded it, revealing a weaving. No bigger than a hearthrug, it showed its age in the well-worn corners and frayed hems. But despite its years, the colors remained vivid, and the designs caught and held the eye with their stylized images. Eight squares and each one captured a scene as if the creator had sat at her door and wrought in threads what she saw just beyond her threshold.
    Gwenyth smoothed her hands across the weaving. “My mother made it when she was no more than eight or nine. My great-gran was a weaver and an artist with thread. She taught my mother Morvoren who took to it like a duck to water. Barely time for learning the arts of the healer she was so busy at her loom. I’m thought to possess great skill and my designs are much sought after, but Morvoren’s creations would have taken your breath away.”
    “And how will this keep me from dwelling on the fact that I’m bored out of my mind?” Rafe growled.
    “When I was