The Mystic Rose Read Online Free Page A

through sackcloth. After a time, she turned her unblinking gaze to the famed seven hills of Byzantium, all hung in purple mist and smoke, as if in mourning for her murdered father.
    She heard a footfall on the deck behind her, but did not turn.
    â€œGood morrow, my lady.” The voice was that of Haemur, their aged Orkneyjar pilot, a loyal and trusted servant, and the one person in the world Duncan would allow to captain Persephone to the Holy Land. A skilled but uneducated man, Haemur spoke only Norse, peppered with a smattering of Gaelic. “When you did not return last night, I was worried that—”
    She turned and he saw the look on her face. His hands fluttered like distracted birds. “Lady Caitríona,” he gasped, “what has happened?” Then, as if realizing for the first time that she was alone, he said, “But where is my lord Duncan?”
    â€œHe is gone, Haemur,” she replied in a voice as brittle and empty as a dry husk.
    The seaman gazed uncomprehendingly at the young woman. “He is coming later perhaps?”
    â€œNo.” She shook her head. “He is dead, Haemur.”
    The elderly sailor rubbed his red face with a rough hand. Tears came to his pale blue eyes. “I see.” He turned away abruptly, and started toward his bench at the stern, dabbing at his eyes. She called him back.
    â€œI am sorry, Haemur.” She moved to him and, taking one of his thick-calloused hands in both her own, explained what had taken place at the cathedral. It was quickly and simply told, and then she said, “The body will be buried later today, and we will attend the rites. Right now, I want you to wake your men and move the ship.”
    He regarded her without understanding. “Dead? Are you certain?”
    â€œYes,” she confirmed. “We must move the ship at once. I have arranged for a berth in the Bucoleon Harbor—the one below the lighthouse.”
    â€œThe Greek harbor—where the grain ships call.”
    â€œThe same. They will not think to look for us there.”
    â€œWho?” he asked.
    But she was already moving away. “I am going to my quarters now to wash and change my clothes.”
    She descended the wooden steps into the hold, which was divided into three sections. The first, near the bow, was shared by the two crewmen who helped Haemur; the middle, and largest section, was the hold proper where all the supplies, provisions, and dry goods for the voyage were kept; the third section, in the stern, was divided into two small compartments for the passengers. Cait and Alethea shared one, and the other belonged to Duncan.
    Cait put her hand to the wooden latch and quietly opened the door. Pale dawnlight showed in the small round window over the boxed pallet where Alethea lay sleeping. Cait sat down on the edge of the bed and regarded the young woman. Fifteen years old—although she looked, and often behaved, as one younger than her years—she had Sydoni’s thick, dark lustrous hair, and smooth tawny skin. Nor did the similarity between the young lady and her mother end there. Alethea was slender and lanky, with a high smooth brow and large dark eyes.
    Cait was nearly twelve years old when Alethea was born; and though at first she thought a baby sister a fine and wonderful thing, the joy quickly palled. Alethea considered Cait too harsh and strict on her, always nagging and chastising. In Caitríona’s forthright opinion, Thea was flighty and inconsiderate, too easily taken with whims and capricious fancies, and all-too-often indulged when she should have been corrected. Indeed, Alethea should not have been aboard the ship in the first place—except that when she found out that Duncan was planning to take Caitríona to the Holy Land to see all the places he and Padraig had visited during his long pilgrimage, the younger girl had moped and whined and sulked until her father relented and agreed to take her,