Geist by Philippa Ballantine Page B

ship and paused. The Breed horses and Horace the pack mule were being led up the rear gangway and into the hold. Well accustomed to travel, they were providing no problems, and the crew loading them appeared to know what they were doing.
    “The Abbey only has two ships stationed at Vermillion”—Merrick decided to try another subject with the silent woman—“and both are to the south with the Imperial Navy. No one thought that they would be needed at this time of year.”
    She turned and faced him, looking directly up at him, a slight smile curving her bow-shaped lips. “And why exactly is it that you are going to Ulrich this late in the season, Reverend Deacon?”
    Merrick was caught by surprise. Most people would not question the movements of any from the Order, but it was perhaps an understandable query considering that they had nearly caused her to be stuck in the South. Still, he couldn’t just divulge what he’d read in the report. “The Deacons there are in need of assistance before winter sets in.” He hoped she would assume it was a leaky roof, or maybe illness.
    “The outpost is small.” Nynnia lifted the edge of her skirt and walked up the gangplank unassisted. “I hope you will not be disappointed by what you find there.”
    Up on deck, his partner was watching the stowing of the mounts with an eagle eye, but she did look up in Merrick’s direction when they approached. Luckily, the smirk had gone. “So, who is our newest recruit, Deacon?”
    “Miss Nynnia Macthcoll, may I present my partner, Deacon Sorcha Faris.” He waited for the fireworks to begin.
    “Deacon Faris.” The younger woman inclined her head. “You would be the Deacon who expelled the ghast from Baron Leit last summer.”
    Sorcha’s eyebrows shot up, but the corners of her mouth twitched. While the Order did not like its members to be prideful, Merrick could understand a little of the feeling he was sensing across the Bond. Seldom was the work of the Deacons actually discussed in polite society. “My husband and I were involved with that case. I didn’t realize that word of it had got out.”
    “Miss Macthcoll is the daughter of the physician stationed at the outpost in Ulrich.”
    Across the Bond he felt Sorcha’s interest wane.
I’ll leave you to deal with the pretty face.
“Well, let us hope we have smooth sailing all the way there.” Sorcha gestured to the front of the ship, where a tall man dressed in oilskins and sporting a massive red beard was supervising the securing of the hatch. “The captain seems to think that we may be lucky with the weather.”
    Without so much as a farewell, she turned and went below, no doubt to see if their accommodation was as good as their horses’. Merrick bit back the urge to apologize for his partner’s rudeness. At all times, bonded Deacons were supposed to show solidarity. If Nynnia knew anything about the Order, she would be surprised if he showed any disloyalty.
    “Seven days,” the young lady said, turning to look where the crew were casting off. “Even one day can be a long time in these oceans. I doubt if the captain is being anything other than reassuring to your partner. No one can tell what the weather will do in these currents.”
    Then she excused herself most sweetly and went below to find her cabin.
    Indeed, this was going to be a long trip. Merrick sighed and idly fingered his belt pocket where the Strop lay curled. He’d feared having to keep his thoughts reined in and away from Sorcha, but now with this new heady distraction he doubted if he would be able to. He imagined that this journey would be full of jabs and jokes of all kinds. Even though he expected Ulrich to be rather bleak, Merrick found he was looking forward to seeing it.
     
    After two days of travel, Sorcha was ready to throw herself over the side and swim for it. Merrick and his cow eyes were only physical symptoms of what leaked across the Bond. It was deeply disturbing to feel his attraction