Read Online Mystic Warrior by Patricia Rice - Free Book Online

running away.
    Lissandra leaned her weight on Murdoch’s arm until he was forced to hold her upright. He seemed prepared to do so, but she abruptly grabbed her hat to straighten it, hoping to distract the mob with the mundane.
    â€œThe wind,” she exclaimed loudly. “I’ve never felt such wind! Is this place cursed?” With what little mind control she possessed, she nudged the villagers to look back at the man in the tree and associate the curse with the villain they all feared.
    They did so with gratifying alacrity, murmuring among themselves, shaking their heads in bewilderment.
    The second soldier glanced suspiciously from the place where she had been standing to the screaming man in the tree, then back to the two of them edging out of the crowd.
    Before the soldier could speak, a priest pushed through the throng, quieting his more-frightened parishioners. He, too, glanced at the screaming bully, then at the second soldier.
    â€œWe are blessed,” the priest declared loudly, stopping beside Lissandra and Murdoch. “The saints protect us from drunkards. Come, my friends, you are fortunate you are not harmed.” He offered his arm. It took a moment before Lissandra realized she was meant to take it.
    She dropped a little curtsy that Ian’s wife, Chantal, had taught her. “It was most frightening, monsieur.”
    â€œ Père Antoine,” Murdoch whispered in her ear, falling into step beside her as the crowd parted, their fears apparently relieved by the priest’s presence. “Or citoyen , if you wish to respect the new republic.”
    It was almost like having the old Murdoch back, whispering wicked commentary in her ear through Council meetings. She swallowed and fought her gratitude at his correcting her error. She had once been easily swayed by him. Never again.
    â€œI apologize. I am much shaken, Père Antoine,” she said to the priest.
    â€œOf course, mademoiselle,” he said, proving he preferred the old terms, “it is understandable. Where do you stay? I will take you there.”
    She had left her bag at the widow’s, prepared to remain there until she found Murdoch. Now that she’d found him, she had no reason to linger. Except that going home without Murdoch, no matter how far he’d fallen, felt like failure, and she refused to accept defeat so easily. She ignored the priest’s question while pondering her choices. “Do you often have winds like this?”
    â€œOnly since Abel has come to stay with us.”
    Abel? She glanced at Murdoch, but his expression remained enigmatic.
    â€œAbel,” the priest continued, “it would be best if you stay in the chapel until I can speak with you again.”
    Lissandra understood the priest’s fears. She knew enough of the ignorance of the Other World to grasp the danger they faced if Murdoch refused to leave the village and couldn’t restrain his gifts. And if he refused to leave, she could not either. Despite all rationality, her decision was made without a second thought.
    â€œHe is my husband,” she told the priest, defying Murdoch’s fingers digging into her upper arm. “I heard he was ill, and I have been looking all over France for him.” There, let Murdoch react to that declaration.
    He released her arm, and faded into the shadows of the alley where they walked. He was still there, listening, judging , but not interfering.
    The priest stopped short and stared at her in dismay. “Surely he did not abandon you, madame. He is a paragon of strength who mends our village as our government will not.”
    â€œParagons don’t throw men into trees,” Murdoch corrected with sarcasm, crossing his arms and leaning his wide shoulders against the burned-out skeleton of a house. “It is only a matter of time before the committee decides I am a demon traitor.”
    â€œThat is ridiculous,” the priest argued. “What you have