Warrior Reborn

by Melissa Mayhue

  IT COULD BE either one of them.

  Torquil stared after the departing men, frustrated by his inability to read which of them carried the fate of his destiny on their shoulders.

  “I asked for a moment with you, my laird, because I have need of—”

  “Silence!” He held up a hand to stop Christiana from speaking. His interest was not in what she needed but in what he needed, a fact she so often failed to remember. “It’s one of them, isn’t it?”

  A flare of irritation sparked in her eyes when they met his. Irritation and . . . was that defiance he saw there? Foolish girl. She had neither the ability to lie to him nor the intelligence necessary to trick him. For his part, he had neither the time nor the patience to indulge her in playing her usual word games.

  “I want a straight answer. Is one of them the man you saw in your Vision? Yes or no, little sister. Don’t parse your words with me. I’m in no mood for it.”

  Her lips straightened to a thin, hard line. “Yes.”

  Good. Progress at last. Though it was like pulling nettles from the skin one by one to get the information he wanted from her.

  “Which of them? Is it the elder brother, Halldor?”

  That one certainly appeared the logical choice. It was he, after all, who’d rushed to escort her into the room; he who’d thrown himself in front of her like a shield when the swordplay had begun.

  “I cannot with any certainty say it is he.”

  The muscles in her jaw worked as if she tried to prevent herself from giving the answers he wanted. Pathetic Tinkler spawn. Had she any sense at all, she would have accepted her place—and her fate—long ago.

  “But it is definitely one of them.” He stated the obvious, seeking her confirmation. “Is it no?”

  “It is.” She bit off the words as if in an attempt to hold them back.

  Leaving him with the challenge of determining which of the men he needed and what role that man would play. Torquil could think of only one way to accomplish the task quickly.

  “I must know which of those men will be responsible for my success. I require you to retire to my tower immediately. You will travel to Skuld’s world for me, seeking a very specific Vision of the future from her.” She had the ability. He’d seen her do such a thing before. That it was difficult and dangerous for her to challenge Skuld’s will was of no importance to him.

  “I canna do as you ask.”

  “What?” He turned on her, roaring his anger, allowing the beast within to rear its head. “I dinna ask it. I ordered it to be so. You’ll do what I say, when I say it. You’ll no be about refusing me if you value keeping yer daft head upon yer shoulders.”

  “I’m no refusing you, my laird.” She spoke without flinching despite his threat. “I simply canna do as you order. I tried to tell you earlier. It’s the reason I came here, the reason I’ve requested an audience with you for the past week. My supply of herbs is gone. To travel in the manner you require, I must have the tonic Orabilis brews for me. Without the herbs to prepare it, I have no control over where the Visions take me.”

  Deep inside him, violence stirred. Control of the beast had become so much more difficult since that day in the forest when he’d unleashed its power. Even now, the beast clawed its way up from his bowels as his rage flared, demanding to be free, to wreak vengeance on those who would oppose him. To taste blood again.

  But giving himself over to the beast meant relinquishing intellectual control, and that he could not allow. Now, of all times, his wits must remain keen.

  “No,” he forced out between gritted teeth, his internal battle rampaging within.

  “Then I dinna see how—” Christiana began.

  “Silence!” he yelled. Or perhaps the command had come from the beast within him; he couldn’t be sure.

  She backed away from him, her clutched hands held over her heart, her eyes filled with fear.

  Fear that only strengthened the beast.

  Torquil labored to close his eyes, finally turning his back on her, hoping it would be enough. An unearthly howl filled his mind as the beast shrank back into the depths where it lived, taking the bloodlust that colored his sanity with it.

  He straightened his back, breathing in the sweet smell of control once more. Clarity of thought returned, he wiped the spittle from the corners of his mouth before turning back to face those waiting for his next move.

  No alternative was left for him but to allow Christiana to visit her witch. But having this forced upon him didn’t mean he couldn’t use it for his own ends.

  “Very well, I will consider your request. Leave me.”

  “I will need to take flour along to trade.” Her voice shook and she took a step backward, away from him.

  “I said I would consider it. Now do as yer told and leave me!”

  He had but to raise his voice only a little and she complied. Complied? He clamped his jaw shut to keep himself from laughing out loud. She scuttled from the room like a terrified mouse.

  A mouse who had no need to know his decision had already been made.

  At last he turned his attention to Ulfr. The idiot stood, dripping blood to a puddle on the floor, his eyes round as loaves of bread.

  “You will accompany my sister to trade with her witch. You personally, Ulfr. Not someone you assign to the task as you have in the past. Do I make myself clear?”

  Had Ulfr done as he was told last time, Malcolm might not have escaped, although the women who helped him did so with a Magic of their own that even Ulfr would have been helpless against.

  “Yes, my lord. As you say, it will be done.”

  “Good. I want those two new men, O’Donar and his brother, assigned to accompany you. You are to observe their every interaction with Christiana and report it back to me. Observe, but you’ll no interfere with either of the men. This is of the utmost importance to me, Ulfr. I’ll no take well to yer failing me in this task.”

  “As you will it, my lord.”

  The man bowed his head, but not before Torquil saw the fear in his face.

  “Now go. And send someone in to clean up this mess.” The odor of fresh blood made it all the more difficult to restrain the beast.

  Ulfr nearly ran from the room, reminding Torquil of Christiana’s retreat.

  Perhaps the time had come to replace Ulfr as captain of his personal guard. Noble had certainly defeated him easily enough. Perhaps that was the role the man from his sister’s Vision was destined to play. Champion to the Lord of Katanes in title as well as in deed.

  He rather liked the sound of that.

  Ulfr, meanwhile, would have this one last chance to be of good use. With some well-placed suggestions, he might even be able to instigate the actions that would point to his own replacement. And after he returned, whether through his observations or through Christiana’s Vision travel, Torquil would name his new champion.

  Eleven

  SHE HAD INVADED his dreams every night since the gates of Tordenet had first closed behind him. Though tonight was no exception, the dream itself was altogether different.

  Chase peered down into the face of the woman clasped against him, her body warm and willing under his.

  “Christiana.”

  He breathed her name, savoring the feel of it on his lips. Her eyes opened and he plunged into their depths. Falling, falling, adrenaline pumping, the air rushing past his ears. He’d experienced this feeling before, every time he’d jumped from the belly of a Chinook copter, and again during the earthquake that sent him hurtling back . . .

  As though a bucket of cold water had hit him in the face, he was suddenly wide awake, his breathing heavy, his body aching with unfulfilled need.

  No way he’d be able to get back to sleep now.

  As quietly as possible he stood and slipped his feet into his boots, then wrapped his plaid around him. With his shirt clasped in his hand, he slipped through the door and out into the night.

  The cold stung his senses, which was exactly
what he needed right now.

  He slid into his shirt and wrapped the end of his plaid over his head and shoulders, thinking, not for the first time, about the practicality of the garment.

  His gaze was drawn to the far side of bailey, to the tower perched in dark relief against the stone wall. A tiny shard of light wavered from the top window.

  Was she awake? Had she dreamed of him, as he’d dreamed of her? He could no more put her from his waking thoughts than he could from his dreams.

  This was what he’d come to. Lusting after a woman he barely knew. He rubbed a hand over his face, unable to pull his gaze from the orange flicker in the distance.

  That limb must have hit his head a whole lot harder than he’d thought, as Halldor was so fond of saying. Either that or getting jerked through seven hundred years had seriously messed him up.

  “A warrior who cannot sleep is a warrior who cannot fight.”

  “I can always fight,” Chase responded, somehow not surprised that Halldor had joined him.

  “There’s a change on the wind tonight,” his friend said quietly after a time. “Is it that which keeps you awake?”

  “Maybe.” He’d much rather let his friend think that was the problem, than confide his fantasizing over Christiana MacDowylt like he was some thirteen-year-old who’d just discovered girls. “You expect it to snow?”

  “Snow?” Surprise sounded in Halldor’s voice. “I suppose that is possible as well, though that was not where my thoughts carried me.”

  The tower window went dark and Chase finally turned to face his friend. “Then where are your thoughts?”

  “They are in this place, little brother. Things are not as they seem here.”

  Chase shook his head, wondering exactly what his friend meant. “They are as they seem if you believe this is a powerful man gearing up for war. Over half the men I’ve spoken to are newly hired mercenaries, just like us. Our employer is planning to take someone down. Hard.”

  “I do not speak of that. At least not just that. Look around you. Feel this place. There’s a great violence dwelling here.”

  “It’s a violent time.” Chase opted for a cavalier note as he turned his gaze up to the starlit sky, but he knew as soon as he uttered the words they were meaningless. He had personal knowledge that people would always be so. “We’re a violent race.”

  “Open your eyes, little brother. Open your heart. There’s more than the violence of men in this place. Evil dwells here.”

  More than most, Chase understood that there was a modicum of truth in many of the strange beliefs held by ancient peoples. That didn’t mean, however, that he was a practitioner of those beliefs.

  “Not one of my talents, I’m afraid. I don’t ‘feel’ things.” At least nothing other than a warning tingle up the back of his neck that had more than once saved his life.

  “You must believe me when I tell you that there are men who possess extraordinary gifts of power. Gifts such as the ones that live deeply trapped within your own soul. You’ve but to tap into them and set them free. Our first day here, you spoke of the ‘vibes’ you felt when we entered this place. You credit yourself far too little.”

  “No, my friend, you credit me far too much. Don’t get me wrong. I do believe there are people who’ve been gifted with extraordinary powers.” His sister Leah’s face danced through his mind, but Chase pushed those memories away. “I just don’t happen to be one of them. I’m nothing more than a warrior, Halldor. A warrior plain and simple.” It was all he was ever meant to be, and apparently he’d been put in the place he belonged in order to be exactly that.

  CHRISTIANA SAT CROSS-LEGGED on the stones in front of a flickering candle, her head cradled in her hands, despair gnawing at her innards.

  What would she do? If Torquil refused her passage to visit Orabilis again, what could she do?

  Nothing.

  She would be his prisoner here forever, her fate at the mercy of Skuld’s every whim. Trapped here without either the knowledge or the ability to steer her own destiny. Watching helplessly as the man whose destiny she had interfered with suffered whatever fate the future might bring. That fear, more than anything else, pained her.

  For without access to the herbs Orabilis provided, she hadn’t the ability to search Skuld’s world for the information she needed to find. She’d spent the last several hours attempting unsuccessfully to make her way into the Visions. Not only could she not target what she wanted to find, it seemed as though she was no longer able to step foot in Skuld’s world of future possibilities at all.

  She couldn’t even focus on the pathway to reach her desired destination. Each time she closed her eyes it was Chase Noble that filled her mind. Chase’s strong shoulders, straining at the cloth of his tunic as he practiced in the lists, his easy smile as she bandaged his foot, the sound of his voice as he spoke her name, the way her skin heated each time they touched. She could only imagine what it might feel like to have him hold her close; to have his lips hovering over hers as they shared a kiss.

  A shiver ran the length of her spine and she forced the image of him away. It was completely improper for her to harbor such fantasies about him. It was a rescuer, not a lover, that she had seen in her future, and that was what the Elf had sent to her.

  She couldn’t fault Chase for her inability to reach the Visions. There must be some other reason. Something she was overlooking.

  Had she spent so long in Skuld’s world the last time that she’d worn out her welcome? Or was it as simple as the disquiet she carried in her soul after her meeting with Torquil?

  Her half brother had long worried her. Better than most, she saw that the power he took into himself changed him. Corrupted him. Blackened his soul. But today, for the first time ever, she’d known true fear in his presence. When he’d turned to order her from the room, the eyes that had looked back at her from his face, red and glowing hot, had not belonged to him. It had taken all the courage she could muster to speak to him again before fleeing.

  Rising from the floor, Christiana picked up her candle to carry it with her down the winding stairs. Cold licked at her ankles as she reached the bottom step, where only the soft glow of embers remained in her fireplace to greet her. She bent down to stir them before adding wood to encourage the fire back to life.

  Her stomach growled as she pulled her bedding close to the fire, reminding her she’d missed her meals in her effort to travel on the wings of the Visions.

  “And all for naught,” she sighed. She was no closer to knowing what was to come than she had been at first light, when she’d rolled these blankets up to store them for the day.

  Sitting down, she pulled off her shoes and dropped them to the raised hearth next to her. The fire crackled and spit, releasing a spark that floated away on a current of heated air. Her eyes followed it as it danced upward like a living thing seeking its freedom, until it reached the level of the mantel. There it touched upon her bag of runes, just as its heat faded and it disappeared into nothing.

  Her runes!

  Had the gods called her name aloud, they couldn’t have made themselves heard any more clearly.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, not sure which of the gods might have smiled upon her this night and unwilling to annoy any of them by choosing the wrong one to honor.

  The bag was small and dark, made from the softest of leathers. Her father had claimed that it had been passed down through generations of their family, and she had no reason to doubt his word.

  She sat on the floor again, loosened the ties, and pulled forth a square of embroidered linen before allowing the contents to spill out into her hand. Twenty-four bits of carved wood, darkened and worn smooth by untold years of use.

  Her runes.

  With the linen square flattened out in front of her, she closed her eyes and dropped the runes from her hand.

  With her Visions of the future withheld, she asked for guidance from the Ancient Ones. Some clue as to what was to come. Some clue as
to what she needed to do to save herself and the man she’d forced the Elf to send to her. One false step on her part and Torquil could well bring the world as they knew it to an end. The world and Chase Noble.

  Eyes still shut, she concentrated on the two of them—her and Chase, together, his arms entwined around her. With the vision in her mind, she reached down and chose two of the runes at random, closing her fingers around them, savoring the feel of the old wood against her palm.

  One for her, one for the man whose arrival she’d awaited so long. One for Christiana, one for Chase.

  Within her palm, the little coins of wood nested together, face-to-face. With a shaking finger, she pushed them flat to see what message she had been given.

  Tiwaz, the warrior, and Berkana, the birch tree. The first advised courage and strength of conviction, while the second portended new beginnings and birth. Or rebirth.

  Only as she stared at the old carvings did her mistake occur to her. She should have chosen them one at a time. One clearly for her, one clearly for him.

  Too late for that now. The Ancient Ones had already spoken.

  She fisted her fingers around the runes and lay back on her blankets. Snuggling down into the heavy woolens, she clutched them to her heart.

  The answers she’d sought were here for the taking. She had but to interpret their meaning properly. Which of them was to be the Warrior and which one was to be Reborn?

  Twelve

  AS FEELINGS WENT, this was a new one.

  Chase stroked his hand along the neck of the large horse he’d chosen last night, surveying the activity in the courtyard around him.

  Being here felt right. Him, the horse, his friend Halldor at his side—all of it. He basked in a new-found sense that this was where he was supposed to be at this moment in time.

  At this moment in time.

  Thinking the words still sent a shiver down his neck, though not the jolt to his system it had a few days before. It seemed that whether he was boarding a C-17 in the States and offloading in a desert half way around the world or slamming through seven centuries, his brain adapted and compensated, keeping him on course like the autopilot on an airplane.