Warrior Reborn

by Melissa Mayhue

  “How amazing is the human mind?” he muttered, tugging on his horse’s lead as he headed across the bailey toward the waiting wagon.

  “Most amazing, indeed,” Halldor agreed, keeping pace with him. “It’s a man’s mind, not his brawn, what will most often save him in a battle.”

  Chase spared a look at the big man, grinning in spite of himself. He wondered, for perhaps the thousandth time, how he’d been so lucky as to have this man be his first contact in this world.

  “Is it not a fine day for a jaunt into the countryside?” Halldor boomed, returning the grin. “A hearty meal in our bellies, a sky filled with the promise of good weather, and friends to share the day. What more can a man ask from life?”

  Ahead of him, Christiana waited by the wagon, her cloak fluttering in the cold breeze. She lifted a hand to brush a lock of hair from her face, revealing cheeks stained pink by the cold.

  With scenery like that, a man didn’t need anything more.

  “Not a single thing I can think of,” Chase responded. “It looks like I have everything I need for a good day.”

  Any day he could find an excuse to spend with Christiana was a good day. The only thing that could make it better would be if the two of them were spending that day alone together.

  A few more steps brought him close enough to realize it wasn’t the cold that brought color to Christiana’s face.

  “Ignoring me will gain you nothing, Ulfr.” Her voice was raised beyond its normal pitch. “One barrel is no nearly enough.”

  “Enough or no, it’s all yer witch gets from our stores. Now get in the wagon before our good laird changes his mind and refuses to send anything at all.”

  Ulfr waited, arms crossed, making no attempt to assist Christiana.

  The whole scenario struck Chase as odd. He would have expected the captain to show considerably more respect to his laird’s sister.

  “If that’s yer final word, then so be it.” She stepped back from the wagon, crossing her arms to mirror Ulfr’s stance. “Unless we take the full complement to barter, I’ve no reason to go.”

  They faced one another across the space of three feet, neither appearing willing to back down.

  “Lord Torquil will no be pleased if I have to fetch him here.” Ulfr leaned closer toward Christiana. “I’d no suppose our laird’s displeasure is something you wish to bring down upon yerself, now is it?”

  That Ulfr pulled the threat card didn’t sit well with Chase. Not well at all. Couple that with the way he’d been holding her arm when they’d followed her yesterday, and Chase’s hand itched for another go at the man.

  “Is there a problem here?” He pasted an easy smile on his lips as he stepped within reaching distance of the two.

  “No problem at all, good sir,” Christiana answered, not taking her eyes off Ulfr. “Though I fear you’ve wasted yer time in preparing for a journey that will no be happening now.”

  “We’ll see how brave you sound after I speak to yer brother.” Ulfr turned his back and strode off toward the main keep.

  “Four barrels, Ulfr!” Christiana called after him. “I’ll travel with nothing less.”

  An uncomfortable silence settled around them, broken at length by Halldor.

  “So it’s a witch we’re off to see, is it?”

  Christiana blinked several times as if she tried to process the question. Whether it was the words themselves that surprised her or Halldor’s speaking in the first place, Chase couldn’t be sure. What he was sure of was that she wrestled with her answer before responding.

  “Orabilis is no witch, no matter what Ulfr or others might say. She’s but a wise woman, a healer.” She stopped, like a woman who’d said her piece, her lips drawn into a thin, straight line. Then, with a deep breath, she lifted her chin as if daring them to argue with her and continued. “She is also perhaps the kindest, most intelligent person I have ever known in the whole of my life.”

  “As you’d have it, my lady.” Halldor dipped his head respectfully. “Though there’s naught in your words to refute her being a witch.”

  “Is it no enough that I vouch for her? That I tell you there’s no reason to fear her? Have I given you any reason to doubt that I speak the truth?” The color on Christiana’s cheeks deepened.

  “Let it go,” Chase cautioned his friend before turning to face Christiana. “We are more than satisfied that you speak the truth.”

  It was obvious that the woman was already upset enough without Halldor carrying on about witches, of all things. Though, in the man’s defense, Chase was hardly in any position to pass judgment on whatever fantasies his friend might believe to be true. He was living proof that real life actually did harbor a host of the bizarre and unusual.

  “Apologies, my lady.” Halldor dipped his head once more. “It was not my intent to question the truth of your words. It’s only that you defend this woman as if being a witch is a bad thing. It’s not. They have their own roles to play in the web the Norns have woven for us. I’ve no fear of them, only a healthy respect.”

  Chase cast an annoyed glance to his friend, preparing himself for Christiana’s angry response.

  Instead, she surprised him with a small smile. “Yer words sound like something my father might have said. I’d offer up my own apologies for making assumptions without first listening. It’s only that Orabilis is—”

  Her words were cut short by Ulfr calling out to Chase and Halldor as he approached them.

  “Mount up and lead the lady’s wagon around to the door of the kitchen’s storeroom. It seems we’ll be adding barrels to our wagon.”

  Every trace of Christiana’s smile disappeared, her chin once again lifted defiantly. “Four barrels in total?” she asked.

  “Four barrels in total,” Ulfr confirmed, reaching for his horse’s reins. Turning his back to them, he led the way without waiting for further comment.

  Christiana placed one foot upon the step of the wagon and Chase was instantly at her side, his hands around her waist to lift her up. No sooner had his fingers grazed against the cloth of her gown than a bolt of excitement shot through him, setting his heart pounding.

  Beneath his touch she tensed, turning her head to look up into his eyes. She placed a hand on his forearm as he lifted, and time seemed to stop as her face came level with his. Her lips, parted and inviting, were so close he needed only to dip his head a fraction of an inch to capture them as he’d wanted to from the first moment he’d seen her.

  Behind him, Halldor cleared his throat, breaking the spell.

  Chase hoisted her up into the wagon and, as soon as she took her seat, he stepped quickly away, his breath coming in short, ragged pants. The urge to hold her close was so strong, he’d had to make himself release his grip on her. Forcing himself to concentrate on the task at hand, he did his best to push the feelings away as he climbed onto his horse, but they were too strong to be ignored.

  Un-freaking-believable.

  It was need that overwhelmed him. Need, pure and simple, and every bit as vivid as if he were caught in another dream of her.

  Thirteen

  WHAT ARE WE to do with her?”

  Brie backed against the side of the Tinklers’ wagon, refusing to cower before the people gathered around her. She straightened her back and squared her shoulders, meeting their accusing stares. She’d known this moment would come, when they’d discover she’d hidden herself in their wagon and confronted her for her actions.

  But knowing didn’t make it any easier. And it certainly wasn’t her fault that pitiful little minstrel dancer had been frightened enough to jump from the wagon and hurt herself.

  “Return her. She belongs to the MacGahan.”

  Brie cut her eyes to the woman who’d spoken and the woman took a step away. As she should. Brie belonged to none save her own self.

  “There’s no silver to be made in backtracking. I say we leave her here and go on,” one of the minstrels said.

  Not exactly a caring man, tha
t one. And people claimed it was the Tinklers who were not to be trusted.

  “I say we punish her.” The minstrel girl sat on the ground several feet away, her eyes wet with tears, a cold, wet cloth held to her face. “Beat her with a stick and leave her here by the side of the road.”

  Brie lifted her chin and stared the girl down. She’d like to see any of them try what the weak little scold dared suggest.

  “Hush, Eleyne. Yer face and foot will heal.” The Tinklers’ leader spoke up at last. “What say you, lass? Why have you hidden yerself in our wagon? What are you running from?”

  “Yer mistaken in yer question, William.” His wife, Editha, moved closer, her hand outstretched as if she caressed a passing breeze. “It’s where she’s running to, no from, that puts her here with us. Is that not so?”

  Brie studied the other woman’s eyes, searching for any sense of accusation, but she found no malice there. No judgment. Nothing to draw her ire.

  “It is true that I have a need to travel north. When I learned that yer wagons headed in that direction, I decided to join you.”

  The woman who wanted to take her back to Castle MacGahan responded, “Hiding in a pile of woolens is no joining us. Yer but a shameless woman who’s run from her home, leaving us to be heaped with the blame for stealing you away against yer will. We must return her, else they’ll send men after us.”

  “Calm yerself, Esther. The MacGahan is unlikely to think us responsible for—”

  “Leave her and be done with it,” the minstrel interrupted. “She’s but a witless, troublesome wench who thinks to gain herself the adventure of a market day in Inverness, hunting for pretties. There’s no a single silver to be made in taking her there.”

  “I’ve no interest in market day or in Inverness.” Brie had contained herself as long as she could. “It’s no pretties I seek, but a man. The man who murdered my father.”

  “Revenge, is it?” The minstrel laughed, his mouth drawn into a cruel, mocking line. “Revenge is the business of men. Best you keep yerself to yer man’s warm hearth, woman.”

  “Have a care for yer tongue, Hugo,” William warned. “She’s but a lass.”

  “I belong to no man. I am Bridget MacCulloch, daughter of the House MacUlagh, descended from the Ancient Seven who ruled all this land upon which you trod. I’m more than capable of seeking my own revenge.”

  “Oh, my apologies, yer highness,” Hugo mocked. “I’ll grant you appear to be fit enough for a woman. I’ve no doubt yer chores are but little effort to you, and you obviously had no problem in tossing our poor wee Eleyne out on her arse. But yer hardly a fit match for a man. For a fact you—”

  With a speed matched by only a well-trained few, Bridget leapt at the man, unsheathing the knife she wore at her waist as she moved to hold it to Hugo’s throat, abruptly ending his words in a sharp, hissing intake of breath.

  “Hardly a fit match for a man, am I? Then what are you, minstrel? No a man by yer own definition, I’d say. Here I’ve bested you, and I’m no even breathing hard for doing it.”

  “You see? She’s wicked!” Eleyne screamed.

  “Hold yer weapon down, Bridget MacCulloch,” William ordered. “If, that is, you’d have us give any consideration to taking you where you want to go.”

  “What?” Hugo exclaimed, stumbling away from her, his hand at his neck, as she resheathed her weapon. “By what good sense would you think even once upon allowing this savage wildling to travel with us?”

  “You claim birthright from the houses of the Ancient Picts, do you?” Editha approached to stand close to Brie, speaking to her as if no one else were around them.

  “I do.”

  “Then I will rely on the honor of yer ancestors for yer absolute honesty with us. Where is it you’d hope to go?”

  “Toward the northern coast.” To a place she hadn’t seen since she was little more than a bairn. “To Tordenet Castle.”

  “I dinna ken a place called—” William began.

  “Thunder Castle,” Editha interrupted. “Gleaming white upon the shore. Deandrea’s home.”

  “A gleaming white castle, is it? There is wealth in this place of which you speak?” Hugo seemed to have overcome his distrust at the mention of Brie’s destination.

  “There’s wealth aplenty,” Brie confirmed. If Torquil MacDowylt had stolen from others as he stole from the MacGahan, he must have storage rooms filled to the bursting with treasures.

  “We willna go to the Thunder Castle. We would no pass through the gates of Tordenet for a wagon filled with silver.” William crossed his arms. “No Tinkler would.”

  “But you can go near to Tordenet, even if you dinna go inside, true?” That was all Brie needed. She’d find her own way in.

  “Indeed,” Hugo agreed. “This Tordenet of yers sounds to me to be a place in dire need of the entertainment we can provide. Especially since you say no one goes there.”

  “Just get me close. That’s all I ask.” Begging didn’t come easily to Brie, but she was willing to make an exception for so important a cause. “I will be in yer debt.”

  “I suppose we are long overdue for a visit to Rowan Cottage.” William looked to his wife, waiting for her nod of agreement.

  “It is settled then. We travel to the Thunder Castle.”

  Fourteen

  YOU’LL STAY WHERE you are until I say it’s time to stop, aye? And this is no the time I’m choosing to stop.”

  Chase had taken just about all of Ulfr’s crap he could stomach. Much more of this over-the-top rudeness to Christiana and he wasn’t sure he’d be keeping his job with the MacDowylt, regardless of whether the Faeries who’d sent him wanted him here.

  Punching out your senior officer was likely as bad now as it would be in his own time.

  He glanced to Halldor to see his friend’s face uncharacteristically drawn in anger.

  Christiana ignored Ulfr as if he’d never spoken, climbing down from the wagon and hopping the final distance to the ground.

  “I’m only going as far as the trees. I’ve a need for a moment of privacy, so I’d appreciate yer no following me.”

  Seemed a perfectly reasonable request to Chase.

  Apparently Ulfr didn’t see it that way. He dismounted and started after her.

  There was a definite line between acceptable and unacceptable that Ulfr seemed determined to blunder across. With a tug on his reins, Chase moved his horse forward, blocking his captain’s path.

  “And what do you think yer doing?” Ulfr demanded. “I gave an order and I expect it obeyed. We’ve precious little daylight left us as it is, especially with the speed at which this storm is rolling in. We’ve no time to waste.”

  “Let her have her moment of privacy. Five minutes one way or another isn’t going to make that much of a difference now.” Chase glanced up toward the dark, heavy clouds roiling overhead. “If we’re going to get caught out in bad weather, whether it’s here or five hundred feet down the trail won’t matter much, now will it?”

  Halldor moved his mount closer. “There’s no need for disagreement, gentlemen. Here’s our lady now,” he announced.

  Christiana had emerged from the trees, clutching her cloak against the rising wind as she made her way back toward the wagon.

  Ulfr stepped around Chase’s horse and strode in her direction, grabbing her arm to jerk her forward, causing her to stumble.

  That did it. Line was officially crossed and, job or no job, Chase could tolerate no more of Ulfr’s behavior.

  One moment Chase was sliding from his saddle and the next, his fingers closed around the linen at the back of Ulfr’s neck, bringing the man to an abrupt halt.

  “If you plan on keeping that hand, asswipe, you better keep it to yourself,” Chase advised. “Now let go of the lady and get back on your horse.”

  Chase led Christiana to the wagon, assisting her up into her seat. Her gasp as she turned had him spinning just in time to avoid Ulfr’s charge.

  “Son of a�
�” Chase ducked under the other man’s arm, leading with an uppercut to Ulfr’s chin that sent the captain staggering sideways against the wagon even as Halldor roared a warning.

  Thunder cracked overhead and Christiana screamed as her frightened horses reared and bolted forward. Chase grabbed for Ulfr’s plaid, yanking him away from the out-of-control wagon just in time to avoid his being crushed under the massive wheel. He let the other man fall to the ground, running for his mount, urging his horse to a gallop even before he had both feet in the stirrups.

  Christiana had fallen backward over the seat into the bed of the wagon. She wrapped her arms around one of the barrels of flour as the wagon pitched perilously over rocks and dips in the trail with the horses gaining speed.

  One side of the wagon lifted entirely up off the ground and hit back down with a loud crash of splintering wood as the back wheel gave way. The horses, in full frenzy, dragged the broken wagon off the trail and through the brush.

  Chase was so close now, he could see the reins flapping uselessly over the lead animal’s back. He tried not to think what it meant that Christiana’s body bounced between the barrels like a rag doll. Another few feet and he should be able to reach . . .

  The horses darted away in another direction, speeding across an almost dry riverbed, sending the wagon off-kilter. His heart thudded in his chest as he raced toward them, so close he could see Christiana’s face but too far to do more than yell, when the whole thing tilted onto its side and rolled completely over.

  As if by some random intervention of a benevolent god, the front of the wagon jammed into the riverbank and the rigging broke free, allowing the horses to stampede on, leaving the broken wagon behind.

  “Christiana!” he yelled as he jumped from his horse and squatted beside the wreck, reaching into the small, dark opening between the seat and the wet ground. His touch grazed something soft and he tightened his fingers around his find, the edge of her cloak.