Warrior Reborn

by Melissa Mayhue

  “Christiana? Can you hear me?”

  He waited, holding his breath, praying for a response. A noise sounded from the dark—a groan perhaps? It was all the encouragement Chase needed.

  He was up, his back against the side of the wagon, straining to lift it off her.

  “Halldor!” he called, shifting position to put his shoulder into his effort. He couldn’t do this alone; the wagon was far too heavy. “Help me, Hall. Hurry!”

  “On three,” the big man said, landing at his side as he leapt from his horse. “One, two, three!”

  Together they pushed the bed of the wagon a few feet up off the ground.

  “Move a barrel there.” Halldor motioned down with his head. “I can balance this.”

  Trusting his friend to know the limits of his own strength, Chase reached inside to drag one of the barrels under the edge of the wagon bed.

  With the side propped up he could see her clearly now, making not even the slightest movement. On his hands and knees he moved to her side, slipping two fingers along the warmth of her neck.

  The pulse he felt there, strong and steady, rocked him with relief.

  Short-lived relief, as a crunching sound came from the barrel supporting the wagon’s weight.

  “Get out of there,” Hall ordered.

  Ideally he’d check any victim of an accident for broken bones before moving them, but this situation was about as far from ideal as he could imagine.

  On hands and knees, he hooked his hands under Christiana’s arms and began to back out, but something was holding her firmly in place.

  Another splintering crunch from the barrel.

  “Hurry, little brother. Our brace is not going to hold for much longer.”

  “She’s stuck.”

  Chase methodically felt along her body, tucking her arms up onto her chest and following lower to her legs, at last finding the problem. One foot was trapped between two barrels, both of which were firmly lodged under the lower edge of the wagon.

  “Goddammit,” he growled, ramming his shoulder against one of the barrels without result.

  Light blocked out behind him as Hall, on his hands and knees, backed into the opening.

  “Back up against the wagon bed. If we push together, we can lift this wooden beast onto her side.”

  Chase slid into position and, giving it everything he had, pushed, straightening his legs as he lifted up.

  Another splintering crack and the wagon rocked back over onto its side. With the weight of the wagon lifted off the barrels, it was now a simple matter to move them and free Christiana’s foot.

  “She lives?” the big man asked, hovering over them.

  As if in answer, Christiana groaned.

  “She lives,” Chase confirmed, kneeling at her side to brush away the hair splayed across her face.

  Another groan and her eyes fluttered open.

  “You’ve had yourself quite the little adventure, haven’t you?” he asked, smiling down at her.

  “I’m no at all fond of adventure,” she managed through gritted teeth, clutching the hand he offered. “I must reach Orabilis.”

  “She wants her wit—” Hall bit off the word before starting again. “She wants her wise woman. That one will be able to heal our lady’s pains.”

  “In that case, I’m taking her to her wise woman.”

  “I’ve captured the runaway team,” Ulfr called as he rode toward them, leading the panting animals behind him. “They tired of their escape at last.”

  Chase was already in his saddle, leaning down to take Christiana from Hall’s arms by the time Ulfr reached their side.

  “Here now, what’s this? What do you think yer doing with our laird’s sister?”

  Chase had no time for Ulfr’s questions. “If I stay on this path, will it lead me directly to the wise woman?”

  “Yes, but . . .” The captain looked from Chase to Hall and back again, his eyes narrowing. “We’re no going forward now. We’ll head back to Tordenet and return with a work detail to repair the wagon.”

  “No, you’ll head back to Tordenet. Christiana’s hurt. She says this Orabilis can help her, so I’m taking her there.”

  Chase urged his horse forward to speed down the trail. It didn’t matter what Ulfr had to say. He was doing what needed to be done, and he’d deal with the consequences later.

  “STRONG BARRELS, EH?” Halldor slapped a hand down on one, still intact in spite of the accident. Turning his back on the quickly disappearing rider, he gathered up the reins of his own animal and climbed into the saddle. “I pray the wise woman’s healing skills are good enough to justify our lady’s faith in her.”

  “Good as any, I’d suppose.” Ulfr turned his horse back in the direction they’d come from. “Though you’d no catch me putting my own self into the clutches of one such as her. Wise woman, my arse. A witch she is, plain and simple.”

  It would do little good to point out that a talented witch could often be a valuable ally. Such thoughts would be wasted on the likes of this captain. They rode in silence for the next several minutes, the guilt of not having done enough to prevent the accident preying on Halldor’s mind. He should never have lost his temper.

  “Unpleasant business, this,” he intoned, as much to himself as to his traveling companion. “I suppose our laird will be heartily displeased at news of his sister’s injuries.”

  “Mayhap.” Ulfr shrugged. “But like as no, his ire will be tempered by the knowledge that yer brother is the one he seeks.”

  Halldor tugged on his reins, bringing his horse to a stop. He didn’t care for the sound of that. “Explain yourself.”

  “My lord directed that I should seek to determine which of you it is that fulfills Mistress Christiana’s Vision. It was foretold that the rightful man would see himself as her defender.”

  “Visions? Of future events?”

  Now there was a twist he’d not counted on. And if Torquil was so set upon determining which of them had appeared in the good lady’s visions, it seemed only wise to hinder that determination in any way he could.

  “Aye,” Ulfr confirmed.

  “And it was for this reason you behaved as you did to the good lady we accompanied?”

  Ulfr only nodded, as if he suspected he’d already said too much. Perhaps he had.

  “It’s not that I want to ruin your plan to tell your laird that my brother is the man he seeks, but I feel that I should be honest with you about one small detail.”

  “Aye? And that would be?”

  “The only reason it was Chase instead of me who ended up defending our good lady against your rudeness is that I was on the opposite side of the wagon at the time.”

  Ulfr swung his head in denial. “No, yer brother was ready to do battle over Mistress Christiana. It’s him, no you, as I figure it.”

  “Could be you’re right. Not having all the information available, I’ll be the first to admit I could be wrong.” Halldor paused, waiting for his words to lull the other man. “On the other hand, I can tell you this much for a fact. If I ever see you treating our good lady in such an accursed manner again, I’ll crush your head between my own two hands like a dried apple between rocks. You follow my meaning?”

  Ulfr nodded, this time pulling his horse a few steps ahead of Halldor.

  That should give the worm something to think over, and something to pass along to his laird, as well.

  The silence hung over them for miles, which Halldor appreciated, since it freed him to consider more important matters.

  And chief among them was deciding which he found more interesting: that Mistress Christiana frequented Skuld’s world in visions of the future, or that he and Chase Noble somehow figured into those visions.

  Fifteen

  CHASE TIGHTENED HIS hold on Christiana, berating himself for all his mistakes. Just about everything he could imagine doing wrong, he had done wrong, like some new recruit on his first mission out. He knew better than to be jostling an accident
victim cross-country on horseback. Not that he had much choice. He could hardly call for an evac here.

  Still, he’d failed his training on the most basic level. He hadn’t checked for a spinal injury or broken bones before hefting her into his lap and heading out at a trot, bouncing every bone in both their bodies. Hell, he hadn’t even checked for concussion.

  You couldn’t get much sloppier than that.

  Okay. Fine. He’d dropped the ball. But she was still breathing and he would make the best of the situation. He knew for a fact she was in pain, and her ankle had swelled to twice its normal size.

  Not that he’d spent an inordinate amount of time studying her ankles, pre-accident. Maybe his eyes had strayed there a few times, but what he saw now was sure as hell no normal ankle.

  If the accident had done that to her foot when she hit the ground, there was no telling what it could have done to her head. And since he hadn’t had the good sense to verify it one way or another, his smartest move was to go on the assumption that there was a problem and make sure she didn’t drift off to sleep before they reached the wise woman’s home.

  “How are you holding up?” he asked.

  “How am I . . . I’m no holding anything.” She shifted in his arms, groaning in the process.

  He tightened his grip on her. “Just relax. I’ve got you.” Though somehow the Magic allowed him to speak the same language as everyone in this time, “same language” didn’t always have the same meaning. “I only wanted to know how you’re feeling.”

  “Ah.” Again she shifted, eliciting another groan. “My foot pains me still.”

  Little wonder, considering how those barrels had wedged against her ankle.

  When he felt her relax against his chest, he was tempted to allow her to escape the pain through dozing off, but that would be as careless as his having neglected to check her injuries in the first place.

  “We’re a long way from Tordenet. How is it you found this wise woman of yours way out here in the first place?”

  “I had no need to find Orabilis. She brought me to Rowan Cottage herself many times. She lived in this place long before my family arrived. In the years before my father grew ill and infirm, she and I would travel here to spend time tending her gardens.”

  “So she used to live at the castle with you, and now she’s back out here all by herself. Why would she choose to do that? Seems to me like Tordenet would be a much safer place for an elderly woman.” Especially in this day and age.

  “Things are not always as they seem.”

  “Fair point.” He of all people knew that to be truth. “So, you’re saying that she is safer out here on her own. Is that because people like Ulfr accuse her of being a witch?”

  “People like Ulfr are little more than an annoyance to Orabilis. Tordenet’s danger lies more in people like my brother. People who’d gladly see her dead.”

  And why would a powerful laird like Torquil want to harm an old woman? He was about to ask when Christiana spoke again.

  “We’re close now,” she said. “See the small trail there into the trees? Down that way just a piece and we’ll be there.”

  He did see the trail, now that she’d pointed it out. But had she not been with him, or had she been unable to direct him, he could easily have missed the cutoff.

  The trail, perhaps—but not the signs that someone lived around here. He sniffed the air, ripe with the acrid scent of burning peat. He should have picked up on those clues some time ago. Instead, he’d been captivated by Christiana, completely ignoring his surroundings.

  What was it about this woman that so put him off his game?

  “Through those trees there.”

  As they cleared the stand of trees, the location of the cottage became evident, though without the smoke curling from one end of the roof he might have missed it, set behind a rise in the land as it was. A ring of trees surrounded the house, spaced far enough apart that there was no mistaking a human hand in their placement. Ten minutes ago he would have sworn that landscaping for the sake of pleasing the eye didn’t exist in this day and age. The cottage and trees he approached now told him a very different story.

  “She’s there!”

  The words escaped Christiana’s lips on a breath, as if without her conscious thought.

  An old woman stopped midway between the door of the cottage and a large earthen mound, her arms piled high with squares of peat.

  “Christiana?” she called, as if she doubted her own eyes. “Christiana! Oh, by the gods!” She dropped her load to lift her skirts, enabling her to run in their direction.

  Waddle, actually. Quickly, but she waddled nonetheless, swaying from side to side like a cartoon character.

  Chase urged his horse to a trot to save the elderly woman the effort.

  “What’s happened to her? What have you done to her?” she demanded as Chase reached her side.

  “No, no, Orabilis,” Christiana pulled herself forward, grimacing as she moved. “It’s an accident with a runaway wagon what’s put me in this distress. This kind man has brought me to you for help.”

  “Come along with you, then.” Orabilis wiped her hands down the sides of her apron, already waddling toward her open door. “Bring her in. Lay her by the fire. Dinna you dawdle, now. I can see from here that she’s in pain.”

  Chase did as he was told, kneeling to gently deposit Christiana onto a fur the old woman spread out in front of the fire. She lay with her eyes closed, her face pale. One hand clutched at a small cloth pouch hanging from her neck while the fingers of her other hand twined with his, gripping him tightly.

  It was only because she was in pain. The logical part of his brain knew that. Something deep in his chest though, some odd twinge-like thing there, didn’t want to break that contact. The odd twinge-thing wanted to believe that she held on to him because his touch made a difference—his touch, not just the touch of any human being. He chose to listen to the twinge-thing, remaining on his knees, holding Christiana’s hand, rubbing his thumb in circles on her palm while Orabilis searched through a shelf overflowing with small clay pots.

  At last she found what she wanted and made her way over to the fire. With a grunt, she struggled to her knees. Chase held out his free hand to assist her but she ignored the offer, her watery eyes tracking from his hand holding Christiana’s to his face and back down again.

  Her unspoken message was clear enough. He untwined his fingers from Christiana’s and rose to his feet to stand by the door to wait. To watch. To make sure all was well.

  Not that he really believed this old lady was a witch. Or that she would in any way harm Christiana. It was only that he needed to be sure of Christiana’s safety before he stepped back outside to deal with his horse.

  “I’m so sorry about the flour. I’ve hopes some of it can still be brought to you.” Christiana shook her head as if the accident had been her own fault. “I ken you must be in need of more by now.”

  “Pfft,” Orabilis answered, lifting Christiana’s head to allow her to drink from the clay pot the old woman held. “Only a small sip now, little one. Dinna you waste another thought upon the flour. I’ll make do. Surely that’s no the only thing what’s brought you all the way out here, is it?”

  “My herbs are gone. Skuld willna allow me entrance without them, and I have desperate need to see the path she’s woven for me.”

  “Why would you . . .” Orabilis paused, turning her pale stare in Chase’s direction. “You. Dinna you be standing there, wasting what’s left of this day’s light. Best you go collect those peat turves you made me drop when you came riding up here on that great beast of yers. Scared the very life out of me, you did.”

  “My apologies,” he began.

  “I’ve no need for yer apologies, lad. Only for those turves, if I’m to keep this fire burning through the night. Now, get along with you and do as I asked, aye? And there’s food and shelter for yer animal in the shed out back. See to it.”

  With a nod,
Chase escaped into the fresh air. The looks on the faces of both women made it quite clear that his presence was no longer necessary or desired. That old woman had all but tossed him out on his ear. In a whole different century, he could easily picture her as a retired drill sergeant.

  Christiana didn’t appear to be in any danger from Orabilis, though the desperation in her voice when she spoke of the “herbs” she’d come after bothered him a little. He didn’t remember much of the history he’d learned covering drugs in the Middle Ages, but there was probably a whole lot the history books didn’t cover. It was definitely something he planned to ask Christiana about later on. Just as he’d be asking Orabilis what was in that little jar she’d given Christiana to drink.

  For now, he’d do as he’d been told and let the wise woman do what she could to alleviate Christiana’s pain.

  “THANK YOU.” CHRISTIANA lay back on the heavy fur, giving in to the throbbing pain she’d felt for the past few hours. Without Chase holding her hand it seemed to hurt worse. “I wasna thinking properly to be bringing up such things in front of Chase.” Especially not in front of Chase.

  “Chase, is it now? Yer on a given-name basis with this man?”

  Heat suffused Christiana’s neck and cheeks. The pain robbed her of her concentration and had allowed her words, always so carefully guarded, to flow like spring runoff. Fortunately, Orabilis was the one person in the world with whom she had little need to guard her tongue.

  One glance to the doorway to assure herself that he was well and truly not within hearing distance, and she was ready to voice her confession.

  “It’s him, Shen-Ora.” The name she’d called Orabilis in her childhood slipped easily off her lips, as if it hadn’t been so very many years since she’d uttered it last. “The one I’ve been waiting for.”

  “Ah, the man of yer dreams.”

  “No from my dreams,” she corrected, trying to lift the precious bundle she wore at her neck to prove what she said. “But from my vishes . . . vitches . . . visions. He’s the one I saw in my Visions.” Her tongue grew thick and heavy, just like her lips. And her eyelids. They were almost too heavy to lift open. “He’s why I need the herbs. I must travel the proper path. I canna let him fall to Torquil. There is so much I must learn. I told you of him on my last visit. Told you he’s the only one who might have me. No! The only one who might save me. That’s what I meant to say. Save me.”