Halldor leaped upon the table and off the other side onto the floor, reaching the laird as he leaned in against the woman’s neck, his mouth opened wide.
“No!” Halldor yelled, hoping to catch the creature’s attention, for he knew it was the creature, not the laird, who sought to end the woman’s life.
Torquil’s head snapped up, his eyes glowing red as saliva dripped from his chin. Beneath him the woman lay unmoving, surprise and fear warring in her features.
“Wait.”
The glow receded, replaced by an icy blue that heralded the return of the laird.
“You’d stay my hand against my assailant?” Confusion shadowed Torquil’s face, clear evidence that only now did he realize it wasn’t his hand he’d been prepared to use against the woman.
“Apologies, my laird, but I fancy this one as I haven’t any for a long time. I’ll see to her punishment myself if you’ll do me the honor of gifting her to me.”
He hoped that the request would work, now that Torquil seemed more himself, due to what Ulfr had shared about their laird’s belief in his sister’s visions of the future. A future that somehow included either him or Chase in some important measure.
It was small comfort to rest upon, but it was all he had.
“Take her!” Torquil pushed away from the table to stand tall, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth. “And when you’ve had yer fill of her, I’d have her head on a pike and her entrails spread on the wall walk.”
“When I’ve had my fill, aye,” Halldor agreed. “Thank you, Laird MacDowylt.”
He pulled the woman to her feet, clamping one large hand over her mouth to forestall her protests even as the crowd around them broke into lewd jeers.
“One thing,” he added, waiting for Torquil to turn. “Have you a place of privacy where I can take her? I’m not of a mood to share with the likes of these.” He tilted his head toward the laughing throng.
“Use Christiana’s tower if you like. It’s empty until her return.” This time it was Torquil’s grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “And none will be able to hear her screams from there.”
Twenty-four
CHRISTIANA HAD FALLEN asleep again, waking only when the wagon bounced in a rut, jostling her against the strong, warm man sitting next to her.
“Okay, that’s it. We’re done.” Chase pulled on the reins, drawing the animals to a stop. “Ulfr! We aren’t going any farther tonight. Christiana’s exhausted and she’s freezing. We need a fire and she needs some sleep.”
Ulfr pulled his horse back beside the wagon, his irritation evident.
“We’ve already wasted enough time digging the witch’s pit at yer insistence, Noble. Our lord has bid me to bring his sister back as quickly as possible, and I intend to—”
“As quickly as possible is tomorrow,” Chase interrupted. “For now, we’re stopping and setting up camp. You can stay here with us or you can go on ahead, but to do anything else is going to mean that you and I are going to dance. And seriously, dude, I don’t think you want that to happen.”
Christiana didn’t blame Ulfr for his look of confusion. Sometimes the things Chase said confused her, as well. But for all his strange words, his meaning was clear enough when he climbed down from the wagon and reached up to assist her in following him.
“Kenneth! How about you take care of unhooking these horses while I escort the lady to the trees over there?” Chase gave orders as if he were the one in charge, ignoring Ulfr’s halfhearted protests. “Look at you, Ulfr. You’re about to fall out of that saddle. Did you even take an hour to sleep before you started back after us? I didn’t think so. Come on, man, give it a rest. Let’s bed down for the night and we’ll head out at first light. For all I care, you can tell Torquil I’m the one who held us up. It doesn’t have to be your fault.”
Ulfr appeared almost relieved as he dismounted and led his horse away.
“Come on.” Chase grasped Christiana’s hand in his, allowing her to lean some of her weight on him. “I’m sure you need to do your lady-stuff before we catch some sleep.”
Her “lady-stuff.” Christiana muffled the giggle she felt bubbling up in her throat at such an unladylike reference, and tightened her hand in Chase’s as he led her limping away from the others.
“I’ll wait for you here,” he said, releasing her hand once they’d gone far enough into the trees that the sounds from the camp no longer reached them.
When she returned, he was staring up at the night sky.
“I wish I’d spent more time studying the stars,” he said. “Because it seems more than a little weird to me that they don’t really look any different here than they have anywhere else I’ve ever been.”
“And you would expect them to be different?” She reached out to reclaim the warmth of his hand again.
He pulled her close to him, tucking her under his arm in the protection of the plaid he draped around her, as if it were the most natural thing in the world for them to stand here in the dark together, staring up at the sky.
“Yeah, for some reason, I did. If you could only see the places I’ve been, I’m guessing you’d think so, too.”
Standing here so close to him, she tried to imagine what he would say if he knew she had seen those places. Or at least bits and pieces of them in the Visions she’d had of him. Tiny slices of a world remarkably different from her own. It was that very difference that had led her to seek the assistance of the Elf in bringing him to her.
One day she would have to speak to him of these things. But for now, she simply wanted to revel in this moment as they stared up at the sky. Simply to enjoy without any guilt, without any consideration of the world around them, without any question as to why she wanted this moment to last forever.
But even as she relaxed into the moment, her conversation with Orabilis slipped into her mind, niggling away at her peace and contentment.
Was Chase her porridge?
She certainly felt the burn in her belly every time she was near him. Near him? She only had to think of him, to imagine his touch, and the burn ignited.
This moment they shared right now—was this the comfort in silence of which her Shen-Ora had spoken?
The need to know now weighed heavily upon her.
Trust yer heart as well as yer head, Orabilis had advised, and she had never steered Christiana down a wrong path before.
She turned so that they faced one another, with her nose buried in the broad expanse of his chest. His arms tightened around her as if by instinct, enclosing them in the cocoon of his plaid.
“Smells like they have a fire going now.” His voice was barely more than a whisper as he gazed down at her. “We should probably be getting back so we can warm you up.”
Trust yer heart as well as yer head.
Whether from fear or some emotion she couldn’t yet bring herself to admit, the heart she was to trust pounded against the walls of her chest. So loud, so hard, she was sure Chase must feel it as if it were his own. Even as that heart urged her forward, reason called out for her to stop, lest she have to live with the humiliation of rejection.
Trust yer heart as well as yer head.
She needed to know for sure. She needed to know now.
“Kiss me,” she demanded, lifting her face up toward his.
He stared down at her for an instant, an instant that felt like a lifetime as she wondered if he’d refuse her.
And then, his mouth covered hers, breathing life into her very soul. She melted into his arms and somehow they turned as one and her back pressed against the trunk of a large tree.
His lips left hers and he whispered her name in tones so beautiful, it brought tears to her eyes.
Her fingers, which were somehow tangled in his hair, tightened and she pulled his mouth back to cover hers, unwilling to end what they had started.
His hands slid down over her breasts and the fire in her belly burned hotter with the pleasure of his touch.
When he lifted his
lips from hers, his breath came in heavy, erratic puffs of air, exactly like hers did.
Between them, the little pouch holding her runes seemed to throb with a life of its own, and she knew, as surely as if she’d already walked the paths in Skuld’s world, nothing from this moment on would ever be the same again.
“Again,” she managed, just before she lost herself once more in the heat of his mouth, spinning away into the wonder that she’d discovered in his embrace.
“Noble?” Ulfr’s voice in the distance cut through her haze of pleasure. “Mistress Christiana? Where are you? Answer me!”
Though the moment was entirely ruined, she had discovered what she’d set out to learn.
She had indeed found her porridge.
Twenty-five
PUT YER TEETH together and come along with me quietly if you want to live.”
The warning hissed in her ear halted Brie’s struggles and she dropped her fists against the big man’s chest. She didn’t trust him, but every good warrior knew there was a time for battle and a time to assess your enemy’s strength.
This particular enemy was stronger than most men she’d encountered.
Around them, the throngs of men jeered and laughed, many yelling out their disgusting suggestions of what he should do to her. He hoisted her to his shoulder without any sign of effort and strode from the great hall.
Much, much stronger than any man she’d encountered before.
Torquil was nowhere to be seen. Like the coward he was, he’d disappeared from the great hall as soon as he’d pronounced his verdict upon her fate.
As she’d attacked the MacDowylt, something hideous and terrifying had encased her, restraining her knife and blinding her vision, as if a blanket through which she couldn’t even breathe had been dropped over her head.
She’d seen the eyes, though. Seen them clearly before her world had gone black. Red and glowing, as if hounds from the depths of the seven hells dwelled inside Torquil’s body. She’d seen her own death promised in that glow.
“Be still,” the big man muttered as a shiver wracked her body.
He moved quickly out of the keep and across the bailey.
She heard the door of the old tower slam open and a moment later he dropped her unceremoniously on her backside, cutting off the trickle of light by kicking the door shut when she made a move in that direction.
“Don’t even think of it,” he growled. “His men would take you down before you made the outer bailey.”
He was likely right. All things considered, she wasn’t exactly working from a position of strength at the moment. It was her wits she’d need to count on now.
On hands and knees, she felt her way to the wall and followed it to a corner, where she huddled. At least here he couldn’t come at her from behind.
A thud sounded somewhere in the inky black of the small room, and the big man muttered a curse at the dark just before the flames in the fire pit came to life.
She watched him, wary of what he might do next, as he lit two large candles and set them upon the mantel.
When he turned, his face was a stern mask, his hands upon his hips.
“What do you plan to do with me?” she demanded, putting as much bravado into her words as she could muster.
“Plan?” He all but spat the word. “Of all the plans I’ve considered, none of them included a nameless shrewling who’s too witless to see her own way through the Mortal world.”
His burst of anger reignited hers.
“I’m neither nameless nor witless, you great hulking fool,” she countered, feeling much more comfortable cloaked in anger than in fear. “Both charges I’d turn back upon you, a beast of a man who’d toss a helpless woman over his shoulder to carry her off and ravage her.”
Her verbal thrust and parry might have held more weight had she been on her feet towering over him while he cowered in the corner, rather than the other way around, but she didn’t quite have the wherewithal to rise to her feet just yet.
The big man laughed, making his way over to where she sat. “A helpless woman, is it? Well then, by all I hold dear, rest assured, woman-child, I’ve no intent to claim your virginity this night.”
“For a fact you’ll no be doing any such thing. I’ll see to that my ownself,” she shot back.
He’d be in for quite a fight should he try. Though perhaps, considering his size and strength, she’d be better served by trying a different defense.
“Besides, I am a woman of the world. Whatever would give you the impression that I’m yet a virgin?”
Again he laughed, stretching out a hand to her. “Your own reaction. If I’d had any doubt of it, which I didn’t, your reaction would have set me straight enough. Now then, come out of your corner lair, Shield Maiden, and make yourself comfortable over by the fire.”
She considered refusing the hand he offered, but the shivers coursing through her body convinced her to do otherwise. Sitting by the fire actually sounded good.
He handed her a blanket that he pulled from a stack in another corner and waited, unmoving, until she had wrapped it around her and taken her seat.
“Since you assure me you have a name, perhaps we should begin there. I am called Halldor O’Donar. And you are?”
He spoke with a deep and oddly reassuring voice, with an accent she’d not encountered before.
“Where do you come from, big man? You’ve a strange sound to yer words.”
“And you’ve an insolent sound to yours. Let us say that I come from somewhere other than here. A place where we’ve the courtesy to exchange our names upon meeting.”
A flash of embarrassment sparked her mind, along with a twinge of guilt. She looked away from his face for a moment to compose her thoughts. “Well spoken, Halldor O’Donar, and well I deserved that rebuke. I am Bridget MacCulloch, daughter of the House MacUlagh, descended from the Ancient Seven who ruled all this land upon which you . . .” She stumbled to a halt as he rolled his eyes.
“A Pictish princess. I should have guessed from the way you behaved, if not from the way you look.” He shook his head and leaned back against the large stones surrounding the fireplace. “Why is it every Pict I’ve ever met felt the need to recite their lineage back to the beginning of time?”
How dare he?
“I’m no a princess but a regular woman. The MacDowylt murdered my father. Hanged him in the courtyard of this very castle, for no reason other than his having followed Malcolm instead of Torquil. I will have my satisfaction from that man, one way or another.” Her chest heaved with pent-up emotion.
“I feel for your loss, Bridget MacCulloch. And though there are no words to remove the pain of the loss you feel, I can assure you, your father sits even now in the great hall of Valhalla, surrounded by Valkyries, enjoying the rewards of a warrior’s life.”
“Bollocks.” Her father’s people might have believed that was reward enough. She did not. “I’d much prefer him to be sitting here with me.”
“We don’t always get what we prefer, now, do we? And of all the things you must settle for not having, personal revenge against Torquil MacDowylt will have to top the list.”
“I should have ended the bastard’s life when I found him sleeping in his tower.” Sleeping or whatever that had been. “With that strange sword of his only steps away, I let the perfect chance slip through my fingers.”
“A strange sword, you say?” Halldor’s head tipped to the side and he leaned forward. “Can you describe it for me?”
“Aye. Fine and shiny it was, with strange markings engraved along the length of the blade.” No point in sounding foolish by telling him that the foul thing was likely bespelled, the way it had beckoned to her when she approached it. “Neither letter nor number the markings were, but a match to the scroll lying next to it.”
“A scroll? It was open? I suppose it would be asking too much that you’ve learned to read?”
Could the great, hulking beast of a man not go five minutes without in
sulting her? She could have learned to read. Often enough Jamesy had tried to sit her down to teach her, but the scrawlings in a book had never matched the lure of sword or bow.
“I ken the names of the letters and I recognize a written number when I see it. The markings upon the blade and the scroll were neither of those. They were such as I’d never seen before, all odd squiggles and sharp angled lines.” With a demand to be touched she had barely been strong enough to resist.
Halldor stared off into the dark corners, lost in his own thoughts for the next few minutes, almost as if he’d forgotten she were even there.
She cleared her throat to remind him.
With a sigh, he leaned back against the stone, fixing her once again with his unwavering stare. “Nonetheless, I tell you in all truth, you must forgo your quest for personal revenge against Torquil MacDowylt.”
She expected as much from Torquil’s underling, no matter that he had stepped in to save her life.
“And why is that?”
“Because you’re no match for Torquil MacDowylt.”
How little Halldor O’Donar knew of her.
“I am a match for any man.”
“Well, I can believe that.” Halldor smiled, though his eyes held a curtain of sorrow. “But that is the problem, you see. Torquil MacDowylt is no longer a man.”
Their conversation was cut short by a banging on the door.
Her stomach twisted with the unwelcome punch of fear, but she rose to her feet. If the MacDowylt had changed his mind regarding her fate, she wouldn’t make it easy for him.
Halldor stood too, a deep sigh escaping his lips as he leaned in toward her. “My deepest apologies, Shield Maiden, but I do this for your own good.”
Before she could ask what he meant, he gripped the neck of her beautiful colored gown and jerked down, ripping through the layers of cloth to expose her entire body to just below her waist.
She screamed, clasping her arms in front of her in a paltry attempt to cover herself.
“On the floor,” he hissed, pulling his shirt off over his head as he made his way to the door. One look around and he quickly but silently overturned the bench by the wall before answering the insistent hammering.
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