“Look like who?” Chase asked, his stomach knotting with suspicion. He knew all too well who this morning’s victim had looked like.
Several of the men around him chuckled as if he asked what was plainly known to all.
“Yer still new to Tordenet,” Artur observed, moving to stand beside him. “It’s well known among those of us who’ve lived our lives under the MacDowylt that our lord has always had an unnatural desire for his sister. I’ve heard tales that say the auld laird himself had seen it, and it was that as much as anything what caused the bad blood between father and son.”
“That’s enough of yer blether,” Ulfr cautioned as he climbed back into his saddle. “Yer little better than the old crones in the kitchens, the way you run yer mouth. Mount up, all of you. We’ve a long way to travel before we lose the sun’s light.”
“It would appear you made the right decision,” Hall murmured from beside him.
Absolutely. Getting Christiana away from that monster was the smartest thing he’d ever done.
Ulfr moved ahead, putting distance between them by the time Chase climbed into his saddle.
“Say what you will.” Fergus drew even, speaking over his shoulder to Artur. “I figure one day our laird will stop asking for those maids and he’ll satisfy himself with that which he really desires.”
“In truth,” Artur replied. “Wouldna surprise me to find he did that exact thing after we found her sleeping in the old chambers this morning. He sent Ulfr and me away quick enough once he saw it was her, he did, and shut himself inside the room with her.”
They found Christiana in the keep? Chase jerked on his reins, pulling his horse to a stop, his stomach knotting in fear. She hadn’t escaped with the Tinklers. She’d never left the keep.
“Keep moving,” Hall hissed close at his side.
“Didn’t you hear what—” Chase could hardly force the words from his mouth. Torquil had found her because he had left her there alone. It was his fault. He should have insisted that she leave when he did. He should have followed her and made sure she got out of the keep.
“I heard well enough.” Hall cut into his recriminations, jerking the reins from his hands. “We’ve less than an hour before sunset. When we’ve the cover of dark, we’ll make our move. If we ride through the night, we’ll be back at Tordenet before the sun fully warms the day. Patience, little brother.”
Hall was right. Another hour wouldn’t change what had already happened and risking a fight, outnumbered as they were, would be foolish.
He needed to get back to Tordenet in one piece.
One pissed-off, ass-kicking piece.
Thirty-two
CHRISTIANA STOOD BY the well, a soft wind blowing through her hair, an overwhelming relief filling her heart.
“Thank you,” she whispered, choking back her emotion to lift her voice. “My thanks to each of you for allowing me to escape to your world.”
None of the three figures sitting under the great tree so much as glanced in her direction.
“You cannot remain here. We are not meant as your refuge. Drink the water and be about your business.”
She touched the cold, crisp liquid to her lips and lifted immediately from her feet to float above the land. This time her focus was homed solely on what was yet to be.
Below her, the Mysts thickened at the edge of Now and she dipped lower, batting at the puffy dis-colored clouds to dislodge them that she might see what they hid. So many paths, but only one held interest for her now. The one leading to the Sinclair’s keep, where Torquil had indicated he would send Chase and Halldor.
Eleven men rode toward the Myst. Eleven men but twelve horses. From this height she recognized them all, even the empty saddle keeping pace next to Chase. The empty saddle belonged to none other than Halldor O’Donar.
Hovering above them, a shock of realization swept over Christiana as she accepted what she was seeing. She knew Halldor existed in that scene. If she dipped lower and concentrated on the spot where he should be, it was almost possible to decipher his form. Yet, for reasons she couldn’t understand, the sight of him was masked from her.
Second, and possibly more confusing than her not being able to see him, was the realization that Halldor could not possibly be Chase’s brother. She should have recognized that long before now. Unlike Chase, Halldor existed in this time, whether or not he was visible to her in the Visions.
Like so many other enticing strands, these would be paths of knowledge for her to pursue at another time. Though she had no doubt of their importance, they were not her purpose for being here today.
Pulling back to regain her perspective only increased her frustration. So many paths branching out from each of the men below presented a tangled maze for her to sort, requiring her to carefully pick and choose a single thread to follow. Her focus sharpened on Chase, as it must if she were to have any hope of finding what was to come if he traveled these paths.
She’d seen this part before. She’d watched as their horses entered the Mysts bound for Sinclair Keep. It was what lay beyond this that she must find now.
Once again she dipped lower, plunging into the heavy Myst to find a point in the future where the horses followed a return path to Tordenet. There were only six animals along this particular strand of the future, galloping hard, their sides bellowing in and out. Two were riderless, one of them belonging to Chase.
Not that path!
She backtracked, blinking at the burn in her eyes and the acrid taste in her mouth as she plunged again down through the Myst. Each of the paths she followed from Sinclair Keep led to the same result. Chase would not survive.
The realization buffeted her, rolling her feet-over-head and tossing her like a leaf high into the air. By the time she recovered her stability, she was so far above them, what little she could see appeared as no more than insects.
The wind of return began its insistent pull even as she struggled to continue forward. There had to be another path. One she’d somehow missed that would lead Chase safely back to her.
Instead, ahead in the distance, a patch in the Myst revealed Tordenet, her tower in flames. Screams drifted to her ears, screams she knew to be her own.
But which path did this lie upon? She could not decipher where or how it connected beneath the Myst-covered maze any more than she could resist the force pulling her away from the knowledge she sought.
Her eyes lifted to seek the glowing rip in the tapestry of the future, the hole where Chase’s life thread had been altered. It seemed to lie in a different direction than it had before. It and another very much like it. And yet another.
The sprinkling of dark holes across the web of time could mean only one thing: his was not the only life thread that had been altered in the vast landscape of the tapestry!
Her feet touched the ground and the door between her world and this one shimmered. With so much to consider, she did not resist when the force pushed her gently toward the opening.
What could they mean, those shiny, tattered holes in the tapestry of the future? Was it possible that Chase had been right? Perhaps the choices woven by the Norns were not the only pathways into the future after all.
Thirty-three
I’VE A BAD feeling about this place, Hugo. We should go now, while we still can.” Mathew MacFalny pulled his cloak tight around him in a useless attempt to ward off the shiver that wracked his body.
“You’ve made yer feelings clear. As you did yer desire to remain with the Tinklers. But as I told you then, when the MacDowylt learns what news we bring to him, the Tinklers’ wagon will be precious little haven.”
Yet Hugo hadn’t hesitated to leave their cousin Eleyne behind to face the wrath of the powerful MacDowylt right along with the Tinklers who’d been so kind to them.
“I dinna like that we abandoned our instruments.” Mathew debated risking his brother’s anger yet again. “Or Eleyne.”
“Once we finish with the MacDowylt, we’ll have no need for e
ither instruments or a lamed dancer.” Hugo turned on him, wearing the look that so often crossed his face before he meted out a beating. “I’d think you’d be fawning all over yerself to show some gratitude for my bringing you along, you witless cur. We’ll be men of wealth when we leave this place, you mark my words. Now go. Leave me to deal with Tordenet’s laird.”
With one last look over his shoulder, Mathew stepped into the early-morning shadows of the hall and made his way into the back passageway.
The night of their performance, a young maid, drunk on ale and the charms of his music, had told him this way led to the laird’s private rooms.
Something in Mathew’s gut warned him Hugo’s plan would not go well. And without his pipes to provide him a living, he hoped to find something of value to carry away from this awful place.
He sent up one prayer for Eleyne’s safety, followed by a second prayer that his instincts would prove wrong for once. But things that he sensed too frequently came to pass, so he forged ahead to locate the stairs that had been described to him and disappeared into their lightless gloom, knowing the time might have come when he’d need to fend for himself.
“LAIRD MACDOWYLT! PLEASE!”
Torquil rolled from his bed, confused as to where he was until his bare feet hit the cold stone floor. His own bedchamber, with the voices of all those women tormenting his dreams.
“Laird MacDowylt?”
That voice was certainly no dream.
He rose to his feet, his body stiff and cold. A glance around the room confirmed that the fire had long ago burned out, leaving not so much as a single live ember behind.
How long had he slept?
“Laird MacDowylt!”
“Quiet yer damned pounding,” he yelled in response, his wits fully returned at last.
From the location of the sun and the condition of his fireplace, not to mention the stiffness of his body, he’d say he’d likely slept through the whole of yesterday and the night as well.
And though the beast felt calm, his own mood was foul enough for both of them.
“For what reason do you dare disturb my peace, woman?” he demanded, throwing open the door.
The servant shrank back, dipping her head as she scooted away. “Begging yer pardon, but there’s a man belowstairs, my lord. A man insisting he must speak with you immediately.”
“What man?” he snarled, beyond annoyed to be disturbed when he’d actually managed more than an hour or two of sleep for the first time in months.
“He gave his name as Hugo MacFalny, sir. I believe him to be one of the minstrels. He claims to have urgent information for yer ears only.”
He’d recognized the minstrel for a greedy fool at their first meeting, but, obviously, he’d underestimated how great a fool. That he’d allowed any of them to leave with their lives, after what their dancer had tried, should have been enough to guarantee many miles’ distance between him and this man.
However, if the idiot thought to tempt fate by returning to Tordenet, it was just possible that he did indeed carry important information.
“Have him wait in my solar. I’ll join him shortly.”
The servant ran the length of the hallway and disappeared down the stairs.
After so many hours spent sleeping in his clothes, Torquil felt the need to change. He tossed his shirt off over his head and drew on a fresh one, regretting having sent the little maid away before having her lay a new fire for him.
Even after refreshing himself, he still felt oddly out of sorts.
“A perfect way to approach a guest such as awaits me,” he murmured, setting off down the hallway to the stairs. Though definitely not perfect for the guest.
“Why have you come back, MacFalny?”
The man jumped as Torquil entered the room, his nerves apparently on edge with waiting.
“My laird MacDowylt!” He started forward, his hand extended. “How good it is to see you again.”
Torquil kept his hands at his sides, staring the interloper into submission. “I ask again. Why have you returned, when you were clearly told you’d not be welcome here again?”
The oily smile Torquil found so distasteful covered the man’s visage as he opened his mouth to speak.
“Such an unfortunate incident colored our last meeting, my good laird. It brought sorrow and shame upon my family, indeed. So it was only natural that when I came upon a situation which I felt merited yer attention, I could think of nothing but how I might be of assistance to you.”
“Indeed. And what is this situation which you wish to bring to my attention?”
“Ah well, you must understand, I find myself in a bit of a pinch. By thinking of yer needs first, it would appear I’ve lost my place with the Tinklers, along with all the belongings I was forced to leave behind in my haste to return to you with this news. I felt sure, however, that you would be willing to compensate me well for the news I bring.”
The man wanted the silver he had been denied after the attempt on Torquil’s life. Deep within, the beast stirred.
Foolish, foolish man.
Torquil agreed. The fool should have been satisfied to have escaped with his life the first time.
“So you come to me with the gift of information. A gift for which you expect me to hand over a few coins to grease yer palm. Do I understand you correctly?”
“More than a few.” Hugo chuckled as he leaned against the wall, a newfound confidence in his eyes. “The information I have for you is quite valuable.”
He would withhold the knowledge he claims we need. There is no loyalty in such an act.
No loyalty at all, from one such as this. But a greedy man could often be a useful tool.
“Why should I trust you, MacFalny? It was yer own woman who attempted to take my life. Would it not be more likely that, failing to murder me, you’re thinking to steal from me now?”
Deep within, the beast growled.
“You wound me, MacDowylt. You’ve no reason not to trust me. Why would I risk my life to come here and tell you falsehoods?”
The reason was clear enough. A reason that would jingle in the man’s pockets.
“I would hazard to guess it’s yer desire to reclaim the silver I refused in payment after your she-devil made her attempt on my life that brings you back.”
“She’s not one of mine,” the minstrel answered contemptuously. “She’s a runaway from a castle we visited far south of here. We only agreed to allow her to accompany us to replace our dancer, who she herself injured when she was discovered hiding in the wagons. I warned the Tinkler then and there she’d be nothing but trouble, but he listened instead to his woman, and foolishly gave his permission for her to travel with us.”
The Tinklers always listened to their women. It was the failing of their sponsors, the Fae, who had foolishly separated from his people eons ago. The Celts and the Fae and their ridiculous adherence to the superiority of their goddess over his own gods had long been a source of irritation.
“In that case, I’d have you tell me this news of such great import that you have brought to me.”
MacFalny shrugged, lifting his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “But my laird, once I have given all that I have of value, how am I to know that I will receive payment?”
“Trust, of course,” Torquil answered, struggling to hold back the beast that raged at the insult. “I would have you exhibit the same trust you ask from me.”
“I will require enough coin to finance my travels from here to Inverness. And a horse, as well.”
He insults us, setting terms as if we are some common trader!
“You have my word, minstrel. The word of Torquil of Katanes, laird of the MacDowylt, chosen son of Odin. My bond that you will be paid all you deserve. And more if the information warrants. Surely that is good enough to earn yer trust.”
Deep within the beast roared his agreement, clawing at Torquil’s innards, demanding his release.
MacFalny rubbed his hands toge
ther, greedily. “The woman who attempted to take yer life has escaped.”
Impossible!
“If this is true, how did you come by such knowledge? Where is she now?”
“It is true, I swear it. I saw her with my own two eyes. The Tinklers agreed to assist in her escape. They returned to the camp with her early this morning. Even as we speak, they carry her south to return her to the safety of her home.”
She was supposed to be ours!
“Well?” Hugo continued to grin as if he’d somehow gained the upper hand. “Is this news no every bit as valuable as I said it would be? Am I no deserving of a proper payment?”
“Deserving indeed.”
The Beast spoke in unison with him, the words echoing off the stone walls, vibrating within his chest and in the sensitive tissues deep inside his ears.
Hugo’s eyes widened, the man only now beginning to suspect the danger he faced.
“Too late.”
Too late, indeed. The Beast would no longer be silenced. With a strength beyond Torquil’s power to contain, it traveled from the Deep Within, past his belly, up past his chest to fill his mind and burst forth.
Torquil gave himself over to the beast as he moved to block the door with a fluid lengthening of his gait. His arms, his legs, every part of him expanded to accommodate the beast within.
A joy previously unknown to him flooded his mind. Why had he ever feared this? The Beast did not seek to replace him. It did not in any way diminish him. It completed him. They were one.
“You . . . you owe me nothing,” Hugo babbled, his head turning from side to side, in search of some way out of the room. “Consider the information my gift to you. To seal our bond of friendship.”
Fear rolled off the little man in great heaving waves, tinged a bright orange with panic.
“Here now, MacDowylt. I demand you step aside.” Hugo moved hesitantly toward him, toward the only door in the room. “Our business is finished.”
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