by Hazel Hunter
Forgive me, Thora.
He hurled the axe, straight and true, and knocked the diamond from her grasp.
Thora cried out as she clutched her mangled hand to her chest.
Tormod watched the Eye skitter along the ground, only to see it come to a stop against a worn, hobnail boot. The centurion looked down in astonishment but recovered quickly. He bent down and snatched it up, its golden sparkles dancing across his pale face. The Roman’s delight sent a streak of cold into Tormod’s stomach, but the undead victory was short-lived. A broad blade cleaved the creature in two from head to hip.
“Gavin,” Tormod muttered.
Before the golden jewel could hit the ground, the mortal spun and hit it with the flat of his sword. It sailed through the air directly at Tormod’s face, and he caught it with one hand. Though the tangle of bodies around him had thickened, he caught a glance of Thora. She was frenetically shoving warriors this way and that, trying to see the ground. The eyes that had once sparkled with mischief, now glittered with blind hatred.
It was time to end this.
“Freyja,” Tormod said as he lifted the diamond above his head, directly into the moonlight. “Open your eye and see those who would harm the innocent.” As though she’d heard him over the din, his sister suddenly stopped and stared at him. “Do as you will with them.”
The moon turned golden, and funneled a single, enormous shaft of light down over Tormod. Icy heat poured over him and through him, and gathered inside the heart of the diamond. Jema had given her life for this moment. If need be, Tormod would give his. The chaos would be defeated.
Power exploded from the jewel as it reflected thousands of shafts of light, which shot out from it to skewer every Roman on the island. But rather than fall into ash heaps, they exploded into balls of dust. The highlanders all around swung their weapons through the gray clouds. Shouts of astonishment replaced the clash of weapons.
Tormod saw a huge shaft slam into Gavin McShane, who was propelled through the air into the ocean. The mortal dropped and disappeared under the churning waves. Though Tormod peered through the radiance, trying to see if he resurfaced, the sea remained empty.
As a strange silence settled on the island, Thora looked at Tormod through the curtain of light. Their eyes met as her face turned gray and began to blow away in the bitter wind.
“You are my brother, and you have killed me.”
He shook his head. “I’ve freed you, little sister. Go with my love.”
Tormod made himself watch as the light destroyed Fenella Ivar’s body, and released the white mist of Thora’s spirit. It swirled for a moment over the undead female’s ashen remains before it flew up into the night sky. For a moment he thought he heard Thora’s voice whisper his name, and then she was gone.
The golden torque fell atop the pile of her ashes. All of its jewels had been burnt black. The blinding light shafts vanished as if they had never been, and Freyja’s Eye closed.
Tormod dropped to the ground beside Jema. The diamond tumbled from his hand and rolled away to the edge of the sea well. He was still alive. For the first time he understood why Rachel had been so furious when she had been awakened and found Evander dead.
“Why did you no’ take me with her?” he shouted at the stars. “We did as you asked. I loved her. I have never asked you for anything and you took her still. You are pitiless monsters.”
A shooting star flew down and landed delicately on the edge of the shell mound, shaping itself into the wraith-like form of a giant female who stood at least fifteen feet tall. She took three steps and loomed over Tormod, her golden eye staring down at him. The other eye, which looked white and blind, remained half-closed.
“Pitiless, are we?” She floated around him. “I have showered you with gifts, and brought your enemies to justice. There is yet more work to be done, son of Arn,” the goddess said. “But when it is your time, I will welcome you into Asgard myself.” She stooped low to scoop up the gem, but it passed through her ghostly hand. “Midgard frustrates me. I cannot take true form here. It seems I will need your lady again.”
Freyja rose and leapt into the air, swiveling in mid-jump to dive into Jema’s body.
Jema jerked and dragged in a strangled breath before she rolled over and choked out sea water.
Tormod staggered to his feet. “No, please dinnae take her. Let her sleep. She has done enough for you.”
Jema’s possessed body reached for the Eye, which she held close as she got to her feet. “Your woman has a large hole in her head. That will not do.” She reached back and rubbed the crushed skull, which filled out and healed. “You have pleased us, son of Arn. You and your beloved sacrificed all for the good of others.”
Freyja passed her hands over Jema’s body, flooding it with golden power. Tormod flinched as the magic rayed out and engulfed him, reaching into his chest. As the goddess stepped out of Jema’s body, she pressed the Eye back into her face and grew back to her previous height. Her two golden eyes shone down on them and the magic ray faded.
“This mortal is now made your immortal mate, ever tied to your heart. She shall live for as long as you, son of Arn.”
Without another word the goddess flew up like a shooting star, and scattered herself among the heavens.
Jema stood looking down at her body with astonishment and then at him. “But I drowned,” she said, sounding utterly bewildered. “I died. How can I be immortal now?”
“Freyja is very generous,” he said. Then he seized her and kissed her until they were both shaking. “Oh, my lass. I thought I would have to end myself to be with you again.”
“No talking of suicide, please.” She touched his cheek, and then eagerly looked around them. “Where’s Gavin?”
As the clan gathered round, Tormod pulled her close. He quietly told her what had happened, and then held her as she wept. When at last she lifted her head, he kissed her brow.
“I would ask the goddess to return him to you,” he said, “but I dinnae think she would. The Eye demands a life for a life.”
“Gavin for Thora,” she whispered and nodded. Then she sniffed and wiped her eyes.
“The black boats have sailed, milord,” Evander said to Lachlan. “Shall we give chase?”
All eyes turned to the laird, who shook his head. “There’s been enough killing for one day.”
“I’ve not yet made my apologies, my lord,” Tormod said. He bowed his head. “I ken I did wrong, and I can only ask for your pardon.”
“Pardon given, Viking.” Lachlan glanced at the remnant ash left behind by the Romans. “So this is the work of Freyja’s Eye. Efficient. We should speak respectfully of the Norse gods hence, I reckon.”
Tormod grinned. “’Tis always best, my lord.”
Chapter Twenty-One
WHILE HE WAITED for the men to return with Fenella and the Eye, Quintus returned to his chamber to check on Bryn, who remained cold and still under the blanket. The little color she’d possessed had drained from her flesh, leaving her deathly pale. He lifted her upper lip to see the newly-formed fangs descending from her pallet.
“You shall become the first,” he told her as he held her stiff hand in his. “I will train you to use your gifts to serve the Ninth, and to turn other women into undead. You will be the mother of our great change.” He stroked her plump cheek. “But you will not wear the uniform. You will do as you know so well. I will send you to seduce rather than fight. You shall be the first of our legion whores.”
Outside his chamber came the sound of commotion, and Quintus went out to learn the cause of it. A centurion with half of his face burned black hobbled toward him, supported by two of the deck hands.
“What has happened?” Quintus demanded.
“All the men are gone,” the centurion said, his voice distorted by the deep injury. “One of the McDonnels used the jewel to burn them. Only I and two others survived because we ran for the water.”
That meant nearly three hundred of his fine
st soldiers were dust. Defeat—once again crushing—at the hands of the McDonnels. Now they possessed the Eye, which could be used against the Ninth to wipe them from existence.
Through lips that barely moved, he said, “Take him and the other two below, and give them enough blood to heal.”
Quintus went up on deck, where he ordered the crew to weigh anchor. To the captain, he said, “Set sail for Staffa. I want to be back at the stronghold in two days.”
Still furious, he went to the cargo hold to select a thrall for Bryn to use once she woke from her transformation. The mortals brought on board had been first enthralled, so his presence made them rouse with welcoming smiles. Quintus chose a large, strapping farm hand and took him to the chamber, where he had him lay beside Bryn.
“She is dead, milord,” the man mentioned, and then gasped as the plump woman rolled atop him. “Mistress, you are alive. How may I serve?”
Bryn smiled like a happy cherub at Quintus, who nodded, and then sank her fangs into his neck.
Feeling numb and never more alone in his life, Gavin watched his sister go off with the Viking and his clan. They weren’t even going to look for his body. That was how relieved she was to be shut of him. He sat in silence against the rocks and stared down into the well, finally dropping his camouflage once they had sailed away from the skerry.
God, but it had gone completely to shite.
He forced himself to go to the spot where Thora had died, and picked up the ruined torque. He looked into its blackened, lifeless eye jewels, and then flung it into the sea.
As he pushed his hand into the heap of ash that was all that remained of her, Gavin finally wept—for the young shieldmaiden marked by the gods, for the sister that he’d lost, and eventually for himself. The gray stuff trickled through his fingers, dry and gritty, to blow away on the wind.
He had loved Thora, sensing in her a kindred warrior, a fearless woman bent on her mission. But he had learned too late that nothing would stand between her and her self-destructive vengeance, particularly him. He had loved his sister and searched for her, but obviously not she for him. All those months of caring for him and talk of Edinburg, it must have been guilt at work. He couldn’t blame her for wanting to live her own life. But the thought of how quickly she must have started her new life—to have earned such a place in the Viking’s clan—stabbed him in the gut.
Gavin finally stood and dusted the last bits of ash from his hands. He walked down to where he had hidden the dory he’d used to bring Thora to the island, and pushed it off the rocks and into the water. Though he might have followed the clan’s boat, he took a different direction.
It was time to find his place in this world. For the first time, he wouldn’t be bound to his twin sister’s life. Nor would he offer his heart to another woman. He didn’t need anyone.
Gavin thought of all the things he’d wanted to do while he’d been dying. It was time to go and do them.
Chapter Twenty-Two
SOME WEEKS AFTER returning the Eye to the goddess, Tormod rode with Jema to the edge of the highland forest, where they tethered their horses and walked the rest of the way. Seeing what would become her dig site in the future gave Jema a sense of coming full-circle. She stayed far back from the edge, however, as her lover placed a sheaf of wildflowers over the crypt where Thora had been buried.
“Someday I hope to see you again, Sister,” he said. “Until then, dinnae steal any more body parts from the goddess.” He glanced back at her. “’Tis a chance to go back. We could jump in and come out on the other side in your time.”
“There’s nothing left there for me now.” As she gazed off into the distance, Jema spotted a used trail and pointed it out to Tormod. “Someone’s been here recently.”
They followed the path to an empty hunting lodge near a river, and the moment they walked inside Jema closed her eyes and breathed in.
“Gavin was here.” She looked around until she spotted his jacket, and grabbed it, hugging it for a moment. “This is where he must have been living before he met Thora. He would have loved roughing it.”
They lingered in the little lodge as Jema picked up some of the crude tools and imagined Gavin’s big hands using them. She sat on the low straw bed, and ran her hand over an old blue and green tartan that covered it. But as always when she thought of her brother, she couldn’t help but wonder if he’d searched for her. Or maybe he thought she had died. She sighed as she got up and decided she would never know. Though she left everything else as they had found it, she took the jacket.
When they walked back they stopped by Thora’s grave.
“Some nights I have the strangest dreams about him,” Jema said. “He’s working on a boat catching fish with a long rope with lots of hooks. Or he’s building a house in the middle of a field. They seem so real it’s hard to remember that he died.” She nodded down at the pit. “Maybe he’s in the next place.”
“That doesnae sound strange to me,” Tormod told her as he took her hand. “I know my sister’s soul is at peace. At times I dream of her, always as a young girl, running through the glens on Skye. Now come. Since you dinnae wish to return to the future, there is something more I would show you.”
Jema tucked her arm through his, and followed him back to the horses, which they mounted and rode north. Tormod finally reined in his gelding as they approached a large clearing with a primitive stone wall encircling it. A stream crossed the back of the glade, and several fruit trees formed a small orchard to one side of it. Jema brought her horse to a stop next to his.
“This is a lovely spot.” Large stones, half-buried in the grass, were scattered in a circular pattern. “There aren’t any oak trees, so I’m guessing it’s not a portal.”
“I cannae tell you. ’Tis older than the clan. Mayhap it belonged to the very first Pritani to come here.” Tormod took out a curved piece of corroded metal, and handed it to her. “A hunter found this near the stones. Do you ken what it may have been?”
“It looks like an axe head.” She studied it for a moment. “Late Bronze Age, maybe. It’s a beautiful piece.” She met his gaze. “Tormod, what is this place?”
“’Tis ours. The laird is giving it to us.” He nodded toward the stones. “We might build a house there, once you’ve finished your dig. I’ll map the site, and help you with the work. Lachlan asked only that you tell him of what you find, for he has always been curious about it.”
Jema laughed. “I’ll bet.” She studied the land again. “This would be a wonderful place to have a summer cottage, but I like living at Dun Aran. I like being part of the clan.”
“As do I.” He leaned over to give her a kiss. “Now all you must do is marry me.” He dismounted, and helped her down. “Today.”
Jema wriggled against him. “What’s your hurry? We don’t have to be back at the castle until tonight. We could stay here and have a romp on our new land.”
“I think no’.” He nodded past her.
Jema turned to see Lachlan and Kinley emerge from the stream, followed by more McDonnels. Bhaltair and Cailean came out of the woods with other druids carrying baskets of food and blankets to spread on the ground. A little druidess skipped beside the old druid, her hair decorated with mistletoe, and a crown of the same in her hands. Neac and the Uthars hailed them as they carried up the casks of ale and whiskey. Diana started toward them, a long blue gown draped over her forearm. Rachel kept pace with her by trotting, her arms filled with flowers from the gardens at Dun Aran.
Jema laughed with delight. “This is our wedding?”
“Aye,” Tormod said and took her hand. “Now come and make me the happiest of men.”
THE END
• • • • •
Another Immortal Highlander awaits you in Gavin (Immortal Highlander Book 5).
For a sneak peek, turn the page.
Sneak Peek
Gavin (Immortal Highlander Book 5)
Excerpt
CHAPTER ONE
The p
earl-capped sapphire waves of the North Sea lashed Gavin McShane as they buffeted the hull of the old boat. With practiced skill he guided the fisher into Scapa Flow, navigating his way through the boats and ships making passage between the islands that protected the wide but busy bay.
Overhead black wing-tipped gannets soared, diving now and then to scoop up fish to feed the screeching young waiting in their remote cliffside nests. Clear skies stretched wide and icy blue over the islands of Orkney, which resembled giant, rough-cut emeralds tumbling away from the north coast of Scotland. Gavin smiled a little as he passed other fishers that had yet to sail, or had returned with empty nets. Their crews cast envious looks at the mounds of cod heaped on the fisher’s deck.
“See it and weep,” Gavin murmured under his breath.
Being a twenty-first century man working on a medieval fishing boat had proven surprisingly satisfying. He no longer had to bother with phones, computers, cars, doctor’s appointments, his walker or the disease that had been killing him in the future. Since time-traveling back to fourteenth-century Scotland, Gavin had enjoyed perfect health.
Bu he’d only achieved peace when he’d come to the islands.
Still, today’s fine catch would pay his wages for three days, which would permit him the rest of the week to work on putting a roof on his house. He couldn’t wait to finish it so he could move to Marr, the little jewel of an island he’d found off the coast of Hrossey.
“McShane,” Bjarke Moller said as he came to join him at the helm. He was one of the three brothers who owned the boat. A burly man with strong arms roped by hard muscle and deep scars, he devoted himself to three pleasures in life: fishing, drinking and wenching. “Kron says you’re no’ to the alehouse with us. ’Tis true?”