Wide-eyed, she lifted her head once more.
“You canna mean to tell me you dinna know, lassie! You’re immortal. A High Witch, just like me. Nicodimus must have told you . . . . . Damnation, he dinna tell you at all, did he, child?”
She blinked rapidly, searching her mind, hearing the warnings it whispered. “Immortal? Nay. Nay, it canna be!”
“You’re the living proof that it is, lass. It is. You’re alive, and un-marred by the blade. I found you lifeless in the mud, but knew you for what you were, and vowed to take you away from all the carnage. And from the reach of Nicodimus.”
Nay. She would never be beyond the reach of Nicodimus. He would find her. He would come for her. But this man . . . this man knew his name. “You . . . you know my husband?” she asked.
“Aye. He’s been my arch enemy for centuries, lass. One of the Darkest of the Dark, he is–”
“Nay!” Arianna felt her anger rise to drown out her confusion and grief. “My Nicodimus is good and pure, and I’ll kill any man who says otherwise!”
He studied her for a long moment, drinking in, it seemed, the anger flashing from her eyes. “I can see you believe it to be true. I vow, lady, at least now I understand why a woman like you would bind herself to a man such as he. You simply dinna ken the truth.”
She narrowed her eyes on him. “I’ll never believe a word spoken against my husband,” she all but hissed at him. “Who are you that I should take heed of a word you utter?” Then she tilted her head. “You’re one of them, aren’t you? One of those who attacked my village!”
He nodded slowly. “Aye, lass, though it pains me to have to tell you. I am their chieftain.”
“Bastard!” Arianna clenched her hands into fists and pounded his chest. But he easily caught her wrists and held her still, though she struggled. His horse came to a halt.
“I dinna fault you, lass. Indeed, I canna. But if you’ll only hear me out. I tried to get to the village in time to halt the bloodshed. I tried, I vow it on the name of my own father. But I was too late. And my men had already done that poor defenseless village to death.”
Grief made her weak, and she stopped her fighting. “Aye, and they’d done my mam to death, as well, and my da along with her. An’ I vow I’ll see every one of them die before I rest.”
His eyes, soft with sorrow, moved gently over her face, and releasing her wrists, he stroked her hair. “Gods, but I’m sorry. More sorry than you can know. The men . . . they were crazed. Their chieftain–my older brother, Kohl–was murdered . . . by your husband, lass. By our lifelong enemy, Nicodimus, that Dark Witch of old.”
“‘Twas nay murder! Nicodimus had to kill him in order to stay alive!”
He shook his head. “An’ I suppose he gave you some reason why he had to take my brother’s heart as well, did he not? But pretty one, only the Dark take the hearts of their victims. Only they and no others.”
She shook her head, confused. Nicodimus had told her that . . . but then he’d said he’d had to take Kohl’s heart to set his spirit free.
“The men adored Kohl,” this fellow went on. “And they . . . took vengeance on the village. One lad knew what was about to occur, and raced off to find me. But I dinna arrive in time, and the men, without a leader . . . acted in anger and unleashed a mighty fury upon Stonehaven.” Again, he shook his head slowly. “It pains me more than I can say that your family perished in the attack, lass.”
She studied his face. “You’re naught but a liar,” she whispered, but his words made her wonder. Not about Nicodimus–nay, never that, he was good and true, and she loved him–but about the rest. Perhaps this man had tried to stop what had happened.
Then more things clicked into place in her mind. Your name is Marten. Nicodimus told me about you . . . the brother of Kohl, and of Nicodimus’s wife of so long ago. Anya.”
“Aye, I imagine he told you much. I only hope you’ll nay believe the worst of me too easily. Nicodimus . . . he hates me. It has always been so.”
“An’ you hate him in return,” she whispered. “Nonetheless, he dinna tell me that he was one of the Dark Ones, nor that you were one of the Light.”
“Nay, lass. Nor did he tell you that you yourself were an immortal High Witch just as we are.”
She blinked. “He . . . he knew?”
“Of course he knew.”
Shaking her head slowly, she knew it couldn’t be true. “Nay, he’d have told me if he knew. He . . . he trusted me with all the other secrets. Why would he keep this one from me? Nay, he’d have told me. He would!”
“Perhaps,” Marten said slowly. “I suppose ‘tis possible he dinna know of your nature. Tell me, did he ever see the mark of the crescent moon upon your flank, child? The one that marks all immortals as who and what they are?”
She felt the arrows of his words piercing her soul. The crescent birthmark. Nicodimus bore one. So did Nidaba, and so did she. He knew that. So if it was the mark of immortality. . . .
“And has he ever touched you, lass?”
Frowning harder, she said, “I dinna ken your meanin’. What are you–?”
“Take your hands from my shoulders, pretty one. Just for a moment, an’ you’ll understand.”
Still confused, she did, sitting away from him slightly, taking her hands from his shoulders.
“Now, put them back again.”
With a nod, she lay her palms lightly upon his shoulders once more. Immediately, a jolt of something passed through her. The same sort of jolt she felt when she touched Nicodimus, or Nidaba.
The initial contact you make with any other immortal will give you just such a sensation, child,” Marten explained slowly, patiently. “So even if Nic had never seen your birthmark, he’d have felt what you were the first time he touched you. Do you ken?”
She nodded, very slowly. So it was true. Nicodimus had known what she was. He had to have known. And yet, she defended him. “If he did keep the truth from me, then he likely had reasons for doin’ so.”
“Aye. No doubt he and that she-wolf of his planned to take your young heart, once it grew powerful enough to sustain one or the other of them.”
“Dinna be foolish!” she shouted. “Nicodimus is my husband, and Nidaba my friend!”
“Aye. And the two of them sharing a bed for nigh on eight centuries now, lass. Can you not see what is before your face?”
She felt as if he’d punched her in the belly with a fist of cold iron. Blinking with reaction, battling tears, she whispered, “Nicodimus . . . and Nidaba?”
“Lovers, child. Lovers all along, even right under the nose of my sweet-natured sister, who died more of heartache than childbirth all those years ago. For she knew.”
She shook her head slowly. “Nicodimus . . . he loved Anya.”
“Loved her? Nay, child, he took her. Destroyed her village and her family and took her as his captive. By force, he took her.”
She lifted her gaze. “Just the way your men destroyed my village, Marten? An’ just the way you’ve now taken me?”
“Aye, lady. I’m afraid so. I’m sorry your life is being turned ‘round because of it, but justice is justice, and for Nicodimus, ‘tis long overdue.”
Lowering her chin, releasing a sigh, she whispered, “You’re so wrong about him.”
“An’ if I’m wrong about him, then where is he? Hmm? He was nay among the dead, I can tell you as much. Neither he, nor the dark woman who owns his heart and soul. Nay, lady, he dinna come looking for you, nor so much as try to protect your family. He vanished, he and his Nidaba. Vanished, without givin’ you a second thought. He lied to you, little one. He lied to you about what he truly is, and kept the truth of your own nature a secret from you. And then he abandoned you. He’s not worthy of a woman so fine as you are, sweet lady, and I . . . I dinna even know your name.”
Blinking, eyes burning, she whispered, “My name is Arianna. Arianna Sinclair . . . Lachlan.”
“Arianna,” he said slowly. “Dinna cry, Ariann
a. He’s nay worthy of a single tear from one such as you.”
But the tears fell all the same.
Her captor pulled her gently closer, his touch exquisitely gentle, his body warm and soft. “I’ll make it all up to you, lady. I vow I will. You’ll know nothing but joy whilst you reside in my keep. Nothing but joy.”
Chapter 14
I STOOD IN the center of the stone circle, hands clenched, arms taut and quivering as I howled my rage. My cry echoed through the forest and the surrounding moors, bounding from the silent monoliths that surrounded me. And yet no one heard. There was no reply.
Arianna was gone. Gone.
“I’ll find you,” I promised hoarsely when the echoes of my fury finally died away. “I swear to you, Arianna, I’ll find you, no matter where they’ve taken you. And when I do I’ll kill the bastards. I vow, if they’ve harmed a hair on your head, I’ll . . . .” My voice dropped to an anguished whisper. “Gods, don’t let them harm her.”
I lowered my head, staring through pools of tears at the pendant I clutched in my hands. Tears. How long had it been since I’d shed them? A century, perhaps? Longer?
Dammit to hell, why was I still pretending? “I love you, lass,” I finally admitted in a whisper, wishing for all the world that I could just hear her voice, that joyful lilt, one last time. “I love you. I should have told you. But I will, I vow it, I will. And I’ll make it right again, make all of this up to you . . . somehow.”
My hand fisted ‘round the pendant, and then I brought it to my lips, and kissed it to seal my vow. Silently, I fastened it ‘round my own neck.
Then I mounted Black, drew the horse about, and kicked his sides. Black lunged into a gallop, and I headed north, as I knew the attackers had done. Their trail was well laid and easily followed. I would catch the bastards before this night was through.
* * * *
“STOP LOOKING FOR him, Arianna,” her captor said, his voice soft, his eyes gentle. “Nicodimus will nay come for you. The sooner you accept that harsh truth, the better ‘twill be.”
She shook her head slowly. “He will. He’ll come for me, you’ll see.” But would he? Maybe the more important question was, could he? Oh, but she was no fool. She knew well enough what was happening here. This Marten and she were alone, no one within sight nor earshot around them. Yet there had been dozens upon dozens of warhorses and soldiers in the village. So many men. Obviously, they had all ridden off in another direction, perhaps to plunder some other village, perhaps to battle some other clan. But wherever they had gone, it was clear Marten’s goal lay elsewhere. His horse’s hooves, she noted, were wrapped in thick layers of cloth. And he guided the beast over the hardest terrain, where leaving a sign of their passing would be all but impossible. Marten pushed onward at a terrible pace. The miles seemed to fell away between Arianna and her home, along with all she had known there. All she had ever held dear, all she had loved. Perhaps Nicodimus would be unable to find her, even if he tried.
If he tried.
And what if he didn’t? What if all the things Marten had told her. . . .
But, nay. That could not be. She knew Nicodimus. Knew him . . . and loved him. She believed in him. Aye, he had kept things from her, vital things she should have been told. She was immortal.
By the Gods, she was immortal. And unsure now, what that meant to her. How it would change her life. She only knew that even the girl she had been only hours before was now lost to her. As lost as her mother and father. As lost as her dear sister. She no longer knew who Arianna Sinclair Lachlan might be, less even, who she would become.
Gods, why had Nicodimus not told her?
She sighed, closing her eyes. If Nicodimus had kept so vital a truth from her, then he must have had some reason. He must have!
He would come for her. And when he did, she realized slowly, through the haze of grief and shock that clouded her mind . . . when he did, she could be with him . . . forever.
Aye, forever. He would not have to watch her grow old and die, as she had believed, for she was immortal, just as he was. And could be with him!
If . . . if he wanted her.
Doubts assailed Arianna then, new ones that had not occurred to her before. For Nicodimus had known these things all along, hadn’t he? So maybe he did not want her after all.
* * * *
I FOLLOWED THE horde of men for three nights before I finally caught up to them. I had not expected them to be moving so quickly. They had left no survivors behind, and had no reason to assume they were being pursued. Why, then? The question dogged me. Why such haste?
If they knew, somehow, that I was following, if they were ready and waiting when I finally arrived at their camp . . . .
But, no, it didn’t matter. Whether they expected my attack or not, my course would not change. I had to rescue Arianna. I had to find her. Hold her in my arms again, and know that she was all right.
It was full night, the fourth one of my journey, when at last I heard the sounds in the distance that told me they were near. Keeping to the thickest patches of forest, I moved Black slowly, quietly nearer, until I could see by the pale glow of distant fires that they had set up camp for the night. Good. Good.
Tying Black in a grove of pines, I crept closer, walking softly, using the skills I had learned as a warrior long ago, and wondering as I neared what I would find awaiting me in Arianna’s eyes. I had promised to protect her family, but I had failed. And more than just that ate at my soul. For those butchers had killed every clansman they saw. No one was spared, no prisoners taken. The lifeless corpses of beautiful young women had littered the muddy village road alongside those of their families. So why, then, had they taken Arianna alive?
And what if they had not? What if she, too, had been cut down, only to revive again? What if they had only taken her captive when they’d realized that they could not kill her?
What if she knew now, what she was? What I, in my arrogance, had kept from her?
I paused to lean against a tree, swamped with a sudden weakness brought on by regret. “I should have told her,” I murmured hoarsely. “By the Gods, I should have explained it all to her, whilst I still had the chance.”
But it was too late for regrets now, and when I lifted my head again, I could see the camp of my enemies. No less than fifty men in this troop, I judged. Four separate fires burned, and men surrounded each. Some eating, some drinking. Some still as stone, contemplating the flames. Some already lying down. And at the center of them all, a ragged tent had been erected, with men standing guard at each of its four corners.
“Arianna,” I whispered, and my heart tugged as if trying to leap from my chest. She must be alive! That well-guarded tent had to be where they were keeping her. Every inch of my body seemed to stretch forward. My feet itched to run to her. And only by a supreme act of will did I manage to hold myself back, to draw a breath, and crouch down beside the large tree, and wait.
The hours crept by. Too slowly, too damned slowly. It seemed ages before the men in the camp truly slept. All except for those standing guard outside the tent. I could not hope to outfight fifty armed soldiers. Four, on the other hand, should pose no problem. But I would have to move quickly, carefully, and in utter silence. They must not be given the chance to sound the alarm.
I crept closer, then moved silently among the sleeping men, picking my way with great care. Still concealed in shadows, so the men guarding the tent could not see me. Not yet. But I could see them, for my vision in the night was excellent, honed by the kiss of immortality.
I took another step, then went still as I saw one of the men turn toward the tent flap, as if in response to some sound from inside. I strained to hear, and finally did, even from this distance. The voice was a whisper, barely more than a breath.
“Please. Only for a short while. I am so cold and afraid, and alone. . . .”
No, I thought in silence. By the Gods, what did she think she was doing?
Even as I willed him not to, t
he man to whom she spoke gave a nod, and ducked inside. While the other three exchanged lewd grins, and muttered their speculation. Fury built in my blood, a hot, pulsing thing. The bastard was alone in that tent with my woman. My wife. My Arianna. He would not live to see another sunrise.
In a moment, he poked his head back out, and I could see that his chest was bare now. My jaw clenched, teeth bared, hands fisted.
“Why dinna the three of you go an’ fetch a bite to eat?” the man asked softly of his companions. “A mite o’ privacy is called for at the moment.”
One of the men frowned. “We were told nay to leave our posts,” he argued, keeping his voice low.
“Aye, so you were. But if you do this for me I’ll return the favor . . . in just a while when your own turn comes ‘round.”
The other man’s brows rose high. “The lady’s willin’ to take each of us?”
And the man inside the tent gave a shrug. “The lady’s a prisoner. Who cares if she’s willin’?” He grinned broadly, his meaning plain.
The other three exchanged glances. “I dinna think it wise,” said one. “The chieftain, and Master Dearborne as well, warned us against that one. They say she’s evil, same as the outlaw Nicodimus.”
Another man nodded. “Aye, and the lad Nedmond himself witnessed the demon, cuttin’ the heart from the very chest of Master Kohl.”
“Ah, she’s but a woman. You can well imagine Laird Marten is takin’ what pleasure he wishes from his own captive wench! An’ I intend to do the same.”
Nicodimus stiffened. Marten . . . Gods, he should have known Marten would come to avenge his brother.
But there was no time to think, for the other men sighed, and nodded their agreement. “Dinna be too long,” said one who hadn’t spoken before now. “An’ dinna untie the wench, either.”
The bare chested one grinned again. “Nay, my friend, I willna. I prefer them bound, I do.” Then he ducked back inside the tent, likely to ravage my wife.
I drew my dagger as the three men wandered away from the tent, heading toward me. I saw the fire they’d chosen, one with a barrel of ale standing nearby, and a pot half full of stew near enough the flames so it would still be warm.
Eternal Love: The Immortal Witch Series Page 53