Tormod

by Hazel Hunter

  Raen blinked. “What?”

  “Before I came here I don’t think Tormod ever had a friend.” She rested the back of her head against the wall. “He has no tribe. He’s not Pritani. He was a slave for ten years. I mean, honestly, what McDonnel is going to want him as a bestie?”

  “He chose to join the clan after the awakening,” her husband snapped. “He wasnae forced to.”

  “I can’t believe he did it, either,” Diana said. “He watched Lachlan’s tribe murder his people and burn his village to the ground, and then he was captured and enslaved by them. When the Pritani finally freed him, it was only to fight the damn Romans, who then butchered him. Then he wakes up an immortal with no one but the clan. What the hell did you expect him to do?”

  Raen grimaced. “Gods, Diana, when you say it so…”

  “Yeah, well, it is what it is, right?” She crawled into his lap. “Look, the Viking and I are both orphans. As kids we had no one to love us. I was abandoned as an infant, and beaten and nearly starved to death in foster care. Of course we were going to bond.”

  He stroked his big hand over her hair. “Forgive me. I love you so much, sometimes I think I will go mad with it.”

  “You weren’t entirely off the mark,” she said, looking up into his rugged face. “Tormod was falling in love with me, I think, when I chose you. What’s amazing is that he wasn’t jealous or upset about it. He wants me to be happy. I want the same thing for him. So.” She plucked a piece of lint off his vest. “I’ll always love him, and protect him, but I can only ever be like a sister to Tormod. Because you’re my guy, and my heart belongs to you.”

  He kissed her, long and slow, and released her only when she was shaking and clutching at him. “We dinnae have time for dirty dungeon sex, or you would be in shackles.”

  Leaving the dungeon and rejoining the clan upstairs did give Diana a sense of relief. She hadn’t demolished her marriage or her relationship with the laird. While Evander still gave her the stink eye as soon as he saw her, he would come around, once he remembered that they shared the Talorc bloodline, and her awesome tracking powers often came in handy.

  Or not, Diana thought as she smiled at her cousin, and I’ll have to watch my back for the rest of eternity.

  Bhaltair appeared by her side. “I should have you disciplined by the conclave,” he murmured as the laird explained their mission to the other members of the warband. “Their punishments are quite unpleasant. They might even disincarnate you.”

  “Nice try, but no sale, Grandpa.” Diana muttered back. “I share a soul with my husband. Punish me, you punish him.”

  “I shall still scold you at the very next opportunity,” the old druid promised. “At length. Harshly.”

  Diana was assigned to track the Viking and his lady from Dovebart to the coast, where what they found would decide how they would continue the mission.

  Kinley became very grumpy about being left out, but she agreed that with her status and ability to throw fire she was the logical choice to remain behind to safeguard the stronghold. She still walked out to the loch with her husband, and wished the rest of the party good luck.

  “Don’t get into it with Tormod,” Kinley told Evander. “Save it for the lists.”

  “As you say, my lady,” the captain agreed thinly.

  “I know how you feel. Leaving me behind will keep Tormod from having his ass burned to a crisp.”

  The sound of a horn from the curtain wall drew everyone’s attention. Near the tower a guard was pointing to the stronghold’s narrow approach.

  “Single rider!” he shouted.

  Before Diana had a chance to react, Raen and Evander were sprinting to the road. Lachlan moved Kinley and Rachel back to where Diana and the druids stood, then placed himself in front of them. More warriors poured through the gate and formed a line of shields in front of the laird that bristled with swords.

  The rider was thin and wild-eyed, waving a bloody dirk above his head.

  “The laird must die,” he called out in a shrill voice. “The Mistress bade me cut his neck.”

  “Enthralled,” Rachel said to Diana. “But how did he know to come here?”

  Diana’s stomach took a dive. One of the clan’s most important secrets was the location of Dun Aran. They’d managed to conceal it since becoming immortals. If the undead had finally discovered how to find them…

  “Rachel,” Kinley said, “you need to read him and find out everything he knows.”

  “Agreed,” Diana said, stepping forward with her.

  Without turning, Lachlan held out his giant arm to block their way. “You’ll stay where you are,” he said, his voice low but with a tone that said he would not be disobeyed.

  “Who is your Mistress?” Raen called out.

  Twenty yards away the man had reined in his horse, yet swayed in the saddle as though the mare still moved. “Where is McDonnel?” he shrieked. “I am for him and him alone!”

  Lachlan stepped forward, approaching Raen and Evander who stood shoulder to shoulder, their weapons at the ready.

  “I am Lachlan, laird of the McDonnels. Have your say.”

  “You didnae kill all of them,” the mortal screamed, almost giddy. “She got away. She has never forgot. You will die.” His eyes bulged and rolled as he looked at the rest of the warband, and grinned. “You shall all burn.”

  With a nimbleness belied by his erratic movements, the wild man twisted and hurled the blood-stained dirk at Lachlan.

  “No!” Kinley screamed.

  But in an instant, Raen’s blade flashed through the air, cleaving the dagger in two. The useless pieces flew in different directions, one landing in the loch.

  Simultaneously Evander flung his short spear. It rammed through the mortal’s chest, dislodging him from the saddle, and sent him sailing backward off his mount.

  “Wait!” Rachel cried.

  She made an anguished sound and raced past the men, as Diana and Kinley followed. Though blood already ran in small rivulets over the ground, Rachel bent to the impaled man and touched his arm. Her lips whitened, but she didn’t stop focusing on him until the last breath wheezed from his lungs.

  Evander helped her stand and put an arm around her as she swayed. “You shouldnae have done that, my love.”

  “I know,” she said, sounding tired. She regarded the laird. “His name was Thomas, and he had a farm near Dovebart. His wife just died in childbirth, along with the baby.” She swiped at her brimming eyes. “The woman who used him for blood and sent him here to kill you is not Fenella Ivar. Her name is Thora Liefson, and she died at the end of the first century. Her spirit has possessed the undead woman.”

  “Tormod’s sister was named Thora,” Diana said, drawing everyone’s attention. “He’s been trying to find her grave so he could bring her back here and bury her with his parents.” She turned to Bhaltair as he joined them. “If she was Viking, how could she possess anyone?”

  “I am no’ a Norseman, so I cannae tell you that,” the old druid admitted. “My lady Talorc, did you glean from this poor soul why Thora Liefson sent him to attack the laird, and how she knew the castle was here?”

  “In my mortal life,” Lachlan said before Rachel could answer, “my tribe’s village was burned down by hers, and we retaliated. The stronghold is built on the ashes of my old village. She wasnae attacking the laird of the McDonnels. She was trying to kill the Pritani warmaster who slaughtered her tribe.”

  Raen looked stricken. “Tormod’s sister was Thora the Merciless?”

  “She is,” Rachel gently corrected. “She’s returned to life to finish her quest. Thora Liefson intends to kill every last Pritani that is still alive.” She nodded to the laird. “That would be you and every member of this clan, my lord.”

  “She’s but one woman,” Evander chided gently. “What can she do, even with the help of Jema’s brother?”

  “The same that she did to all of the Pritani warships,” Raen said. “My lord, I think Thora Liefs
on goes to retrieve Freyja’s Eye.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  AFTER LEARNING FROM the villagers in Dovebart that Fenella and Gavin had stolen two horses, Tormod decided to water-travel to the coast to get ahead of them. As he led Jema to the edge of a forest stream out of sight of the village, she hesitated at the edge as he waded in.

  “You’ve done this twice now, my lass,” he told her, holding out his hand. “Dinnae be afraid of it a third.”

  She smiled at him. “I’m not. I just can’t imagine you joining with water, or becoming one with the water. I’m still not sure what you mean. Maybe I should just see it first.”

  He lifted her down into the rushing current and let his bond with the element transform him into his traveling form. “And now?”

  Jema’s jaw sagged. He knew what she saw. Though his body still held its natural shape, it was water. She touched his transparent cheek, gasping when her fingers sank into his face.

  “It turns you into water?”

  “In some ways, aye. In others I’m still a man. ’Tis another of the clan’s secrets.” He curled his arms around her. “You might keep your eyes open, but hold your breath still, and dinnae let go of me.”

  They submerged and the stream illuminated and began to bubble around them as he thought of a river that emptied into the sea. For him moving through the water was as simple as breathing, but he kept a close eye on his lady to assure she was not too frightened. A few moments later they surfaced, and he carried her out of the water to stand and watch it pour over a cliff.

  “Losh,” she exclaimed and looked down at the falls crashing against the cliff base. “What happens if you’re pulled over?”

  He dragged his wet hair back from his face. “I stay in my traveling form, so I dinnae break all my bones when I land.” He squinted at her. “You would not fare as well.”

  “I’ll remember that,” Jema said, backing away from the edge. “So how far are we from Dovebart?”

  “Fifteen leagues or so,” he said and eyed the horizon. “There’s a town past that curve in the shore. There we’ll find rooms, and wait for Fenella and your brother to show.”

  Jema rested her hands against his chest, once more drying their garments with the heat from her ink, and then glanced down at herself. “I should have changed into clothes from your time. I’d better cloak myself until we’re out of sight.”

  In town Tormod found an inn that overlooked the water, and roused the sleepy innkeeper, who agreed to lodge him for a few coins. “I’ve been traveling all night,” he told the stout man. “Let me sleep the day.”

  The innkeeper tapped his brow and yawned as he retreated down the stairs.

  Opening the door, Tormod waited a moment and then moved inside, shutting the door as Jema uncloaked herself.

  “Oh, I’d kill to have a camera and a laptop,” she murmured as she made a circuit of the room to examine the lamps and furnishings. “We always assumed medieval inns were filthy, flea-ridden flop houses.”

  Tormod glanced around the tidy room. “Why would anyone pay coin for that when they could simply stay home?”

  Though she smiled, her mood sobered when she stood at the window to look down at the docks. “Do you really think they’ll come here?”

  “I cannae swear it, but the map disc and our ink sent us to this place. Black ships have been seen before at these docks. Fenella has no idea that we are waiting for her.” He went to stand with her and circled her waist with his arm. “We’ll ken better when the sun sets.”

  “I can’t take Gavin back with me to the future,” she murmured. “I know he doesn’t want to live with ALS anymore. Before he got sick he was a soldier. He can survive in your world.”

  “You might stay here with him.” Tormod tugged her close to his side, and rubbed her shoulder. “Or I could go to the future with you.”

  “You’d give up your life here for me?” Before he could answer she made a face. “I forgot, you already have. Would you be happy in a world so different from your own?”

  He turned her to face him, his arms fitting naturally around her waist. “I would be happy wherever and whenever you choose to be.”

  Again she smiled but only briefly. “If we do find Freyja’s Eye, and it actually possesses the powers you say it does, I think it might have to go back to my time.”

  He grimaced. “’Twill bring you only misery, my sweet.”

  “Not if I put it in a museum.”

  She explained what the scholars of her time did with precious artifacts, and how their study of them helped them understand the distant past. As he listened Tormod knew she was speaking for his benefit, but even as she did, he couldn’t understand it. He’d always suspected she had a brilliant mind, in the ways of the old and learned druids, and the Caledonian monks who created books from memory. Now hearing her speak of carbon dating and spectral analysis, he felt a heavy truth settle in his chest. He was too simple and brutish to ever share her life.

  “You have gone very quiet,” Jema murmured as she idly fingered the clasp on his vest. “I’ll stop with all the endless academia.”

  “No, lass.” He held her closer. “’Tis wondrous, what you ken. That you might learn so much. Mayhap the Eye would be safer in one of your universities or museums.”

  She reached up and gently traced the outline of his mouth, then looked into his eyes. “But…you don’t want to go with me.”

  “I’m a fair map-maker, and a passable warrior,” he said and kissed her finger. “I can read and cipher and I know my numbers, but ’tis all I ken. A man like me doesnae have a place in a life like yours.”

  “Then I’ll stay here with you,” Jema said, patting his chest. “We’ll find a way to safeguard the Eye, and work out things with the clan–”

  “The clan is done with me, my lass.” The sudden sorrow at the blunt admission surprised Tormod, for he had always felt like an outsider among the McDonnels. It was sobering to realize that they had become as much his family as Arn, Gilda and Thora. He saw Jema’s miserable expression, and tried to make light of it. “Then again, the laird took back Evander, and he did much worse than hide a wench in his chambers. Now he is captain of the guard. For my wrongs mayhap the clan will make me chieftain.”

  “Or we could form a new clan with Gavin,” she said. “I think we’ll have to use my name, though.”

  “Clan McShane,” Tormod said and thought about it for a moment. “Who shall be laird?

  “You,” she said with a little giggle. “Gavin hates to be in charge.” Her gray-blue eyes sparkled with mirth and the hint of something else. “I’ll have to take orders from you.”

  He grinned and bent his head to nuzzle below her ear. “Would you now?” His lips brushed over her fragrant skin. “I shall have to think on my first command.”

  She tilted her head to allow him access. “Hurry,” she whispered.

  As he smiled against the side of her neck, he led them next to the bed. “I ken it already.” He cupped her bottom and brought her hips against his, pressing his swollen member to her. Though she gasped a little, she slowly responded by rubbing herself on him. “I’d have you naked on that bed.”

  Without a word, Jema stripped out of her clothes. Though he eyed every inch of her, he did the same. In moments he stripped back the bed covering and drew her down to lie next to him. But without prompting, Jema pressed her lips to the hollow between his collarbones, and trailed a line of soft kisses down the center of his chest. Bemused, Tormod watched her, and tightened his belly as she found his navel with her tongue. But when she shifted back, working herself between his legs and bracing her elbows on either side of his hips, he held his breath. He couldn’t take his eyes off her as she wrapped her fingers around the base of his shaft, and stroked him with her other hand.

  “A man can only imagine such things,” he said hoarsely.

  “Then it’s time to dream,” she said and touched her lips to the tight skin of his cockhead. The tip of her tongue flicked back and
forth over its tiny eye.

  Tormod’s thighs tensed as he watched her work her mouth on him, first with her tongue and lips, and then taking him into the soft, warm wetness inside. The way she lightly sucked on him made his fists knot, and seeing her lips stretch around him sent such heat into his balls he had to look away to keep from coming.

  For a time Jema toyed with him, licking and lashing his shaft with her tongue. Then, as if she could sense his burgeoning need, she took his cock in her mouth and slowly bobbed her head, pumping him in and out as if he were instead plowing her quim.

  Tormod thought of what he would do to her, just as soon as she freed him from the everlasting, blissful greed of her lips. He would put his mouth to her breasts and bottom and pearl, and lick her until the pleasure made her scream.

  He felt his balls tightening, and she must have as well, for she took him into her mouth as deeply as she could and held him there as she sucked his shaft with slow, firm pulls.

  Tormod exploded with ecstasy, and then he was shooting into her mouth, his hips churning as he rode the path to bliss. She swallowed every spurt, and then let him slip from her lips as she rested her cheek against his hip.

  He thanked the gods for his randy, tireless cock as he reached and lifted her onto his chest. Her quim, slick and hot, melted over his already swelling shaft. He nudged against her, seeking and finding the narrow gate to her garden. The brute in him wanted to skewer her until he felt her womb. The dreamer wished never to move another measure. He made peace with both by sinking into her, slow and smooth, feeling her softness glide against the distended veins and bulky girth until their nether hair meshed. Feeling her on him, clasping him, heating him and loving him made all his worries melt like frost at first light.

  All the wenches he had ever lain with would not have known him now. The lusty romps he’d always enjoyed with them paled beside this slow, gentle dance with Jema. He marveled at the scent of her blending with his, and the feel of her soft skin against his tough hide. Spreading the curtain of her bright hair so that it veiled her shoulders made him imagine draping her in golden chains, or strings of pearls.