Warrior Untamed

by Mayhue, Melissa

  Though he’d closed the distance that separated him and Bridget considerably, she had also closed the distance between her and Fenrir.

  Hall skirted out to the side, hoping to cut her off. Barring that, there was a chance he could insert himself between Bridget and Fenrir. He’d settle for any small favors he could get, but it appeared there were no favors in his future.

  There was no way for him to get to her quickly enough.

  Bridget charged across the last bit of open ground like a maddened Valkyrie, her hair billowing out around her as her arrows flew, swift and sure, toward her target. She rode without fear, without reservation, holding nothing back.

  In that moment, Hall knew he must have her for his own—forever. She was his kindred spirit, his untamed warrior, the one woman who could ride at his side into eternity.

  When this was over, somehow he would convince her to take him, no matter that his life was not his own. No matter that he was destined to spend his years protecting Mankind. He would do it without complaint, if he could have her at his side.

  If she’d have him.

  If they survived this battle.

  BRIDGET STEELED HER senses and let loose her arrow, her only thought its intended trajectory. He was prey, like any other. Her arrow would find its target and bring his frenzied escape to a halt.

  A second time she pulled back the heavy string and let go, knowing even as she did that she’d missed.

  Think like the rabbit, her father had taught her. Anticipate where the rabbit will turn.

  Hunting this Beast was no different than hunting the rabbit. He was simply a larger target to hit.

  She tightened her knees as she urged her mount to another burst of speed with a kick of her heels. Quickly, she nocked another arrow into her bow. She was one with the animal she rode, feeling his movements beneath her as if he were an extension of her own body. One with the arrow in her bow. One with the target in her sight.

  Lifting her arms, she pulled back, loosing the arrow. Following its trajectory to its target.

  Success!

  The arrow buried itself high in Torquil’s leg, eliciting a scream of surprised pain.

  “Yer pain has just begun, you filthy bastard,” she murmured, lifting her bow again.

  If she were to have any chance at the man, she needed him off his horse.

  Two shots in rapid succession, one to his arm and one to split the reins in his hand. Another scream, this one a long, unearthly sound, such as she’d heard only once before. The night of the horrible storm when she’d first realized that Hall would not stay with her.

  Torquil’s mount, given his head by the loose reins, reared in fear of the approaching cliff, throwing his rider to the ground before racing away.

  Brie slowed her approach, giving her prey time to realize he had nowhere to go but to face her. She tied the bow into the sheath on her back and drew the sword as she slid off her horse to confront her enemy.

  The sword’s song sang in her ears, giving her courage, urging her forward. Killing a man was no different than hunting her dinner.

  Except that some small voice in the back of her head kept trying to convince her that it was different. She’d done it before, but that truly had been different. She’d done that to save Hall from an evil villain who’d closed in on him when he was defenseless.

  Just as she closed in on Torquil now.

  Didn’t that make her the evil villain in this scenario?

  This was no time to doubt herself. No time for her conscience to kick in. Not when her revenge was so near at hand.

  Her only option was to drown out the voice in her head.

  “Remember me, Torquil MacDowylt?” she called out as she approached the laird, sword held aloft in front of her. “Or perhaps you remember my father, Hamud MacCulloch. You hanged him for the crime of following yer brother, Malcolm, when he escorted Malcolm’s wife to Tordenet.”

  That was it. That was her reason for her being here. Her justification for what she was about to do.

  Torquil rolled from his back to his stomach and pushed up to his knees, managing to get unsteadily to his feet.

  “Why would I waste my thoughts on remembering such an insignificant creature?” he returned, laughing in a booming, unearthly voice as he broke off the arrow that stuck out from his leg and threw it behind him. “Is that your best effort, girl? If it is, then you’re lost, because your best is not good enough. Not by far.”

  Brie lifted the sword, gripping it with both hands as he charged toward her. Any doubt she had about her ability to strike a man down fled when his eyes began to glow eerie red.

  It might look like Torquil MacDowylt she faced, but it wasn’t. It was the Beast who charged toward her.

  With all her strength, she swung the sword at his neck, connecting with his shoulder as he attempted to dodge her blow.

  Another scream from her attacker, this one a thousand times louder than before. The screech echoed so loudly, she dropped the sword to cover her ears. The long, loud, rattling howl of a creature unknown to the Mortal world filled her mind and buffeted her senses as she stumbled back from the slumped shell of the man.

  A cloud of black smoke wisped out of the gaping wound in Torquil’s shoulder and swirled up into the air above him. A sickening, putrid smell reminiscent of rotted meat filled the air as the smoke gathered into a tightly swirling mass. It throbbed and pulsed before it stretched out, plummeting straight toward her.

  Frozen to her spot, Brie could do nothing but watch in horror as the black mist engulfed her, cutting off her air, dragging her to her knees.

  HALL KICKED HIS horse, demanding every ounce of speed the animal could give him.

  “No!”

  The cry of denial was torn from his lips as he watched Fenrir’s essence drain from Torquil’s body, gather its strength, and plunge down over Bridget. It encased her in its black mist and tightened around her, driving her to her knees before it suddenly puffed away.

  The jewel’s protection had held, but its effect wouldn’t last for long. One single jewel was no match for the Beast.

  Once again the black mist churned and gyrated, gathering strength for another onslaught. Bridget, unaware of the danger, struggled to her feet and picked up the sword, holding it point down to support her as she stood.

  He was close enough now—he had to be.

  Hall tore one of the scrolls from his bag and ripped the ribbon from around it, holding it up at his side like a knight carrying a banner into battle.

  The mist pulsed as if it were being pulled apart before stretching out into a long, thin strand of black thread. It flowed toward him to cover the face of the scroll, a writhing, living mass. So much weight was added to the scroll, Hall was forced to drop his reins and use two hands to roll it back up. Once rolled, he dropped it into the bag and turned his horse to race toward the men who followed.

  “Gather the jewels!” he barked at Eric, the first to reach him. “Put them inside the bag to secure the scroll. You must hurry!”

  He handed off the bag, relying on his companion to carry out his instructions. It had to be done immediately, before the Beast could recover and escape.

  Then Hall turned his horse to see Torquil on his feet, advancing on Bridget.

  “I REMEMBER YOU,” Torquil snarled, his eyes wild, but with the madness of mere man, not the Beast. “You tried to kill me, and then you escaped my vengeance.”

  “As you escaped mine,” Brie replied, struggling to lift the sword.

  Her encounter with the essence of the Beast had weakened her, as if the hideous mist that had engulfed her had sucked away her life force to bolster its own energy.

  Even weak, she was still a match for the bastard advancing on her. One arm hung limply at his side, blood staining the shoulder of his tunic where her sword had already connected. His movements were further hampered by the arrow broken off in his thigh.

  It would be easy enough to run him through, if only she could manage to lift
the damn sword. Easy enough, had she not completely lost her appetite for killing this man. It was the Beast that was responsible for her father’s death. The Beast that needed to pay.

  The realization hit hard, clouding her eyes with welling tears. If she killed Torquil now, she’d be no better than him. No different at all.

  “Stay where you are, MacDowylt. The time has come for you to answer for yer crimes. My friends will be here soon enough.”

  Torquil’s face was distorted in a crazed grin, all his madness on open display.

  “I may well travel to the next world this day. But I willna travel alone.” He pulled a wicked-looking blade from a sheath he wore strapped at his side and lunged forward.

  Brie sidestepped his attack, dragging the sword she still couldn’t lift to circle around Torquil, her back now to cliffs. From this vantage, she had a clear view of her rescuers racing toward her. She had only to hold the madman off for a few minutes to allow them to reach her.

  If only the madman would cooperate.

  Already he lumbered toward her, blade raised, eyes glazed over with his madness, a cry of rage on his lips.

  Brie struggled to lift the sword for her defense as the world around her slowed to a crawl. Though her muscles were weak, her senses seemed sharper than ever, as if the gods themselves wanted her to experience her last moments on earth to their fullest.

  The ground under her feet vibrated with the pounding hooves that couldn’t possibly reach her in time. Rain pelleted her face, and the sound of waves crashing on the rocks far below warred with a distant thunder rumbling in the heavens.

  Torquil slammed into her and she dropped the sword to fasten both hands around his wrist, focusing all her energy on holding off the dagger he swung toward her face. As they struggled, her feet slid on the slippery ground and she lost her balance, tumbling backward.

  The ground came up fast to meet her, slamming against her and stealing her breath. She managed to keep a tight grip around Torquil’s wrist, though with him on top of her, his blade was mere inches above her shoulder.

  His teeth bared, he looked more like a rabid animal than a man as he forced the blade closer to her body.

  She’d underestimated her opponent. She wasn’t a match for him in her current state. Unless she did something drastic, she couldn’t hold on much longer.

  Sometimes in life, you must let go in order to hold on.

  Orabilis’s words shimmered in her memory and she gave herself over to them.

  “I pray yer right,” she muttered, releasing one hand from Torquil’s wrist.

  Freed from her hold, the blade plunged into the top of her arm as she dug the fingers of her free hand into the wound on Torquil’s shoulder.

  He screamed with agony and threw himself back away from her, grabbing her braid as he rolled over the edge of the cliff.

  Pain slammed into her as his weight dragged her toward the edge. Below her, the white foamy waves crashed onto the jagged rocks. She fought for a handhold on the wet stony ground, something—anything—to slow her slide over the edge.

  “If I go, you go,” the desperate monster of a man screamed at her.

  With her fingers losing their grip on the rocks, and one leg already over the edge, Brie knew it was only a matter of when—not if.

  HALL WATCHED IN horror as Torquil tumbled over the edge of the cliff, dragging Bridget along with him. He jumped from his horse and threw himself forward onto his knees to grab her hand.

  He pulled and she screamed, leaving little doubt that Torquil held on to her still. One look over the edge, and Hall drew his sword and swung, slicing through the silken strands of Bridget’s hair.

  As the MacDowylt plunged down toward the raging water, Hall dragged her into his arms, crushing her to his chest as he moved back from the brink of disaster.

  He’d almost lost her. The fear consumed him, weakening his legs so that he couldn’t stand, couldn’t speak, couldn’t do anything but hold her close.

  She clutched his shirt as if she might never let go, whimpering in his embrace.

  “I’ve ruined your hair,” he managed, his mind still roiling with what might have been.

  Her shoulders shook, and he didn’t know if she sobbed or laughed. He didn’t care which, only that she was safe in his arms, no matter what the Norns had woven into their tapestry as her fate.

  Though he wanted nothing more than to hold her in his arms, there was still one last thing requiring his attention.

  Releasing his hold on her, he lifted the makeshift necklace from over her head. The ruby was needed in the bag with the other jewels to secure Fenrir’s imprisonment.

  “Holy Mother,” Jamesy bellowed, pulling Bridget away to wrap her in his own embrace. “Get my bag, Alex, she’s bleeding.”

  With her brother taking charge, Hall rose to his feet and joined Eric, who stood near the side of the cliff.

  “The last jewel,” Hall said, handing it over to Eric, who added it to the bag tied at his waist. “We’ve no cause to worry over the Beast any longer.”

  “And what about Torquil?” Eric asked, turning his gaze to the rocks below. “What do you suppose became of him?”

  “Fish food, likely,” Finn answered, joining them. “No one could have survived that fall.”

  “As you say.” Eric looked unconvinced. “I’d feel better, though, to see his body on those rocks.”

  “They’re dead?” Bridget called out, wincing as her brother tightened the wrapping around the wound on her arm. “Both of them?”

  “Torquil has been taken by the sea, and Fenrir is back in the prison where he belongs.” Hall held up the bag Eric had handed him as proof before shoving it into the sporran he carried at his waist.

  “Then feed the Beast to the sea as well,” Bridget demanded, her eyes bright with tears. “Prison is not punishment enough for all the evil he brought into our world.”

  “Fenrir cannot be destroyed by plunging the scrolls into the sea. They would simply be tossed around by the waves until someday some poor innocent soul would rescue them from their watery home and start the process all over again.”

  They couldn’t so easily pluck Fenrir’s thread from the tapestry of the Future. That was why the Elves had imprisoned him to begin with. The ancient gods of Asgard refused to order his destruction.

  “You will not destroy the Beast?”

  Her gaze bore into his very heart, forcing him to steel himself against the pain in her eyes. It wasn’t his place to defy the will of Asgard.

  “No. This is how it must be.”

  “Then we are done here,” she replied, turning away from him. “And all I fought for is truly lost.”

  Lost, indeed. Clearly, in that moment, anything that might have been between him and Bridget was lost as well.

  The Beast, it seemed, had won after all.

  Thirty-four

  BRIDGET’S ARM HURT like hell; not even the honey ale she’d poured over the wound had helped. Maybe, as Hall had once claimed, she should simply drink the contents of the flask and be done with it.

  Hall.

  Would she ever be able to pass a day, even an hour, without having him invade her thoughts?

  She groaned and scrubbed her hands over her face, thankful she was alone here by the river while all the men gathered in their camp.

  After a day and a half on the trail, their little group had met up with Malcolm and Patrick and a company of men from Castle MacGahan. For the past hour, they’d been presenting their arguments as to what should be done next.

  She couldn’t care less what they decided. It meant nothing to her. All she wanted was to be left alone to wallow in her misery.

  She’d taken her revenge on Torquil MacDowylt, and instead of the satisfaction she’d expected, she felt only a great, gnawing emptiness. Orabilis had been right. Revenge wasn’t enough to give her life meaning. She wanted . . .

  What she wanted didn’t matter.

  She’d spent her life doing what she wanted, an
d what did she have to show for it? The Beast still lived, so even in her quest for revenge she hadn’t succeeded. The wound on her arm would be long in healing, and if not for Hall she’d likely have met her own end on the jagged rocks of the North Sea, along with the MacDowylt laird.

  And as a bonus? Useless blue symbols stained the whole of her body. Symbols that Orabilis had warned her she’d regret.

  All she’d managed so far was to prove that everyone else in her life was right. Orabilis, her brother, even Hall.

  Her thoughts always managed to circle back to him. Hall, the thing she wanted most. The thing she could never have.

  She reached for her bag and dug around until her hand closed over the flask of honey ale. After removing the stopper, she tipped back her head and let the brown liquid burn a trail down her throat.

  The beverage flowed down into her empty stomach, lurching and sloshing around, creating havoc that she chose to ignore, following the first drink with a second.

  She had a vague memory of an old man her father had pointed out to her once when they’d traveled to Inverness. A drunkard whose mind was long gone, his days spent sitting by a fire, drinking tankard after tankard of strong ale. It was his escape, her father had told her, from the pain of losing his wife and children.

  Escape sounded more than a little attractive to her, and she downed another large swallow of ale.

  But where was this lovely escape her father had claimed the liquor brought? Though her head felt heavy and her stomach churned, her memories of Hall hadn’t diminished in the least.

  She tipped back the bottle for a fourth time, emptying it, just as her brother pushed through the brush to join her.

  “Here you are. I wondered what happened to you that you didn’t stay to hear Malcolm’s decisions.”

  She shrugged and stuffed the empty bottle into her bag. “Makes no never-mind to me. The laird will do what he will do, and I will do . . . nothing.”

  “With Torquil dead, Patrick will take a contingent of men and lay claim to Tordenet.” Jamesy sat down across from her and scratched his stubbled chin. “Would you want to return there to live, do you think? It was our home as children.”