Until now. Until this.
The excruciating waves pierced him, burned him, tried to tear his power out of him. He fought, grasping within to keep the fire there at his core.
Someone was calling it forth. Someone could call it.
Someone . . .
By the goddess! Could it be his bastard after all?
He laughed now, loud and rough as the pain tore into his soul and his flesh. The girl was calling the fire!
And then it was gone. The pulling and tearing, the fire burning him, all of it. She must have ceased in her efforts. Or mayhap she did not yet know how to control it.
Gods! When she did, he could tell from the feel of this that she would be formidable. His dark mood evaporated, and he laughed into the terrified faces of those who served him.
He tried to remember on which slattern he’d bred this daughter, whether one of his villeins or some other woman taken as he wanted. Ever aware of the bloodlines of his goddess’s enemies, he did not remember finding or swiving a woman of power. And yet this bastard girl of his had inherited his and clearly her dam’s, if she could use it this way.
Having two firebloods in this quest meant everything. That the other was of his flesh and blood meant his power would be irresistible when combined with hers. Hugh roared out in pleasure at this, for he would now claim her and train her and she would belong to him and his goddess. She’d be used in their quest and discarded when her powers were depleted, leaving his untouched, undiminished.
None of the other bloodlines—not the warrior nor the healer nor the stormblood nor the waterblood nor the beastblood nor the earthblood—could hope to stand against him—against them now.
“Chaela, my goddess,” he whispered into the air. “We are close. We are so very close.”
He strode over to the altar stone, a large, flat stone that reclined between two taller, upright stones, and laid his hands on it. Blood had been spilled here, but it had happened too long ago to wake the seer’s abilities. He would fix that and then return to Yester to begin the process of claiming his daughter’s powers.
“Eudes!” His half brother came at his call, knowing better than to hesitate. “Summon Brisbois from the camp and find a suitable gift for the gods here.” Eudes bowed and turned to leave. “And tell Paulin we leave one day after he reads the altar stone.”
In a short time, for he would brook no delays or impediments, his executioner had arrived with their sacrifice. Handing Brisbois the dagger Hugh had forged and used for his own initiation, he instructed him in how to perform the ritual.
As Brisbois set to work, making the death last as long as possible, Hugh walked around the altar stone and chanted the prayers that would gain favor for their search. By the time the man’s last scream echoed through the circle, the altar lay covered in the rich, dark blood that would replenish the force within it. Chaela had been properly worshipped. Now his seer should have no excuse.
When Hugh rode south the following day, back to his lands in Gifford, he knew that the circle was the first gate he must open. Paulin had been able to point out where the symbols were carved into the stones, but he could not make them visible to Hugh yet. Regardless, the potential of combining his power with another fireblood made him smile with joy for the first time in a very, very long while.
It would take him another sennight to reach Yester and then the first steps in the quest would begin.
* * *
William divided his men into smaller groups so that they could hide on the hillside. In farmland like this, a large camp of armed men would be easily seen and reported. No one could find any word of Lord Hugh’s whereabouts nor his intention of returning to Yester. He held lands here and in the west, though this was his seat and the place the king had sent him. Standing on the edge of his camp, he could see the towers of Yester Castle rise in the distance beyond the forest and the curls of smoke rising above the small village that sprang up at its entrance and served the needs of those who lived in the keep.
Without gaining entrance to the castle, William knew not if the lord’s wife and daughter were in residence. He knew not how many guards were on duty nor how many soldiers lived within it. Nor how much food or supplies were on hand. Nor if the water supply was contained within the castle walls or if it came from outside. All crucial bits of knowledge needed before planning any attack on a fortified castle.
The sun struggled to rise this morn, the clouds thick and dark and threatening a late-winter storm. William nodded as the first of his men woke and rolled their blankets. He had said little to them when they’d arrived just after sunset, leading their horses on foot along a hillside path to avoid being seen. Uncertain of what Gautier had told them, he would wait and speak to them later, when all twelve of his men were present.
Roger walked to his side and held out a battered cup of ale and a hunk of cheese. He took them and nodded his thanks. It had been Roger’s signal the day before that had stopped him before he could go further with the blacksmith’s daughter—and regret it. There was no recrimination in his actions, simply a reminder of the task at hand and the dangers of seducing an innocent villager.
“Do you still plan to see her?” he asked, knowing of William’s arranged meeting.
“Aye. I think she can tell me much about Lord Hugh,” he answered, looking off in the distance. Roger’s choking cough and then laugh spoke of his clear disbelief in William’s plan.
“I saw you with her, Will,” his friend explained. “I have seen the way you watch her. I have heard the way you speak of her. You want her and I would not naysay you on that. . . . ” Roger turned and faced him, not allowing him to ignore the coming words. “But you know that there is something strange and powerful going on here, in these lands, with this lord. The king has sent you to look into the matter. Do not, my friend, allow her to distract you from the importance of or the danger of your mission.”
Will could not argue with a single word Roger spoke. He knew all that and more, and yet he also understood that he could not avoid this young woman. For now he knew she stood at the heart of this quest.
The sight of her opening her hands and causing fire to burst forth from nothing was something he would never forget. He could not explain it, but if this were true, if she held this great power and magic within her, he could not dare to ignore her part in the king’s mission.
How he’d managed to keep his shock from showing on his face afterward, he knew not. He’d fought to keep it from his gaze and his manner when he’d walked back into the clearing and saw her surrounded by those flames. And she did not burn. Nay, from the sound of her laughter and the broad grin on her face, she reveled in her talent.
Yet how could he admit this to Roger, when no God-fearing man would dare to admit seeing such things? He drank down the rest of the ale and handed the cup back to his friend.
“I hear your advice,” he said, looking in the distance to where the stream meandered across the valley. To where she would be.
“But you will not heed my warning?”
Will smacked his friend on the shoulder. “I am too far into this, whatever this endeavor is, Roger, to turn back now. Control of my lands—my lands—lies within the king’s hands, and to possess them I must do his bidding. The king said he was led to me. Well, I am led to her.”
Those lands had been promised to him since his birth by the king in consideration of his friendship with William’s mother, but always there were conditions and delays. Without his father’s permission, he could not stand against the other branch of his family—the legitimate ones. Only the king could give him the standing, even if not the legitimacy, to claim them . . . and hold them.
And now, remembering the changes that had overtaken him a few days before—changes that were just as unbelievable as those he’d glimpsed the girl making—he realized that everything he thought he knew and thought possible were shifting
, like the sands of a beach.
“I will heed your warning, Roger, though I know not if I could walk away at this moment.”
William needed to find out what was happening here. Raised in the faith of the Holy Church, he understood good and evil. He understood that some people sought evil and did evil things. And that things that could not be explained were usually the devil’s work. But he was not of the devil and he doubted that Brienne was either.
“I will have your back, Will,” Roger swore quietly. “Fear not that you are in this alone. No matter what manner of danger comes at us, we will stand together in this.”
Will felt that the coming times would task that promise, but he could not explain it to Roger. And he would not fault his friend or any of his men for choosing to leave when they discovered that all was not as it seemed to be. Indeed, from the look of things, very little in this part of Scotland was.
Nodding to Roger, he put on his sword belt and placed the dagger in his boot. He did not wear his battle armor, wanting to be able to move more easily among any villagers he would encounter. Wearing only a jack of leather over his tunic and trews, he covered it with his long cloak so he could pass for a merchant.
“I will return shortly. Herve is expected back this morn, and we will discuss what he has discovered and what I discover when I return. Keep everyone close.”
William did not wait for Roger to acknowledge his orders, for his friend would follow them. Walking down the hill, into the forest, and along the stream, he made his way to the place where he’d seen Brienne the day before. If she arrived first, would she wait or would she leave? Should he reveal that he’d seen her?
Crossing the distance to the stream, he looked back to the hill to see if the camp was concealed. Satisfied, William turned back and found her standing there, watching him with an even gaze. When he nodded, those burning amber eyes filled with questions. Against his will, against all good plans and advice, he needed to answer them.
* * *
Brienne watched him approach with the cautious steps of a wary predator wanting not to be seen or heard. He turned and stared back at the hills that surrounded the roads leading to Yester Castle. At first she thought that he appeared different from other men to her because he was a stranger and because he was a warrior. Now, watching as he faced her and realized she stood before him, she saw that it was something more than that; there was something more about him. But she could not decide what that something was.
A subtle shift in the light that outlined his form caused him to appear brighter, as though the blue of the sky lit him from within. That was strange. When she looked at him, the rest of the world around faded to a paler version of itself. How had she not noticed it before?
He nodded to acknowledge her and walked closer, using that same stride that seemed to be what his lethal grace would look like in battle.
He reached her in only a few paces, his long legs covering the space between them quickly. Would he kiss her again? Would he touch her? Brienne found it difficult to draw in an even breath at just the thought of that. Clasping her fingers together to keep them from shaking, she forced herself to meet his gaze.
“Good morning to you, Brienne,” he said. “How do you fare this day?” He spoke her language with an accent that made his tongue curl over certain words. Chills raced along her spine at the sound. He had not smiled yet; his face remained serious and intent.
“I am well, Sir William,” she replied. “And I am here as you requested.” As he’d ordered, she’d wanted to say, but she would not anger him by reminding him. If she did, he might reveal the things he might have seen. If he spoke of it to the wrong person, it would not go well for anyone, especially not her. Just as she thought to explain her words, the sunlight pierced through the dreariness of the morning and shone on them.
Brienne could not help but stare at him then, for the light reflected off him and once more she could see him glimmer. She began to shake, unable to control it or hide it from him, for she remembered seeing only one other person who appeared as this warrior did before her. Whatever connected them, whatever business brought him to Yester, whatever pulled them together, it terrified her.
For the only other person who glimmered as this man did was Lord Hugh. And she knew what Hugh of Gifford was.
But what was this man?
Chapter 7
Brienne could feel the terror filling her veins.
Rumors and stories, shared in hushed voices in the shadows, spoke of her sire’s abilities and dark passions. The villagers who entered the castle and never returned to their homes. The girls and women dragged screaming to his bed, most of them never the same again. The sounds of the inhuman cries deep inside the castle walls, which seeped into the night. And with her new knowledge of her abilities to create and tame the fire, she could only imagine the power he had within him.
This man standing before her was unknown. Other than his name, she knew nothing of him, his family, his origins, his . . . power. Having seen her father’s body shimmer with it, she recognized it within this knight.
And it terrified her.
When her head began to spin, she tried to force a breath into her body. If she fainted, if she could not run, what would happen to her?
“Brienne,” he said with that accent to his words that made her smile.
Her name echoed to her as though called from a distance away. Blinking, she tried to see him, but everything before her grew dark. Then even the shimmering blue light that outlined him faded, and she fell into the darkness.
The warmth surrounded her, urging her to remain. Brienne wondered if she had called the fire forth in Gavin’s smithy once more, for all she could feel was the overwhelming comfort of it. Then noises trespassed into what she now thought must be a dream. Birds chirped, the wind rustled by, and the sound of someone breathing close to her ear became louder.
She realized it was not the fire but arms that held her. Forcing her eyes to open, she gazed into the icy blue ones of the man she wanted to escape. She tried to push free and found herself imprisoned in an embrace that would not yield no matter how she struggled.
“Hush now, Brienne,” he whispered. The warm breath he expelled as he spoke tickled her ear and her neck and did not soothe her sense of impending danger. “You fainted.”
“Let me go, I pray you,” she pleaded softly. “I will tell no one.” The fear that took hold of her would not recede even now that she was awake.
“Tell no one? Tell them what?” he asked, easing his grip and helping her to sit.
Gathering her wits, she thought about what to say. Did she tell him she knew he was . . . ? What did she know—that he was like the man he sought? Was he? She felt suddenly confused and lost, and the tears gathering in her eyes burned as they threatened to expose how naïve and unworldly she was.
“Brienne, fear me not,” he urged, standing now and, grasping her hands in his, helping her to. “I wished only to speak to you this morn. Nothing more nor less than that.”
The glint in his gaze belied the words. He wanted her. She’d seen desire in a man’s eyes before; this was no different. And she was alone with him, deep in the forest, away from anyone who might help her. She’d been warned by her mother, by her father, never to let this happen, and here she was, alone with a man who was neither friend nor relative.
The fact that he intrigued her as no other man had should have been warning enough. The knowledge that she wished to talk to him frightened her. But she did wish it. He was the first man from outside the villages of Yester or Gifford to visit in a very long time. And she wanted to know about his life, his vineyards, him.
That longing, with the way he gazed at her intently, told her what she must do.
“I should go,” she said, brushing her hands down her gown.
“I will walk you back.”
“Nay!” she said, shakin
g her head and taking a step away from him. “You must not.”
To be seen with this man would bring all sorts of attention and questions, from her parents, from the others who lived in the village, and especially from those who spied for Lord Hugh. Not only would word get to him that strangers had arrived, but he would also learn that she was seen talking with their leader. Alone.
And since that morning when Lord Hugh had wordlessly acknowledged their bond, she could not risk that. She could not risk the retribution that would follow for the people who had raised her as their own. No matter how much she wanted to see him.
“Very well.” He reached over and took her by the shoulders. His hands gentled as he steadied her on her feet. “But do not rush away. Let your head clear before you try to return to your home.” He reached one hand inside his cloak and brought out a small skin. “Drink.”
As he held out the skin to her, she caught a glimpse of the sword he wore beneath the cloak. It was a warrior’s sword. One she was certain he could wield with power and precision. How many battles had he fought?
Accepting his offer, she took the skin and drank a small amount from it. Not the water or watered ale she’d expected, the liquid was a lush wine, coming as a complete surprise to her.
“I brought it from my home,” he explained, taking it back and drinking some himself. “I am partial to this one for it’s made from grapes grown on my family’s lands.”
“France? Normandy?” she asked, knowing his accent must be from that region. Lord Hugh’s family was from that area and still spoke French most of the time, regarding their Lowlanders’ language as an abomination.
“Aye, Normandy. Though many other parts of the de Brus family hold lands here, in England, Ireland, and Wales.”
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