by Jessi Gage
The man holding the pole struggled to keep the wolf still while the other extended his arm into the cage, muzzle first.
“Feisty little female,” the one holding the pole said. “She’ll do. She’ll do just fine.”
“The fuck she will,” Riggs said, stepping around the pine.
The men jumped to their feet. Snarling, they turned to face him. They had to look up—way up—to meet his eyes. They were well muscled and had to be tough since they’d survived the war, but like most everyone, they were smaller than him.
He showed his teeth in challenge.
Their snarls died on their faces. He never got tired of seeing the fight go out of men when they realized they were outmatched.
The she-wolf tore into the forest with the pole around her neck. Riggs noted which way she went.
Unsurprisingly, the men turned tail and ran too. Cowards.
He wanted to give chase. It had been a long time since he’d had just cause to kill Larnians. But if the she-wolf couldn’t free herself from the pole collar, it would hinder her ability to hunt. Probably wouldn’t be fatal, but he sure wouldn’t want to go through life with a pole collar stuck around his neck.
He took off into the forest after the she-wolf.
When he’d scented marbled boar yesterday, he’d anticipated a fine meal and week of tanning a beautiful hide. Guess he’d be limping around Larna after a pissed off she-wolf instead. So much for feeling lucky.
Chapter 2
“What are you doing here?” Anya blurted.
Aodhan’s ice-blue eyes widened. “Me? What are you doing here? You’re dead.” His face paled as he looked her up and down.
She snorted. “I’m no ghost, if that’s what you’re thinking. I’m alive as you are, though no’ for long I suspect since I recall your warning last time we met in this cottage.” He had just returned from Dornoch, where Darcy and his wife had revealed Anya’s plot to keep Ginneleah from catching a bairn. Ever true to his laird, Aodhan had told her to leave Ackergill and never return. If she did, he’d hand her over to Steafan along with a list of her sins. Steafan was not known for his mercy. Looked like she was going to meet her justice tonight after all.
Aodhan’s color returned. Och, nothing rattled the war chieftain for long. He’d probably have recovered just as quickly if she really had been a ghost.
“Before ye bring me to Steafan, I have somat to say.” She stepped closer to him, letting him see her jarring gait. “Tell Darcy I am sorry for what I did. And tell Ginneleah I deeply regret the pain I’ve caused her.” Her throat felt tight. She cleared it. Courage, Anya. Make your da proud. “And I’m sorry, Aodhan. I’m sorry for betraying you by plotting against your daughter and your laird. Our laird. I’m ready to face him now. Go on. Take me to Steafan.”
She lifted her chin and squared her shoulders. She’d learned not to expect Mercy from Aodhan merely because they’d been lovers. He’d cured her of that misconception when he’d exiled her and then left her for dead when he’d found her in that cleft.
His brow creased. “Christ, lass. What happened to you?”
Did he mean her limp? Her scars? “Ye ken what happened. I fell.”
“I recall,” he said gravely.
He was likely also recalling how she’d pleaded with him to rescue her, and how he’d refused because she’d failed to show concern for those she’d harmed with her plotting. What would he think if he kent how she’d changed these last months? Och, it didn’t matter. Feeling sorry didn’t change the wickedness she’d committed, especially when it had taken her near death to make her realize the depth of her own depravity.
“How did you get out?” he asked.
“A Rom rescued me.”
He shifted on his feet, and the light of his lantern reflected off the box he held. It looked about the size of a shaving kit. Rich rosewood inlaid with white metal peeked out from between his fingers. The box looked familiar, but she couldn’t place where she’d seen it before.
“Is that my da’s? What are you doing with it?” Anger lit a fire in her breast. “Are you thieving from him now that he’s gone? Why, ye bloody—”
“It’s the box Steafan tried to destroy. The one Darcy’s wife said brought her from a future time.”
The breath froze in her lungs. No wonder it looked familiar. She’d handled the bloody thing once, even read for herself the impossible date beside the maker’s mark. It had been springtime in the year 1517 when she’d last seen that box, yet it claimed to have been made in 1542.
Her encounter with that box had been the start of her troubles. If she’d never laid eyes on it, would she be hale today? Would she be up at the keep, celebrating her da’s life with her clan?
She took a step back. “Keep it away from me. It’s evil.”
“Mayhap,” Aodhan agreed. “I watched Steafan take every weapon in the keep’s armory to it trying to destroy it. Even put it under the grinding stone in Darcy’s mill. Not even that did the trick. Last time I saw this, ’twas flying over the cliffs. Steafan shrieked like a banshee when he threw it. Look.” He rotated the box. “Not even a scratch.”
Anya refused to get close enough to confirm it.
“Your da must have found it while culling seaweed for market. Must be why he kept it with this rubbish.” He motioned toward the shelves.
“’Tis no’ rubbish. Those trinkets made him happy.”
“Whiskey made your da happy. These things kept him busy until the pub opened each night.”
He was right, curse him. “Ye shouldna speak ill of the dead. How did he go? Do you ken?” Pain swelled in her chest and brought tears to her eyes. She didn’t let them fall. She wouldn’t let Aodhan see her cry. Her da had been a drunk, and a mean one more often than not, but he’d been her drunk to care for. Because of Aodhan, she hadn’t been able to comfort him at his death. Och, no. Because of her. Her. She was the wicked one.
“Auld age, An. I suppose.” His eyes went soft on her when he used the shortened version of her name. “Or too much drink. Took about a week. He suffered some, but went bravely, like a Keith. I came to inventory his possessions,” he went on, the softness lifting. “Everything belongs to the laird now, since your da has no surviving near kin.”
He leveled a look at her, letting the statement penetrate. Since he’d exiled her she was no longer considered clan. She didn’t count as her da’s heir. She hadn’t expected any different, but hearing it said aloud still stung.
“Well,” she snapped. “What are ye waiting for? Take me to Steafan.”
Aodhan shook his head. “Nay. I doona think I will. Nor will I pass along your apologies to Darcy and Ginnie. If you turn around and walk out that door, and I never see you again, I’ll tell myself the box made your spirit manifest to me tonight. By morning I may even believe it.”
She shook her head. “I came here for a reason. You must see me punished. You must.” Her da had died bravely. So would she.
“Seems to me you’ve suffered enough. Go on with you, lass.” He lifted his chin toward the door.
This couldn’t be happening. Once again a man was telling her to leave when she had nowhere to go. She’d made peace with coming back to Ackergill. Her conscience felt light for the first time in ages.
“Go on,” Aodhan said again, and he turned his back to her, pretending interest in her da’s knickknacks.
He was showing her mercy, but it was the last thing she wanted. She’d felt so strongly she was meant to come here. She’d hoped to belong somewhere again, even if only for a few precious moments.
A song one of Gravois’ travelers used to sing filled her mind like a prayer:
When I had a home, I could not wait to leave it.
When I had none, I longed for a hearth of my own.
Lord, if you have not found me lacking,
Open up your gates; I’m coming home.
She was home. Or nearly so. She wouldn’t limp away like a coward. “Take me to Steafan,” she said, but a faint cl
inking sound coming from Aodhan’s direction interrupted her. The cottage began spinning around her, quicker and quicker, as if she’d been caught up in a waterspout. Dizziness dragged her to her hands and knees.
“What the bloody hell?” Aodhan said.
Somat clattered to the floor. Amidst the spinning, she glimpsed what had made the noise. The box. Though stationary on the floor, it streaked past, leaving a trail in her vision like a shooting star. Its lid was open.
The whirling floor changed from dust-streaked wood to dried leaves. The lantern-lit dimness of her da’s cottage changed to the gray light of either dusk or dawn.
“Anya! What’s happening, lass?” Aodhan’s voice was distant.
“It’s the bloody box!” she cried. But the cabin was gone. Aodhan was gone. The spinning stopped as abruptly as it had begun.
She was surrounded by a thick gray forest. Cautiously, she sat up and searched her memory for clues as to where she might be. There were no forests this dense near Ackergill. The vines of ivy hanging from the mossy trees were like nothing she’d ever seen.
“Bloody hell.” The bloody meddling box. It had sent her who kent where. Mayhap across oceans. Mayhap across time, as Big Darcy’s wife had claimed.
Did that mean she was trapped here? Wherever here was?
A rusting noise drew her gaze around. A beast burst through some bracken and ran straight at her. A boar! A giant one! All great tusks and slobbering snout.
She screamed and scurried out of its path.
It charged past, grunting, its brown eyes glazed with panic.
Thank the good Lord it ignored her. Rolling to her side, she watched its hindquarters as it raced into the trees. She’d never seen anything like it before. Its coat was mottled like that of the calico cat she and Seona had kept as children. She doubted anyone would welcome that beast on their lap while they darned near the fire.
No sooner had the boar disappeared than more rustling made her look in the direction the boar had come. Two naked men crashed through the bracken, running at high speed. They were hairier than any man she’d ever seen before. And wilder. Their eyes fairly glowed with animal alertness.
Upon spying her, they skidded to a stop, both panting. One of them bent to brace his hands on his knees. They gaped at her for long seconds.
“The boar went that way,” she told them, pointing. Obviously, they were after the thing. She was eager to see them on their way. They did not appear the helpful sort.
One of them grinned at her. His teeth were bulky in his mouth, his eyeteeth especially. They were like daggers of bone. “Think we found something even better than marbled boar, yeah?” He nudged the other with his elbow.
“Must have escaped Bantus’s harem and walked here from Saroc,” said the other. That one had eyes the color of blood. These were men, but they weren’t like any men she’d ever seen before. “And she must have been there a long time to know our tongue.”
What were they blethering on about? Her escaping from some man’s harem? Made no sense. She’d only just arrived here.
The first man grunted in agreement. “Let the others have the marbled boar. If they can catch her. I’m more than happy to make use of our king’s leavings.” He cupped his cock and bollocks, leaving no doubt about his meaning.
They moved toward her as one.
Fear pounded through her veins. She struggled to get to her feet. Pain ripped through her left knee.
Saints above, she’d never be able to flee these men on her pathetic excuses for legs. She dug under her skirts for the dirk she kept strapped to her calf. Och, that’s right. She’d left it on her cot as meager payment for Gravois’ pony and gemstone.
She had nothing with which to defend herself.
The men towered over her. One of them reached for her, and his hand was tipped with black, pointed fingernails.
She screamed.
* * * *
Riggs tried not to think about the two measly foxes he’d had for breakfast instead of sweet marbled boar. Instead, he remained alert for signs left by the she-wolf. She wasn’t hard to track. All he had to do was follow the distinctive line the pole collar drew in the earth. She was taking him on a southerly route. At least she hadn’t turned west, taking him deeper into Larna.
A patch of hair on a thorn bush caught his eye. Several strands of white, a few of tan. He rubbed them between his fingers. The color and coarseness could mean only one thing. The marbled boar had crossed paths with the wolf. His spirits lifted. Maybe he’d catch the sow after all. That is, if she’d managed to elude the Larnians.
A few minutes more brought him to a moist creek bed, nearly dried up. The she-wolf’s prints stood out clearly, as did two sets of footprints that must belong to the Larnians chasing the boar. Unsurprisingly, the she-wolf changed direction, heading east out of the creek bed, toward Marann and his cabin. He followed the wolf prints.
A minute’s run brought him to a formation of boulders. Wedged between two rocks was the pole collar. The she-wolf was nowhere to be seen. She had managed to free herself.
Good. He squatted to rest. Should he continue east to home, or pursue the boar and risk running into a number of Larnians he couldn’t defeat?
A shrill cry to the south interrupted his thoughts.
What in the low realm? That wasn’t the cry of either a boar or a wolf.
Curiosity piqued, he ran toward the sound. Before long, the low rumble of men’s voices touched his ears. He slowed, moving silently, cocking his head to listen.
“What are you doing?” one man said. “Stop toying with her.”
“I want to chase her,” another man said.
He heard a pained whimper. The she-wolf? No. She wouldn’t have let herself be caught a second time. Must be some other poor creature they were toying with. But no animal he knew of made a sound like that.
“She can hardly walk, you idiot. Look at that crippled gait.”
“Get up, you ugly cow,” one of the men said.
There was another pained cry. Then, “Ugly cow? At least I’m no’ a mangy cur! Get your filthy paws off me! Help! Help!”
By the moon. That is no animal.
It was something more valuable than a whole cart packed with marbled boar skins. A woman.
Snarling, he plowed through bracken and sailed over a formation of boulders. He rounded a thicket and found one Larnian standing by while another tried to mount a small woman in a faded blue dress struggling on hands and knees to get away.
The woman reared up, crashing her head into the nose of the pig atop her. It gave with a crunch.
“Aaargh!” The man shoved her down with a hand on the back of her neck, mashing her face into the leaves. “Broke my nose, the bitch did!” He struck the side of her head.
Riggs’s vision went red with rage.
He knocked the Larnian off the woman’s still form and tore out his throat before the pig could so much as raise a hand to defend himself. The foul taste of enemy blood filled his mouth.
Jumping to his feet, he faced the other Larnian. He bared his teeth in challenge.
The man was big and appeared fairly young for a Larnian. But Riggs was bigger and younger. Nevertheless, the Larnian didn’t run like the ones he’d found with the she-wolf. A woman was worth fighting a losing battle for.
They circled, sizing each other up. The Larnian had defeat in his blood-red eyes, but he kept his chin up, his gaze defiant. “We could both use her,” he said. “No one else needs to know.”
“You’ll touch her over my dead body,” Riggs growled. He made the first move, getting in quick and delivering a blow to the man’s side. He tried for a follow-up to the stomach, but the man danced away on fast feet. Riggs’s fist hit nothing but air.
They circled again. His opponent hunched around where Riggs had connected with that first punch. A few more of those, and he’d have the maggot beat.
“You kill me and take her, the others’ll track you,” the Larnian wheezed. “Think they�
��ll let a woman’s scent go unfollowed? You won’t get far.”
“I’m not afraid of a few Larnians.” Riggs went in for a punch to the face.
The man dodged, turning the blow into little more than a graze. He was fast. But Riggs could be fast too, when he needed to be.
“Not a few, yeah,” the man said. “I can see that. You’re a fucking beast. But there’s more than a few of us camped out here. We make good money catching she-wolves and selling them up in Saroc. We’re well supplied. Got horses and tracking wolves who’d be more than happy to cross into Marann and tear you limb from limb for such a prize. But enjoy the woman with me for a few days then walk away, and I’ll swear on my mother’s grave to keep it secret. No one will ever know a Maranner was poaching on Larnian soil today.”
Yeah, right. Likely, this maggot thought to offer him the woman first and attack his back while he was distracted. As if he’d give him the chance.
He flicked a glance at the woman. She lay face down on the ground, too still. Enough of this. She needed help, and he was wasting time.
He charged the Larnian, a surprise move.
The man grunted at the impact and went down hard. Riggs slammed his fist into the maggot’s face, stunning him. Then he grabbed his head with both hands and gave a fierce twist.
It was over.
He rushed to the woman’s side. Instantly, her scent overwhelmed him. Sweet flowers, hyssop, and woman’s musk. She also smelled of horses and leather tack, of damp wool and mist. Glossy chestnut hair fell across her face, obscuring it.
Don’t be dead.
He crouched and reached a hand toward her. Pulled it back. She was so small. He was afraid to touch her.
He observed her instead, his gaze going to her back. It rose and fell with steady breaths. She was alive.
By the moon. He was in custody of a woman.
The tight coil of fury in his chest turned to wonder. It lasted only a moment before turning into a heavy weight of responsibility.