Warrior’s Redemption

by Melissa Mayhue

  Christiana moaned, tossing her head from side to side as if attempting to escape the hold of the gods’ visions, and he nudged her side with the toe of his boot.

  Another moan and her eyes fluttered open, a blue so darkly vivid, they were almost violet. Framed in a thick lace of black, the eyes of the old gods stared out at him.

  Perhaps when she reached the end of her usefulness, before he tossed her body to its final indignity in the ground, he would carve out those eyes and give them the honor of the pyre their bloodline deserved.

  “What did you see?” he demanded, stepping away from her. “Does Dermid yet return with the tribute from my southern holdings?”

  She pushed herself up to sit, every movement a study of grace and fluidity, belying her filthy heritage.

  “You haven’t long to wait, Torquil. Even now I see my brother making preparations for his return to Tordenet Castle.”

  “Are his pack animals laden heavy with the MacGahan silver?”

  He wanted every coin in Malcolm’s possession. He wanted his prideful half brother broken in spirit and, one day, in body. Oh, he knew of his father’s wish to give the MacGahan holdings to Malcolm to possess for his own; he simply didn’t choose to honor that wish. He and he alone deserved it all.

  “My brother travels with no silver.”

  “What?” he yelled, pleased to see her flinch.

  Pleased with her fear. She should fear him. And obey him. As long as she shared her gift of vision with him, he would allow her to live. Though he trusted her not, he knew that in the matter of relaying the visions, she was incapable of speaking anything but the truth, and therein lay her value.

  “Why does he not carry my tribute with him?”

  “The visions have not shown me this, my laird. Only that my brother makes preparations this very night for travel to Tordenet Castle.”

  “Without any silver,” he added.

  “Without any silver,” she confirmed.

  “Leave me,” he ordered, turning his back when she lifted a hand for his assistance.

  When she had gone from his tower, he leaned against the open window, hands fisted against the cold stone ledge, staring sightlessly into the black night.

  Though she claimed Dermid only now prepared for his trip home, he wanted to see for himself. To know that his envoy had not yet set foot on his lands. Only by verifying with his own eyes could he reassure himself that Christiana was incapable of trickery.

  He stripped out of his clothing, folding each piece into a neat square and placing it carefully on the table beside him before stretching out on the cushions Christiana had vacated. A fleeting impression of heat left behind by his half sister’s body skated over his skin, gone almost as quickly as it had appeared.

  Breathing slowly, deeply, he closed his eyes and called on one of the powers of Odin that he did possess. It was necessary to concentrate on the attributes he required for his task. Accurate vision in the dark of night. Speed of travel to cover his land and view it from above.

  A shape began to form in his mind.

  The trance that had once taken him hours to accomplish was as child’s play now, settling upon him in mere minutes. That which was the essence of him floated from his body, up, hovering near the ceiling to look down on himself where he lay. From here it was easy to admire the beauty and strength that housed his essence in the form of the body that lay below him, naked, open to his inspection.

  Only a few hours until dawn.

  Great wings flapped, stretching his muscles and propelling him forward to dive through the open window. The air caressed his feathers in an almost sensual experience, boosting him like a helping hand into the night sky. Soundlessly, he circled and dove, instinctively finding the currents to speed him on his way.

  Below him, as Christiana had predicted, nary a single mortal trod his land other than those who had pledged him their fealty.

  Through these eyes he saw everything in details of black and gray. But what he couldn’t see, he could hear, targeting in on the tiniest of movements. Something small scurried for cover and he gave himself over to the need, death on a silent wing. The strike made, one sharp squeal from his victim, and then a mind-obliterating orgasm of pleasure as fresh, warm blood sprayed down his throat and across his face.

  He left the corpse behind. He might inhabit the body of an owl, but he had not the beast’s taste for rodent meat.

  Instead he once again traveled the air currents, lifting and diving until, as the first rays of light lit the eastern sky, he reached his own window. Once inside, he cast off the form he had chosen, to settle back into his own body.

  Opening his eyes, he stretched his limbs, the excitement of the evening’s kill still thrumming through his body, exhibiting itself in a much more human form now. A much more human need.

  He wiped a hand across his face and it came away streaked with blood. The need to clean himself wasn’t unusual after one of his shifting trances. He relished it. It only enhanced the experience.

  Pushing himself up to stand, he strode across the floor to throw open the door, and called out to his personal guard.

  “Have a tub and hot water brought to me.” When the guard’s eyes flickered down toward his swollen manhood, he laughed. “Yes, Ulfr, I’d have one of the maids sent up as well.”

  “Brenna, my laird?”

  “Yes,” he replied but was struck with another thought. “No! One of the dark-haired lasses, Ulfr.”

  “Aye, my laird,” the man replied, hurrying away.

  Torquil strolled back into his room, stopping at the bed of cushions on the floor, smiling as he rubbed his hand over his chest.

  He would take the little dark-haired maid there. There on the bed where Christiana had lain.

  Twenty-two

  HAD IT BEEN only this morning Malcolm had wished the sun could delay its assent into the sky, allowing him time to linger with Dani in his arms? Now, at the opposite end of day, he wanted nothing so much as for the sun to hang where it was, forgoing its inevitable disappearance.

  Perhaps the biggest disadvantage of a late-autumn assault was the shortness of the days.

  Though he’d ridden since before daybreak, both he and his mount had miles left in them. Miles, perhaps, but not the light to cover them safely.

  Ah, well. At least he’d made better distance traveling by himself than he could have at the head of an army. And without the worry over the well-being of his men.

  At the crest of the next hill, he slowed his mount, stretching his legs and scanning the distance ahead for a likely campsite. Ahead lay a valley, where the setting sun already cast shadows of purple over the land. A stream ran its length, disappearing into a stand of trees.

  Cover and water together in one place. That was where he would make his camp for the night. As if his horse sensed his intent, the animal gave the run its all, reaching the trees in short order.

  One look at the spot close up and Malcolm knew it had been as much fate as fortune that had led him here. A rowan tree, old and gnarled, spread its limbs out over the stream. Surely a good sign.

  With a little effort, he was able to build a fire and set up camp all before the last rays of light deserted him. The moon, which had shined down on him the night before, hid herself this night, concealed in a cloud-filled sky.

  Wrapped in his plaid for warmth, Malcolm sat under the rowan, too awake to even consider sleep. He caught up a small piece of branch from the pile he’d gathered and pulled out his knife, idly whittling at the wood to occupy his hands and pass the time.

  Fire flickered in the pit before him, and as he stared into the flames dancing to the music of hissing wood, thoughts of Dani spun through his mind. Her eyes, her laughter, her body—they comforted him. Regardless of what fate Skuld had woven for him, he vowed to all the old gods of Asgard he would return to her when this was done. He would claim her for his very own in front of clan and kin.

  With a sigh, he allowed his memory to fill with the woma
n the Fae had sent to him.

  If he closed his eyes, it was almost as if he could relive their night together. He felt her as she’d lain beneath him in the shelter of another rowan tree, her eyes filled with want. Want of him.

  He heard her laughter as they’d tumbled into his bed after lighting every candle they could find.

  He saw her, her breasts heaving as she panted, her skin aglow with the exertion of their lovemaking.

  He smiled at the memory of how he’d very nearly disgraced himself the first time he’d taken her, with no more ability to control himself than an untried lad on his first go at a woman. But he’d recovered, and quite nicely, too, redeeming himself throughout the night. Repeatedly.

  And Dani!

  He dropped the wood to his lap, giving up all pretense of work to immerse himself entirely in the memory.

  The woman was amazing. Fearless. Adventurous in more ways than ever he could have guessed. He’d no doubt she could teach the strumpets of Edinburgh a trick or two. Hell, he’d no doubt but that she could teach the strumpets of London a thing or two. She’d certainly managed to satisfy his lusty appetite.

  With a sigh, he returned to the piece of wood in his lap that was already taking shape. He would carve for her a fork, a small one, exactly like the one she’d asked for all those days ago.

  He concentrated on the wood in his hands, trying to imagine her pleasure when he returned to her, bearing this gift.

  Out beyond the light of the fire, a dry twig snapped, ending Malcolm’s pleasant reverie. Though he was instantly alert, he didn’t move at all. No sense in alerting whatever, whoever, watched that he was aware.

  Animal? Possible. But man was equally possible, especially considering the tingle around the mark on his chest.

  He sensed no imminent danger. This was different. Simply a watcher, and not of the forest animal variety.

  His position was strong enough. The rowan and stream at his back, a mound of rocks to his left. By instinct he’d considered defense when he’d made camp. It was a place he could well defend if the necessity presented itself.

  With the situation fully assessed, he rose to his feet, drawing his sword as he did, making no attempt to disguise its distinctive metallic ring.

  “I ken yer out there. Come in to the fire and show yerself.”

  Whoever it was, he’d prefer to confront them now rather than wait until they could become a threat.

  A short silence was followed by a general crunch of undergrowth, his mystery watcher no longer making any effort to conceal himself as he and, from the sound of it, his horse approached.

  It should have been more of a surprise when Dermid stepped into the circle of light.

  “And what is it you think yer doing here?” And after he’d made it perfectly clear the lad was not to come with him.

  “I followed you.”

  “Alone?”

  From the moment Dermid had arrived at Castle MacGahan, he hadn’t taken two steps outside the shadow of his guardsman Rauf.

  “Aye. I was sleeping it off in the stable and I awoke to find you readying yerself and yer horse. I waited until you left and then I followed. I’d no time to tell anyone I was going.” Dermid ducked his head sheepishly, casting a glance to the fire. “I dinna suppose you’ve an extra morsel? I’ve no had anything to eat since last night.” His stomach growled loudly as if to corroborate his story.

  Malcolm resheathed his sword and squatted next to his pack. In short order he’d pulled out a sampling of the food he carried to hand over to his brother.

  “I thought I made it clear you were to stay behind.”

  Dermid nodded, eagerly stuffing a chunk of bread into his mouth. “Aye, that you did, Colm. But that was when I thought you planned to lead an army against Torquil. Since you go alone, I’m thinking you’ve decided to take him his silver after all?”

  Malcolm tossed a skin of ale to the lad, fearing he might choke on the dry food he stuffed into his face.

  “I carry no silver.”

  Hand midway to his mouth, Dermid paused. “Then what do you think to do? Surely yer no about stealing Christiana from under his very nose? You ken the enormity of such a task, aye?”

  More or less, that was exactly his plan, if a plan it could be called.

  “I go to counsel with our brother. Torquil’s an intelligent man. I’ve faith he’ll see the reason to my argument.”

  Dermid snorted his disbelief. “You canna expect me to believe what you say. We all ken there’s no love lost between you and Torquil. It’s a good thing I followed you. I can help you.”

  Malcolm should have realized his brother wouldn’t be so easily dissuaded. “I spent as many years at Tordenet Castle as you have, lad. I’ve no a need for you to guide me about the passageways.”

  “Mayhap.” Dermid shrugged. “But I’ve been there more recently than you. I ken the habits and the practices of our brother. I can show you the weaknesses in his underbelly. You need me, Colm, even as I need to go with you.”

  Malcolm studied his youngest brother. Maybe the lad was right. Maybe he did need to go along. To prove something of his manhood to himself. So be it, so long as he stayed out of harm’s way.

  “You can come along on one condition. I’ll have yer promise that you’ll no enter the castle gates. I want yer word that you’ll remain outside, where you can make yer escape if it comes to that. Will you swear to it?”

  Excitement danced like the reflection of the flames in Dermid’s eyes as he shook his head up and down, his mouth stuffed overfull with the last of the meat and bread Malcolm had given him.

  Malcolm sent up a brief prayer to Odin that he might not regret the decision he’d just made.

  Twenty-three

  I’VE A FEELING I don’t like. A bothersome gnat of worry pestering away at the back of my mind.”

  Dani glanced to the woman at her side as they hurried down the hallway, her stomach fluttering with its own share of pesky gnats. She was stressed enough about Malcolm and his stubborn-headed plan all on her own. But having the Faerie confirm her concerns? That was enough to push her right over the edge.

  Elesyria patted a hand to her hair as they approached the carved wooden door of Malcolm’s solar.

  “I’m sure I’ll feel better once we’ve had a talk with Patrick.”

  Dani wished she could muster the same kind of confidence in Patrick that Elesyria demonstrated.

  Though the door itself stood ajar, it was the angry voice blustering out of the opening that stopped them a few feet away.

  “What do you mean, you canna find him?”

  Dani pushed aside Elesyria’s outstretched arm to step closer. Close enough, in fact, to allow her to see who was on the receiving end of Patrick’s tirade.

  Rauf.

  “What kind of sorry excuse for a groomsman are you that you’ve lost my brother? Yer only task as far as I can see is to watch over him.”

  Not that she should care that Dermid’s groomsman was getting royally reamed. The man absolutely gave her the creeps, always showing up at every corner she turned, like some cartoon spy.

  But from here, observing his face, it was obvious the man was utterly distressed.

  “Dani!”

  Elesyria’s whisper of caution went unheeded. Damn, but she hated always feeling sorry for the underdog. Rauf might be a weasel of a man, but there was no way she was going to stand here and allow this browbeating to continue while the man in there visibly shivered in discomfort.

  “What’s going on in here?” she demanded, pushing the door open and stalking into the room, Elesyria at her heels.

  Patrick arched an eyebrow in their direction. “Am I to believe that in yer homeland, my lady, people dinna knock before they enter?”

  Snide was so not going to work with her.

  “Oh, we knock.” Dani moved fully into the room to stand at Rauf’s side. “But we’re not kept out by bullying blowhards. Now, how about we have this discussion without all that yelling.”


  For a moment she wondered if Patrick might not turn his anger her direction, especially when Elesyria reached out to clasp her hand.

  Instead, he sat down at the table and steepled his hands in front of him, his usual mask devoid of emotion firmly back in place.

  “Though I dinna recall having invited you to be part of this discussion, perhaps you can assist Rauf here in explaining how he’s managed to lose track of my brother’s whereabouts. Especially considering that Dermid’s whereabouts were the only thing he was tasked with keeping track of.”

  His mask appeared to have a crack or two in it.

  “As I’ve already tried to explain, Master Patrick, I searched the entirety of the castle when I awoke and realized yer brother had no slept in his bed. It was near sunrise by the time I found his horse was gone as well.”

  “What?” Patrick was on his feet again, his fist pounding down on the table.

  No mask at all now, only raw emotion on display.

  Elesyria dropped her grip on Dani and skimmed around the table to place a hand on Patrick’s shoulder. “More flies with honey,” she murmured.

  Once again, mask in place, Patrick took his seat. “You dinna share the news that my brother’s horse was missing as well.”

  “I tried, Master Patrick, but . . .” The man’s bravado seemed to fail him under the burn of Patrick’s glare.

  “Maybe if you hadn’t been yelling at him,” Dani interjected. “Perhaps then he might have gotten the whole story out.”

  Patrick’s glower fell on her before turning back to the original target of his displeasure. “You’ve done what you can for now, Rauf. Come to me immediately if you learn anything else. Begone with you now. And close the door behind you. Firmly.”

  Dani crossed her arms in front of her, holding her tongue as the groomsman scurried out.

  “You realize Dermid has likely gone after Malcolm, do you no?” Patrick tapped one long finger against the tabletop. “You realize as well, that being the case, Malcolm will no be pleased in the least.”