Raging Sea (16 page)

“Passion does not answer all the questions yet standing between us, Soren,” she said.

“No it does not,” he said. “We will see to those other questions, Ran. I owe you an explanation but it is not time for that. First, we must see to your father's safety and to this matter we are caught up in.”

She had not even realized that he'd lifted her up and returned her to the camp on the other side of the island while they conversed. Soren put her on her feet and changed form. Before she could let go of him, William and his man Roger strode up to them.

“Ander has gone missing,” William announced.

“He was here this morn,” Soren said. “I spoke with him.”

“He received a missive; an emergency arose with the bishop and he was called back to Kirkwall,” Roger explained.

“The bishop is not in Kirkwall,” Soren said.

William's grim expression spoke volumes without saying a word. He nodded at Soren and the two walked off, whispering and planning something.

“He will not survive,” Roger warned her. “He is too full of godly spirit to survive de Gifford's care.”

“Mayhap that will be his protection against the evil?” she whispered as she followed the men back toward the tents.

How many deaths would she carry on her soul if they did not find a way to defeat this fireblood? How many?

A
fter delays and disappointments, things were beginning to go his way. Hugh was furious when he lost control over the waterblood, but he still held her father. Even the man's reaction to seeing his daughter as she truly was would not harden a loyal, loving daughter's heart to his suffering.

The seas worked against his journey after she disappeared screaming into it. Hugh thought it was not something she did apurpose at all. More likely, it was the reaction of the sea and an untrained waterblood to his attack and her fury and guilt. He would use that when the time came. Her expression when she realized she held someone in her grip as he convinced her to kill him was something he would remember and rejoice in for a long, long time.

At least until he killed her. And her stupid, stubborn father. And, now, an added pleasure—the priest.

Hugh walked down the stone steps of the round church. He'd felt the presence of the chamber as they approached Orphir. At first, he mistook the feeling as the one he experienced when coming in contact with something of a sacred nature. A church was consecrated and holy, made so by the bones of the saint in the altar stone. Whether he believed in that God or his saints, the power was there. Once he'd forced the Roman priest to remove the altar stone and its relics, he felt the building tremble from the power beneath it.

Here was the portal through which he could worship his goddess.

Through which she could touch him with her fire and purify him.

Through which his own powers would be strengthened for the coming battle.

He laughed now, following the corridor to the end and pushing open the last door that stood between him and Chaela.

“Good Father,” he said, passing the priest who stood immobilized against the wall. “You carried out your task well. I shall make your death—when it comes—a swift one in honor of that service.”

The priest, not an old one, did not meet his gaze; he never had. He only prayed under his breath, relentlessly. Over and over the same Christian prayer.
At the hour of our death.
Well, he would be at the hour of his death shortly.

The other one chained there said nothing. Hugh was not certain whether Svein Ragnarson had lost his mind, for the waterblood's father reacted to nothing now—not pain or pleasure nor words or threats. It mattered not to Hugh. Less resistance now was one thing he would not have to worry over when the ceremony was ready.

Neither of them matter now. Nothing mattered.

Hugh disrobed and stood there, waiting for the opening to reveal itself. He spoke the words of worship and praise over and over until the heat burst into the chamber . . . from the floor. Hugh walked around it, outlining it, memorizing it, honoring it. His body, now showing the ravages of his true age, ached with every step.

But soon, soon, his goddess would come to him.

A scratching at the door dragged his attention from the portal. Eudes opened it and dragged in one of the sailors from Svein's ship. Hugh pointed to a place and Eudes pushed the man there and left. Crouching before the gagged and bespelled man, he placed his hands on the man's head and spoke within his thoughts.

You are privileged as few are. You will be my sacrifice to the goddess. Do not die too quickly.

All was in readiness. He knelt and then prostrated himself over the portal, preparing himself for the agony of Chaela's blessing. When it came he knew that nothing could have prepared him for it, especially in his weakened form. His skin burned and he screamed as she touched him.

“Hugh, my faithful one,” the goddess whispered through the portal. “Always faithful.”

“Chaela, I beg your favor and have brought a sacrifice to please you.”

A terrible shriek echoed through the chamber and bursts of fire heated the floor where he would once again touch her. Looking into the darkness, he tried to see her but could not. Not yet.

“Accept my gift, O my goddess.”

Hugh lifted the man up and held him over the opening. Slitting his throat first, Hugh lowered him slowly into the void. With his throat cut, the man could not scream as the anguishing fire destroyed him, but that did not stop him from trying. The blood gurgled out, dripping on the floor all over the chamber, as the goddess consumed him. Hugh released him and listened until all he could hear were the goddess's exhalations.

He created a wave of fire there on the floor, covering the portal, and called out to her again. Barely able to kneel from the agony of her first touch, he spoke again. There was so much more coming.

“If I have pleased you, grant me your favor, my goddess.”

Crawling forward, he thrust his hand into the portal and waited. The fire melted his skin and his hand turned like molten metal. His body burned in torment . . . and pleasure. He screamed and screamed at the pain of this joining with his goddess. When his voice was gone, she still did not let go.

“You failed me, Hugh,” she said. “I must be freed. You must free me!” she screamed from the void. The stone walls shook at the sound. “The gateway is nearby. Water.”

“I will,” he gasped out, trying to understand her words. His skin was engulfed in flames and burned, melting and reforming only to burn again. There was no pleasure now, only relentless suffering without an end.

“Free me,” she whispered. “And there will be much favor for you, my faithful one,” she promised.

Now her touch changed and his body reacted. His prick hardened and he neared a sexual release. His skin burned but now pleasure raced through his blood as she sent waves of bliss through him. His seed spent, he fell back when she released him. The sound of wings fluttering was all he could hear as she moved away.

Rolling away from the portal, he waited for his body to recover from this encounter. She had punished him this time. He felt her anger and her disappointment. As he waited for his skin to mend, the whispers began anew. The priest was praying again.

“You will carry out the ritual, priest,” Hugh said when his throat finally healed. “And then you will be the first offering to the goddess when she is free,” he warned. Rolling to his side and then pushing up onto his knees, he laughed at this one.

“It will be a great honor,” Hugh said. “You will not live to enjoy it, but you will be remembered by the faithful.”

Standing now, he straightened up, running his hands over his flesh. Resilient. Renewed. Younger. He pulled his robe on and opened the door. The chamber was empty and silent now, the portal closed. Eudes waited there. Other than a quick glance at Hugh's hair, now black again no doubt, Eudes did not react.

“Bring them along,” Hugh ordered.

Climbing the steps out of the lower chamber, he found the day half gone. Time did not pass at the same speed when he communed with the goddess as it did when he was not in her presence. He'd lost hours in the agony she gave him. Hours of being undone and remade. Of pain and torment. Of pleasure and release.

Now, he needed to find the circle. The goddess had said “water” during their joining. Was the circle near the water? From what he'd learned, most of the stone circles here were close to two big lakes in the center of the island. Or did she mean something else?

This was not as easy as finding the first circle. His father had done so much of the searching and preparation for that. He'd known the location before the others did. Now, in this strange land, he had to search for it. Or . . .

He could simply wait for the other bloodlines to find it and then use the waterblood and stormblood to open it to save her father and their friend.

They were not the only ones using human spies to keep watch. His men reported back often. That was how he'd captured the priest. Funny, a Roman priest who also knew the old gods. Ironic too that he would be the one praying the ritual to free Chaela.

As they left the church grounds, Hugh decided to use Svein's house while they waited. He was not opposed to a bit of luxury and a few good meals while he gathered knowledge for the next step.

And the housekeeper learned her place quite quickly with the right incentives. Bruised, bloodied and on her knees before him was his favorite.

He gave the few women to his men to reward them and to keep them busy while he waited. A bit of sexual pleasure held a man's loyalty and Hugh used it on those he needed. Soon all the servants there learned that they did not answer to the old master.

And never would again.

•   •   •

Soren went back to the broch the next morning. The priests had made great progress in copying the symbols and drawings as rapidly as possible, working without stopping even through the night. Precious parchment sheets lay strewn around the main chamber, placed there as they were finished. Studying them, side by side, he looked for anything he might recognize. Or a symbol or sign that might indicate the hiding place of the circle they needed.

Efforts to locate Ander were unsuccessful, but Soren did not doubt that de Gifford had him. Word was that he and his men were at Svein's house in Orphir waiting. Waiting for what they knew not. Tension grew in the camp as preparations were made for so many different schemes and scenarios. Roger had the fighting men well in hand, but William did not think they would be needed, as in the first battle.

Marcus did not think that Ander possessed the knowledge to perform the ritual, so William ordered more guards on all the priests. Only Aislinn with her own personal hulking guard was permitted any freedom. The warrior was not well liked, Soren could tell, and most of the priests scattered at his approach. But the man answered only to Brienne and did whatever she asked of him—protecting Aislinn was his only duty now.

“Soren,” Ran called from below. He walked down into the lower chamber to answer her call.

“Look at this part,” she said, pointing to a section of the wall in the direction of the main stone circles. “So many signs and symbols there, and there.” She outlined several of the strange ones. “Einar had squares drawn there on his other map.”

“That is where you had that strange experience. You became ill. I thought you were going to fall or be pulled into the water.” She paled at the memory.

“Aye, there. That is on Loch Harray. The markings are on the other side, near the Watchstone and its mate.”

“We did not search because you were ill,” Soren said.

“Mayhap we need to look there? We might have missed whatever this symbol means?” Then she touched a place near Brodgar's Ring—the drawing showed a smaller stone or monument. “We may not have been careful when we searched the stones for any signs or messages.”

Ran had a keen mind and could pick up patterns quickly. And he did not miss her reference to their distraction the morning after their first day and night together.

“Should we look closer?” she asked.

“Let us first speak with William. He asks that we tell him of our plans and movements.”

Soren gathered up the completed copies and rolled them. Handing them to Ran, they left the chamber and the broch and walked out. They did not wish to draw attention to their presence there or to give Hugh any sign that the broch held some significance. So only three priests worked in the chamber at a time, with another keeping watch from over the rise near the road.

The main responsibility of the watchman was to close up the stairway if anyone approached and to leave. Soren had spent most of this last day overseeing both transporting the necessary priests and keeping watch over them and the broch. From up high, Soren could see anyone on the north road miles before they grew close.

Marcus estimated that they would finish their work here in one more day. Then the whole of the knowledge shared by Einar would be ready for their study. Soren was continually surprised by everything he learned about his grandfather.

A priest? And that of great power and abilities?

And he had grown up believing his grandfather was just a little daft and held some questionable philosophies. Had Soren's own resistance been the reason Einar had delayed in sharing this knowledge? He would never know now.

They stood in the shadow of the broch, hidden from prying eyes, when he held his hand out to Ran. She accepted his touch more easily now, but there remained a divide between them. They had not lain together since that morning on Birsay. She slept in the women's tent and he barely slept anywhere he laid his head.

Reunited in a manner but still very separate, he thought, as if she held some secret from him even as he held his own critical one from her. Love was not the issue for them—he doubted not that their love remained even after his betrayal and two years of separation. Now, trust was the challenge.

She did not trust him.

Soren squeezed her hand and took her in his arms. It took only moments to take her to the encampment and though he became the wind, he could feel her body within his embrace. If he did not put her on her feet immediately, well . . .

“Ah, you have returned.” William approached with Aislinn and her ever-present guard.

Ran held out the rolled parchments to William.

“They are quite effective at this task,” William said, nodding to Aislinn.

“It is strange for us to have a written document of our beliefs,” Aislinn said. “Our faith has been handed down from generation to generation through prayers and songs and stories. To see these”—she nodded at the vellum sheets—“is strange and wondrous.”

“I think we may have missed something at Stenness or Brodgar,” Ran said. “There are many markings in that area that we do not understand yet.”

“Ran wants to go and make a closer examination of the Watchstone and the smaller stone just outside Brodgar's Ring,” Soren explained.

“Two priests are there now,” William said. “Tell them what you seek and they can help.”

“Once Marcus and the others examine these, we should make our plan.” Aislinn looked from William to him. “Brienne said Hugh has touched the goddess. Her own powers have flared uncontrollably.” This development did not sit well with the warrior.