Rising Fire (9 page)

“More chores?” he asked, nodding at the basket on her arm.

“Aye. They never do seem to end,” she said, smiling. Then she spoke to him. “You seem at your ease, my lord. Have you no tasks to fill your hours?”

He laughed at her words and shrugged. “My task is waiting on your lord to return,” he explained. “So here I sit, enjoying the cool breezes and the warm sun.”

Now it was her turn to laugh as she looked above and around them at the customary Scottish weather—cloudy with an ever-present mist. Not the sunshine and breezes he'd said.

“Mayhap you are thinking yourself elsewhere than here? Mayhap your home in the south?” She walked closer and put the basket down on the ground. “Is it always warm there? In Normandy?” she asked.

“Nay, not always. But our land is tempered by the warm seas. It is sunnier there more often than here, though I know that some areas of the kingdom are more blessed than others,” he said as he rose and walked toward her. “I have heard of places that have golden sands and turquoise waters.”

“As your homeland does?” William picked up the
basket and looked at her before answering. “I take that to the men working the fields.”

“Come. I will carry it,” he offered. “And tell you of my homeland as we walk.”

Though she hesitated for a moment, she did not refuse. Brienne walked at his side away from the village, clearly not apprehensive nor obedient to her father's wishes.

William began with a description of his favorite places in the lands held by his mother's family and those of her husband, his father-in-name. The rows of grapevines and other fruits. Verdant fields producing all manner of crops. The beaches and sea that he could see from the highest places on their lands.

“Tell me of the sea,” she said softly. There was such a wistful wanting in her voice, it made him smile. “I would like to see it.”

“You have never seen the sea, Brienne?” he asked.

As a nobleman and a warrior, serving a king who traveled his kingdom and owning lands here and across on the Continent, William found it difficult to conceive of not traveling. Whether on land or sea, his travels had taken him wide and far. He forgot for a moment that those who lived tied to the lands and the lords who held them rarely left them. She shook her head.

“Do you like the sea, my lord?” she asked.

“Aye, though it can be as fickle as the weather here in Scotland. And 'tis no place to be when it turns dark,” he said. “Though on a sunny, warm day, I like to swim in it.”

“Swim? In the sea?” Her tone was curious and horrified at once.

“Have you never swum in the rivers here?”

“Nay. Some of the children do, when the river is high, or in some of the deeper pools that gather at the turns, but I cannot swim,” she said, with a forlorn expression on her face.

In that moment, he wanted nothing more than to take her to the sea. To let her feel the waves coming in and washing up against her feet and legs. To be there when she first viewed its expansiveness and might. William did not know why he reacted this way to her—to this village girl who belonged here and who had no place in his life.

But, then, watching her face come alive and her eyes sparkle as he spoke of his recent voyages, he wanted it to be so. They walked and he answered her never-ending questions about how it felt and how it appeared and sounded. By the time they reached the edge of the forest, she'd impressed him with the questions she'd asked and her interest and curiosity and enthusiasm about a number of topics.

Though he found himself staring at her mouth and remembering the innocence in her kiss and the taste of her lips, he held himself in check, for he had said he would not pursue her, and that would cross that line. From her blush, she remembered it as well. Instead he handed her the basket and nodded at the fields before them.

“One day, you will visit the sea,” he said, somehow knowing it was true.

“I hope so, my lord,” she said. “My thanks for carrying this for me.”

The silence surrounded them then. He wanted to kiss her with every fiber of his being. He stepped back, breaking the spell, and bowed slightly to her.

“See safely to your chores this day, Brienne,” he said, turning to leave before he acted on his desires. At this point, he would have given anything just to be able to continue to talk with her.

“And you as well, my lord . . . when you remember what your tasks are.”

With a soft laugh, she walked off, leaving the shade of the forest and entering the open fields where men and women worked, preparing the fields for planting.

His heart pounded as he realized that, if he carried out the king's duty, he would oversee his own lands soon. By next spring, he would have fields to plant and a manor of his own. William headed back to the camp on the hill, not wishing to think on the rest of it. For now he would think only about the wonder in her vibrant amber eyes as he spoke of the sea.

Two mornings later, as he tracked a large group of mounted men riding along the road to Yester, he knew that the time when she would be in danger had just arrived. And when the leader of the riders stopped in front of where he stood hidden by the dense trees and brush and stared in his direction, William knew that Lord Hugh was back at Yester Castle.

Although he was careful about being out of sight of anyone down in the valley, the helmed man nodded at him, acknowledging his presence. Then heat filled him, and the warrior within pushed against its bounds, forcing William to fight to keep it controlled. He blew hard, like a winded horse, and clenched fists that even now grew larger, barely containing the growing power. The sound that echoed up the hills shocked him.

Laughter.

Deep, full laughter traveled through the air, mocking
and challenging him at the same time. Struggling against the need to release whatever this power was that now lived inside of him, William practiced his meager control, knowing that the time was coming when he would not be successful in holding it back.

The time was coming . . . soon.

*   *   *

Hugh felt one of them with each passing mile. Opening up his senses as they crossed the last few miles between Gifford town and Yester Castle, he attempted to discern who his opponent was. To determine from which bloodline this enemy had come to face him and test his resolve to free his goddess. Though close, he was yet too far to tell.

Hugh smiled first, relishing the thought that his plans and those of his creator were under way and there would be no more delays. If one had arrived, others would come. Others who knew not the location of the circles. Others who knew of the prophecy. More of the bloodlines who had no idea of their powers or his.

But they would learn quickly that he would not be refused. He had perfected the ways to find a man's weakness and use it to gain their compliance before he destroyed them. All he needed was to open one gateway, and then the goddess would be freed and could destroy the others.

One.

Surely two of these ignorant fools, untrained in the ways of the ancients, would bend to his will . . . and to hers. Once the gateway opened and the sacrifice made, they would be useless and he would see to their deaths. They, and anyone who stood in his way, would die, be they serf or king.

Pulling his horse to a stop, he stared up at the hills that surrounded his lands and castle.
He
was there, up there, watching and waiting. The first of those who would challenge his faith and resolve. And most likely the first to fall and be crushed for resisting the will of the goddess.

He leaned his head back and laughed, loud, hard, and long.

The game had begun and he was its master.

T
hey landed on the east coast of Scotland, having journeyed by water from their island to the west. Once there, Marcus led them as he was led in his dreams, toward the lands of Lothian. Not a one in their group remained unaffected by the power of evil that drew them closer and closer.

But Aislinn suffered the most.

Terrible dreams filled her nights and even crossed into her days. She revealed only small bits of them to him and said nothing to the others. Struggling to find the rest of the prophecy, she made him promise not to wake her when the dreams made her cry out or struggle in her sleep.

It was not fair that such a young, fragile woman should bear the cost of her gift in this way, but believing and being faithful to the old gods' ways had nothing to do with fairness. The old gods could be cruel, and this showed that eons had not changed that part of them.

The only thing Marcus could do was hold her when she screamed in the night and guide her faltering steps during the days that followed. Which he did and would
continue doing until he was physically and mentally unable. In the years since she'd come to him, he thought of her as the daughter he never had and, like any father who loved his child, he wished he could take her burden on his shoulders.

The gods would have none of that, so he eased the pace of their journey so she would not be too weak when the time came for her to carry out her part of the prophecy and ceremony.

As the seer, she would understand the words of the prophecy and direct them to the right place and the right descendants needed to safeguard the gateways. Aislinn would chant the words and prayers necessary to seal the barriers. She would recognize the signs and the right stones and would heighten the powers of the warriors of destiny so that they could carry out their task.

As they crossed the miles, every person in their group began to suffer, so Marcus knew they were approaching evil. He ordered them to set up an encampment in a covered, secluded place in the woods before they entered the valley that would lead to the beginning of their challenge.

Choosing two of his men, he set them to the task of searching ahead for signs of the two descendants they needed to find. If they could convince the first two warriors of their history and their quest, Marcus believed they could stop the evil one here.

“Marcus?”

He turned to find Aislinn behind him, looking even more haunted in the light of day than she had during the last long, sleepless night.

“You should be resting, Aislinn. You get so little sleep and our journey is long.”

“I would,” she said with a wan smile, “but it is my duty to hear the warnings and the signs.”

“And you have heard more?” he asked.

Guiding her to sit on a log, he found the skin of ale and held it out to her. She drank little and ate less, and he watched her losing part of herself as the cost of her gift. His duty was to see she accomplished her task. One of the men passed him some cheese and bread and he gave them to her. “Eat and drink first.”

When she did not argue, Marcus knew she understood the risk of becoming weak, especially now. Once they found the circle of stones and deciphered the symbols, she would be called on to perform the ritual—and that ritual would have great physical cost. Her survival was as important as that of the descendants—without her, they could all be present and ready to use their powers, but would never succeed.

Once she ate a small amount, more than yester morn's, she gazed at him with an intensity he'd not seen since their departure from their island home. Her green eyes seemed so bright against her pale skin.

“There are two firebloods, Marcus. Two.”

He shook his head. All the prophecies pointed to one of each bloodline being the only one left with enough power to close the gateways. “That is not—”

“Possible? I thought not, too, but the dreams show me two of them. And the warblood is here, as well,” she said.

“Each one needs the other. What does this mean, Aislinn? Will we find two of each line now?”

“One fireblood is the goddess' minion; the other one is the one we need for our task.” Confidence entered her weak voice, as it did when she spoke of the dreams
or signs. “She is the path to the warblood's cooperation.”

They knew that the two needed to close each gateway would be linked in some way, but Aislinn's visions could not see all of those details yet. Marcus suspected each pair would be a man and a woman, each with a power that either complemented the other's or controlled it, but he could not be certain. Until she could see it clearly, they were relying on their limited experience and other intuitions.

“Are the firebloods known to each other? To the warblood?” he asked. The men he'd sent would find out some of this, but Aislinn might know now.

“Connected closely,” she said, nodding. “Though the warblood has not met both yet.” She smiled then, a slight curve of her mouth, and then looked at him. “He will be a strong warrior against evil.”

“If we can convince him to carry out his part.”

“Aye.” She stood then and brushed the few crumbs from her gown. “She is already his weakness. Their connection is only beginning, and yet it is nearly unbreakable. I had no idea it could happen so quickly.”

“Nor I,” he said. None of the priests understood it; nor would they, until all the pieces stood together in plain sight like a puzzle needing to be solved. “Rest now and gain your strength if you can. Donal and Colin will not return for at least a day.”

Aislinn turned to leave him, but paused and looked at him over her shoulder. Her green eyes faded to the color of the shadows of the forest leaves now. “Will I be able to do my part, Marcus? Do you think I can?”

He smiled then, at her lack of confidence, which was not unusual for a young woman who'd never been
tested. A seer himself, but with only a small portion of the power she possessed, he was certain of the answer. To his soul, to his blood and bones, he knew there was truth in the words he was about to speak to her.

“Aye, Aislinn. You will fulfill your duties in this. That much I know.”

There were dark corners in his visions where the possibilities hid from exposure, and he shivered then as she walked away. Aislinn would succeed and guide those who needed her. He would aid her however he could, as would all those who'd journeyed with them from the island.

The problem was that he had no idea if any of them would survive once they'd carried out their parts. No matter how hard he tried to see that part of the future, no amount of praying or chanting or scrying revealed it. Marcus walked to a place where he could be alone and knelt on the ground.

So many strands and threads were coming together to be woven into the future. Of many colors and textures, the warp and weft would be put in place by those who carried the blood of the gods. He could see the parts, waiting to be worked into the cloth of the future, but he could not touch them or guide them himself. Only the others could bring this weaving to fruition; he could only show them the pattern to follow.

Marcus prayed now for the wisdom he needed in the coming days, and in a moment of weakness, he prayed for the life of the young woman he considered his daughter. May the gods be merciful in this.

*   *   *

Though he'd told the blacksmith he would not pursue the man's daughter, William found it impossible not to
watch her. Over the next days, while he pondered his plan and decided when to approach Lord Hugh, he found himself standing in the shadows, just far enough away from her that he could not feel her influence, observing her as she went through her days. Roger's scowl remained in place, a constant reminder of the folly of such actions, but William knew he must learn about her to understand his quest and her part in it.

He also knew he was not alone in watching. There were others in the forest, just beyond the valley and on the opposite hillside, others who did the same thing he did—watch and prepare. From the number of weapons he saw stored throughout the village and the troops that had arrived that sennight, Lord Hugh was planning a large endeavor. Whether a treasonous rebellion against the king or something else, William knew not . . . yet.

So he watched.

And this morn he needed to be close to Brienne, so he followed her. She walked in a different direction from her usual one, heading along the stream and around the castle. She paused often, listening for signs that she was being pursued or watched, but his tracking skills had risen to a new level since he had arrived here. He could scent her, hear her steps, and feel her ahead of him. He stopped when she did and stepped as she did. Her destination this day was a cave, hidden away behind thick brush and plants.

William waited until she'd entered, clever enough to pull branches and leaves over its low entrance, and he listened. When the cave filled with a flash of fire, he pulled the branches out of his way and called out her name.

“Brienne? Brienne, are you well?” But no one answered. He knelt down and peered inside, seeing only the fire burning in the corner and no one there.

Had he somehow lost her trail in the forest? He looked around the cave, but still saw only that fire, and so he crawled back out. Racing the way he'd come, William looked for crushed leaves and inhaled to detect her scent along the path.

Nothing. And no Brienne in sight.

Trotting back toward the cave, he saw the flames flare again, and then the cave grew dark. Then her smaller form crawled out of the cave and stood. The branches were not where she'd left them, and she glanced around before climbing to her feet and brushing the dirt from her hands.

How had she . . . ? There had been nothing in that cave except the fire burning in the corner. Had he missed another entrance or hiding place within? Nothing there but a fire. William shook his head at the notion that took hold of him.

A fire burning with no wood or peat to fuel it.

A fire made out of nothing?

Had she created it as she had the fireball in her hands?

It was too nonsensical to accept. He must have missed the signs of another way in or out of that cave.

He shook his head again before realizing the absolute and sheer insanity of his thoughts. Thoughts that a month ago would have seen him imprisoned as a madman or a heretic now did not shock him at all.

Was his father so afflicted or had his strange words of warning caused this in him? How had things changed so quickly in his otherwise clear and orderly life? How had he changed so much?

The woman at the center of his speculations had yet to see him, so he stepped into the path and watched as her eyes widened in surprise.

“Sir . . . William,” she stuttered out the words. “I . . .” He watched as she tried to come up with some excuse or words of explanation. William shook his head at her and shrugged his shoulders. “I did not see you there,” she finally said.

“Nay, you did not.”

Waiting for her to reach him, he noticed the way her cheeks flushed as she met his gaze. Innocent. He must remind himself that she was an innocent. Or, he had no doubt, the well-muscled fists of the blacksmith would remind him so. It mattered not, for nothing in this world could stop the desire for her that grew within him. And the need to protect her.

Who was this young woman?

When he was rational and thought on it, she could have no place in his life. That much he knew and understood. And as an honorable man, he would not dally with an innocent when he could not offer the protection of his name. As he could not. Once his lands were secured, once the king confirmed the grant and title, then he would seek a wife and establish his household. And it could never be this woman.

No matter that the need to claim her filled his body and soul every time he encountered her.

“Your expression is quite formidable, Sir William,” she said softly, now right before him. “Have I done something to displease you?”

For a moment, he was diverted by her words.

“You need to have a care, Brienne. I thought you'd
gone into that cave and burned when I saw the fire burst forth.”

“I thank you for your concern, Sir William, but these lands are known to me. I was searching for something left behind by one of the village boys in that cave. And I saw no fire there.”

For a scant moment, he doubted his own sight, but that was before he remembered the other strange things he'd witnessed only a few days ago. Such things raised questions and could have been witnessed by any number of people, putting her in grave peril. Over the last several days, too many strangers had entered this valley—from the last of his men to the additional armed men who rode into Yester Castle's yard to the newest arrivals whose identities he knew not.

“There are strangers in the valley, Brienne. You should have a care not to be caught alone,” he warned. The irony of his warning was not lost on him.

“Lord Hugh is in residence now,” she said with a slight lift of her chin. “No one would—” She stopped as though revealing too much to him.

“Do you think that is enough to protect you? And if a man did not know you were under his protection? How long do you think it would take a man to . . . to . . . do this?”

He gave up trying to warn her and instead just took her in his arms and showed her what could happen to her. At least that was what he told himself in that moment. Then he kissed her as he'd wanted to for days.

The last time, the first kiss, he'd held back, exploring Brienne's mouth gently. This time he was not gentle. He did not explore. He claimed.

He possessed her.

What began as a way to show her the vulnerability of a woman alone became an exploration of the growing passion and attraction between the two of them.

Sliding his hands into her hair, he held her face close to his and kissed her long and hard. Then, easing back, he kissed along her forehead and along her chin, the same one she'd recently raised in challenge to him. Unable to resist the taste of her, he teased her lips with the tip of his tongue until she opened for him. His tongue plunged into her, finding hers and drawing it into his mouth.