Warrior Reborn (20 page)

Again he laughed, stretching out a hand to her. “Your own reaction. If I’d had any doubt of it, which I didn’t, your reaction would have set me straight enough. Now then, come out of your corner lair, Shield Maiden, and make yourself comfortable over by the fire.”

She considered refusing the hand he offered, but the shivers coursing through her body convinced her to do otherwise. Sitting by the fire actually sounded good.

He handed her a blanket that he pulled from a stack in another corner and waited, unmoving, until she had wrapped it around her and taken her seat.

“Since you assure me you have a name, perhaps we should begin there. I am called Halldor O’Donar. And you are?”

He spoke with a deep and oddly reassuring voice, with an accent she’d not encountered before.

“Where do you come from, big man? You’ve a strange sound to yer words.”

“And you’ve an insolent sound to yours. Let us say that I come from somewhere other than here. A place where we’ve the courtesy to exchange our names upon meeting.”

A flash of embarrassment sparked her mind, along with a twinge of guilt. She looked away from his face for a moment to compose her thoughts. “Well spoken, Halldor O’Donar, and well I deserved that rebuke. I am Bridget MacCulloch, daughter of the House MacUlagh, descended from the Ancient Seven who ruled all this land upon which you . . .” She stumbled to a halt as he rolled his eyes.

“A Pictish princess. I should have guessed from the way you behaved, if not from the way you look.” He shook his head and leaned back against the large stones surrounding the fireplace. “Why is it every Pict I’ve ever met felt the need to recite their lineage back to the beginning of time?”

How
dare
he?

“I’m no a princess but a regular woman. The MacDowylt murdered my father. Hanged him in the courtyard of this very castle, for no reason other than his having followed Malcolm instead of Torquil. I will have my satisfaction from that man, one way or another.” Her chest heaved with pent-up emotion.

“I feel for your loss, Bridget MacCulloch. And though there are no words to remove the pain of
the loss you feel, I can assure you, your father sits even now in the great hall of Valhalla, surrounded by Valkyries, enjoying the rewards of a warrior’s life.”

“Bollocks.” Her father’s people might have believed that was reward enough. She did not. “I’d much prefer him to be sitting here with me.”

“We don’t always get what we prefer, now, do we? And of all the things you must settle for not having, personal revenge against Torquil MacDowylt will have to top the list.”

“I should have ended the bastard’s life when I found him sleeping in his tower.” Sleeping or whatever that had been. “With that strange sword of his only steps away, I let the perfect chance slip through my fingers.”

“A strange sword, you say?” Halldor’s head tipped to the side and he leaned forward. “Can you describe it for me?”

“Aye. Fine and shiny it was, with strange markings engraved along the length of the blade.” No point in sounding foolish by telling him that the foul thing was likely bespelled, the way it had beckoned to her when she approached it. “Neither letter nor number the markings were, but a match to the scroll lying next to it.”

“A scroll? It was open? I suppose it would be asking too much that you’ve learned to read?”

Could the great, hulking beast of a man not go five minutes without insulting her? She
could
have
learned to read. Often enough Jamesy had tried to sit her down to teach her, but the scrawlings in a book had never matched the lure of sword or bow.

“I ken the names of the letters and I recognize a written number when I see it. The markings upon the blade and the scroll were neither of those. They were such as I’d never seen before, all odd squiggles and sharp angled lines.” With a demand to be touched she had barely been strong enough to resist.

Halldor stared off into the dark corners, lost in his own thoughts for the next few minutes, almost as if he’d forgotten she were even there.

She cleared her throat to remind him.

With a sigh, he leaned back against the stone, fixing her once again with his unwavering stare. “Nonetheless, I tell you in all truth, you must forgo your quest for personal revenge against Torquil MacDowylt.”

She expected as much from Torquil’s underling, no matter that he had stepped in to save her life.

“And why is that?”

“Because you’re no match for Torquil MacDowylt.”

How little Halldor O’Donar knew of her.

“I am a match for any man.”

“Well, I can believe that.” Halldor smiled, though his eyes held a curtain of sorrow. “But that is the problem, you see. Torquil MacDowylt is no longer a man.”

Their conversation was cut short by a banging on the door.

Her stomach twisted with the unwelcome punch of fear, but she rose to her feet. If the MacDowylt had changed his mind regarding her fate, she wouldn’t make it easy for him.

Halldor stood too, a deep sigh escaping his lips as he leaned in toward her. “My deepest apologies, Shield Maiden, but I do this for your own good.”

Before she could ask what he meant, he gripped the neck of her beautiful colored gown and jerked down, ripping through the layers of cloth to expose her entire body to just below her waist.

She screamed, clasping her arms in front of her in a paltry attempt to cover herself.

“On the floor,” he hissed, pulling his shirt off over his head as he made his way to the door. One look around and he quickly but silently overturned the bench by the wall before answering the insistent hammering.

She nodded and dropped to her knees. If he thought to set a proper scene, she would do her part.

“What?” he bellowed, throwing open the door. “Can you not leave a man to his pleasures?”

One of the guards Brie remembered seeing inside the hall waited there, craning his neck to cast a leer in her direction.

“Our lord Torquil would have you attend him in his solar after midday meal on the morrow.”

Halldor nodded, holding the door open much farther than he needed to do, supporting her suspicion.

“You may tell him I’ll be honored to be there. And now, if that’s all you have for me, I’ve a meal of another kind what wants attending to, eh?”

Both men laughed like drunken fools sharing a vile secret, until Halldor slammed the door shut in the other’s face, dropping the bar down to ensure it stayed shut.

When he returned to her side, he dropped a woolen blanket over her shoulders, covering her nakedness before he sat.

She looked up at him, trying to find a grateful smile but failing miserably.

“The good news is, by sunrise, word of your deflowering will have spread to every willing ear on the castle grounds.”

“That’s the good news?” She could hardly believe how her voice shook. “What, then, could possibly be the bad?”

He reached for her hand, lifting it to his face. “If we’re to do this in a way that might be convincing enough to save your life, we must do it right. That means you must be strong enough and clever enough to play your part as well.”

Trickles of fear curled in Brie’s chest at the look he gave her. She tugged at her hand, feeling a need to put distance between the two of them, but he wouldn’t let go.

“Can you do that? Can you be strong enough for what’s to come?”

She nodded, and nearly screamed again as he crushed her fingernails into the skin beside his eye, dragging them down the length of face, leaving four ragged trails of blood in their wake.

T
wenty-six

T
HERE ARE
T
INKLERS
at Tordenet?” Christiana could hardly believe her eyes. “And you dinna speak of this, Ulfr?”

“There seemed to be no reason to do so. They’re no allowed entry through the gates, so it’s no as though you’ll have any contact with them.”

The knowledge struck home painfully. For the first time in many years, she was so close to her mother’s people, yet they might as well have been across an ocean for her inability to speak to them.

“You want to visit their camp?” Chase asked quietly from his seat beside her. “Just say the word.”

As badly as she wanted to speak with them, to see if they had known her mother, it wasn’t a word she would say. Torquil would never allow it, and she wouldn’t risk what her brother might do to Chase if he tried to help her.

She caressed the wagons with her eyes as they rolled past, surprised when a woman jumped down from one of those wagons and started toward them.

“Keep yer distance, Tinkler!” Ulfr ordered.

The woman stopped but lifted a hand in greeting, remaining that way until they passed through the opened gates and Christiana could see her no more.

With a sigh, she pushed the woman from her thoughts. Exhaustion from the long ride and from her restless night dulled her senses. What she needed more than anything was a good sleep before she confronted Torquil. A good sleep, and a hot mug of lavender-and-betony tincture to warm her up.

The cause of her restless night nudged his leg against hers, sending a wave of the now-familiar fire coursing through her belly, driving away any need for a hot drink.

As he hopped down to the ground and turned to assist her, she couldn’t help but wonder whether he’d gotten any more sleep than she had after they’d returned to the camp last night. Or had he, too, tossed and turned, his mind and body filled with the same longing that had plagued her?

She gave herself over to Chase’s hands, holding on to his arms as her feet touched the ground. Even such a small, innocent contact set her wanting more.

“I’ll make sure we get the wagon unloaded for you,” he offered as he slid an arm around her to support her weight. “You should probably take it easy. You need to rest that foot of yours so it can heal.”

She had no desire to tell him it was already all but healed. Healed, she’d have no need of his assistance. No excuse for the strong arm around her waist, supporting her as she made her way toward
her door. And for that particular pleasure, a little faking seemed a small enough price to pay.

“Chase!”

Christiana swiveled her head to see Halldor headed toward them at a run.

“He’s just going to have to wait,” Chase muttered, shoving open the door to her tower with his foot even as he tightened his hold around her waist. “What the holy hell?”

When Christiana turned her attention to the sight in front of her, she very nearly echoed Chase’s exclamation.

“Who are you?” she managed, pushing away from Chase’s arms to hurry to the young woman curled up on the floor in front of her fireplace. She was clearly held prisoner, a rope stretching from the iron loop in the fire pit to tie snugly around the woman’s ankle.

“Who’s done this to you?”

“That would be me, my lady.” Halldor stood in the doorway behind Chase. “I’d hoped to warn you before you entered.”

“Warn us?” Fury crawled up from the depths of Christiana’s emotions. “I’d say you’ve a much greater need for explanation than warning.”

“Bridget belongs to me,” Halldor answered simply.

“
Belongs
to you?” Christiana dropped to her knees to fumble with the knot snug against the obviously frightened woman’s skin. “People do not belong to other people.”

“That one does.” Artur had joined the men at the doorway. “Our lord himself gave that one to O’Donar as punishment for her attempt at sticking a knife into our good laird.”

“What?” Christiana’s hands stilled as she looked from the woman to Halldor. “Is this true?”

“I’ve not the time for explanations now. Our laird himself awaits me. And you, little brother”—he slapped Chase on the back—“are exactly the one I’d have accompany me.”

“But what about this—”

“Leave her as she is. She knows what will happen if she tries to escape. Best she tells you about that while we’re gone. Come along, little brother.”

Chase followed as Halldor stepped out the open door, but quickly returned carrying the clay jar Christiana had protected all the way from Orabilis’s cottage.

“Artur’s men are unloading your bags into the storage room. Do as I said and get off that foot. And don’t worry. I’ll find out what’s going on and I’ll get back to you.”

Christiana nodded, accepting the jar containing her precious elixir before the men filed out of her tower, leaving her alone with her unusual guest.

“Well,” she said at last. “Bridget, is it? Let me put this away and I’ll find a blade to free you up from that binding.”

Surprisingly, the woman laughed. “Dinna be daft, Mistress Christiana. I could remove this at any
time I chose. Were you no listening to O’Donar? It’s no the binding about my ankle keeping me here, but fear over the alternative.”

“The alternative?” Christiana echoed, not at all understanding what was happening.

“Aye,” the other woman replied. “The wrath of the beast that O’Donar goes even now to see. The beast you call a brother.”

“W
HAT THE HELL
is going on around here?” Chase caught up with Hall, matching his steps to the big man’s. “Who is that woman? Where’d she come from?”

He had a million other questions, like, what had happened to Hall’s face? But the ones he’d asked would suffice to start.

“She’s one of Malcolm’s people. From Castle MacGahan. An innocent, seeking revenge for her father’s murder.”

“And let me guess. . . . Torquil had a hand in that.” Even more confirmation he’d picked the wrong side on which to fight.

“So it would seem. Bridget’s father was one of the guards accompanying Malcolm’s wife when she brought ransom to gain his freedom a few months back. On Torquil’s order, all the men who accompanied her rode the horse of the hanged.”

“Rode the . . .” Chase struggled to hide his irritation at his own inability to understand what Hall was telling him. “You mean he had them killed?”

“On his order they were put to the gallows, their only crime serving the wrong master.”

“Is it possible there’s more to it than that? Something we don’t know. Maybe there were circumstances that—” Chase pressed his lips together, remembering all that Christiana had told him about Torquil. What he already knew to be true about Torquil pushed aside any possibility of the laird’s innocence.