Warrior Reborn (22 page)

T
wenty-eight

T
HAT WENT WELL
enough.” Chase glanced over his shoulder to where the Tinklers scurried around like busy ants, packing their wagons in preparation to move on at first light.

“We’ve their agreement to help, if that’s what you mean, however reluctantly it might have been given. Your people are ever difficult to pin down.”

His people.
Hall might be more than a little surprised to learn who his people really were. One day, when he had time to kick back and pick Hall’s brain, he’d have to find out what it was about him that made his friend so sure he was related to the Tinklers.

“Tinklers have long been the favored peoples of the Fae. Surely you know that.”

That hit a little too close to home for comfort, forcing Chase to seek a way to deflect the conversation.

“Except that it wasn’t me that convinced them. It was you. I could almost believe that you came straight here from kissing the Blarney Stone. You’ve got the gift of gab, Hall.”

“I’ve not heard of this blarney stone of yours, but I do not harbor any doubt that those people agreed to my request only because you were there. They would have rejected me.”

Chase found that hard to believe, though the leader’s wife, Editha, had acted pretty strange around him.

“And now that you’ve brought up the subject of gifts”—Halldor grinned at him—“there’s something of great importance that I’ve meant to discuss with you since the day of Mistress Christiana’s accident. It’s the naming you did. I’m owed a ceremony, little brother, and a gift to make the naming official.”

“Naming? What are you talking about?”

His companion snorted as if he doubted Chase’s seriousness. “You bestowed the name of Hall upon me as we faced the challenge of saving your lady. Where I come from, this practice requires a ceremony and the presentation of a naming gift.”

Chase slowed to a stop as they entered the inner bailey, searching his friend’s face for any sign the big man was joking.

He found none.

“You’re serious about this, aren’t you?”

“I am. My people take the gifting of names quite seriously. A child is not part of the family until he is name-gifted and presented for Thor’s blessing.”

“Okay.” Thor. At least the accent made more sense. “If that’s what you want.”

“It is. The tradition is important to seal our relationship.
We’ve not the time for a formal ceremony, but there must be a name gift given.”

“In that case, you absolutely get a naming gift. In fact, here.” Chase pulled the carving of the goat he’d been given by Orabilis from under his shirt. Lifting the twine over his head, he handed it to Hall. It felt almost a relief to get the weight of the thing off his neck.

Hall turned it over in his hands, inspecting it from all sides.

“It’s a goat. How did you know of my fondness for goats? And carved from the flesh of a rowan tree, favored among all the woods,” the big man said thoughtfully. “A fine gift indeed, fit for the likes of Thor himself. The name change is official, little brother. I am well pleased with your gift.”

“Good. Now maybe we can—”

“Your woman approaches,” Hall interrupted, dipping his head in the direction of a cloaked figure hurrying toward them.

Definitely female, but with her face hidden in the great hood of her cloak, Chase had no way of knowing who it was until she drew close enough for him to see her face.

“I must speak with you.” Christiana glanced to Hall before dipping her eyes to the ground in front of her. “Alone, if you please.”

Hall slapped Chase on the back before he turned away. “No worries, little brother. For my own part, I’d best go to share word of our arrangements with the hellion occupying your lady’s tower.”

Chase moved closer to Christiana. “We do need to talk.” He wanted to tell her that Torquil would be sending him to the Sinclairs’ so that she wouldn’t worry when she found him gone. “But not here in the middle of the bailey. I don’t suppose you know of someplace more private where we can have this conversation?”

“As a matter of fact”—she looked up at him, a smile curving her beautiful lips—“I do at that.”

She hurried ahead of him, all but disappearing in patches of night where the moon’s light didn’t reach.

“Here!”

Her whisper drew him deeper into the dark. She reached for his hand, her fingers lacing with his, and she led him forward. He knew they’d passed through an entry of some sort; the dark was thicker here, but devoid of the biting winter wind.

“Mind you make no noise,” she cautioned in a whisper as she stepped closer to him. “And dinna let go my hand, lest I lose you in the maze.”

As if he had any desire to let go. Nothing suited him better than an excuse to hold her hand.

The floor rose and fell as they hurried through the confines of pitch black. Holding out his free hand, he was assured that the passage they traveled was barely larger than the width of his shoulders, as if it had been built for miniature people. Or at the very least, people who didn’t have his problem with tight, dark, confined spaces.

He lost count of the right and left turns they took,
leaving him no doubt that Christiana had been absolutely correct in calling this place a maze.

He tightened his grip around her hand. No way was he taking a chance on getting lost in the bowels of this damn castle.

“I need my hand for this part,” she whispered at last, pulling her fingers from his.

A strange grinding noise sounded a few feet away, and a small sliver of light appeared.

He headed toward it, realizing as it grew larger that it wasn’t so much that it was light as that it was simply not the same level of soul-sucking dark.

His forehead smacked to a sudden stop, the collision hard enough to set off little flashes of light behind his eyes.

“Mind yer head,” she cautioned from somewhere in front of him.

“Too late,” he answered, stooping as low as possible before starting forward again.

Two more steps and, just like magic, he was free, stepping into a room where moonlight spilled in through cracks in the shuttered windows set high on the wall.

Chase thought his eyes must be playing tricks on him when it appeared the fireplace moved; then he realized that must have been where they entered. Christiana crouched near the floor, and a little flash of light sparked from the flint in her hand. Within moments, she’d coaxed the tinder into dancing flames.

“Come close to the fire,” she invited as she knelt by the flames. “Sit by me and let me see what you’ve done to yerself.”

Dropping down to her side, he leaned forward, allowing her fingers to delicately trace his forehead. Her touch alone was worth the pain of the injury.

“There’s no sign of blood, though I do feel quite the bump here,” she murmured. “I warned you, did I no? I told you to mind yer head.”

He reached up to capture her hand between his own two. “Next time, you might want to offer your warning just a minute or two earlier.”

The reflection of flames from the fireplace lent her eyes a look of sorrow. “An ongoing fault, it would seem, that I dinna think a thing through before I act upon it. My apologies, Chase, for bringing you to a place you dinna belong.”

“It’s no big deal. Trust me, I’ve had much worse.” He brushed her fingertips to his lips before breaking the contact. “So where are we right now? This place where I don’t belong.”

He smiled at her, hoping to lift the look of distress from her face, but she appeared even more unhappy.

“This place,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Of course. These were my mother’s rooms during her lifetime. Afterward, they were mine. This wing is of little use now, other than to house the rare visitor.”

“In that case, I guess it’ll be getting a workout soon. Torquil plans to bring together a council of
families from all around here. He says he’s already sent riders to most of them, though Hall and I have reason to doubt that. I’m due to leave for the Sinclairs’ any time now to invite them to Tordenet.”

Her eyes widened. “Artur and Ulfr will accompany you, yes? And many others. Far too many men for the simple purpose of delivering an invitation.”

“How do you know that?” Artur and Ulfr were to go along with them, though Torquil had said nothing of others.

“I spent the daylight hours traveling the pathways of Skuld’s world. I saw you, a riderless horse at your side, along with Artur and Ulfr and a company of my brother’s men, riding hard to the north, into the Mysts of Choice.” She put a hand on his forearm, her fingers warm through the linen of his sleeve, and leaned closer. “This is the first of what I need to warn you about. What I saw was a series of pathways branching off from the road you traveled. I was unable to remain in Skuld’s world long enough to see which pathway you should choose, but I do ken that some will lead to good and some will lead to ill. You must promise me that you’ll no set out on this journey until I am able to see what it is you must do.”

“A riderless horse?” he questioned. Her visions were as full of riddles as carrying on a conversation with a Faerie. “Hall’s supposed to ride out with me. Is a riderless horse supposed to mean that he’s
in danger? That something is going to happen to him?”

Not an hour ago he’d given the big guy a wooden goat that made them officially family, and considering his decided lack of family in this world, he didn’t like the idea of anything that risked what he had.

“I canna say.” Her fingers curled into the muscle of his arm, sending little tingles through his thoughts. “I’ve seen naught of yer brother in any of my Vision travels, no even when I ventured back to watch yer arrival in—”

Her words cut off in a sharp gasp, her fingers darting from his arm to cover her lips.

“But that would be looking into the past, wouldn’t it? Not the future.” And if she looked far enough back, she wouldn’t be finding him there, either. And
that
particular mystery was something he wasn’t sure he was completely ready to try to explain to her.

“Aye,” she answered, her voice back to a whisper. “I selfishly wasted the better part of my time in the Norns’ world traveling the pathways of the past.”

“When you say you didn’t see Hall there when I arrived . . .” He paused, searching for a way to ask what he needed to know without saying something stupid enough to spark her curiosity. “Let me ask this. . . . How is that possible? We both know he was at my side when we knocked on your door that first day.”

She let out a long, shaky breath as she clasped
her hands together in her lap. “I was no talking about yer arrival at my door. I followed you only to the gates of Tordenet.”

“Followed me from where?”

The sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach seemed to be telling him he just might be facing an explanation, whether or not he was ready to give it.

Another long, shaky exhale.

“From yer arrival in this world,” she answered, her eyes darting to his and away again. “In this time.”

She knew!

“Let me try to explain,” he started, knowing it would be worse than silence if he were to attempt to lie his way out of this. She was too important to him to tell her anything but the truth.

“You’ve no a need for explanation, Chase. Certainly no to me, seeing as it’s me what did this to you.”

“You? I don’t think so.” He’d been wishing to be where he belonged since he was just a boy.

“I am responsible for bringing you here and placing yer life in danger. I saw you in my Visions. I saw that you were the only chance I had at freedom and, selfishly, I valued my own freedom more highly than yers. It’s me what bade the Elf to rip you from yer own life and bring you through time.”

“What Elf?”

“Malcolm’s mother-in-law, the one who accompanied his wife when she came to ransom his
freedom from Torquil. I insisted she give her word to bring you to this world, for me.”

“Malcolm’s mother-in-law is an Elf,” he said slowly. And Christiana was descended from Odin, and the Tinklers were tools of the Fae, and he himself was . . .

“Elesyria is her name. Though in truth, she calls herself a Faerie, no an Elf, and she dinna take at all kindly to my using the wrong appellation.” Christiana shrugged, wiping her hands at the corners of both eyes. “I’m so sorry for what I’ve done to you. So very sorry.”

As if the final piece of a puzzle he’d struggled with his entire life fell into place, Chase began to laugh. A small release of air at first, bubbling up from deep inside his chest until it formed great, silent heaving bursts of laughter that left him weak.

All this time, Christiana had struggled with the guilt of forcing him here against his will. All this time, and neither of them had been brave enough or just plain smart enough to open up to the other.

“Oh, Christy, don’t cry.” He enfolded her in his arms, holding her close to his heart. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for. This Elesyria of yours was only the tool that brought me here. I’ve been waiting for her, or someone just like her, my whole life to do exactly what you asked her to do.”

She pushed away from his chest, looking up into his face, her big wet eyes filled with suspicion. “How can it be the truth you speak? What sort of a man
would wait for the Fae to rip them from the tapestry of their lives and toss them through time to a place they dinna belong?”

“An unhappy man,” he answered honestly, stroking his thumbs down the sides of her cheeks in a vain attempt to dry the still flowing tears. “A man who’s spent his life searching for the purpose he was to fulfill, waiting for one particular Faerie to send him where he belongs.”

“You believe this is where you belong? In truth?”

Looking down at her face, so filled with trust and hope, he’d never been more sure of anything before. Being here in this time, with her, it was as if he’d been reborn into the place he was always meant to be.

He pulled her to him, covering her mouth with his.

She molded herself to him as he played his tongue across her soft lips, dipping inside to trace the contours of her mouth when those lips parted. She tasted of herbs, of mint and balm and a thousand other flavors, like an exotic dish, fresh and steaming from the oven, prepared to his exact specifications.