Warrior Reborn (25 page)

It was unfair that even now he must deny himself the one pleasure of the flesh he wanted most lest the beast within break free and tear her tender body to pieces, depriving him of her foreknowledge.

For now, willpower alone was his ally. One day, when he’d mastered the Magic and no longer needed word of Skuld’s world to guide his steps, he would reward himself with that which he wanted. On that day when he no longer needed to fear the actions of the beast, he would have her and satisfy all those craven Mortal desires.

His breath caught in his throat when he at last slipped the pouch into her neckline, his unnatural need for her battering at his senses once again.

Not unnatural at all.

“Who said that? Who’s there?” he demanded, scanning the small empty room for some unseen enemy.

Our need for her is reasonable.

The words rang not in his ears, but within his mind.

The beast spoke to him? It was not possible. He alone conjured the beast, and he alone controlled it.

Not unnatural but sensible,
the Beast assured him.

“The need is totally without reason. She is but the spawn of a Tinkler,” he countered. “And fruit of my father’s loins even as I am.” It took more from
him than he’d anticipated to admit aloud that last bit of degradation.

Nonsense. Tinklers are the favored of Faeries, and what are Faeries but the counterpart of Elves? Elves, who are the favored of the Vanir.

The words pounded inside his head, chipping away at the wall of guilt and denial he’d built up over the years.

It’s not our fault. The desire runs in our blood.

He had never considered these things on his own. A bubble of laughter grew in his chest, working its way up to burst into the silence of the tower bedchamber.

It was in his blood. Though he carried Odin’s bloodline through his father, from his mother he claimed ancestry with the Vanir, her line rumored to descend from the goddess Freya. It was the reason she had been pledged to his father long before Alfor had left their home shores in the Viking longboat that carried him to this land.

Do not fight that which we feel for her. She is the vessel to ensure the purity of our bloodline.

Could it be true? Torquil paced the small room, sweat beading on his forehead and rolling down his face in great salty drops. Or could it be simply a new ploy by the beast, growing ever stronger each day, seeking to control them both?

I could help us.

Perhaps. Or perhaps it could destroy them both. He couldn’t decide which at the moment. Couldn’t
concentrate well enough to keep all the barriers in place. Couldn’t stay here any longer, allowing Christiana and the beast to fragment his mind and his energy.

There was no need for him to remain, in any case. She would be gone for hours, and once she returned to her body it would take time and energy to tease out the truths he needed. Energy he simply didn’t have.

Down the stairs he ran, one hand sliding along the contours of the wall for balance. Not until he stepped into the light of day was he able to regain some semblance of himself.

With a dignity befitting Odin, he lifted his head and made his way back to the keep, heading for his bedchamber. An hour or so of sleep and he would be strong enough to cope. Then he would return to his tower to attempt the scrolls again.

But not now. Not with the beast curled in his chest, waiting to take advantage of him. And certainly not with the beast’s seductive promises ringing in his ears.

T
hirty-one

C
HASE CONCENTRATED ON
the trail ahead, ducking the occasional low-hanging branch. He did his best to ignore the warning tingle running up the back of his neck, and kept a sharp eye out. Something didn’t feel right.

His thoughts continued to wander back to the castle they had departed early this morning, to the woman whose safety was his biggest concern.

Halldor had assured him the tower had been completely empty when he’d slipped over to check on the success of their plan. That surely meant Christiana had gone with the Tinklers when they spirited Bridget off the castle grounds. And he knew for himself that the Tinklers’ wagons were gone when they’d headed out the gates of Tordenet.

It was good. It was all good.

Now if he could just convince himself of that.

Ahead of him, Ulfr held up a hand as he reined his mount to a walk.

“We’ll rest the horses here for a few minutes and let them have their fill from the stream.”

It was as they’d done all day. Push the animals, slow them to walk, push the animals, give them a short rest. He climbed off his mount, suspecting the repetitive schedule was as much for the endurance of the riders as it was for the horses.

He shouldered between two of those riders to lead his horse to the fast-moving waters, wondering once more at their number.

“There are twelve of us. Seriously, does it take twelve heavily armed men for a two days’ ride to deliver an invitation?”

“Are you daft, man?” the soldier nearest him asked. “You ken it’s no the invitation, but the refusal of it that requires our number.”

“And our arms,” the one on the other side of him added.

A few feet behind him, Ulfr spoke up.

“Had you been present for the briefing rather than trying to raid the kitchens to satisfy yer empty belly, you’d have heard our orders along with the others. We’re to return with the Sinclair heir, whether or no he wants to accompany us.”

So now he was to become a kidnapper. Great.

He glanced toward Hall, recognizing his own feelings reflected in his friend’s solemn expression.

“Have the Sinclairs done something to us to warrant this?” Perhaps he was jumping to conclusions. After all, once he lost trust in Torquil, following the laird’s orders had become much harder.

Ulfr shrugged, pushing by him to lead his mount
to the water. “Our lord simply wishes to ensure the support of the Sinclair laird come spring, when we march against Castle MacGahan.”

Kidnapping and conscription. Thank God he’d managed to get Christiana away from this. All he needed now was to find the perfect opportunity to make his own exit.

“Seems kind of harsh to me,” he said as he backed his mount away from the stream.

“No half as harsh as he is to the maids he takes to his bed,” the man beside him muttered.

“What?” Could it be that the woman he’d seen this morning wasn’t an isolated case?

“It’s no his fault they can none of them satisfy him, Fergus.” Artur led his own mount forward. “No matter how much they may look like her, none of them will actually be her, so he’ll no ever be pleased no matter how good they are between the sheets.”

“Look like who?” Chase asked, his stomach knotting with suspicion. He knew all too well who this morning’s victim had looked like.

Several of the men around him chuckled as if he asked what was plainly known to all.

“Yer still new to Tordenet,” Artur observed, moving to stand beside him. “It’s well known among those of us who’ve lived our lives under the MacDowylt that our lord has always had an unnatural desire for his sister. I’ve heard tales that say the auld laird himself had seen it, and it was that as much as
anything what caused the bad blood between father and son.”

“That’s enough of yer blether,” Ulfr cautioned as he climbed back into his saddle. “Yer little better than the old crones in the kitchens, the way you run yer mouth. Mount up, all of you. We’ve a long way to travel before we lose the sun’s light.”

“It would appear you made the right decision,” Hall murmured from beside him.

Absolutely. Getting Christiana away from that monster was the smartest thing he’d ever done.

Ulfr moved ahead, putting distance between them by the time Chase climbed into his saddle.

“Say what you will.” Fergus drew even, speaking over his shoulder to Artur. “I figure one day our laird will stop asking for those maids and he’ll satisfy himself with that which he really desires.”

“In truth,” Artur replied. “Wouldna surprise me to find he did that exact thing after we found her sleeping in the old chambers this morning. He sent Ulfr and me away quick enough once he saw it was her, he did, and shut himself inside the room with her.”

They found Christiana in the keep? Chase jerked on his reins, pulling his horse to a stop, his stomach knotting in fear. She hadn’t escaped with the Tinklers. She’d never left the keep.

“Keep moving,” Hall hissed close at his side.

“Didn’t you hear what—” Chase could hardly force the words from his mouth. Torquil had found
her because
he
had left her there alone. It was his fault. He should have insisted that she leave when he did. He should have followed her and made sure she got out of the keep.

“I heard well enough.” Hall cut into his recriminations, jerking the reins from his hands. “We’ve less than an hour before sunset. When we’ve the cover of dark, we’ll make our move. If we ride through the night, we’ll be back at Tordenet before the sun fully warms the day. Patience, little brother.”

Hall was right. Another hour wouldn’t change what had already happened and risking a fight, outnumbered as they were, would be foolish.

He needed to get back to Tordenet in one piece.

One pissed-off, ass-kicking piece.

T
hirty-two

C
HRISTIANA STOOD BY
the well, a soft wind blowing through her hair, an overwhelming relief filling her heart.

“Thank you,” she whispered, choking back her emotion to lift her voice. “My thanks to each of you for allowing me to escape to your world.”

None of the three figures sitting under the great tree so much as glanced in her direction.

“You cannot remain here. We are not meant as your refuge. Drink the water and be about your business.”

She touched the cold, crisp liquid to her lips and lifted immediately from her feet to float above the land. This time her focus was homed solely on what was yet to be.

Below her, the Mysts thickened at the edge of Now and she dipped lower, batting at the puffy dis-colored clouds to dislodge them that she might see what they hid. So many paths, but only one held interest for her now. The one leading to the Sinclair’s
keep, where Torquil had indicated he would send Chase and Halldor.

Eleven men rode toward the Myst. Eleven men but twelve horses. From this height she recognized them all, even the empty saddle keeping pace next to Chase. The empty saddle belonged to none other than Halldor O’Donar.

Hovering above them, a shock of realization swept over Christiana as she accepted what she was seeing. She knew Halldor existed in that scene. If she dipped lower and concentrated on the spot where he should be, it was almost possible to decipher his form. Yet, for reasons she couldn’t understand, the sight of him was masked from her.

Second, and possibly more confusing than her not being able to see him, was the realization that Halldor could not possibly be Chase’s brother. She should have recognized that long before now. Unlike Chase, Halldor existed in
this
time, whether or not he was visible to her in the Visions.

Like so many other enticing strands, these would be paths of knowledge for her to pursue at another time. Though she had no doubt of their importance, they were not her purpose for being here today.

Pulling back to regain her perspective only increased her frustration. So many paths branching out from each of the men below presented a tangled maze for her to sort, requiring her to carefully pick and choose a single thread to follow. Her focus sharpened on Chase, as it must if she were to have
any hope of finding what was to come if he traveled these paths.

She’d seen this part before. She’d watched as their horses entered the Mysts bound for Sinclair Keep. It was what lay beyond this that she must find now.

Once again she dipped lower, plunging into the heavy Myst to find a point in the future where the horses followed a return path to Tordenet. There were only six animals along this particular strand of the future, galloping hard, their sides bellowing in and out. Two were riderless, one of them belonging to Chase.

Not that path!

She backtracked, blinking at the burn in her eyes and the acrid taste in her mouth as she plunged again down through the Myst. Each of the paths she followed from Sinclair Keep led to the same result. Chase would not survive.

The realization buffeted her, rolling her feet-over-head and tossing her like a leaf high into the air. By the time she recovered her stability, she was so far above them, what little she could see appeared as no more than insects.

The wind of return began its insistent pull even as she struggled to continue forward. There
had
to be another path. One she’d somehow missed that would lead Chase safely back to her.

Instead, ahead in the distance, a patch in the Myst revealed Tordenet, her tower in flames.
Screams drifted to her ears, screams she knew to be her own.

But which path did this lie upon? She could not decipher where or how it connected beneath the Myst-covered maze any more than she could resist the force pulling her away from the knowledge she sought.

Her eyes lifted to seek the glowing rip in the tapestry of the future, the hole where Chase’s life thread had been altered. It seemed to lie in a different direction than it had before. It and another very much like it. And yet another.

The sprinkling of dark holes across the web of time could mean only one thing: his was not the only life thread that had been altered in the vast landscape of the tapestry!

Her feet touched the ground and the door between her world and this one shimmered. With so much to consider, she did not resist when the force pushed her gently toward the opening.

What could they mean, those shiny, tattered holes in the tapestry of the future? Was it possible that Chase had been right? Perhaps the choices woven by the Norns were not the only pathways into the future after all.