Warrior Reborn (3 page)

“You’ve every right to be angry with me.” She paused to gather herself, picking her words with care. “It’s only that I’ve never had a sister before, and I wanted Orabilis to meet Danielle. I should have asked yer permission to take her with me
to visit Orabilis, but it was my belief you would deny such a request, so, selfishly, I dinna ask it of you.”

“Indeed?” Torquil stared at her, no doubt weighing the truth of her words. “Is that also yer reason for assisting in Malcolm’s escape? Because you dinna think I would agree to it?”

Christiana’s heart pounded. Her next words could well determine whether she lived or died.

“In spite of what you may think, I dinna assist Malcolm into that wagon. When we came to the edge of the forest and he emerged from that barrel, it was the first I’d seen of him since my visit to the cell where you held him prisoner.”

Every single word she uttered was technically true, as anything she said had to be. She honestly had wanted Orabilis to meet Malcolm’s wife. No need to add that she’d known when they left Tordenet Castle that they’d never reach the old crone’s home. Just as there was no need to add that from the moment she’d helped her brother escape from his cell, she’d made sure she stayed ahead of him and never looked back, specifically so that she wouldn’t see him. She’d even stood with her back to the wagon as the others helped him climb into the barrel and covered him in flour, for she had known that this moment would come.

Torquil’s eyes narrowed, distrust rolling off him in great, heaving waves of emotion so powerful that she felt their energy wash over her.

“You expect me to believe you had nothing to do with our brother’s escape?”

“I expect nothing of you, Torquil. You ken as well as I do that the price I pay for the gift of Vision is my inability to speak a falsehood. How many times have I shared with you that which I dinna want to share? How many times have I given the answers I dinna want to give?”

Too many times to count, before she’d learned the key lay in her intent, not in her words. The line between truth and deception was thin enough to be obscured by a carefully chosen word.

“So you have, my gentle Christiana.”

Torquil reached down to grip her upper arms, his hands like iron bands as he lifted her to her feet. His eyes, hard and cold, locked on hers when he pulled her face close to his, filling her with a fear that would have sent her once again to her knees had he not supported her.

“I want yer promise, yer sworn oath, that you’ll no ever try such as this again.”

Easy enough to promise. It wasn’t as if the same situation would ever present itself again.

“I will never again attempt to take someone to Orabilis without first asking yer permission.”

She was forced to her tiptoes as he pulled her closer still, his head dipping next to hers.

“Swear it,” he insisted, his hot breath fanning over her skin as his mouth hovered next to her ear.

Fighting the fear, she forced her lips to move. “I so swear.”

“Good.” He moved back from her, his expression triumphant. “If no you, then who was it who aided Malcolm in his escape? You must have seen someone.”

“What?” Foolishly, she hadn’t anticipated that question.

“If no you, which of my men betrayed me by helping Malcolm in his escape?”

Rauf’s long, thin face filled her mind and she fought to push the vision away lest her brother somehow read her thoughts. “None of those loyal to you would ever—” she began.

“I’ve no time for yer word games,” Torquil interrupted, his voice as sharp as the look with which he pierced her. “Obviously none loyal to me would have helped our brother. I ask you again, which of my men is a traitor?”

“I . . . I have no way to answer you. I am no aware of any of yer men who would dare to cross you.”

A truth, though only by the thinnest thread. Rauf was not one of Torquil’s men. His loyalty was to her father, the old laird. He’d been tasked with watching over her younger brother, Dermid, but upon her father’s death he’d become her man, as her father had instructed him. She would die before she would expose him for his part in Malcolm’s escape.

“As you say,” Torquil murmured, obviously weighing her every word. “Since it appears I’ll learn nothing of this matter from you, I’d have yer account of what you saw while you traveled Skuld’s world. I want to know everything.”

He would not like what she had to say.

“I have no words to describe what I remember. I’m left with memories of feelings, more than of specific events.”

“I’ve no interest in yer feelings. I want to hear of yer time in the Visions. Try harder,” he hissed, one hand moving up to grip her throat. “Try as if yer life depended upon it.”

She had not a single doubt that her life
did
depend upon it.

“It was unlike anything I’ve experienced in the Visions before. Always before I’ve seen the choices Skuld affords us laid out ahead of me like trails I could travel, though many were shadowed in the Myst of Choice. I’ve always known that each of those paths has many branches, each representing the choices we are free to make along the way. But in the past, I’ve traveled only one pathway to its conclusion. Always the one where the Myst has lifted.”

“And yet”—his fingers tightened ever so slightly, digging into her skin—“you’ve warned of all those choices that I should avoid.”

She nodded as best she could, her movement constrained by his grip. “I was always granted glimmers
of the consequences of other trails, of other decisions. Spots along the way where the Myst had cleared. Sometimes the end of a path. But never the fullness of all those paths. Never until now.”

His fingers loosened but didn’t leave her throat. “And this time?”

“This time it was as if I was being shown every possible outcome, all at once. So many choices, so many paths, intertwining, entangled, one layered upon another until I could not tell where one ended and the next began. I felt splintered, shattered, torn in so many directions, each an endless multitude of intersecting corridors, like some intricate web woven by a crazed spider.”

So much information laid out before her, yet she’d come away with almost nothing.

“What did you see of my plans?” Again Torquil’s eyes narrowed.

“I saw at least one pathway leading to yer defeat.”

“And my victory? Did you see the pathway leading to that possibility as well?”

“I saw that possibility. It exists, but only with the correct combination of choices.”

Fear knotted her stomach again as Torquil dipped his head next to hers. His hair teased against her cheek even as his hot breath feathered over her ear when he spoke.

“I’ve decided to have mercy upon you, little sister. For now, at least. You’d no be wise to disappoint me again.”

He held her there for a moment longer, her heart beating wildly, and then, just when she was sure he could taste her fear, he dropped his hands from her and stepped away.

“May I return to my chambers now?” Her voice shook, far beyond her ability to control it.

“You may.”

Christiana had taken barely two steps before her brother spoke again.

“I send riders forth even now to recruit more men to my cause. In the spring, I will ride against Castle MacGahan. You have seen this?”

“I have. There are bits and pieces of it in my memories.” He wanted more from her, as he always did. But in this she must move slowly.

“And building my ranks, bringing in new men—is this one of the correct choices?” Irritation crept into his clipped tones even as he kept his back turned to her.

“It is an absolute necessity.” She paused, weighing the importance of what she would say next. “There will be one among them who is essential to the desired outcome.” Essential to the outcome
she
desired, that is.

He turned in her direction, surprise and interest warring in his expression. “You’ve seen a warrior who will champion my cause?”

“I’ve seen a champion, yes.” Though not of Torquil’s cause.

“You will recognize this man on sight?”

“I’ve seen him only in a haze, never clearly enough to identify his features.” And yet, she couldn’t imagine not recognizing the sound of his voice or the feel of his touch when he finally arrived. So familiar they had become to her, she often had to remind herself the man was nothing more to her than her rescuer.

“He was a part of yer Visions and yet his visage remains a mystery to you. If you’ll no recognize him, how am I to distinguish him from all the other newcomers?”

“I canna say how you will pick him from the others. I ken only that he will be different somehow. The Vision was quite clear that he alone will determine the difference between success and failure.”

Torquil nodded slowly, beginning to pace back and forth in front of the fireplace, his hands clasped behind his back. At last his footsteps halted and he turned a narrowed gaze back in her direction.

“And this man of great importance to me, this champion of mine, will he have any interaction with you, little sister?”

Her heart skipped a beat, but she answered without delay. “He will.”

“Do you think to lie with him?”

Christiana gasped, unable to hide her shock at such a personal question. “No!”

It wasn’t as if this were the love of her heart she awaited. If that were the case, surely the Visions would have given some hint in that direction. True,
she felt a strange elation each time he appeared in the Visions, but that made sense: he was the one who would deliver her from her captivity.

“That had best be the case, little sister. You are my property and I will permit trespass from none. Champion or no, if this stranger thinks to bed you, I’ll have his head on a pike over my gate and serve up his entrails for buzzard feed. Is that clear?”

She could only nod, terrified by the strange glitter in his eyes and the vehemence in his voice.

“Very well, then. I will think upon all you have told me this day. Best you pray to the Ancient Ones that they send my new champion quickly. Now, leave me.”

“As you bid me, my laird, so shall it be.”

With a dip of her head, she made her way to the door and outside, breathing deeply only after she’d traversed the wide entry hall and stepped into the fresh air.

With renewed purpose, she hurried across the bailey and into the small tower at the far edge of the castle wall. Her quarters. Her refuge.

She set about building a fire in the cold pit before filling a small pot with water and tossing in a few well-chosen herbs. The warm tonic would soothe her nerves and mellow the worries plaguing her heart.

As she waited for the water to bubble, her thoughts drifted to her brother’s edict.

Best you pray to the Ancient Ones that they send my new champion quickly.

He had no idea that she wanted that more than anything else. She’d been sending those prayers up to the Ancient Ones for many months, with a new twist added now.

A prayer that the Elf who’d accompanied her new sister would keep the promise she had made in the glen. For without her aid, all would be lost.

T
hree

L
AZY
J R
ANCH,
M
ONTANA

P
RESENT
D
AY

Y
OU BEST SKEDADDLE
on over to the mess hall, greenhorn.” The old cowboy reached out to take the reins Chase handed over. “The way them cowboys was eatin’ when I was there, it’s a good chance won’t be nothin’ but bones left by now.”

Chase grinned at the old man. “That would be a shame, missing out on Miss Fern’s cooking.”

Whitey returned the grin, displaying a gap where his front top teeth should have been. “Damn straight. It’s roast chicken tonight and she’s made corn bread and chili beans, too.”

Though the main dish varied from day to day, the old cook made corn bread and chili beans so often, it had Chase missing the MREs he’d carried in his army pack. Not that he’d ever give voice to that thought. Everyone on the Lazy J knew how Whitey felt about Miss Fern. The two of them had been an item for the last forty years.

A twinge of envy flickered through Chase. He couldn’t think of too many things he wanted more from life than to find his own Fern.

Chase headed out of the barn and into the cold night to do exactly as Whitey had suggested.

The familiar smells of the dining hall filled his nostrils as he opened the door, assuring him he wouldn’t go hungry after all.

No thanks to the wild horses he’d hunted since early morning. They’d made sure he’d earned his pay this particularly cold and blustery winter day. Still, he felt good about bringing them in. They were destined for a new home in Colorado with a fellow who’d made himself a name for his excellent care and breeding of horses.

These ponies that would end up at the Seun Fardach Ranch were some of the lucky few. Chase just wished some of their luck would rub off on him.

Inside the door he remembered the hat he wore, pulling it off his head to stuff under his arm.

“You’re sure pullin’ a late one tonight, Chase,” Miss Fern called from behind the serving table. She looked up as he neared. “What the hell happened to you?”

His hand flew to his forehead. He’d almost forgotten the incident.

“Paying more attention to one of those ponies I was chasing than to the land I chased him through. Low-hanging branch got me.” Chase shrugged, feeling foolish.

“Don’t look all that bad up close, I guess.” She peered over the top of her thick reading glasses. “Grab yourself a plate and fill ’er up, boy. I was just getting ready to put stuff away for the night.”

Chase hurried along the table. “Thank you, ma’am. Smells wonderful, as always.”

Miss Fern beamed and plopped an extra-large helping of chili beans on his plate. He might be grateful for the job, the two square meals a day, and the honest, friendly people, but he’d be a seriously happy man if he never saw another chili bean again.

Chase took a seat across the room, his back to the wall as usual.

The opportunity to work here had fallen in his lap just when he’d needed it most. Two months working in construction outside Seattle had convinced him he needed a more solitary occupation. He hadn’t minded the hard work; far from it. That had been the only part of the job that had kept him sane. What he’d hated was the congestion of the city, the cars, the noise. It wasn’t where he belonged.