Warrior Reborn (8 page)

T
HIS WILL NOT
do.” Halldor slapped the mare on her hindquarters and stepped back from the stall. “Not at all. This horse is no better than that reject from the peat bogs Ulfr thought to pass off as a sword.”

As promised, Ulfr had provided Chase with new clothing and boots on the first day, soon after assigning them their spaces in the barracks. A weapon and mount had been much slower to come. Days, in fact. And when Chase found the weapon Ulfr had left, even he thought it must be a joke of some sort.

The sword he carried on his back was really a weapon in name only. It looked as if it had been dug up from under a rock somewhere or, as Halldor liked to claim, out of the peat bogs. Rusted and chipped, it would do him little good in battle.

The horse, though, wasn’t all that bad.

“She looks to be a healthy animal.” In much better shape than many of the wild horses Chase had rounded up back in Montana.

Back in another life. The knowledge that Faerie Magic had transported him seven hundred years into the past still rattled his brain if he thought on it much.

He tried his best not to think about it at all. Very quickly, he’d learned that ignoring his past made facing each morning easier. If this was where he belonged, then this was where he’d make the best of being.

No, the horse wasn’t all that bad.

“She’s a gentle one, too,” he added, almost as an afterthought.

Halldor’s response was a rude snort.

“Gentle is the last thing you want in battle, my friend. This is a woman’s beast. A palfrey. What you want under you when you ride against a field of men is a destrier, like my own.”

Point well taken. The difference between the horse Ulfr had picked out for him and a war horse like Halldor’s would be the equivalent of a moped versus an armored Humvee.

“I suppose that means we’ll need to speak with our friend Ulfr.”

Halldor snorted even louder than before.

“That we will. And I suppose it goes without saying that it would be a mistake to think Ulfr our friend. He’s not a man to be trusted.”

“It goes without saying,” Chase agreed, exchanging a grin with Halldor as they left the stable.

Some things didn’t change, no matter what century you were in. Brownnosers and backstabbers weren’t confined to any particular period in time. People were people everywhere. Everywhen.

They made their way around the animal pens and past the men training in the lists in time to see a familiar figure hurrying across the courtyard toward the keep.

“Isn’t that your little healer?”

It was indeed Christiana. Funny how just seeing her at a distance could bring a smile to Chase’s lips and set his heart racing. It was as if the sun shone a little brighter for her.

The woman had been extraordinary over the past few days in treating his blistered feet. He’d always healed quickly. His mother had claimed he could thank his Faerie blood for that, but he’d had his doubts about the process without the benefit of modern medicine. If he didn’t know better, he’d be tempted to claim there were magical powers in those herbs she’d used.

The only drawback to her skills was that now that he was better, he had no reason to visit her. And visiting her was something he very much wanted to continue to do.

“Looks like she’s headed into the keep,” he observed. “Hey. Didn’t Ulfr say that was where he was going, too? To meet with Torquil?”

“I believe he did, at that,” Halldor responded, a wide grin spreading over his face. “And since we absolutely need to get this horse business settled so that we might attend to other matters, it appears to me as though we’ve no choice but to follow the lady.”

“No choice whatsoever,” Chase agreed, his steps already leading him in that direction.

At the bottom of the stairs, Halldor cleared his throat.

“I should mention that I have sensed a . . . what did you call it before?” His forehead wrinkled and then smoothed. “Yes. A vibe. A vibe that the Lord of Katanes may not welcome the intrusion into his keep of two lowly soldiers such as ourselves.”

Chase snorted this time. He didn’t care what century it was, his personal code didn’t change. “First off, Torquil is not my lord. He’s just my employer. And if I’m not good enough to pass through his doorway, maybe I’m not good enough to wield my sword in his name. Maybe that means I’m outta here.”

Though the thought of never seeing Christiana again bothered him a little more strongly than he would have expected. “As soon as I’m sure my wounds are completely healed, that is.”

Halldor slapped him on the back. “Then we go together,” he said, leading the way up the stairs to the massive doors. “As soon as the little healer has finished with you, of course.”

Why Chase’s face heated was beyond him. It just made good sense not to set out into the world until he was sure there was no residual chance of infection. He was only thinking of the logic of the situation.

The door ahead of them opened to two guards, swords held at the ready.

“What business have you here?” one of them asked.

“We’re here to see a man about a horse,” Chase answered, catching up to Halldor’s side.

When his friend lifted an eyebrow in question, Chase shrugged. It was a line he’d always wanted to use and there would likely never be a better time than right now.

“We seek Ulfr,” Halldor clarified.

“And there he is,” Chase pointed out, pushing past the guards and into the entryway where Ulfr stood beside Christiana, his hand gripping her elbow. And not in a good way, from where Chase stood. “Are we interrupting something?”

“Yes,” Ulfr barked, drowning out Christiana’s quiet denial. “What do you want?”

“We’re here to see a—” Chase began, feeling quite pleased that he could use the catchphrase twice, when Halldor interrupted.

“We’ve a problem that could prevent our being able to remain in service to the MacDowylt.”

As Halldor spoke, the door next to Ulfr opened and Torquil stepped into the hallway.

“There’s a problem?” he asked.

“No, my lord,” Ulfr hurried to answer.

“Begging your pardon, Laird MacDowylt, but I’m afraid there is.” Halldor stood his ground, ignoring Ulfr’s angry glare.

Torquil studied each of them in turn, then stepped back inside the room. “I’d have you join me in my solar so that we might get to the bottom of this. All of you.”

“My lady?” Halldor offered his arm to Christiana, nudging Ulfr aside as she accepted.

Chase swept his hand in invitation for the captain of the guard to enter ahead of him.

No way he wanted that man at his back.

Inside, his eyes immediately sought out Christiana, as he found himself doing each time he was in a room with her. She stood apart from the others, her hands clasped at her waist. Perhaps it was only the swords and scabbards hanging on the high stone walls that made her appear so small and out of place, but he found himself fighting the urge to go to her side and reassure her. She looked every bit as uncomfortable as he felt in here.

From the moment he’d entered, it was as if the walls were closing in. Not that the room was small by any means. It was more a matter of the feel of the room, as if something in it weakened him and sucked the air from his lungs.

“Show him that piece of bog trash you carry on your back.”

Chase’s attention snapped away from the woman, and he found Halldor and Torquil staring at him.

“Go on. Hand it over to the laird.”

“It mayhap need a wee touch of a polish by the metalworker,” Ulfr offered, his voice trailing off into the oppressive silence.

Chase pulled the rusted weapon from the scabbard he wore on his back and stepped closer, dipping his head respectfully as he passed it to Torquil. Once the other man accepted, he stepped away, his own gaze once again sweeping the room, lighting on Christiana only briefly before he forced himself to study the weapons hanging on the walls instead.

This wasn’t the twenty-first century, where a man could gawk at a woman with impunity. Things weren’t done that way here. Now. No matter how much he was drawn to her.

“A
good
weapon was the terms of our agreement,” Halldor reminded. “This does not fulfill those terms, any more than the palfrey they’ve tried to give my brother fulfills our agreement for a suitable mount.”

Torquil barely glanced at the sword before dropping it to the table next to him.

“It does little good to spend my silver in hiring talented swordsmen if they’re ill-equipped,” Torquil murmured, his eyes boring into his captain.

Chase almost felt sorry for the man. Almost felt compelled to speak up in his defense. Almost.

Then he spotted something hanging on the wall he never thought he’d see again. A sword so like
the one his father had owned it could have been the same weapon. He was drawn to it immediately, crossing the room to run his finger down the blade.

“Here now, O’Donar!” Ulfr called after him. “Dinna be thinking to handle the artifacts what belong to Clan MacDowylt.”

“You’ve a good eye.” Torquil had moved to stand beside him. “That is a weapon of distinction. An ancient weapon forged by some long-forgotten MacDowylt ancestor, hung upon this wall for who knows how long.”

“My apologies if I offended, my laird.” Chase dipped his head once more. “It’s only that this sword bears a remarkable resemblance to the one my father had when he first taught me the use of such a weapon.” Such a remarkable resemblance, in fact, he half expected to see his father stroll into the room at any moment.

“No offense taken, I assure you. Please, take the weapon into yer hands if you like. Test the feel of it.” Torquil moved behind his table and took a seat, very much like a man waiting to be entertained.

Chase lifted the sword down from its mountings. In his grip it felt different from his father’s, but good all the same. He laid the sword across his palm to feel its weight. Admiring the fine balance, he peered at the markings on the blade. Made in the fires of the ancient Celts, his father had claimed of his own. Holding this one, Chase didn’t doubt it.

“Ulfr!”

Torquil uttered his captain’s name like a man commanding a trained animal and Chase looked up to find Ulfr charging him, teeth bared, his sword leading.

Instinctively, Chase raised the weapon he held, just in time to meet the downward blow of Ulfr’s sword. The leaf-shaped weapon felt natural as metal clanged on metal, as if it were an extension of his own arm. The lessons with his father rushed back to him. His vision tunneled on the man in front of him and he twirled, dodging the next attack, blocking from his mind Christiana’s scream and Halldor’s shout as the big man threw himself in front of the healer. Chase pivoted under Ulfr’s strike, slicing upward at the last minute. A thin red line appeared on his opponent’s forearm as he glided past.

Ulfr screamed, backing away, his free hand tightly clenched over the dripping wound.

“Excellent!” Torquil rose from his seat, clapping his hands in appreciation. “Expertly done, indeed. You wield that weapon as if you were born to it, O’Donar. The sword you hold is meant to be used, no to decorate a wall. It’s yers to keep, and the sheath, as well. As to a horse, take yer pick of any from my stables. Satisfactory?”

Chase’s heart pounded in his ears from the adrenaline pumping through his system. It had been a long time since he’d felt the rush that accompanied hand-to-hand combat.

“Satisfactory!” Halldor boomed.

“Noble,” Chase corrected quietly, turning to face the MacDowylt laird. This part of their charade had come to an end. Dishonesty didn’t sit well on his shoulders. He didn’t like pretending to be something or someone he wasn’t. He never had.

“What did you say?” Torquil stared at him, his lack of expression concealing his thoughts.

“My name is Noble, not O’Donar. Chase Noble.”

“My brother speaks truly. We do not share the same father,” Halldor interrupted with a shrug before throwing an arm around Chase’s shoulders to usher him from the room. “Why else would I have had to come all the way to Scotland looking for this one, eh?”

Chase considered refusing the offer of the weapon, but only for a moment. Torquil was correct. The sword was never intended to be a decoration gathering dust on a wall. It was meant for the hand of a warrior, and it fit his as if they had been made for each other.

He pulled away from Halldor’s grip and turned to face Torquil, lifting the sword in salute.

“My thanks, Laird MacDowylt. I pledge to use this weapon to the best of my ability.”

“If you use it half so well in yer service to me as you did a moment ago, I’ll consider it a gift well given.”

Chase dipped his head one last time and walked out of the room.

He’d pledged to use the weapon to the best of
his ability. But he wasn’t yet completely sure that would mean using it in the service of Torquil MacDowylt.

I
T COULD BE
either one of them.

Torquil stared after the departing men, frustrated by his inability to read which of them carried the fate of his destiny on their shoulders.

“I asked for a moment with you, my laird, because I have need of—”

“Silence!” He held up a hand to stop Christiana from speaking. His interest was not in what
she
needed but in what
he
needed, a fact she so often failed to remember. “It’s one of them, isn’t it?”

A flare of irritation sparked in her eyes when they met his. Irritation and . . . was that defiance he saw there? Foolish girl. She had neither the ability to lie to him nor the intelligence necessary to trick him. For his part, he had neither the time nor the patience to indulge her in playing her usual word games.

“I want a straight answer. Is one of them the man you saw in your Vision? Yes or no, little sister. Don’t parse your words with me. I’m in no mood for it.”

Her lips straightened to a thin, hard line. “Yes.”

Good. Progress at last. Though it was like pulling nettles from the skin one by one to get the information he wanted from her.

“Which of them? Is it the elder brother, Halldor?”

That one certainly appeared the logical choice. It was he, after all, who’d rushed to escort her into the room; he who’d thrown himself in front of her like a shield when the swordplay had begun.