Devil's Angel (5 page)

Ardan set his drink down. “The bard swears he saw it with his own eyes. A man was attacking a child who was refusing him at the top of her lungs. It was said that the Angel took down her braid and looped it around the man’s neck in the blink of an eye. Jerked him right off his feet. He died facedown in the dust in the middle of the lane. No one lifted a finger against her. In fact, she was feasted.

“There are other stories, all the same. When she attacks, it’s to defend those too weak to defend themselves. She and her brother take hires from merchants and nobles who need extra protection. At the start of each hire, she has to challenge their best with whatever weapon they choose, to first draw of blood. From what I heard, she’s never lost a challenge. And all her kills have been honorable.”

Conor’s lips twitched. “You seem disappointed, Ardan, to discover that the Angel fights fair.”

“A female warrior is unnatural.”

Gwynna’s back straightened with an audible crack. “It wasn’t so long ago that the women of Connacht fought alongside their men in battle. And ’tis certain the way of things that many have need to fight now.”

Ardan dipped his head. “My pardon, my lady.”

Conor joined them at the table. “Our Gwynna is more apt to trust than most.”

Conor swallowed deep of his ale, then turned to Ardan. “Anything else?”

“Just that she has made more enemies than allies during her time here. Her sense of justice had pricked the ire of many a
boaire
.”

So, the cattle lords may have put a price on her head. Interesting. “If we are to credit these tales, and I believe we should, that means that someone else attacked the village. Who?”

“Ronan of Ulster.”

The sound of his enemy’s name sent an icy rage through Conor. “This smells of his hand. It is sly and underhanded, and he craves the blood of innocents.”

Ardan stood. “When?” was all he asked.

“We will return, measure for measure, what Ronan has dealt to us,” Conor said, his voice cold. “That I promise you. But first, you will take yourself off to rest, Ardan. You deserve it.”

The warrior left. Gwynna turned to Conor. “What of Erika?”

“What indeed?” Conor had no intention of giving the Viking her freedom. He doubted she would leave anyway, especially without her brother.

“Let us go see the Valkyrie.”

They left the hall and went outside. Rains had swept through with their usual quickness, leaving a fresh crispness in their wake. The breeze that gamboled a continuous dance over the hills carried the warm promise of summer. The people of Dunlough went about their daily duties with laughter and song, and the younger children darted between the circular daub-and-wattle houses that hugged the outer boundary of the dun.

Pausing, Conor took a deep breath and closed his eyes, letting the spirit that was Dunlough infiltrate his senses. He loved this land, from the top of Slieve Torc to the depths of Lough Dun.

A bellow of pain shattered the pastoral peace. It came from the direction of the earthen cell. Conor and Gwynna broke into a run, several men following them.

Chapter Five

Angel crouched in the cool earth, a length of chain in her hands. She had rested fitfully since the healer had left, knowing the Devil,
jarl
or no, would come for her again. So she was prepared when the cell door opened and the young warrior entered.

She had not been prepared to see him drop his belt and lift his tunic to reveal his hardened member.

That moment of surprised hesitation had almost cost her. But the fool took a moment to gloat over his supposedly helpless victim, and that gave her time to palm her hidden weapon, a miniature dagger. When he reached for her, Angel plunged the sharp blade into the back of his hand.

“Demon-spawned bitch!” her would-be rapist screeched, stumbling back from her as she rolled into a crouch, chains hissing. With a grunt of pain he pulled her dagger free of flesh and bone and dropped it to the ground. He clutched his bleeding hand to his chest. “You’ll pay dear for that!”

The warrior drew his leg back to kick her. Angel felt the fierce storm of the berserker fit gathering within her. She prepared herself to take the blow even as she readied herself to lunge at him. Then hell erupted.

The Devil strode into the chamber, dominating the small space with his presence. Grabbing the younger man by the back of his tunic, the Devil effortlessly flung him against the earthen wall.

On a lower level of her mind, Angel registered the Devil’s intervention and marveled at it—and the obvious fury in his face. But the berserker fit had her deep in its clutches. Only blood would appease it. Snarling, she leapt to her feet, her hands curved into claws—

And was immediately engulfed in an implacable embrace, caught against an equally implacable chest. The Devil had caught her. Infuriated, she struggled against him. Moving one of the massive stone
cromlechs
would have been easier. Through the blood pounding in her ears, she heard her captor speak.

“Rhuaidri.” The Devil’s voice was a controlled blast of fury. “I will excuse you because your youth and your grief are great. Remember that you will not have a second chance to disobey my commands. Now get out before I let the Angel finish you.”

Her quarry was going free! Shrieking with outrage at being denied retribution, she struggled with all her might. Dimly she heard the Devil order everyone out, but the berserker in her demanded blood, drowning out rationality. She was turned, chains and all, and suddenly her opened mouth was pressed against the Devil’s throat.

Shock drove everything else from her mind. She had never been in a man’s embrace before, never had her senses assaulted in such a manner before. Never
tasted
a man before. Erika pressed her lips together against his throat, his flavor stinging her tongue. He tasted of salt and strength.

The sensations pierced through her berserker fit, leaving her aware of nothing but the man. Without conscious thought, she leaned into him, breathing deeply. His smell was that of grass and horse and ale and maleness.

How could a man smell of such goodness and be so evil? Perhaps he wasn’t reprehensible, after all. Could she have been so fundamentally wrong?

When the Valkyrie’s mouth fastened to his neck, Conor went stock-still. Having been denied the blood of her attacker, would she rip out his jugular in retribution?

Then her lips closed against the pulse at the base of his throat, scalding him. Conor would swear that it was a kiss. Her body relaxed against his as she inhaled deep. The harsh breath pushed her breasts against his chest, the flimsy fabric doing nothing to conceal the contour and feel of her body from him. Long and lean she was, with just a hint of softness to her sharp edges. A month of good food and kind living would round her out, making what was desirous now a torment later.

It was all he could do not to groan aloud. The Valkyrie nuzzled at him the way one of his wolfhounds asked for a pat on the head. Was this the same woman who had just screamed because she wasn’t able to kill a man? Why did that not seem to matter anymore?

Conor had been aware of the Angel as an adversary, a warrior and a prize. Now he was aware of her as a woman. And that made her even more dangerous.

Dangerous. Conor had to remind himself of that. This was not a meek maiden, despite the way she clung to him. She was a warrior in a woman’s flesh, a warrior as ruthless as he.

Erika shivered as the bloodlust left her veins. The Devil—Conor, she reminded herself—held her away. Staring into his eyes, she felt something unfathomable surge up from her toes and launch itself at him, charging the handbreadth of air between them.

He licked his lips. Erika watched in fascination as his tongue swept from one side of his mouth to the other. Did he taste the same things she had?

Belatedly she realized that he was speaking to her. “Erika? Did he hurt you?”

Blinking out of her stupor, she glanced up at him. The silver of his eyes was dark with genuine concern and another indefinable emotion. “I did not give him the opportunity,” she replied, and couldn’t resist adding, “Does that disappoint you?”

Light gleamed in his silvery eyes. “It does not. Does that disappoint
you
?”

Erika was amazed at his bantering tone. He couldn’t be evil. Not evil at all. Why was he called Devil? “Why did you stop him?”

Thunderclouds gathered in his features. “I have done many things, but condone rape is not one of them.”

“But you let him go!”

His jaw hardened. “Rhuaidri lost his brother in the slaughter at Dunlough village. Grief can drive a man to madness, and rash action.” Had that happened to him, Erika wondered. Still, she understood. She had only to look at the last seven years of her life to know how grief drove a person. “It is the same for a woman.”

“You need not fear crossing paths with him again.”

A rush of warmth swept through her, engulfing her senses yet again. He was protecting her! Only Olan and Lars had ever tried to protect her before. Tightness settled in her chest.

He cleared his throat. “And…you no longer need to fear for your life, Lady Erika. I know you tried to help my people, not harm them.”

That obviously was not an easy thing for him to admit.

Again she stared into his eyes, struggling for truth against the wariness. He still held her loosely in his arms and the awareness of it, of
him
, was sweeter than honeyed mead. “Are you truly lord of that village?”

His eyes were solemn. “I am.”

She sighed, the last of her rage sifting from her. It was difficult to release, especially against someone she had attempted to kill days earlier. “I am sorry,” she whispered, knowing it was inadequate but knowing no other way to convey how she felt about the loss of his people.

Conor believed her. Her expression, her luminous eyes, declared more than words the sorrow she felt. “How did you come to be near Dunlough?”

The startling lavender gaze shuttered. “We were on our way to Donegal, to find a ship to take Larangar to Anglia. When we saw the raiders attack, we stopped to help.”

Despite the fact that it put her life in danger, despite the fact that safety lay a few hours away, Erika had stopped to help people she did not know. “Why?”

She stared at him in surprise. “We could not ride by while innocent people were being hurt. Even the defenseless should have someone to defend them.”

Conor knew he had just been given insight into what drove the Valkyrie. Had there been a time when she was without defense, and no one was there to aid her? His thoughts returned to the moment he’d entered the chamber. Remembering how defenseless Erika had been filled him with unaccountable anger.

Except that she had not been defenseless. Releasing her, Conor turned to retrieve her dagger. Straightening, he hefted it in his hand, testing its weight and balance. The dagger was truly a work of art. It was a miniature of her broadsword down to the purple crystal set in the crosspiece.

Erika watched a humorless smile lift the right side of his face. “It would behoove me, I think, to remember never to invoke your fury, Lady Death,” he said, balancing the blade on the tip of a finger. “Do I want to know where you hid this?”

Her cheeks flamed. “It is a hair brooch.” She pulled the thick braid of hair over her shoulder, parting the strands to reveal a pale leather sheath woven within. “I would have used it to kill you, when the opportunity arose.”

He stepped away from her then. For the first time, Erika hated what she was. She waited for words of disgust or condemnation from him.

There were none. Instead, he held the dagger, hilt-first, out to her. “Do you still wish to kill me?”

Taking the dagger, Erika gave his question the weight it deserved. She could sense the beginning of a fundamental shift in her world, a shift she wasn’t sure she was prepared for.

But there was one thing she was sure of. She looked at Conor. His stance was relaxed, open, his hands hanging loosely at his sides. Despite the weight of the chains, Erika could have easily plunged the blade into his heart before he could raise his hands to defend himself. Looking into his eyes, she realized he knew it too.

Reversing the dagger, Erika handed it back to him. “Nay, I do not wish to kill you. Do you wish to kill me still?”

A laugh escaped him, brittle and dry. “Is everything a challenge to you, Angel?”

Her chin jerked up. “Life is a challenge, Devil. I must constantly battle it for what I want.”

“And what do you want?”

“Survival and freedom, for myself and my brother,” she replied without hesitation. She looked down at the chains encumbering her. “I would give anything to be free.”

“I can give you both, after a fashion.” He held a key aloft.

Hope warred with caution as Erika regarded the key. Nothing had been handed to her since her father’s death seven years ago. Besides Olan, there was no man left alive that she trusted. How could she trust a man she had first met over crossed blades?

Conor tucked her dagger into his belt and moved toward her. “Trust is not a simple thing for me, Angel, but I do hold high to honor. You would seem to have some of that. Therefore, a measure of freedom will be yours.”