Warrior Untamed (23 page)

“Never,” he denied truthfully. The idea of her as some other man’s wife was intolerable to him. Instead of telling her that, he grinned. “Your food would be the death of this imaginary man long before you had any children.”

She didn’t return his grin, refusing to be swayed by his humor. “You see me as vulnerable.”

“You’re wrong, Bridget. I see you as irreplaceable,” he whispered.

As she broke to run past him, he lifted her from her feet and swung her over his shoulder, carrying her as he had so long ago on that night he’d first met her. The night he’d first saved her from Torquil and the Beast inside the MacDowylt laird.

“Put me down!” she ordered, her feet kicking wildly as she pounded her fists against his back. “You’ve no right to do this!”

He had every right. She just didn’t accept it.

With one hand securely on the sword’s hilt, he allowed her feet to drop to the ground. The weapon was in his possession now, and no matter what she tried, he had no intention of relinquishing it to her again.

“You canna do this. It is my responsibility, my calling, to put an end to this monster.”

He held her back with one hand, almost without thought, his attention fully fixed upon the weapon in his grasp and the buzzing that filled his ears. Like the approach of angry bees disturbed from their nest, the sound grew, building in intensity and applying pressure inside his ears. At the same time, his fingers began to pulse with a stinging burn as if he’d wrapped his hand around those same bees.

As if from far in the distance, Bridget asked, “Hall? What’s wrong with you? What’s happening?”

Between the noise in his head and the paralyzing pain crawling up his arm and into his chest, he couldn’t begin to find the words to answer.

As if a giant fist tightened around him, his lungs labored to suck in the air he needed for his next breath. A cacophony of clanking, cracking dissonance pounded at him, building to a deafening crescendo designed to burst his eardrums.

It was the sword, rebelling against him, fighting
him for dominance, and the sword was clearly winning. He was powerless to do anything to stop it.

“Hall!”

Even hearing the desperation in Bridget’s voice, he could do nothing. She grasped his hand, peeling his fingers one by one from his deathlike grip on the hilt of the weapon.

When the sword hit the ground with a dull
thud
he shuddered and bent forward, gasping, filling his lungs with air as desperately as a drowning man might.

“I told you, did I no? I warned you to stay away from it. Sit,” she encouraged, one arm around his shoulders. “Rest for a moment to recover yerself.”

With his legs refusing to support him, it was easy to follow her suggestion. He dropped to the ground, legs crossed, his head in his hands, until he heard Bridget moving away from him. He looked up in time to see her reaching down to recover the blade from the forest floor.

“No!”

She straightened, holding the sword in front of her, and the air between them shimmered as if the sword itself were a light source of immense power.

“I am the one to wield the sword,” she said calmly. “I, and I alone. You must accept this.”

He wanted to deny it, to jump to his feet and sweep the weapon from her grasp. But there was no denying what he saw with his own two eyes.

The light that shimmered in the air coalesced
around Bridget. The markings on her face, which had begun to fade, glowed a bright luminescent blue. Like candles behind the stained glass in a cathedral he’d seen on a trip to York, the light flickered and danced just behind her skin.

He couldn’t deny what he recognized as truth.

“It’s the markings you wear. The weapon has chosen you as the one Pure Soul of an Ancient Warrior. You’re right. You alone can wield the victorious blow with the sword.”

“I tried to tell you. It is my destiny,” she said quietly, replacing the sword in the saddle sheath before approaching him with her hand outstretched. “Are you better now?”

He nodded, still struggling to accept what he couldn’t control as he rose to his feet. “I am.”

“Does this alter your plans?”

Mightily. If he were to have his way, he’d call everything off and demand that they ride for safety as quickly as possible. The problem with that solution was that with Fenrir loose in the world, there would be no safety to be found anywhere.

“It only changes which of us will be waiting outside the gates when the Beast leaves the castle. You’ll need these.” He walked quickly to his horse and removed the scrolls from his pack to hand to Bridget, who’d followed behind him. “You’ve but to touch Torquil with the blade to drive the Beast from his body. Once you’ve done that, it will have no
choice but to return to the scrolls. We’ll secure them with the jewels, and our task will be accomplished. No one needs to get hurt if we’re all mindful of the parts we need to play.”

She nodded, taking the scrolls in one hand as she walked toward her own mount. She stopped a few paces before she reached the animal to turn back to him. “I willna fail in my calling this time. I will do what I should have done when I first laid eyes on the sword. By the Seven, I swear it.”

“Use caution, little one.” Hall couldn’t keep himself from touching her one more time, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Remember that you’re not out there alone. We’re all in this together. Once Fenrir breaks from the confinement of the castle, you must wait. Don’t follow after him until the five of us regroup with you. We all must be there together to keep the circle tight around him.”

“I understand.” She smiled sadly, lifting a hand to his cheek before rising up on her toes to place her lips softly against his.

He crushed her to him, soaking in the moment as if it were his last.

She broke the kiss, her hands cupping his face, her eyes suspiciously bright. They didn’t speak as he lifted her to her saddle and she started off, him following along for a few steps.

“Keep to the cover of the trees,” he called out as she rode away.

As he watched her disappear into the forest, a misty cloud blurred his vision for the first time since his childhood.

A fine mess the Norns had woven for his lifepath this time. Not only could he not claim Bridget for his own, now he couldn’t even protect her as he wanted. He had done what little he could, leaving the ruby in her possession. It could end up being all that stood between her and Fenrir if their plan should go awry.

So much for the free will Orabilis and her kind espoused. The moment was out of his control. What would be, would be—the Norns had woven the threads of their lives long before he or Bridget had been born. They could only accept what the Norns had chosen for them as the path of their days.

Hall repeated every platitude he’d ever heard, in an attempt to ease the worry that wouldn’t be eased.

Events of this day would go according to plan. He would climb on his horse and head for the castle gates, exactly as . . .

His thoughts faltered to a stop as he noticed an oddity in the bush where Bridget’s horse had been tethered. In one spot, the branches of the hardy evergreen hung strangely askew.

He reached his hand inside the bush, fearing what he’d find there yet knowing what it would be before his fingers raked over the ancient sheepskin.

The scrolls, deliberately shoved into the branches to hide them. She’d never had any intention of following his plan.

She still intended to kill Torquil MacDowylt. And unless he acted quickly, she’d pay for her deception with her life. She’d pay for her deception with her soul.

“To hell with the Norns,” he growled, hoping against hope that Orabilis had been telling him the truth about the role his own free will could play.

Even if the old Faerie had been wrong, what did he have to fear at this point? What could the Norns do to him anyway? Snip his thread, ending the path his life traveled down?

If his current path included Bridget’s death, he had no desire to continue along that path anyway.

“Send your worst, old women,” he called out, snatching up the scrolls and running to his horse.

He
would
protect Bridget, and there was nothing any creature in any corner of this world or the next could do to stop him.

C
LOTHED IN THE
body of Torquil MacDowylt, Fenrir stalked across the bailey toward the barracks. He had grown used to this body, thinking of it as a second skin. But today it felt uncomfortable and foreign, like a wrong-size hand-me-down.

As if the Universe were trying to warn him of impending danger, his disquiet had been growing over the course of the last few days, and more than ever he mourned the loss of his own form.

All would be well once he had the scrolls and the sword back under lock and key. The anxiety plaguing him stemmed as much from his lack of control over the situation as anything else. After weeks with no results, he was tired of waiting.

It was time to send out another party of men.

Halfway to his destination, the air around him began to shimmer and his chest constricted with each breath he took. The five oozing sores around his heart throbbed as one, sending pain radiating out to his arms and legs.

Damned fragile Mortal body. Always some new way to harm it looming close at hand.

The air began to compress around him, packing in against his eardrums until he was forced to open his mouth wide to relieve the pressure.

What could this be? A storm coming? A new disease? Some new plant to which this body was sensitive? It could be almost anything, but it felt like no Mortal threat he’d previously encountered.

It felt almost like . . .

His foot slid to a stop on the gravel and he stilled, stretching out his senses in all directions to study the vibrations around him.

Impossible!

He’d checked in on each of his search parties this morning and none of them had so much as spotted the thief, let alone retrieved the scrolls and returned with them.

And yet he would swear the scrolls were nearby. He lifted his head and sniffed the air.

He smelled them. By all that was unholy, he could feel them.

The scrolls were here.

“Man the gate!” he ordered in a roar, reversing his course back toward the keep.

If he could feel their presence this strongly, there was no time to waste.

Breaking into a run, he burst through the big doors of his keep and headed straight for the tower, where his power was strongest. From the window
he leaned out to scan the courtyard and the wall beyond. He could see nothing out of the ordinary, but the feeling persisted, growing in strength.

The scrolls were nearby. Calling him. Taunting him.

Never again would he allow any creature to imprison him within the scrolls. It had taken too long for him to find the one who had set him free, and he wouldn’t give up that freedom easily.

He could transform into the big bird, but his last foray in that form had left him with a jagged, puffy red scar marring the skin from his shoulder to his elbow. A strong reminder of the vulnerability inherent in the bodies of this world’s creatures.

No, he didn’t like the idea of risking that again. He needed to be away from this place. A clean escape. Now.

Moving to the center of the room, he willed the change that had saved this body once before. As a smoky mist, he had risen above the fire that had threatened to consume him when he’d taken control from the MacDowylt laird. That same form would transport him, unnoticed, from this place to another, safer location.

Calling on the Magic to fill him, he waited, his body vibrating with an expectant hum, as if in anticipation of the imminent arrival of a favored lover. He waited for the familiar power to wash over him, to fill his senses. He waited until his patience abandoned him.

What was this travesty? He had never been bereft of his Magic, except during his confinement within the scrolls. Only the jewels had the power to limit his access in this way.

His stomach churned with a rising panic.

Not only were the scrolls waiting somewhere nearby for him, so, too, were the jewels.

Whoever, whatever, had gathered his treasures now thought to close in on him. To use the tools of his confinement to cast him back into that hell which had held him prisoner for so many centuries.

He would
not
be captured here. Not like this.

But how could he leave? Without access to his Magic, his only alternative was to seek escape as any Mortal might.

He would claim the fastest horse in his stables and break free from the trap that threatened to spring closed around him at any moment.

Once he was outside the net created by the jewels, he would again have access to his Magic. And then he would travel to safety, far, far away from this place.

B
RIDGET DREW HER
horse into position just inside the tree line ringing Tordenet Castle. From this distance she was well hidden but still had a view of the gates and the field where the Tinklers had camped. This had to be very near the spot Hall had described as where she should wait.

Hall.

Her heart hurt just thinking of him.

As much as she hungered for his touch, she prayed that after today, she’d never have to see him again. Every time she saw him, every time she touched him, walking away and leaving him behind became harder and more painful than it had been the time before. She wasn’t sure how many more gracious exits she had left in her before she’d break down and beg him to reconsider his rejection of her.

And wouldn’t that make for a pretty show? Her blubbering like some lost bairn, setting herself up for another round of disappointment.

Whatever destiny had in store for her after today, she only prayed it would cease to torment her with
the delectable temptation of the man she would never be able to call her own.

She also prayed she’d hidden the damned scrolls well enough that he wouldn’t find them. Because if he did, he would come bursting out of those woods like a madman and ruin her plan.