Warrior’s Redemption (21 page)

A check across the clearing showed no movement from the mound of furs that covered his brother. It was the moment he’d awaited.

As quietly as possible, he gathered his sword and his pack and slipped away from the circle into the sheltering cover of the night.

He was close enough now not to need his mount. He’d make better time on foot. The ground he covered as he neared his destination would be treacherous for the large animal, and he’d have nowhere to safely hide the horse when he did enter the castle.

Stealth was his ally this night. Stealth and the secret entrance to Tordenet Castle his father had shown him after a hunting jaunt on his twelfth birthday.

Since Dermid had been unaware of the entrance when he’d mentioned it as they’d gone over their plans,
he had reason to hope no others would know of its existence either.

Time would tell.

The outline of Tordenet Castle loomed ahead of him and he circled to the north, keeping to the cover of stone and brush as he made his way to the rock face at the water’s edge. Slipping and sliding on the gravel, he lowered himself over the rim to hunt for the brush-shrouded entry to the tunnel his father had shown him.

Nothing had changed, allowing him to locate the well-hidden entrance without much effort. The underbrush had the weathered appearance of undisturbed growth—all the more reason to feel confident in his plan.

If only he could muster the actual confidence all the signs would seem to indicate was warranted.

Instead, the mark on his chest burned a warning of friction as if a million midges beat their wings against his skin.

Worry about the brother he’d left behind, no doubt. Worry about the sister residing within these walls.

He pushed the old growth aside to crawl through the narrow entrance. When he was a child, it had seemed so much larger to him. Pitch black awaited him as he dropped down inside and began to edge his way up the slope, one hand braced against the side of the confining passageway. He moved slowly, following the curve of the wall until the faint shaft of light behind him was no more than a memory.

Ahead of him stretched an unnatural dark he had been spared before by his father’s torch.

There was no torch this time.

The passage narrowed here; he remembered even as child feeling hemmed in. His shoulders touched the walls on both sides and he was forced to dip his head to continue forward.

A few more steps and a light flashed in the tunnel ahead of him, blinding him with its brilliance after so long without his vision. He would have drawn his weapon but there was no space. He barely had room to lift a hand to shield his eyes from the blinding glow.

A figure stepped into the light, the radiance surrounding him like a golden halo. In his hand he held aloft a shining sword.

Torquil.

“And so the prodigal son returns. But why, I wonder, would he choose an entrance such as this rather than the front gates?”

A flash of movement where Torquil had stood and a fire of pain consumed Malcolm’s chest, all but doubling him over in its intensity.

Torquil had moved in, not two feet separating them, the hilt of his sword flat out, the blade leading toward . . .

Malcolm’s head dropped forward, too heavy to hold up any longer. His gaze followed the length of his brother’s blade to its destination, buried in his own chest, a ribbon of dark red blood flowing down where already it pooled on the stones at his feet.

“Welcome home, little brother,” Torquil murmured, his voice somewhere nearby. “Be grateful I don’t take yer head.”

The sword was withdrawn from Malcolm’s body and he crumpled, feeling himself falling forward into a void much blacker than even the tunnel he’d traversed this night, his ears assaulted by the sound of his brother’s laughter until he could hear no more.

D
ANI JOLTED AWAKE
with a jerk, her pulse racing as if she’d had one of those awful nightmares of falling helplessly through space.

Only it wasn’t falling that had awakened her. And it certainly hadn’t been a nightmare.

She sat up in the big bed, gathering the covers around her that she’d apparently kicked away in the throes of her dream. Lord, she should have known better than to tempt fate by sleeping in Malcolm’s bed after the things they’d done here less than a week ago.

Sliding to the edge of the bed, she swung her feet to the floor, realizing as she did that somewhere in the course of the dream she’d even managed to strip out of her nightgown.

Her body aching with unfulfilled need, she bent to retrieve her clothing and drop it over her head. Even as she slipped the long robe on over her gown, she knew there would be no more sleep for her tonight. Not with her heart pounding and her pulse racing the way it was.

If she were back home, she’d make a beeline for
the kitchen for some cookies and milk. A moment to consider the idea and, although there were no milk and cookies waiting, she decided to head for the kitchen anyway. There had to be something she could find to nibble on.

She lit a candle from the fire and slipped out into the hallway. At the top of the stairs she smiled in spite of herself at her foolish behavior. This running to the kitchen when she thought about Malcolm had better not become a habit or she’d weigh a ton by the time he returned.

The long stone staircase seemed even more intimidating than usual by the flickering light of a single candle, and she held a hand against the wall to steady her descent.

Rather than go through the huge gathering room, she opted to take the back halls. They were narrow and winding, but a less intimidating option. The great hall was depressingly cavernous in the light of day with both of the big fires burning. She didn’t want to even consider what it would feel like to walk through there now with nothing more than the glow of embers to light her way.

When she reached the kitchen and slipped inside she was surprised to see another candle already burning. Elesyria sat on a bench, leaning over onto a small table in the corner, a clay bowl and a goblet in front of her.

“Your dreams wake you up, too?” Dani asked.

The Faerie shook her head and waved her arm, motioning for Dani to sit beside her.

“Would that I might be able to get to sleep to have dreams.” She popped a bite into her mouth and sighed. “Tell me of your dreams, Dani. Perhaps a story will soothe my unease.”

Elesyria might be the closest thing she had to a good friend here, but that still didn’t mean Dani was comfortable sharing what she considered intimate details.

“Let’s just say it was, bar none, the most realistic dream I’ve ever had and we’ll leave it at that.”

Dani sat down and reached into the bowl Elesyria offered, delighted to find it contained bits of dried fruit and nuts. It wasn’t cookies, but it would do.

“Good dream or bad?” her friend prompted.

“Good,” she responded without hesitation. “Way good. So good that I think my heart might still be racing from it.”

Elesyria’s back straightened and her eyes lit with interest. “Was it Malcolm you dreamed of by any chance? An intimate dream?”

Heat flooded Dani’s face. “I thought I was pretty clear that we weren’t going into details here.”

“The Soul Bonding,” Elesyria whispered, clasping her hands together. “You did not tell me you’d consummated your relationship before Malcolm left.”

“Damn straight I didn’t tell you. And I won’t be telling you anything like that now either.” Dani scooped up a handful of fruit but didn’t eat. “Besides, what makes you think we did? And what’s that Soul Bonding thing you were talking about?”

“I no longer have to think, my dear. I know.” Elesyria
chuckled and ran her finger idly around the edge of her goblet. “It’s the ‘Soul Bonding thing,’ as you call it, that tells me, you see. Once you’ve bonded with your SoulMate, your senses function on a different level. I’ve even heard stories about Bonded couples who experience one another’s emotions and some who can communicate by thought over vast distances. Still, Dream Mating is one of the rarest gifts among SoulMates.”

Dream-Mating.
Another bizarre experience she could lay at the feet of the Fae.

And since they were sharing . . .

“What about you? Did you ever experience any of those things with your SoulMate?”

“You mistake me, Dani. I’ve never had the good fortune to find my SoulMate. Not in this life, anyway. And let me assure you, this life has been a very long one by your standards.”

“But you have a . . . had a child.”

“Have. Isabella yet lives, just in a different time. You of all people should understand that. And as for my having a child, well”—a wicked little smile curved Elesyria’s lips—“surely you don’t need me to explain to you the mechanics of how that is accomplished.”

“No.” Dani felt the heat returning to her face. “But what about Isabella’s father? You must have loved him.”

“Of course, I did.” Elesyria picked through the bowl, appearing to search for her favorite tidbits. “But love and true love are completely different creatures. Thom was good man and I did love him. But he was not
my true love. The paths my SoulMate and I travel have not yet crossed.” She shook her head, as if to clear away bothersome thoughts.

Dani refused the bowl when Elesyria offered again. It wasn’t bad enough she was down here stuffing her face, all but gloating over her own good fortune. Now she’d depressed her friend with all her questions.

“So. We know why I’m here. What’s brought you down to the kitchens in the middle of the night?”

Elesyria’s eyes darted to the bowl in her hand. “Perhaps it’s time we both make another try at sleep.”

“No, I don’t think so.” Fair was fair. “I shared with you even though I didn’t want to. Now it’s your turn.”

Her friend carefully set the bowl on the table, pushing it away from her before looking up to meet Dani’s gaze.

“I cannot escape that which I feel is to come. Whatever evil stalks Malcolm’s path, it has found him this night.”

Dani swallowed, her throat tight and dry. Only moments ago she’d thought to ask for fairness, and fairness was now on evident display. First she’d managed to depress Elesyria with talk of SoulMates and now the Faerie had returned the favor by finding the one thing in the world guaranteed to depress her.

The threat of losing the SoulMate she’d only just found.

A
N UNRELENTING HAZE
of pain fogged Malcolm’s mind even as he struggled to open his eyes.

The room spun around him and he blinked, slowly, carefully, trying to determine where he might be. Vaguely, as if in a dream, he remembered a blinding light that, praise Odin, was no longer present. Only the dull flicker of a candle somewhere in the room served to illuminate his surroundings now.

His head lolled forward, his chin resting on his chest, and he breathed through the pain lancing across his shoulders. His arms felt oddly out of kilter, as if some giant attempted to pull them from the sockets where they belonged.

Once again he lifted his head and forced his eyes open.

In the corner lay a pile of blankets and furs, with what looked suspiciously like his pack and saddle tossed upon them. That seemed wrong somehow, though he couldn’t quite remember why it wasn’t possible for his things to be with him.

A wooden door on the far side of the room appeared the only means of entry or exit. At its very top, a
small opening was blocked by a thick metal grate. No windows in the room that he could see. Straw covering the floor. Chains hanging from the walls.

Chains like the ones holding his arms above his head.

He stumbled to his feet and leaned his weight against the cold stone wall behind him, alleviating the pressure on his arms.

Less pain. Better.

He was a prisoner!

The realization surprised him, loosing whatever barrier had clouded his mind. Memories flooded back in short, broken scenes. He’d been in the tunnel entrance to the castle when white light had exploded around him, burning his eyes with its intensity.

“Torquil.”

The name slipped from his lips like a curse and he dropped his head to study his chest. Dried blood colored his shirt where his brother had pierced him with his sword.

Not for the first time.

He’d been twelve when Torquil, seven years his senior, had goaded him into a practice round in the lists. Only Torquil hadn’t used a practice sword.

His half brother had professed it had been an accident as Malcolm had lain on the ground, the world turning black around him as blood pumped from his chest. He’d awoken in his father’s bed, his mother bending over him, wiping his forehead with a wet cloth, her face pinched with worry.

“It’s the Alfodr’s protection what saved you, lad,”
his
father had claimed.
“See for yerself. He’s marked you as one of his own warriors.”

His father had lifted the compress from his chest and there, covering his heart, surrounding the torn flesh of his wound, he saw Odin’s Mark.

To this day, Malcolm had no idea how it had gotten there.

Through the Magic of Odin’s protection, he had somehow survived that first attack. Apparently Torquil had thought to have another go at it.

Across the room, metal scratched against metal and the door opened just enough to allow a small figure to slip inside.

Christiana.

“So it’s true,” she said quietly, hurrying across the room to his side. “Oh, Colm. What have they done to you?”

She reached up and placed her fingers over the bloom of dried blood on his shirt, her face wearing the same pinched expression he remembered seeing on his mother’s face all those years ago.

“No
they,
little sister. It was
him
what did this.” He had no need to protect Torquil now. Not that he really thought she would doubt the truth of it.

“I know.” She nodded her head, her eyes scanning over his body. “Yer wrists are raw around the irons. Shall I find a damp cloth for you?”

“No.” She wouldn’t be able to use it on him anyway. The top of her head barely reached his shoulder. Though she had grown in the time since he’d seen her last. “You’ve filled out, lass. Yer no so scrawny as you were.”