Warrior Reborn (12 page)

Still, he’d failed his training on the most basic level. He hadn’t checked for a spinal injury or broken bones before hefting her into his lap and heading out at a trot, bouncing every bone in both their bodies. Hell, he hadn’t even checked for concussion.

You couldn’t get much sloppier than that.

Okay. Fine. He’d dropped the ball. But she was still breathing and he would make the best of the situation. He knew for a fact she was in pain, and her ankle had swelled to twice its normal size.

Not that he’d spent an inordinate amount of time studying her ankles, pre-accident. Maybe his eyes had strayed there a few times, but what he saw now was sure as hell no normal ankle.

If the accident had done that to her foot when she hit the ground, there was no telling what it could have done to her head. And since he hadn’t had the good sense to verify it one way or another, his smartest move was to go on the assumption that there was a problem and make sure she didn’t drift off to sleep before they reached the wise woman’s home.

“How are you holding up?” he asked.

“How am I . . . I’m no holding anything.” She shifted in his arms, groaning in the process.

He tightened his grip on her. “Just relax. I’ve got you.” Though somehow the Magic allowed him to speak the same language as everyone in this time, “same language” didn’t always have the same meaning. “I only wanted to know how you’re feeling.”

“Ah.” Again she shifted, eliciting another groan. “My foot pains me still.”

Little wonder, considering how those barrels had wedged against her ankle.

When he felt her relax against his chest, he was tempted to allow her to escape the pain through dozing off, but that would be as careless as his having neglected to check her injuries in the first place.

“We’re a long way from Tordenet. How is it you found this wise woman of yours way out here in the first place?”

“I had no need to find Orabilis. She brought me to Rowan Cottage herself many times. She lived in this place long before my family arrived. In the
years before my father grew ill and infirm, she and I would travel here to spend time tending her gardens.”

“So she used to live at the castle with you, and now she’s back out here all by herself. Why would she choose to do that? Seems to me like Tordenet would be a much safer place for an elderly woman.” Especially in this day and age.

“Things are not always as they seem.”

“Fair point.” He of all people knew that to be truth. “So, you’re saying that she is safer out here on her own. Is that because people like Ulfr accuse her of being a witch?”

“People like Ulfr are little more than an annoyance to Orabilis. Tordenet’s danger lies more in people like my brother. People who’d gladly see her dead.”

And why would a powerful laird like Torquil want to harm an old woman? He was about to ask when Christiana spoke again.

“We’re close now,” she said. “See the small trail there into the trees? Down that way just a piece and we’ll be there.”

He did see the trail, now that she’d pointed it out. But had she not been with him, or had she been unable to direct him, he could easily have missed the cutoff.

The trail, perhaps—but not the signs that someone lived around here. He sniffed the air, ripe with the acrid scent of burning peat. He should have picked up on those clues some time ago. Instead,
he’d been captivated by Christiana, completely ignoring his surroundings.

What was it about this woman that so put him off his game?

“Through those trees there.”

As they cleared the stand of trees, the location of the cottage became evident, though without the smoke curling from one end of the roof he might have missed it, set behind a rise in the land as it was. A ring of trees surrounded the house, spaced far enough apart that there was no mistaking a human hand in their placement. Ten minutes ago he would have sworn that landscaping for the sake of pleasing the eye didn’t exist in this day and age. The cottage and trees he approached now told him a very different story.

“She’s there!”

The words escaped Christiana’s lips on a breath, as if without her conscious thought.

An old woman stopped midway between the door of the cottage and a large earthen mound, her arms piled high with squares of peat.

“Christiana?” she called, as if she doubted her own eyes. “Christiana! Oh, by the gods!” She dropped her load to lift her skirts, enabling her to run in their direction.

Waddle, actually. Quickly, but she waddled nonetheless, swaying from side to side like a cartoon character.

Chase urged his horse to a trot to save the elderly woman the effort.

“What’s happened to her? What have you done to her?” she demanded as Chase reached her side.

“No, no, Orabilis,” Christiana pulled herself forward, grimacing as she moved. “It’s an accident with a runaway wagon what’s put me in this distress. This kind man has brought me to you for help.”

“Come along with you, then.” Orabilis wiped her hands down the sides of her apron, already waddling toward her open door. “Bring her in. Lay her by the fire. Dinna you dawdle, now. I can see from here that she’s in pain.”

Chase did as he was told, kneeling to gently deposit Christiana onto a fur the old woman spread out in front of the fire. She lay with her eyes closed, her face pale. One hand clutched at a small cloth pouch hanging from her neck while the fingers of her other hand twined with his, gripping him tightly.

It was only because she was in pain. The logical part of his brain knew that. Something deep in his chest though, some odd twinge-like thing there, didn’t want to break that contact. The odd twinge-thing wanted to believe that she held on to him because his touch made a difference—
his
touch, not just the touch of any human being. He chose to listen to the twinge-thing, remaining on his knees, holding Christiana’s hand, rubbing his thumb in circles on her palm while Orabilis searched through a shelf overflowing with small clay pots.

At last she found what she wanted and made her way over to the fire. With a grunt, she struggled to
her knees. Chase held out his free hand to assist her but she ignored the offer, her watery eyes tracking from his hand holding Christiana’s to his face and back down again.

Her unspoken message was clear enough. He untwined his fingers from Christiana’s and rose to his feet to stand by the door to wait. To watch. To make sure all was well.

Not that he really believed this old lady was a witch. Or that she would in any way harm Christiana. It was only that he needed to be sure of Christiana’s safety before he stepped back outside to deal with his horse.

“I’m so sorry about the flour. I’ve hopes some of it can still be brought to you.” Christiana shook her head as if the accident had been her own fault. “I ken you must be in need of more by now.”

“Pfft,” Orabilis answered, lifting Christiana’s head to allow her to drink from the clay pot the old woman held. “Only a small sip now, little one. Dinna you waste another thought upon the flour. I’ll make do. Surely that’s no the only thing what’s brought you all the way out here, is it?”

“My herbs are gone. Skuld willna allow me entrance without them, and I have desperate need to see the path she’s woven for me.”

“Why would you . . .” Orabilis paused, turning her pale stare in Chase’s direction. “You. Dinna you be standing there, wasting what’s left of this day’s light. Best you go collect those peat turves you made
me drop when you came riding up here on that great beast of yers. Scared the very life out of me, you did.”

“My apologies,” he began.

“I’ve no need for yer apologies, lad. Only for those turves, if I’m to keep this fire burning through the night. Now, get along with you and do as I asked, aye? And there’s food and shelter for yer animal in the shed out back. See to it.”

With a nod, Chase escaped into the fresh air. The looks on the faces of both women made it quite clear that his presence was no longer necessary or desired. That old woman had all but tossed him out on his ear. In a whole different century, he could easily picture her as a retired drill sergeant.

Christiana didn’t appear to be in any danger from Orabilis, though the desperation in her voice when she spoke of the “herbs” she’d come after bothered him a little. He didn’t remember much of the history he’d learned covering drugs in the Middle Ages, but there was probably a whole lot the history books didn’t cover. It was definitely something he planned to ask Christiana about later on. Just as he’d be asking Orabilis what was in that little jar she’d given Christiana to drink.

For now, he’d do as he’d been told and let the wise woman do what she could to alleviate Christiana’s pain.

“T
HANK YOU.
” C
HRISTIANA
lay back on the heavy fur, giving in to the throbbing pain she’d felt for the
past few hours. Without Chase holding her hand it seemed to hurt worse. “I wasna thinking properly to be bringing up such things in front of Chase.” Especially not in front of Chase.

“Chase, is it now? Yer on a given-name basis with this man?”

Heat suffused Christiana’s neck and cheeks. The pain robbed her of her concentration and had allowed her words, always so carefully guarded, to flow like spring runoff. Fortunately, Orabilis was the one person in the world with whom she had little need to guard her tongue.

One glance to the doorway to assure herself that he was well and truly not within hearing distance, and she was ready to voice her confession.

“It’s him, Shen-Ora.” The name she’d called Orabilis in her childhood slipped easily off her lips, as if it hadn’t been so very many years since she’d uttered it last. “The one I’ve been waiting for.”

“Ah, the man of yer dreams.”

“No
from
my dreams,” she corrected, trying to lift the precious bundle she wore at her neck to prove what she said. “But from my vishes . . . vitches . . . visions. He’s the one I saw in my Visions.” Her tongue grew thick and heavy, just like her lips. And her eyelids. They were almost too heavy to lift open. “He’s why I need the herbs. I must travel the proper path. I canna let him fall to Torquil. There is so much I must learn. I told you of him on my last visit. Told you he’s the only one who might have me. No! The
only one who might
save
me. That’s what I meant to say. Save me.”

“So you did, little one.” Orabilis chuckled, her words drifting somewhere in the distance. “And save you, yer fine warrior will. You’ll have yer herbs soon enough, but for now, we must concentrate on you and yer injury. Give yourself over to the potion, Christy. No need to stay here and do battle with the pain. Just drift for me.”

Orabilis’s voice seemed to come from a dream, floating past Christiana’s ears in a most soothing way. And then, just as her mind slipped into a warm, safe place, the old woman touched her ankle and a scream ripped up her throat, the pain so intense it was as if a thousand demons stabbed her with their spears.

Stabbed her and dragged her down into a black abyss of agony.

S
ixteen

O
DD THAT SHE
could have forgotten how intimidating Tordenet Castle really was.

Not intimidating, Brie quickly corrected herself, as if denying the thought might untie the knot in her stomach.
Impressive
was the word she’d wanted. That was it. An impressive castle.

And not odd at all that she would have forgotten the place. She’d been barely able to walk when her father had followed Malcolm MacDowylt from here, his wife and children trailing behind with the other camp followers. Brie hadn’t been back since. She wouldn’t be here now, if the monster living behind those gates hadn’t murdered her father.

Mathew, Hugo’s younger brother, whistled between his teeth. “This far away, and already you can see the gleam of her walls. Bollocks, but she’s one damned intimidating structure, is she no?”

Brie shot him a look, wishing his mouth were sewn shut. Little good it did her to correct her own thinking if those around her were determined to erode what little confidence she had left.

“With the sun setting on her that way, she looks like a tower of gold to me.” Hugo laughed, rubbing his hands together.

“Like you’ve ever seen gold,” Eleyne sniped from her perch on the wagon, her swollen foot propped on a bed of woolens in front of her, watching as everyone else prepared their campsite for the night.

“I’ve seen it, fair cousin, never you doubt. And I intend to have some of it for my very own after our visit to yon distant lovely towers.”

“But only if the wildling can do her part, aye?” Mathew looked from his brother to Brie and back again. “The men behind those gates willna part with silver, let alone with gold, for our music only. It’s the beauty of the dance what greases their palms.”

“The dance and the drink,” Hugo agreed.

“She’s no ready,” Eleyne grumbled. “And I can be of no use, no with my foot so swollen and my face all scratched to here and back again. Thanks to her.”

The knot in Brie’s stomach grew. “It’s no much of a challenge to wiggle one’s hips to the beat of a drum. I’m ready enough.”

She had to be. The minstrels held her responsible for scaring Eleyne the night she’d been discovered. Scaring her so badly when the idiot woman had seen Brie moving beneath the pile of woolens that she’d thrown herself from the back of the wagon to escape the ghostly fiend she imagined hiding there, injuring herself in the process.

Since Brie was responsible for their loss, to their
way of thinking, they expected her to take Eleyne’s place. It had taken her only a few moments of consideration to agree to their demand.

Not that she cared whether the minstrels made a single copper coin from their upcoming performance. Once she carried out her careful plan, the minstrels would be lucky to escape with their heads still attached to their shoulders.

Replacing the annoying Eleyne would get her through the gates of Tordenet and inside the great hall. It was the perfect opportunity to seek her revenge. The perfect opportunity to get close enough to Torquil MacDowylt to slice him open and bleed him dry.