Warrior Reborn (17 page)

She seemed to come to same realization, her laughter drying up abruptly.

“You okay? Did I hurt you?”

She shook her head, her eyes wide in the deepening gloom of evening.

And then, before he had time to think about it, it just sort of happened. His lips were on hers, his hands cradling either side of her face.

Her mouth was soft under his. Warm. Sweet. And when her lips parted he took full advantage, sweeping his tongue inside. The scent of mint and flowers drifted around them as if they lay in a summer field.

Her fingers tangled in his hair, holding him close, as her breath huffed in short, shallow pants.

He rolled to his back, kicking away the bench as he pulled her on top of him, praying she didn’t come to her senses and shove him away.

She straddled him and he knew immediately he’d made a serious tactical error. He’d been without the tender mercies of a woman for far too long to withstand such as this.

He wanted her. He wanted her here, now. He wanted her badly enough to take her on the hard, cold, dirt-packed floor of this filthy shed.

Thank the fates the goat had more gumption than he did. Its teeth nibbled at the side of his head,
tugging on a clump of his hair until he returned to his senses and did the hardest thing he’d ever done.

“Good God,” he murmured, pulling his lips away from Christiana’s. “Good, holy God.” He couldn’t remember ever having lost his composure so thoroughly with a woman.

“My apologies,” she murmured, pushing up to sit, tucking the little pouch she wore on a string around her throat back inside the dangerously lowered neckline of her dress.

When had that happened?

She moved again and he grabbed her waist, holding her still.

“Wiggling on top of me is not the best idea at the moment. Not for either of us, I’m guessing. Just . . . be still. Just for a second. I need to . . .” He breathed through the moment, coming out the other side with his control and his pride intact. “Okay.”

“Should I move now?”

Her voice wavered with the question and he felt like steaming horse crap, positive that ladies of her station did not find themselves in situations such as this in this day and age.

“Yeah. Yes. Move,” he agreed, remembering her injuries only as she attempted to untangle her leg from the cloth of her cloak. What an insensitive jerk he was. “Do you need help?”

“It seems as though the ends of my cloak may be caught beneath your . . . um . . . bottom.”

He rolled up to sit as she pulled on the cloth, very nearly sending herself sprawling, but he captured her within his embrace for a second time, somehow pulling her close in the process.

Heat rolled off her cheek onto his. Whether she blushed from embarrassment or excitement he couldn’t be sure, but his ego reigned in the moment and he decided to consider it a good sign.

He stood, pulling her up to her feet to stand next to him before he bent to right the bench for her to once again be seated while he finished spreading feed for the animals.

Homer first, of course. If nothing else, Chase was a quick learner.

E
VERY NERVE IN
Christiana’s body tingled with excitement. And her heart! By the Norns, it beat as though it intended to escape her very chest.

Oh, but what Chase must think of her! Her face heated even more, if that were possible. She’d acted like a common strumpet, straddling him as she had, seating herself upon his manhood.

The excitement trilled through her body again, pooling low in her stomach, and she knew without a doubt that no matter what he thought of her, given the opportunity she would do exactly the same again. This would remain in her memory as perhaps the best day in her entire life.

“Okay,” he said, in his unique way of speaking. “I think that’s all of them.”

He dusted his hands against the side of his plaid as he approached her, not stopping until he towered over her. When he reached out a hand to help her stand, she found herself wanting him to take her in his arms as he had before.

Instead he stood his ground, holding her hand as his wonderful lips curved into that smile of his that seemed to reach down into the depths of her innards and tug at them.

When he stroked the side of her cheek with his big, warm finger, she wondered if she might have died in that accident, for surely this had to be her own personal piece of Valhalla.

“In spite of my little indiscretion back there,” he said, again with the grin, “I want you to know I meant every word I said. I’m here for you. Whenever you want to leave Tordenet, just say the word. I’ll take you away, wherever you want to go.”

His reaffirmation of his vow shot fear through her heart, replacing the wispy yearnings floating there. She couldn’t let him return to Tordenet with his eyes so blinded. That would be like swinging him from Torquil’s gallows with her own two hands, since she bore the responsibility of having brought him here in the first place.

“You’ve no understanding of the power you challenge. My brother may look like any other man, but he is no mere man. He is more. Much more.”

“I’m no mere man, either, Christiana. I, too, am more.”

She did not question his manhood or his valor, but she had to make him understand. Even if it meant she would have to tell him everything.

“Perhaps
more
is the wrong word. Perhaps I should have said he is . . . he is
other
. Though my father’s blood gifted me with prophecy, the preponderance of our ancestor’s powers flowed to Torquil as firstborn son of our line. He’s
other
than man. And lately I’ve begun to fear he’s possessed of more than just the gifts of Odin.” Those red glowing eyes staring back at her in Torquil’s solar had not belonged to her brother, or to anything she had ever seen in this world.

“Odin?”

“Aye. Has the soldiers’ gossip no covered that bit of family lore? I carry the bloodline of the Tinklers on my mother’s side. Some would say of the Faeries as well, but I can neither confirm nor deny that. On my father’s side, though, there’s no question of our heritage. Our line extends back to the halls of Asgard. Whatever power we house within our bodies all descends directly from the Allfather, Odin himself. What you must accept of this, Chase, is that Torquil’s purpose is not merely to eliminate every trace of my brothers from this world—but to take back the world for the glory of the ancient gods, with him enthroned in Odin’s seat.”

Any hope she had that her confession might convince him to the side of caution disappeared in the cynical curve of his mouth.

“So Torquil plans to rule the world, is that it?” He shook his head. “Listen to me. Better men than him have tried and failed. He doesn’t frighten me, Christiana. The world’s a much bigger place than he realizes. He’ll soon discover there are those with greater powers than his with which he’ll have to reckon. As for you, all you need to remember is that your freedom is as close as I am.”

She would have to try another tactic.

“Very well, then. I will accept your pledge of assistance, if you will promise to accept the danger you face at Tordenet. Accept it and prepare yerself against it.”

It was the best she could do without confessing that she was responsible for bringing him here to do exactly what he was offering now. She and the Elf. Of course, that had been before she had known him. Before she had considered what could happen to him. Before she had started having all these
feelings
for him.

“We have a deal, then,” he agreed, stepping back from her and tugging at her hand. “Come on. We need to get you back inside before your Shen-Ora comes out blaming me for keeping you out in the cold after dark.”

It would have to do, that little concession of his. At least until she could convince Skuld to allow her back into the Norns’ world to travel the Visions. Only there could she see what path Chase needed to follow to keep him safe.

Christiana started forward, but stumbled as her ankle gave way. Wrestling with the cloak wrapped around it had obviously been a bit more than her healing muscle could take.

“Whoa, hold on.” Chase grabbed her arms, supporting her. “Here, let’s not push our luck anymore.”

One second she was smiling up at him, grateful for his strength and sensibility, and the next she was airborne, lifted up into his arms, her head tucked against his broad chest as he carried her back to the house.

If she’d known that was all it took to get back into his embrace, she would have stumbled much, much sooner.

T
wenty-two

T
HE THWANG OF
metal striking frozen ground reverberated up Chase’s arms and into his shoulders. No wonder the old woman had wanted him to dig her waste pit for her. He doubted she could lift the spade he held, let alone dig the damned hole.

He hoisted the pitiful excuse for a shovel and slammed it down once more, digging into the earth a quarter of an inch.

“Bullshit,” he muttered, tossing the spade down in favor of the miniature pickax Orabilis had brought out for him. A
dolabra,
she’d called it.
Ancient toy pick
would have suited it better. This thing looked as though it must have been old when Orabilis was born.

“You’ve no made much in the way of progress, have you, lad?”

The old witch wobbled in his direction, one hand held above her eyes against the sun.

“You do know that the ground is frozen, right?”

The old woman shrugged one shoulder. “Aye. But I dinna expect a big, strong lad such as yerself to be giving up so easily.”

If he clenched his teeth any harder, he suspected his jaw would crack.

“Did I say I was giving up? I’ll get your damn hole dug.”

One swift move and the blade of the dolabra dug into the ground. Maybe half an inch this time.

Orabilis cackled, obviously taking way too much pleasure from his performance of the task. “Rest for a moment, lad. I’ve brought you a drop of the good ale to wet yer throat.” She held out the small flask she carried, digging in the pouch at her waist after he took it from her. “And this.” She held out her hand.

“What’s this?” he asked, taking her offering, turning it over to inspect it.

A carving strung on some kind of twine, perhaps the most rustic version of a necklace he’d ever seen. The wooden animal pendant was easily half the size of his hand and the feet had been whittled down to sharp little points.

“A token. A goat formed from the wood of the rowan for luck and protection. To thank you for all you’ve done, both for me and for my Christy.”

“Well, thanks.” He hardly knew what to say. Just when he thought the worst of her, Orabilis surprised him. “I appreciate that.”

“Dinna go to blubbering now,” she cautioned. “And put the thing on. It’ll do no good lest it’s hanging round a neck.”

Chase slid the twine over his head, grinning
at the old woman’s retreating back. Her ugly little ornament, and the intent behind it, made him smile.

As did the sound of horses approaching.

Ulfr and the men from Tordenet came into view, hauling the repaired wagon with its precious cargo of flour. Fine, strong men, at that. Strong enough to finish this little chore of his easily if they all divided the work.

Now, wasn’t that a stroke of good luck? Maybe Orabilis’s charm was already working.

“T
HEY’VE COME.”

They were the words Christiana had dreaded for the last two days and, from the look on Orabilis’s face, her old nurse was no happier about the prospect than she was.

“You could refuse to return with them.” Orabilis looked out the open door, her back to Christiana. “But you must decide now, before they come too close.”

“No.” She couldn’t stay here. That option hadn’t been shown to her on any of the future paths she’d seen. “Torquil would see to all our deaths if I chose such an action.”

The old woman snorted, turning to fix Christiana with a stare. “You ken he has no way to get in here if we dinna allow it.”

“And we’ve no way out. He’d remain outside the circle until his last breath, waiting for starvation to drive us into his arms. You ken that as well as I do.”

She would never risk the lives of those dearest to her. Besides, Skuld had already shown her there were bigger things waiting for her. She had a part to play in preventing Torquil from carrying out his despicable plans.

She also had a part to play in keeping Chase alive . . . if she could only figure out exactly what she needed to do in order to keep him safe.

“It’s him what puts worry in yer eyes as you gaze toward the future, is it no, little one?”

Orabilis knew her much too well for her to hide anything.

“I suppose it might be. The Visions have shown me he’s to play a part in my escaping Torquil’s hold. What I haven’t seen is what comes after that. I won’t go down that path if it leads to his destruction.”

Orabilis nodded, scratching her chin thoughtfully. “Do you love him?”

Christiana hadn’t expected that.

“How am I supposed to answer that? I canna say for sure what love looks like.”

Orabilis chuckled, sitting heavily down on a stool. “Oh, little one, love has many faces through its life. In its infancy it builds low in yer belly like a fire, and sends you crawling into a man’s bed to find a way to quench the need it’s wrought. At times, it brings you happiness in simply sharing the silence with one another. But at its best . . .” Orabilis lifted her spoon from the pot over the fire as if to demonstrate her point. “At its best, it becomes as the porridge,
filling and nurturing and life-sustaining, with each of you more concerned with the needs of the other than with yer own needs.”

“I want that,” Christiana whispered, as much to herself as to Orabilis. “I want to see the way to find that.”

“And so you will have it, little one. You must remember, though, to trust yer heart as well as yer head.”

“Perhaps.” When she traveled once again to Skuld’s world, she would seek out that path to see for herself. “I’ve no the least clue on how to ken who my porridge is without seeking the knowledge from Skuld.”