Warrior Reborn (2 page)

1294

J
UST BECAUSE SHE
could never tell a lie certainly didn’t mean Christiana MacDowylt could never deceive. She’d become well practiced in the art of truthful deception. She’d been forced into it. The truth, the whole truth, could get her killed in moments like this.

She kept her eyes fixed on the retreating forms of her brothers and the women they protected as they disappeared into the forest, leaving her behind.

I dinna want to leave without you.
Her brother’s parting words echoed in her ears.

It wasn’t as if she wanted to remain behind. But staying was the only choice she had if they were all to survive. The gift she had inherited from her ancestor, Odin, the dream visions that displayed the future, had shown it to her.

As always, the future had presented itself as multiple paths, the inherent choices of the participants
reflected in each. Two had been brighter than the others. On one pathway she accompanied her brothers in their bid for her freedom. That pathway led to a bloody battle, far worse than the one that had ended here within the past hour. The one she foresaw ended in the deaths of all.

On the second pathway, she remained behind.

There was no real choice. Her freedom was a small price to pay for the lives of those she loved.

Besides, a radiant light beckoned her down this pathway. A radiant light she’d been allowed to glimpse before. A radiant light that promised the freedom she sought, and more. A hazy, half-obscured face.
His
face.

If only she knew who he was or when he would come. But the Norns hadn’t shared that knowledge with her.

Still, her brothers were on their way, headed toward the shelter of Castle MacGahan. Patrick, Malcolm and his new wife, and the Elf upon whom so much now depended.

When no trace of her brothers’ party lingered, neither a hint of them through the trees nor a glimmer of sound from their escape, Christiana released the breath she had been holding for the last several seconds. Their safety was assured.

For now, at least.

With only moments to ready herself before the warriors arrived, she scanned the grove of trees, erecting a series of mental barriers to shield herself
from the remains of the massacre where she stood. A deep breath to prepare herself sent the coppery tang of blood stinging up her nostrils.

Her half brother, her captor, Torquil of Katanes, mighty laird of the MacDowylt and descendant of Odin, lay at her feet, lifeless.

Lifeless, but not dead.

A being as powerful as he could hardly be felled by so minor an item as the fork that protruded from his neck. Had the unlikely weapon been made from anything other than the wood of the rowan, he would never have been felled by it.

Even though he was trapped in the middle world between life and death, the evil emanating from his soul permeated the clearing, lashing out with frenzied tendrils to find release. She felt it slither around her ankles as it bathed in the carnage littering the clearing, snaking through the hacked and decapitated bodies of the men who had accompanied Torquil. Swarming along with the flies around the body of her youngest brother, Dermid. Sweet, cherubic, maddened Dermid, who had betrayed them all.

No! She could not allow what had happened in this grove to distract her from what was to come. When Torquil’s warriors reached them and revived her tormentor, she would need to be at her most vigilant.

Indeed, it was these moments for which she had been forced to perfect the art of truthful deception.

Returning to the spot where she had lain when
the battle had begun, she dropped to her knees. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she wept for those who suffered, for those who’d lost their lives so needlessly. For the younger brother she had lost, though in truth, he had been lost to her long before the battle here. And she wept for the horror of the life she would return to.

Lying back, she rested her head against a tree and closed her eyes. Her only possible defense in Torquil’s view would be her having been lost in the grip of the Visions during the battle. Her escape from Tordenet Castle would certainly compound his anger, but she would walk that fine line when the time came to explain.

For now, she must retreat to the only place of shelter afforded her. Pushing all that had happened from her mind, she silently called upon Skuld to show her what was to come.

As the darkness of another Vision descended, she heard the pounding of hooves nearby, the shouts of men. But they were too late to catch her. Already her mind had escaped to the crossroads that represented the future. Already her soul floated in the eyes of the warrior who would be her savior.

T
HE HEAVY, MURKY
dark strangled him, suffocating him as it coalesced around his naked body. Its thick, sticky tendrils tightened their thorny hold, piercing his tender skin, wrapping around him as if he were some otherworld mummy.

Torquil MacDowylt fought against their overpowering strength, marshaling his will to tear them from his body. His struggles only seemed to intensify their movement. For each piece of the squirming, stinking menace he ripped away, two more replaced it, thicker, tighter, more deadly than before.

Though his strength faded, he would not give up. He could not give up. He fought for his life.

Desperation crowded his mind as the tendrils closed over his face. He screamed, instantly regretting the explosion of air rushing from his chest even as the long, dark fingerlings tightened around him, immobilizing him, preventing his next inhale.

A sudden explosion of sound battered his ears and the tendrils burst apart, tiny pieces of them merging and re-forming above him as his body was flung away from them as if by some invisible giant hand.

His body flew through the dark at impossible speeds, beyond his ability to control. Beyond his ability to understand.

A second explosion slammed his body to a stop, this one a burst of light brighter than any fire he’d ever seen.

“My lord Torquil?”

A voice filled with hesitancy. A voice he recognized. The captain of his personal guard, Ulfr.

“I . . .” His voice cracked as he tried to answer, his throat on fire with pain.

“Our lord, Torquil of Katanes, lives!” Ulfr’s triumphant
shout reverberated in Torquil’s ears. “Lie still, my lord. Fetch his things to me, William!”

Torquil struggled to get his bearings. The last thing he remembered was Malcolm’s face. So close to his own . . . and yet, not his.

He remembered now. He’d managed to call the wolf to form. He’d been the beast! His half brother’s puny neck had been so close to his muzzle, he could see it snapping within his jaws. Malcolm’s strength had begun to weaken. He could all but taste the pleasure of his detested brother’s death.

But then . . .

His eyes flickered open and he pushed up to one elbow, his other hand covering a spot on his neck.

His brother’s wife had attacked him. Though he couldn’t imagine how she’d managed it, the bitch had done something that had ripped the Magic from his body and plummeted him to the mercies of the between worlds.

“Where is she?” he managed at last, his voice raspy. Where were they all?

“She sleeps, Master. We’ve been unable to awaken her.”

“Sleeps?” With Ulfr’s arm to assist him, Torquil made his way to his feet.

The last dregs of whatever had possessed him scattered from his mind as he straightened, shivering.

By Odin, he was cold! Little wonder since he was completely naked. Where was Dermid? His brother
had carried his clothing after he’d made his physical transformation into the wolf.

“I need . . .” He struggled to form the words. Pain radiated from his neck up through his face, and his jaw shivered from the cold gripping him.

“Allow me, my lord.”

With a nod of permission, Torquil raised his arms, allowing Ulfr to drop a tunic down over his head, followed by his plaid and a heavy fur draped over his shoulders.

He could feel his strength returning and with it, his determination.

“Take me to her,” he ordered.

The Lady Danielle, wife of his brother Malcolm, would pay for her crime against him now. He would wring the life from her with his bare hands after she disclosed to him how she’d been able to do whatever it was she’d done to him.

“This way, my lord.”

As he followed Ulfr across the clearing, he took stock of his surroundings for the first time.

The men who had accompanied him were dead. Yes, he remembered that now. Another crime to lay at Malcolm’s feet. To his left lay the crumpled body of his youngest brother, Dermid.

A pity, that. The weak-minded lad had been easily controlled to perform Torquil’s bidding. But no matter, there were others who would substitute as well.

As he approached the woman’s body propped
against the large tree, his irritation spiked. His sister Christiana laid there, not the woman he sought.

He realized as he scanned the clearing that none of the others were here. The bodies were those of his men only.

“Malcolm? The women?” he demanded of Ulfr. “Where have they gone?”

The captain shook his head. “There were none here when we arrived but those you see now, my lord. Only you and Lady Christiana, and we have not been able to awaken her from her sleep.”

Torquil strode to the spot where his half sister lay.

Little wonder they hadn’t been able to awaken her; it wasn’t sleep that claimed her. Though her body was present, her spirit was gone, flying on the wings of one of her Visions. The red blotches staining her cheeks, the darting of her eyes beneath the delicate sweep of her lashes, the almost imperceptible movement of her full, soft lips were sure signs that Christiana inhabited a vision of the future.

She wouldn’t awaken until Skuld released her back into this world.

Her ability to see the future was the one gift she’d inherited from their ancient ancestor, Odin. The one gift he wanted for himself above all others. It was the reason he allowed her to live, and the reason he would never allow her to leave Tordenet Castle.

“Bring her,” he ordered, fisting his hand as he turned away, fighting the impure thoughts that plagued him each time he looked upon Christiana.
It was her gift—and
only
her gift!—that he wanted from her. Anything else was unacceptable. “We return to Tordenet.”

There was no use in following his brother Malcolm now. He would wait, preparing himself, building his strength. In time, with proper planning, he would have his revenge. Malcolm and all the MacGahan would fall to him, as would everyone else. With his powers and Christiana’s Vision to guide him, he would one day return the world to the way it should be. The way it had been when the Ancient Ones walked the land.

And he, Torquil of Katanes, heir of Odin, would take his rightful place as ruler of all.

T
wo

W
hy?”

Torquil’s voice rang loudly off the high stone ceiling of his solar. Christiana had known this question was coming from the moment she’d made the decision to remain behind in the clearing. She only wished her thoughts weren’t so muddled, so she could better reply.

Her body felt as weak as a newborn lamb and her mind was dull, as if it were wrapped in layers of freshly shorn wool.

Her eyes flickered up to meet her brother’s angry glare before returning to the floor at her feet. She needed time to gather her wits. Time to find the words that might satisfy Torquil. The words that might save her life.

The stones beneath her feet seemed to shift and roll as she stared at them, and she lifted her arms out to her sides to maintain her balance.

“Might I ask my laird’s indulgence to allow me to be seated?”

It was difficult enough to deceive Torquil on her
most clever days, without the distraction of wondering whether her legs would stop supporting her at any moment.

“I’ve no inclination to provide for yer comfort. No with treachery such as yers hanging heavy over yer head. Now answer my question. Why did you betray me?”

As a child, Christiana had often spied on her father’s warriors as they’d trained, admiring their skill and dedication, envying their freedom to come and go as they pleased. The words so often intoned by the old listmaster returned to her now.

You canna depend on defense alone, lads. That’s a ploy what leads to a sure death. Distract and attack. That’s the path to victory. Distract and attack.

Praying the old warrior had been correct, she gave in to the weakness dragging her down and crumpled to a heap on the hard stone floor. Behind her she heard a flurry of movement, but the steps halted as quickly as they’d begun. None here would defy her brother’s will to come to her assistance.

“How long was I . . .” She paused, lifting her gaze to again meet Torquil’s glare as she allowed the words to linger in the air around them. “How long was I lost to the—”

“Clear the chamber!” Torquil bellowed, lurching up from behind his table as his startled men rushed from their laird’s solar.

She’d suspected that her brother didn’t want to share the knowledge of her Visions with everyone.

“Have a care to yer tongue, Sister,” he warned in a low growl as he loomed over her.

Christiana nodded, waiting until the door closed behind the last man before speaking again. “I canna seem to put my mind in a straight line, Brother. I dinna even ken how I came to be here. My last memory is of a quiet forest clearing where I lay down to seek guidance from the Visions. Then, in the next moment, yer men were pulling me from my room and bringing me here.”

“Hardly a moment,” Torquil snorted. “We’ve waited three days for you to awaken.”

“Three days!” Little wonder she felt so weak and disoriented. “The Visions have never kept me so long.”

“That little fact has no escaped me. Along with an explanation of yer behavior, I’ll be wanting a full accounting of what you saw as you traversed Skuld’s world.”

She’d like to know that accounting herself. Her memories of the Vision were clouded and merged, as if she’d been presented with too many options mixed together, and she’d experienced them layered one on top of another, all occurring simultaneously.