Warrior Reborn (26 page)

T
hirty-three

I
’VE A BAD
feeling about this place, Hugo. We should go now, while we still can.” Mathew MacFalny pulled his cloak tight around him in a useless attempt to ward off the shiver that wracked his body.

“You’ve made yer feelings clear. As you did yer desire to remain with the Tinklers. But as I told you then, when the MacDowylt learns what news we bring to him, the Tinklers’ wagon will be precious little haven.”

Yet Hugo hadn’t hesitated to leave their cousin Eleyne behind to face the wrath of the powerful MacDowylt right along with the Tinklers who’d been so kind to them.

“I dinna like that we abandoned our instruments.” Mathew debated risking his brother’s anger yet again. “Or Eleyne.”

“Once we finish with the MacDowylt, we’ll have no need for either instruments or a lamed dancer.” Hugo turned on him, wearing the look that so often crossed his face before he meted out a beating. “I’d think you’d be fawning all over yerself to show some
gratitude for my bringing you along, you witless cur. We’ll be men of wealth when we leave this place, you mark my words. Now go. Leave me to deal with Tordenet’s laird.”

With one last look over his shoulder, Mathew stepped into the early-morning shadows of the hall and made his way into the back passageway.

The night of their performance, a young maid, drunk on ale and the charms of his music, had told him this way led to the laird’s private rooms.

Something in Mathew’s gut warned him Hugo’s plan would not go well. And without his pipes to provide him a living, he hoped to find something of value to carry away from this awful place.

He sent up one prayer for Eleyne’s safety, followed by a second prayer that his instincts would prove wrong for once. But things that he sensed too frequently came to pass, so he forged ahead to locate the stairs that had been described to him and disappeared into their lightless gloom, knowing the time might have come when he’d need to fend for himself.

“L
AIRD
M
AC
D
OWYLT
! P
LEASE
!”

Torquil rolled from his bed, confused as to where he was until his bare feet hit the cold stone floor. His own bedchamber, with the voices of all those women tormenting his dreams.

“Laird MacDowylt?”

That voice was certainly no dream.

He rose to his feet, his body stiff and cold. A glance around the room confirmed that the fire had long ago burned out, leaving not so much as a single live ember behind.

How long had he slept?

“Laird MacDowylt!”

“Quiet yer damned pounding,” he yelled in response, his wits fully returned at last.

From the location of the sun and the condition of his fireplace, not to mention the stiffness of his body, he’d say he’d likely slept through the whole of yesterday and the night as well.

And though the beast felt calm, his own mood was foul enough for both of them.

“For what reason do you dare disturb my peace, woman?” he demanded, throwing open the door.

The servant shrank back, dipping her head as she scooted away. “Begging yer pardon, but there’s a man belowstairs, my lord. A man insisting he must speak with you immediately.”

“What man?” he snarled, beyond annoyed to be disturbed when he’d actually managed more than an hour or two of sleep for the first time in months.

“He gave his name as Hugo MacFalny, sir. I believe him to be one of the minstrels. He claims to have urgent information for yer ears only.”

He’d recognized the minstrel for a greedy fool at their first meeting, but, obviously, he’d underestimated how great a fool. That he’d allowed any
of them to leave with their lives, after what their dancer had tried, should have been enough to guarantee many miles’ distance between him and this man.

However, if the idiot thought to tempt fate by returning to Tordenet, it was just possible that he did indeed carry important information.

“Have him wait in my solar. I’ll join him shortly.”

The servant ran the length of the hallway and disappeared down the stairs.

After so many hours spent sleeping in his clothes, Torquil felt the need to change. He tossed his shirt off over his head and drew on a fresh one, regretting having sent the little maid away before having her lay a new fire for him.

Even after refreshing himself, he still felt oddly out of sorts.

“A perfect way to approach a guest such as awaits me,” he murmured, setting off down the hallway to the stairs. Though definitely not perfect for the guest.

“Why have you come back, MacFalny?”

The man jumped as Torquil entered the room, his nerves apparently on edge with waiting.

“My laird MacDowylt!” He started forward, his hand extended. “How good it is to see you again.”

Torquil kept his hands at his sides, staring the interloper into submission. “I ask again. Why have you returned, when you were clearly told you’d not be welcome here again?”

The oily smile Torquil found so distasteful covered the man’s visage as he opened his mouth to speak.

“Such an unfortunate incident colored our last meeting, my good laird. It brought sorrow and shame upon my family, indeed. So it was only natural that when I came upon a situation which I felt merited yer attention, I could think of nothing but how I might be of assistance to you.”

“Indeed. And what is this situation which you wish to bring to my attention?”

“Ah well, you must understand, I find myself in a bit of a pinch. By thinking of yer needs first, it would appear I’ve lost my place with the Tinklers, along with all the belongings I was forced to leave behind in my haste to return to you with this news. I felt sure, however, that you would be willing to compensate me well for the news I bring.”

The man wanted the silver he had been denied after the attempt on Torquil’s life. Deep within, the beast stirred.

Foolish, foolish man.

Torquil agreed. The fool should have been satisfied to have escaped with his life the first time.

“So you come to me with the gift of information. A gift for which you expect me to hand over a few coins to grease yer palm. Do I understand you correctly?”

“More than a few.” Hugo chuckled as he leaned against the wall, a newfound confidence in his
eyes. “The information I have for you is quite valuable.”

He would withhold the knowledge he claims we need. There is no loyalty in such an act.

No loyalty at all, from one such as this. But a greedy man could often be a useful tool.

“Why should I trust you, MacFalny? It was yer own woman who attempted to take my life. Would it not be more likely that, failing to murder me, you’re thinking to steal from me now?”

Deep within, the beast growled.

“You wound me, MacDowylt. You’ve no reason not to trust me. Why would I risk my life to come here and tell you falsehoods?”

The reason was clear enough. A reason that would jingle in the man’s pockets.

“I would hazard to guess it’s yer desire to reclaim the silver I refused in payment after your she-devil made her attempt on my life that brings you back.”

“She’s not one of mine,” the minstrel answered contemptuously. “She’s a runaway from a castle we visited far south of here. We only agreed to allow her to accompany us to replace our dancer, who she herself injured when she was discovered hiding in the wagons. I warned the Tinkler then and there she’d be nothing but trouble, but he listened instead to his woman, and foolishly gave his permission for her to travel with us.”

The Tinklers always listened to their women. It
was the failing of their sponsors, the Fae, who had foolishly separated from his people eons ago. The Celts and the Fae and their ridiculous adherence to the superiority of their goddess over his own gods had long been a source of irritation.

“In that case, I’d have you tell me this news of such great import that you have brought to me.”

MacFalny shrugged, lifting his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “But my laird, once I have given all that I have of value, how am I to know that I will receive payment?”

“Trust, of course,” Torquil answered, struggling to hold back the beast that raged at the insult. “I would have you exhibit the same trust you ask from me.”

“I will require enough coin to finance my travels from here to Inverness. And a horse, as well.”

He insults us, setting terms as if we are some common trader!

“You have my word, minstrel. The word of Torquil of Katanes, laird of the MacDowylt, chosen son of Odin. My bond that you will be paid all you deserve. And more if the information warrants. Surely that is good enough to earn yer trust.”

Deep within the beast roared his agreement, clawing at Torquil’s innards, demanding his release.

MacFalny rubbed his hands together, greedily. “The woman who attempted to take yer life has escaped.”

Impossible!

“If this is true, how did you come by such knowledge? Where is she now?”

“It is true, I swear it. I saw her with my own two eyes. The Tinklers agreed to assist in her escape. They returned to the camp with her early this morning. Even as we speak, they carry her south to return her to the safety of her home.”

She was supposed to be ours!

“Well?” Hugo continued to grin as if he’d somehow gained the upper hand. “Is this news no every bit as valuable as I said it would be? Am I no deserving of a proper payment?”

“Deserving indeed.”

The Beast spoke in unison with him, the words echoing off the stone walls, vibrating within his chest and in the sensitive tissues deep inside his ears.

Hugo’s eyes widened, the man only now beginning to suspect the danger he faced.

“Too late.”

Too late, indeed. The Beast would no longer be silenced. With a strength beyond Torquil’s power to contain, it traveled from the Deep Within, past his belly, up past his chest to fill his mind and burst forth.

Torquil gave himself over to the beast as he moved to block the door with a fluid lengthening of his gait. His arms, his legs, every part of him expanded to accommodate the beast within.

A joy previously unknown to him flooded his mind. Why had he ever feared this? The Beast did not seek to replace him. It did not in any way diminish him. It completed him. They were one.

“You . . . you owe me nothing,” Hugo babbled, his head turning from side to side, in search of some way out of the room. “Consider the information my gift to you. To seal our bond of friendship.”

Fear rolled off the little man in great heaving waves, tinged a bright orange with panic.

“Here now, MacDowylt. I demand you step aside.” Hugo moved hesitantly toward him, toward the only door in the room. “Our business is finished.”

“Not yet finished.”

Torquil marveled at the size of his own hand reaching out to close around the minstrel’s neck. Marveled at his own strength as he lifted the struggling man from his feet. Marveled at the pleasure of the thick, warm liquid filling his mouth, slaking a hunger such as he’d never before experienced.

When he hungered no more, he tossed the pieces of the body to the floor and filled his lungs with the essence of fear lingering in the room.

As quickly as the beast had joined with him, it now departed, slinking back into the deep recesses of his soul.

He leaned back against the door, feeling the loss as if it were a physical blow. A search within left
him weak with relief when he at last discovered the beast, tightly encased behind the Magic as it had been before the first time he’d called upon its power. Not gone, only resting, at peace for the first time since he’d discovered it in the scrolls.

So many new sensations bubbled inside him, so many raging emotions. It was as if in joining with the beast he had opened up a whole new piece of himself. A piece filled with a reservoir of Magic he had only dared to imagine in the past. He could feel it coursing through his veins. With this power, he had no doubt he could conquer the spells on the ancient scroll that waited for him in his tower.

As he reached for the door, a wave of nausea and dizziness washed over him, reminding him of his body’s need for food. How long had it been since he’d last eaten? One day? Two?

The scroll warned of such a hazard. Even as he nurtured what grew within him, so too must he care for the Mortal shell that housed it all.

He stepped from his solar and closed the door behind him, his mind whirling with half-formed thoughts and emotions, the mass of them disconnected from one another.

The hunger was draining his strength. A trip down to the kitchens would allow him to center his thoughts and rid himself of the vague worry riding his shoulders like an annoying winged creature refusing to take flight, marring his otherwise perfect morning. An annoyance, really, a small nagging
disquiet, as if he’d failed to recognize something important.

M
ATHEW SLIPPED FROM
the shadows as soon as the MacDowylt laird disappeared through the doors leading to the great hall. Odd that the laird had come out of his solar without Hugo. Surely his brother wouldn’t have left earlier without him.

Even as the thought crossed his mind, the cold finger of reason flicked it away. If the MacDowylt had given Hugo the silver he wanted, his brother would have left him behind without a thought—just as he had abandoned Eleyne to the Tinklers’ mercies.

He should have stayed with the Tinklers. Should have kept his pipes and his cousin close.

“Too late for should,” he whispered, repeating his aunt’s favorite saying.

With one more check of the hallway, he stepped forward, his hand hesitating at the door to the laird’s solar.

If he found the room empty, it would mean he had been abandoned, as he feared. He would be well and truly alone.

He had to know. With one more glance in either direction, he gave a push and slipped into the opening.

Carnage such as he’d not seen in the entirety of his sixteen years greeted him, locking up every muscle in his body. Even the scream crawling up his throat refused to come out.