Warrior Reborn Page 13

  Supple? He swallowed hard, hoping neither woman noticed his reaction.

  “A good idea,” Orabilis agreed. “Oh, and Chase, dearling, would you mind seeing to my goats and chickens while yer in the shed? Their feed is by the door. Christy can show you where it is if you canna find it on yer own. And by the time you finish, I’ll have yer meals waiting for you.”

  “Of course,” he answered. What else could he say with Christiana beaming up at him, her eyes shining like those of a child on Christmas morning?

  Though, seriously, the “dearling” stuff was laying it on bit thick.

  “Is it no wonderful here?” Christiana asked as the door closed behind them. “This place has such a feel to it. It’s as if I’m breathing in pure life.” As she turned away, he took her hand to steady her walk. “Sounds daft when I say it aloud, I suppose, but I do love my visits here.”

  “It doesn’t sound daft.”

  Nothing she said sounded anything but beautiful, her voice lilting like a melody written just for him.

  Inside the shed, he helped her take a seat on an old wooden bench before beginning the task of feeding the animals.

  “Thank you for yer kindness to Orabilis. Many find her to be fair intimidating at first, but she’s a dear, kind woman and very special to me.”

  That much was clear to him, though not the reason why.

  “You called her ‘Shen-Ora.’ What does that mean?”

  Though the light in the animal shed was low, he could almost swear she blushed.

  “When I’m here, I fall to old habits too easily, I fear,” she said quietly, almost as if she were confessing. “It’s a name my mother called her and I used it, too, as a wee bairn. I’m no sure it has a true meaning, though my mother said it was an endearment, something akin to saying ‘my mother’s mother.’ ”

  Chase stopped in the act of tossing the straw around the stall where he stood.

  “Your grandmother? Surely Torquil wouldn’t send his own grandmother out into the middle of nowhere to fend for herself.”

  Christiana shook her head slowly. “I dinna ken whether or no Orabilis and my mother were truly related to one another. I do ken that I could love no one of my own blood any more than I do her. It was she who cared for me after my mother’s death. She who led me out of my days as a child, and onto the path of being a woman. It was she who taught me all I ken of the ways of healing. And were she truly of my mother’s blood, it would only be more reason for Torquil to despise her, as he despised my mother above any other. You see, Torquil and I share our father’s line but we’ve different mothers. He alone was the issue of our father’s first marriage.”

  Things were starting to make more sense to Chase now.

  “So this is why Torquil prepares for war against your brother, Malcolm? Because Malcolm is your mother’s son?”

  He and Hall had learned that much already. Knowledge of who their enemy was had fallen into the “Are we fighting on the wrong side?” conversation more than once.

  “Aye. He’s long hated my brothers, Malcolm and Patrick. He sees them as a threat to his power. And make no mistake, Chase Noble, my brother is a very powerful man. Wickedly powerful.”

  He stared at the top of her head as she fixed her gaze on the floor.

  “Why does Torquil keep you around, then? If he hates all your mother’s children so much?”

  “Because he has use for me, of course. He uses my gift of prophecy, and he’s made no secret that he’d see me dead before he’d allow that gift to be used against him.”

  Her words were so simple, her voice so matter-of-fact, his heart felt the power of her plight more powerfully than if she’d railed against Torquil.

  He dropped the straw and went to her, kneeling in front of her and grasping her hand. When she didn’t look up, he placed his forefinger under her chin and lifted, bringing her gaze up to meet his.

  “That’s just wrong. Brother or not, he has no right to hold you against your will. If you want to leave, you just say the word and I’ll see to it that you go wherever you want to go.”

  “It’s no so simple as that.”

  She reached up, her soft fingers stroking down the side of his cheek, and he was lost. Nothing else mattered but the swirling skies he saw in the depths of her eyes.

  “I’ll tell you what, Christy. We’ll make it as simple as that. Your brother is just a man. And there’s not a man out there, not even your brother, who I will allow to harm you.”

  Where that vow had come from, he had no idea, but he meant it from the depths of his soul. Perhaps this was why the Fae had chosen to send him to this time. To this place. To rescue the woman he was meant to spend his life with.

  Perhaps Christiana was why he was here.

  He could carry out a mission like that with his eyes closed. A simple rescue op, a snatch-and-grab where the target was a victim, rather than the enemy.

  Chase leaned back, surprised to find he’d been steadily leaning in closer toward Christiana as they spoke, as if his mouth were on an independent mission all its own.

  “You dinna ken what you say,” she denied, her eyes widening in surprise and her mouth forming a perfect little o as she stopped speaking.

  A perfect little o that he would like to—

  The force hitting his back sent him hurtling into her, toppling her and the bench over backward.

  A red haze of anger filled his mind as he grabbed for the sword from its sheath on his back, finding neither sword nor sheath but clearly seeing in his mind’s eye the weapon as it stood in the corner of Orabilis’s home next to her fireplace.

  “Damn it,” he hissed.

  Christiana’s peals of laughter melted the haze, as surely as salt on ice, allowing him at last to focus on the bleating sound behind him.

  “Homer did no take so well to waiting for his food, aye?” Christiana managed. “You see? He’s eyeing you even now. Sizing you up to see if you’ve taken his hint, or if you’ll be needing another reminder nudge in the right direction.”

  The goat? That puny little piece of ragged mohair had barreled into his backside like a two-ton truck?

  Okay, he could see the humor here. And once he realized he was stretched out, full-body-contact on top of Christiana, he even considered giving the animal bonus feed.

  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?

  Sh
e 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.

  EVERY 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.

  Twenty-two

  THE 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 t
his 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.

  “THEY’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.”