Haunting Warrior (32 page)

“No one has been betrayed,” Rory told him. “We are married and we are now family.”

The captain’s hard eyes shifted back and forth from the kid, to Saraid, to Rory.

“Let the boy go,” Rory said.

The shifting undercurrents tugged and pulled. He had to assume that at one time or another these men had followed the Bloodletter into battle. That didn’t mean they liked it, though. Clearly Rory’s twin had been feared, but not admired. And if Cathán had trusted these men to come after Saraid’s brother, then it could be assumed they were willing to betray the Bloodletter.

And no matter how afraid they were of the Bloodletter, apparently they were more afraid of Cathán. Rory could see that etched in every tense muscle, every shifting glance that went between them.

“Why are y’ out here and not at the wedding feast?” the captain asked, seeming to have just put that piece together.

“We, too, have come for my wife’s brother. Now that there is to be peace.”

Again, that narrow-eyed assessment moved from face to face.

Rory said, “You may either escort us back, or I will take your heads with me to show as an example of what happens to men who threaten this alliance.”

The captain swallowed hard and now there was alarm in those shifty eyes.

“Let the boy go,” Rory repeated.

Slowly the man holding the sword moved it away from Liam’s throat and roughly jerked him to his feet. But he didn’t release the kid and he didn’t sheath his weapon.

“What’s it going to be?” Rory asked, still watching the captain, knowing that he would be the one to call the game.

The captain’s eyes twitched back and forth. He knew something wasn’t right. Whether it was Saraid’s tattered dress or Rory’s eyes, which no longer went with a cold-blooded killer, Rory couldn’t tell. But something wasn’t adding up for the captain, and Rory could see him turning it over and over, trying to discern just what it was that bothered him. Finally he turned his mean glare on the bald man and nodded once.

Rory had an instant to decipher the silent message that had passed between them, but that was all it took for him to know what was coming. The bald man shoved the boy forward into Rory as he dodged away with his weapon drawn and the two other warriors came together in solidarity, shoulder to shoulder, armed and ready.

Rory spun, avoiding collision with Liam in the same move that brought him face-to-face with the hairy grizzly man who’d inched behind him. Rory had his dagger in hand and threw it in a fluid motion that came without thought. Everything was happening fast now, and there was no time to dwell on the dagger that had pierced the man’s heart and dropped him to the ground. Rory danced back, keeping his body between Saraid, Liam, and the remaining two men, trying to calm the chaos in his head and focus on the fight. The odds weren’t bad—nothing he hadn’t faced before.

He still had a sword, but he’d never fought with one. This wasn’t the kind of weapon they pulled out in the movies while shouting en garde. This was a long, heavy piece of metal, honed to a thin edge on both sides. He took it between both of his hands, feeling the weight and balance of it, shifting as the two men closed in. The bald one lunged and chopped with his weapon, catching him in the shoulder with a glancing strike before Rory could evade. The cut burned like a poker, but it didn’t maim—at least not instantly. Before the man could pull back, Rory swung from low down, catching the man at the thigh and slicing deep into the muscle and tissue, stopping only when he hit bone. The sickening feeling of it filled him with elation.

The bald man howled with agony and staggered back, falling as he clutched the wound. The last man, the captain, the one who’d thought he could put his filthy hands on Saraid, moved quickly, coming round with a blow intended to remove Rory’s head from his body. It might have succeeded, but for Saraid’s sharp warning.

Rory tucked and rolled, feeling the blade slice through his hair, nearly grazing his scalp. The momentum of the swing made the captain stumble. At the same time, Rory saw the bald man he’d stabbed in the thigh recover his footing and lurch at Liam. He grabbed the boy from behind and in an instant, pressed a knife to the kid’s throat.

On his feet again, Rory could do nothing to help. The captain had already regrouped and he moved with grace that belied his hulking mass. He lunged at Rory, swinging his sword in a powerful arc that came so quickly Rory only just managed to raise his own sword in defense and deflect it. The sound of metal on metal rang out like thunder, and the reverberation went through Rory’s entire body. His shoulder began to ache, screaming at him to lower the heavy sword that was his only defense.

The captain might have been born with the long, lethal weapon in his hands so agile was he and so narrow was his aim. He twisted and struck again, and this time Rory wasn’t nearly quick enough to stop it. Once again, the blade cut deep into his shoulder, shooting fiery bullets of pain down to his suddenly numb fingers.

He managed to keep hold of his sword, but he had no feeling in his left hand. Dancing away from another blow, Rory tried to clear his head, tried to think of a way to outsmart the killer that gleamed behind his opponent’s eyes. But with sweat blurring his vision, blood spilling from his shoulder, he couldn’t focus, couldn’t think. The man leapt forward, using a foot to swipe Rory’s out from under him. Rory came down like a bag of sand, heavy, hard, and spineless. His arms splayed out, the left one numb from fingertips to shoulder joint.

The bald man with the thigh wound stood unsteadily, knife still raised to the boy, but attention diverted momentarily. Overwhelmed by the magnitude of his failure, Rory had a moment to meet Saraid’s eyes before he felt the pointed tip of a blade press against his throat.

“Say yer words, if y’ have any,” the captain told him.

Everything slowed then. Rory could feel his heart thudding painfully at his ribs, could hear his pulse as it pumped blood onto the dirt beneath him. The captain’s heaving gasps, loud in the quiet. To his right, he sensed Saraid pulling in a deep breath, felt the stir of air as she dropped low. Heard the soft clunk of a rock as she scooped it from the hard ground. The captain caught the movement from the corner of his eyes, shouted “Stop her,” but the words came slow, and the wounded bald man found the blade he held suddenly forced in another direction as Liam twisted, using his hand like a claw, digging into the gash on his thigh.

The captain saw the writing on the wall and turned to finish Rory off, but Saraid and Liam had given Rory the chance he needed. He couldn’t hold a sword, but he still had his fists, he still had six feet, three inches, two hundred and twenty pounds of muscle, and he’d be damned if this bag of shit was going to kick his ass.

He lunged up and hard, getting under the captain’s sword arm, negating the blade’s power by breaching its radius. While the other man tried to adjust his angle so he could jab or cut, Rory bowled him over, catching him with an uppercut that split his knuckles and cleaned the captain’s clock. He followed it with a hook that caught the captain’s nose and smashed it like a melon. The other man howled, but Rory kept coming. He grabbed the man’s neck and slammed his face down to meet Rory’s rising knee. The broken nose again—and then he finished with a right hook that took him down for the count.

As the captain hit the dirt, Rory spun in time to see Saraid pelting Liam’s attacker with rocks, and Liam charged with a scream pitched girlishly high. The boy buried a short knife in the man’s ribs, pulled it out and stabbed him again and again until at last he fell, dead.

The silence that followed was deafening. Rory swayed where he stood, sweat burning his eyes and adrenaline still flooding his system, making him feel hypersensitive and numb all at the same time.

Liam yanked free the knife he’d used against his captor, wiping the blade on the bald man’s chest with icy disdain.

“Saraid,” Rory said, his voice rasping. “You okay?”

There were tears in her eyes, but she nodded.

“You?” he demanded of the kid.

Liam nodded and spat blood into the dirt.

“Where is Tiarnan, Liam?” Saraid asked. “Where are our brothers?”

The kid shook his head. “I don’t know. Cathán’s men came up on me an hour ago.” He moved over to the giant Saraid had taken out with her rocks. “Quite an aim you have, sister. But this one is still alive.”

Rory watched through a haze of gray as the boy lifted the knife and plunged it through the unconscious man’s heart. His body jumped in reaction and then stilled. The boy barely batted an eye. He moved to the one Rory had knocked out and repeated the performance.
Christ.
Liam had yet to grow a whisker to shave, but he killed like a soldier too long at war.

The boy turned then and stomped to Rory’s side, knife raised and dripping blood. He aimed, this time, for Rory’s heart. Disbelief held him still for a moment, and then Saraid was between him and her crazy brother.

“No, Liam,” Saraid said, grabbing his arm and pulling him back. “No.”

“And why not kill the fooking bastard? This is all his doing, sure as the rain falls.”

“Can y’ see into a man’s heart now?” she demanded.

“Only that he hasn’t one.”

“People change, Liam,” she said, shooting Rory a dark glance he didn’t understand. “He fought them, didn’t he? We’d both be dead but for him.”

The boy spat again and glared at Rory. “He’ll have his own reasons for that. We’d make good hostages. Y’ heard them. I knew this wedding was not the peace Tiarnan thought it would be. They just want their bloody Book and the rest of us dead.”

“That is what Cathán wants,” Saraid said, gently urging her brother to lower his blade. “But Ruairi is my husband now. And he has fought to protect us both.”

Her words opened a dam of emotion that clogged Rory’s throat and dulled his pain. She spoke with a ring of pride in her voice and when she looked at him, it was not with disappointment. His left hand was still numb, but he lifted the other and touched her face, wrapped his fingers around the back of her neck, and pulled her to him.

His kiss was brief, but it was hard and fierce and possessive. She grabbed the front of his tunic and held on as she matched his emotion, kissing him with equal fervor, matching the need and heat of it, burning through the numbness and setting him on fire. Stunned by her passion, he pulled back and stared into her eyes. There was so much there, gleaming from the velvet depths, that he was overwhelmed. He didn’t deserve it, but he wanted it. All of it.

“What the fook was that?” Liam wanted to know. “Yer kissing the Bloodletter. Is the whole world mad now?”

Rory grinned, as startled by the sheer joy that filled him as the kid was by his sister kissing the enemy. Her face flushed and Saraid smiled back.

“Yes, Liam,” she said, facing him but not stepping away from Rory. “The world has gone mad.”

The boy grunted, pointed the blade at Rory again, and shook his head. “I’d as soon split y’ from gullet to groin and dance on yer innards.”

The visual was there, reflected in the glittering eyes of a boy with a face like an angel. He would do it and he would enjoy it.

“Well I guess that gives us all something to look forward to,” Rory answered. “But what do you say we just focus on getting the hell away from here for now? Did these guys ride?”

Liam looked to Saraid before answering. “Aye. The beasts wouldn’t come near this place, though. The horses bolted as soon as they dismounted and took off into the woods.”

Of course
, Rory thought. It was never easy. The rush of adrenaline was spent, and now the pain in his shoulder crowded in. Riding would be rough, but walking might be damn near impossible.

“We need to get them back,” Rory said.

“Did y’ not hear me? They won’t come near this place and they’re halfway to the moon by now.”

“I heard you. Which direction did they go?”

With a roll of his eyes, Liam pointed west. Rory moved to the edge of the circle, peering into the darkness, using his senses and not his eyes. He felt them, ears pricked and listening, somewhere deep in the forest. Rory gave a loud whistle and felt them stop their forward flight. He whistled again, boosting it with the last of his energy. The horses reared and turned at his call.

Liam was scowling and Saraid looked like she couldn’t decide whether to laugh or cry. After a while, she said, “It’s no use, Ruairi. We’ll have to walk.”

“Maybe,” he said, but he didn’t believe it.

Another few moments passed and Liam cursed, telling Saraid they should just leave the “fooking Bloodletter” behind and get away from there. Then the sound came, slowly penetrating the quiet of the circle. It grew louder until suddenly five horses thundered into the clearing. As Rory turned to greet them, he heard Liam’s stunned curse, and Rory smiled again.

D
RUID’S circles were not to be tread upon lightly if at all. As Saraid watched the horses paw the ground, waiting for their riders, she was aware of the spirits following her, watching her, laughing at her efforts to hurry.

“Ruairi,” she said. “Let me look at yer shoulder before we go.”

Liam gave a gleeful snort at that, earning him a glare from his sister. He went back to scavenging weapons and other valuables off the corpses lining the circle, muttering “Watch yerself,” as Ruairi moved to Saraid’s side and sat on the rock she’d indicated.

Ruairi frowned at her brother, not sure if the words had been a threat or a warning. A little of both, she supposed. She approached Ruairi cautiously, her stomach churning at the amount of blood pouring from the gash in his shoulder. Michael was the healer among their people, though that role should have been hers and it shamed her that she lacked the skill for it. She’d tried her hardest to learn even the simplest of remedies, but she couldn’t keep the herbs straight, or remember what treatment went with which ailment. Once Michael had stopped her just moments before she gave a deadly dose of baneberry to an injured farmer. She’d thought it would ease his pain.