Haunting Warrior (35 page)

“What will it do with all of that power?” Tiarnan asked.

“The entity within will use it to escape the curse of the Book and walk among men. If that happens, Tiarnan, Cathán Half-Beard will seem the smallest of your worries.”

R
ORY came awake at once, blinking his eyes in a dark so full he could see nothing but layers of it, piled one on top of the other.

He didn’t know where he was or how he’d gotten there.

He lay still, aware of the rocky floor beneath him, surrounding him on every side and from above. Aches and pains cried out from each joint in his body, from tissues and muscles he didn’t know he had. His shoulder hurt like a son of a bitch, and he was certain his head had been cleaved in two. What did he drink last night? Something at the wake—but no, that wasn’t right, because he’d been at the funeral this morning . . . And he’d followed the woman into the cavern beneath the castle ruins. . . .

He sat up. Agony sliced through his body at the jarring movement and spots danced behind his eyes. He steadied himself, waiting for his vision to clear, taking inventory of what ached, what throbbed, and what hurt enough to kill him.

He was stripped to the chest, wearing weird pants and nothing else. A stained bandage that was held in place by strips of different cloth circled his chest and covered his shoulder. What the hell happened to him? Gingerly he tried moving his fingers, found they responded, and felt a wave of relief.

He rubbed his eyes, uncaring that each small effort unfurled waves of torture. At last he could focus, and his gaze went unerringly to a small form beside him. It all came back to him in a tidal wave of memory.

He’d followed her . . . and found himself here, out of sync with reality. But here was where
she
lived. Here, in this displaced world where nothing was what it should be, Saraid was more than a dream. She was flesh. Hot satiny curves and sweet silky scent.

And she was his.

Here, now, she belonged to Rory. Not a possession, but his wife. It wasn’t important that the title felt awkward on his lips. It didn’t matter that he’d been wearing his twin’s skin when the vows were exchanged. It made no difference that he hardly knew her.

She was real and she was here, with him.

Saraid.
A well of emotion rose up in him, complex and mystifying. There was relief, definitely relief. But there was more than that in it. What he felt as he stared at her sleeping so trustingly at his side was fierce and possessive, tender and protective.

He’d convinced himself he’d come to this time and place because of the Book. Because of the half-baked quest his dead grandmother had sent him on. But now he acknowledged that was all an elaborate fabrication. He hadn’t come for the Book. He’d come for the girl. This girl, this woman who’d crawled beneath his skin and nestled at his heart before he’d ever even met her.

Her face was a pale orb surrounded by the shock of her dark hair—hair that felt impossibly soft to the touch. It was worth the pain to reach out, to stroke it. He lifted a strand, letting it slide across his palm before smoothing it back in place. She slept with her hand tucked under her cheek, the blue dress that had dazzled him in the sunlight now tattered and filthy. She had a small cut on her face, and it bothered him, that wound. Filled him with rage that someone had hurt her—that he hadn’t prevented it.

What had he been thinking, letting her go into that Druid’s circle alone? He should have damned caution and charged in at her side, risking anything—everything to protect her.

She made a soft noise and turned, her hand searching for him, finding him. He sucked in his breath when her fingers trailed over his bare belly, as if to reassure herself that he was still there. The gesture roused something so hungry and savage within him that it felt like an inferno, devouring him from inside out. He wanted to roll her over, lay the length of his body against the softness of her own. Kiss her awake, kiss her senseless.

A loud snore erupted from nearby, pulling his attention away from Saraid a moment before he acted on his impulse. With a deep breath, he looked beyond her to his murky surroundings. He could make out several other shadowy forms in the dark world, and if he stared long enough, he could see the steady rise and fall of deep sleep.

He didn’t know who or how many or whether he should be afraid or comforted by their company. If he and Saraid had been allowed to sleep among them, unbound, he had to assume they weren’t in danger. But he was in Crazyland now, and assuming anything here could be a deadly mistake.

The air felt close and stifling, smelling of sweat and cold ash and animal. He could see the shapes of the horses against the far wall of the cave where it appeared they were tethered. To their right he saw the low opening of the cave mouth and the night, brilliant with stars, beyond.

A rough blanket lay in a ball at his feet and quietly he shook it out and covered Saraid with it, pressing a gentle kiss to her temple as he did. She sighed and shifted, but did not wake. This was neither the time nor the place for any of his other thoughts. He needed to figure out where they were and if they were safe before he did anything else.

Using the cave wall for balance, Rory got his feet under him and stood swaying for a moment, trying to find his equilibrium. A crescendo of pain pounded through him, but he stayed erect and conscious. A major accomplishment as far as he was concerned.

He was silent, both by instinct and necessity as he crept to the front of the cave. His throat was dry, his thirst a raging need, and he hoped he’d find water outside. As he passed, a big black horse with a lightning bolt between its eyes lifted its head and watched him. Rory had a hazy memory of riding him for what felt like an eternity.

At the low gap of the cave opening he found the boy Saraid had been determined to save sleeping with a sword in his bandaged hands, his head tilted awkwardly.
Liam
, Rory remembered. He was her brother and should not be mistaken for the angelic child he appeared to be. Rory shuddered, recalling the cold precision with which the kid had finished off the wounded men who’d attacked them.

Next to Liam was a leather flask, and Rory lifted it, found it held water, and drank thirstily. His body gave a sigh of relief and demanded more and Rory had to fight the desire to gulp, thinking that bringing it back up might just finish him off. Taking the water with him, he hobbled to the other side of the low opening and sat on a boulder, taking small sips and pausing to let them settle before drinking again. The air smelled sweet and damp, filled with the perfumes of life and decay. It was blissfully cool and soothingly dark.

A full moon hung low in the sky, white in the blackness with a million stars flickering around it. Huge trees surrounded the cave with branches so thick and dense, they weaved together to form a canopy. Undergrowth turned the ground into a whispering carpet of leaves and thorns and flowers, all graduated shades of gray and black. He looked closer, making out a series of shapes interspersed with the plants.
People?
He shook his head. Couldn’t be, and yet . . .

He closed his eyes and opened his senses, feeling both surprised and natural as he did so. Since following Saraid into the cavern beneath the ruins, since putting the pendant around his neck and falling into whatever rabbit hole he found himself in, he’d been overwhelmed by the feeling of stretching—not physically, but mentally. As if long dormant muscles had suddenly grown taut and eager to be exercised. He didn’t understand it, but their demands came like second nature.

He reined himself in, first focusing on the cave and its occupants, skittering over Saraid’s sleeping brothers, amazed they were all alive. Next he found Mauri, sleeping so deeply she didn’t even dream. He lingered once more on the woman who’d come to occupy so much of his mind before reluctantly pulling away to let his thoughts shush over the horses. He felt the black one shift, aware of the invasion but not disturbed by it. On the contrary, the animal seemed to touch him back, filling him with warmth and acceptance.

The other animals lifted their heads as well, and he sensed their thoughts. Felt the air moving through their lungs, experienced their desire for the outdoors, to graze. The stone floor was hard on their hooves and legs. They were thirsty. But they weren’t scared.
A good sign.

Rory withdrew and moved on, out into the forest, letting his consciousness brush against the world beyond. The shapes he’d seen before were people—men, sleeping, dreaming, thoughtlessly crushing the flowers and leaves beneath them. He didn’t have a clue who they were or why they were here, but he didn’t sense malice among them.

He caught a scent that turned him, making him hover like a clear vapor high in the branches of a tree. There was a black bird hopping from one twig to another. She was worried about her nest, disturbed by something she considered a threat. Something low to the ground and growling. He felt his senses hone without any conscious direction from his mind. He tunneled under the foliage and tangled vines that covered the forest floor and whisked past burrowing insects and a startled lizard. He came to a small den, hidden by deadwood and a mulch of leaves. There was something inside. He moved closer, felt the small creature scurry back and growl again.

Once more his senses shifted without him and he felt a soothing rush push forth. He surrounded the animal, coaxing it out of its hiding place. It came, though wary. Surprised, Rory saw it was canine—not dog nor wolf but a crossbreed. Young, barely weaned, and badly frightened. It had obviously been in a fight and it looked as bloody and chewed up as Rory felt.

He tried to calm it, tried to ease its fear, and the animal responded, making a small whimpering noise. Slowly Rory enticed it to come closer, felt it follow his lead through the forest. It was sluggish, favoring one hind leg that was bloody and raw. The poor animal was starving, hurting, abandoned. Rory felt kin to it.

Though he brought it every step of the way in his mind, he was still amazed when the pup emerged from the trees and stood looking at him. Rory spoke softly, using his voice and not just his mind to bring the small wolf-hound closer. The animal clawed its way up the side to the cave mouth and then stopped beside him and stared up with soulful eyes.

“Shhhh, now,” Rory whispered. “You’re safe.”

He lifted the puppy onto his lap, and it laid his head on Rory’s thigh with a soft grunt and let him stroke its matted fur.

“How the fook did y’ do that?” the boy who’d been sleeping demanded, scaring the hell out of both Rory and the pup. He’d been so focused on the animal, he hadn’t heard Liam wake.

The puppy jumped up, hurt itself, and yipped with pain. Before he could stop it, the little mutt had wiggled out of his grasp and back into hiding.

Liam gripped his sword with both hands and pointed it at Rory. “How did y’ get out here?” he said.

“I walked out while you were taking your little nap,” Rory answered, giving the kid a cold look.

Liam flushed at that, but made a threatening lunge with his sword to hide it. “I was just pretending to sleep to see what y’ would do.”

“Well good job, then,” Rory said, unflinching. “You had me fooled.”

They stared at each other for another moment. Annoyed at having something sharp jabbed at him every time he turned around, Rory demanded, “You going to use that or are you still pretending?”

The boy faltered, looking confused. He didn’t answer.

“Then get it out of my face,” Rory said, slapping it away. The sword skittered loose of Liam’s grip and across the cave floor.

Before the boy could scoop it up, three men appeared from the cave’s darkness like ghosts from a mist. Rory recognized them. Saraid’s other brothers. The biggest one bent down and retrieved the sword, handing it hilt first to the kid.

An instant later, Saraid stepped from the cloaking shadows into the murky predawn light. She looked half asleep, her hair mussed, her big brown eyes drowsy. He felt his gaze drawn to her as inexorably as the puppy had been drawn to him.

Saraid looked from one brother to the next before her gaze came to rest on Rory.

“Yer alive,” she said, and there was surprise in her voice. Surprise, but not disappointment, he noticed and felt foolishly better for it. The brothers, obviously, were not so glad to see him up and around.

“When did he wake?” Tiarnan demanded of the boy.

Caught between having to confess he’d fallen asleep on watch or lie, Liam stood frozen. Rory was still pissed about the punk waving a blade at him and scaring the dog, but he figured it wouldn’t hurt to start making a few allies in this alien and hostile world.

“I hobbled out a second ago,” Rory said. “Arrived just in time to have a sword at my throat.”

Tiarnan looked from the blade Liam held to Rory and back. No one commented on the fact that the sword had been on the ground and not against Rory’s neck when they’d emerged.

“What did he do?” Saraid asked, moving to stand beside Rory.

Liam looked up blankly. “Do?”

“I heard y’ ask how he did something.”

Slack-mouthed, he shook his head. “I just meant how he got out here without waking anyone.”

It was a good volley but the kid blew it by giving Rory a doubtful glance. He had a lot to learn about deception.

“The horses need water,” Rory said, distracting them with the subject change.

“And how would y’ know that?” the one with the flaming hair demanded. Rory couldn’t remember his name.

“It’s common sense, Eamonn,” Saraid said. “ ’Tis nearly dawn.”

The logic couldn’t be denied, but still both Eamonn and Tiarnan watched him with clear distrust.

Tiarnan said, “Y’ keep yer arse planted right there and do not move unless I fooking tell y’ to.”