Immortal Champion (40 page)
“I
am
yours.” The words echoed back to him, as faint and watery as a poppy dream. He ducked under the surface to wash them out of his ears, then pushed toward the edge of the pool.
am
yours.” The words echoed back to him, as faint and watery as a poppy dream. He ducked under the surface to wash them out of his ears, then pushed toward the edge of the pool.
Dream met reality in the moonlight of Eleanor’s eyes and the stubborn set of her jaw. She stood at water’s edge, waiting for him, and as soon as he saw her, he knew it didn’t matter. Any of it. Not Richard, not the years of waiting, not even his amulet and the prospect of freedom. It all faded away in the way she looked at him.
With forgiveness. With passion. With certainty.
With love.
How could he have been such a fool? “Eleanor.”
She stripped out of her gown and hose more quickly than he would have thought possible. She soon wore only her linen kirtle, and then that, too, flew aside, leaving her clad only in a robe of pale light, like Máni’s bride.
She waded into the pool and headed straight for him. As the water closed over her hips and back, she gasped at the chill, but kept coming.
“I am yours,” she whispered as she moved into his arms and kissed him. She was fire in water, heat in the dark winter of his soul, and he burned with a need that went beyond reason or thought. He pulled her close, locking her to him, and the warmth of her body hardened him despite the cool water. When she felt him rise against her, she curled one leg around his waist, lifted herself up, and pulled him in. As she began to move on him, she leaned back in his arms to meet his eyes. “Surely you must know that I am yours.”
Gunnar’s gaze fell to the line where the water lapped at her body in a delicate series of arcs that spoke of womanliness in a way that he’d never seen. Fascinated, he put one finger to where the waterline curled against the side of her breast, then followed it around the full mound, into the valley between, and over the other breast. She shuddered and pressed to him, and he reached down and touched her where they joined.
She shattered instantly, arcing back again his arm, and her pleasure took him over the edge with her, not in the violent release he usually knew, but something different. More tranquil. More satisfying. They clung to each other, both trembling, the water around them fracturing into a million shards of moonlight then coming back together.
Like his heart.
“I had a wife back in Vass, all those years ago,” he began as their bodies finished with each other. It was the wrong thing to speak of at such a time, but something dragged it out of him anyway. “She betrayed me with a man who was first my friend and then my enemy, and when I went to take her back, he and I fought. In the midst of battle, a fire started. I could do nothing to help Kolla but listen to her die. I thought of her when the fire began at Richmond. I thought of her when you chose Richard over me. And every time you say you love me . . .” Shame strangled his voice.
“She told you she loved you and then betrayed you, so when I say the words, you think of her, too, and you think I lie like she did,” Eleanor finished for him, understanding in that quick way of hers. “When the magic fails, you are certain of it.
“I am not she. Be certain of
me
, Gunnar, not this bauble, no matter what power it is supposed to have.” She flattened her hand over the little bull that lay against his breast and rose up to kiss him, whispering against his mouth, “Magic or not, be certain that I love you. That I always have and always will.”
me
, Gunnar, not this bauble, no matter what power it is supposed to have.” She flattened her hand over the little bull that lay against his breast and rose up to kiss him, whispering against his mouth, “Magic or not, be certain that I love you. That I always have and always will.”
There was a crackle, like distant lightning, and the water began to glow and surge around them. Pain slammed through Gunnar’s body, and the bull rose up within him.
He shoved Eleanor away in an effort to protect her, but the bull receded, then rose again, receded then rose. Each time the pain wracked him, as though the bull’s spirit couldn’t get out. Each time he felt his body being ripped, as though the creature tore at him from within with dull horns.
“Odin, please!” The bull rose again, tearing at him in its need to escape. Gunnar’s knees buckled with the agony of it and he sank into the pool, screaming. Water filled his mouth and nose. He began to drown.
“Gunnar! Oh, God, help!” screamed Eleanor. She grabbed for him, caught his hair, and dragged him up. He gasped for air then slipped under again as she shifted for a better hold under his arms. She hauled him back up again. “Help! Someone help us!”
She struggled toward the water’s edge, but the closer she got, the less the water supported Gunnar’s bulk. Thrashing, he slipped away from her once more, and by the time she could pull him back, he’d gone limp, and his eyes had rolled back in his skull. She gripped his water-slick skin and leaned back, hauling with all her strength, then shifted her grip and hauled again. Inch by inch she dragged him, until she had him in the shallows and his nose and mouth were clear. All the while the pool, glowing with that eerie light, boiled around them.
“Breathe. Oh, please, breathe.” She shook Gunnar until he groaned and gasped for air. A quick thanks to Heaven crossed her lips, and then another shout. “Help! Help us!”
“What magic is this you wield?” The voice hissed out of the darkness, dripping with venom.
Eleanor twisted around to see a dark-robed figure stride out of the trees, face hidden deep within a hood. Fear, deeper than any she’d ever known, rippled through her, and though she’d only heard the name that once, so long ago, she didn’t need to be told who this was. “Cwen.”
“I say again, what magic is it you use?”
Eleanor scrambled up to put her naked body between the witch and Gunnar. “No magic. Only love.”
“That is not enough.”
“It is. He has his amulet and he has my love. That is all he needs. Begone, witch. Your power over him is done.”
“No, my lady, not nearly done.” Cwen pulled a slender chain out of her robes and dangled a silver charm from which blinked a single red stone eye. Eleanor’s heart sank as the witch chuckled in delight. “Good. You know it. The Old Ones led me to it not long after the fire that brought you and he together. I had it remade. The one your bull wears is a twin, a false copy placed where the raven would find it.”
A moonshadow passed over Cwen, drawing her gaze skyward.
“Yes, you, Raven, and my thanks to you and your visions. You make things so simple.” The bird circled awkwardly, squawking, and Cwen threw her head back to laugh. Her hood fell way, revealing her face.
“Miriam?” Eleanor gaped at the woman who had dressed her mother’s hair for so many years, who had dressed her own more times than she could count.
“Yes, Miriam,” said Cwen, slipping the amulet back into her robes. “Most trusted Miriam, weaving spells with your own hair to summon the bull back to you. Whispering in your father’s ear to warn him of the bull-knight who was spreading your legs in the woods, after the magpie and I watched you rutting with him. Telling him he must force you to marry before anyone could discover your sin, even if he must beat you into it. I hope your husband got as good use of you as your bull does.”
“But you’re dead,” said Eleanor, still too stunned to care about the hatefulness spewed at her. “I saw you die.”
“You saw me fall and watched them drag me off. You never saw me die. Nor did they.” Cwen paced a few steps back and forth. “It is almost a shame the wolf and raven spotted those outlaws so quickly. It would have been most entertaining to watch your bull had Lord Tunstall’s men raped you. He would never have forgiven himself.”
“Just as you have never forgiven yourself for your son’s death.”
It was only a guess, but Cwen’s lip curled into a snarl. “Do not speak of what you do not know.”
“I know enough to tell you that their pain does not lessen yours. It never will.”
“And yet I do enjoy it so.” The grin that twisted Cwen’s face was like some perversion of saintly ecstasy. “To take away their hope and their future the way they took away mine gives me such delicious pleasure. It is nectar to my soul, watching them ache from my vengeance. And this one has been especially juicy, eating his own heart out with little help from me and much from you. Best of all was when he realized how willingly you spread your legs for that husband of yours.”
“Any willingness came from my love for Gunnar.” The water stirred with her words, lapping at Eleanor’s heels where she stood at its edge. She understood very little of magic, good or evil, but she realized she must indeed hold some power in her love. If so, it was her only weapon, and she must wield it like a sword. She straightened, feeling suddenly potent in spite of her nakedness. “It drives you mad, doesn’t it, that a woman could love any of them the way I love Gunnar.”
“Love him?” Cwen sneered down at Gunnar, who lay at Eleanor’s feet still laboring to breathe. “He is a bull. You lie with a beast. Your Church would burn you if they knew it.”
“And you alongside me, witch. In my arms, Gunnar is only a man. The man I love.” The water pulsed with light, a little stronger each time she spoke the word. Gunnar moaned and stirred behind her.
But Cwen heard him, and her eyes went to the water. She clutched at the amulet beneath her gown as though to assure herself that it was still there. “This is not possible. The true charm is mine.”
“The true charm is love,” said Eleanor. The glow got brighter, and Gunnar groaned. “I love him with all of my heart.”
“There must be more to it. How do you work this magic of yours? Tell me.”
“I could tell you the whole night through, old woman, and you would not hear it through your bitterness. There is nothing more than love.”
“Liar!” Cwen drew back her hand.
“No!” Gunnar surged up and dragged Eleanor down just as a bolt of lightning sizzled past. She screamed as she fell, and he caught her and rolled clear of the water just as the lighting struck the pool and danced over its surface.
Cwen pulled her hand back to strike again. Gunnar curled over Eleanor, shielding her with his body.
A fearsome roar echoed off the rocks and Brand came charging out of the dark, sword high, Torvald on his heels.
“You!” There was a boom and a flash as bright as the sun.
“I am blinded,” shouted Torvald. “Where is she?”
Mad laughter echoed through the dene, coming from nowhere and everywhere at once. As Brand roared his fury to the skies, the wolf appeared out of nowhere and shot past them, snarling, into the forest.
“Guard them.” Brand crashed off after the wolf, hacking at the bushes as he went. “Show yourself, witch.” The sounds of their hunting faded into the forest.
Torvald backed toward Gunnar and Eleanor, turning and twisting to watch the whole area. “Can you move?”
“Yes,” said Eleanor, sitting up. “But Gunnar . . .”
The effort to save her seemed to have used the last of his strength, leaving his body more pain-wracked than before, every muscle a knot.
“I love you,” said Eleanor, trying the only thing she knew. The water boiled and heaved, seeming to reach toward Gunnar. He jerked away, clenching his teeth against the scream that rose from his gut.
“Forgive me. Oh, God, what can I do?” She looked to Torvald. “Please, there must be something I can do.”
“If there is, I do not know it.” Torvald sidled over to the pile of clothes she’d abandoned. Catching her kirtle on his toe, he kicked it up to his shield hand and tossed it to her. “Dress, my lady. We may have to run.”
“I will not go without him,” she said, but she started gathering her gown. As she was about to pull it over her head, the raven came fluttering down out of the night sky, something shiny in its beak. He dropped it at the edge of the pool and landed a few feet from Eleanor with an excited
kaugh
.
kaugh
.
“Oh. Oh. God’s toes, ’tis his bull.” She dropped the gown and dove for the amulet. “Ugh. It is sticky. I think it is blood.”
“The witch’s, no doubt,” said Torvald. “He surely tore it from her neck, else she would not have given it up. Do not put it to Gunnar that way, my lady. It will be tainted by the blood magic she works.”
“Of course.” She quickly rinsed it in the pool, using the edge of her sleeve to scrub it clean before she threw herself at Gunnar. Heaving him onto his back, she held the newly washed bull to his chest with both hands. “I love you, Gunnar the Red, even knowing what you are.”
He arched back like a bow, bent nearly in half, his muscles so tight she thought he would crack his spine. Spasms ripped through his body, setting him writhing and thrashing like a man having a mad fit, and she recognized that wherever Cwen was, she was trying to counter this. Eleanor fought to keep the amulet in place against his skin. “I do love you. I will not let her win.”
Pain exploded through her arms, throwing her back. Ghostly strands of dark smoke poured out of Gunnar, swirled in the moonlight, and wove together, forming a bull that swelled around him and rose into the air. The beast threw back its head, and bull and man bellowed their agony together, a long keening sound that rose and rose. And then the bull vanished, leaving behind only silence and a gleam of dark mist. And Gunnar, limp and unmoving.
Arms too numb to support her, Eleanor crawled over to him on her knees. “Gunnar. Gunnar, please wake up.”
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