Rising Fire (4 page)

“I am your man, Sire, but this . . . this is not something I have experience in. Why not speak to Bishop—” Before he could continue with a list of possible people who could help him in this endeavor, the king leapt to his feet and grabbed William's shoulders, forcing him close.

“You must do this for me, William. For my kingdom. For all of Scotland and more,” he demanded.

Regardless of the unexplainable things going on, no matter the strangeness of the request, this was his king. Obedience was a foregone conclusion, even if the methods of executing such a task were questionable.

“Aye, Sire,” he said, with a bow of his head. “I am at your service.”

The mad expression in the king's eyes seeped away, leaving the one he recognized. With a nod of his head, Alexander released him. Stepping back, the king called out to his ministers.

“Speak to no one about this, William. No one. The royal Exchequer will provide what you need. Mention the name of your holdings and he will understand.”

The king's councilors and servants returned quickly at his call, and soon they were surrounded with many other courtiers and concerns. William met the king's gaze and bowed his head, acknowledging his orders.
He backed from the chamber and turned down the hallway to return to Roger . . . and sanity.

But as he strode toward the larger waiting area, the intense burning on his arm increased as some shape was drawn—burned—into him. Between that and the plans rushing through his thoughts, he was convinced that he, too, might be part of the king's madness.

*   *   *

With only hours left before darkness fell over the city of Edinburgh, William led his two closest and most able friends to a table in an alcove at a noisy inn. Doubting this whole endeavor, he had followed the king's instructions and visited the Exchequer. The bag of gold coins now lay beneath his hauberk, tied firmly to his belt where none could see. They'd eaten their fill and consumed a fair share of the inn's finest ale before he allowed himself to think on what to say to them.

Their lack of questions to this point in time spoke of their longtime friendship and their shared past of covering one another's backs in battles large and small. Their patience was wearing thin now—he could tell from their exchanged glances and nods—but he doubted that either one of them would believe the tale if he told it.

Which he could not, for so many reasons.

“You were with the king a long time, Will.” Roger's keen blue eyes watched William's face for any sign and signal that he could not speak openly. Lifting the mug to his mouth, Roger asked, “Did he relent and promise his support?”

“He has,” William began.

“What is his price?” Gautier interrupted. When William and Roger looked at him, he shrugged. “There is always a price for the king's consent.”

Nothing came free in this world, and even kings commanded a fee of some kind—whether men to fight, gold to pay, or in this case, his soul. William needed to examine whether the cost of his claims to his lands was worth the odd price the king placed on it. To reveal it to his friends, however, the ones he would rely on to carry out the task, was against the king's orders. So for now he would keep Alexander's strange behavior and request to himself and give only the most general of explanations.

“The king”—he lowered his head and his voice to keep his words from going too far—“would like me to investigate one of his councilors. A question of . . . loyalty.” That was plain enough with sufficient substance to leave the bewildering details to him alone.

“Do you take up this task?” Gautier asked after downing the rest of his ale. “Do we take up this task?”

William met their gazes and nodded. “I have no choice, but you do. I cannot give you more than I just have, and I do not expect you to agree blindly.” Blindly, without knowledge of the king's possible madness. His friends deserved more than that. More that he could not—would not—give them now.

“Will there be fighting?” Roger asked, drinking down the last swallow in his cup.

“Aye, there will be fighting,” he replied without hesitation. He knew—he could feel it in his blood—that there would be fighting and death. He nodded to Roger.

“And women?” Gautier asked. The randiest of the bunch, Gautier could be depended on to find the willing woman, or women, in any village or town where they journeyed.

“I suspect so,” he said, laughing. Growing serious, he looked at each of his friends. “This will not be an easy task. But it is the one I must carry out to get clear title to my lands . . . and our future home.”

“The others?” Gautier asked. They'd left the other ten of their group outside the city, camping in a clearing near the ferry road.

“Too many,” William said, shaking his head. He leaned back on his stool and rested against the wall. “The three of us and one more. I will send for the others if they are needed.”

“Just do not bring Herve. He is too pretty and will steal the good ones,” Gautier offered. The two were often in competition over women.

“You will just have to hone your skills, Gautier. Herve is one of my best warriors.” Gautier slammed down his hands on the rough wooden table in mock anger.

“When do we depart?” Roger asked, sliding his empty cup closer to the pitcher for him to fill.

“Two days hence. It will not be a long journey, but I have arrangements to make first.” William emptied his cup and stood to leave. “Finish it. I will meet you back at the camp.” There were people he needed to speak with in Edinburgh and then in Dunfermline before leaving on this mission for the king.

“Do you wish us to accompany you now?” Gautier asked.

“Nay. I will meet you at the camp and we will make preparations for our journey. I hope to have more news to tell once I complete my tasks.”

He was not able to tell them anything else, and they would keep asking questions. They had done so in the past and most likely would do so this time as well.

By the time he rode out of Edinburgh toward his men, William had more questions than answers and little more to go on than what the king had said.

And the mark on his arm continued to burn and form a shape that he did not recognize.

The bad feeling that he'd had all day, the one that resembled the warnings his warrior nature received before a battle, increased, until he wondered if he would survive long enough to lay claim to his lands at all.

Spring, AD 1286
Yester Castle

H
e was angry.

And when Hugh de Gifford was angry, everyone around him scattered, daring not to do something that would focus his anger on them. Unfortunately for the man who lay crumpled on the floor before him, the daft man had indeed drawn his attention.

The moans emanating from deep within the mass of burned flesh, twisted limbs, and soiled, torn garments warned the few who stood witness that Hugh would not accept failure. He kicked him once more, but it did not ease his fury.

“A simple task, John. Never allow the king to be alone with anyone. And what did you do when he chased his other sycophants out of the chamber to speak alone with someone?” he asked, kicking the now-silent pile at his feet several more times before meeting every gaze in the chamber. “You left.”

He held out his hand and smiled as the others began
to tremble. His power, he knew, was awesome to watch, which was why he exercised it before his subjects. This lesson would be useful and would ensure that the others did not fail in their tasks as this worthless piece of dung had.

The fire spread in his blood, and he felt it grow and gather within him. Hugh smiled and aimed his hand at the downed man, and he watched as the flames arced out from his fingers and incinerated every bit of flesh and cloth before him until only a pile of ashes remained. Then he gave those ashes a final kick of his boot, spreading them across the floor.

“You have your assignments,” he said quietly since there was not a sound in the room. “Do not fail me.”

Hugh smiled again as they nearly knocked one another over, trying to escape his presence as quickly as possible. The extent of his power invigorated him. Once they were done, Hugh walked to the corner and pressed on a series of stones there until the secret door swung open, allowing him access to his private chamber. After he removed his garments and boots, he walked down the steps through the windowless tower and soon reached the oldest part of his keep. The power that had placed each stone surged through the entire vault and he breathed it in. Somehow, his goddess had found a way to contact him, and this chamber was the result.

Chaela, goddess of chaos and fire, had directed him to build this underground chamber and had been instructing him on how to help her open a path back into the human world. Exiled hundreds of centuries ago by fools, she now sought out her descendants, and he was only too glad to help her. Hugh, his father, and his grandfather before him had prepared and waited for
such things. His ancestors were her descendants, and through the centuries they had kept the knowledge about the old ones and their betrayal alive.

They'd also practiced the power that they inherited from the goddess until they'd honed it and controlled it. Perfected it.

Now only Hugh and his knowledge and powers could open the doorway to the other realm and allow Chaela back in. Since the bloodlines of those who worshipped the other old gods had dissipated so much, now was the perfect time to attempt it. There was barely enough of it left in any of the other six families. Hugh's father had known the time was coming, so he'd sought out others descended from Chaela to ensure that his son would be powerful enough to guide the goddess back into the world and serve her.

Hugh nodded as his blood heated and he heard the goddess calling to him. Closing his eyes, he inhaled several slow, deep breaths and let them out, trying to calm the excitement coursing through him. He was close, so very close now, and nothing could stop him in his quest.

Chaos would reenter the world, throwing kingdoms and their rulers into confusion and disarray. Chaela would rule as she should have eons ago. Hugh would be her right hand, as one of her blood and her rightful consort. Together they would control everything in the human world. No one, nothing, would be able to stop them.

He opened his eyes, and the flames appeared before him. He spread them across the width of the chamber, like a wall. Heat built, and his skin grew hot, but he forced the fire out of his body and into the flames.
Everything in the chamber disappeared as another place opened before him.

And out of that dark emptiness, she floated. Sometimes she appeared in the shape of the ancient flying beast; other times she took human form. Though he was tempted to fall to his knees before her, he remained standing, his power holding the portal open. She came close, but she could not enter here or leave the realm where she was still imprisoned.

“My faithful servant,” she whispered. “Hugh.”

“Always yours,” he answered, feeling her nearness and the surge of heat and power in his blood whenever he was in her presence. He walked closer to the wall of flames and held out his hand, penetrating the barrier as he could. Knowing what would happen, he prepared himself for it.

So much power! So much strength! So much pain!

He clenched his jaws together to keep from screaming at Chaela's contact. The touch of her fire seared him to the soul, and the intensity began to burn his skin away, but he forced himself to remain still under the pain and anguish of it.

The rewards would be so great and worth every second of agony he suffered at her touch. The pleasure that came from such agony coursed through his body.

Images filled his mind, and words raced through his ears, circling in his thoughts and overwhelming him. His cock stood and hardened and throbbed as though his body readied itself to join with a woman.

She did this to him. The pain and fire did this. His heart beat so fast and strongly that he thought it might burst. His lungs burned with every breath. His muscles pulsed and strengthened with each second. Then he
fell to his knees, crying out loudly, but he never removed his hand from inside Chaela's wall of fire. Completely in her power, controlled by the pain and the promise of ecstasy and release, he waited as she told him all she wanted him to know.

Seconds or minutes or hours passed. Hugh was not certain how long he remained kneeling before her, burned and burning within and without and overwhelmed by all she shared with him through their link. Then, in an instant, she released his hand, and he fell to the floor, spent in every way and yet invigorated by this exchange. The flames surged around him, singeing his skin until he climbed to his feet and called them under control. Peering through them, he realized that the portal was closed and the goddess gone.

“Chaela, my goddess,” he said, bowing deeply in homage.

“My faithful one.” Her whisper filled the chamber once more, sending waves of shivers through his heated and burned flesh. “It is time to claim all that is mine.”

He could not contain his joy. For years he'd waited and watched and learned and prepared for this moment, the time when he could unleash his powers and gather his minions to seek out those of the other bloodlines and use them to open the doorways to the goddess's prison world. Use them and then destroy them for their ancestors' betrayal those eons ago.

Hugh spread out his arms, leaned back his head, and roared out his joy. Finally, he'd be able to serve the goddess and gain all he deserved. His battle cry echoed through the chamber and then out into the night.

His moment of celebration over, Hugh strode back up the tower stairs into his own chambers and readied
orders to his followers of this wondrous news. It was time to free Chaela and fulfill their ultimate mission.

Closing the doorway, he sent out riders to begin the search for the others. Now that Chaela issued the call, the other bloodlines would rise to it as well, just as her followers would. Time would be crucial to find the gatekeepers who would open the doorways closed by the blood of Chaela's son. He needed to find the priests who would even now be making their way to the first of the circles.

Only a passing glimpse of himself in the looking glass as he gathered his garments to dress slowed him.

Touching his chest, Hugh watched in the reflection as his hand moved over skin that was now more youthful and unmarked by the ravages of time and age. His face had changed, appearing twenty or so years younger, the wrinkles gone and his cheeks no longer sallow or drawn. He laughed and noticed his voice was different as well, stronger and deeper, as it had been when he was in the flower of manhood.

But the most shocking change was his hair. No longer did gray and white mix with the black of his youth. Nay, instead it was black once more, as it had not been for more than a score of years.

He smiled, realizing that the touch of his goddess had done this. Imagining all that could be done when she crossed to the human world, he laughed again. Only then did he notice the other change to his body.

The patch of skin that had risen on his forearm now bore the mark of his goddess. As though burned and marked with ink, two flames intertwined there. His mouth lifted into a grin when the flames moved, twisting and dancing as he caused real ones to do. They
burned as they moved but did not destroy the skin there. 'Twas a constant reminder of his link to Chaela, and he found it pleasurable to feel the burn. It made his blood and the flesh of his body simmer with arousal that did not diminish as he dressed or as he ate his evening meal.

And when he took a wench to his bed that night and plowed her with the relentless vigor and force of youth, the flames leapt and pulsed on his skin, increasing the strength of his release. The constant pain there magnified his pleasure and his desire for satisfaction.

It burned its mark on his bedmate when he touched it to her skin. As he took the woman repeatedly through that night, marking her again and again with his new, burning insignia, he found even more pleasure in her terror and anguish. He wondered at what other changes would come with the goddess's return.

This particular one he liked.