Rising Fire (7 page)

In that moment, Brienne knew that this was what she should fear. This power, this heat. It wasn't the one she'd been born with that should terrify her. His mouth tasted hers in the gentlest of ways, not forcing or pressing her for more. Not yet. But she could feel his control, hear the shallow, panting breaths that spoke of his arousal, and she shook in response.

“Brienne,” he whispered as he moved his mouth from hers to kiss along her jaw. “Brienne.” He touched her ear with the tip of his tongue and she shuddered from it, her body not her own.

The loud whistling of a bird pierced the quiet of their secluded spot, and William stilled. A second one roused her from this stupor of passion he'd created. He lifted his head and canted it, listening, and then released her when a third one followed.

“I . . . I must go. Forgive me if I trespassed.”

Within a few seconds, he'd disappeared from the spot where they'd stood, sharing an intimacy she'd never
shared with any man before. The rustling of leaves as he walked away quieted, leaving her alone, confused, and filled with a feeling she'd never felt before.

Was this desire? Her body ached and throbbed in places she'd hardly noticed before. Her skin tingled and her lips burned. And this kiss, this touching, by a stranger made her body answer his caress in a way that James's had never done.

There was more, too. Sharing this personal, private moment with him aroused the deeper need within her to be with another, to speak about important matters. She wanted to speak of her dreams and fears with another person.

The cool water of the stream tempted her, and she walked to its edge. Pulling on the laces that held her cloak around her, she dropped it before kneeling beside the water. As she dipped her hands into the water, steam rose from the surface. Releasing her power, she watched as her hands turned red and then orange and then like gold when the metal was heated over the fire. With an unpracticed motion, she extended her arms, lifting her hands out of the water and cupping her palms together. And then she created fire in them.

Fire!

She had created fire.

Laughing, she stood and forced the fire higher and wider, spreading her hands apart and spreading the flames into the air and around her. Urging it on, Brienne strengthened it with whispered words she did not understand. Glancing around, she closed her eyes as the flames caressed her, never burning her as they became one.

She could do it!

She could bring fire into being and be one with it.

She swirled around inside the cocoon it formed, the flames moving around her as ribbons on a pole, outlining her body, moving her hair on its currents, making her feel their power and hers. Touching and caressing her almost as a lover would. And yet never did she feel in danger of being burned.

All it took to end it was the sound of a branch breaking behind her. Brienne stopped the flames with a thought and they were gone. She spun around and watched as William entered the clearing.

Had he seen her? Had he witnessed what she could do? From his level gaze, she could tell nothing. But she could feel that the fire wanted him, too. She could feel its need to surround and engulf him as it had her.

“I would speak with you, Brienne. About what happened,” he said, striding toward her. He stopped only a pace from where she stood. “Meet me here on the morrow.”

'Twas a bad thing, to be torn between wanting to meet him and knowing that there was such danger in doing so. The woman within her ached to explore the world he'd just opened to her. The passion and intimacy of the kiss they'd shared still echoed through her even while the daughter of the villager knew that it would lead to heartbreak and ruin. Yet the firemaker within also wondered how he was involved in her power, for she knew it for the certainty it was.

“I should not.”

“Nay, you most likely should not. But,” he said, glancing at the water that she'd turned to steam, “I think you will.” His face gave away nothing to tell her what he'd seen. Or if he had. Since she did not want
Gavin to know of their encounters nor of her expanding power, she would concede.

“On the morrow?” He nodded. “I will come after my father breaks his fast, but I cannot remain long.” The corner of his lip curled as though attempting a smile. She remembered the feel of his mouth on hers. That other heat filled her, and she felt a blush creep up into her cheeks.

“Until then,” he said.

Brienne nodded and he left, not as quickly as the last time. She listened as his footsteps moved farther and farther through the trees and brush until only the silence surrounded her.

With questions filling her thoughts about what he could have seen and what had been between them, she made her way back to the village and to her parents' cottage. 'Twas times like this when she wanted—nay, craved—someone with whom she could talk about these things. None of the village girls would friend her because they feared her true father's attentions. Even the mother who'd raised her seemed to fear her at times as Brienne had approached womanhood. And Gavin knew about her power and yet he did not welcome talking.

So in the dark of the night as she sought sleep that would not come, Brienne wondered if the warrior had seen her bring fire into existence.

On the morrow, he'd said.

On the morrow, he'd tempted.

On the morrow, he'd promised.

On the morrow . . . she feared.

Loanhead of Daviot, Northeast Scotland

H
ugh strode across the rolling countryside . . . again. Each time he did, each time he circled the standing stones, his men drew farther and farther away. Each failure to locate and read the signs told those he controlled that someone would pay for his failure.

The stones had been fashioned centuries ago to mark the positions of the sun and the moon, the passing of the seasons, and to aid in the worship of the old gods here on this plain. Though the forests encroached, the view of the sky to the south was unimpeded. This must be the place for which he'd searched.

His first quandary was that there were two circles of stones, one lower on the hill and this one, farther up. But examination had revealed no symbols or signs or enchantments of any kind on the lower circle. And no altar stone. Which led him back here to this one.

“Well?” he called out to the man who dared to stand closest to him.

With the power to sense spells, Paulin was a druid's son whom Hugh's father had raised to this purpose. The man's own father had left some godsforsaken island where the priests and scryers yet studied and had somehow found his way to Brittany, another Celtic region. When the truth of his origins was discovered and the man would not reveal the island's location, Hugh's father executed him in front of his family, teaching young Paulin that obedience and service were the only correct answers.

“Still nothing, my lord,” he replied, bowing.

“You said the changes in the moon would reveal the markings.”

“I hoped it would, my lord,” Paulin said. “I do not sense any trace of power here in the stones. Even the altar stone bears no sign of . . .”

“Sacrifice? Worship?” Hugh finished. Human blood left its own memory on sacred altar stones, and there were those like Paulin who could see and smell it decades and centuries later. Paulin nodded and watched him with the same wariness that everyone did.

Hugh's patience snapped like a worn thread, for they had been here for more than a sennight, watching the phases of the moon and waiting for the signs. He knew that those of the blood were waking, their powers stretching and opening. Soon they would be drawn to the stone circles. Hugh could not allow them to find the symbols and close the gateways, trapping his goddess for eons to come.

Hugh grabbed Paulin by the throat and held him off his feet. Shaking him, he watched as the man's face changed from red to purple.

“I cannot fail in this endeavor,” he warned, shaking him once more. “So you cannot fail me,” he repeated. “Where are the symbols? Where are they?”

“My lord.”

Paulin's eyes bulged, and he gurgled as his throat closed under Hugh's grip. “You do not have much time. Where are they?”

“My lord!” The man who led his human troops called to Hugh, so he turned his gaze away from the seer clawing at his fist. “He is the last one, my lord.”

Eudes's words gave him pause. As much as he wanted to kill the seer who could not see, he did need him. Hugh screamed his displeasure as he threw Paulin to the ground. Gasping and trying to suck in the air he'd been denied, Paulin struggled on the ground.

“See to him, Eudes. Two more days and we return to Yester.”

“Aye, my lord.” Hugh's half brother bowed and then helped Paulin to his feet and away.

How had the symbols—that must be here—been hidden from his sight and that of this druid? Walking to the nearest stone, Hugh placed his hands on it, feeling the heat that radiated from within. That was not magical, for some stones simply absorbed the warmth of the sun and held it, releasing it slowly over hours. They must be here. They must be—

The pain struck him quickly and took his breath. His fire raged within him, answering the call of another. Another?

Another fireblood?

Bending over and gasping at the pain that was neither exquisite nor arousing, Hugh knew it was not his
wife or daughter Adelaide. His daughter had demonstrated no ability to control fire in spite of his sire's careful plan to find and breed the trait in the children of his son and daughter-in-law. So many years of planning and finding the right bloodline to breed with his own and it had ended in failure. It had seemed that Hugh was their bloodline's last chance.

Until now. Until this.

The excruciating waves pierced him, burned him, tried to tear his power out of him. He fought, grasping within to keep the fire there at his core.

Someone was calling it forth. Someone could call it.

Someone . . .

By the goddess! Could it be his bastard after all?

He laughed now, loud and rough as the pain tore into his soul and his flesh. The girl was calling the fire!

And then it was gone. The pulling and tearing, the fire burning him, all of it. She must have ceased in her efforts. Or mayhap she did not yet know how to control it.

Gods! When she did, he could tell from the feel of this that she would be formidable. His dark mood evaporated, and he laughed into the terrified faces of those who served him.

He tried to remember on which slattern he'd bred this daughter, whether one of his villeins or some other woman taken as he wanted. Ever aware of the bloodlines of his goddess's enemies, he did not remember finding or swiving a woman of power. And yet this bastard girl of his had inherited his and clearly her dam's, if she could use it this way.

Having two firebloods in this quest meant
everything. That the other was of his flesh and blood meant his power would be irresistible when combined with hers. Hugh roared out in pleasure at this, for he would now claim her and train her and she would belong to him and his goddess. She'd be used in their quest and discarded when her powers were depleted, leaving his untouched, undiminished.

None of the other bloodlines—not the warrior nor the healer nor the stormblood nor the waterblood nor the beastblood nor the earthblood—could hope to stand against him—against them now.

“Chaela, my goddess,” he whispered into the air. “We are close. We are so very close.”

He strode over to the altar stone, a large, flat stone that reclined between two taller, upright stones, and laid his hands on it. Blood had been spilled here, but it had happened too long ago to wake the seer's abilities. He would fix that and then return to Yester to begin the process of claiming his daughter's powers.

“Eudes!” His half brother came at his call, knowing better than to hesitate. “Summon Brisbois from the camp and find a suitable gift for the gods here.” Eudes bowed and turned to leave. “And tell Paulin we leave one day after he reads the altar stone.”

In a short time, for he would brook no delays or impediments, his executioner had arrived with their sacrifice. Handing Brisbois the dagger Hugh had forged and used for his own initiation, he instructed him in how to perform the ritual.

As Brisbois set to work, making the death last as long as possible, Hugh walked around the altar stone and chanted the prayers that would gain favor for their search. By the time the man's last scream echoed through
the circle, the altar lay covered in the rich, dark blood that would replenish the force within it. Chaela had been properly worshipped. Now his seer should have no excuse.

When Hugh rode south the following day, back to his lands in Gifford, he knew that the circle was the first gate he must open. Paulin had been able to point out where the symbols were carved into the stones, but he could not make them visible to Hugh yet. Regardless, the potential of combining his power with another fireblood made him smile with joy for the first time in a very, very long while.

It would take him another sennight to reach Yester and then the first steps in the quest would begin.

*   *   *

William divided his men into smaller groups so that they could hide on the hillside. In farmland like this, a large camp of armed men would be easily seen and reported. No one could find any word of Lord Hugh's whereabouts nor his intention of returning to Yester. He held lands here and in the west, though this was his seat and the place the king had sent him. Standing on the edge of his camp, he could see the towers of Yester Castle rise in the distance beyond the forest and the curls of smoke rising above the small village that sprang up at its entrance and served the needs of those who lived in the keep.

Without gaining entrance to the castle, William knew not if the lord's wife and daughter were in residence. He knew not how many guards were on duty nor how many soldiers lived within it. Nor how much food or supplies were on hand. Nor if the water supply was contained within the castle walls or if it came from
outside. All crucial bits of knowledge needed before planning any attack on a fortified castle.

The sun struggled to rise this morn, the clouds thick and dark and threatening a late-winter storm. William nodded as the first of his men woke and rolled their blankets. He had said little to them when they'd arrived just after sunset, leading their horses on foot along a hillside path to avoid being seen. Uncertain of what Gautier had told them, he would wait and speak to them later, when all twelve of his men were present.

Roger walked to his side and held out a battered cup of ale and a hunk of cheese. He took them and nodded his thanks. It had been Roger's signal the day before that had stopped him before he could go further with the blacksmith's daughter—and regret it. There was no recrimination in his actions, simply a reminder of the task at hand and the dangers of seducing an innocent villager.

“Do you still plan to see her?” he asked, knowing of William's arranged meeting.

“Aye. I think she can tell me much about Lord Hugh,” he answered, looking off in the distance. Roger's choking cough and then laugh spoke of his clear disbelief in William's plan.

“I saw you with her, Will,” his friend explained. “I have seen the way you watch her. I have heard the way you speak of her. You want her and I would not naysay you on that. . . . ” Roger turned and faced him, not allowing him to ignore the coming words. “But you know that there is something strange and powerful going on here, in these lands, with this lord. The king has sent you to look into the matter. Do not, my friend,
allow her to distract you from the importance of or the danger of your mission.”

Will could not argue with a single word Roger spoke. He knew all that and more, and yet he also understood that he could not avoid this young woman. For now he knew she stood at the heart of this quest.

The sight of her opening her hands and causing fire to burst forth from nothing was something he would never forget. He could not explain it, but if this were true, if she held this great power and magic within her, he could not dare to ignore her part in the king's mission.

How he'd managed to keep his shock from showing on his face afterward, he knew not. He'd fought to keep it from his gaze and his manner when he'd walked back into the clearing and saw her surrounded by those flames. And she did not burn. Nay, from the sound of her laughter and the broad grin on her face, she reveled in her talent.

Yet how could he admit this to Roger, when no God-fearing man would dare to admit seeing such things? He drank down the rest of the ale and handed the cup back to his friend.

“I hear your advice,” he said, looking in the distance to where the stream meandered across the valley. To where she would be.

“But you will not heed my warning?”

Will smacked his friend on the shoulder. “I am too far into this, whatever this endeavor is, Roger, to turn back now. Control of my lands—
my lands
—lies within the king's hands, and to possess them I must do his bidding. The king said he was led to me. Well, I am led to her.”

Those lands had been promised to him since his birth by the king in consideration of his friendship with William's mother, but always there were conditions and delays. Without his father's permission, he could not stand against the other branch of his family—the legitimate ones. Only the king could give him the standing, even if not the legitimacy, to claim them . . . and hold them.

And now, remembering the changes that had overtaken him a few days before—changes that were just as unbelievable as those he'd glimpsed the girl making—he realized that everything he thought he knew and thought possible were shifting, like the sands of a beach.

“I will heed your warning, Roger, though I know not if I could walk away at this moment.”

William needed to find out what was happening here. Raised in the faith of the Holy Church, he understood good and evil. He understood that some people sought evil and did evil things. And that things that could not be explained were usually the devil's work. But he was not of the devil and he doubted that Brienne was either.

“I will have your back, Will,” Roger swore quietly. “Fear not that you are in this alone. No matter what manner of danger comes at us, we will stand together in this.”

Will felt that the coming times would task that promise, but he could not explain it to Roger. And he would not fault his friend or any of his men for choosing to leave when they discovered that all was not as it seemed to be. Indeed, from the look of things, very little in this part of Scotland was.

Nodding to Roger, he put on his sword belt and placed the dagger in his boot. He did not wear his battle armor, wanting to be able to move more easily among any villagers he would encounter. Wearing only a jack of leather over his tunic and trews, he covered it with his long cloak so he could pass for a merchant.

“I will return shortly. Herve is expected back this morn, and we will discuss what he has discovered and what I discover when I return. Keep everyone close.”

William did not wait for Roger to acknowledge his orders, for his friend would follow them. Walking down the hill, into the forest, and along the stream, he made his way to the place where he'd seen Brienne the day before. If she arrived first, would she wait or would she leave? Should he reveal that he'd seen her?