Warrior’s Redemption (24 page)

Eric shook his head, his brow wrinkling as he apparently considered the direction of their conversation.

While the pouting and hiding in his room might well be typical of what Patrick had come to expect of his youngest brother, the idea that he’d not spoken a single word rang false.

“Dermid has no the ability to bridle his tongue. No for five minutes and certainly no for five days.” Patrick strode to the door and past his captain. “I’d see this for myself.”

He should have checked for himself five days ago.

Up the stairs and through the hallways, his suspicions built until at last he reached his brother’s chamber.

“Open up, Dermid,” he called, pounding on the door. “Dermid!”

The door opened a thin crack, allowing a young woman wearing what appeared to be nothing more than a blanket wrapped around her body and a long, neat yellow braid, to peer out.

“What do you want?” She braced one leg behind the door, allowing no more than a few inches of open space.

“Remove yerself, lass. I’d have a word with my brother.”

She was a head shorter than Patrick and he made full use of that advantage, scanning the room over the top of her head. A large lump occupied one side of the bed. His brother?

“Master Dermid has already said he dinna want to be bothered. He said yer to go away.”

“No, sweetling, my brother has said nothing. No a word from the lad in five days.
You
said he dinna want to be bothered.
You
said we should go away.”

He leaned his weight against the door, watching her eyes widen as she struggled to hold it in place. Through the wider opening he noted a chair that had been pulled in front of the fireplace. And next to that, a basket of needlework lay at the ready, as if its owner had just been interrupted in her work.

She shifted her weight to put more force into holding the door in place.

“He told me to tell you and yer men to leave us be. He . . . he wants an apology, and until he gets it, he’s staying right here. In bed with me. You should go now.”

Two red blotches bloomed on her cheeks even as she continued to stare at him.

A failing, that, the inability to hide true emotion. A disadvantage of fair-skinned peoples.

“I can see I’ve been settled too long at Castle MacGahan, Eric.”

“And why might that be, Master Patrick?” Eric responded, following Patrick’s lead as he had so many times in the past.

“Because the ways of the world appear to have changed muchly since I was out and about. I was unaware that whores carried their needlework along with them.”

“I’m no a—,” she began to protest before clamping her mouth shut. A deep breath and she started again. “Master Dermid says yer to leave us alone. He says . . .”

Patrick had had enough of this little game.

He shoved against the door with his full weight, grabbing the girl’s arms to keep her from falling to the floor as the door jerked from her hands and pushed her back. The blanket she’d held in front of her fell, exposing her sham.

She wore both her shift and her overdress. They’d merely been lowered to expose her arms so that it might appear as if she wore nothing.

Patrick handed her off to Eric and strode to the bed, where he grabbed a handful of the covers and swept them to the floor.

A roll of furs occupied the spot that should have held his brother.

“By Freya,” he hissed through gritted teeth. His
brother had played him the fool. “How long has he been gone?”

The girl had stuffed her arms back into her clothing. “He paid me three silvers to keep everyone away.”

Patrick’s patience wore thin.

“How long . . .” A pause to keep from raising his voice. “. . . has he been gone?”

She dug her fingers into her pouch, pulling out the coins to display on the flat of her palm. “Three silvers, you see? I was only doing what I was paid to do. He said—”

“How long?” Patrick yelled at her, all semblance of patience completely disappeared.

The girl scrambled backward toward the fire, covering her face and head with her arms as if she feared a beating. Only Eric’s intervention saved her from stumbling into the flames.

“How long?” Patrick asked again, holding tight rein on himself this time.

“Five days.” Her voice quivered and tears ran down her cheeks. “He left the night before those he had wanted to accompany.”

The night before.

He should have known.

“Ready the fastest horse we have.”

He gave the order without waiting to see if Eric obeyed. He had no need to see, only a need to gather his things as quickly as possible. Time was of the essence now. He might already be too late.

He should have known.

He should have seen it, should have recognized it for what it was. He’d sensed something from the first but he’d charged it off to the groomsman, Rauf.

Fool.

He should have known.

And because he hadn’t, he could well have the lives of six innocents hanging over his soul for all eternity.

T
HE MIST OF
sparkling lights gave it away.

Dani felt as if she floated, but surely that was only because it was too dark to see where her feet touched the ground. She’d begun to think she’d wandered off from the others and lost herself in an inky black forest, but then she’d seen the mist up ahead and she’d known.

She’d entered a dream.

Not a regular dream. Not like being naked on test day or thrown into a restaurant with customers screaming for orders she couldn’t find. No, this was entirely different.

She was aware that this was a dream. And more than that, she knew she’d come here with a purpose.

Up close the sparkling mist was more like a river made of millions of infinitesimally tiny creatures, writhing and splashing in unison against its banks, tossing up a multicolored living spray into the black void around her.

It beckoned her and she took several steps toward the flow until she remembered she’d come here for a purpose.

“Malcolm?”

He wouldn’t be in the waters, so she turned her
back to them, searching for the black door within the black world.

“Malcolm?”

A spray of the tiny creatures followed after her, winging their way around her head, around her body, and off to her left. She hesitated, unsure which way to go, and the lights buzzed down on her again. A circle around her head, a circle around her body, and then they dashed to the left, hovering there.

“Like Lassie leading me to Timmy in the well,” she murmured, and followed the lights.

There were more now, coalescing around her, darting and twisting, twinkling in every color of the rainbow. They lifted her from her feet and carried her forward, invisible winds blowing her hair as they flew.

And then they were gone.

Alone, she stood in front of an enormous black door, larger than it had been before. Malcolm had been putting effort into keeping her out, it would appear.

As she reached out toward the door, a small silver circle appeared. It grew as she watched, morphing from one object to another, expanding with each change until at last it reached its final shape.

A doorknob.

It felt warm under her hand, more like skin than metal, and she turned it, slowly, half expecting it to be locked.

The door gave way, opening slowly, silently, a sliver of width, barely enough to allow her to see inside.

A mighty stench slammed into her, turning her stomach, causing her to gag. She covered her face with her arm, fitting her nose and mouth into the crook of her elbow, and pushed the door open farther. Far enough to step one foot inside a pit of unbelievable filth and death.

A figure crouched across from her, face buried in its hands.

“Malcolm?”

His head snapped up and their eyes met.

“No!” he roared, launching his body toward the door.

“Tomorrow,” she cried out as the door slammed shut. “We’ll be there tomorrow.”

The crash of the door threw her off-balance and she stumbled backward, losing her footing to fall weightlessly into the black void.

Down and down she fell, gathering speed, until her eyes flew open.

She lay on her bed of furs, gasping for air, heart pounding, the stone at her feet gone cold.

Her stomach roiled with the disgusting odor that lingered in her nostrils, and she pushed back her covers to climb out of her warm little nest and make her way out of the circle and through the brush to a stream that ran nearby.

At its bank she dropped to her knees and leaned over it, splashing icy water onto her face. After a moment
or two, she began to feel enough better that she no longer feared she’d lose her dinner.

That had been maybe the worst nightmare she’d ever had. Even now her heart still beat much faster than normal.

Another splash of water to her face and she looked up in time to see the figure of an enormous bird silhouetted against the moon. Round and round it circled overhead, in tight, silent loops, almost directly above her.

She couldn’t take her eyes from the creature as it dipped and soared like it rode its own personal air current. It was enormous and absolutely mesmerizing, beautiful and scary, all at the same time.

“He hunts.”

“Rauf!” Dani all but squealed the man’s name, he’d scared her so badly when he spoke. “Lord, man. I had no idea anyone was even awake, let alone out here with me.”

The groomsman smiled, offering a hand to help her to her feet. “Sorry for any fright, my lady. When I saw you’d left the camp, I worried for yer safety.”

“I had a bad dream, but I’m fine now. I was just watching that bird up there. Look at him. It’s so eerie to see him flying across the face of the moon with his wings spread out that way. He’s beautiful.”

“He’s lethal. Hunting this night, I’d say,” Rauf repeated his earlier assertion. “The great owl. From his flight, I’d guess he had targeted his prey and begun to move in for the kill, though it would appear as though the victim may have eluded him this time. It’s
best we return to the others now, my lady.”

“You’re probably right. We do intend an early start tomorrow.”

Dani cast one last look up at the big bird, still circling directly overhead, and a shiver ran down her spine. He’d targeted his prey, had he? Obviously, it was the way of nature, but it didn’t make her feel any better for the poor little creature here on the ground. She rustled the plants on both sides of her, making more noise than was at all necessary as she followed Rauf back to their campsite. Hopefully anything around here would be frightened into hiding.

As for her, she needed her rest. Tomorrow, just like that owl, she would be on the hunt. Except that she intended her hunt to end in success.

H
E’D DOZED OFF
again but a scraping noise from above him brought him wide awake.

Malcolm squinted his eyes against the light as the wooden cover slid away from the opening to the oubliette to reveal a maliciously grinning guard.

“Awake, are you? That’s good.” The guard picked up a basket and turned it upside down, allowing its contents to fall freely into the hole.

Malcolm had learned this lesson. He was quick this time, launching to his feet to catch what he could of the table scraps as they fell.

“Wouldn’t want our good laird’s guest to go hungry, now would we?” The guard’s laughter disappeared only when the wooden cover slid back over the opening.

Malcolm clutched the soggy chunks of bread he’d caught, tearing into them as a starving dog might. Especially appropriate since these were the scraps normally cast out to the strays roaming the castle grounds. At least, they had been used for that purpose when his father had been laird.

Knowing Torquil, any castle strays had starved to death by now.

Much as Malcolm had expected he would.

And yet, after what felt like days in this hellhole, the cover had slid away and food had rained down on him. He hadn’t been ready that first time and the bounty had scattered around him, landing in the wet slime of waste and straw that covered the floor.

He needed food to rebuild his strength. Even food such as that had been. In the dark he’d managed to find a few pieces, convincing himself as he choked it down that it was only leftovers from the table that soaked the bread.

His lesson learned, when the cover had moved this time, he’d been ready.

Resting his head against the wall, he finished the last of what he’d been able to catch.

Thanks to the scraps, and time, he had healed. His strength had returned, a fact that Torquil must have anticipated.

Which led him to only one conclusion: His brother had some reason of his own for keeping him alive. If he could only determine what that reason might be, perhaps it would give him the advantage he needed to escape when the time came.

One other possibility haunted him. A thought he’d have preferred to avoid, but with nothing to do but think, his worry would not be denied.

As he’d slept, Dani had often come to him in his dreams. At least, he thought she had.

In this hole bereft of light to mark the division between day and night, he’d begun to wonder whether his mind might not be playing tricks upon him.

Still, each time had seemed real. Real enough that he’d forced her away, blocking her entry to his world, determined not to allow her to experience the abomination of his hell.

He’d been successful at it, too. Until the last time she’d come to him.

Exhaustion had taken its toll and he’d slept soundly. So soundly that he’d not heard her approach. He’d not heard her at all until he’d looked up to meet her gaze, her eyes reflecting her revulsion from what she saw.

He’d quickly closed off that part of himself and forced her back, shielding her from the horror of his existence.

But not before he’d heard her voice. Not before she’d said the words that drove terror deep in his heart. Not before she’d claimed she was coming to him, not in the dream, but in the real world.

“Tomorrow. We’ll be there tomorrow.”

Surely Patrick had more sense than to allow Dani to travel to Tordenet Castle in search of him. He’d made a point of stressing to his brother the importance of keeping Dermid safe. But he’d never considered the need to order Dani’s safety. It had seemed a
given to him at the time. It still did.