Warrior’s Redemption (33 page)

Not possible.

He lifted the sword again and thrust down as hard
as he could, meeting the same invisible barrier that surrounded his brother’s body.

“By Odin,” he yelled, frustration filling every fiber of his being.

Christiana grabbed his arm as he prepared for a third try. “Listen to me! You canna do this. Ending Torquil’s life is no yer destiny, Colm. It falls to another. Just as freeing me of Torquil falls to another. I have seen it. I swear this to you. Now you must go. The soldiers are very near.”

Would his failures never end?

“I dinna want to leave without you.” He’d gambled everything to save her.

“I ken the truth of what you say, Colm. But this is no the way. Believe me when I tell you this. You must go. Torquil will need time to think on what has happened. Time you must use to build yer defenses strong. Trust in the future to deliver my savior. Now take yer women and go. Hurry!”

He could toss her over his shoulder and carry her away. There was no way she could stop him. He even considered doing exactly that as she stood on tiptoe to pull his head down and kiss his cheek.

But, ultimately, he had too much faith in the powers of the old gods to go against what Christiana told him she had seen.

One last look at Torquil’s body revealed something he’d missed earlier. Dani’s ring. He stooped down and pulled it from his brother’s finger.

That was not the hand on which this jewel belonged.

He gathered their horses and helped Dani into her saddle, waiting only a moment to make sure Patrick had the Faerie securely in his grasp before they rode.

Christiana had been correct about the soldiers. He could feel their proximity to the camp. But the soldiers would have plenty to deal with when they arrived. And with night as their cloak, they could put many miles distance between them and Torquil’s men before they’d have cause to worry.

I
F SHE CONCENTRATED
really hard, and squinted, Dani could just make out the towers of Castle MacGahan across the next rise.

Home, and yet not home, in the same way she wanted so badly to be back there and yet dreaded the arrival so very much. Nothing would be the same once they passed through the gate walls and the portcullis slammed down behind them.

Preparations would begin at once to make ready for the siege they knew was yet to come. Preparations that would include recruiting as many men as possible for the coming battle and with nothing in the way of money to entice recruits, those men would mostly be made up of the MacKilyn warriors.

And with the MacKilyn came heartbreak, in the form of the MacKilyn daughter who would be Malcolm’s new wife.

Dani wanted to weep with the knowledge. Instead she took a deep breath and fixed her eyes on the towers to the east.

Her sorrow was but a tiny slice of the grief they would carry into the walls of Castle MacDowylt today.
Though she faced losing all claim to the man she loved, at least she had the small comfort of knowing he lived. The families of Eymer, Guy, and Hamund wouldn’t be able to say the same.

“Then we’ll just have to think of something, won’t we?”

Patrick’s voice raised in irritation drew her attention from her own miseries.

“Because I’ll no allow you to waste yer Magicks on holding that damn spell or glamour or whatever you want to call it when you need yer energy to heal yerself.”

“
Allow
?” Elesyria’s voice pitched up a full octave. “And since when are you in any position to tell me what you will and won’t ‘allow’ me to do? I could blast you from the saddle where you sit with one look. Allow, indeed!”

“There’ll be no blasting done here today,” Malcolm intervened. “Besides, you’ve the look of someone who’s doing well to remain upright in her own saddle let alone threatening to unseat someone else.”

Men. Totally lacking in anything even remotely resembling tact. At least these two men, anyway. Dani pulled on her reins to circle her horse back around beside Elesyria’s.

“Your healing is more important than the disguise you wore for them. What if we invent a new story? Something that allows you to give up constantly staying on your guard. To just be yourself. More or less.”

“More or less?” Though Elesyria’s face was drawn
and pale, a spark of interest glimmered in her expression.

“You could be Elesyria’s niece.” Dani invented as she went, calling on her imagination and years of reading good books. “We could say you brought word to your aunt that she was needed at home and she sent you to stay with me as my companion.”

“Or she could just go home,” Malcolm suggested sourly.

“No,” Elesyria countered. “All things considered, I think it best I remain here for a time. I suppose dropping the disguise might not be so bad.”

“We’d need a new name for you,” Dani added. That should make her happy. Faeries had a soft spot for deception, or so her study of them had told her. “Is there a name you’ve always liked?”

“Elesyria has always appealed to me,” her friend responded.

“No, I meant . . . never mind. What about a nickname? Is there a name people call you? Other than Elesyria, that is?”

“Elf,” Patrick interjected, almost allowing himself a grin as he said it.

“Absolutely not!” Elesyria glared at him before turning back to Dani’s question. “My father used to call me Syrie, but that’s a child’s name.”

“That’s perfect since you’re playing the part of your own niece. You could be named Elesyria after your aunt, but you go by Syrie so we allay any suspicions. How’s that?”

“The Fae do not name their children after living relatives,” she grumbled.

“But the part yer playing is no that of a Fae, but a
plain, simple Mortal. So much the better, then.” Malcolm’s eyebrow lifted as he turned to face them. “Or, if that’s no to yer satisfaction, you could go home.”

Elesyria shook her head to reject his suggestion once again. “Not a good idea right now. For the time being, I will agree to your suggestion. Syrie it is.”

Dani silently wished all their problems could be so easily solved.

The castle walls were visible now and growing larger with each step their horses took. It wouldn’t be long before they reached the castle gates.

“Dispatch the first riders as soon as possible.”

Patrick acknowledged Malcolm’s instruction, pausing before he answered as if it was territory they’d already covered. Likely it was. Dani had witnessed their hushed conversations over the past couple of days and had no doubt that they’d been over this ground repeatedly.

“Men will be hard to come by, with our empty coffers,” Patrick began, relenting with a sigh. “I’ll have riders on the road before sundown.”

And then they were there, the big iron portcullis creaking as its weight was drawn upward allowing their horses entrance through the wall.

They crossed the bailey, stopping near the entrance stairway. Malcolm was at her side to lift her from her perch before she’d even realized he’d dismounted. She held her breath against the aches and pains of the bruises she’d received in the battle against Torquil,
resting her forehead against his chest when he set her on her feet.

“Have Eric bring the families of the men we lost to my solar. I’ll break the news to them, though I’m sure they’ve already guessed, since we’ve returned alone.”

His voice rumbled in his chest, physically comforting though the words he spoke to Patrick speared her heart.

“I should be there with you when you speak to them since I was there when . . .” She couldn’t finish the sentence. The memory was still too raw.

“No. You’ll take Ele—” He caught himself and started again. “You’ll take Syrie to her aunt’s old chambers and see that she’s settled in. This is no a place for you to be.”

“I understand that I’m not the mistress of Castle MacGahan and so it’s not my official place to be there, but I was there when Torquil hanged those men. I should speak to their families.” No matter how much it hurt to do so. Their men had died because they had accompanied her to Tordenet in order to protect her. She owed their families.

“No.” Malcolm’s refusal brooked no argument. “And no because yer no the wife of the laird but because the memories you have of their men’s last moments are no memories their women need to share. Leave their families the solace that their men died in glorious battle, no strung up helpless like beasts to slaughter. Now go. See to yer friend.”

Dani went to Syrie, slipping an arm around the Faerie’s waist to help her up the stairs.

Malcolm was right. Of course he was right. She was being selfish in wanting to try to rid herself of the guilt she carried over the deaths of Eymer, Guy, and Hamund.

But the time for selfishness was over. The time had come when she would have to consider the needs of others over her own.

S
HE SIMPLY COULDN’T
do this.

Dani stood in the center of her bedchamber, at a loss as to what she actually could do. But whatever it was, it wasn’t this.

She loved this room, from the delicate table and chairs near the fire to the intricately carved fireplace itself. It felt like she belonged here.

Only she didn’t.

This was the chamber belonging to the laird’s wife, connected directly to the laird’s chamber. And very soon, there would be another woman who should occupy this room, a thought that made her physically ill.

She’d made the decision to move while they were still a day away from Castle MacGahan. Her challenge now was to follow through on that decision. The room next to Syrie’s was open. That would be the logical choice.

But logical didn’t make it feel right. The more she considered Malcolm’s having a wife, the more she realized she couldn’t do this.

No matter what room she lived in, Malcolm would
be with another woman and she simply couldn’t handle seeing that day in, day out.

As she’d helped Syrie settle in after their journey, she’d suggested that they both might leave here and go to the Faerie’s home, but her friend hadn’t been the least bit receptive. In fact, after mumbling something about using Magic she shouldn’t have used, she indicated she’d be staying here for the foreseeable future.

That left Dani with only one real option: to return to her own time. Granted, it hadn’t worked when she’d tried before, but, honestly, how hard had she tried? And that was before Elesyria had told her about the rowan wood and its supposed Magical powers.

And yet here she stood, dithering in the middle of the room, no closer to making up her mind than she had been an hour ago.

A knock at the door separating her room from Malcolm’s interrupted another round of indecision and she went to answer it.

“I thought perhaps we could take our evening meal together, in my chambers.”

He was freshly shaven and his dark hair was damp where the ends lay upon his shoulders, leaving little wet spots on his untucked shirt, as if he’d just bathed and hurriedly dressed. He held out an arm, clearly inviting her to cross into his room.

One step inside the door and she knew she’d made a serious mistake.

Candles burned everywhere. They lined the mantel, sat on tables and chairs and even on the floor near
the walls. A tray of food waited on the table, surrounded by more candles and, next to the table, in front of the hearth, a huge wooden tub. From here she could smell the herbal fragrance of the steam wafting off the water.

“Oh, Malcolm.” She felt as if her heart would truly break. “You’ve done all this for me?”

He shrugged carelessly, though a wicked grin crept over his face. “Maybe not entirely for you. I’m expecting I’ll take a wee bit of pleasure in the evening myself.”

Taking her hand, he led her over to the tub, where he began to slowly unlace her overdress. It pooled at her feet, quickly followed by her shift.

He ran his hands down her arms and grasped her waist. His fingers trailed lower, pausing when she winced as he touched the bruise on her hip. He lifted his hands to inspect her injury, leaving her feeling unaccountably vulnerable and embarrassed by his scrutiny.

“He deserved to die at my hand for what he’s done to you,” he growled, looking up from his examination to meet her gaze. “I wanted to kill him for this.”

“I know,” she said simply. “I felt the same way when I saw him attack you. I guess I was just lucky you’d made my fork from the wood of a rowan tree.”

He bent, one arm behind her knees and one at her back, and lifted her off her feet to gently immerse her in the hot water before gently kissing her lips.

“Why is that?” he asked as he rolled a bar of soap between
his hands and then began to massage her back and shoulders.

Lord, but it felt wonderful.

“Elesyria says it’s likely the Magic of the wood that stopped him when a regular weapon might have had no effect. She told me the rowan wood is powerful enough that it alone might have been able to have sent me here.”

Dani waited to see if he might make the connection with the wood also being able to send her home.

He didn’t.

“I’ll carve you another soon to replace the one you left behind.”

He didn’t make mention of where she’d left the little fork, sticking out of Torquil’s neck.

She shivered as he leaned close, his hair brushing against her shoulders as his hands moved from her lower back upward, to her neck and over, down onto her chest.

Large and warm, they covered her breasts, massaging still until his thumb and forefinger closed around her nipple, rolling the skin gently.

She laid her head back against his shoulder and he pulled her toward him until her back fit snug up against the wooden wall of the tub. His hands molded her breasts once more before moving down to stroke across her stomach.

“Your shirt is getting wet,” she protested, but he covered her lips with his.

“Yer right,” he whispered as he broke the kiss. “I’ve no need for a tunic, have I?”

A moment later, his shirt and plaid were on the floor and he was lifting her to fit her in between his legs as he climbed into the tub behind her.