by Emma Hamm
She watched him move, the sword lifted above her head, never wavering despite its weight. Perhaps she would be the one to destroy him after all.
Here he had been, thinking these women couldn’t do a single thing to him, and one already had changed his mind. Her gaze was sharp, her body honed for battle, and she looked like she would stop at nothing.
Donnacha had learned a long time ago that the best warriors were the ones willing to give up their own lives in pursuit of their orders. She most certainly was that kind of warrior.
Who was this woman with the flint and steel eyes?
He couldn’t get distracted. He had a curse to break, and no matter what others might think, he didn’t want to be stuck in this form forever.
Donnacha huffed out a breath and continued toward Scáthach’s keep. She would have to welcome him, no matter how much she hated him. The long journey to her doors was enough to allow him a few days of rest. Although she would probably only offer him a few hours respite before she tossed him from her doorstep.
They’d left the doors to the keep open for him. Considerate, since he couldn’t grip door knobs with his paws.
He padded into the keep and tried to keep the thunderous sound of his breathing quieter. He’d learned a long time ago the huffing breaths of the bear sounded very much like he was growling, especially when echoing inside a stone building. The women were already here for a reason. They had suffered more than most of their sex, or perhaps, the same amount but were the brave ones who had run. Either way, they didn’t deserve to be intimidated by a creature who had no right to ask for help.
The interior of the keep was the same as he remembered from years ago. When he had been nothing more than a boy, he’d come here with his father’s men. Those were the days when Scáthach had allowed males into her home willingly. Before she had been betrayed by the man who she trusted most.
Three long tables arrowed toward the main table set horizontal at the front. Stag heads were mounted around the room, with bear and wolf pelts stretched out on the ceiling. Scáthach was a renowned huntress. It didn’t escape his notice that her eyes lit up the moment she saw him.
The woman of the hour sat at the head table, feet crossed at the ankle and arms crossed behind her head. She said nothing as he approached carefully, avoiding the tables so he didn’t knock anything to the floor.
When he was close, she finally spoke. “Donnacha of Clan Fuar Bheinn. I hadn’t thought to see you in my keep.”
His lips were not a human’s, so his words were lisped. His tongue stuck in his mouth. It didn’t want to form around the human sounds, but he made them. Donnacha had worked for years to be able to speak in this form. It was a badge of pride that he could still communicate with those who knew him. “A dangerous choice, I’ve been told.”
“Indeed.” Scáthach looked him up and down.
In her younger years, she had been a beautiful woman. Tangled blond hair, eyes the color of grass, and a body hardened by life. Now, he saw the telltale signs of age. Wrinkles marred her forehead and winged out from her eyes. Strong muscles were now showing signs of deterioration. Gray hair flecked the golden locks. And yet, she was still a beautiful woman. Far more beautiful than he’d thought she would age to be.
Donnacha bowed, lowering his great head and touching his chin to the ground. “I wouldn’t have come if circumstances weren’t dire.”
“I cannot imagine what the fabled beast of cold mountain could ask of me.” Scáthach unlaced her fingers behind her head and leveled him with a glare. “But it’s rude to speak of such things without first feasting.”
“You wish me to break bread with you?”
“I wish for entertainment.” The feral grin on her face was a clear sign she wanted to embarrass him.
Fine. If she wanted to see him bend a knee and show just how bad the curse had gotten, then so be it. He needed her help and would pay any price she requested.
Donnacha folded his great, furred body by the nearest table. He wouldn’t sit in a chair—his weight would only snap the delicate wood like a twig—but he could at least pretend to be human. Seated at the end of the table, he tilted his head and eyed the relaxed huntress. “Now what?” he asked, his voice gruff.
“Now we eat,” Scáthach replied.
She really wanted a show then. A few of her women started to bring in food. A veritable feast with a whole roasted pig, vegetables, and all manner of sweets. He hadn’t expected food, but perhaps he’d arrived at the right time.
Donnacha watched as they laid the food out in front of him. “Were you planning on a large dinner tonight?”
“A celebration,” she replied.
“For what?”
“Of life. We enjoy our time on this earth while we have it, Donnacha. Perhaps you have forgotten the festivals of your clan.”
One of the warrior women poured him a glass of ale. He stared at the tankard, remembering quite clearly the way his clan had enjoyed themselves. The festivals had lasted for days. The ale had flowed through the mugs so quickly they’d had to find more barrels, usually in the cellars of the stingiest dwarves.
He couldn’t drink the ale anymore. His bear stomach rebelled, violently throwing up whatever he ate or drank that was consumed by humans.
Donnacha growled low his throat. “What do you want from me, Scáthach?”
She leaned forward, placing her elbows on the table in front of her. “I want to see how the fabled dwarven warrior eats now. Are you like an animal, Donnacha? Do you feast with claws and teeth?”
Of course, he did. In the privacy of his own home, he did what he must to stay alive. He’d tried desperately to be human in the first few years of this form, but utensils didn’t fit in his paws. He had to use his claws to eat most things. He couldn’t hold onto bread like a man. His paws weren’t fingers.
He lifted the corner of his lip in disgust as he stared at the roasted pig in front of him. “Is this what you want then? To watch a bear eat in front of you?”
“I want to know just how bad the curse has gotten. I want to see for myself that you are turning into nothing more than an animal.”
Donnacha snarled then, baring his teeth in an angry sound and placing his paws firmly on the table. “I’m more than an animal.”
“Prove it then. Feast like a human.”
“I cannot.”
“Then are you really more than an animal? You used to be a dwarf. You remember how to use a fork and knife, don’t you?”
“I do.”
She leaned back in her chair, the picture of relaxation, but he saw the calculating look in her eye. “Then you think being human is a state of mind.”
“It’s a state of being.”
“Your being is clearly not human.” Scáthach gestured at his furred form. “What would you call yourself then?”
“Cursed.”
“Tell me of your curse. Who did this to you?”
The words immediately froze on Donnacha’s tongue. He couldn’t tell anyone about the curse. He couldn’t say anything more than he was cursed, or his entire body would freeze up. Thus, he could only stare at Scáthach in anger.
“How do we break this curse of yours?”
Again, he said nothing.
“How long are you to be cursed?”
Forever, he wanted to tell her. There was only one thing that could break this curse, and that was if someone could see through the mask of fur and claws long enough to stay with him for a year and a day. That was all he needed, a woman who would remain true for that long, despite what he looked like.
He didn’t really know the logistics of it. The Troll Queen who had cursed him had set the rules, and those rules were loose at best and could be manipulated. She wasn’t exactly the brightest woman in the world.
Donnacha shook his head. “I grow tired of these games, Scáthach.”
“So do I. And yet, you are the one who showed up in my keep, uninvited. You know how I feel about men arriving without my permi
ssion.”
Did he ever. From what he’d heard, Scáthach particularly enjoyed tearing men apart from the testicles up. He sniffed loudly and cleared his throat. “Yes, I heard the last one who arrived here and attempted to harm your trainees ended up being set on fire.”
“And where did I set him on fire?”
“Uh…” Donnacha tried hard not to laugh as he said the words. “I believe the rumor said it was the most precious jewels of his family.”
“There’s a lot on you that’s far more flammable than that man, I’ll tell you that, Donnacha. So let’s get right to the bottom of it so I can invite all my dear trainees in so we might celebrate living another year on the Isle of Skye. Just what do you want?”
That was why she’d everything set up while he was sitting in front of her. If she hadn’t, then they wouldn’t have gotten everything done in time for the feast. Now, she was going to be rushing him out of her keep, ready to entertain as though he had never been there.
Smart, he’d give her that. It was a ruse that had kept her women working and him sitting right in the middle of all that movement without a single peep.
“I need one of your women,” he said softly. No matter what words he said, they were going to come out wrong. He’d already known that. Donnacha had spent most of the trip trying to figure out the best way to ask her. “I can’t tell you why. I need the one whose hair is like sunlight, who could kill a bear, and who is renowned throughout the land as the prettiest fighter in the courts.”
He’d asked the Troll Queen why these were the requirements, but she refused to answer him. If he’d known more than that, he might have been able to spare the poor girl living with him.
Still, he didn’t want to end up as a bear forever. He wanted to return home to his people where they could feast like Scáthach and the warrior women were doing today.
More than anything else, Donnacha wanted to hug his brother again. He wanted to clap his hands on the shoulders of his cousins and family, to smell the salty earth of the mines, to dig with the rest of them and discover the most beautiful hidden treasures of the earth.
He missed being a dwarf. He missed his beard most of all, even though he had forgotten what his eyes looked like and the sound of his human voice. Not to mention his hands—
It wasn’t worth entertaining the thought.
Scáthach was staring at him in complete shock. He hadn’t thought he would startle her quite so much with the request.
Then she began to laugh. A roaring sound that shook through the rafters and sent a few pigeons fluttering into the air. “One of my warriors?”
“Yes.”
“What has gotten into you?” She slapped a hand down on the table, laughing until tears streamed down her cheeks. “Do you really think I’m going to send one of my women with you? Away to Fuar Bheinn? Alone?”
He waited until she stopped laughing. It took a long time since Scáthach would pause laughing for a few moments, but then begin again when she looked at him. And so he waited. If nothing else, Donnacha was a patient man.
Finally, she wiped the tears from her face. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“Gravely.”
“Why do you need one of my warrior women? You seem to be in fighting shape yourself.”
“I don’t need them to fight for me.” He tried to convey his reasoning with his gaze, but also knew very little emotion could be seen on his bear face. He couldn’t imagine what this woman would think of his expression. Likely that he was snarling at her as a beast would.
“Then why do you need one?”
“I can’t answer that.”
She furrowed her brows. “You want me to send one of my women to your home, for reasons unknown, so you can do whatever you want with her?”
“They will be treated well. Given whatever they want in my castle.”
“Castle now?” Scáthach tilted her head to the side and leveled him with a disbelieving look. “Since when do the dwarves have castles above ground?”
Since they were cursed by a Troll Queen who wanted him to marry her daughter. Since he hadn’t been given a choice where he lived because the blasted woman wanted to keep track of him. These were all things he couldn’t tell Scáthach, even though the truth burned in his chest.
Gruffly, he responded, “I can’t tell you anything, Scáthach. You know the reason why.”
He hoped at least. Most people knew that a curse could warp the tongue. She was a smart enough woman to be able to put the pieces together. He couldn’t tell her, no matter how hard he tried.
Scáthach licked her lips. “What do we get in return?”
“Nothing.”
“You want this for free then? Not even a favor to be called in at a later date?”
He shook his head. “I can’t offer you anything in return.”
“You want this out of the goodness of our hearts then?” She chuckled, leaning back in her chair and shaking her head. “This is a grave request for someone who has never done anything for my people.”
“The legends of you have spread throughout the land, Scáthach. You are a woman who enjoys helping others, someone who has created a legend of kindness and justice.” He slowly stood from his place at her table. “It’s my hope that you will continue that legend and assist someone who has begged for your help.”
She watched him with a narrowed gaze. He didn’t think she was questioning the truthfulness of his words. Instead, it seemed as though she were trying to weigh his soul.
“I will consider it,” Scáthach replied. “Now leave my keep before I make you.”
Nodding, he ambled out of the keep and back down into the training grounds. Would she keep her word? He had no way of knowing. Scáthach was an honorable woman, however, and he assumed she would at least consider it.
As he left the keep, his gaze shifted toward a particular headless strawman. The woman who had been standing there was gone, but the ghost of her remained. He still remembered the way the sunlight had bounced off the golden strands of her hair.
Would it be her? He highly doubted it. No one would spare such a capable woman when there were plenty of others who could be sacrificed to the beast of cold mountain.
Donnacha sighed and left Scáthach’s renowned home. His feet found the path that would take him back to the castle. His long journey would start again.
He’d done what he could. He hoped someone would arrive in Fuar Bheinn someday soon, and his suffering could finally end.
3
“You want me to what?” Elva asked, forcing her body to remain still when she wanted to rush at the woman before her.
Scáthach had been the woman to teach her independence. She’d done more for Elva than her own mother, but somehow, this was still the woman who wanted to take away her independence again. And after all they’d done to coax Elva’s mind to change. To tear her away from one terrible relationship, only to throw her to the wolves again.
Scáthach sighed, then nodded to the seat next to her at the head table. “Sit down, Elva. Let me explain.”
“I don’t want to sit.”
“And yet, you will.”
She knew better than to argue with Scáthach, but she wanted to. Oh, how she wanted to fly at the woman and scream in her face for daring to take away what she’d fought so hard to get. Her freedom meant more than anything else in this world.
Elva had struggled to gain every inch of this mindset. She had been so wrapped around Fionn’s finger that she hadn’t known who she was. Nor how to be a person who cared for herself even when other people needed her to be something different.
Gritting her teeth, Elva rounded the table and sat down next to Scáthach. If she hit the seat a little too hard, then it was merely because she’d been training all day, not because she was sulking. And certainly not because she was angry at the woman who wanted her to give up her life.
To a bear, of all things!
She didn’t want to know why the creature had been in
their camp. It didn’t matter if he was cursed and needed her help. And she was certain that was the reason. Cursed creatures were easy to spot. They were like their animal brethren but…not. The bear had clearly been larger than any other creature she’d ever seen in the wild. His eyes were far too intelligent.
Scáthach pointed with a knife at the plate in front of Elva. “Eat.”
“I don’t want to eat.”
“How many times are you going to defy me when I order you to do something, Elva? I’m not asking you to eat. I’m telling you to do so. Now close your mouth for a few minutes and open it only to put something between your lips. Understood?”
Not really, but Elva did what Scáthach asked. She reached forward and filled the plate with enough food to kill a horse. The training had made her hungry. Turkey, pig, and roasted squash on the table filled the air with aromas that made her mouth water. She wanted to devour everything in front of her, and would have if there weren’t more pressing matters at hand.
She attacked the food with knife and fork as she would have liked to have done with the issue presented. Go with the bear? Live in his castle for a year and do…what? Elva had already lived a life where she wallowed in a palace with a faerie prince.
It hadn’t ended well for either her or the prince.
Scáthach ate her own food in silence while she watched all the women in the hall. Her gaze lingered on the new women who had arrived, particularly on one whom Elva remembered had shown up more black and blue than skin colored.
“Do you know why I started this camp?” she asked.
Elva nodded. “Because you wanted all women to feel safe.”
“That’s what I tell people, and it’s as good a lie as any other.” Scáthach shrugged. “But that wasn’t the reason. I started it because someone told me I couldn’t be a warrior. They said women were meant to heal and to take care of the home. I never wanted that. I’d seen female warriors on the battlefield before. So I dedicated my life to becoming the best warrior to ever live. And then to teaching other women they, too, could be the same.”
