by Hazel Hunter
By the time Kanyth shifted back into human form Perrin had stopped kissing the maid and had begun pressing her linked hands against her bodice. She gave her another kiss, which he then saw was not a kiss at all, but a sharing of breath. He knelt beside Perrin as she used her hands again. Suddenly the maid convulsed, and water spewed from her lips.
“She’s alive,” Perrin said as she rolled the lass onto her side. When her choking ended she went limp again, but her bodice rose and fell with her breathing. “We have to get her warm now. Can you take her on your horse?”
Too angry to speak, he wrapped his tartan around the limp, sodden body, lifting and carrying her to where he’d left their mounts. Perrin would have drowned along with the maid if he hadn’t come after her, and yet thought nothing of it. If Flen hadn’t come after her, and told him of the vision, she would be gone now. He would have let her ride to her death.
“Thank you,” she said and reached for his arm. “You saved her life. And probably–”
Kanyth jerked away from her and lifted the maid onto the destrier. “Follow me to the castle.”
Back at the stronghold, as Perrin watched, the cook piled grain sacks and old linens to make a bed by the huge hearth, while two chambermaids took charge of stripping the wet gown from the unconscious girl and wrapping her in warmed blankets.
“Why, ’tis our young Wynda,” the cook said as she peered at the maid’s white face. “How did this happen to the poor wee lass?”
“She fell through the ice into the loch,” Perrin told her.
“The loch?” The older woman stared at her. “She came from the laundry and went to make up the beds, no’ an hour past.”
Kanyth draped a fur cloak over Perrin’s shoulders, but left before she could thank him or apologize. A moment later Emeline came in, and she had to explain the whole mess to her while the nurse examined the maid.
“She must have coshed her head on the ice when she fell in the water,” the nurse said as she carefully inspected the girl’s ugly gash. “But why was she out on the loch?”
“I didn’t see the getting there,” Perrin said, “only the drowning part.” She sat down by the sacks and leaned back against the warm stone wall beside the hearth. “The good news is that I can definitely see the future again.” She thought of the horrific vision of being burned to death with Kanyth. “Only now I wish I couldn’t.” She looked over at Wynda. If Kanyth hadn’t grabbed them and hauled them out of the loch they’d both be at the bottom of it. “Maybe I should go back to Dun Mor.”
“You’re not going anywhere in that wet gown,” the nurse said and came over to tug her to her feet. “Go and change into something dry—and Perrin.” She waited until she met her gaze. “Your visions save lives. Mine, the other ladies, this lass. That’s an incredible gift.”
“Yeah.” She looked down at the puddle she was making on the floor. “I just wish I’d see something besides helpless people dying horrible deaths. Bunnies hopping across the heather would be nice. Or butterflies. I like butterflies.” She sighed. “Only they’d probably turn out to be giant mutant butterflies that suck the brains out of the helpless bunnies.” She saw how everyone in the kitchens had stopped working to stare at her. “I’m kidding. Butterflies don’t ever do that, not even in my time.”
“Dry clothes. Now, please.” Emeline gave her a little push toward the back stairs.
Perrin did feel better once she got to her chamber and stripped out of the soaked dress. Unfortunately, she’d left the clothes she had worn to make the trip from Dun Mor in the travel keg, and they were still damp. All she found in the storage chests were a couple of too-large linen shifts that were practically see-through. She shrugged into the smallest, and then draped all the wet things by the hearth to dry. Finally, she wrapped herself up in the blankets from the bed.
“Emmie will come up soon to check on me,” she promised herself as she dragged the chair over to the fire and curled up in it. “Or one of the maids. Hopefully not that one from last night.”
That girl’s snide remark about Kanyth being Perrin’s master still rankled. But she couldn’t blame the smirky chambermaid for how she was feeling. She usually liked being alone, but now she kept shifting in the chair, unable to sit still. It was as if her body wanted to go but her brain wouldn’t let it, and neither of them wanted to specify the where or the why. At last she got up, found the comb Emeline had used on her earlier and started untangling her wet, messy braid.
“I miss my blow dryer,” Perrin said, wincing as the comb’s teeth snarled over a knot. “Some real shampoo and conditioner would be nice. So would toothpaste. Bras and panties and all my leg warmers. That great coat I bought in London. Real soap.”
The door behind her slammed shut, making her yelp and jerk around to see Kanyth standing inside.
“Now I’ll have my say,” he told her. “You’ll hear me and say naught.” He pointed to the chair. “Sit.”
Though a sharp retort was poised on her tongue, Perrin saw the muscles working at the side of his clenched jaw. His arms bulged as he slowly folded them across his chest. Then he nodded stiffly at the chair.
Perrin swiped back the hair hanging in her face, pulled the blanket up around her shoulders, and took a seat.
“You’re a mortal, my lady,” Kanyth said flatly. “You’ve survived much, and you’ve courage enough for ten lasses. But you dinnae think on what you do. Say naught,” he added when she opened her mouth to reply. “’Tis my turn now.”
Perrin pressed her lips together.
“If no’ for me you should have drowned with the maid. Then ’twould be your corpse I’d return to Dun Mor.” He looked over her and shook his head. “I saw how ’twould be when you ran onto the ice. I’d carry you in for your sister to wash and wrap for your grave. Then I’d bury you while she and your friends wept. Rowan would never forgive me, nor would Brennus.”
He looked like his brother now, only twice as stern, and everything he’d said was true. After the drowning vision she hadn’t thought about anything but saving the maid. She and Rowan might not be speaking, but they’d always had each other. She couldn’t imagine what it would do to her sister if she’d drowned.
“You might have told me of the lass in peril before you rode off,” Kanyth continued. “A handful of words, and I’d have gone with you. The tree-knowers made the Skaraven masters of all manner of waters. Yet you claimed you had no time to speak. Tell me, ken you even how to swim?”
Now she nodded, but she felt even worse. With his water-bonding ability he should have been the one to go after the girl. She’d just been so sure he wouldn’t believe her—again.
“I ken you’ve a powerful gift, but ’tis making you reckless and thoughtless. You claim you mean to save lives, but you’ve no regard for your own.” He strode over to her, bending down until his face was level with hers. “I cannae force you to leave. You’re free to join the McAra, the clan, go to the druids, or live where you choose. Up a sacred oak if that pleases you. But you’ll no’ take such risks again, my lady. Try, and I’ll drag you down to the laird’s dungeons and leave you there ’til spring thaw.”
She didn’t cringe away from the burning fury in his black eyes, or the bitter set of his mouth.
“I made some mistakes, and I’m sorry I scared you. I also think Bhaltair is right, and we should stay away from each other. You should go back to the clan. I’m not your mate or your responsibility.”
Kanyth slowly stood up, and drew his sword.
Chapter Sixteen
SHE SAW YOU,” Hendry said, careful to keep his voice flat. “This wench saw you.”
For once he was thankful for the dull fury that surged into his throat as it choked off more words. His jaw clenched with such force that his teeth made creaking sounds inside his skull.
That Aon would let himself be seen was utterly unforgivable. The famhair had jeopardized weeks of preparations, careful plans, and dangerous attacks. But that he had let the woman survive? It was
more than clumsy and foolish, it bordered on treason. Hendry’s eyes narrowed as he glanced at the other famhairean.
Had it not been only yesterday that they had all renewed their vows to one another?
Most of them stood in the center of the ruined settlement soaking in what sunlight could be had. Though it was possible that they did not hear him, Hendry suspected he was being silently ignored.
He glared down at Aon, who knelt in front of him, his head bowed low. For a long moment Hendry imagined kicking it so hard that it flew off into the woods. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to drive the thought from his mind.
“She be acolyte for Bhaltair Flen,” Aon said.
Hendry’s eyes snapped open and he stared at Aon through the gauzy red of his rage. “Did you see him?” he said, grinding each word past his shut teeth.
Aon shook his head. “Flen no’ there. Only Oriana.”
Hendry slowly shut his eyes again, and focused on the pain in his jaw and the pull of every tendon in his neck. He had to concentrate, think clearly when it came to Flen. What was the old bastart up to? The wizened druid wouldn’t travel without aid. But then a new thought occurred to him: perhaps the leader of his famhairean had been tricked.
Hendry looked down at the still kneeling giant. “Describe her,” he ordered.
But as the famhair related the details, there was no doubt it was her: short, sturdy, and dark-haired with large eyes. It was the same lass he’d seen conversing with Flen. Since Aon had never seen the conversation his old enemy had inadvertently left in the flour, Hendry couldn’t doubt that it was her. The description was perfect. What he doubted now was her motive.
Aon lifted his head. “She say brother of Skaraven chieftain in castle.”
“At the McAra castle?” Hendry said, his fury ebbing ever so slightly. “The Skaraven have arrived?” It was sooner than he’d expected.
“Only one.”
Hendry scowled down at the bland face and emotionless eyes. Why send just one? One Skaraven didn’t do the McAra—or him—any good. Hendry needed all of them to be together.
“Oriana has plan,” Aon said.
Hendry made a dismissive sound as he waved away the air in front of him. Of course the druidess had a plan. Everyone had plans. Hendry had tired of the head-to-head battles with the Skaraven, who’d proven nigh impossible to kill.
“Oriana bid me tell it,” Aon said.
“’Tis she that you serve?” Hendry bellowed, his patience so thin now that if he but coughed, he would shred it.
The famhair bowed his head again. “Aon serve Wood Dream.” But then the giant raised his head and his hard, wooden eyes met Hendry’s. “Wood Dream kens.”
Hendry blew out a harsh breath but, as he did, he realized that all of the other famhairean had turned to watch them. He stopped mid-breath, eying each one, though their expressions revealed nothing. As he mustered a smile, he forced the tension from his shoulders.
“Aye,” he said. Then he looked back at Aon. “Aye, my friend. I ken it.” He extended a stiff hand for the famhair to stand. “Tell me. What does this druidess have planned.”
As Aon told him, Hendry found himself drawn in. He crossed his arms over his chest as he listened more closely, then found himself stroking his chin. What the druidess lacked in subtlety, she made up in audacity. At the last, Hendry had to raise an eyebrow. It could well be that Flen’s former acolyte had a mind as savage as his.
Chapter Seventeen
HEAT FOUNTAINED INSIDE Kanyth as Perrin’s words again lashed him. He should have heeded the old druid’s warning and kept far from her. Now the full power of the forge surged through him in a bed chamber where anything, including the lady, might burn. He found the hilt of his sword and yanked it out to wrap his hands around the gleaming blade.
“Keep back from me,” he told Perrin when she shot to her feet.
The blue light from his skinwork turned white-hot as it crawled over his shoulders and down the length of his arms, collecting in the fists that held the iron. He clenched his jaw as his flesh and bones funneled it into the sword, heating the tempered metal until it glowed dark red.
She hurried away from him, thank the Gods, only to return with a basin of water. For a moment she looked as if she might hurl it at him, but then she bent and placed it on the floor, sliding it so that it stopped beneath the now scarlet-gold sword.
Kanyth’s chest heaved as he fought the lethal power. The blade began to bend in his grip, cracks forming and disappearing as the iron softened. A shard split from the honed tip and fell into the basin, causing the water to boil and steam.
Perrin stood at a safe distance, but never took her gaze from him. “What else can I do?”
The sound of her voice seemed to appease the forge, for Kanyth felt the power at last begin to ebb.
“Speak now,” he said tightly. “Tell me a tale that…willnae rile me.”
“Rowan and I grew up in a little town in upstate New York,” she said quickly but her voice soft. “My mother’s place was on the edge of town, next to the woods. My sister loved that. I think she spent more time with the trees than she did with people. I liked to pick flowers and make little crowns out of them. And I loved to watch the fireflies. They’d start lighting up just before sunset. Sometimes there’d be so many that the woods looked like a magical fairyland.”
The blade drooped on either side of his hands, and the hot color of the metal dulled, turning to a blackened bronze. The ink crawling under his tunic stilled as if it also wished to listen to her.
Kanyth watched her eyes, still focused on him. “How came you to dance?”
“I don’t know. My mother said I started as soon as I could walk,” Perrin said. “When Rowan was little I’d put on a dance show for her in this meadow in the woods. She’d sit with a bunch of our dolls to be my audience. She was probably bored to death, but she always cheered and clapped at the end.” Her lips curved. “Sometimes I’d trip and fall on purpose, just to make her laugh.”
At last the blade cooled, and Kanyth’s hands did the same. Then came the pain as his burned flesh twisted and scarred, building into a throbbing agony. Unwilling for her to see the consequences of his power, he dropped the distorted sword and bent to thrust his hands into the basin. Perrin knelt down on the other side of the steam, her gaze lifting to his face.
“Should I get Emeline?”
“’Tis naught for her to do.”
He avoided her gaze as he lifted his dripping fingers from the water. Despite the welcome relief of the healing, he felt raw and exposed now, as if he crouched naked in front of her.
“You keep saying you can’t take a mate.” Before he could stop her, she took hold of him. “It’s not because I’m too skinny, or anything to do with me. It’s because of your hands.”
“I melt iron,” he told her flatly. “What think you I’d do to your pretty skin?”
“And this happens every time you use it, doesn’t it? When you’re back there working in the forge?” When he sighed and nodded she stroked her fingers over his. “You burn your hands every day like this, and you feel it. How can you stand it?”
That she cared more for his hide than her own bewildered him.
“I dinnae for long, now that water heals me. ’Twas far worse in my mortal life.” He pulled her to her feet. “You neednae pity me, lass. ’Tis my lot, and the druids trained us to endure what females cannae.”
“You think I don’t know what pain is?” Perrin released his hands. “I danced twelve hours a day when I was performing, and that was before the actual show. Sprained ankles, inflamed tendons, a torn rotator cuff.” She waved dismissively at her feet. “Not to mention stress fractures of the metatarsals. Pain is part of the life.”
He saw the truth of it in her eyes and was appalled. “All this, for dancing?”
“I didn’t feel it until after I was finished,” Perrin said simply. “Water helped me, too, but not as much. Every night I soaked my feet in a bucket of ice wa
ter so they didn’t swell too much, and to stop any bleeding. Performing for hours is hard on the feet. I never healed properly until the show wrapped, so I went through a lot of toe shoes. I could wear a pair only a few times before the bloodstains started to show on the outside.”
Kanyth looked down at her bare feet, which appeared as delicate and perfect as the rest of her. Traveling through the sacred grove portal must have healed her, but to know of her past suffering made him see her differently.
“You’ve much courage, my lady.”
“Enough for ten lasses, or so I’m told.” She took a step closer. “I like it better when we’re not yelling at each other. How about you?”
“Aye.” Without thinking he caught a lock of her rose-gold hair and couldn’t help rubbing the soft, bright strands between his fingers. When she didn’t flinch he asked, “You’re no’ afraid of my touch?”
“If you set me on fire, I will be,” Perrin promised, and rubbed her cheek against his hand. “I don’t think that’ll happen. It didn’t yesterday, or last night.”
Kanyth had never put his hands on a female, but before she could blink he had her lovely face between his palms. Despite his power, and the countless times it had burned him, his hands remained acutely sensitive. He gloried in the feel of her skin, so thin and fragile, like the delicate muscle and bones beneath it. Blood rushing up to tint her cheeks warmed his palms, as did her quickened breath. Everything about her made him acutely aware of his own strength, and the manner in which his body hardened, eager for more of her.
“You should run from me,” he murmured as he stroked her temples with his thumbs. “Only then I’d chase you again, and we’d end in the bed instead of the loch.”
She took in a shaky breath. “We could skip the running and chasing part.”
The blanket fell away as he pulled her against him and put his mouth on hers. She opened for him, as sweetly and eagerly as she’d done in the night. He gathered her up, spreading one hand over her back and twining the other in her hair. That but a thin layer of linen separated him from her nakedness rammed a bolt of aching need into his cock, engorging it until he thought it might burst through his trews.
