by Hazel Hunter
It shouldn’t have been funny, but Perrin couldn’t stop the laugh that spilled out of her. “You are such a man.”
“Aye.” His expression grew thoughtful as he stroked her back from nape to waist. “Whether you would be with me again after this night, or part and never speak of it again, I shall do as you wish, Perrin. ’Tis foolish to follow ways that died out long ago with the rest of the Pritani. Only dinnae tell my brother. He’ll declare you my mate.”
How horrible it must have been, Perrin thought, to wake up a thousand years after your time, in a world that had gone on without you.
“I don’t have to decide right now, do I?”
Kanyth wrapped his arms around her and lifted her until her reddened nipple touched his lips. Against it he said, “I reckon you’ll be too busy.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
ROWAN PACED AROUND the small room at the back of the stables as she watched Taran pack his neatly bundled clothes into his saddlebag. Tonight, he and the rest of the Skaraven would be water-sliding off to the McAra stronghold to do the epic bait and switch. She also knew Taran would expect her to wave her handkerchief at him and say Have a nice battle honey or Gallop carefully or Try not to get yourself run through. That’s what a fourteenth century woman was supposed to do. Be helpless. Shut up and let the men handle things. Stay home and keep the hearth fires burning. Knit something while she waited for the conquering heroes to return.
She was so over the medieval woman thing.
“You don’t understand. She’s my sister, and I love her, but she’s an idiot. If there’s a way to walk out of that castle and right into Hendry and Murdina’s clutches, Perrin will find it. She’ll dance her way into it. Plus, it’s my fault she’s there, okay? I’ve been so wrapped up in this”—Rowan gestured between them—“whatever this is, that I forgot about her. I forgot about my own damn sister, Taran. For God’s sake, I have to go.”
He tied the flap of his bag and repeated the same answer as the last dozen times she’d asked.
“You cannae.”
“I could go in disguise, dress up as one of the clan.” Most of his clothes fit her. She knew because she kept borrowing them, just so she could smell him on her. “I’ll put on a big hooded cloak and stay in the back, behind Ru. Brennus will never know–”
“I’ll ken.” As the first rays of sunlight filtered in from the high windows he bent and blew out the lanterns. The light made his hair look like gilded snow. “Perrin shall be kept safe, lass. I vow it.”
“Really. Just when will you have time for the safe-keeping? While you’re galloping around ambushing giants, or fighting them off as one of the McAra’s fake house guards?” Rowan followed him out into the stables. “You can’t ditch me here. If you do, I’ll follow you.”
He stopped and looked at her, his brows arched. When he wasn’t talking, which was pretty much twenty-three and a half hours a day, he sent messages by eyebrow: up, down, pulled together, slanted, the works. Rowan was gradually learning to interpret them all. This one practically shouted Like you could.
She kicked some straw at him. “I can swim. In high school I finished the eight-hundred-meter free style in under ten minutes. I have all kinds of talents you don’t know about, pal. I’m not afraid to use them.”
His hair feathered around his face as he shook his head and took down a bridle. “To reach the midlands you’d have to swim under the ice of frozen rivers and lochs. And ’twill take three days, no’ ten minutes.”
Rowan knew she had to bring out the big guns: her druid blood. It sometimes proved rather handy, especially when she needed to make a plausible threat.
“Then I could go by sacred grove, and beat you there.”
That got his attention. “You wouldnae.”
As unreliable as the portals had been she’d likely end up treading lava in some prehistoric volcano, but that was why it made an excellent threat: it was a scary one.
“Druid kind,” she said, patting herself. “Portals adore me, unlike some people.”
Taran dropped his bridle and came to her, but he didn’t touch her. Touching, they’d discovered, often made them forget anyone and anything else existed, sometimes for hours. It seemed crazy and yet perfectly natural, but it always made it impossible to get any work done. Rowan felt reasonably sure that when they finally got past first base the known universe would collapse—and they probably still wouldn’t notice.
“’Tis far too dangerous.” His beautiful eyes looked down into hers. “I’ll have your word that you willnae use the portal.”
That was her other big problem. Rowan had a very hard time refusing Taran anything. Since the day he’d found her in the hayloft she did whatever he wanted, most of the time without thinking about it. She hadn’t yet figured out why but it only affected her. She hadn’t ruled out magic, but didn’t have someone to ask.
You cannae tell anyone of how we are together. I dinnae wish you to ask the shaman about us. You cannae go and save your sister.
“I hate you,” she told him now, although that was complete B.S. She’d have happily become his slave and grovel at his feet for the rest of her life. She knew he had beautiful feet. She wanted to kiss them, and then do explicit, X-rated things with them.
“Step away before I attack your toes. Don’t ask me to explain that, either.”
His mouth hitched. “First give me your word.”
Sighing, Rowan gave it to him.
Taran didn’t move away. He lifted his hand so that it hovered a half-inch away from her cheek. Close enough for her to feel his body heat without triggering their insane mutual attraction and subsequent oblivion.
“Look at me,” he urged, his voice dropping to a murmur. When she did he took in a quick breath.
“I still hate you,” Rowan muttered but felt glad that he wasn’t all eyebrows and no action. She also found it reassuring that this thing between them scared the hell out of him, too. “What, you want to spend another hour staring at me?”
“I must ride so I willnae.” He moved his hand so that his body heat whispered across her lips. “I wouldnae leave you again, Rowan.”
“You never leave me.”
Since the first whoa-hello-there they’d worked together, eaten together, and even slept together, sort of, in the hayloft. Taran insisted on keeping a couple of respectability bales between their bed rolls, like they were Amish. The only reason she went into the stronghold anymore was because he had. That realization shook her down to her boots.
“We have to tell someone about us,” she tried again. “The shaman. He’d know if it was some weird druid spell I accidentally cast on myself, right?”
His mouth tightened. “No’ yet, lass.”
He dropped his hand, picked up the bridle and went to get his stallion. Rowan stood watching him mount the huge white horse and ride out, and then noticed the rest of the horses were watching as well.
“God, we’re pathetic.” One of the mares snorted, blowing her hair in her face. “Yeah, yeah, I am but you aren’t.”
Rowan paced back to the rack room. She had to do something besides worry about Perrin, ache in the heart region, and sweat over what the hell was happening to her. The splitting maul caught her eye and she picked it up. Kanyth had forged the heavy iron ax-head for her, but she’d carved the sturdy handle herself out of long-grained ash. Basically, a sledge hammer honed on one side to a razor-sharp edge, the maul bit through even the toughest hardwoods.
She doubted it would even dent Taran’s stubborn ass.
In the back of the stables sat Rowan’s pile of daily frustration relief, a heap of logs the gatherers had dragged back there to be chopped for firewood. One of them, a huge oak, had a tell-tale black streak and missing strips of bark along the side. It ended in a jagged break, confirming her suspicions. Lightning had struck the tree, blown off its top, and killed it.
“You guys are so tall and hold so much moisture you’re nothing but great big lightning rods,” she muttered as sh
e used the maul and her boot to roll the oak away from the pile. “Hope you weren’t the sacred variety. I apologize in advance if you were.”
Dragging out some other, smaller pieces beside it, Rowan paused to swing her arms and warm up. As she did she noticed the oak’s shape, like that of a torso and head. Though she’d never considered herself an artist, on a whim she started to carve.
Hefting the maul, she got a firm grip on the handle and raised it high, bringing it down to notch the oak just above the head shape. Back in the good old twenty-first century it would have taken her a half-hour to cut the log in two, but in Medieval World she had her druid ability over wood to add to the mix. After making the first cut she slapped her hand on the trunk, and the oak split apart.
“Good wood,” she said, patting it.
She notched out a neck, and then switched to the hand hatchet she used to trim away small branches. Using short, fussy cuts, she chopped out a rudimentary face on the surface of the oak head, and then spread her hand over the jagged features. Once she’d smoothed out the face, she used her gift to fuse some smaller logs to the oak, and then refined them into arms and legs.
“Well, hello there,” Rowan muttered as she stood and surveyed her creation. The sunlight pouring down over the wood gave it an odd yellowish glow. But the form was instantly recognizable: Taran. “You do look just like him.” She closed her eyes and shook her head. “I’ve made myself a life-size Taran doll. Next, I’ll lose my mind completely. Or have sex with it. No. Splinters. Bad idea.”
“Rowan.”
Her eyes flew open to see her wooden creation staring up at her. She backed away from the oak, stumbling and falling on her backside as it used its arms to push itself up from the ground. She scrambled to her feet, turning to run.
“Rowan, dinnae leave me again.”
She froze as she recognized the voice this time, and glanced over her shoulder. “Ochd?”
The famhair shuffled toward her, nodding with Taran’s head and smiling with his mouth.
“Hendry destroyed my body.” He looked down at himself. “You made me anew.”
Turning around to face the giant, Rowan watched as his body refined itself, becoming more and more humanoid. They stood not three hundred yards away from the entrance to the Skaraven’s stronghold. She could scream and dozens of huge, sword-swinging warriors would come running.
Only she wasn’t going to scream, not yet. Ochd had been the one famhair who had treated her decently. In a bizarre way he’d tried to be a friend.
“How did you find me?” she finally asked.
“You came in my dreams. While I waited, trapped in the dead place.” Light shimmered over his head, adding flesh tones to the features and sprouting long, hair-thin grains that turned as dark brown as his flat eyes. “When Hendry freed me, I searched until I felt you.” He touched his chest. “Here.” He gestured around them. “And here.”
To listen to Ochd’s grating voice come out of Taran’s face made Rowan swallow bile. “What do you want?”
“Naught but to serve you.” The giant went down on one knee. “I give my love and loyalty to you alone, my lady.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
ALERTED BY SENTRIES that the scouts he’d sent ahead to the midlands had returned unexpectedly, Brennus strode down to the river’s edge. Seeing the two disheveled men coaxing their exhausted mounts out of the water boded ill news.
“You left only moments past,” he said. “Explain.”
“We never reached the McAra’s castle, Chieftain,” one scout said. “Indeed, we nearly drowned our mounts in the loch while chopping air holes with our swords. The ice sealed off the water complete.”
As Cadeyrn and Ruadri came down from the stronghold Brennus spotted Taran riding away from the stables. As none had the horse master’s touch with hurt animals, he lifted his hand to signal him. Halfway to the river the horse master vaulted out of his saddle and came running. He went directly to the two horses.
“What did this?” Taran asked as he inspected the half-frozen animals.
“A vast blizzard now scours the midlands,” one of the scouts told him, stroking the shivering neck of his mount. “Snow and wind so fierce and thick we couldnae see a hand’s breadth in front of our noses.”
“Aye, and the loch’s shallows have frozen to the bottoms,” the other scout said. “’Twould take hours to break out a large enough gap for all the clan to pass through on horseback. Even could we, in such cold and bluster, the animals would surely soon perish.”
“I’ll see to the mounts,” Taran said, and glanced at the horses, who limped after him toward the stables.
Cadeyrn sent the scouts to change and warm themselves in the stronghold before he regarded Brennus. “We cannae fight the blizzard and the famhairean, no’ on foot.”
“Aye.” Brennus stared down at the ice glittering on the surface of their river. “Kanyth shall have to protect the mortals until the storm passes.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
NEWS OF THE fierce winter storm blanketing the midlands spoiled Hendry’s plan to attack the last of the villages nearest the McAra stronghold. Yet as he listened to Aon’s description of the dire conditions, he realized that the Gods had delivered a boon he’d never expected.
“Once the blizzard passes, the Skaraven shall come at once to the aid of their mortal allies,” he said as he walked with the famhair toward the settlement. “All confined within the castle, as they’d have to be in such dreadful weather, along with our ally.”
“We shall need another day to take power from the sun, else we falter in snows.” Aon stopped and peered ahead. “Your lady approaches.”
Hendry smiled until he saw Dha following Murdina, and what he carried balanced on his shoulder. “I should have destroyed that.”
“Permit her have her hope, Wood Dream,” the giant said. “’Tis her only tether.”
Hendry nodded, and walked up to where Murdina stood directing Dha to place the wooden body in the center of a mound of herbs. His pleasure turned to dismay when he realized she had emptied every pouch and container from the cottage into a heap to make a bed for her poppet.
“Stand back, my love,” Murdina said, holding out her hand. “You mustnae disturb the offering, or Ochd shall reject it. Tri, come and join hands with me over our brother, that we may beseech him return to us.”
Ochd had fled as soon as Hendry had lifted the wards he’d used to imprison the famhair’s disembodied spirit. He had no doubt the sulking giant had sunken himself into a tree in the midst of a vast forest where he might never be discovered. Yet it would do no harm to permit his druidess to indulge her addled reckoning.
“Forgive me, beauty mine.” He stopped at a respectful distance from the ridiculous assemblage. “If you have finished with Dha, Aon and I must gather our caraidean to speak on matters of import.”
“Go to him,” Murdina said to the giant before she knelt at the side of the wooden body. Tri did the same across from her, and she seized his hands. Tilting her head back, she began to murmur under her breath.
Aon released a small cloud of volatiles, and Dha and the rest of the famhairean followed him and Hendry a short distance away.
Quickly relating the new scheme, Hendry then emphasized the importance of discretion. “No mortal remains must be left outside the stronghold or the upper levels within,” he told the famhairean. “The Skaraven must be made to believe the McAra and the rest of the mortals have barricaded themselves in the dungeons. Only when the entire clan moves inside do you close the trap.”
Aon crouched and used his hand to draw a crude outline of the keepe in the snow. As he marked the different thresholds, Hendry glanced back at Murdina. She now stood scolding Tri, who hung his head before trudging over to join the other famhairean.
“Lady no want Tri,” the damaged giant told Aon. “Go, burn mortals.”
Since he had wrongly destroyed Tri in a fit of rage Hendry had taken pains to be gentle with the giant. “All
the mortals have been burned this day. On the morrow I must leave the settlement to find more herbs for Murdina. I would ask you remain to guard my lady from harm.”
Tri’s divided face creaked as he grinned. “Tri guard lady. Smash invaders.” He frowned and touched the scar that would never leave him no matter how many new forms he embodied. “Invaders smash Tri, kill lady.”
“They never shall again.”
Murdina made a shrill sound, drawing Hendry’s attention away to where she capered and danced around the upright body. He felt stunned when the form began to move and change.
“By the gods,” he muttered.
He hurried over with the famhairean to surround the embodied giant, whose features now made it plain who had returned to them.
“Wood Dream.” Stiffly Ochd turned his head to regard Hendry. “I’ve returned.”
Here was the second chance he thought he’d never have with the one giant he’d counted on above all the others.
“Ochd, Murdina revealed to me the truth of what happened at the McAra’s.” As he had with Aon, Hendry went down on his knees. “’Twas anger that drove me to my fury, anger I shouldnae have felt toward you. I beg you forgive me, Brother, for the pain I’ve caused you.”
The giant looked down on him for a long moment. “You shall permit me to stay, and do as I’ve sworn?”
Hendry nodded, and then smiled with relief as the famhair helped him to his feet. “Your brothers shall welcome your aid, Ochd. Now you must take in as much power as you may from the sun. Tomorrow dawn we go to end the two clans, and send the Skaraven back to their graves.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
KANYTH LEFT THE chamber shortly after Perrin fell into an exhausted slumber, and patrolled the early morning halls of the keepe. He could happily think on what they had shared that night, but it brought on a terrible need to wake her again and add more pleasure to the many decadent hours they’d already loved.
