The King's Warrior (Pict King Series Book 2)

by Donna Fletcher

  Harran stepped forward and shouted for all to hear. “There is nothing to fear. Go about your tasks.”

  Sighs of relief were heard and smiles returned, but caution took hold again when shortly afterwards a man was dragged into the village, his head hanging down and the hood of his cloak draped over it. He was deposited in a small dwelling and Cora, the healer, was summoned.

  Verity did not need to hear what others were saying to know what was happening. One of their attackers had gotten away and collapsed in the woods. If he could be saved, there was a chance Wrath could find out who was responsible for the attack and if there were more to come.

  Wrath came out of the dwelling not soon after Cora had entered and Verity saw that he was headed straight for her.

  “Cora says she can use your help with the wounded captive.” He did not wait for Verity to consent. He took her arm and guided her to the dwelling.

  The man was too big for the narrow bed. His legs hung off the end and his one arm drooped off the side. His head was turned toward the wall, his hood covering most of his face.

  Cora looked to Wrath and Harran. “Leave. I will see this done.”

  Verity knew Wrath’s response before he spoke.

  “No! Harran can leave but I stay.”

  “The man is weak he cannot—”

  Wrath turned such a harsh look on Cora that she bowed her head and said, “As you wish.”

  Harran hesitated to take his leave.

  “Go,” Wrath urged. “Your tribe needs you.”

  The room was quiet for a few moments as Cora took a dagger and split the man’s bloody tunic open down past the middle of his chest.

  Verity cringed. She had seen wounds such as his and none had ever survived them.

  Cora looked to Wrath. “He will not survive.”

  “I only need him to wake for a short while.”

  “I cannot promise you that.”

  “Do what you can,” Wrath said, his firm tone leaving no room to argue.

  Cora turned to Verity. “He has slivers of wood in him from whatever he was hit with. I need you to get them out. You have a steadier hand than I do.” She handed Verity a needle.

  Verity took it and looked around. “Where is the water to first clean him?”

  “A waste of time. Pluck out the wood.”

  “I must clean him first to see his wound more clearly,” Verity said.

  “He is going to die. Nothing is going to save him. It makes no difference.”

  “Verity will clean him,” Wrath ordered.

  Cora once again looked to Wrath. “Then you have no need of me. She can see to what needs doing. I will send someone with a bucket of snow.”

  “I can see to this,” Verity confirmed.

  “Go,” Wrath ordered annoyed with the woman for leaving the task to Verity.

  Cora scurried past Wrath and out the door as he approached Verity.

  He reached out and brushed a stray strand of hair off her face. Strands were forever breaking free from her braid and falling around her face. He recalled the one time he had seen it free of the braid. It was lovely and he would like to see her hair that way again sometime. But now was not that time. Now there were more important matters to see to.

  “Are you sure you can do this on your own?”

  Something inside her sparked at his simple touch. It seemed so familiar as if he had done it often and without thought, as if he cared for her. Not a thought she needed to be having now.

  “I have tended wounds before and I fear Cora is right. He will not survive,” she said.

  “It is important we learn what we can from him.”

  “I will do what I can, but I fear it will not be much.”

  The door opened and a man entered with a bucket of snow and an old scrap of cloth. Wrath took them from him and set the bucket on the edge of the stone fire pit. It was not long before the snow melted and Verity sat on a bench beside the bed and began to clean the man’s wound.

  “I cannot believe he still lives,” she said quietly. She worked as gently as she could on him and she wondered if it mattered since he did not move. It was when she plucked the first piece of wood embedded deeper in his wound that he stirred.

  Wrath stepped closer.

  Verity saw the man’s hand that lay at his side on the sleeping pallet begin to fist and she said softly, “I am trying to help you.”

  His hand stilled.

  Wrath reached down and pushed the man’s hood off his face and met blue eyes full of anger. “Who are you and what do you want here?”

  The man’s eyes drifted shut and Wrath took a step away annoyed that he had not remained alert long enough to answer. He caught the sudden flash of movement out of the corner of his eye and swerved around.

  The man was sitting up and had Verity by the throat.

  Verity tugged frantically at his hand, but she could not dislodge his firm grip.

  “He will come for you and he should cut your eyes from your head,” the man said and let out a roar, his fingers closing tighter around her neck.

  Wrath swung at the man’s arm with his fist with such force that it broke not only the grip he had on Verity but split the bone, the crack loud in the small room. The man let out another roar and with his other hand grabbed for the dagger Cora had left on the bed and swiftly plunged it into his neck before Wrath could stop him.

  Wrath snatched Verity off the bench and away from the sleeping pallet, depositing her by the door. “Slow breaths,” he said as she fought to breathe. He cast an eye at the man, half of him slumped over the side of the sleeping pallet and blood pouring on the ground from his fresh wound.

  The door burst opened and Harran and two other men rushed in the room with their swords drawn.

  “He took his life when he woke,” Wrath explained.

  “He said nothing?” Harran asked.

  “Not a word. He is yours to dispose of. I want to get Verity to our dwelling. She has suffered a terrible fright.”

  “Aye, of course,” Harran said, nodding repeatedly.

  With a snug arm around her waist, Wrath hurried Verity out of the dwelling and along to theirs. He did not release her after shutting the door. “That man was a Northman?”

  Verity nodded, still too shocked to speak and not only from being choked, but by who had choked her.

  “You knew him.”

  She nodded again.

  “He was not dressed as a Northman.”

  She shook her head.

  “You will look at the men I killed and tell me if they are Northmen too.”

  She returned to nodding.

  He, however, shook his head. “Word was received through the various tribes that the Northmen had only arrived and they must wait on King Talon’s word before riding to Pictland. That would take almost a full moon cycle, so how is it that this Northman is here now?”

  Verity finally spoke. “He would have had to have arrived here before me.”

  Wrath released her, though stepped closer to her. “Who will come for you and why did this Northman believe your eyes should be cut from your head?”

  Chapter Eleven

  Verity knew she could not keep lying to Wrath, but how much did she tell him? How much did she trust him with the truth? What would he do when he learned of her visions? Would he fear her and protect her no more? She chose her words carefully, her hand going to the mark at her neck as she did. “Ulric, son of Haggard, accused me of stealing one of his weapons and insisted that I had planned to use it to kill him. He had me tethered to a post in the middle of the village until he decided what he would do with me. He would be furious that I escaped his punishment and I have no doubt he would follow after me.”

  Wrath’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tightened and he clenched his one hand in an attempt to contain his anger. He was familiar with what happened to those who were tethered or tied to a post before punishment. It was a way for tribe members to express their disfavor with what the person had done. Rotting food
was thrown, many spit on the person, and if tribe members were extremely upset they would throw stones or attempt to yank hair out of the person’s head.

  The thought that Verity suffered any of that disturbed him beyond reason. But so did the thought that she might be guilty of what she had been accused of and if so, had she intended to use the weapon to kill Ulric?

  “Did you steal the weapon?” he asked.

  “No,” Verity said, shaking her head. “I would have been foolish to do such a thing.”

  “Then why would Ulric accuse you of it? And why would he want to cut your eyes from your head?”

  This was where it became difficult to explain it to him. If she was not careful and satisfy his query, he would only ask more questions.

  “I do not understand why he would do either.” She did not believe her excuse would suffice, but she feared saying any more than that.

  “How odd, that he should accuse you for no reason.”

  He did not believe her and she could not blame him. It was a pitiful excuse.

  “What is even odder is that Ulric should follow after a slave that has returned to her home makes no sense. None of what you tell me makes sense.”

  “What makes less sense is what Ivan was doing here at all and in unfamiliar garments,” Verity said not only curious about it, but hoping it would divert the discussion away from her.

  Wrath took hold of her arm again. “You will have a look at the men who attacked the village and tell me if you recognize any of them.” Once outside, Wrath said, “Tell me about Ivan.”

  “He was a fierce warrior, but then all Northmen are. Death means little to the Northmen as long as they die with honor as Ivan did. He and Ulric went on many raids together. Ivan and Ulric also were the ones who were sent to trade with the Drust.” Her brow furrowed. “I recall hearing that the Drust were angry at King Talon.”

  “Do you know why?”

  “Many things were said, but the one I heard most often was that the King had not kept his word to the Drust. And they believed that a King who failed to keep his word was not a King to trust.”

  Wrath was glad the misunderstanding with the Drust had been rectified and they could once again be counted as allies of the King, though not all of them. There were Drust who were not in favor of the King. Could there be more unrest with the Drust than had not been revealed? He would make sure he mentioned the possibility to the King.

  “This will not be pleasant for you to look upon,” Wrath said as they stepped into the woods.

  It was considerate of Wrath to warn her, but unnecessary. She had seen more unpleasant things than she cared to remember.

  Wrath stopped not far from the bodies and his hand slipped off her arm to take her hand. “A quick look should do. There is no need to linger.”

  She nodded, pleased that he thought to hold her hand through it, the gesture a caring one or so she wished to believe.

  They approached the bodies and one look had Verity shaking her head.

  “None are Northmen.”

  “You are sure?” Wrath asked.

  “I am not familiar with any of these men. They are not from my village.”

  Wrath’s brow narrowed and after a moment he said, “Go wait over by that boulder.”

  Verity did as he said and watched to see what Wrath would do.

  He took his dagger and began shredding the dead men’s garments. He stopped now and again to stare at something. Verity realized what he was searching for—body drawings. And he had found some.

  Verity was not surprised to see the anger in his eyes as he approached her. That a Northman had joined the Pict to attack a Pict village did not bode well, and she feared what it might mean.

  Wrath stopped in front of her. “Did you ever hear talk of the Northmen attacking the Pict?”

  “I heard nothing, but Hemera heard and shared some of it with me.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Haggard and Ulric argued over Haggard’s decision to make peace with the Pict. Ulric believed his father foolish. He felt that the Northmen should attack the northern Pict isles and claim them as their own. He then wanted to move further inland and claim more land for the Northmen. Haggard preferred to move in gradually, encouraging his warriors to join with the Pict women and settling in their tribes until the tribes were more Northmen than Pict.”

  Anger flared in Wrath. The dead men had body drawings from the Ancrum Tribe, a single band of thorns around the upper part of both arms. Their chieftain, Egot, was a strong supporter of the King. Which begged the question, what were Ancrum warriors doing with a Northman, attacking a Pict Tribe?

  The other question that begged an answer was what did Verity have to do with all of this?

  Wrath and Verity’s talk was interrupted when two men appeared, dragging Ivan’s body behind them. They stopped abruptly when they saw Wrath.

  One man was quick to say, “Harran ordered his body placed with the others.”

  Wrath nodded and, taking Verity’s hand, walked off with her to leave the men to their task.

  “The King needs to be informed about this,” Wrath said, after entering their dwelling. “We will return to the stronghold as soon as the King’s warriors arrive.

  “What of Hemera?”

  “The search will have to wait. This is more important.”

  “To you, but Hemera is more important to me,” she argued, then asked what she knew would be denied, but she would ask anyway. “Let me go search for her while you see to your duties.”

  “No, I will not allow it. You will not go off on your own unprotected. Besides, I do not know where you and your sister fit into this whole situation, but I believe you both fit in it somewhere and until you tell me the whole of it or until I find out—you stay with me.”

  Verity went to argue.

  “Do not waste your breath. You stay with me.” He tossed his cloak on the sleeping pallet. “What else can you tell me of Ulric?”

  Verity hung her cloak on the peg, resigned for the moment that there was nothing she could do about her search for Hemera. She also was beginning to wonder if she and Hemera had been allowed to escape. Ulric had arrived on Pict soil not long after them. Had he planned it that way? Had he let them escape, giving him reason to come here and set into motion what could be the beginning of a war with the Picts? But that would seem unlikely, since he had plans for her, and he would not take a chance of losing her to the sea.

  “Verity?”

  She turned.

  “Ulric. Can you tell me more of Ulric?”

  This time the darkness rushed around Verity with such strength and force that she barely had time to stretch her hand out to Wrath before it engulfed her completely.

  Wrath rushed forward and captured her in his arms quickly. He laid her on the sleeping pallet, leaving room for him to sit beside her and he held her hand tightly as he spoke to her. “I am here, Verity. I will not leave you.”

  It was strange to hear Wrath speak to her while wrapped in a vision. Never had she heard anyone’s voice outside a vision and hearing him say he was there and would not leave her made her feel less fearful and brought her comfort.

  A tall, slim woman approached Verity in an unfamiliar forest. Her long white hair, plaited in a single braid, defined her as an elder, yet her lovely face had few lines and wrinkles that came with living long. She had gentle blue eyes and she wore a long, white tunic that skimmed the top of her bare feet. She spoke softly. “Hemera is well. Do not worry. You will be reunited.” The woman and her voice began to fade. “Watch.”

  “Wake up, Verity. Wake up!”

  “Listen. Learn.”

  “You will wake up, Verity.”

  Was that fear she heard in Wrath’s voice? No, that was not possible. Wrath feared nothing. Her eyes fluttered as she fought to open them.

  “Open your eyes, Verity,” he urged as she continued to struggle to do so.

  This vision was different from the others. She had felt at peace around the
woman who had spoken to her and she had not wanted to leave her presence. It was the first time she had wanted to linger in a vision.

  She felt a hand tapping her cheek.

  “Come on, Verity, open your eyes.”

  Again she heard a bit of fear mixed with his urging and her eyes finally fluttered open.

  Wrath watched as her dark eyes turned a lighter blue. He had never seen anything like it and he could not help but wonder over it.

  She rested her hand against his chest. “I am grateful that you stayed with me.”

  “You are my responsibility. The King commands it.”

  Her hand fell away and she turned her head, pretending to yawn.

  He did not know why he responded as he did. Was he reminding himself that that was all there was between them because he was beginning to care for her? Why else would he grow so upset when she went limp in his arms or when she paled as if death had taken her? Never had he worried about a woman as much as he worried about Verity.

  He stood, annoyed at his straying thoughts that should be on the problem at hand and not on a woman. He was the leader of the King’s elite warriors and that came before all else. “You should sleep. These attacks make you tired and you need rest.”

  She did not have to pretend the next yawn; it came on its own.

  “I go to speak with Harran, though I will make no mention of Northmen. That is for the King to hear before anyone else is made aware of it. Make sure to hold your tongue on that.”

  “I will say nothing.”

  “We will talk more later, after you have rested.” He grabbed his cloak off the sleeping pallet and dropped a blanket over Verity, then went to the door. “You will remain here until I return.” When she did not answer, he turned and saw that she was already sleeping.

  He got a sudden urge to go and slip in beside her and take her in his arms, and he grew angry. This had to stop. Northmen were on Pict soil without permission and a Pict tribe had attacked another Pict tribe along with a Northman. There were much more important matters for him to see to than to dwell on a woman.

  He stepped outside glad for the cold wind that caught him like a slap in the face. More repairs were needed to be made to damaged dwellings and weapons made ready if another attack should happen. It was his responsibility to make sure the tribe stayed safe until the King’s warriors arrived.