by Hazel Hunter
He had never spoken to any wench of his feelings. Even with Colblaith he had jested and laughed. With Diana he had hidden his heart. Now he understood why men and women waited so long to find the words, and the one deserving of them.
He said it against her lips, so that she would always remember it as part of a kiss. “Jema, I love you. Whatever you choose, and wherever you go, I shall follow. I dinnae wish to be in a world without you.”
“Oh, Tormod,” she gasped and clung to him, shaking as if fevered. “I’ve loved you for so long, and I thought I’d never be able to tell you. And now you love me. That is the world.” She stiffened and cried out, her pleasure spilling over him as if wrought by their words of love.
True to his word, Tormod followed her.
They lay together in idyllic silence as the dawn came to pour light into the room.
“You should marry me,” he mentioned, stroking her tousled bright hair. “I would make a fine husband, you ken. As long as you give me something to do, like make maps, or kill undead,” he tacked on honestly. “Or any work you think would suit me.”
Jema pillowed her head on his shoulder. “Well, I might cuff you to my bed and use you as my sex slave. You’re very good at that. I’d feed you, of course, and let you get up every now and then for exercise. But other than that, it would be sex and sex and more sex. You’d never have to get dressed again.”
Kissing her softly swollen lips, he said, “You should marry me today.”
Chapter Seventeen
GAVIN WOKE AT noon feeling tired and weak, but one look at his sleeping lady restored some of his strength. Thora’s hair had gone almost completely dark, with only a few gilded streaks around her beautiful face. Drinking his blood had painted a blush of color on her pale cheeks, and reddened her soft lips. He pulled her close and held her until his own thirst drove him to his feet to look for water.
In the front room dust motes danced in the sunlight while he filled a cup from a water bucket by the hearth and drank. He grimaced at the smell of death rising from the bodies in the open coffin. He would have to bury the pair soon. It took ten cups to quench his thirst before he went into the barn to find the farmer gone. The ropes he’d used to restrain him sat atop some grain sacks. Little drops of blood stained the sacking material.
“Thora,” he muttered. No wonder she had looked so sated.
Bitter disappointment filled him. Somehow he had convinced himself that their lovemaking had managed to change her. And maybe it had—but not enough. Thora would always be undead, and she would always need blood. Disappointment melded with anger. Though he was glad that Thora had returned to this world, he wouldn’t wish such an existence on even a creature as vile as Fenella.
Rather than dwell on what could not be changed, Gavin found a shovel and picked a spot under an old oak, where he began digging the grave. With every heave of soil his foggy head cleared a little more. When she’d healed his wound last night he’d expected the enthrallment to return, but it hadn’t. He’d been free of it since the moment Thora had possessed Fenella’s body, and it seemed that was permanent.
An hour later Gavin climbed out of the grave and dragged the coffin to it. Carefully he slid the wood box into the rough hole. He muttered the Lord’s Prayer as he filled it with dirt, unwilling to bury the pair without something said over the grave.
Once he finished he leaned on the spade.
“I’m sorry for you and your baby,” he said quietly. “I hope you’ll be together in the next life.”
He glanced at the house. It would be dark soon. He turned from the small pile of fresh dirt and headed for the barn. Washing in the icy water from the well there lifted the last of the fog from Gavin’s brain. He couldn’t allow Thora to keep feeding on him. Even when she tried to hold back she drank too much, and the blood loss would definitely kill him. Now he remembered what she’d said just before: she’d spoken of Freyja’s Eye. Though the thought that it could be real should have been exciting, all it did was make him think of Jema.
I could leave Thora and go back to the forest.
There was a chance that Jema was out there somewhere, alive and looking for him. He ought to be looking for her. He didn’t owe Thora anything. But even as he thought it, he knew it wasn’t that simple. In fact it was a great deal more complicated than that now that he’d fallen in love with her.
Gavin walked into the house and rummaged through the kitchen until he found the makings of a cheese and jam sandwich. A cask of ale also tempted him, but with the blood loss he decided against imbibing. Eating filled the hole in his belly and gave him more energy. He went to check the barn for a bigger saddle to use on their remaining horse, which would have to carry them both on the final leg of their journey. He found the tack he wanted and brought it out to work on fitting it to the mount.
Washing up after adjusting the saddle, Gavin went in to check on Thora, who was just rousing. Once the twilight snuffed out the sun she stretched and climbed out of the bed to look through a trunk of the dead woman’s clothes.
“Has the mortal returned?” Thora asked him as she tugged a linen shift over her head.
“No,” he said, relieved that she wasn’t going to lie to him. Even so he would have to guard his feelings. Though he felt sure that Thora had been genuine with him while they made love, there was more to the returned Viking and her mission than he knew. “I put a bigger saddle on the last horse. We’ll have to ride together.”
She made a vague sound of agreement and sorted through some skirts. “We will wait to see if the mortal returns.”
Gavin wondered just what she’d ordered the man to do. “For how long?”
“Another day, and then we must go.” She held up a striped skirt to her waist. “I willnae need to feed for another threeday.”
Gavin wondered if that’d been for her benefit or his. Perhaps Thora did care for him, if in her own way. He went to the front room’s hearth and built a fire. Eventually Thora emerged dressed as a farmer’s wife.
“You look lovely,” he said.
“I think not but…” She nodded at the spot where the coffin had been. “You took them out?”
“I buried them,” Gavin admitted. “It was the decent thing to do.”
“Yes,” she said quietly, regarding him. “’Twas.”
She sat down in one of the blanket-covered chairs by the fire, and stared into the flames. “When the Pritani attacked my village, my brother distracted them long enough for me to reach my father’s boat. I sailed away from the island to Orkney, and from there to Norrvegr. I had no tribe left, so I was obliged to work as a serving maid to a jarl.” She met his gaze. “He had lost his only sons to the Pritani, and took pity on me. When I asked him if I could train as a shield-maiden, he sent me to the finest war camp to be taught the ways of battle. I fought every day to grow stronger and faster, until I was prepared.”
Gavin sat down in the chair beside hers as they talked long into the night. He listened as she spoke of her life among the Viking warriors. It hadn’t taken her long to rise through the ranks and be given her own long boat. Her first raid had been on a Pritani ship, which she had captured and brought back as plunder for her jarl.
“My men took a share, but all I wanted were the survivors,” Thora said, her eyes going dreamy. “I put them to the stake, and burned them alive, so they could know what my tribe suffered. ’Twas not decent, but for the first time I felt I could hold up my head and call myself Viking.”
“But one ship wasn’t enough,” Gavin guessed.
She tossed a chunk of pine onto the fire, making it flare. “I vowed that I wouldnae rest until I put to the flame every Pritani that drew breath. I very nearly did before I died in battle.” She glanced at him. “You carry yourself like a warrior. The lion and the cross on your shoulder, are they symbols of your tribe?”
He’d never thought of The Black Watch as a tribe, but it certainly fit. “Yes, but we didn’t fight here in Scotland. My regiment was sent overs
eas to the Middle East to fight terrorists.”
“Battles change, but warriors never do.” Her eyes shifted to the window as she quickly straightened. She cocked her head as she listened. “Someone approaches.”
Gavin went to the window, and looked both ways. “I don’t see anyone.”
When he glanced over his shoulder he saw that Thora had gone back into the bed chamber, where he found her stripping off the dead woman’s clothing.
She gestured at her modified Roman legion uniform. “I must wear that. Bring it to me.”
Gavin helped her quickly dress, then tucked his dirk in his belt as he followed her out into the night. Thora strode into the south pasture and crossed the field, peering ahead until the sound of horses moving toward them made her halt.
The undead Romans looked as astonished to see her as Gavin felt to see them. The men muttered in Latin to each other as they trotted forward to peer at Thora.
“Patrol, halt,” Thora barked out. “Did you bring the horses for us?”
She sounded so much like Fenella that Gavin flinched.
“Hail, Prefect Ivar,” said the man leading the patrol. He dismounted, dropped on his knee and struck his chestplate with his fisted hand in a salute. “We were not told that you were in this area. Highlanders have been spotted, and we were sent to scout them.”
Thora nodded. “I cannae wait any longer for resupply. You will give me two of your mounts, now. When is the next transport ship to arrive here?”
“Sunset this night.” The Roman stood and motioned to two of the men, who dismounted and brought their horses to Gavin. “You dinnae sound much like yourself, Prefect.” He glanced around. “And where are the rest of your men?”
Thora sighed and spoke to Gavin. “The prefect was much hated and I am merciless. I’m afraid ’tis a lethal combination, for I cannae stop until I have Freyja’s Eye and my vengeance. Mayhaps you should turn away.”
She plucked the dirk from Gavin’s belt, and disappeared in a blur.
Bile rose in his throat as he watched her flash through the patrol, slicing and stabbing as the Romans disintegrated into ash. Though the last man tried to flee, she was on him in a second. Then she saw that Gavin was watching.
“Pick up the weapons they dropped,” she told him.
But rather than finish the soldier, her hand flew to her face. As a shaft of sunlight struck her, she let out a screech of pain. The sun had crested the horizon without any of them seeing it through the dense forest.
As Gavin tossed Thora over his shoulder, he saw the scorched Roman crawling away into the brush. He ran for the house, kicking in the door and rushing into the bed chamber.
“I didnae finish him,” Thora protested as he put her on her feet. She grabbed the front of his tunic. “I must do it.”
He looked at her hands, which were covered with ash. One still grasped the dagger. “The sun has already burnt him,” he said hotly and touched the singe mark on her face. “As it might have you, Thora. Your body is undead. You cannot behave as you did when you were mortal.” Though her reddish-brown eyes blazed back at him, he watched as she tamped down her fury. “Give me the blade.”
Though she hesitated, she passed it to him handle first. He slashed his palm. As the blood trickled down his fingers, he brushed them over her face, healing the burn. Then he took her hands in his. To have them burned so must have been excruciating. As he healed them he began to see her in a new light.
Wiping out the Pritani would never bring back her tribe. He doubted it would even give her peace. But that she had to see this through, no matter the cost, was now obvious—as was the fact that she couldn’t do it on her own.
“We will leave at sundown,” he said.
Chapter Eighteen
SHARING HER HUSBAND’S immortal soul also came with a few extra benefits for Diana, but the one she liked most was water-traveling. It saved so much time when they had to cross long distances. When she came out of the river, she changed back into her physical form.
“Especially convenient when hunting renegade Vikings,” she said to herself, “finding invisible future chicks and their enthralled brothers, and, of course, the undead who’ve been possessed by the renegade Vikings’ sister.” She found Raen and Evander staring at her. “What? None of this is my fault. I let them escape so they could rescue the brother.”
“’Twas a kindness,” her husband said and looked at the captain. “Dinnae you agree, Talorc?”
“Oh, aye. Just as when I escaped with Fiona, and speared you through the throat when you tried to stop us.” His mouth twitched before he bent to check the bundle of spears he’d brought. “I did it for love.”
“No’ for love of me,” Raen muttered.
“I liked you two better when you hated each other,” Diana said and studied the surrounding terrain for any trace of Tormod’s trail. “Oh, great.”
Hundreds of mortal trails crisscrossed the ground and overlapped each other, probably the tracks of locals coming back and forth to the river for water. On the plus side, she saw no sign of the undead or any of their enthralled minions in the trails.
“I think we need to get away from the– Oh, wait.”
Leading up from the bank was a faint, broken trail of bright blue that she recognized as Tormod’s track. When she knelt down to study it she saw the breaks in the trail were overlaps of a colorless track, which had to belong to Jema.
She rose and nodded. “Okay, I’ve got them. This way.” When her husband cleared his throat she frowned at him, and then realized both men were still dripping wet. “Right, sorry.” Murmuring a druid spell, she summoned a blast of warm air to dry their clothes.
Tormod’s trail led them to a coastal town, where it halted outside an inn. Evander went inside to make inquiries, and returned to confirm that the Viking had taken a room.
“He came alone, and told the innkeeper no’ to disturb him for the day.” The captain glanced up at the windows overhead. “I reckon Jema cloaked herself so her garments wouldnae be questioned.”
“They’re probably sleeping, or doing what we all do before we conk out.” Diana dragged her teeth over her bottom lip as she considered their options. The sun would be setting in less than six hours, but until it did Thora would not be able to emerge from wherever she was hiding with Gavin until nightfall. “Let me go in alone.”
Diana sent Evander and Raen to distract the innkeeper while she went upstairs. With every step she took she felt the weight on her shoulders increase. She still wasn’t sure what she’d tell the Viking.
“Your sister reincarnated, only she’s a vampire now,” she muttered under her breath. “Good news, you don’t have to keep looking for her grave. Bad news, she needs to be put back into one.” She stopped at the threshold of the room and thought of the one thing she could actually say to him with real honesty. “Come home. Just please come home.”
Diana jumped as the door swung open, and a bare-chested, tousle-haired Tormod peered out at her.
“Red,” he said and stepped out into the hall and closed the door. “You tracked us?”
In that moment Diana saw him not as he was, but as the boy he had been. He would have been tall and gawky as a teenager, she thought, and no match for Lachlan and his Pritani warriors. She could see him taunting them, and running around the burning homes of his tribe as he tried to buy his sister enough time to get to the boat. He’d risked his life for her. He’d sacrificed his freedom.
No way would he do anything to hurt Thora. Then or now.
Diana had never hated herself so much as she did in this moment. “The laird sent me to find you,” she said quickly. “Raen and Evander came, too. We’ll help you get Jema’s brother back.”
The Viking grinned. “Am I forgiven?”
Diana couldn’t muster a smile in return. “You’ll probably be scrubbing out privies for the next hundred years, but yeah.” She nodded past him. “Scotty okay?”
“Aye. She’s bonny and brilliant and all a man
could hope to have.” Dreams filled his eyes. “As soon as we end Fenella and save Gavin, we’ll be marrying. Can you fathom it? Me, a husband.”
She wanted to hug him but her lie of omission was suddenly like a wall between them. “Congratulations,” she said, looking away. “I’m going to take the guys and do some scouting around town. We’ll be back before dark.”
Diana headed back downstairs, but took the steps slower this time. Instead of the crushing weight of shame, she felt numb. It didn’t help when she found the men bickering in low voices.
“Telling the Viking that ’tis his sister who possesses Fenella’s body is madness,” Raen insisted. “She has already tried to kill the laird. She wasnae known as Thora the Merciless for naught. She will use Tormod and his resentment of the clan to take her revenge, and likely kill both of the McShanes in the doing.”
“Tormod is wiser than you ken,” Evander countered. “Once he learns Thora means to use this cursed jewel to slaughter the entire clan, he will stand with us.”
Diana wanted to agree with the captain. She knew the Viking didn’t share his sister’s desire for vengeance. What gave her pause was the last of what he’d said: he will stand with us.
“I couldn’t tell him,” Diana said tightly as she passed them and left the inn. She kept going until she stood on the rocky edge of the shore, where she watched the waves until her husband joined her and put his arm around her shoulders. She leaned against him, taking a little comfort from the warmth and strength he radiated. “Will Evander give him the news?”
“No’ for now. Once Lachlan and the warband arrive, we’ll reconsider.” His mouth hitched as she stared at him. “When the clan is threatened, the laird doesnae cower and hide at home. He gave us an hour so you might decide what the Viking should ken.”
“Why me?” she said, her eyes stinging with the start of tears. She put up a hand to stop his answer, already knowing what it was. “Because I’m the cop.”
