Warrior Untamed

by Mayhue, Melissa

  “The wound looks to be badly infected,” she called out.

  From the other room, the old woman’s mirthless cackle reached Brie’s ears.

  “That’s no infection yer seeing there, lass, but pure evil Magic. The only Magic that can bring about the demise of one such as he.”

  One such as he.

  Another comment she’d have to ask Orabilis about when all of this was over. Their number was growing by the minute, as was Brie’s suspicion that Orabilis knew as much about Hall as she did about her.

  The old woman returned, carrying a large mortar and pestle and a wicked-looking iron rasp. She tossed a couple of the peat staves into the little fire and sat down on the hearth to unwrap the jewels.

  “No! You must keep them covered. Editha told us if we bared them, Fenrir would be able to see through them!”

  “You’ve no cause to worry over Fenrir. Not even one such as he has power within the protection of the Rowans. We’re safe here.”

  Brie tried to console herself with the old woman’s words and use them to put Torquil out of her mind. The only thing that mattered to her right now lay in the bed at her side, his face as pale as death.

  Orabilis ground each of the jewels against the metal rasp, catching small bits of the stones in the mortar. Then she went back to the main room and returned with a cup of the herbs she’d been boiling. She added them to the mortar and mixed it all together into a thick paste.

  Brie stroked her fingers over Hall’s stubbled cheek and sent up a quick prayer to the Seven that they might watch over him as he traveled through the middle world. Though he could never be hers, the thought of his death was more than she could stand.

  “Can you save him?”

  It was the one question she most feared asking. But now the words were out there, lying bare and naked in the air between them.

  “I will do my best.”

  It was not at all the reassurance she had hoped to hear.

  “A shame it is you dinna recover the Elven Scrolls of Niflheim when you liberated the jewels. A peek into their wisdom would tell us exactly how to heal our good warrior.”

  With a grunt, Orabilis pushed up from the floor and crossed to the bed, carrying a bowl filled with what looked like a mash of dark purple-green goo.

  One arch of Orabilis’s bushy eyebrow, and Brie vacated the little stool next to the bed so that the crone could sit down. Orabilis slathered the paste in a thick layer over Hall’s wound and then bound his shoulder with a clean linen bandage.

  “There,” she pronounced as she stood up.

  “Now what do we do?” Brie asked, willing and ready for any action Orabilis demanded.

  “Now we wait. Without the guidance of the scrolls, there’s nothing else we can do.”

  Eighteen

  OF ALL THE unpleasant activities Brie could imagine, none was more torturous than waiting.

  Patience is a virtue, her father had often said. But both of them knew it wasn’t one of her virtues. Sitting, doing nothing, grated on her every nerve and brought out the worst in her attitude.

  After a night of sitting helplessly at Hall’s side, waiting for any little sign of recovery, Brie was ready to snap.

  There had to be some constructive way she could help. Something she could do that would be more helpful to Hall than simply sitting here worrying over him.

  She needed a task to occupy her hands. Her mind worked better when her hands were busy. And now that she thought about it, she knew exactly what that task should be.

  Hall’s pack lay in the corner where she’d put it. It took only a few minutes of snooping through his things to find what she sought.

  After filling a small bowl with warm water, she returned to Hall’s bedside, armed with her tools—a bar of soap from the shelf above the bed and the small silver razor she’d found in his pack.

  Shaving a man’s face wasn’t something she had personal experience with, but she’d seen it done often enough. Both her father and her brother had cursed their way through the ordeal.

  If they could do it, with only their wavery reflection in a shield or pot as a guide, there was little doubt she could do it, too. And likely much better.

  She dipped the soap into the warm water and rolled it in her hands, releasing the soothing aromas of lavender and balm. After smoothing the soap over Hall’s stubbly cheeks, she lifted the razor and gently stroked down his face. The trail left behind invited her touch. His skin was smooth and soft under her finger, like a page from one of the books the laird’s wife, Dani, valued so highly.

  Brie returned to her self-appointed task, swiping the razor down Hall’s face again, allowing her mind to run free now that her hands were occupied.

  One day, perhaps, she’d make the time to learn how to put the letters she already knew together so that she could read words. Just like the laird’s wife. Maybe her brother Jamesy was right and she would find reading a useful skill in the long run. It would have been helpful to have been able to read when she’d first found the scrolls in Torquil’s solar.

  Chances were that whoever Hall did end up wedding would, like Lady Dani, spend her spare time engaged in the art of reading. Brie could almost picture herself tucked into a bright corner of some solar, an unrolled scroll propped in her lap, children on the floor at her feet. . . .

  Wait.

  Her hand slowed to a stop, and she lifted the razor from Hall’s face while she waited for the universe to catch up with her. Something in that little fantasy she’d just concocted tickled at the back of her mind.

  The scrolls!

  What was it Orabilis had said about the scrolls?

  A peek into their wisdom would tell us exactly how to heal our good warrior.

  That was it! That was what she could do to help him. If it was the scrolls Orabilis needed in order to save Hall, then, by the Seven, it was the scrolls she’d have.

  There was nothing to be gained in waiting for her brother and his men to hunt down Mathew MacFalny. Even if they found him, without the jewels, they’d simply return to Castle MacGahan to wait for Hall.

  Whereas if she were to locate the scrolls, she could bring them directly here to aid Orabilis in healing Hall.

  It was settled.

  Brie finished shaving Hall, making sure not to rush and risk a cut to his strong jawline. Once his face was cleaned and smooth, she replaced the razor in his pack and made her way outside to find Orabilis, a larger plan taking root in her mind.

  Her hostess was in the sheds, feeding her goats.

  “When I was here with the Tinklers, you said you knew of my mother’s people. When I was very young, my mother told stories of my ancestors marking symbols upon their bodies to protect them in battle. Do you have knowledge of these symbols?”

  “I might,” the old woman answered, her fingers stroking through her goat’s silky coat. “What purpose do you have in asking after such a thing?”

  Brie rubbed her hands together, seeking to calm the nerves that tumbled her stomach. A wise woman such as Orabilis would surely see the merit in her plan.

  “You said the scrolls would allow you to heal Hall without question. I plan to go get them, but I dinna fool myself into thinking it will be easy. To help ensure my success, I wish to utilize the power of my people’s symbols.”

  She’d set out for battle once before and had failed miserably in her task. The stakes now were higher than any she’d ever considered before. If she succeeded this time, Hall’s recovery was guaranteed.

  “You dinna need the symbols. Yer power comes from what’s inside you, lass, not what’s emblazoned on your outside.”

  “That may be so for most of my people. But no for me.” Though it wounded her pride to admit her weaknesses, Brie was sure that only honesty would convince Orabilis to help her. “My mother said the symbols imparted the magic and the wisdom of our ancestors. I’m no strong enough on my own, Orabilis. Though none can best me as an archer, my failings as a warrior are numerous. I’m no a patie
nt woman. I’ve been known to be rash and overhasty in my choices. My temper gets the better of me, and I falter. In this quest, I mustn’t falter. I canna afford to falter.”

  Orabilis lifted the bag at her feet and scattered its remaining contents into the goat pen before she answered.

  “The last time you were here, yer only goal was to avenge yer father’s death. Is yer commitment to yer chosen cause such that you so easily change yer purpose in life?”

  This was different. Surely the old woman could be made to understand that.

  “Revenge is an all-consuming ambition. It soothes the grief and protects you from having to move on with yer life. It is a goal outside the constraints of time. Though I ken that nothing I can ever do will bring my father back, I will have my revenge in time.

  “But now, in this moment, there’s something I need to do that is inside the constraints of time. I have it within my ability to prevent Hall’s death if I act quickly. Saving someone you care for should certainly take priority over revenge, should it no? My need for vengeance can wait.”

  “And Hall O’Donar is someone you care for?”

  Brie considered denying it, but she had little to gain other than trying to shield her pride. But pride was of little use in gaining this woman’s alliance.

  “He is. Will you help me?”

  “Mayhap. Does he feel the same way about you? Do you think he’d choose you over that which is most important to him, as you propose doing?”

  Perhaps not. He’d already made it clear he’d leave her behind when Fenrir was no longer a threat.

  But what he would do was of no matter to her. She could only control her own actions, not his, just as she could only control her own feelings, not his. And she knew without a doubt how she felt about him.

  “What he would choose is of no importance. When you care for someone, you do whatever you can for them. This is what I must do. I ask you again, will you help me?”

  Another long pause before the old woman answered had Brie worrying that she would refuse the request.

  “Well spoken, Princess. Even the Norns themselves could no have foreseen the last daughter of the House MacUlagh taking a fancy to the Defender of the Thunder’s People. Even if I hadna already taken such a liking to you, lass, the opportunity to confound the plans of those condescending old women would be reason enough for my assistance. If it’s truly the wish of yer heart, I will help you.”

  Brie threw her arms around Orabilis, lifting her from her feet to twirl her around. “Thank you! So very much. Thank you.” She set the old woman down.

  “Dinna be so quick to thank me.” Orabilis patted her hair back into place before heading toward the cottage. “The symbols you ask for hold a powerful Magic of their own. They will mark not only your skin but also your destiny. When Magic calls to Magic, Magic responds. The path you choose is no an easy one, especially if yer still determined to see vengeance wreaked upon the MacDowylt. The hunt for revenge might well soothe the grief you feel now. But once the hunt is over, if that’s all you have to fill yer heart, you’ll be left empty and wanting.

  “Here’s a wisdom that my people live by: Sometimes in life, you must let go in order to hold on. Before all is said and done, you may well regret this sacrifice yer making.”

  Nineteen

  THE FETID STENCH permeating the little cottage was enough to wake the dead, and still Hall slept.

  Though Brie envied him his escape from the sinus-rotting odor, his sleeping through something as awful as this served as proof that what she prepared to do was absolutely necessary.

  Orabilis fussed over the little pot by the fireplace, jerking her head back from the fumes when she lifted the lid to stir the thick, dark liquid inside.

  Brie fought the temptation to giggle at the expression of disgust on the old woman’s face.

  “It’s a fair vile brew you’ve concocted there.” An understatement if ever she’d made one. Vile would be a compliment to the nastiness in that pot.

  “It is that,” Orabilis agreed, her face still wrinkled in revulsion. “Little wonder yer people were called barbarians. I’ve always detested the smell of this plant.”

  It wasn’t just the plant. Everything the old witch had put inside that pot smelled horrible, and it had only gotten worse as it had ripened over the past two days.

  “As I promised it would be, our stain is ready. If yer sure you still want to go through with this, that is. A commitment such as you intend to make, once it’s done, stays done.”

  Brie glanced to the room where Hall slept. Each night she had sat there next to him, hoping for some sign of improvement. Two days and nights and there had been none, though Orabilis still swore he could awaken at any time.

  He lay flat on his back, stiff as the boards that held up his bed. His face had grown even paler than it was when they’d first arrived, except for the two bright red splotches on his cheeks, harbingers of the fever that ravaged his body. Unless the fever broke, he had no chance of survival.

  “I’m sure.”

  She would not stand by and see him die.

  “As you wish,” Orabilis muttered, ladling out a scoop of the colorful dye into a stone bowl. “So it will be. Strip out of yer shift and climb up on the stool here by the fire, so I can see what I’m doing.”

  She would have to take her clothes off? In front of the old witch? If she’d stopped for even one single moment to think about what she was doing, she might have reasoned that out for herself. Orabilis couldn’t very well paint the symbols of war and protection on her skin without her baring her body to the old woman.

  “Come on, come on with you. Quit yer dawdling. You’ve nothing to show me that I haven’t seen each time I take off my own shift.”

  The very idea of the old woman standing naked on a stool brought a smile to Bridget’s lips and urged her forward.

  “Hold yer arms out. Nice and steady. Good. Just like that. Now, dinna you move a muscle.”

  The old woman dipped the twig she held into the blue concoction and trailed it from Brie’s left shoulder down past her breast to a spot just below her belly button, ending in a curled flourish. Chill bumps rose on Brie’s skin as the liquid settled to dry. A second dip into the dye and Orabilis painted a mirror image of the first marking, starting this time at Brie’s right shoulder.

  In what felt to Brie like hours that followed, Orabilis adorned Brie’s arms, legs, and back with a series of intricate symbols. When she at last stepped back to assess her work, Brie sagged with relief.

  “I felt as though we’d never finish.”

  Orabilis grinned, flashing her perfect white teeth. “We’re no yet done, my fine lassie. We’ve yer face yet to go. Have a seat so that I can reach you.”

  As ridiculous as it seemed, after having the whole of her body covered in the symbols, the idea of marking her face set a rush of apprehension churning in her stomach. She shuttered off the desire to escape what was about to happen. This was her choice. Her request. Her path.

  What did it matter, anyway? She’d never been vain about her looks. She braided her hair to keep it out of her face, and she wore whatever was close at hand and comfortable. Her appearance didn’t matter in the least. It was of no concern what anyone who looked at her would think. She did this for an honorable cause. A necessary cause. It would give her the strength to do what needed doing.

  “In ancient times, yer people looked upon these markings as a sign of beauty as well as protection,” Orabilis said as she drew the first stroke above Brie’s eye.

  “It’s a small matter,” Brie murmured, doing her best to hold back the bewildering tears that blurred her vision.

  Thanks to the detail of the symbols on her face and neck, Orabilis took almost as long to finish that as she had to adorn Brie’s entire body.

  “I’m glad that’s done,” Orabilis said at last. With a sigh, she laid down her bowl and twig. “I’m fair worn-out. I’ve a small mirror if you’d like to see what we’ve accomplished.�
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  “No.”

  She might know it was there, but seeing it would be a different matter altogether. Seeing it would make it real. And as weirdly emotional as she felt at the moment, real was not something she wanted to face.

  Orabilis shrugged and toddled over to the corner where their blankets lay in two neat stacks. “In that case we’re done here, and I, for one, need some sleep. I assume you’ll leave early?”

  “At first light,” Brie confirmed, reaching for her shift and dropping it down over her head. “I’m going to check on Hall before I turn in.”

  He slept still, though restlessly, his head turning from side to side as if he tried to escape some torment that plagued his dreams. Fever would do that to a man.

  Brie sat down next to him and laid her palm to his forehead. His skin burned under her touch. She dipped a cloth into the bowl of water beside his bed and touched it first to his lips before laying it across his forehead.

  “I leave tomorrow morning,” she whispered, overcome with the need to share her plans with him. “Orabilis says we need the scrolls to ensure yer recovery. I will find Mathew MacFalny and the scrolls he carries, and I will bring them back.”

  “Bridget.”

  Her name left his lips on a whisper so faint, she wasn’t sure it wasn’t just her imagination.

  “I’m here, Hall. Right by yer side.”

  Whether or not he could hear her, she wanted to reassure him.

  “Where is Bridget?” he asked, his eyes fluttering open to stare at her, bereft of any recognition. “I’d have her here with me.”

  He swiped the cloth from his forehead and she replaced it, laying a hand to his chest. Under her fingers, his heart pounded wildly.

  “Lie still and settle yer mind. Bridget will return shortly.”

  He calmed with that reassurance, closing his eyes once more, though his heart continued to race.

  She dipped the cloth into the cool water and gently wiped it over his cheeks and neck, wishing it would have some effect on the heat that wracked his body.