by Hazel Hunter
Chapter Twenty
QUINTUS DISMOUNTED FROM his horse, and handed the reins to his aid before he made his way to the great cavern. There Gaius had stationed his guards around the platform and reclined on his dais while he watched two naked mortal men fighting with spiked staffs on the steps.
“Prefect, you are just in time for the night’s games.” He stood and gestured to the guards, who seized the fighters. “They are terrible gladiators. Kill them, and bring the wenches.”
Mounting the steps, Quintus avoided the splatters of blood as he joined the tribune. “The men watching the grove are dead. I found their remains in the dugout.”
“Replace them. She will return.”
“I fear she did.” Now came the unpleasant part. “Our men were burned to ash.”
The tribune sat upright. “You warned them about her power.”
Quintus nodded. “They took the proper precautions. She…overcame them.”
The guards dragged two young, naked mortal women to the base of the steps. Both were given daggers and pushed toward each other. They stood sobbing noisily as they stared at the blades in their hands.
“Excuse me for a moment,” the tribune said. He stood and clapped his hands. “Attend me now, mortals. Yes, I speak to you. You are to fight each other. The first to cut off a breast from the other will win her freedom.” He waved his hand for them to begin, and then sat back down with a heavy sigh as one of the women stabbed herself in the chest. “Guard, get another wench.”
“Tribune, we must rethink our strategy,” Quintus suggested carefully. “Attempting to capture this one female is not working. I think we must use the spy now.”
“Whatever you think is best, Prefect,” Gaius said and perked up as his guards dragged in a woman with large breasts. “Oh, I do hope this one is a fighter.”
Quintus bowed and left the cavern for his chambers, which he found empty. He did not mind removing his own armor, but as soon as he had changed he went in search of his manservant. An uneasy feeling came over him as he checked the bone pits and the servants’ caves, and then went to the guards stationed outside the Temple of Mars.
“Have you seen Orno?” he asked one of the men, whose expression turned grim.
Inside the tribune’s temple the cages of the sacrificial victims stood empty. More bodies had been tossed into the charnel pit. The great altar Gaius had built for his offerings to Mars gleamed with blood mixed with ash. As Quintus walked up to it he saw the gold ring he had given his former slave to mark him protected. It gleamed dully from a pile of ash.
“Mars demands much from us, my friend,” said Gaius from behind him. “But when we sacrifice those we hold in great esteem, he showers us with gifts.” The tribune took the ring from the altar and offered it to him. “You should be proud. He was very brave, and hardly screamed at all.”
Quintus closed his eyes briefly. “Am I to thank you for this, Tribune?”
“Oh, come now, Prefect. Do not be shrewish. He was a slave.” Gaius pressed the ring into his hand. “You weren’t fucking him, I hope. There are much better-looking men in the pens.”
In that moment Quintus nearly reached for his dagger. They were alone in the temple. He could say that the tribune had become suddenly despondent and sacrificed himself to Mars for the good of the legion. The men would likely celebrate for weeks. But he knew the tribune, knew his wily ways, his paranoia, and suspected this was but another of his endless loyalty tests. He could also smell pitch burning somewhere close.
“I do thank you, Tribune, for so honoring my servant.” He let his hand drop from his blade as he bowed. “I feel certain that Mars will bring us victory over our enemies.”
Gaius studied his face as he called out, “Show yourselves.” A dozen archers emerged from hiding, and lowered bows notched with the flaming arrows. “Victory is all I wish. All I have ever wished, Quintus.” He grinned like a boy. “Now that we have settled that matter, let us discuss this plot of yours, to use the spy.”
Chapter Twenty-One
WHEN LACHLAN AND Raen reached the port town they left the horses with Jens. Before the clan could afford to stable horses on this side of the water, the men had trained their mounts to accompany them through it. Though it was troublesome to get the great beasts to stand for it, Lachlan considered doing so again. Perhaps without the gelding, Kinley wouldn’t have got as far as she had. But when he looked down at her, he grimaced, knowing that wasn’t true. She’d have found a way.
As Jens came out and lifted his lantern, he was wise enough not to grumble about the late hour.
“You’ll no’ find a fisher to take you back before dawn,” the old Norseman warned as he watched Raen untie Kinley and lift her down. “McEwan has a shed aback his place. He locks up the drunken for the town.”
“She’s hurt, no’ drunk,” Lachlan said as he dismounted. He took her from his bodyguard. “No’ a word of this to anyone.”
“Aye, or Tormod’ll end me, I ken it.” Jens nodded at Kinley. “She’s a brave one, my lord. Never once gave pause, or looked back.” He hobbled off with the gelding.
From the Red Ox, Lachlan and Raen walked to the river that provided fresh water for the town. Kinley stirred as Lachlan gently placed her on the bank. He knelt beside her, watching her face as his bodyguard scouted the immediate area. Using water to cross any distance was one of the clan’s most closely-guarded secrets, one that Lachlan could not afford to let the undead discover.
“We’re alone, my lord,” Raen said when he returned, and glanced down. “She may wake this time.”
“Then we’ll be quick about it,” Lachlan said and brushed her tangled, soot-blackened hair back from her pale face. “Hold on, lass. We’re almost home.”
Raen stepped into the river and crossed his arms over his chest as light shimmered around his hips, and glowed in the lines of his Pritani tattoos. As he sank down into the water and vanished, Lachlan picked up Kinley and carried her into the rushing current.
In his mind Lachlan saw Loch Sìorraidh, and as soon as he sank in the river with Kinley he clasped her to him with his thoughts as well as his arms. Light fountained around them as his form changed from man to spirit, and a torrent of bubbles swirled around them. From there the water around them blurred as they were swept off, pouring through the currents as effortlessly as two beams of light. When Lachlan’s feet once more touched bottom he walked up out of the calm waters to stand in the shadow of Dun Aran.
Kinley sputtered and blinked, lifting her hand to her wet face, and then saw him looking down at her. Her bewilderment changed to horror and fury as she writhed against his hold.
“Get your hands off me.”
The laird’s jaw tightened as he carried her into the castle, where Raen was ordering the men to clear a path. Meg took one look at Kinley and fled into the kitchens, while Neac trotted over to the laird and paced him as he headed for his tower.
“Those filthy scunners got hold of her,” the chieftain said as soon as he saw Kinley’s wounds. When she shrieked at him he met Lachlan’s gaze. “She’s gone crazed again. She must have battle madness.”
Lachlan scowled at him. “She’s no’ a man, Neac.”
“She fights like one,” the shorter man said and waved away the guard and followed him up into the tower. “She said wenches in her homeland can be warriors, like us, and go to battle. If she spoke the truth, then they must also share in a warrior’s afflictions. Did she ken you or Raen when you found her?”
The laird shook his head, grimacing as Kinley clawed at his neck. In his chamber, he had Neac help him tie her to his bed, and then stood back to watch her fight her bonds.
“She’s no’ the same,” the chieftain muttered. “See her eyes? They’ve too much black. This is far worse than the last bout. Poor wee thing.” He reached as if to touch her hair, and snatched his hand away when she snapped at his fingers.
“What are you looking at?” she shouted at Neac. “You think I’m afraid of you? I’ll b
urn your face off, you bald little troll.”
Knowing she would only spew more of the same, Lachlan drew Neac out into the corridor. “I dinnae ken how to help her. My father chained men with battle madness to god stones, and had their wives and bairns pray for healing. If the afflicted didnae regain their mind after a moon, he opened their neck veins.”
“Aye, my tribe did much the same,” Neac admitted, and winced as he heard Lachlan’s bed thump against the wall. “’Twas that or be killed by them.”
“What of the druids?” Lachlan said.
“I told them we’d send word when we found the lass,” the chieftain told him. “And I will, when I’ve time for it. I’m so busy in the armory now, and I think some of the birds are sick, too. Aye, they should rest a bit.” A furious screech from the chamber made Neac cringe. “You’ll no’ open her neck veins?”
“Never,” Lachlan said but felt like slamming his head against the wall. “But I must manage something to calm her.”
The chieftain thought for a moment. “When you first brought the lass to us, you kept her close, and gentled her with kindness. Mayhap ’twill work again.”
“I cannae bar my chamber door for days on end,” Lachlan said. “The clan willnae stand for it. And Evander.” He shook his head.
“Then take her to a quiet spot, where you can be alone with her,” the chieftain told him. “Raen and I can manage while you’re gone.”
Lachlan thought of his old lodge on the other side of the ridge. “I ken just the place.”
Being held captive sucked, Kinley thought as she watched the leader of the insurgents preparing for her next interrogation. He hadn’t resorted to torture yet, but his mind-boggling imitation of a Scotsmen needled her like a shiv. He even wore a long red wig and dressed in some Dark Ages outfit in an attempt to fool her, but she wasn’t buying his story.
She had to hold it together. No one was coming to save her. She had to do that herself.
“Hey, Snake Guy,” she called out to him from where she sat tied to a roof support post. “Why did you drag me up to this old drug shack anyway? You plan on dosing me with poppy juice so I’ll talk? Just so you know, I’m allergic. That means you feed me that poison, I die on you.”
He didn’t reply, but he didn’t say much anyway. He knew her name, and he kept telling her that his was Lachlan McDonnel and that he was a friendly. Right. Because friendlies kept you tied up while asking you nonsense questions to screw with your head.
She’d tried to bring on the fire, but it didn’t seem interested in the guy. Or maybe it was the way he smelled, like cold, sweet water. In any case, every time she tried to make her hands flame they simply went numb.
He finally came over and crouched down, just out of her reach. “I’ve made a meal for you.”
“Not hungry,” she said. She was, so much so that she felt hollow, but eating would be cooperating—and making herself available to drug. The last thing she wanted was to be high around Snake Guy. “But thanks for the humane treatment. I’ll be sure to mention it at the war trial.”
“Kinley, you’ve no’ eaten in two days,” he chided. “You’ll have some, or I’ll take your clothes.”
She glanced down at the ridiculous dress he’d put her in, which made her look like a milkmaid with a lousy seamstress. “Oh, please. Take them, and give me back my flight suit. And my rifle. I’d really like my rifle.”
He sat back on his haunches. “If you eat, I’ll leave you untied.”
Idiot, idiot, idiot. She gave him her sweetest smile. “Wow, suddenly I’m starving. Where’s the chow?”
He untied her from the post, but once he marched her over to the table he tied her to the chair, the careful bastard. On the table sat two plates of smoked fish, a pile of greens and bread so dark it bordered on black.
Her stomach rumbled, and she had to swallow hard. Of course it smelled delicious. All part of his plan to get the drugs in her, no doubt.
“Who’d you steal the salmon from?” she asked as he poured a mug of cloudy-looking juice for her. “An outpost? Is there one near here? What, no comment at all? Come on. I’m asking nicely.”
He broke off a chunk of the fish and held it up to her lips. “Eat.”
She sniffed the piece before she reluctantly parted her lips and let him place it in her mouth. The salty, smoky flavor of the salmon spread over her tongue, making her suppress a moan as she chewed it slowly. She didn’t taste any bitterness from drugs in the fish or the juice he gave her to sip, which turned out to be a strong apple cider.
Kinley was pretty sure he didn’t use eating utensils because he thought she’d try to steal them. Of course he’d be absolutely right if he did. But the guy really knew how to eat with his hands, so maybe not. She’d noted the people in the serious backwater provinces regularly ate with their fingers. They had the same competent, almost elegant way about them, as if they’d had to go without knives, forks and spoons since birth.
“So what’s the name of your village?” she asked him casually. She’d been trying like hell to glean enough information to narrow down her position, but the idiot kept telling her she was on the Isle of Skye in Scotland. “Do your people herd for the local fighters? Maybe goats? Goats are nice. I guess. Their eyes freak me out a little.”
“We’ve sheep and cattle,” he said as he fed her a pinch of the greens, which tasted like sweet onions. “The village is called the village. We are fighters, Kinley, but we’re on the same side. You’re pledged to my clan.”
She sat back in her chair. This was new.
“And yet I don’t remember, which is so strange. I remember when I took my oath for the Air Force to serve my country. They don’t make you guys do that, huh? Even when I wanted nothing more than to break it, I held fast and toed the line. Before that I pledged Allegiance to the United States in school, hand over my heart, one nation, under God, the works. Hell, when my grandmother put me in Girl Scouts, I even made their three-fingered wimp-ass pledge, too. Do you know what all that means?”
He took a drink of his cider. “You’ve a loyal heart.”
“Oh, yeah, I do.” She leaned forward to look directly in his eyes. “I’m so loyal, in fact, that I’d rather cut my tongue out than pledge myself to a bunch of outlaw jerkoffs like you.”
As soon as she said that she silently cursed herself. She didn’t have to feed the guy ideas on how to torture her.
All he did was nod. “Why did you wish to break your military oath?”
Kinley averted her face. She hadn’t seen any kids around here or the big Taj Mahal he’d taken her from, and she was glad. She could dance with the insurgents all the livelong day, but she couldn’t stand seeing how they treated their kids.
“Kinley?”
“I got an order I didn’t want to follow,” she said, and then forced a smile. “You probably get those all the time, too, like ‘Be nice to the American captive’ and ‘No raping the prisoner until we get the intel we want out of her.’ Can I have some more fish, or are we done with today’s mind game lunch session?” When he didn’t say anything her temper snapped. “What, is it time for the video-taped beheading already? And me without my infidel confession.”
“Tell me why you didn’t agree with the order you were given,” he countered, “and I will give you the rest of the food.”
He really was a completely worthless interrogator. “I was told to return to base before I could secure a position.” She saw his blank expression and sighed. “We went out to a village to recover some injured troops who were defending the locals. You know, those innocent people you keep killing? Most of them and the civvies were dead by the time we got there. Once we loaded the wounded on board, I saw some other survivors. My pilot ordered me to close the hatch, I did, and we took off without them. End of story.”
“I doubt that,” he said and studied her face. “Why did you want to save them?”
“They were just kids,” Kinley said. She could see every one of their faces, too, inclu
ding the one who’d gripped her arm. “Three boys and a little girl, running across a field toward us. We had room on the bird for them. I told the pilot that. There was no enemy fire. He said they were probably cubs of the caliphate—suicide bombers—sent to blow us up, and told me to shut the door. I didn’t agree. Those kids were terrified, and it was for real. But the pilot was a major, and I had no choice but to follow orders. I went back as soon as I could.”
He gave her another sip of cider, and wiped something from her face. “Did you find them?”
“Their bodies, yeah. They hung all four of them in a tree in the center of town. Even though the vultures had been nibbling on them, I recognized them. They’d been beaten so badly that most of their bones were broken or crushed, but they never touched their faces. Unless you want vomit for dessert, I’m done eating now. Can you tie me back up, or cut off my head, or whatever?”
He rose and went around to untie her, but instead of hauling her back to the post he took her by the hand and led her out of the lodge.
“We’ll walk to the cliffs,” he told her. “There’s something I want to show you.”
Probably her last view of the world before he pushed her over the edge, Kinley thought, but went along with him. This part of Afghanistan was unbelievably green, and the trees so huge she felt like a midget by comparison. The path they followed looked very old, but it ran alongside a river that seemed to be much wider and deeper than it should have been for this part of the country.
Her interrogator—Lachlan, that was what he kept calling himself—held onto her hand, but didn’t try to restrain her. Anyone looking at them would think they were a couple, just out for a stroll.
Thinking that way made her head hurt again. Better to watch for a chance to run. But then they reached the end of the river trail at the cliffs.
Kinley stared at the dark sapphire sea. She blinked several times, but it didn’t go away. Had he gotten some poppy juice in her after all? No, she wasn’t seeing things. She could smell the salt in the air.
