“According to the bishop, I have an uncanny ability to discern old and unused languages as well as those we use now.”
“Pride, Father Ander,” he warned. But he was glad of his friend’s gift at this moment. “Read on.”
“Taranis is said to have controlled the sky with his power over storms and wind and lightning.” Soren fought the urge to touch the lightning bolt mark on his arm. “Along with several other ancient gods, they managed to banish some evil one from the earth.” Ander met his gaze now and smiled. “’Tis quite a wonderful story. Good against evil. Gods of the elements and nature.”
“And who wins this battle of good against evil?” Soren asked, suspecting that this was no story at all but a historical record of a very real battle.
“According to this account, good did. But the ancients did not think evil would be defeated forever so they left their descendants with powers to return if needed. Descendants . . . bloodlines.” Ander squinted as he read the words again.
“And how will the descendants defeat the evil if they need to?” Soren asked, trying to remain calm even as his breathing grew shallow and his heart pounded. Damn Ander! His careful studying of Soren’s face told him he’d not fooled his friend at all.
“This does not say that. It ends with a warning to the faithful to be watchful and prepared at all times.”
Soren got up and walked to the window, holding up the parchment and pretending to examine it.
“Is this tale a special one? In these types of fanciful stories?”
“Oh, nay. Every one of the ancient cultures and even our Bible, God’s true word amongst us, tells of the final battle that will rage between good and evil at the end of days. This version has Taranis and other gods like”—Ander peered at the writing once more—“Sucellus and Belenus and Epona and Cernunnos and . . . Nantosuelta.”
Ander closed the book and returned it to the shelf from whence it came. He was watching Soren too closely as though he suspected something more. “Strange that it does not mention the evil god they battle.”
Just as a name had been scratched over on the other drawings. As though it was too frightening or dangerous to even give name to this evil.
“So, friend, now that I have revealed all that I discovered, will you share the other secrets you carry next to your heart?”
“Ah, I would, Ander, but I have left them home.”
Although he tried to say it in a jesting manner, Ander was obviously not amused. Not even a bit.
“I am not happy with this turn of events, Soren. In good faith, I completed the task you set me to, only to discover that you will not keep your end of the bargain.”
“I am not reneging on my tacit agreement, Ander. I simply left the other two documents at home,” Soren began, knowing that Ander’s curiosity at the thought of getting two more peculiar documents into his hands would ease whatever anger existed. “I will bring them to you in the morning?”
“Very well,” Ander nodded. “I will wait in good faith to see what you have.”
Soren left quickly after folding the document carefully and placing it inside his tunic. In the morning, he would send word of a delay and wait until he’d met with Ran before showing the others to Ander. There was every possibility that he would share the documents with her, if the letters she’d given him gave any information or knowledge from his grandfather.
Part of him—the part that had suffered greatly over the last two years to regain a semblance of normality back in his life—hoped it was a fruitless search and he could go his own way without Ran. But the other part—the one that loved her and wanted her for himself—took it as a challenge. That part relished the idea of her tearing away the calm and sanity in his life and returning to the ever-explosive passion they’d had before.
Soren had no doubt that he would discover the outcome very soon.
Chapter 8
Northwestern Scotland
William de Brus, now called Warblood, gathered the leaders of his company of warriors to discuss the final arrangements for transport north. He’d delayed their departure by several days to integrate those who now followed but had little or no battle experience amongst his more skilled fighters.
The battle would be between those who carried the bloodlines of the gods, and humans would not be part of that. But his human fighters were not easily detected by those they fought, so they were valuable for other uses and positions. Like the spies they’d sent out. And the searchers they’d sent on ahead. Everyone who pledged to him and their quest had a purpose in their battle against the evil one.
The priests used the time to strengthen the bond of their spirits that kept them connected to one another. This recent bonding had not been tested yet and so Marcus and Aislinn continued to offer prayers and sacrifices to their gods in preparation of the next battle.
William’s own life and world had been torn asunder and rebuilt into something very different in just the last month. From king’s bastard son and a sworn man to a warrior made to protect humankind, William was completely altered from the man he had been. Now, the berserker warblood walked within him, waiting to be called forth.
“Do you think de Gifford knows the location yet?” Roger de Bardem asked. Roger now led the human army and had always been William’s closest friend.
“Nay,” Will replied. “When he boarded those boats, he was heard asking the one who captained it where there were ancient stones in Orkney. The last we knew, they were heading north of the Mainland to some of the other isles where older ruins lay.”
“And we do not?” Roger asked.
“Aislinn believes we should sail directly to the Mainland. Even though some circles are known and most likely not the ones we search for, she says it’s there.”
The men all nodded in agreement. After seeing what the young priestess could do and her courage in the face of an enemy onslaught, no one would question her beliefs or pronouncements.
“So, we will leave in the morning. Prepare your supplies and organize those assigned to you.”
Will nodded to Roger to remain as the others walked off to carry out their duties. Roger stood at his side and tilted his head in the direction of a lone warrior sitting at the edge of their encampment.
“And do we trust him?” Roger asked.
Brisbois de Gifford was born twin to their dark enemy but became a torturer and assassin for his brother when Hugh inherited all of the power in their bloodline and the titles and wealth and lands of the firstborn. Only in the last moments of the battle at the stone circle in Loanhead did he protect his niece and swear to her service.
“My wife says aye,” Will said. “Brisbois is now her man.”
Roger grumbled under his breath and Will understood his feelings. Brisbois had tortured one of the priests to gain information for his former lord. Corann had been rescued but had still not recovered from his injuries and could do little even for himself yet. The priests did not speak to or even look at Brisbois and the others trusted him little. But Brienne’s word was good enough, and more so, for Will, so he did not allow the others to refuse him a place.
Brienne of Yester approached and Will watched as she glowed with the power of fire in her blood. An aura of orange surrounded her. It was her love that allowed him to control the awesome power that now seethed within him and his for her that gave her control over the fire. His blood heated for a different reason now as he felt the berserker rising and as his gaze turned red. She could bring it forth with but a word, calling to his blood.
“You still question his loyalty, Roger?” she asked as she replaced Roger at Will’s side. Her touch brought warmth to his skin. “I vouch for him now.”
“And that is the only reason he is tolerated, Brienne. You must know that,” Roger explained.
“Aye. A time will come when all will see his loyalty, my love,” she said to Will.
<
br /> The words sounded almost as a prophecy, even Roger noticed it, and Will watched her face for some sign of a deeper meaning. It was there and gone as soon as he studied her. She knew more and kept it from him.
Their marriage, their trust in each other and their abilities were all new, and still growing and being tested. But Brienne absolutely knew something she was not telling him. The more important thing was that he trusted she would share it when she could.
“Are the women ready to sail?” he asked, as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and walked with her toward their tent.
“Aye. All we need now is for the clear weather to continue. The priests offer their prayers for that now.”
“So your duties are done then, wife?” he asked.
Before they began this next battle, one in which the outcome was in no way guaranteed, he needed his mate. Will and the warblood craved Brienne and the fire she bore. He needed to taste every inch of her skin and feel her release against his mouth. He needed to fill her body and mark her as his. He wanted to claim her in every way he could. His male flesh rose and his vision turned red once more.
“Everyone can see the change, husband,” she said with a laugh. “And the warblood is loud.”
“He wants his mate,” the warblood replied, as Will’s body grew larger. He tugged her closer, leaned over and inhaled her scent. He touched his mouth to her neck, tasting and smelling her arousal and whispered gruffly, “His mate wants to be claimed.”
“Aye, she does. Come, Warblood, let us seek some privacy in the woods there.”
William pulled the warblood back into his blood, wishing to join with Brienne as a man, as her husband. When he entered her body, he loved her as though it was their first and last time together. She opened her body and soul to him, giving him comfort and pleasure and her love. And he gave her all that he was—man, husband, lover, warrior, warblood.
By the early light of the approaching dawn, the warblood in him had been satiated and rejuvenated by the fire and passion and love of his mate. William watched as the boats were loaded and all of them readied for the battle of their lives.
Gods help them all.
North Sea between Papa Westray and Westray Islands
Hugh peered out over the flat piece of land and searched for any indication that the stone circle he needed to find was there. So far from a place where he could commune with the goddess and restore his powers, he worried to himself that he would not be able to sense it if they did arrive at the correct place.
But to those who were in his control, nothing appeared to be different. He waited as the man in charge brought the ship in as close as he could and dropped the weight to keep it here. They would have to use smaller boats to row into the shallow waters near the beach.
“You think this is the place?” Eudes asked from behind him.
“Svein reported several ancient ruins and possibilities.”
He did not trust Svein Ragnarson at all. But the man could sail and owned the ships that brought them north. Hugh’s message to the earl, or the earl’s man since the earl wintered with his king in Norway, was that he sought those responsible for King Alexander’s death.
Since he had the king’s seal in his possession and was known as one of the king’s councilors, the lie had been believed and he’d been granted access to all the islands. Only he knew that the men responsible for the king’s death were already dead themselves and could never reveal the true plan of it.
Captain Ragnarson walked toward him now, hesitation in his step. Not the most optimistic of approaches. Ragnarson nodded to him.
“Well?” Hugh asked. “Any sign here of what I am seeking?”
“Just over that rise,” the man said. “Some half-buried stones.”
“I think you are leading me in circles, around these islands that you know well and I do not,” Hugh said, pleased by the worried expression in the man’s eyes.
“You asked me to take you where the ruins are. I have done that, my lord,” Ragnarson said, trembling.
“I will kill one of your crew every time you take me to a place that is not what I am searching for.” Hugh let the words sink in before nodding to Eudes. “Let us have a show of good faith now so you understand my meaning.”
With a nod of his head, Hugh designated the one and Eudes stabbed him in the chest. As Ragnarson howled, Eudes dumped the body over the side. The captain charged at Hugh, but he used his other power, to compel people to his bidding, to stop him.
“That was not good faith,” Ragnarson said through clenched jaws.
“But you understand what disobedience will bring now. As does your crew.” Hugh walked to the side of the ship and prepared to climb down into the smaller boat. “Come, Ragnarson. Show me these ruins.”
Although there was a hint of power in whatever lay beneath the thick peat layer, it was not the circle he sought. It took little time once they arrived there to determine that, so within an hour or so, they rowed back out to the ship. Only a few yards from the ship, the water began to swirl around them.
Hugh’s blood heated and he laughed aloud. The waterblood was here! She. Her blood had risen! It had begun. Though he could not see her in the sea, he could feel her presence as she must feel his.
“Waterblood!” he called out. “Come, join me in this wondrous quest.” Though the water moved around the boat, no one answered him. Probably too untrained to know how yet. “I can teach you how to use your powers, Waterblood.” Silence. “You know me now, Daughter of the Sea. I carry the fire within my blood even as you carry the water. Find me when you wish an answer to your questions.”
The sensation of another who carried a god’s or goddess’s blood moved away, deeper and farther, to the south, before disappearing completely. But that mattered not, for he’d learned several things.
The island he searched for, the stones he needed to find, were on an island to the south of this one.
The waterblood was a woman.
The waterblood was somehow connected to Svein Ragnarson.
His good mood was restored, for the battle was met and the players would now begin to take the field. Once he found the stormblood, who he knew was a man, he would persuade them to his side to open the portal and release their Goddess.
His laughter echoed across the water and chilled the heart of every man who heard it.
Within the sea
If it was possible, Ran shuddered. Carried swiftly south by the sea, she could not believe what had happened.
That man could see her! Or at the least, he knew she was there watching. He called her the same thing that the sea did and spoke to her about the power he carried. The orange aura surrounding him glowed fierce and bright, much more than Soren’s did. Her blood wanted to answer his call, but she saw only her father in his grasp and felt his terror.
It took much to alarm Svein Ragnarson. Little frightened him. He faced down the earl or a torrential storm at sea with the same amount of comfort. But just now, abject terror filled him.
They crossed the miles swiftly, back to the Mainland. Distraught and confused, she did not wish to return home. She needed help to free her father. Her brother was not here. There was no one she could call on for help.
Soren.
Dare she ask him for help? Would he help her father?
She knew he was keeping something from her and needed to find out what he knew. If he bore the mark. If he carried some power within him. If he could help her to rescue her father from this dangerous, powerful man who held him prisoner.
And who murdered without compunction. For she had been there watching at a distance when that man had ordered young Eigil’s death. The sea had taken his body gently to the bottom, where she’d held him in a warm embrace until life left him.
Soren. Where would he be?
The currents changed direction and, in lit
tle time, the sea brought her to the broch. Placing her on the sandy beach near the tower, the water moved away but waited on her wishes, whispering her name. Standing, she shook out her gown and asked all the water to leave it now. Within a few moments, the water had trickled back into the sea.
He must be here, if the sea brought her here. She ran across the beach and up the path to the broch, pushing open the door and shouting his name. Her voice echoed in the empty chamber. Was he above?
Had he seen her come from the sea? It mattered not. Whether he was only a man or something more mattered not. She needed his help. Climbing the stairs, she found the first chamber empty. Continuing on and up, she nearly ran into him on the steps as she reached the top. Grabbing onto him, clutching his tunic so she did not fall, Ran looked up and met his eyes.
His very shocked expression.
His knowing gaze.
Chapter 9
Soren took hold of her shoulders so she did not fall backward. He could tell that Ran had not expected him to be coming down as she barreled her way up the stairs. If she had taken note, she would have noticed the way he shook as he held her there. The turquoise color that outlined her rippled, uneven and unusually bright.
Ran Sveinsdottir had just come out of the sea as an extension of the water and then turned into a woman.
He was not alone in experiencing the strange change that he had—she had as well. He was part of the storms and she was part of the sea. How this could be, he knew not.
“We must speak, Soren,” she finally said, breaking the tension of the moment. “Please. I beg you.”
She never begged. Headstrong and forthright, Ran spoke her mind. The only begging had been during moments of passion when she wanted more from him or when he delayed her pleasure.
Ran begged him now. He nodded and pointed down to the floor below them. She turned and led the way. Once they stood facing each other, silence filled the space between them. He watched as she struggled with what to say and how to say it. Soren understood that she did not trust him and worried over sharing too much with him.
Raging Sea Page 8
