A Warrior's Soul

by Aileen Adams

  “Did ye hear her?” Quinn came on the run, his own blade in one hand.

  “Aye, what do ye think?” Brice shoved his way past Quinn, focusing as much concentration as possible on Alana’s screams and the direction from which they’d come. “Where are ye, Alana? Tell us where!”

  Silence. Even the birds had halted in their singing.

  “Oh, gods,” Quinn groaned.

  Brice held his breath, straining to hear even the slightest sound. There was rustling coming from somewhere ahead of them, but exactly where it came from was impossible to tell. His eyes were becoming accustomed to the darkness, bringing the shapes of the trees around him into sharper focus.

  “I climbed a tree!”

  Brice closed his eyes momentarily when he heard her voice, thanking whoever or whatever was keeping her safe for the time being.

  “Stay where ye are!” he called out, his voice steady, his head moving back and forth as once again he tried to determine where her shouts came from. “Where is the boar?”

  “He’s—” She shrieked, then continued, “He’s rubbing his tusks against the tree!”

  “Are ye high up?” Rodric asked, dirk at the ready.

  “As high as I can go,” she whimpered. “Please, please, come!”

  “Be calm, lass,” Brice advised, his palms slick with sweat. Sweat ran down the back of his neck and the sides of his face. “Hold on and stay as still as you can.”

  It amazed him that the creature did not turn and charge at the sound of his voice, but he’d seen Alana, and caught her scent, and was determined to have her.

  “Brice? Rodric?” Fergus’s voice came from Brice’s left, far enough that Brice could not make out his brother’s form.

  “Where are ye?” Rodric asked.

  “I see her from where I’m standing,” Fergus explained, an edge of strain in his voice, carrying both a dirk and a thin sword he’d claimed as his own after taking it from a dead Norwegian. He might be able to defend himself if the beast charged him, but Brice did not wish to find out whether it was possible.

  Nor did his brother, like as not.

  “Stay where you are until we’re a bit closer,” Brice instructed, choosing his steps carefully as they made their way through the thick brush between the trees. If one of them stumbled or fell, the boar might easily overtake them.

  Alana whimpered. “I’m losing my grip!”

  “No, you are not,” Brice commanded, keeping his voice steady in spite of his growing panic. “We’re almost with ye.”

  “There.” Rodric pointed to where one of the trees shook slightly, some of its leaves falling every time it did. It was a relief.

  “All right. We see ye,” Brice said. “Hold on. Whatever you do, just hold on.”

  “Brice?” Fergus asked.

  “We’re going to have to frighten it off,” Quinn whispered at Brice’s elbow. “If we lure it away, it’ll tear through us on its way.”

  Brice could see the boar, and Quinn was clearly correct. The beast was enormous, full-grown and enraged because it couldn’t reach the lass in the tree. It butted the trunk, causing more leaves to fall and prying a dismayed whimper from Alana.

  “Just a bit longer,” he told her, his hand tightening around the dirk.

  “Rocks,” Rodric decided, bending swiftly to fetch one from the ground by his feet. “If we hit it, it may run away from us.”

  “And if it runs toward us?” Brice asked.

  “That’s what the blades are for,” he replied, handing another rock to Brice. Large, with a good weight to it.

  “Fergus? Follow my voice. We’re going to pelt it with rocks. I don’t want it to run at you while it’s trying to get away from us.”

  Brice heard Fergus’s footfalls as he did just that, twigs snapping underfoot.

  The boar turned at the sound, as though it had only just noticed the presence of others in the vicinity.

  “Fergus! Look out!” Brice threw the rock with all his might as the boar took off in Fergus’s direction, hoping against hope to steer the beast off course.

  Many things happened at once.

  Alana’s screams filled the air, mixing with Fergus’s shouts.

  The boar’s grunts somehow rose above it all.

  Brice ran in a blind panic, some small part of his mind warning against such panic though there was no hope of avoiding it. His brother. His brother!

  “Where are you?” he screamed, charging through the brush, low-hanging branches tearing at his face and hair as he ran heedlessly through it all.

  “Here.” Fergus stumbled toward him, one hand clutching the other arm. “Killed the bastard. Sword through his neck.”

  Sure enough, the beast’s body was behind him, the blood pooling on the mossy ground.

  That was nothing compared to the blood dripping from between Fergus’s fingers. Brice didn’t dare lift those fingers for fear of releasing the pressure over the wound, but it was clear damage had been done.

  “Quickly.” Rodric put an arm around Fergus’s waist and led him away, into a clearing where there would be better light to see by. “Quinn, go back to the horses and fetch the water and the bundle of herbs and treatments.”

  Brice stood there for a moment that might as well have been an eternity, his chest heaving in great gasps as he struggled to make sense of what had taken place.

  Alana.

  He turned and went to the tree, where she was still waiting on one of the lowest limbs. Her body stretched out over it, feet dangling on either side, arms wrapped around it. She’d closed her eyes.

  “All is well, lass. Come down.” He extended his hands to her, amazed at the calm tone of his voice when he wanted nothing more than to shout every obscenity he knew.

  Her eyes opened, blinked. “It’s gone?” she whimpered.

  “Aye. It’ll not harm ye. Come on.” He touched her ankle. “I’ll help ye.”

  She sat up, swinging her left leg behind her to clear the limb. Brice caught her by the waist, lowering her to the ground.

  He took her by the arms, holding her in place as he went over her with his eyes. “Are ye injured?”

  She merely shook her head.

  That was good to know. It would make what was about to come easier on both of them.

  The rage he was barely able to rein in broke loose.

  “What were ye thinking? Are ye that determined to destroy yourself?” he demanded, and it wasn’t until she let out a groan of discomfort that he realized he was shaking her.

  He stopped but maintained his grip on her arms. He could not seem to release them.

  Her cheeks were wet, tear-stained. “I wasn’t trying to destroy myself. I was trying to save myself.”

  “By putting yourself in terrible danger? Do ye ever think before you act?”

  “You’re hurting me,” she whispered, eyes downcast.

  Only then did he loosen his grip, which she slid from. It was all too easy to forget how fragile she was when he was in a fit of anger over her foolishness.

  “What’s worse,” he continued, “your actions put us in danger as well.”

  “And you would not be able to collect your ransom if I were killed, is that right?” She lifted her head, eyes red but blazing “Isn’t that it?”

  He opened his mouth to argue, but nothing came out at first. Her accusation all but took his breath away. Not because she’d hit the truth of the matter, but because he was no longer certain what the truth of the matter was.

  When he remembered her screams, his helplessness, his feverish struggle to find her before the boar shredded her—and the images in his mind of just such a thing, of her body torn from head to foot, her face bloodied—he could not in good conscience tell her it was merely the desire to collect a purse full of silver which drove his actions.

  He drew a deep breath, the weight of her accusing stare heavy on him, and simply replied, “If ye think all any of us cared about was the price your delivery fetches, ye know nothing. For there’
s no amount of silver in the world worth taking on a full-grown boar—even four of us against one of it is still too unbalanced a fight. I might have lost my brother today, because of your foolishness.”

  She recoiled as though he’d slapped her, then shook her head as if to shake off the blow. The fury drained from her eyes, then from her body, leaving her shoulder slumped in defeat. “I am heartily sorry to have placed any of you in danger. And I am sorry for Fergus’s wounds. You are right: I never thought of what might come of my running away. I did not believe you would come looking for me as you did.”

  “Why would we not?” He scratched his head, aware that he’d likely leave boar’s blood behind but brushing aside the realization. “For sure, it was the thought of losing our purse which spurred us on. I can admit that. But when you screamed, it was a different matter, lass.”

  He sat down, suddenly near the point of exhaustion. His blood had been up higher than he could remember since his days in the army, and he knew from that experience that once the thrill of the fight passed, bone-tiredness would follow.

  “There’s something ye must know about us if we’re going to travel together,” he murmured, looking off to where his brother’s blood had spattered the ground before the wound was treated. He couldn’t seem to take his eyes from it.

  If Fergus had died because his brother had been foolish enough to keep the lass’s attempted escape a secret…

  “What is it?” she prompted, pulling his thoughts back to the present.

  “We’re not animals.” He glanced her way with a snort of derision. “No matter what ye think of us, how cold or heartless ye believe we are, it simply isn’t the case. We do what we do for pay, aye, but not because we wish to see anyone hurt or made poorer for knowing us. We aren’t thieves, we aren’t scavengers. And not one of us would think twice about helping a lass in need of saving, even if it came at a price.”

  He jerked his head in his brother’s direction, where Rodric double-checked the bandage around Fergus’s arm. “There’s your proof.”

  She looked at Fergus, her mouth pulling down at the corners.

  “He’s lucky he can still move it, that it’s still attached,” Brice continued, seeing the effect his words had on her. He wasn’t trying to rub salt in her wound so much as he was willing to do or say anything that would get her to quit her stubborn foolishness. “And he’ll be luckier still if the wound doesn’t become infected. We’ll need to keep a watch on him, be aware of any signs of fever. Help him change his bandages and clean his arm.”

  “I’ll do that,” she offered, all but jumping at the chance. “I will watch over him, if you’ll allow it.”

  “And how do I know ye won’t purposefully try to harm him?” he asked, tilting his head to the side.

  “I’m not an animal, either.” She squared her shoulders and straightened her spine before marching off to where Fergus sat. She crouched beside him, murmuring, asking questions.

  A far braver lass than he’d given her credit for.

  13

  The rest of that day was spent there, in the woods, while Fergus rested and regained his strength after losing so much blood.

  By the time Quinn and Rodric returned with the boar’s meat to roast over the fire, Fergus’s color was still wan, his voice still without the energy it normally held. But he seemed in good spirits, even joking with Quinn that he could no longer boast about being the only one to kill a boar.

  How he could laugh about such things, so soon after what he’d narrowly escaped, was beyond Alana’s understanding.

  But then it seemed a great many things were.

  She kept a close watch on him, quick to offer her services whenever it seemed he might be in the least bit of discomfort. She brought him water, washed the dried blood from his skin, even offered to take his bloodied tunic to the stream they’d set up camp beside.

  “I do not mind,” she insisted. “You should not sleep in a tunic crusted over with blood.”

  “The lass makes a point,” Brice agreed, kneeling beside his brother. “And the sooner it’s washed, the sooner it will dry. And you won’t have to sleep in a cold, wet tunic tonight.”

  It was clear Fergus did not possess the strength with which to argue, so he allowed his brother’s assistance in removing the ruined tunic. Alana turned her back for modesty’s sake, her cheeks flushing.

  “I’ll go with ye,” Brice announced, balling up the torn tunic in one hand.

  “I can go alone.”

  “Do ye really believe we’d leave ye alone now?” Brice raised an eyebrow.

  She blushed worse than ever but offered no reply. There was nothing worth offering. She merely walked to the stream, its banks close enough to their camp that she might throw a stone from the campfire and hit the water.

  Brice sat, arms over his bent knees, while she slipped behind a nearby grouping of spindle trees to remove her stockings in semi-privacy. He did her the favor of staring straight ahead rather than watching her.

  The water of the stream was cool and fresh, the stones slippery beneath her feet. She had been bathing and even playing in the streams which ran along either side of her ancestral home for as long as she could remember, so the threat of falling caused her no worry.

  With her back to the current, she bent at the waist and submerged the tunic. As if by magic, the water flowing beyond the cloth turned dark red.

  A lump formed in her throat. It was her fault. Entirely hers.

  Judging from Brice’s stare, the fact that he would not speak to her unless spoken to, he agreed with her assessment.

  Careful to keep her eyes on her work, she murmured, “I’m sorry. It was my fault, and I know it. I would never be able to forgive myself if any of you had come to harm, or worse, on my account.”

  “One of us did come to harm.”

  She fought back the tears which prickled behind her eyes at his flat, accusatory tone. She deserved it—and much worse. “I know. And I am truly sorry. I wish there was a way to make you understand why I ran away.”

  “I do understand. That does not mean I agree with ye.”

  She dared glance over at him through lowered lashes. He looked as sullen as ever.

  “We canna do what we want to do simply because we want to do it,” he continued, still gazing across the stream to the rows of lovely, delicate birch trees which spanned the bank. “When the lives of others are involved, we must consider them, too.”

  “I’m not a soldier.” She stood, the dripping tunic hanging from one hand. “You accepted the task of delivering me to my fate without my agreement. Nay, without even my foreknowledge. I do not owe any of you anything.”

  “Except gratitude for keeping you safe.” He turned his gaze to her.

  “Of course, I do, now! I did not know there would be such danger.”

  He grimaced in obvious disgust. “You would have if you gave anything more than a mere moment’s thought. If that.”

  “I didn’t have time to give it thought!”

  “And now we see where acting without thinking left you. And my brother, who might well have left you in that tree to perish. He’d at least have use of both of his arms now, and a tunic with two whole sleeves instead of one hanging in shreds.”

  Her chin quivered as she searched for something cutting with which to reply.

  Words failed her.

  She went back to her work, plunging the tunic into the water and pulling it out again, beating it against one of the rocks, scrubbing the cloth together. It was as clean as it would get, but still, she worked.

  Anything to keep him from seeing how she wept.

  It wasn’t until after they’d eaten that Alana understood just how much humiliation she would be forced to suffer.

  “You’re what?” she blinked, clutching the blanket to her chest as Brice settled in beside her.

  “I’m sleeping here, at your side, from now on.” Brice placed his saddle on the ground, arranging it in such a way that he might use it to
prop up his head. Not the softest pillow, but better than nothing.

  “You’ll do no such thing,” she hissed, horrified.

  “You have no say in the matter.”

  “I don’t!”

  He shook his head, lying down on his side to face her. “You gave up all say in such matters when ye nearly killed yourself and my brother today.”

  “I told you how sorry I was for that.”

  “Aye. I remember.”

  “And how I will never try anything such as that again.”

  “I recall that, as well.”

  “Why, then?” she demanded in despair.

  “Because I canna trust ye,” he replied. It was as simple as that.

  Something ached deep inside her. Something she could not name or even locate. It caused a pressure in her chest, nearly hampering her ability to breathe.

  She realized at that moment that she cared about what he thought of her.

  “All right, then,” she whispered, turning away from him, stretching out on her side with one arm beneath her head. She no longer had a horse, which meant there was no saddle for her to use as he used his.

  The thought brought another, even more terrible, realization to the forefront of her mind. She closed her eyes, wishing it were not so but knowing it was. “How will I travel from now on?” she asked, hoping to sound more confident than she felt. As though it mattered not.

  He snorted hard enough that his breath stirred her hair. “You’ll ride with one of us, naturally. Now that you managed to frighten off that poor mare. It’ll starve in the woods, like as not.”

  “Stop it,” she warned. Damn her voice for shaking.

  “Stop what? Reminding you of what your selfishness did?”

  “I do not need to be reminded.” She bolted upright to a sitting position, turning herself as she did to glare down at him with all the hatred boiling over in her heart. “You told me you were not an animal, but I believe you were lying. For only an animal would insist upon tormenting me this way. It is unfair.”