Born In Water

by Sarah Hegger

  “Cut off your head?” Alannah swiped her throat with her thumb.

  “Depends how fast you bleed,” she said. “If you’re Rhiannon and have been around for thousands of years and have used…” She couldn’t find the right word. “A huge amount of magic, then she might survive.”

  “Jeesh.” Bronwyn blew a hair tendril out her face. “Does that go for Roderick and the”—she waved her hand—“whatever he is?”

  “Yes.” At least she assumed it was similar. “When he came to save me that time, he almost died then. Alexander cut him with his sword.” She motioned a cut across her ribs, abdomen and thighs. “But he was old, even then, and his healing saved him.”

  “Boy, can I pick ’em.” Bronwyn filled up their glasses and then stared at the empty bottle. “What did you do? That nearly got Roderick killed.”

  Maeve winced. It sounded even worse when someone else said it. “The healers wanted to go to the village. There was a plague, and they wanted to heal the sick.” She pointed at Bronwyn. “When you take your vows, you will always be wanting to help people. Healers care, and they can’t stop themselves. Anyway.” She took a deep breath. “Fiona said nobody could leave the castle, but I knew a way they could. Roderick told me not to, but I did it anyway.”

  “He must have been mad.” Bronwyn whistled.

  “Why?” Roderick had never been addled to her knowledge. “No, he was perfectly sane.”

  “Not mad.” Bronwyn giggled. “Mad like angry. Pissed.”

  “Furious. Enraged.” Alannah nodded.

  “He was awfully bossy about me not going.” She remembered that part clearly. “But after Thomas and the others rescued him from the village, he never said anything to me about it. In fact, he said witches are witches and he was used to that.”

  “Thomas is the ghost.” Alannah blushed as she told Bronwyn that. “The one we saw in the barracks.” She turned to Maeve. “What was he like? Thomas?”

  “Ah!” She had liked Thomas a lot. Roderick had gotten jealous of Thomas flirting with her. “He was charming. Handsome.” She smiled at the memory of Thomas’s wicked smile. “And the most dreadful rake.” She shook her head. “He was bonded to Lavina, and she was a lot older than him. She didn’t seem to mind all the other witches sharing his sheets.”

  “Oh.” Alannah’s face fell. “A manwhore.”

  Maeve had never heard that expression, and it made her laugh. “Roderick was one too. A manwhore.”

  Bronwyn snorted. “Hermione will be delighted.”

  “Who’s that?”

  Bronwyn waved her glass. “Never mind. Doesn’t matter.”

  Maeve finished her last whisky and sighed at the empty bottle. “We need to get you Goddess bonded.”

  “Nope.” Bronwyn thumped the table. “We’re not talking about that now.”

  Maeve shrugged it off. “Fair enough.” Because she was enjoying not having to face Rhiannon and her relentless attacks on Baile, how inexperienced everyone was, how little they knew…and there she went again. “Is there any more whisky?”

  “Maeve?” Roderick stood in the doorway. And he was wearing jeans, and what they called a T-shirt. Face impassive, he looked at the empty bottle and glasses, then at Alannah and Bronwyn. He inclined his head. “Blessed.”

  Bronwyn stuck two fingers in her mouth and whistled. “Rocking the jeans, Roderick.”

  Roderick flushed and cleared his throat. “I need to look like I belong to this time.”

  “Turn around.” Bronwyn drew a circle in the air with her forefinger. “Let’s see if you look as good leaving as you do coming.”

  It made Maeve giggle so much that she couldn’t sit up straight.

  With a hard stare at Bronwyn, Roderick sighed. “Is there a reason you’re getting my Blessed drunk?”

  “She did that all on her own,” Bronwyn said. “And I’m drowning my sorrows.”

  “Hello. Love what you’re doing to those jeans.” Alannah giggled and waved. “We’ve been chatting.”

  Roderick picked up the bottle and read the label. “What are you chatting about?”

  “Well, I’ll tell you what we’re not chatting about.” Maeve really hated it when he made her feel like a naughty little girl. “Not the situation we find ourselves in.” Raising her brow, she dared him to challenge her. Roderick was her coimhdeacht, not her father.

  “I see.” Roderick stared at her. “I have been speaking with Thomas.”

  Alannah sighed. “I like Thomas. He’s funny and sweet.”

  “He’s a philandering whoreson,” Roderick said. “And death has not changed that. I would stay away from him if I were you.”

  “He’s nice.” Maeve patted Alannah’s hand. “Roderick likes to keep all the witches for himself.”

  Roderick drew his shoulders back. “And you’re the worse for drink.”

  “I think she’s the better for drink.” Bronwyn giggled.

  Drawing a careful breath, Roderick said, “Quite so. I came to tell you I have an appointment outside the castle. It’s why I’m dressed as I am.”

  “With who?” Bronwyn scowled and swayed in her chair. “You don’t know anyone in this time. Other than—”

  “Indeed.” Roderick turned on his heel, calling over his shoulder. “Nobody is to put a toe outside Baile until I return. This won’t take long.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Alexander contemplated the night outside his kitchen and indulged in pointless musings about Bronwyn. Even as he blinked her face away, he swore he could still smell honey and sage. His connection to her ached like a phantom limb. He hadn’t anticipated missing her as much as he did.

  Typically Roderick, he issued a psychic summons as subtle as an eighteen-wheeler careening downhill without brakes and with a joy-riding fifteen-year-old at the wheel.

  Alexander crossed his arms behind his back and stared at the star strewn sky. He could ignore Roderick stomping about, tossing off a challenge Rhiannon would definitely hear, or he could deal with the sod now.

  Alexander really didn’t like the idea—as in really, really, really didn’t like that idea—of working with Roderick, but necessity made strange bedfellows. Instead of untangling that metaphor, he put his whisky down and opened the secret compartment behind the coat closet in his hall.

  On a wood panel, rested his collection of arms, none of which he’d used in more years than he cared to remember. He selected a broadsword and closed the panel.

  This would not be a midnight picnic of cake and ales. On the plus side, it had been years since he’d crossed swords with an opponent as worthy as Roderick.

  He let himself out of his manor and padded into the still night. It was well past the time anyone would be up and about, and Greater Littleton slept around him as he slipped silently through the village.

  Pervasive and jarring as an air raid warning, Roderick’s presence drew him to the village green. Of course, Roderick would have used the tunnels to meet him there. The man wasn’t stupid, and Alexander had given Roderick more than enough reasons not to trust him. The last time they’d tangled, Alexander had the entire village supporting him.

  Standing in the scant moonlight near the plinth, Roderick waited for him. He was wearing jeans and a T-shirt and looked as if he’d been raised in this time. The man knew how to adapt as well, which was a good thing because those baby witches at Baile needed him up to speed.

  “You look better than when last I saw you.” Alexander made sure Roderick caught his approach. The warrior was too quick and deadly to risk surprising.

  Roderick unsheathed his sword. “Which time was that?”

  “When I woke you.” Alexander palmed his sword and tested his wrist. Tonight he was dealing with Roderick at full strength, and his years in stasis looked to have done nothing to weaken him. He prodded the beast. “Of course, the time before that you weren’t looking so pretty either.”

  “You mean when you attacked me with an entire village by your side?” Roderick circled, gaze i
ntent, his sword at the ready. Alert and in command of himself, he was poised to strike.

  Alexander remembered that day in the village differently. “The villagers may have been there, but it was me you fought.” He bared his teeth in a mockery of a smile. “And lost.”

  “Is that what you tell yourself?” Roderick was too seasoned a warrior to let himself be angered into a precipitous attack. “Instead of arguing about it, why don’t we settle it now?”

  He moved so quickly Alexander barely got his sword up in time. Their blades caught on the bind, and Alexander shoved his way free. He needed to pay attention. Roderick could carve him into thousands of tiny pieces and still keep him alive. “Is that why you called me here?”

  “Partly.” Roderick struck again, a rapid strike, pivot and then back hand.

  Steel clashed loudly in the silent night. Sparks flew from their swords. The shock of connecting steel blades jarred his arm and slammed his shoulder joint. The bastard was strong as an ox. Alexander refused to show any weakness. “What’s the other part?”

  “Why?” Roderick dropped back, circling, looking for an opening or a weak point to exploit. “Need to catch your breath?”

  Alexander swept right to left, shifted his grip and reversed his stroke.

  Grunting, Roderick caught him on the bind and kicked. “I don’t like mysteries.”

  Alexander danced clear. “You’re going to have to be more specific.”

  “Why did you wake us? Then shove us to safety.” He came in, and all conversation died in the thrust, block, parry of sword play.

  Winded, Alexander dropped back to catch his breath. Easy modern living had softened him, and every time Roderick blocked, it felt like striking solid granite. “I’m afraid you’re really not going to like the answer.”

  “Color me amazed.” Roderick came in for a fast exchange.

  Alexander had no idea where Roderick had picked that saying up from but he was too busy to give it much thought. He met each blow, blocked, and waited for the volley to end.

  Breathing heavily, sweat beading his face, Roderick pushed clear of him.

  “Would you believe I’ve had a change of heart?” Alexander kept his attention locked on Roderick’s chest. The blows would telegraph from there.

  Roderick laughed. “No.”

  “Color me amazed.” He had expected nothing less from Roderick. For as long as they’d known each other, and that was a long time, they’d been trying to kill each other. “But there it is.”

  “Eh?” Roderick’s guard wavered for a second. “You expect me to believe you’ve had a change of heart. You! The son of that heinous bitch.”

  “Your skepticism is valid.” For many of the years of his long life, he’d been that heinous bitch’s henchman. Like a good soldier, he had fulfilled the purpose for which she had created him. All except his ultimate purpose, and it looked like that play was on the field. “But how else would you explain me waking you in time to save those lost witchlings up there in Baile? They have no idea what they’re capable of or how to do what needs to happen to save the coven.”

  His words must have registered because Roderick lowered his sword arm slightly. “Why should I believe you?”

  “You don’t have to.” Alexander would have been the same. “But believe this, Bronwyn is the daughter of life, and not only because she’s going to have a kid who will be a game changer. Bronwyn herself is important. She’s the one who needs to wake the water cardinal point.”

  Roderick growled. “We know that. Don’t tell me our business.”

  “Someone has to.” Alexander got his sword up in time to meet Roderick’s rapid strike. Either the big man was tiring or had lost some of the intent to kill him, because the blow was marginally less anvil-like than his previous blows. “You need to keep her clear of Rhiannon. Rhiannon wants her, and she wants her badly enough to do anything to get her.”

  “Rhiannon can’t get behind the wards.” Roderick scowled, perhaps not as certain as he appeared.

  “Not yet she can’t,” Alexander said. “But I can.” He spoke slowly and clearly, lowering his sword for the next bit. Roderick needed to understand and understand well. “If she finds out what I can do, and she uses me to get her hands on Bronwyn, she’s going to be unstoppable. You and I both know the prophecy will come about. Bronwyn is going to have a baby, and Rhiannon will use that baby to blow those wards wide.”

  “You’d have to get near enough to Bronwyn to make that baby for the prophecy to happen.” Roderick tested his wrist as he circled Alexander. “I’m not about to let that happen.”

  “You know your Goddess.” The respite had recharged Roderick, and the tenacious bastard was ready to go again. “This is her prophecy, and she will make it happen. Regardless of what you or I think of it.” He stepped to the left and feinted right out of the path of a coming blow. “For the record, I have no interest in becoming anyone’s father.”

  Roderick winced. “I don’t know what your game is, but I’m going to stop you.”

  “You don’t have to know what my game is, but you do need to take care of Bronwyn.” Their talk had gone better than Alexander could have expected. “Heed my warning and watch her because Rhiannon is poised and waiting for her chance.”

  Roderick studied him, then sheathed his sword. “Let’s end this.” His fist connected with Alexander’s jaw and sent him reeling. “Stay the fuck away from my witches.”

  Spitting blood, Alexander came in for more. Roderick was right; it was time to end it, and beating the shit out of each other sounded like a much more satisfying alternative. “Gladly.”

  Holy fuck, but Alexander really needed to be more careful about what he wished for. He’d gotten his fight with Roderick all right.

  Alexander rolled to his belly and spit blood and grass from his mouth.

  He ached. Like all over ached. Like it would be a waste of time cataloguing each excruciatingly painful body part. Pressing his forehead into the cool, damp grass, he hauled a ragged breath into his lungs. His ribs let him know all about how much they didn’t want to do the whole inhale-exhale song and dance. They’d much rather hang in his chest like a pair of limp footballs and whimper.

  A car engine growled closer, and Alexander considered crawling behind the bench and out of sight. His body would repair itself in time, and he didn’t want some well-meaning soul dragging him to an emergency room.

  Digging his fingers into the pliant earth, he tried to haul himself into hiding.

  Ke-rist! That wasn’t happening.

  Breath in, breath out.

  If he had to break it down to a good news / bad news scenario, the good news was that he hadn’t forgotten how strong Roderick was and how hard the bastard could hit. That was pretty much the bad news as well.

  The car engine grew louder and then ended in a series of bangs and wheezes.

  He might have cried a bit at the thought of Roderick being in that Land Rover.

  Footsteps swished through the dew on the grass. He breathed jasmine and almond in through his busted nose.

  “Mags,” he managed to lisp through his swollen lips.

  Mags wove into view above him, backlit for a moment before she crouched beside him. “Oh dear.” Her luminous green eyes took him in. “You look terrible.”

  “Surprisingly, I feel terrible as well.” At least his sense of humor wasn’t broken. His pride was a lost cause right now. Roderick may have lost their previous fight, but this one was definitely chalked up as a win under the R column.

  “Here.” Mags held out a bottle of water and dropped a couple of tablets into his hand. “Just a couple of aspirin, but I thought they might help.”

  Even the remote possibility they would help had him gulping down the tablets with a swallow of water. “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure.” Mags beamed her big, beautiful smile at him. “I had this feeling you would need me when Roderick was done with you.”

  He nodded and dragged himself into a sitting
position. The pain left him lightheaded, and he thought he might pass out. Again. After beating the crap out of him, Roderick had left moments before Alexander passed out. It was downright heartwarming that Roderick hadn’t chopped his head off. “Roderick and I go way back.”

  Mags snort laughed and peeped at him from beneath her long, dark lashes. “Talk about your understatements.”

  Alexander was fond of all the Baile girls, but Mags had an endearing mix of innocent and worldly that brought something protective and fraternal out in him. The thought of losing her friendship and trust hurt more than his ribs. “I’m sorry, Mags. I couldn’t tell you all of it.”

  “I probably wouldn’t have believed you anyway.” Mags took a seat beside him, unmindful of the damp grass. “The whole thing is doing my head in a bit.”

  “I can imagine.” He’d had hundreds of years to get used to Rhiannon, Goddess, magic, all of it, and there were still times when he hit a reality-check moment.

  They sat in silence as he sipped his water. Already, his accelerated healing ability had started knitting together muscle.

  Birds in the oak trees above them twittered and chirped as they sensed dawn drawing closer. Car lights illuminated the Landy, parked with two wheels on the pavement, and swept on.

  “Despite the past.” Words he’d never spoken but wanted to for so long gummed up his throat. “Everything I’ve done. I would never have hurt you.”

  Mags cocked her head and smiled. “I know that, Alexander. Can you walk yet?”

  Her gentle acceptance almost unmanned him. He looked down and blinked rapidly. It must have been the pain of his injuries making his eyes water. If it killed him, he’d get to his feet.

  Getting vertical very nearly did kill him, and he had to lean on Mags as the lightening green spun around him. Without her, he wouldn’t have made it to the Landy. She was tall enough that her shoulder fit beneath his arm, and her willowy strength guided him into the vehicle.