35 UNSTOPPABLE
brEATHING HARD, Alar turned to his wife.
Lara stood there, one hand still gripping her dagger. Her face was pale, and blood trickled down her throat. But she was alive. Defiant.
Alar’s skin prickled. He’d underestimated her. When he’d realized that the Fuath had broken through the circle of warriors defending the High Queen, and that Bree was seriously outnumbered, he’d thought Lara was done for. But she hadn’t been.
Stepping in close, his hand lifted to her throat. “You’re hurt.”
“Just a graze,” she said huskily. “I was lucky.”
“All the same … Eldra should take a look.”
She nodded. Lifting her free hand, she placed it on his chest. “You aren’t injured?”
“Just a few scratches.” He was surprised to have emerged relatively unscathed, for he’d been desperate to reach her earlier.
He’d fought his way in a frenzy through the press of slippery, mottled turquoise bodies, but for every bog wight he cut down, three more replaced it—claws raking, hair whipping around him like snares, and teeth snapping.
He’d lost sight of her then, although her shout had cut through the din. Use salt! And he had.
It had made all the difference in repelling their attackers.
They stood upon the highway, ankle-deep in stagnant water. A knot of trembling horses clustered farther down the road. Fortunately, the press of the army behind them had prevented their mounts from bolting.
Around them, the rasp of exhausted breathing cut through the darkening afternoon. The Gales of Complaint still pushed against him, whipping wet hair into his eyes, but Alar hadn’t noticed during the fight.
Slowly, the water drained off the road into the ditches flanking it. However, he wouldn’t relax yet. His gaze narrowed as he scanned the marshes, listening for the telltale gurgling of voices.
Nothing.
How many warriors had fallen in the fight? A dozen at least, maybe more. Men and women Lara couldn’t afford to lose. No wulvers though, for they were divided between the advance and rear guards.
“We need to move,” Cailean announced. The chief-enforcer stood with his wife. Bree was bleeding from several cuts, although she hardly seemed to notice them. Instead, her gaze swept their surroundings, looking for more trouble.
“Aye … dusk approaches,” Roth replied. A deep cut oozed upon the captain’s right arm—an injury that needed seeing to. “Let’s retrieve our horses and get going.”
And they did. Most of the injured were able to ride, and those who weren’t now traveled in the wagons. The army moved faster now, the drum of hoofbeats echoing through the rain. And all the while, Alar kept one eye on the marshes.
“Have you ever fought a bog wight before?” Lara asked eventually.
Alar cut her a glance. His wife was shivering in her sodden clothing. They needed to find refuge so she could get out of the wet and cold. He shook his head. “I had a close brush with them once … a long time ago though.”
“What happened?”
“When I was a bairn, my mother and I were returning from the village market. It was raining, and we were passing a flooded field when we heard voices.” He paused then, as he recalled the incident.
It had taken place decades earlier, yet he still remembered it vividly.
“Ma grabbed my hand, and we fled like hares.”
A nerve flickered in Lara’s cheek. “They ambushed us.”
Uneasiness slithered in Alar’s gut as he nodded. “They did.”
“The Raven Queen?”
“I don’t think so,” he replied cautiously. “The Shee’s allies have been faerie creatures … the likes of trows and powries … but I’ve never heard of them holding sway over spirits.”
“They don’t.” Bree’s voice made them both turn in the saddle. She rode behind them, Cailean at her side now. “None of the living, be they Shee or Marav, can control the spirit world.”
Lara ducked into her tent and pushed her hood back.
She paused then, listening for the screech of the Slew outside.
Nothing. Only the rise and fall of excited voices.
She’d just driven the restless dead off for the second time on this journey.
The Fire Wraith had returned, and the camp was alive with talk about the flames that had erupted from its fingers.
Heaving a sigh, Lara shrugged off her cloak. Gods, she was bone-weary. Her limbs ached, her feet dragged, and she was now shivering. Chills rippled across her skin, and her teeth chattered. Quickly retrieving her favorite fur-lined cloak, she pulled it tightly about her.
Her heartbeat pulsed in the hollow of her throat. After the Fuath attack, she’d been on edge, jumping at shadows. The last thing she needed was another visit from the Slew. However, at dusk, they’d appeared.
Luckily, fire had done her bidding.
Outdoors, the rain had ceased, although The Gales of Complaint still raced across the land.
They’d crossed into The Uplands now and had set up camp overnight on a rugged hillside.
She couldn’t wait to reach Dulross. The fort would provide a couple of days’ reprieve and comfort before they struck out for Strath.
Still shivering, despite that she was now wrapped in wool and fur, she crossed to the satchel she’d left next to the furs and stuffed away her cloak and mask. However, as she did so, she marked the tremble in her hands. Curse it, she needed to pull herself together.
Alar entered the tent then.
Straightening up, she turned to face him, taking in his unkempt appearance.
The rain had slicked his hair back, and streaks of mud smeared his face and bare arms. “Just in time,” she greeted him with a brittle smile before gesturing to where an iron pot hung over the nearby brazier.
“The water should be hot enough now for bathing.”
She nodded then to the curtain made of sewn-together hare skins that shielded the far corner of the tent—the space where they could bathe or use the privy.
Alar snorted. “Are you trying to tell me something, wife?”
She grimaced. “Aye … both of us look as if we crawled out of a bog.”
He pulled a face too, agreeing with her. She shivered then as she recalled those glistening wights. They’d wanted to drag her into the marsh, to drown her and make her one of them.
“The camp’s humming about the Fire Wraith,” he said then, his gaze roaming over her face. “Again.”
She managed a tight smile in response. She couldn’t afford to congratulate herself too much. At this rate, they’d all see her ‘perform’ many more times before the campaign was over. “Let’s hope my disguise continues to fool them.”
His gaze flicked to the satchel behind her. “You’re careful not to let anyone too close?”
“Aye.” An awkward silence fell then, and Lara cut her gaze away. Suddenly, she felt self-conscious around him. “The lasses will bring us supper shortly. We should wash up.”
“You go first … while the water is hot.”
She nodded. “Do you want some wine while you wait?”
He smiled. “Aye … thank you.”
Trying to ignore the fluttering in her belly, she moved to the low table, where Florie had left a jug of plum wine, and poured him a cup. Their gazes met as she handed it to him—their stare drawing out for a moment too long. The air between them grew heavy.
Heat washed over Lara, and she cleared her throat. “Right … I’ll be back soon.”
Moving past him, she retreated behind the curtain, where two steaming bowls of water, blocks of soap, and drying sheets waited. Another, smaller, brazier burned in here, taking the edge off the cold, damp air. The sides of the tent billowed and snapped as the wind continued.
Lara cast off her cloak, relieved that her shivers were subsiding now.
She then wriggled out of her long leather tunic, slit at the sides so she could ride.
She wore simple clothing for travel, nothing that required a maid’s assistance.
It was a relief to peel off the wet woolen undertunic.
Even the third layer, a linen shift, was damp.
Standing naked on the sheepskins, she used one of the bowls of hot water to bathe, sighing as she cleaned off the sweat and grime of the road.
She scrubbed at her arms, eager to remove any trace of the bog wight’s touch.
The graze to her throat stung slightly as water trickled down her neck. Eldra had given her some salve for it, and she would apply some more after she’d bathed. The injury could have been far worse though. The Gods had been watching over her.
And so had her husband.
As she ate, Lara kept stealing glances at Alar.
Tonight, she and the prince consort ate alone. Lara had released Florie, Ani, and Lilith for the evening too; the lasses had retired to the small tent next to theirs.
Alar also had bathed. His long dark hair was now washed and brushed back so it hung in a heavy black curtain down his back. A clean leather vest and breeches encased his lithe body, although like her, he was barefoot. The warm glow of the nearby brazier cast a ruddy glow over his pale skin.
Underneath the grime, a few grazes and bruises from the fight with the Fuath were now evident. Fortunately, the injuries on his arm, shoulder, and thigh he’d sustained at Gateway were healing well and hadn’t been reopened.
“I should put some salve on those grazes,” she noted once they’d finished eating and were lingering over their cups of wine.
He shrugged. “They’re fine. Don’t fuss.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Why not? Isn’t that what a wife is supposed to do?”
Their gazes held for a few moments before Alar frowned. “That’s not part of the bargain we struck, Lara.”
She stiffened, marking his change in mood. Tonight, his shields were up. There was a sharpness to him.
“We never talked about the details of our marriage,” she said after a tense pause. “Of what exactly we expect from each other. Perhaps we should.”
He eyed her warily. “And what are your expectations of me?”
Lara stared back at him, and as she did, something inside her shifted.
Maybe it was the Fuath, or perhaps it was a few days on the road with this man, but she suddenly knew what she needed.
“I want our marriage to be more than a show put on for others,” she said, her voice roughening.
“I want to trust you, Alar … and for you to trust me.”
A nerve flickered in his cheek as he stared back at her. “You don’t—”
“I don’t let others in easily,” she cut him off.
“Especially men. I never told you, but after my wedding night with Dunchadh, I went, in tears, to my father. I foolishly believed he’d annul our union once he heard about how brutal my husband had been.
” Her heart started to thunder in her ears.
She couldn’t believe she was telling him this.
“He wasn’t interested, and when I pleaded with him, he got angry and told me he didn’t care what Dunchadh did to me in the privacy of our alcove.
” She paused then, embarrassment prickling her skin.
“It was then I swore that I’d never give anyone power over me like that again. ”
Silence followed these words.
Alar had gone very still, his fingers clenched around his cup.
Lara’s breathing grew shallow. “But you offered me your army of wulvers … and before I knew it, I was handfasted again.” She paused then, feeling slightly sick now.
Being this honest terrified her. “However, marriage to you is nothing like it was to Dunchadh. Things haven’t been easy …
yet you bring out the best in me. We could be partners, Alar. Together we could be unstoppable.”
Something hot flared in his eyes then before he swallowed hard. “I’m not the man you deserve,” he replied, a rasp to his voice now.
“Maybe not,” she shot back. “But you’re the man I want .”