Chapter Ten #2
Chase lifted the sword down from its mountings.
In his grip it felt different from his father’s, but good all the same.
He laid the sword across his palm to feel its weight.
Admiring the fine balance, he peered at the markings on the blade.
Made in the fires of the ancient Celts, his father had claimed of his own.
Holding this one, Chase didn’t doubt it.
“Ulfr!”
Torquil uttered his captain’s name like a man commanding a trained animal and Chase looked up to find Ulfr charging him, teeth bared, his sword leading.
Instinctively, Chase raised the weapon he held, just in time to meet the downward blow of Ulfr’s sword.
The leaf-shaped weapon felt natural as metal clanged on metal, as if it were an extension of his own arm.
The lessons with his father rushed back to him.
His vision tunneled on the man in front of him and he twirled, dodging the next attack, blocking from his mind Christiana’s scream and Halldor’s shout as the big man threw himself in front of the healer.
Chase pivoted under Ulfr’s strike, slicing upward at the last minute.
A thin red line appeared on his opponent’s forearm as he glided past.
Ulfr screamed, backing away, his free hand tightly clenched over the dripping wound.
“Excellent!” Torquil rose from his seat, clapping his hands in appreciation.
“Expertly done, indeed. You wield that weapon as if you were born to it, O’Donar.
The sword you hold is meant to be used, no to decorate a wall.
It’s yers to keep, and the sheath, as well.
As to a horse, take yer pick of any from my stables. Satisfactory?”
Chase’s heart pounded in his ears from the adrenaline pumping through his system. It had been a long time since he’d felt the rush that accompanied hand-to-hand combat.
“Satisfactory!” Halldor boomed.
“Noble,” Chase corrected quietly, turning to face the MacDowylt laird. This part of their charade had come to an end. Dishonesty didn’t sit well on his shoulders. He didn’t like pretending to be something or someone he wasn’t. He never had.
“What did you say?” Torquil stared at him, his lack of expression concealing his thoughts.
“My name is Noble, not O’Donar. Chase Noble.”
“My brother speaks truly. We do not share the same father,” Halldor interrupted with a shrug before throwing an arm around Chase’s shoulders to usher him from the room. “Why else would I have had to come all the way to Scotland looking for this one, eh?”
Chase considered refusing the offer of the weapon, but only for a moment. Torquil was correct. The sword was never intended to be a decoration gathering dust on a wall. It was meant for the hand of a warrior, and it fit his as if they had been made for each other.
He pulled away from Halldor’s grip and turned to face Torquil, lifting the sword in salute.
“My thanks, Laird MacDowylt. I pledge to use this weapon to the best of my ability.”
“If you use it half so well in yer service to me as you did a moment ago, I’ll consider it a gift well given.”
Chase dipped his head one last time and walked out of the room.
He’d pledged to use the weapon to the best of his ability. But he wasn’t yet completely sure that would mean using it in the service of Torquil MacDowylt.
I T COULD BE either one of them.
Torquil stared after the departing men, frustrated by his inability to read which of them carried the fate of his destiny on their shoulders.
“I asked for a moment with you, my laird, because I have need of—”
“Silence!” He held up a hand to stop Christiana from speaking. His interest was not in what she needed but in what he needed, a fact she so often failed to remember. “It’s one of them, isn’t it?”
A flare of irritation sparked in her eyes when they met his.
Irritation and . . . was that defiance he saw there?
Foolish girl. She had neither the ability to lie to him nor the intelligence necessary to trick him.
For his part, he had neither the time nor the patience to indulge her in playing her usual word games.
“I want a straight answer. Is one of them the man you saw in your Vision? Yes or no, little sister. Don’t parse your words with me. I’m in no mood for it.”
Her lips straightened to a thin, hard line. “Yes.”
Good. Progress at last. Though it was like pulling nettles from the skin one by one to get the information he wanted from her.
“Which of them? Is it the elder brother, Halldor?”
That one certainly appeared the logical choice. It was he, after all, who’d rushed to escort her into the room; he who’d thrown himself in front of her like a shield when the swordplay had begun.
“I cannot with any certainty say it is he.”
The muscles in her jaw worked as if she tried to prevent herself from giving the answers he wanted. Pathetic Tinkler spawn. Had she any sense at all, she would have accepted her place—and her fate—long ago.
“But it is definitely one of them.” He stated the obvious, seeking her confirmation. “Is it no?”
“It is.” She bit off the words as if in an attempt to hold them back.
Leaving him with the challenge of determining which of the men he needed and what role that man would play. Torquil could think of only one way to accomplish the task quickly.
“I must know which of those men will be responsible for my success. I require you to retire to my tower immediately. You will travel to Skuld’s world for me, seeking a very specific Vision of the future from her.
” She had the ability. He’d seen her do such a thing before.
That it was difficult and dangerous for her to challenge Skuld’s will was of no importance to him.
“I canna do as you ask.”
“What?” He turned on her, roaring his anger, allowing the beast within to rear its head. “I dinna ask it. I ordered it to be so. You’ll do what I say, when I say it. You’ll no be about refusing me if you value keeping yer daft head upon yer shoulders.”
“I’m no refusing you, my laird.” She spoke without flinching despite his threat.
“I simply canna do as you order. I tried to tell you earlier. It’s the reason I came here, the reason I’ve requested an audience with you for the past week.
My supply of herbs is gone. To travel in the manner you require, I must have the tonic Orabilis brews for me.
Without the herbs to prepare it, I have no control over where the Visions take me. ”
Deep inside him, violence stirred. Control of the beast had become so much more difficult since that day in the forest when he’d unleashed its power.
Even now, the beast clawed its way up from his bowels as his rage flared, demanding to be free, to wreak vengeance on those who would oppose him. To taste blood again.
But giving himself over to the beast meant relinquishing intellectual control, and that he could not allow. Now, of all times, his wits must remain keen.
“No,” he forced out between gritted teeth, his internal battle rampaging within.
“Then I dinna see how—” Christiana began.
“Silence!” he yelled. Or perhaps the command had come from the beast within him; he couldn’t be sure.
She backed away from him, her clutched hands held over her heart, her eyes filled with fear.
Fear that only strengthened the beast.
Torquil labored to close his eyes, finally turning his back on her, hoping it would be enough. An unearthly howl filled his mind as the beast shrank back into the depths where it lived, taking the bloodlust that colored his sanity with it.
He straightened his back, breathing in the sweet smell of control once more. Clarity of thought returned, he wiped the spittle from the corners of his mouth before turning back to face those waiting for his next move.
No alternative was left for him but to allow Christiana to visit her witch. But having this forced upon him didn’t mean he couldn’t use it for his own ends.
“Very well, I will consider your request. Leave me.”
“I will need to take flour along to trade.” Her voice shook and she took a step backward, away from him.
“I said I would consider it. Now do as yer told and leave me!”
He had but to raise his voice only a little and she complied. Complied? He clamped his jaw shut to keep himself from laughing out loud. She scuttled from the room like a terrified mouse.
A mouse who had no need to know his decision had already been made.
At last he turned his attention to Ulfr. The idiot stood, dripping blood to a puddle on the floor, his eyes round as loaves of bread.
“You will accompany my sister to trade with her witch. You personally, Ulfr. Not someone you assign to the task as you have in the past. Do I make myself clear?”
Had Ulfr done as he was told last time, Malcolm might not have escaped, although the women who helped him did so with a Magic of their own that even Ulfr would have been helpless against.
“Yes, my lord. As you say, it will be done.”
“Good. I want those two new men, O’Donar and his brother, assigned to accompany you.
You are to observe their every interaction with Christiana and report it back to me.
Observe, but you’ll no interfere with either of the men.
This is of the utmost importance to me, Ulfr.
I’ll no take well to yer failing me in this task. ”
“As you will it, my lord.”
The man bowed his head, but not before Torquil saw the fear in his face.
“Now go. And send someone in to clean up this mess.” The odor of fresh blood made it all the more difficult to restrain the beast.
Ulfr nearly ran from the room, reminding Torquil of Christiana’s retreat.
Perhaps the time had come to replace Ulfr as captain of his personal guard. Noble had certainly defeated him easily enough. Perhaps that was the role the man from his sister’s Vision was destined to play. Champion to the Lord of Katanes in title as well as in deed.
He rather liked the sound of that.
Ulfr, meanwhile, would have this one last chance to be of good use.
With some well-placed suggestions, he might even be able to instigate the actions that would point to his own replacement.
And after he returned, whether through his observations or through Christiana’s Vision travel, Torquil would name his new champion.