Midnight Warrior

  “No, I’ve no doubt we can handle any attack from farmers and shopkeepers.”

  She was being foolish … and cowardly. “Then we will go to Kythe.”

  “You’re certain?”

  “Of course I’m certain. As I said, it was a long time ago.” She closed her eyes. “Now I’m weary of speaking of this nonsense. I want to go to sleep.”

  They reached the village of Kythe late the next afternoon. It was an ordinary village of thatch-roofed cottages in the shadow of Kythe Castle. Ordinary and peaceful. No feeling. No memory.

  Screams. The crackle of flames. The smell—oh God, the smell!

  “What is wrong?” Adwen whispered, her gaze on Brynn’s face. “You look as—”

  “I can’t stay here.” Brynn felt as if she were smothering.

  “But Gage says we must get food and supplies from the villagers.”

  “Then let him get them. I can’t stay here.” She turned her mare and kicked it into a headlong gallop.

  She heard Gage call her name, but she didn’t stop until she was several miles outside the village. Then she slipped from her horse, staggered a few feet, and was violently sick.

  Smoke. Screams.

  “Christ.” Gage’s arm was around her waist, holding her steady as she heaved and heaved again.

  When she was finally able to lift her head, she gasped, “I will not go back. I can’t do—”

  “No one is asking you to go back,” Gage said roughly. “If you’d said anything about—I shouldn’t have listened to you, but you acted as if you didn’t mind, dammit.”

  “I wasn’t sure … I didn’t think about it.” She staggered to lean against a tree. “I’ve never let myself think about it since that night.”

  “You know I wouldn’t let any of the villagers harm you.”

  “I know …” She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the trunk. “They’ve almost forgotten about it.”

  “What?”

  “I feel it. So much evil and they hardly remember. Once in a while it comes back to them and they feel anger … satisfaction and pleasure.” She was beginning to shake. “Pleasure!”

  She was in his arms, her head pressed against his chest. “Hush.”

  “She was good. She wanted to help, to heal …”

  “Shall I burn it down?”

  She looked up at him, shocked. “What?”

  “They burned her. Shall I burn the village to the ground?”

  “You wouldn’t …”

  “Look at me. Would I do it?”

  Warrior. Hard. Merciless. “Yes.”

  “They hurt you. Revenge can be honey-sweet.” He smiled with cold savagery. “Shall I let you light the torch?”

  She shuddered. “No.”

  “Are you sure?”

  She nodded jerkily. “Even if I could do it, she would not have wanted it. She wanted to help them.”

  He shook his head. “Then you’re a fool to follow her example.”

  “Perhaps.” She swallowed. She couldn’t argue with him with that horror so close. It was hard to remember her mother’s teachings when she could think only of the way she had died. “Can we leave this place?”

  “As soon as Malik comes with the supplies. I told them to hurry. We should be miles away from here by nightfall.”

  “You can go back if you like. I don’t need you.”

  “I’ll stay.” He stepped back. “Don’t move. I’ll get water and a cloth to cleanse you.”

  She didn’t think she could move if she tried. Never in her life had she felt this limp and weak.

  He was back in a moment, wiping her face as if she were a small child, and then he gave her water to wash her mouth.

  “Better?” he asked.

  “Yes.” She was still shaking but was no longer ill. “I just want to be gone from here. I cannot stand … She was so good and they’ve forgotten that about her.…”

  “Shhh.” He sat down and drew her back into his arms, cradling her. “Tell me about her.”

  “That night? I can’t—”

  “Not that night. Tell me of her.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’ll never forget. Tell me what to remember of her.

  What was her name?”

  “Mairle.”

  “What did she look like? Was she fair like you?”

  “No, she was dark. She had fine blue eyes. Deep blue, not like yours. She had a lovely smile. She smiled a lot … until my father left.”

  “Was she kind to you?”

  “Oh, yes, she said we were like sisters as well as mother and daughter.”

  “Sisters?”

  It was hard to explain. “We were equal because of the healing. It was as if we were alone in a circle that no one else could enter. She kept saying, ‘Don’t worry, Brynn. They can’t come in but we can go out to them.’ ” Her hand clenched on his tunic. “But when she went out of the circle to help them, they killed her. She should never have done it. I told her. I could see how fearful they were becoming after she lay with Roark.”

  “Who was Roark?”

  “The baker’s son. He was only nine years old. He was climbing in a tree and had a terrible fall and I think his back was broken. He was dying. The herbs did no good; they only brought sleep. She knew she would have to lay hands on him.”

  “As you did with Malik?”

  “Yes, as I did—” She stopped. What was she saying? The words had come tumbling out in a frantic release of feeling. She had already revealed too much while healing Malik, but she must never speak, never admit to this. Had she learned nothing from her mother’s death? “No, it was the herbs. Touch brings only comfort. It’s not—”

  “Tell me,” he urged hoarsely. “You need to let it out. Whatever it is has been festering within you all these years. Trust me. Don’t you know by now that I’d never hurt you?”

  He was right. The memories she had suppressed had been full of poison and fear, but she could not—

  “Don’t be afraid. It hurts me when you’re afraid.”

  She didn’t want to hurt him. She never wanted to hurt Gage.… He held her gaze, and she saw only truth, the will to know and nothing to fear.

  Yet she still couldn’t look at him as she told him. She buried her head in his chest. “The herbs do much. Knowledge of their use does more.” She paused and then said in a rush, “But the touch heals.”

  He was silent.

  “Why am I telling you this? You don’t believe in anything you cannot see.”

  “Because you need to tell me.”

  Yes, that was true and perhaps his disbelief only made the confidences safer. “It’s not magic. I think it comes from God. I think he chooses certain people to give this gift and it must be used.” Her voice was suddenly fierce. “It’s not unnatural. No more than the gift of a beautiful voice or grace of movement. It’s just not … usual.”

  “And people don’t understand.”

  “No.”

  “When did you realize you had this ‘gift’?”

  “The year before we left Gwynthal. I wasn’t frightened. My mother had told me that it was always passed from mother to eldest child and would probably come while I was still a child. She received the touch when she was only seven.”

  “Why should you have been frightened?”

  “Because it came to me when I knew I had to heal Selbar.”

  He stiffened. “And am I finally to know who is this Selbar?”

  “A wolf. I found him hurt in the forest, his shoulder and chest had been ripped open. He had been gored by a stag.”

  His eyes widened. “A wolf!” He started to laugh, “A wolf?”

  “A beautiful wolf. He would have died if the healing hadn’t come to me.”

  His laughter disappeared. “And you might have died while tending your ‘beautiful’ wolf.”

  “It was a gift and had to be used.”

  “I think your mother would have forgiven you for not using it in this case.?
??

  “But I would not have forgiven myself. Not after it came to me.” She thought back, remembering that day in the forest. “It felt very strange. My hands began to tingle and then they felt almost hot, and when I put them on the wound I could feel Selbar’s flesh begin to heat. I stayed with him all through the night, and in the morning I knew he would live.”

  “He might have lived without you.”

  “Yes, if God willed it. I don’t say the gift works all the time. It’s easier with children or people like Malik, who see clearer than the rest of us. But sometimes they won’t come back. Sometimes they die.…”

  “But the baker’s son didn’t die?”

  “No, he lived and he healed. Four months later he was back climbing trees. At first they called it a miracle.” She shut her eyes. “And then they called it something else.”

  “Witchcraft.”

  She shuddered at the word. “She was not a witch. I’m not a witch. It’s a gift.”

  He was silent, holding her in blessed comfort.

  “You still don’t believe me, do you?”

  “I wish I could. If it was within my power, I’d give you what you wish of me.” He stroked her hair. “But I know you’re not a witch and that you’re kind and lovely and desire only the best. And I will fight to protect you and what you term your ‘gift’ until the day I die. Is that enough?”

  It was not enough; it still left her alone in the circle. Yet it was still a gift without price. He had heard what she was and not shown the revulsion or fear she had seen on the faces of those others who had learned of the gift. He had said that no matter what she was, he would accept her. She experienced an easing, as if a burden had been lifted from her. “I cannot ask that of you. The gift is mine and so are the consequences.”

  “You’re not asking; I’m telling you.” He pressed her face into his shoulder. “Now, speak no more about it. Rest and drive everything from your mind until we can leave this place. How far are we from this fishing village?”

  “Selkirk? A full day’s journey. We should camp here tonight.”

  “And are you leading my men now? I say we go on as soon as they come with the supplies. I want to be gone from here. We’ll travel all night and reach the village while it’s still light and I can find a ship for which to barter.”

  He never traveled at night; everyone knew that it was far more dangerous for both animals and humans. He was doing it because she needed to be away from this place. Warmth flowered within her, and she closed her eyes and let it flow over her. Conflict would inevitably come again, but she would accept his strength and comfort and enjoy this moment now.

  The day was cutting-cold and the wind stung viciously when they arrived at Selkirk at dawn the next day. The village looked smaller to Brynn. She had remembered it as a bustling, noisy town, but there were only twenty or so houses perched haphazardly along the rocky beach. It was too early in the day for there to be many people stirring in the streets, but she could see two small boats putting out to sea and four others being readied.

  “What’s wrong?” Gage asked. “Isn’t this the place?”

  “Yes.” She couldn’t be mistaken. “I just thought it was bigger.”

  “Everything is bigger to children.” Gage turned to Malik. “I don’t how long we’ll have to be here. See if you can find a roof to shelter us for a change. It’s damned cold along this shore.”

  “What are you going to do?” Malik asked.

  “What I do best. Barter.” He kicked his horse into a trot. “I want to catch those fishermen before they set sail and not dawdle here until they return at sunset.”

  Dawdle? Gage didn’t know the meaning of the word, Brynn thought ruefully. He was always in motion, always restless. It only underscored the depth of his affection for Malik that he had been willing to suffer those weeks of inactivity when she had been fighting to save the Saracen.

  “Come along,” Malik said. “We’ll get you women out of this sharp wind. Adwen looks blue with cold.”

  “Thank you,” Adwen said with sarcasm. “But I’m not suffering. It’s you who I’ve noticed shivering and quaking like a leaf in the wind.”

  He looked pained. “You always pay heed to the bad things. Did you notice what a fine seat I have on this steed? Or how keen my wit? No, just that I’m vulnerable to cold. We do not have these hideous north winds where I was born.”

  Adwen lowered her lashes to veil her eyes. “I’m glad you explained. Then I’ll no longer condemn you for your softness.”

  “Softness?” Outraged, he said, “There’s no softness in—”

  “Adwen may not be cold, but I am,” Brynn interrupted. The badinage between them always amused her, and she had been tempted to let it continue, but she was too tired. Both her emotional response to Kythe and the long journey here had drained her. “And I need sleep.”

  “At once,” Malik said. He waved his arm at LeFont, and they started toward the village.

  The villagers proved to be extremely suspicious and not receptive to bargaining. It took the better part of an hour for Malik to accomplish his mission. He was scowling when he strode back to where he had left Brynn and Adwen. “Gage is not going to be pleased if the menfolk are as canny at bartering as their wives. I managed to get the use of only five of the houses and then at great price. I’m surprised they didn’t take the beard from my face.” He nodded at a small house facing the beach. “Quarters for you and Gage, Brynn.” He turned to Adwen. “Alice and you will occupy the house next door and LeFont and the rest of the men will crowd into the remaining three houses.”

  “And where do you sleep?” Adwen asked.

  “On your doorstep.”

  “What?”

  “There’s no other way to prove that I am no weakling.” He struck a heroic pose. “I will curl up on your doorstep and face the cold while I protect you from all harm.” He added morosely, “Even though I will probably suffer a grievous chill that will take me away from this earthly plane.”

  Adwen snorted. “I give you two hours on that doorstep.”

  “You will see.” Malik drew his cloak closer about him and started toward LeFont. “Now go inside and warm yourself while I see to the business of settling everyone comfortably on this forlorn shore.” He sighed. “Everyone but me.”

  Adwen stared after him with a frown. “Will he really do that?”

  “It wouldn’t surprise me,” Brynn answered.

  “Well, stop him,” Adwen said. “He’s been ill. It would not be good for him.”

  “He’s not ill now. He’s as strong as he ever was.”

  “It’s still foolish. Tell him not to do it.”

  “Why don’t you?”

  “Because that’s what he wants me to do. He wants me to tell him I think he’s strong as a bull and need not prove anything to me. Well, I won’t do it.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because he takes advantage of every—I just won’t!” Adwen called Alice, who was talking to LeFont. “Alice, come, we have shelter.” She looked defiantly at Malik. “And I’m sure there will be a warm, cozy fire.”

  “I’m sure also,” Malik said mournfully.

  Adwen muttered something beneath her breath and stalked toward the cottage.

  “Is she angry?” Alice asked as she reached Brynn.

  Brynn shrugged. “I have no idea.” The relationship between Malik and Adwen was complex, and she was never sure from minute to minute what the two were feeling. “Why don’t you ask her?”

  “She probably won’t tell me. She doesn’t talk about Malik.” A blast of wind buffeted them, and Alice shivered and hurried toward the cottage.

  Alice’s body was rounding more each day, Brynn noticed. She was glowing with health and the trip seemed to have invigorated rather than taxed her. More, Alice seemed to carry herself with a pride that had never been present during all those years when she had served Adwen. Now the two women were friends rather than servant and mistress, and both had benefitted f
rom the change.

  She glanced down at the beach, where Gage sat on an overturned fishing boat, talking to a little group of villagers gathered around him. He was gesturing, smiling a little as he sought to persuade and cajole. His hair shone jet black, not auburn, on this dreary day and blew wild and free in the wind. If it was cold here in the shelter afforded by the row of cottages, the wind must be knife-sharp down there by the water. When Gage came back he would be chilled to the bone and, if Malik was correct, that return would probably not be anytime soon.

  Well, she could do nothing for Gage by standing there in the cold, worrying. She moved quickly toward the cottage Malik had designated.

  Gage did not return from the beach until after darkness had fallen.

  Brynn was standing on the hearth and looked up when he came in the door. “You look terrible. Close that door and come to the fire.”

  It was no lie. Gage’s cheeks appeared chapped and there were lines of exhaustion engraved beside his mouth.

  “Fire? What is that?” His lips curved mockingly as he crossed the room and held out his hands to the blaze. He closed his eyes as the heat struck him. “Ah, I remember now.”

  She unfastened his cloak and laid it on the chair. “Take off your armor.”

  “In a moment.”

  “Now. You’re so tired, you look as if you could fall asleep at any moment. I don’t want to have to pull and tug that heavy mail to get it off you, then.”

  “Shrew.” He fumbled at the leather buckles. “My fingers feel as though they’re made of wood.”

  “Stand still.” She rose on tiptoe and unfastened the mail at his shoulders and then undid the other buckles. “Now take it off and the rest of your clothes, too, while I go have the water brought.”

  “Water?”

  “For your bath. LeFont has had his soldiers heating water in readiness for the past hour.”

  He looked at her oddly. “How kind of LeFont. I’ve never known him to be so solicitous of my comfort before.”

  “When you’re unclothed, get in there.” She nodded at a shallow wooden barrel she had scrounged from the villagers. “It will probably smell of wine, but it’s the only thing I could find to use. When I mentioned bathing, the women looked at me as if I were mad.”