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CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Vartok

My Kteer wasn’t happy, and for certes, I had to laugh at my own stupidity.

My Mate had acknowledged our bond.

After months of thinking I would never have her, happiness was within my grasp. My Kteer —and truthfully, I —wanted naught more than to lay Myra down on this cold, rocky soil and claim her again and again until the Heat was satisfied.

However, I had a mission. A promise I’d made to my clan to ensure their future was safe and healthy, and I needed to fulfill that before my personal needs. Furthermore, Jura was cold as fook, and the ground was damned uncomfortable.

When I claimed my Mate for the first time, I wanted it to be in my bed, with a roaring fire, plenty of food and ale to last us through several days, and her feeling comfortable enough to take my seed.

I was strong enough to wait.

Although trying to convince my Kteer of that was more difficult, which is why I occasionally found myself halfway through reaching for Myra before I realized what I was doing and stopped myself.

Still, when she glanced in my direction and grinned—not a shy smile, but one which spoke of promises and plans and a future together—I told myself waiting was for the best.

Even though ‘twas fooking hard.

I have to assume that no male in the history of herb gathering had ever dug roots as fast as I did that morning.

Once I knew what to look for and how to ease the plants from the ground so their root systems stayed intact; once I knew the words to say over the sea holly to ensure the gods understood our need…

well, I harvested those fookers faster than anyone had a right to.

I needed to return to the village. To our home.

I needed to begin my future.

The sun was playing behind clouds—teasing us with warmth now that midwinter was officially past. But still, ‘twas not even high in the sky when Myra sat back on her haunches and eyed our bounty.

“I do not think even Nan expected us to harvest this much. We will have plenty for the village—I think ‘twill be another year and a half before anyone needs to consider returning. ”

“Good,” I grunted, thinking of those Battleborn warriors we’d seen the night before. A few times this morning, I thought I’d caught the scent of another male out here, but dismissed it as my Kteer being too sensitive and anxious to claim my Mate.

“I’m no’ in a hurry to return here. I’ll load these into the bags.”

By the time we did, the horse was overloaded.

Still, I swung up behind Myra and urged the beast back toward the northern end of the island where the ferry would be waiting for us.

‘Twas a battle to keep from spurring the animal into a gallop; ‘twould not make the ferry meet us any earlier, and the poor beast was overburdened as ‘twas.

By the late afternoon, I took pity on the horse and climbed down to lead it, although I kept us at a fast pace.

I did my best to stay alert, but found myself walking beside the saddle more often than not, because Myra had a habit of humming slightly as she played with my beads, and the sensation was intoxicating.

So mayhap I wasn’t paying as close attention to my surroundings as I should have. Mayhap there was a sign I—or my distracted Kteer —missed.

Or mayhap not.

My senses did begin to tingle as we approached the north end of the island, and I found myself peering into the scrub foliage on either side of the path as we passed.

The scent of salty woodsmoke eerily similar to last night’s, wafted through the air.

I loosened my hammer and eventually pulled it free altogether, stamping my boot to ensure my dagger was settled properly .

Behind me, I heard Myra suck in a breath as she realized I was worried, and was proud when she said naught.

As we reached the path that would lead us down to the beach, I was pleased she was riding.

“Mate,” I murmured, as we picked our way down the washed-out trail. “Ye ride well enough. If I tell ye to run, ye will run, do ye understand? Get to high ground, someplace defensible.”

I didn’t look back—I was too busy concentrating on the trail—but I heard her breathe something.

Then she whispered, “Are they coming back? The Battleborn?”

“I dinnae ken,” I had to admit, glad she was keeping her voice down, although I suspected the horse’s heavy tread kicking scree and mud down the slope would alert any watchers to our presence. “Torvolk would ken,” I muttered.

He was our Ranger, but I’d sent him to the stones at the full moon to find my brother. ‘Twould be another month before we heard word from him. I prayed he’d return in a month with news about Kragorn so I could focus on the future I was made for: smithing, training, and pleasing my Mate.

As we reached level ground, the scent of smoke was stronger, alarming.

“There is the ferry,” Myra whispered.

Except…

The boat pulled ashore beside the untended fire with the roasting spit over it was not the boat which had rowed us and the horse to Jura. Nay, this one had a furled sail and banks of oars. This was a warship, and the colors were…

“ Battleborn ,” I hissed.

When the warriors materialized, seeming to melt out of the sand and scrub to surround us with their swords prominently displayed, the best I could do was urge the horse to back up.

I wanted Myra facing the trail again so she could run as I distracted them.

I stepped forward, hefting my battle hammer in my right hand, lightheaded from the bloodlust my Kteer was pumping through me.

Their leader, the black-cloaked male with the rings in his ear, stepped to the center of their circle, between us and the fire. He wore double swords, one larger than the other, and his hands rested on their hilts. His expression was neutral, and he wasn’t threatening us—yet.

Not yet .

I wouldn’t attack them, not with my Mate vulnerable behind me. But gods below, I would die to protect her.

Nay, I would live to protect her.

I had to find a way to turn the tide in my favor.

So I lifted my battle hammer and said clearly, “Ye would all threaten us. It seems a dishonorable attack if there’s twenty of ye and one of me.”

The leader—the one who might have seen us last night—cocked his head to one side, studying me. Then he flicked his fingers and his men all stepped back, while he sauntered closer.

“Do ye ken me? ”

I watched him warily, waiting for my chance to tell Myra to run.

“Aye.” I set my chin and rolled my shoulders. “They call ye Stormseeker, and ye are in command here.”

“We are the Battleborn of Islay,” he announced arrogantly, still studying me, “and my warriors can match aught on the field of honorable battle.”

“Aye, I’ve heard,” I acknowledged warily.

“And ye…” The Stormseeker’s lips twitched, “are Vartok Bloodfire, who has been chief of his clan this last half-year.”

My hammer dipped slightly. He… knew me?

Why would he bother to know anything about me ? I was just a blacksmith trying to keep my clan together. I’d deliberately avoided going to battle against Stormseeker’s men, not wanting to send my warriors to their deaths.

But then the other male switched his attention to Myra, and my Kteer , which had been growling quietly, began to howl.

“And this,” he murmured, “must be yer Mate.”

In that moment, I realized the danger. Vrogul Stormseeker could use Myra against me. With her in peril, I would do aught, and he would realize it. He could not know how much she meant to me, who she was to me.

“Nay.” I swallowed and tried to keep my tone steady. “Nay, this is my pet. My plaything. Go on now, Myra, leave as I told ye. ”

When a moment passed without the sounds of the horse’s hooves wheeling about and trotting up the slope, the Stormseeker’s brow rose almost mockingly.

So I hardened my voice.

“That was a command, lass.”

From behind me came her icy voice.

“I know, Vartok. I heard it.”

Vrogul Stormseeker, scourge of the islands, threw his head back and laughed.

I heard the warning in that laughter, and I tightened my hold on my battle hammer, lifting it in both hands and sliding my feet into a defensive stance.

The other male saw the motion, and his laughter immediately stopped.

“Ye would fight for her, Vartok the Smith?”

“Aye, of course,” I spat. “I’ve seen what the Battleborn do to females.”

Mayhap ‘twas the wrong thing to say, to remind him what we’d spied upon last night. The other male’s eyes darkened.

“No’ us. That was the mainland sept of the clan, and their passions are…crude.”

I remembered how the two groups seemed separate last night, and none of the black-cloaked males had watched the public fooking.

Vrogul seemed enraged at the insinuation, yanking both blades from their scabbards. “I would fight ye for that insult alone.”

It looked as if I wasn’t going to get out of this.

“Myra,” I called one last time as I lowered my shoulder and charged. “Get out here!”

Vrogul and I slammed together, metal catching metal. My hammer was larger, but his blades were faster, and he had two of them besides. He quickly went on the offensive, and I blocked blow after blow.

“Ye’re a blacksmith forced to take the chieftain position when his brother disappeared,” the other man scowled, not even breathing heavily. “I heard ye were a diplomat.”

I grunted as I got my hammer up in time to block one of his blows, swinging to the side in an attempt to force him into defense.

“Ye heard wrong. I can fight.”

“Clearly.”

The Stormseeker spun, both blades whirling as his cloak billowed outward. The swords arced toward my head and I blocked them both with the hilt of my hammer.

His lips twitched. “A diplomat? Ye’re less charming than I expected.”

“And ye…” With another grunt, I threw him backward and followed up the attack. “Ye’re just as terrifying as I expected.”