Page 20

E ighteen

W HAT IS THAT?”

Halldor strained in his saddle to focus on the tiny colorful dot outside the walls of Tordenet. If not for the evil dwelling inside those walls, he’d swear it was a wagon belonging to . . .

“Tinklers,” Ulfr answered, his disgust showing through clearly. “Though I canna imagine why they’ve come to Tordenet. They’re no welcomed inside our gates.”

“You say that as if it’s something to take pride in. Tinklers bring luck to man’s home. If they’re welcomed, that is.”

“Bah.” Ulfr turned his head to spit on the ground. “They’re naught but filthy thieves and whores. Our lord Torquil has forbidden them entry.”

Halldor doubted their exclusion was because they were thieves and whores. No, he’d guess Torquil had other reasons for avoiding the Tinkler folk.

“Old tales say they’re favored by the Fae. What say you to that? You’d willingly anger the Faeries?”

“No such thing,” Ulfr mumbled, but the wild fear dancing in his eyes belied his claim.

The captain ended their conversation with a kick to his mount’s sides, forcing the animal to a run, telling Hall all he needed to know.

Ulfr knew, just as Torquil did. Tinklers weren’t just the Fae’s favored people. More often than not, where you found Tinklers, you were likely to find the Fae themselves. They were as real as the Norse gods the MacDowylt clan claimed to honor. As real, and every bit as vindictive.

If Torquil was what Hall suspected him to be, it was little wonder that Torquil forbade Tinklers entrance to Tordenet Castle. They, too, would recognize what lived inside those walls.

“Here, now! What’s this?” Ulfr called from ahead of him, his horse already disappearing into the open gate at a gallop.

Hall urged his own mount to greater speed, easily reaching Ulfr’s side as they entered the inner courtyard of Tordenet.

“Why have the gates been left open?” Ulfr demanded, sliding down off his mount.

“To allow the minstrels access,” Artur, the one who claimed to be Ulfr’s right hand, answered. “Our lord Torquil has bade it be so.”

“But the Tinklers—” Ulfr began.

“No, my captain. The Tinklers are but a means of travel for the minstrels. Our lord Torquil has bade the minstrels to remain here to perform for the return of his sister. . . .” Artur’s words faltered as he looked around. “But where is—”

“Keep to yer own business. Where is our lord? I’ve urgent need to speak to him.” Ulfr didn’t wait for an answer, already hurrying off toward the main keep.

“Minstrels, eh?” Halldor asked.

“Aye. Come see them. They’ve brought out their instruments for our inspection. And”—excitement rolled off Artur in great, palpable waves as he leaned in closer—“they’ve a woman who dances while they play.”

“Indeed? Well then, lad, take me to them. I’d very much like to see these amusements.”

Artur led the way, pushing through a throng of men circled around the newcomers. Two men stood in front of a display of instruments, along with two women. One of the women was seated, a small harp held in her arms, while the other hung back, her eyes scanning the crowd.

Warrior . The description reverberated inside Hall’s head as if he’d said the word aloud.

She was tall and lithe, her brown hair gathered into a long braid hanging down her back.

Doubtless this was the one who danced, though she hovered in the background like a guard set to attack rather than a performer for the crowd’s amusement.

A beauty by Halldor’s standards, though too young for his tastes. But a beauty who would bear watching.

“Y OU SIMPLY LET them ride away, unchaperoned, without making the slightest effort to stop them.” Torquil hardly knew how to respond to the news Ulfr had brought him.

What if Christiana’s injuries were fatal? What if she managed to escape? What if the man who had taken her ended up being the very one he needed for his own plans? Christiana would know that, and could easily enough prevent his return just to thwart Torquil’s desires.

Everything, everything, hung in the balance and Ulfr had let them simply ride away.

“Fool!”

Frustration clawed at Torquil’s gut. He was no closer now to determining which of the brothers he needed than he had been before they’d left. Further away, in fact, since he no longer had control of Christiana or her Visions.

“I’d thought to prepare a contingent of men to recover and repair the wagon, and to follow Noble and yer sister to the witches’ ”—Ulfr paused and cleared his throat before continuing—“to the lodging of Orabilis to bring our lady home. If that meets yer approval, my lord.”

“Go. Bring my sister back where she belongs! And Ulfr.” He turned a hard stare on the man, holding his next words until he knew his captain had grown uncomfortable with the waiting.

“Dinna fail me in this, or you’ll find yer next lodging to be in the oubliette.

I want her back without delay. Are we clear on that? ”

Ulfr nodded, all but running from the hall.

As he should, the incompetent fool. His days were numbered.

Once the sun settled onto the horizon, Torquil would see for himself whether Noble had indeed taken Christiana to Orabilis, or if she’d convinced him to aid her in an attempted escape.

For now, though, he needed to check on the strangers he’d allowed entry to Tordenet.

What had possessed him to acquiesce to his men’s pleas was beyond him.

This sort of indulgence rankled at his very core.

But his father had always professed that the best way to tie your men to you was to win their hearts.

Though his father had become a disloyal embarrassment with his marriage to Deandrea, the one thing he had been good at was building loyalty among his men.

And loyalty was something Torquil would be counting on heavily come spring, when he led his men against Malcolm and Castle Mac-Gahan.

For that reason alone, he’d welcomed the minstrels, despite the irritation of having Tinklers camped just beyond his walls.

He stepped outside, immediately spotting the crowd of men gathered in the courtyard.

His guests would likely be at the center of that throng.

Descending the great staircase, he breathed deeply of the cold, crisp air and noted that clouds already gathered in the sky, a sure sign heralding a moonless night.

And a moonless night was exactly what he needed to wing his way sightlessly across his lands.