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T wenty-two

T HE THWANG OF metal striking frozen ground reverberated up Chase’s arms and into his shoulders. No wonder the old woman had wanted him to dig her waste pit for her. He doubted she could lift the spade he held, let alone dig the damned hole.

He hoisted the pitiful excuse for a shovel and slammed it down once more, digging into the earth a quarter of an inch.

“Bullshit,” he muttered, tossing the spade down in favor of the miniature pickax Orabilis had brought out for him. A dolabra, she’d called it. Ancient toy pick would have suited it better. This thing looked as though it must have been old when Orabilis was born.

“You’ve no made much in the way of progress, have you, lad?”

The old witch wobbled in his direction, one hand held above her eyes against the sun.

“You do know that the ground is frozen, right?”

The old woman shrugged one shoulder. “Aye. But I dinna expect a big, strong lad such as yerself to be giving up so easily.”

If he clenched his teeth any harder, he suspected his jaw would crack.

“Did I say I was giving up? I’ll get your damn hole dug.”

One swift move and the blade of the dolabra dug into the ground. Maybe half an inch this time.

Orabilis cackled, obviously taking way too much pleasure from his performance of the task.

“Rest for a moment, lad. I’ve brought you a drop of the good ale to wet yer throat.

” She held out the small flask she carried, digging in the pouch at her waist after he took it from her. “And this.” She held out her hand.

“What’s this?” he asked, taking her offering, turning it over to inspect it.

A carving strung on some kind of twine, perhaps the most rustic version of a necklace he’d ever seen. The wooden animal pendant was easily half the size of his hand and the feet had been whittled down to sharp little points.

“A token. A goat formed from the wood of the rowan for luck and protection. To thank you for all you’ve done, both for me and for my Christy.”

“Well, thanks.” He hardly knew what to say. Just when he thought the worst of her, Orabilis surprised him. “I appreciate that.”

“Dinna go to blubbering now,” she cautioned. “And put the thing on. It’ll do no good lest it’s hanging round a neck.”

Chase slid the twine over his head, grinning at the old woman’s retreating back. Her ugly little ornament, and the intent behind it, made him smile.

As did the sound of horses approaching.

Ulfr and the men from Tordenet came into view, hauling the repaired wagon with its precious cargo of flour. Fine, strong men, at that. Strong enough to finish this little chore of his easily if they all divided the work.

Now, wasn’t that a stroke of good luck? Maybe Orabilis’s charm was already working.

“T HEY’VE COME.”

They were the words Christiana had dreaded for the last two days and, from the look on Orabilis’s face, her old nurse was no happier about the prospect than she was.

“You could refuse to return with them.” Orabilis looked out the open door, her back to Christiana. “But you must decide now, before they come too close.”

“No.” She couldn’t stay here. That option hadn’t been shown to her on any of the future paths she’d seen. “Torquil would see to all our deaths if I chose such an action.”

The old woman snorted, turning to fix Christiana with a stare. “You ken he has no way to get in here if we dinna allow it.”

“And we’ve no way out. He’d remain outside the circle until his last breath, waiting for starvation to drive us into his arms. You ken that as well as I do.”

She would never risk the lives of those dearest to her. Besides, Skuld had already shown her there were bigger things waiting for her. She had a part to play in preventing Torquil from carrying out his despicable plans.

She also had a part to play in keeping Chase alive . . . if she could only figure out exactly what she needed to do in order to keep him safe.

“It’s him what puts worry in yer eyes as you gaze toward the future, is it no, little one?”

Orabilis knew her much too well for her to hide anything.

“I suppose it might be. The Visions have shown me he’s to play a part in my escaping Torquil’s hold. What I haven’t seen is what comes after that. I won’t go down that path if it leads to his destruction.”

Orabilis nodded, scratching her chin thoughtfully. “Do you love him?”

Christiana hadn’t expected that.

“How am I supposed to answer that? I canna say for sure what love looks like.”

Orabilis chuckled, sitting heavily down on a stool.

“Oh, little one, love has many faces through its life. In its infancy it builds low in yer belly like a fire, and sends you crawling into a man’s bed to find a way to quench the need it’s wrought.

At times, it brings you happiness in simply sharing the silence with one another.

But at its best . . .” Orabilis lifted her spoon from the pot over the fire as if to demonstrate her point.

“At its best, it becomes as the porridge, filling and nurturing and life-sustaining, with each of you more concerned with the needs of the other than with yer own needs.”

“I want that,” Christiana whispered, as much to herself as to Orabilis. “I want to see the way to find that.”

“And so you will have it, little one. You must remember, though, to trust yer heart as well as yer head.”

“Perhaps.” When she traveled once again to Skuld’s world, she would seek out that path to see for herself. “I’ve no the least clue on how to ken who my porridge is without seeking the knowledge from Skuld.”

“Oh, you’ll ken, little one.” Orabilis chuckled again and dropped her spoon back into the big black pot.

“And without any interference from the Seeress, I promise. When he holds you close with his lips covering yers and you’ve no the desire to push him away, you’ll ken well enough.

The fire will rage and there will be only one way to tamp down a blaze such as that.

Now go and get yer things ready for yer journey back to Tordenet.

Yer brother’s men will reach the house soon and I canna think they’ll be wanting to linger. ”

Christiana hurried to the bedchamber, grateful for the excuse to escape.

Her cheeks flamed with the memory of what had happened in the shed last night.

The fire had burned then and, in truth, it burned even now as she remembered the feel of Chase’s lips upon hers.

But was it the same fire of which her Shen-Ora spoke?

She gathered the bags Orabilis had prepared for her, taking her time in order to calm herself before she returned to the main room.

There, a clay jar waited for her on the mantel above the fireplace, holding the precious elixir that would allow her to see whether Chase might indeed be the man her Shen-Ora had described.

At the doorway she stopped and closed her fingers around the small pouch that rested against her skin. Inside were the messages from the gods.

One to be Reborn, one to be a Warrior.

Was what she felt for Chase love, as the crones in her life all seemed ready to claim, or was it simply duty? She was prepared to give her life in order to save his. But that wasn’t because of love, surely. That was only because it was as the gods had foretold.

After all, she could hardly expect to be Reborn without first preparing for death.