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T hirty-six

C HRISTIANA LEANED OVER the fire, inhaling the soothing aroma that drifted up from the heavy iron pot that held her simmering herbs. Once she strained the bits and pieces from her tisane and allowed them to cool, she would use them in a poultice to place over her tired, scratchy eyes.

It would have to do, since she didn’t see any restful sleep in her immediate future.

When she’d awoken from her Vision travels yesterday evening, she’d been overwhelmed with relief to find herself alone. She’d sought out Chase to tell him of what she’d seen, but her relief had been short-lived when she learned it was too late to warn him. All that was left was to wait and worry.

While her hands performed the familiar task of straining the herbs, her thoughts drifted to the gates of Sinclair Keep, the stronghold she’d seen along the pathways of her Vision.

A sense of foreboding hung in the air this morning, thick and cloying, hindering each and every breath she took.

Perhaps that was due to the heavy dread in her heart. The images she’d seen haunted her. None of the paths that she had managed to explore had ended well. Not one of them.

Her only slim hope lay in her final fleeting glimpse of the future, in the small scattered shining holes where something—or someone—had been ripped from Skuld’s carefully woven tapestry.

The pot shook in her grip as she poured the hot liquid into the straining cloth. Its heat seeped through the pad she’d wrapped around the handle, burning into her skin, and she dropped it to the hearth as soon as she’d filled her cup.

If only she’d managed to warn Chase before he’d left. If only she’d never insisted the Elf interfere. If only she were smart enough to properly interpret what she had seen.

“If only, if only, if only,” she muttered, balancing the steaming mug of clear liquid as she sat on the rumpled blankets where she had tried unsuccessfully to sleep.

At some point she would need to dress, to eat, to prepare for the inevitable encounter with her brother.

She needed to move all the bags of dried herbs from around the hearth, where Ulfr’s men had carelessly tossed them, to the upper tower.

One random spark and her treasured herbs would be gone in a bonfire.

So many little tasks awaited her attention, but right now she hadn’t the strength of will to ignore the dark clouds of sorrow hanging heavily over her.

Right now, she could only watch in her mind’s eye as the steed Chase had ridden galloped wildly from the Sinclair’s gates, riderless.

She lifted the cup to her lips, to sip the hot liquid, when the door was flung open, crashing back against the stone wall.

Her cup jostled, splashing hot liquid on her, but Christiana barely noticed. She had eyes only for the angry man filling her doorway.

“I’d have the truth from you,” Torquil snarled, his eyes wild with rage.

“I canna speak to you with any words that are not true, brother. Well you ken the limitations—”

“Silence,” he roared, kicking the door closed before he moved slowly in her direction, one foot after another like a beast stalking its prey. “The time for yer clever deceptions is past. I’ll no be making the errors I have in the past, allowing room for yer words to dance with the truth.”

Christiana’s thoughts raced, searching for what could possibly have happened to set him off.

“Neither Noble nor O’Donar is here for my benefit, are they? They were never meant to be my champions, but yers. It’s yer preference for the future they serve, no mine, is that no the way of it? You’ve betrayed me in my own keep, have you no?”

He knew. Somehow, he’d learned the truth.

She desperately sought a way to divert him from his questions as she rose to her feet, but the fury on his face did not bode well for her success.

“Dinna bother to search for a clever riddle to put me off. I see the truth in yer silence. And I’ll be having no more of yer deceptions. Straight answers to straight questions, Christiana.”

“What would you have me say?”

If she could keep him talking, she had a chance. He loved the sound of his own voice. If she could get him to carry on, pontificating, he’d say something that would enable her to answer any question he might ask.

“Did you lie with Chase Noble? Is that why you were abed in my keep?”

Her heart stopped. “Why would you ask me such a—”

“No!” he hissed, grabbing her elbow to jerk her toward him. “No twists upon yer words, sister. Yes or no. Did you sleep with him?”

His breath came in great heaving pants, buffeting her face with each exhale.

“This is no the sort of question—”

“Yes! Or! No!” he yelled, and it felt as if the very walls of her tower shook.

“Yes.”

She had no way to restrain herself from speaking the truth. It was the curse of her gift.

“Did he force yer favors or did you give yerself to him freely?” His fingers bit into her skin as he ground out the question, his voice quiet with deadly intent.

“Freely.” It mattered not now. All her secrets were revealed. “I offered myself to him freely.”

He reached to her neck and fastened his fingers around the cord hanging there to rip the bag from her. The cord sliced into her skin before it gave way and he held it aloft, baring his teeth.

“And these paltry bits of wood? They’re to represent the two of you together, are they no?”

“One for each of us, yes.”

“Yer but a Tinkler whore.” He spat the epithet, and threw the bag to the floor before shoving her to her knees. “After all the years I’ve denied myself what I wanted, you tainted yer purity by giving yerself to that commoner. Yer no better than yer mother.”

She glared up at him, no longer making any attempt to disguise her hatred and loathing. “Given the choice, brother, I’d rather be a Tinkler whore than a wastrel who murdered his own father. I ken what you did to our father. I saw with my own eyes when I traveled the Visions of Urd’s world.”

She’d seen it all. Seen him prepare the potion and slip it into their father’s ale. Seen him wait, watching over Alfor’s final moments.

His expression changed as she spoke, as if calm determination had replaced whatever he’d felt before.

“Perhaps you’ll beg for Alfor’s fate before I’ve done with you, Christiana.” He dropped to his knees in front of her as he spoke, a vile grin curving his lips. “When Ulfr and Artur return with Noble’s severed head, I’ll present it to you as payment for the gift yer about to give to me.”

“What gift?”

“The only one that’s fair. The only one I want. The commoner sampled yer pleasures, and now so shall I.”

Surely he only sought to frighten her.

“But yer my brother,” she denied, attempting to scramble back from his grasp. “My own blood. Even you canna consider such an abomination.”

He laughed. “I am Torquil of Katanes, heir to Odin. I can do anything that pleases me. And right now . . .” He grabbed her shoulders and pulled her face to within inches of his. “Right now nothing will please me so much as having you.”

She swung her cup at his head but he deflected her attack with his shoulder, shoving her to her back, banging her head to the floor and knocking the wind from her lungs before he crawled on top of her.

His knee pressed down, forcing her legs apart as she struggled to catch her breath.

She wasn’t strong enough to fight him like this. She needed a weapon.

The pot! It was small but heavy, and the iron would still hold the heat of the fire.

She stretched out her arm and her fingers closed around the handle, waiting for her chance.

When he lifted his hand from her shoulder, she swung the iron pot up and around with all her strength.

The pot caught him in the center of his back and he yelled out in pain, arching away from her.

As his weight shifted she kicked for all she was worth, shoving him, the blankets, everything toward the fireplace as she scrambled to her feet and ran for the door.

He roared in anger, recovering much faster than she had hoped.

His hand tangled in her hair, jolting her to a stop and dragging her back to him, slamming her against his chest.

“Nothing worth having is worth having without a fight, is it, little sister?” he panted into her ear as he wrapped one arm around her midsection and slammed her face-first onto the table.

She lifted her arms just in time to shield her face but the table edge caught her across her stomach, forcing the wind from her lungs. Before she could move, Torquil’s weight was on top of her, his arms pinning hers above her head, his mouth hot next to her ear.

“You canna escape me, little sister. I’m as willing to take you from behind as from the front.” With his free hand, he lifted the skirt of her nightgown to trace his hand up her bare leg. “At least the first time.”

“No, no, no!” she screamed, bucking her head back toward his, rejoicing when she hit his face and he grunted in pain.

Her short-lived joy evaporated when he laughed, a humorless, vindictive sound, as he twisted one of her arms up behind her to immobilize her by leaning his weight against it.

She gasped for air, feeling as if her arm would rip from her shoulder, and choked as her lungs filled with the acrid taste of smoke.

She couldn’t move. She couldn’t catch her breath to scream. Her only escape was to plunge headlong into the rage-filled chasm within her mind.