Page 46

T hirty-eight

A SMALL, COLD HAND covered his, drawing Chase’s attention from the distance into which he stared.

“Rauf assures me Castle MacGahan lies just over the next rise.” Christiana peered out from the depths of her cloak, her nose red from the cold.

Chase captured her hand in his, rubbing it to restore some warmth. A cold front had hit overnight, bringing temperatures too low for traveling safely outside as they did.

“He’d better be right, or we’ll need to stop and build a fire before you turn into an ice cube.”

“Pfft,” she scoffed. “I’m stronger than you credit me.” Her chattering teeth belied the confidence of her assertion.

“It’s there,” Rauf called out, standing in his stirrups to point into the distance. “There upon that hill, do you see?”

“I do,” Chase answered, relieved that their journey’s end was at last in sight.

Rauf had been their saving grace in their preparations for a hasty exit from Tordenet. He’d gathered food, found a horse for Christiana, and, thankfully, had been to Castle MacGahan before, so that at least one of them knew the way.

He was also totally devoted to Christiana, which had quickly won Chase over to his side, even if he did look like a classic movie bad guy.

“I for one shall be glad of a fire and a hot meal.” Hall drew his horse alongside Chase.

Chase nodded. Not to mention the relief of being able to close his eyes at night without worry that some mythological wolf-monster was about to attack them.

Rauf spurred his mount, riding on ahead of them to alert the castle to their arrival. By the time they reached the open gates, a small cluster of people had gathered in front of the main keep.

Family, waiting to welcome a loved one back into the fold. Chase had seen this sort of gathering too many times not to recognize that. The excited, hopeful expressions these people wore were no different than any he’d seen as he’d stepped off an airplane and back onto home soil.

And just like all those times, the familiar odd-man-out feeling gripped him, urging him to hang back out of the way while those who belonged gathered together.

“Welcome home, little sister.” The dark-haired man at the center of the group held up his arms to assist Christiana when she dismounted. “You canna imagine how often I’ve pictured this moment in my thoughts.”

“As I have, Malcolm,” Christiana agreed, her feet finally touching the ground.

As with other family reunions he had witnessed, Chase felt the familiar twinge of envy nipping at his heart as he watched Christiana wrap her arms joyously around the stranger’s neck.

“And these men who accompany you, we’ve them to thank for your liberation, have we no?” Malcolm smiled broadly, opening his arms wide. “Introduce us to yer champions that we might welcome them into our home, as well.”

“Halldor O’Donar, a fine champion indeed, and my friend.” Christiana beamed up at the man. “These are my brothers, Malcolm and Patrick, and Malcolm’s brave and beautiful lady, Danielle, and, this is my friend Elesyria.”

“Syrie,” the little redhead and Patrick corrected at the same time.

“Syrie,” Christiana repeated with a lift of her brows before turning toward Chase. “And this is Chase Noble.”

She held out her hand to him and he dismounted to stand at her side. He had no choice. He couldn’t resist the sparkle in her eyes when she smiled at him that way.

“I must tell you all, Chase is far more than champion to me.” She entwined her fingers with his. “He is the love of my heart.”

She gazed up at him and his heart was full. He had no reason to envy anyone. All he needed stood before him, holding his hand.

“As you are mine,” he answered quietly.

“In that case”—Malcolm stepped closer, slapping a hand to his back—“looks to me as though we’ll soon be welcoming a new brother into the family.”

“If he kens what’s good for him,” Patrick added from his spot near the stairs.

Chase knew what was good for him. He had her hand tightly clasped within his own right now.

“Enough of this lollygagging around out in the cold.” Malcolm’s wife tightened her cloak around her and started up the stairs. “Let’s get you all inside and warmed up, and then you can tell us all about what’s happened that allowed you to come home to us.”

“And what is yet to come,” Hall added as he passed by.

True. Chase pulled Christiana close under the shelter of his arm and started up the stairs behind Hall. Though they’d reached their destination, their journey was far from over.

They followed their hosts into the main level and up a second set of stairs, entering a room that looked more like a living room from his own time than one that belonged here.

Three long cushion-covered benches with backs faced one another in front of a huge fireplace, with a low round table between them.

“Make yerselves comfortable on a so-fa.” Malcolm pronounced the word as if it were some foreign object.

From the looks passing between Christiana and Hall, Chase could only surmise it was.

Minutes later, Danielle swept into the room accompanied by a servant, who handed Chase a mug of what turned out to be hot apple cider, just before offering him a tray filled with . . .

“Cookies?” Chase swiveled his head from the tray in front of him to Malcolm’s wife.

“Yes, they are,” she confirmed. “My very own recipe. And considering all the ingredients I didn’t have to work with, I think they turned out pretty great.”

“She comes from your time,” Syrie offered in a low voice as she sat down next to him. “I am quite relieved to see you here at last. You certainly took your time.”

“Little thanks to you.” Patrick leaned past her to pick up one of the mugs from the center table.

If this was the woman Christiana had told him about, his presence here was almost entirely thanks to her. “You’re the Elf, right?”

Christiana’s elbow to Chase’s ribs coincided perfectly with Patrick choking on his drink.

“Faerie,” Syrie corrected, even as she pounded her hand on Patrick’s back. “Lift your arms and lean over. You’ll catch your breath. Not that you deserve to.”

“Has Bridget yet returned?” Hall’s question drew attention to where he stood by the fireplace.

“Bridget MacCulloch? The lass has been missing for weeks. You have knowledge of where she is?” Malcolm leaned forward in his seat.

“I wondered when I saw no sign of Tinklers in the courtyard. After her escape from Tordenet, they were to bring her back here.” Hall turned to stare into the fire. “They had a day’s head start on us.”

“But we cut cross-country because Rauf said it would be faster. Chances are they haven’t had time to get here yet.” At least that was what Chase hoped.

“I can have Eric send some of the men along the road. If they find anything . . .” Patrick shrugged. “Either way, they can get word back to us faster than if we were to simply wait.”

“Make it so,” Malcolm ordered, sounding every bit the laird of the castle.

“I’ve no wish to insult your hospitality, but I’d ask to accompany those you send.

I’ve a need to speak with the Tinklers about those who traveled with them.

” Hall scratched his fingers through his beard, his gaze on the fire.

“If you could spare provisions and have all arranged by first light, I’d be grateful. ”

“You’d be better served by having that shoulder of yers properly looked after, now that we’re here.” Christiana set her cup on the table. “A day or two of rest will do you good.”

Hall turned to acknowledge her concern, a trace of his former smile back in place. “My wound is of small consequence, my lady, but I shall allow you to properly dress it before I leave. Which I must do with all haste, if I’m to have any hope of tracking the Sword of the Ancients.”

“For what reason would you seek a weapon of that reputed power?” Syrie asked.

“Because, my lady Syrie, it is the only weapon that will serve to fell Torquil when he rides against Castle MacGahan in the spring.”

Malcolm rubbed a spot between his eyes. “So you believe he will yet bring his men to attack us. I had hoped—”

“No, Malcolm,” Syrie interrupted, bouncing to her feet to pace the room. “You don’t understand what this man is telling us. Why would you need the Sword of the Ancients to meet Torquil in battle? For that matter, by what reason do you possibly expect to find it?”

Syrie came to a stop in front of Hall, her hands rising to her hips like those of a mother accusing her child of carrying stories. Though the sight of the two of them squaring off should have been funny, the petite redhead’s challenge of his enormous friend was anything but amusing.

Chase might have attributed the tension tightening his chest to his imagination, had Christiana not slid her hand into his. One look at her and he knew she felt it, too.

“I believe there is a trail because Torquil had the Sword in his possession, and now it’s gone.

But not with him. I suspect one of the minstrels, the surviving minstrel, might have .

. .” Hall paused, choosing his words carefully.

“He might have liberated the weapon. Along with the Elven Scrolls of Niflheim.”

Syrie gasped, her hand flying to cover her mouth as Patrick rose and all but lunged to her side.

“Torquil had access to the dark Magic of the scrolls? That would certainly explain the drain on my powers I experienced at Tordenet. As it would explain your need to find the weapon. Our need.” She waved Patrick off and resumed pacing.

“He is possessed, I assume. Have you any idea what it is we deal with?”

Hall shrugged. “An heir to Odin? Fenrir would be my best guess. Especially after seeing the condition in which he left one of the minstrels.”

That memory was all too fresh in Chase’s mind, as well.

“I would appreciate an explanation,” Malcolm said, looking to his sister. “Christiana?”

Her fingers tightened in Chase’s grip. “I canna give one to you. I have seen no hint of this in my Vision travels. But I believe it. What I saw staring out of Torquil’s eyes was not our brother.”

“Little wonder you were unable to see such as this from the Norn’s world, Mistress Christiana. A seid as black and as ancient as the Elven scrolls hold would be beyond the power of the Norns’ accounting.”

“What is this Fenrir?” Chase looked to Hall. “You’ve mentioned that name before.”

“A monstrous wolf-creature of legend, enemy to Odin.”

“Oh my God, Malcolm.” Danielle dropped to her husband’s side, wrapping her hand around his arm. “That’s exactly what we saw in the clearing. That enormous wolf that tried to kill you in the woods. The thing that turned into your brother after I stabbed him.”

“With the stake of rowan wood,” Christiana added.

“A fork, actually,” Danielle murmured, sinking back against Malcolm.

“I’m guessing we need to find these scrolls and make sure they’re locked away somewhere, too.” Chase again looked to his friend for confirmation. “And I’m also guessing we won’t be the only ones looking for this stuff. Am I right?”

“You are correct, little brother. All the more reason why I must be off at first light.”