Immortal Warrior (34 page)

 

Half-crazed with the knowledge of what the bear must have done, Brand started searching even before the last of the beast left him. There was nothing—no body, no blood, no stench of death—but as his mind cleared more, he realized this wasn’t where he’d last seen her. The bear had wandered. Still twisted with pain, he stumbled toward the dene. He found nothing there either, and the nothing gave him hope, for even if the bear had devoured her, he would have left scraps. Nothing meant she might be safe.
Please, Thor, let her be safe.

He was still laboring to return to himself when Ivo came tearing through the woods leading Kraken.

“She saw me. The bear . . .” said Brand as he wheeled to a stop.

“I know. She’s fine.”

Brand’s knees nearly went out from under him with relief. He grabbed at Kraken’s mane to steady himself.
Thank you, Thor.
“Where is she?”

“Ari took her home. Brand, she knows what we are.” Anger mixed with the anguish in Ivo’s voice, the prospect of having to abandon Alaida clearly at the front of his mind.

“Only me. I’ll . . . I don’t know.” Brand began yanking on clothes. “I’ll take care of it. I’ll figure it out.”

Jaw working, Ivo stared off into the trees, as though he searched them for the means to control himself. “You never said she was a witch.”

“She’s not.”

“She used magic to save herself—she called up a mist.”

That brought Brand up short, but he cast off the idea. “No. She’s like Ari, touched by it, but no more.”

“Ari can’t call a mist,” growled Ivo. “He can barely call his visions.”

“She’s
not
a witch, and she doesn’t know about you. We can salvage this.” Brand threw himself onto Kraken and tore off, leaving Ivo behind as he raced toward Merewyn’s cottage.

The helplessness crashed back down on him again as he saw her standing in the doorway, waiting for him as she always did. He slid out of the saddle and threw his arms around her, but not until she sighed into his chest and he felt her breath, warm and alive, was he convinced.
Safe. She was safe
.

“I thought . . . I could not stop it. If it had . . .”

“
Shh.
” She lifted a hand to hush him, her fingertips grazing his lips like a kiss. “I know that creature is not you.”

Thank the gods, her face contained no fear. He couldn’t stand it if she were afraid of him. The bear, yes, he understood that, but not him. Please, never him.

Ivo galloped up just then, and Merewyn drew away to meet his seething fury directly and without apology. “The gods put me there, my lord. I had to know.”

“Know what?” demanded Ivo.

“Why they sent you all to me. A knight who is a bear. Another who is a raven. And a lord who is”—she glanced to Ivo, with a lifted brow—“an eagle?”

Ivo swore violently and flung himself off Fax to loom over Merewyn, his face white with rage. His hand went to his sword. “Swear you will never speak of this,
Witch
, or die now.”

“Ivar!” Brand shoved Ivo back and stepped between him and Merewyn.

“She will swear!” blazed Ivo. “I will not have her talking. I must be here when Alaida has the child!”

“We will be. She won’t talk.”

“The babe,” breathed Merewyn, yanking them both around. She dropped to her knees and raised her clasped hands to Ivo. “I swear on my life, to all three of you, your secret is my own. May I die if I reveal it to anyone.”

“Are you satisfied?” demanded Brand, furious, as he helped Merewyn to her feet. “Or must she swear in blood to please you?”

“He only seeks to protect his own,” she said, more forgiving than Brand was inclined to be. “Do not fear me, my lord. The gods intend me to help you.”

Ivo’s eyes narrowed. “How?”

“I don’t know yet, but they must. Why else would they have set our paths to cross? They brought you to Alnwick, led Sir Brand to my door, showed me Sir Ari calling to them and speaking to the eagle. The Mother even drew me into the woods this morning so I might understand.”

“And risked your life,” fumed Brand, incensed that she’d been put in harm’s way, even by a goddess.

“She sent the mist to protect me,” she reminded, laying a calming hand on his forearm. “There must be some purpose in all this beyond me becoming your . . .” She hesitated, then a hint of a smile curved her lips as she finished. “Alewife.”

“Are you a witch?” asked Ivo bluntly.

“I told you, no,” snapped Brand.

She gave him a searching look, and when she spoke, it was to him, not Ivo. “The gods speak to me. They use me to heal and give me what skill I need to do it, as they have all the women in my family since time began.”

“Healers don’t call the mist,” said Ivo.

“No. That is something I could always do. As a child, I used it to hide from my mother. A game.”

“’Twas no game that saved you from the bear. I ask again, are you a witch?”

“A small one.”

“No,” said Brand, his disgust for Cwen and her kind boiling up. “You cannot be.”

“But,
messire
, I . . .” She stopped, her dark eyes widening with understanding. “A witch did this terrible thing to you.”

Brand couldn’t bring himself to answer, but Ivo spat it out. “Aye. One called Cwen.”

“Why?”

“We killed her son,” said Ivo.

“
I
killed him,” said Brand heavily. “And I’ll tell the tale. Go, Ivo. Your lady will be wondering where you are.”

Ivo started, as if he’d been so concerned with the future that he’d forgotten that Alaida awaited him in the present.

“Go to her, my lord,” urged Merewyn. “You have barely returned and she needs you.”

“I will be back before dawn to see if you do indeed have any help for us,” Ivo said, threatening her without actually voicing the threat.

They watched him ride off into the dusk then went inside, where Merewyn drew Brand some ale. “The fear is so thick on Lord Ivo, I could smell it.”

“He has much to fear.” He took the cup, brushing her fingertips on purpose, just to touch her. “But he shouldn’t have threatened you.”

“You would have done the same for Ylfa.”

“Aye.” As he would for Merewyn, even if she didn’t know it. He turned to stare into the fire. He would have fought Ivo tonight for the sake of this woman—this
witch
, he told himself, though everything in him rejected that name—yet today he had nearly killed her. The gods taunted him at every step.

“Tell me of this Cwen,” she said softly behind him.

“Evil made flesh,” said Brand, forcing the words out past the acrid taste that filled his mouth, metallic as the blood spilled that long-ago night. “There were two full crews of us. Five score and ten. Now there are but nine, all cursed, and all of it is on me.”

 

Merewyn stood staring into the fiery red heart of the embers as she tried to absorb it all. She and Brand had traded places several times as he’d talked, one moving to the hearth as the first took a place at the table, as though neither could stand to look into the eyes of the other as the story unfolded. He leaned on the table now, his head heavy in his hands. She’d poured a fair amount of ale into him, trying to make the words come more easily, but he’d struggled all the way through, still weighed down, after all these years, with the knowledge that he’d led his men into the witch’s trap.

No. Not witch. Cwen was more than a witch, more than a mixer of potions and spinner of spells. She was a true sorceress, and one of great power—perhaps even a priestess of the dark gods—and her centuries-old vengeance still glowed as hot as these coals. To do this to a single man, the one responsible for her son’s death, that, on some level, Merewyn could comprehend. But to all of them? And their offspring? A curse fueled by such hate might never be broken.

Mother, why bring me these men?
she prayed silently.
I am a healer. My magic is not that kind, not that strong. I cannot possibly help them.

Tears of frustration and sorrow welled up. She should never have raised their hopes. It had been foolish. Cruel. But there had been so many signs . . . Perhaps she’d missed something, some tiny detail that would tell her what to do.

She scrubbed the tears out of her eyes and turned to ask Brand to tell her again. The words died on her tongue. He looked so tired, bowed by the weight of all those dead men. She crossed and rested a hand on his shoulder. The tightness there flowed up into her arm. “How long has it been since you truly slept? Lie down for a little.”

He shook his head. “I cannot. The bear . . .”

“I will sit up, and Lord Ivo will come. We will wake you in time.” She took his hand and tugged him the few feet to the bed, where he eased himself down with a sigh. Merewyn sat beside him and made him turn so she could rub his shoulders.

He sighed again. “That’s good.”

Slowly he relaxed, and when she felt him start to fade, she slid to the end of the bed and pulled him down so his head lay cradled in her lap. He was asleep in moments, his breath regular, his head heavy and warm on her thighs. After a time, when she was sure he slept soundly, she gently brushed the hair off his forehead and traced a sign of protection there with one fingertip, then rested her palm on his chest and began to pray to the Mother. In his sleep, he covered her hand with his.

They were still like that when Ivo returned near dawn. Merewyn raised a finger to her lips as he pushed open the unbarred door. He stood there in the frame, staring at them—at her—then closed the door quietly and went to sit at her table.

“You
are
a witch, to make him sleep so.” His voice barely carried over the song of the crickets outside.

“’Tis no spell, my lord. The telling exhausted him.” She stroked a lock of Brand’s hair where it curled over her thigh. “He carries too much guilt, as you carry too much worry.”

“There are reasons for both,” said Ivo, stomach twisting as thoughts of Alaida and the child tumbled through his skull. “Have you good news for me?”

She shook her head. “I fear such dark magic is beyond my ken, my lord. I will keep my mind to it, and perhaps the Mother will reveal something.”

“I will have Brand bring you Ari’s book. Perhaps it will show you a way.”

“Perhaps.” She hesitated, then raised the issue that most concerned him. “He told me of Sir Ari’s visions.”

The angry fear boiled up again, but this time he was able to stay in control. “Then you understand why I must be here.”

“Aye. But what if you’re not? If the child comes by day . . .”

No. Please, Odin, no.
“That has been on my mind since Alaida told me. Even if it comes at night, I must leave before dawn. I cannot carry a newborn into the woods if it does not change, yet I cannot leave an eaglet in Alaida’s arms if it does. I need someone there who understands, who can stay when I must leave, who can care for them both no matter what. Someone like you.”

“Then I will be there, my lord, though I am not sure what you wish me to do.”

“We will figure it out together.” He studied her through narrowed eyes. She said yes so easily. Could it truly be that simple? “You are a strange one, Healer. How is it you hold me no ill will?”

“You did me no harm.”

“Nonetheless, I should not have been so . . .” He sought a word, but didn’t find it. “You have my apology.”

She nodded in acceptance. “What has changed, my lord? Why have you decided to trust me?”

He nodded toward Brand. “Him. He despises everything witch, yet he sleeps in your lap.” He rose and went to the door to check the sky.

Behind him, Merewyn exclaimed in understanding. Ivo turned to look at her.

“I have watched Sir Brand do that so many times,” she explained.

“And now you know why.”

“Aye. I will guard your secret well, my lord,” she promised again.

“I know.” Ivo squeezed his eyes shut against the emotion that welled up at the simple acceptance contained in Merewyn’s words. Brand was right: this was a good woman. It was hard to believe she was witch. “Wake him, Merewyn, lest we are still here when the bear returns. I would keep you safe.”

CHAPTER 25

A FEW EVENINGS later, Ivo pushed his bishop into position and said, “Checkmate.”

“Already?” With a sigh, Alaida flicked over her king with one finger. “I do think my head grows softer as my belly grows larger.”

“It does, my lady,” said Bôte, from her place in the corner. “The babe sucks the wits out of you now, just as he will suck the milk out of you after, and leave your paps as flat as a poor man’s purse.”

“Bôte!”

“’Tis one of the reasons you should hire a wet nurse,” continued Bôte, unabashed. “As I have told you many times.”

“I, uh, think I’ll see what Oswald is up to,” muttered Brand, rising.

“And I have told you I do not want a wet nurse,” said Alaida, ignoring him and his abrupt retreat. “What are my breasts for, if not to feed my own child?”

“I have occasional use for them,” volunteered Ivo.

Alaida made a face at him and started setting up her men for the next game. “
Your
enjoyment is not at issue.”

“And why not?” demanded Bôte. “You will want him to desire you enough to get another child on you.” She turned to Ivo. “If she suckles this one, ’twill be longer before she can have another.”

“Is that true?” Ivo asked Alaida.

“I don’t know. ’Tis what she says, but she tells me all sorts of things I
know
are wrong. And it makes no difference.” Alaida turned back to Bôte. “I’m not having a wet nurse, and you will stop hounding me about it, lest I send you away and have Merewyn midwife me.”

“I’d like you to have Merewyn anyway,” said Ivo, seizing the opening she’d so nicely left him.