Knight of Pentacles (Knights of the Tarot Book 3) (32 page)

She shot him a worried look. “Is that a problem?”

“No.” He would be happy to be a real father to any child he sired. “Have you given any thought to names?”

“Only a little,” she said. “If it does turn out to be a girl, I’d like to name her after my mother.” Her gaze met his as she added, “Unless you have another name in mind.”

“I do not,” he returned, “but may I still know the name?”

“Claire.” She shot another glance his way. “What was your mother’s name?”

“Erica.”

Her whole face brightened. “Oh, I like that, too. She could be Claire Erica Lochlann. What do you think?”

“I think you are wonderful.”

She was beaming. “I meant about the name.”

“I approve.” He grinned, too. “And if it’s a laddie?”

Her cheerfulness dimmed, and her brow crinkled. “I don’t know what name I’d choose. I only know it won’t be my father’s.”

Surprised by this, he lifted an eyebrow. “Whyever not?”

“Because he made me feel ashamed of who I was, and the last thing I want is to attach that memory to my son.”

“
Our
son.” After a pause, he added, “Am I allowed to know the name you’ve taken off the table?”

“Niall.”

Niall was the name of King Robert’s brother who was drawn and quartered by the English after he tried to help Queen Elizabeth evade capture. “I like the name Niall, but will concede to your wishes for the sake of matrimonial harmony.”

“Thank you.” She gave him a sideways glance. “Will we get married for real in Brocaliande?

“Aye, lass. As soon as it can be arranged.”

“Good.” Her face relaxed and took on a glow. “And what was your father’s name?”

“Thorbrand.”

Turning back to the road, she appeared to consider this for a moment before saying, “What if we called him Thor?—to honor your father as well as the god who helped us escape Queen Morgan.”

He was pleased with her choice. More than pleased, to be truthful. Through a broad smile, he said, “I approve your suggestion wholeheartedly. If the child you carry is male, we shall call him Thor Robert Lochlann—after my father, the god of thunder, and my long-ago king.” With a stab of concern, he added, “Unless, for some reason, you object to the name Robert.”

“I don’t. I only object to Niall and William for personal reasons.” She shot a fleeting glance at him. “Though, to be totally honest, I’m not all that keen on Athol, either.”

He laughed. “We are in full agreement on both Athol and William. For as much as I might wish to honor Sir William Wallace, the name has been forever tainted by so-called Sweet William—an epithet as ill-suited as was Black Douglas for Good Sir James.”

“That’s right. You would have known James Douglas.”

“Aye.” The memory of his old friend both warmed and grieved him. Good Sir James had been killed by Moors while attempting to take King Robert’s heart to the Holy Land. “And he was as good and brave a soul as ever set foot on Scottish soil. I was traveling with him when he joined the king on the road to Scone and knighted beside him on the field at Bannock Burn.”

“I sometimes forget, when I look at your handsome face, that you’re seven centuries my senior.”

He smiled as heat radiated through his chest. “It pleases me to hear you find me easy on the eyes.”

“Very easy, though I do wonder sometimes what you might look like without the beard.”

Seeing his chance, Axel said, “I will make you a bargain. If you do not object to me joining the rebels when we reach Brocaliande, I will shave off the beard so you can see the whole of my face.”

She threw a puzzled gaze his way. “This is the first I’m hearing about these rebels. Why have you kept this from me?”

“I was waiting for the right moment to tell you.”

“I see,” she said sharply. “And may I ask what they are rebelling against?”

“Queen Morgan’s enslavement of her drones, for the most part.” His mouth suddenly felt dry. “While in Brocaliande, I learned of an ancient prophecy foretelling the queen’s overthrow by a natural-born drone—the reason she murders all the sons she bears and turns the wounded men she steals from battlefields into breeders.”

“If overthrowing Morgan is their aim, why would I object to you joining them?”

He shrugged one shoulder. “Because some wives prefer that their husbands remain nearer the hearth fires.”

Mouth pinched, she leveled her gaze on him. “I would never stand in your way, Axel. Especially in this case. In fact, I would join the rebels myself if I could.”

He arched an eyebrow. “What is stopping you?”

“I’m a woman, for one.” Her eyes darkened to forest green. “Pregnant, for another, and Christian, for a third.”

Reaching over the median, he squeezed her thigh reassuringly. “You are also a powerful witch, a shieldmaiden, and a skilled archer—three attributes that could greatly aid the rebellion.”

She narrowed her eyes and licked her lips. “Jesus preached that we should love our enemies.”

He laughed and shook his head. “And his followers have been persecuting their enemies since they escaped the lion’s den.” With a sideways glance, he added, “You forget that I was born in the time of the Holy Crusades.”

She fixed her gaze on her hands, which still gripped the steering wheel. “That doesn’t make killing right.”

“No.” He patted her leg. “But death is not the end—and fighting for what you believe in is sometimes necessary.”

Raising her eyes, she looked out the window toward the stones. “Are you honestly telling me you’d allow me to fight?”

He plucked one of her hands off the wheel and lifted it to his lips. As he kissed her knuckles, she turned back to him, as he hoped she would. “I am your partner, Jenna. Not your master.”

Chapter 22

Axel and Jenna made it to Ullapool barely in time to catch the last ferry to Stornoway, the main port on the isle of Lewis. Worn out from the sleepless night and the long drive, she slept while he kept watch for the owls.

As he stood at the rail, relishing the feel of the sea wind on his skin and in his hair, he drew odd looks from his fellow passengers—as if he were a freak simply because his mode of dress did not reflect the fashions of the day. Apparently, they’d never seen a man in trews and a tunic before.

There were no owls within view of the boat. Only a flock of scavenging seabirds following behind and wheeling overhead. He broke off a piece of the bannock he had bought at the onboard snack bar with the money Jenna had given him. The thought of her warmed his heart. If they made it to Brocaliande safely, he had no doubt he would be happy with his choice of wife.

She was his perfect partner, as the runes had foreseen.

Gripping the rail, he leaned out as far as he could and waited until the swell lifted the groaning hull. Drawing back his arm, he flung the hunk of biscuit with all his might. A gull, spying the treat, swooped in and snatched it out of the air moments before it hit the water.

Suddenly missing his wings, Axel, still leaning over the rail, looked fore and aft. There was no land in sight in either direction. There was yet time, though perhaps it was not the best idea. The queer looks he attracted from the other passengers now would be nothing compared to their shocked expressions when he suddenly stripped off every stitch and turned into a great white falcon.

Entertaining as the prospect was, he daren’t risk exposure or leaving Jenna unprotected. There was no telling when Cumberland’s vampires would appear—or if they would assume the form of owls. Like him, they could shift into any sort of creature—the gulls circling overhead, for instance.

The seabirds were not they, he knew now, because the bannock had been a test. If the gulls were vampires, they would not have gone after the morsel.

Growing bored with the watery view, he returned to the car. Jenna was asleep on the back seat under her green cloak. Watching her through the window, his heart overflowed with affection. He had not realized how much he longed for a family until she’d told him she was expecting his child.

As always, the gods had known far better than he what he needed most. No more would he passively endure whatever life handed him. From now on, he would fight to change the things that did not make him happy.

* * * *

A shiver stole through Jenna as she turned the Mini Cooper into the carpark at Callanish. Stone circles had always fascinated her. They were the silent keepers of ancient wisdom and the secrets of long-lost civilizations. Unfortunately, her strict religious upbringing had prevented her from visiting any before now.

She shut off the engine and gazed up at the monument with a sense of awe. From this vantage point, the skyward jutting megaliths of Callanish looked almost like giant robed priests who’d been turned to stone while performing a sacred ritual. They appeared to be gazing pensively across the landscape below as if waiting for someone long absent—not in a circle, as she’d expected, but in four straight lines radiating outward from a central point.

Beside her, Axel asked, “Did you know that of the thousand-odd stone circles found all over Britain, Callanish is the only one shaped like a cross?”

“Is it? How fascinating. And ironic, given the longstanding enmity between Christianity and Paganism.” She turned to him. “Do you know what they were used for?”

He laughed. “I am old, but I am not quite that old. Though, in my day, we used Odin stones for worship and runic markers for various magical and protective purposes. Perhaps there was once something written on these stones, which has washed away over time.”

Jenna returned her attention to the stones. The moon cast an ethereal silver light across their featureless faces. A pale mist covered the ground. She lowered the window, letting in cool, damp air that smelled of the sea and dewy grass.

As hope expanded her heart, she searched the star-salted dark sky. They were almost there, almost safe. “I don’t see the owls anywhere.”

“Nor do I. But that does not mean they are not here or that they will fail to appear before we cross over.”

Biting her lip, Jenna started to remove the key from the ignition and then decided to leave it. Let somebody else take the car. She no longer had use for it. Pushing open the door, she stepped out.

As Axel retrieved the weapons from behind his seat, she studied her Mini with a pang. She had scrimped and saved for months and months to buy that car—the last of her possessions to surrender. When she walked away, she’d have nothing left of her former life.

Not that giving up her past wasn’t worth the future waiting for her a few steps ahead. She would live in the Thitherworld among druids and her wonderful new husband—a handsome, passionate, and magical man who strove both to protect her and to help her spread her wings. Soon, they’d be a family. And that was worth far more than anything material.

After taking a deep breath, she started up the slope toward the stones. Night wind and moonlight softly caressed her face as she ascended the knoll. According to the clock in the car, midnight was only twenty minutes away.

Axel caught up with her, draped his arm around her shoulders, and hugged her side against his. He had the gun in his belt and carried the bow and quiver in his other hand. “Are you nervous?”

“A little.” She drew an uneasy breath as they passed between two of the petrified priests. Stopping on the other side of the stones, she looked around. “Where do you suppose your druid friend has hidden the nawglen?”

His answer was drowned out by the cawing of crows. Jenna trembled, feeling as if someone had walked on her grave. The birds flew over, casting a shadow over the circle as they blocked out the moon. This wasn’t good. Crows might be associated with darkness, but they were not night-flying birds.

Axel came up beside her and pressed the bow and arrows into her hands. “Take cover behind one of the stones.”

With a pounding heart, she dashed to the nearest monolith, crouched down in its moonshadow, and waited for the flock to circle back. Taking them out wouldn’t be easy. There had to be a hundred crows in the flock and she only had a dozen arrows. Plus, as birds went, crows were much harder targets than owls.

Axel took cover somewhere nearby where she couldn’t see him. Jenna set her first arrow, drew back her bowstring, and aimed toward the sky. Fear snaked through her as the calamitous black mass came over the circle once again. She released the arrow as a gunshot rang out from somewhere close. Two birds fell to the ground.

Two out of a hundred. Her spirits faltered at the thought of the daunting task they now faced. Killing the lot could take all night, and they had mere minutes.

Still, she must do what she could and hope for the best. Taking another deep breath, she reloaded her bow and let the arrow fly. Another crow dropped from the sky. Axel cracked off two more shots in quick succession. Two more black-feathered vampires fell to earth.

The flock flew off and circled back. Jenna set another arrow and took aim. Underneath the decrescendoeing din of cawing, she heard Axel speaking softly. Not to her, but to himself. Keeping her eye on her shrinking targets, she strained to hear what he was saying.