My Lady Mage: A Warriors of the Mist Novel (21 page)

His instincts were telling him that she’d remained sequestered in her rooms for more sinister reasons. Telling himself that Merewen would have gotten word to him if Alina had been seriously injured, he made the turn again and counted off the steps to the corner.

Back and forth he went, going nowhere, just as he had done for so much of his life, for so long. He never regretted standing at Gideon’s side on that day centuries ago when their lives had been turned upside down and inside out. Without Gideon’s intervention, Murdoch would have likely died at the hands of Warwick, his liege lord.

He owed Gideon both his life and his sanity. He would stand with the captain as long as the gods decreed
the five of them would live in this endless cycle of cold sleep alternating with the brief tastes of life—if three months of walking, talking, breathing air, all accompanied by endless fighting, could be called living.

Each time they answered the call, they all secretly prayed it would be the last time. Surely the gods would eventually grant them peace.

But for now, their purpose was clear, and he needed to remain focused. Averel was coming toward him. He stopped and waited for him to ensure the other guards would not overhear their conversation.

His friend looked puzzled. “Your relief has been here for several minutes. I thought you were in a hurry to make sure all is quiet inside the hall before Gideon and Kane arrive.”

For the first time, Murdoch realized how dark it had gotten. “I have been lost in thought. Sorry.”

Before Averel could reply, the cry of a raptor stopped them both in their tracks.

“Gideon.”

As tempting as it was to rush to the gate and throw it open, they had to stick to the plan. Murdoch kept his movements slow and casual as he peered over the wall toward the narrow road that led to the front gate.

If his friends were out there, he couldn’t see them, but then he didn’t expect to. Gideon wouldn’t reveal his presence until the last possible second, and Kane’s very nature was at one with the night itself.

“Go let Duncan know the battle is upon us.”

Averel’s eyes glittered in the darkness as he squeezed past Murdoch on the narrow walkway, his battle fever already running high. “To our success, Murdoch. Let’s pray that the gods guide our swords and our footsteps this night. May the dawn bring a new day for Lady Merewen and her people.”

Murdoch could only nod. He’d long ago given up on
the gods making anything easier on Gideon and the others. They weren’t called the Damned for no reason.

“Watch your back, pup.”

He waited a scattering of minutes before following the young knight. By the time Murdoch started down the circular staircase to the bailey, it was difficult to keep his pace slow and steady. He checked the slide of his sword in its sheath and then his throwing knives.

The rush of blood in his veins left his skin flushed and hot. Unlike Kane, Murdoch had no love of violence, but he did have a talent for it. Right now, with him poised on the edge of a battle, his senses sharpened his awareness of his surroundings—the sounds, the smells, the shadows, and the patches of light.

When he walked into the great hall, he knew where each man sat or stood, who looked tired or drunk, and which men would be most likely to respond to the sound of an alarm with swords drawn and ready to defend the keep. Fagan had taken a fair portion of his men with him, but there were enough left to offer the Damned a good fight for possession of the keep. Murdoch did one last survey of the area.

No sign of Lady Alina or Merewen. With luck they were both safely tucked away in their rooms. He noticed the servants were also absent. It was early for all of them to have disappeared for the night.

But it was certainly all the better for everyone.

The real question was, where had Olaf gone?

Murdoch wheeled around and headed right back out into the night. Fagan’s captain liked to prowl around on the walkway at odd times. The last thing they needed was for him to interfere with the plans their captain had put in motion. It would be just like Olaf to send the farmer away and refuse to send word to Merewen that she was needed.

Murdoch charged back up the steps ready to face the enemy.

*    *    *

Merewen hoped she’d made it back from her workshop without Olaf’s noticing that she’d delayed in bringing him his meal. She’d handed off the soap and soothing herbs to a servant and sent her to find Magda. Meanwhile, Ellie had piled Olaf’s tray high with food and a flagon of his favorite wine. With luck, he’d eat and drink himself into a stupor. Merewen briefly considered adding some special spices to his drink that would help with that, but using her gift to do harm was forbidden. She didn’t know who had set down the rules, but at her father’s urging she’d sworn to follow them.

Olaf’s eyes tracked her progress as she walked across the hall. The smirk on his face boded ill for her, but she kept a steady pace. The man relished the taste of fear, and she refused to feed his appetite for it.

She shouldered the heavy tray and made her way to Olaf’s seat at the head table. He watched her every move, much like a mountain cat sat motionless, waiting for its prey to come within striking distance.

The man had never been much more than muscles and a strong sword arm. But the longer Olaf served her uncle, the more cruel and vicious he’d become, taking far too much pleasure in watching others suffer. Her father would never have tolerated anyone given to that kind of behavior to remain in his employ.

Fagan encouraged it.

Merewen set down Olaf’s trencher and drink. He leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest. As soon as she had the food arranged, he struck out, sweeping it off the table onto the floor.

“You defied my orders again. Bring me fresh food, and then wait for me in your room. I’ll be along presently to teach you a lesson about what happens to women who don’t obey their masters.”

Merewen wanted to heave the tray at Olaf’s thick
skull, but that would only set him off. As long as he thought she was properly cowed by his threats, he’d savor the moment and stay seated long enough to eat his meal.

Backing away, she was careful to keep her eyes down so he wouldn’t see the absolute fury in them. The shaking held off until she reached the kitchen. She leaned against the wall, fighting to breathe. In her head, she knew that to stay safe, all she had to do was find one of the three warriors already within the keep walls. Any of them would fight to protect her from Olaf’s fists.

Her heart, though, wanted Gideon—no one else. There was safety to be found within the captain’s strong arms where Olaf could never hurt her. If he was there, she would sleep through the night without worrying about who might come charging through her door.

Soon,
she reminded herself. The captain would be there soon with his fierce nature and gentle touch. With that thought to hold on to, she could endure anything.

“My lady, is something wrong?”

“I’m fine.” Merewen straightened up, drawing on her newly formed resolve, and held up the empty tray. “Olaf didn’t think I brought his food fast enough, and he wants fresh.”

Ellie snatched the tray out of Merewen’s hands. “Give me that tray. I’ll show that addlepated fool what fresh is.”

As entertaining as it might be to see the older woman take on Olaf, now was not the time, and it would likely only make things worse for Merewen.

Merewen managed a placating smile and held her hand out for the tray. “I promise this will be the last time he makes such demands on you—or on me. Let me refill this and get another pitcher of wine for him as well. After I deliver it to his table, I will retire for the evening.”

She gave Ellie a hard look. “You should do the same. Remember to lock the doors.”

The other woman stared at Merewen, her eyes narrowed. “If you need help with whatever you have planned, my lady, you need only ask.”

“Thank you, Ellie. Your loyalty means much to me, and I need to ensure you and your staff stay safe. Sending you out there would only further provoke Olaf’s uncertain temper.”

When they had the tray loaded again, Ellie asked, “Do you want me to have one of the boys carry the tray for you?”

“No, Olaf is expecting me.”

It would be cowardly to send someone in her place and could endanger her substitute. Bracing herself for whatever might come next, she picked up the heavily laden tray and headed back to where her tormentor waited.

This time Olaf accepted his dinner without comment. Instead, his eyes did all the talking. Despite her being fully clothed, she felt as if he’d stripped her bare right there in the great hall. More and more, she feared that he’d slipped his leash and would ignore her uncle’s warnings to leave her unsullied.

It was well past the hour for her to withdraw. If she hurried, she could check on Alina again before retreating to her own room. And if the gods were listening, Gideon would arrive in time to lead his warriors in saving her people.

L
ady Alina was sitting near the fire in her room doing needlework when Merewen arrived. She looked up with a small smile when Magda opened the door to let her in.

“Merewen, I didn’t expect to see you again tonight.”

The warmth from the fire banished a little of the chill that had been haunting Merewen since encountering Olaf. “I wanted to see if you were feeling better.”

Alina set her embroidery aside. “Thanks be to you, I am much better. The bath and the herbs you sent up were most soothing.”

“I am glad they helped. Most of my patients have four legs, but people are not so different.”

To her surprise, Alina laughed. “So you gave me the same soap and herbs that you use on your horses? I shall be sure to let you know if I get any strange urges to eat grass or sleep in the stable.”

She returned Alina’s smile. “Perhaps I should have had Ellie send up a bag of oats for your dinner.”

Seeing her aunt looking decidedly happier made the risk Merewen had taken for her worth any possible cost to herself. She could not remember the last time she’d seen Alina look so content, but then she rarely saw her aunt at all when Fagan was in residence.

His absence had to be a godsend for Alina. Merewen wasn’t the only one who rarely had the opportunity to sleep without fear stalking through her dreams. Well, except
that tonight would not be peaceful for anyone within the keep.

Merewen would issue one more warning and then return to her rooms. Tonight, despite her uncle’s orders, she would barricade her door until the guards at the gate came to say she was needed.

“Alina, when I leave, make sure to bar your door.”

As soon as the words were out, her aunt was up and following her to the door. “Merewen, wait.”

Alina surprised her by merely hugging her instead of asking questions. “Stay safe.”

She returned the embrace, appreciating her aunt’s concern. “I’ll do my best.”

As she slipped out the door, Merewen paused. “You might want to let Magda sleep here with you.”

“I will do that. Won’t you stay with us as well?”

“No, I’m sorry, but I cannot. In fact, I fear I’ve tarried too long as it is.”

Out in the hallway, Merewen remained close to the door until she heard the bar slide into place. Relieved her aunt had taken her warning seriously, she retreated to her own room.

And she immediately regretted not having accepted Lady Alina’s invitation.

Olaf had positioned himself in a doorway down the hall from her room where he couldn’t be seen until she was almost within reach.

“It’s about time you got here. Once again you have disobeyed me.”

And that obviously pleased him. He licked his lips as he stared at her, sending a wave of revulsion flooding through Merewen’s veins. The twisted expression on his face was almost inhuman, showing him for the monster he’d become.

He stepped toward her, his hands out with his fingers
curled like talons. She feinted as if to run for the stairs, praying he would lunge after her in that direction instead of blocking the entrance to her room. When he did, she immediately spun back to throw open her door. She dove inside and slammed it shut.

Her uncle had ordered the bar removed the first time she’d tried to avoid his punishment by locking herself inside. All she could do was try to brace her body against the door and hope she could keep Olaf from forcing his way inside.

It was hopeless, considering he outweighed her by nearly double. She screamed for help, hoping to draw Duncan or one of the other warriors to her aid. Even if they were to come running, Olaf would still have time to do her great harm before they arrived.

“Let me in, Merewen. You’re only making this worse for yourself.”

He gave the door a powerful shove, forcing it open far enough to get his foot in to block it from closing again.

“Get out, Olaf. You will regret your actions if you come in here.”

At least he would if she managed to get her hands on her knife. Considering the distance between the door and the pillows on her bed, it was doubtful that she’d make it.

“We both know how this is going to end, Merewen.” His voice dropped to a husky whisper. “But to be fair, I’ll give you a chance to change the outcome.”

“How would I do that?” she asked, more to stall for time than because she actually wanted to hear his offer.

“I usually like my women to have more meat on their bones and to wear dresses rather than those tunics and trousers you prefer. I’m sure you can make me forget about your shortcomings if you try hard enough.”

Only sheer stubbornness was keeping her from collapsing in panic. He shoved the door open another few
inches. Another push like that one and he’d be inside. Yet it wasn’t in her to give up.

“My uncle ordered that I was to remain untouched. We both know he’s not a man to be crossed.”

“Don’t you worry about that.” He gave another shove. “There are plenty of ways I can bed you without destroying your value to the duke and your uncle.”

He slacked off the door a little and started whispering all the possibilities. Merewen’s stomach heaved at the pictures he painted. He’d obviously given this a lot of thought. She reset her feet and waited for the next onslaught, knowing it would be coming as soon as he tired of playing his games.