Njord. A god. Despite Merrick’s assertion that such beliefs were heathen rubbish, Arran knew better. He knew that gods and goddesses still walked the earth and that if one had taken an interest in Skye, things were worse than he’d feared. He’d believed that the raiders were opportunists with little coordination or plan beyond taking whatever they could get their hands on. But he’d been wrong.
They served a god. And that god wanted his island.
A low growl sounded in his throat and the scroll suddenly crumpled in his clenched fist. He forced his fingers to uncurl and then straightened out the parchment.
“My laird?” Merrick asked.
Arran fixed his gaze on the monk. “Speak of this to nobody. Go back to the library and find every scrap of information, no matter insignificant it may seem, about this Njord. Bring anything ye find straight to me.”
Merrick bobbed his head. “Aye, my laird.”
Arran strode quickly away. Merrick called after him, “But where are ye going?”
Arran glanced over his shoulder at the monk. “To find our errant spellweaver.”
*
Jenna clung grimlyto the saddle horn and forced herself to concentrate on keeping her seat as the men around her bantered among themselves. They’d seen no sign of danger either on the way to the anchor stone or on their way back, the day was warm and drowsy, and her guards had finally begun to relax.
Normally, their bawdy jokes and ribbing would have amused her—she might even have joined in—but she was in no mood for banter. The sense of hopelessness that had come upon her in the cave hadn’t dissipated, and she could not get Lir’s words out of her head.The original spellweavers who wove the magic that protects Skye loved this land. They loved the mountains, the valleys, the streams, and the lochs. They loved the people. Skye was a part of them and they were a part of it, and it was from this love that the magic was born. Without it, there is nothing.
Had her quest been doomed before it began? But why would Lir send Arran to fetch her if she had no chance of succeeding?
Despair filled her stomach like bile. What was she going to tell Arran? What was she going to tell the people of Skye?
Nothing, she thought.I’ll tell them nothing. Because this isn’t over. I’m not giving up. Iwillfigure this out. I will.
“Is everything all right?” Mal asked suddenly.
Jenna glanced at him. “Fine. Why do you ask?”
“Because ye have been scowling fit to curdle milk ever since we left that cave.”
Jenna realized Mal was right. Her forehead was furrowed, and her jaw had begun to ache from where she’d been clenching her teeth. She forced her face to relax and gave Mal the sweetest smile she could muster.
“There. Is that better?”
“Better? Lass, that is absolutely terrifying.”
Around them, the men laughed, and Jenna found her lips quirking into a smile. “Behave yourselves,” she said, glaring around at them. “Or I’ll turn you all into toads.”
The laughter died out and they looked at each other uncertainly, unsure if she was joking. Jenna grinned. Perhaps being a spellweaver had some advantages after all.
The day had grown warm, and Jenna felt sweat beading on her brow, despite the cooling breeze that blew in off the sea. The sparkling waves spread out to the horizon on her right while to her left, inland,the landscape was a patchwork of forested hills interspersed with little farms and homesteads. Fluffy sheep dotted the hills like land-bound clouds while the shaggy-haired Highland cattle grazed in the fields lower down. It was beautiful.
And all under threat because she wasn’t good enough.
“Damn!” Mal swore suddenly, pulling up his horse.
Misty, who followed Mal’s horse like a shadow, came to a halt as well.
“What’s wrong?” Jenna asked.
“Sarrach has gone lame. I think there’s a stone in his shoe. Men! Take yer positions while I check this!”
He dismounted and knelt by his horse’s front leg. Jenna took the opportunity to slither from the saddle and walk around a bit, rubbing her aching backside and trying to work the stiffness from her muscles.
While the men inspected Sarrach’s hoof, Jenna found herself wandering among the tussocky sand dunes that led down to the shore. A horse-shoe bay lay beyond, with a golden sandy beach that would probably be a tourist hot-spot in the twenty-first century. But now she had it all to herself.
