“I am beginning to understand the king’s strange behavior and suspicions.” That admission eased something within him. “Something is going on here, something I have never encountered, Roger. I am part of it, as the king said, but now you and the others are as well.”
“I do not understand,” Roger said. He walked a few paces back to the camp and brought back a skin of wine. After taking a long drink from it, he offered it to William. “Something like treason? Or”—he paused and glanced around before whispering—”some madness? Surely not witchcraft or deviltry?” Roger made the sign of the cross over himself after saying the words. “And the girl is part of it?”
“I am part of it. And, aye, the girl. I could see something was different about her when I first looked upon her. Just now, while speaking to her . . .” He shrugged, not knowing what to say or how to explain the change that had happened. “When someone approached, I left. Then I watched, and I . . . lost control of myself somehow,” he admitted.
That’s how it had felt to him—as though someone else had taken over his body, changing it, changing him. Only at that last moment had he regained control and stopped the young man’s death. He shivered against the heat that yet filled him.
“Sweet Jesu, man! Did you take her? Did you kill her or someone?”
“Nay,” he answered. Shaking his head, he knew that whatever had happened had occurred so he could protect her, not threaten her.
Roger asked nothing else, which suited William, for he had little or nothing else he could say in reply to queries. In battle, William was skilled, strong, and ruthless, but he always controlled his actions and the path he took when fighting. Just a few minutes ago, he’d felt like a madman, ready to kill for no reason.
Though his control had returned, William could not rid himself of the suspicion that this was but the first strange incident and that many more dangerous incidents would follow in his quest for the king. Peering over the rolling lands just beyond the forest’s edge, he knew he and his men were not safe.
“Send Herve to Gifford to find out what he can about Lord Hugh’s whereabouts,” he said, handing the skin back to Roger. “And send Gautier for the rest of the men. They should travel in small groups so they do not draw attention.” When Roger nodded, he continued, first pointing to a place higher on a nearby hill. “We will move our camp up there. Better to see the whole of this valley and easier to defend ourselves.”
“Defend?” Roger stared at him. “You think we will be attacked?”
“Aye.”
Williamknewthey would be. He could see it in his thoughts, the waves of men pouring from the keep and out into the forest and running up the hill at them. No, not men . . . Though they resembled men, there was something almost inhuman about them.
He could also not determine the time or the day of his vision; he knew only that they would come. “Aye, we will be attacked.”
He spent the next few hours making a list of supplies and discussing the weapons they would need. Two of the men waiting outside Dunfermline were experts at the long bow and would be sorely needed in the coming battle. Battles.
William had gold from the king and could buy the weapons they needed—and that might be the course of action he would take. First he needed his men in place. Then he must determine Lord Hugh’s plans.
And he must discover the reason why the young woman Brienne was so important to him.
Later, when the sun was high in the late-February sky, he and Roger moved their camp higher on the hillside.
Suddenly it made sense to William: This was more than just the king’s quest. There were other players in the game that was unfolding around him. He just could not see his place on the board yet.
The fire hummedinside of her, whispering its call, its invitation, quietly and testing its bounds. She could not ignore or resist it now that it had awakened. Though Brienne carried out her daily tasks over the next days, her thoughts drifted to the extraordinary exchanges she’d had with both James and the warrior William.
James had never kissed her in spite of his obvious affection for her. His proposal and her father’s permission had emboldened him to take such an action now. A pang of sadness pierced her, as she knew that she would never marry him. The words she would use to tell him eluded her, but that did not change the result or the disappointment she would see in his eyes when she did.
William had not returned to the village. Gavin had warned her with stern words to avoid the strangers. He’d reminded her of what could happen to women caught outside the village by strangers. He begged her to stay within the well-worn paths and among those she knew. And for all his concern and warnings, Brienne watched along the shadows and at the edges of the village for any sign that the outsider had returned.
After she’d finished her chores, Brienne walked along the stream, feeling the fire push at her control. What would happen if she let go? Would she truly be able to create fire? Could she control it as she had in her father’s smithy? Would it do her bidding?
Searching for a secluded spot where she would not be seen, she decided to test out this new power. As she crept along the water’s edge, she saw him. He knelt there, scooping water in his hands and drinking it. His brown hair hung down, hiding his face from her, but she remembered his fierce gaze and his pale blue eyes. After her father’s words of warning and her mother’s plea to remain close, Brienne knew she should be wary and probably afraid, but all she noticed was a shameful amount of curiosity—about the man, his purpose, and the world from which he came.
“Good day,” he said when he’d turned and noticed her. Standing, he shook off the water from his hands, wiped them on his cloak, and nodded to her. She noticed how he towered over her, though not as much as James did.
“Good day,” she replied. Glancing around the area, she saw no one else. He was alone.
“You are looking for the others? My men?” he asked.
She nodded. “They are not here.”
His gaze did not waver, and a small shiver of excitement and nervousness pooled deep within her. No man ever stared at her in this manner or took more than a sidelong glance at her. Oh, her father could meet her eyes when they talked, and her mother as well, but few others in the village dared. Brienne’s molten gaze was something she had inherited from her true sire, and everyone who’d seen him knew it.
Could he sense it?
“I must get back,” she began, lifting her hand in the direction of the village behind her.
