Had he seen her? Had he witnessed what she could do? From his level gaze, she could tell nothing. But she could feel that the fire wanted him, too. She could feel its need to surround and engulf him as it had her.
“I would speak with you, Brienne. About what happened,” he said, striding toward her. He stopped only a pace from where she stood. “Meet me here on the morrow.”
’Twas a bad thing, to be torn between wanting to meet him and knowing that there was such danger in doing so. The woman within her ached to explore the world he’d just opened to her. The passion and intimacy of the kiss they’d shared still echoed through her even while the daughter of the villager knew that it would lead to heartbreak and ruin. Yet the firemaker within also wondered how he was involved in her power, for she knew it for the certainty it was.
“I should not.”
“Nay, you most likely should not. But,” he said, glancing at the water that she’d turned to steam, “I think you will.” His face gave away nothing to tell her what he’d seen. Or if he had. Since she did not want Gavin to know of their encounters nor of her expanding power, she would concede.
“On the morrow?” He nodded. “I will come after my father breaks his fast, but I cannot remain long.” The corner of his lip curled as though attempting a smile. She remembered the feel of his mouth on hers. That other heat filled her, and she felt a blush creep up into her cheeks.
“Until then,” he said.
Brienne nodded and he left, not as quickly as the last time. She listened as his footsteps moved farther and farther through the trees and brush until only the silence surrounded her.
With questions filling her thoughts about what he could have seen and what had been between them, she made her way back to the village and to her parents’ cottage. ’Twas times like this when she wanted—nay, craved—someone with whom she could talk about these things. None of the village girls would friend her because they feared her true father’s attentions. Even the mother who’d raised her seemed to fear her at times as Brienne had approached womanhood. And Gavin knew about her power and yet he did not welcome talking.
So in the dark of the night as she sought sleep that would not come, Brienne wondered if the warrior had seen her bring fire into existence.
On the morrow, he’d said.
On the morrow, he’d tempted.
On the morrow, he’d promised.
On the morrow . . . she feared.
ChapterSix
LOANHEAD OF DAVIOT, NORTHEAST SCOTLAND
Hugh strode across the rolling countryside . . . again. Each time he did, each time he circled the standing stones, his men drew farther and farther away. Each failure to locate and read the signs told those he controlled that someone would pay for his failure.
The stones had been fashioned centuries ago to mark the positions of the sun and the moon, the passing of the seasons, and to aid in the worship of the old gods here on this plain. Though the forests encroached, the view of the sky to the south was unimpeded. This must be the place for which he’d searched.
His first quandary was that there were two circles of stones, one lower on the hill and this one, farther up. But examination had revealed no symbols or signs or enchantments of any kind on the lower circle. And no altar stone. Which led him back here to this one.
“Well?” he called out to the man who dared to stand closest to him.
With the power to sense spells, Paulin was a druid’s son whom Hugh’s father had raised to this purpose. The man’s own father had left some godforsaken island where the priests and scryers yet studied and had somehow found his way to Brittany, another Celtic region. When the truth of his origins was discovered and the man would not reveal the island’s location, Hugh’s father executed him in front of his family, teaching young Paulin that obedience and service were the only correct answers.
“Still nothing, my lord,” he replied, bowing.
“You said the changes in the moon would reveal the markings.”
“I hoped it would, my lord,” Paulin said. “I do not sense any trace of power here in the stones. Even the altar stone bears no sign of . . .”
“Sacrifice? Worship?” Hugh finished. Human blood left its own memory on sacred altar stones, and there were those like Paulin who could see and smell it decades and centuries later. Paulin nodded and watched him with the same wariness that everyone did.
Hugh’s patience snapped like a worn thread, for they had been here for more than a sennight, watching the phases of the moon and waiting for the signs. He knew that those of the blood were waking, their powers stretching and opening. Soon they would be drawn to the stone circles. Hugh could not allow them to find the symbols and close the gateways, trapping his goddess for aeons to come.
Hugh grabbed Paulin by the throat and held him off his feet. Shaking him, he watched as the man’s face changed from red to purple.
“I cannot fail in this endeavor,” he warned, shaking him once more. “So you cannot fail me,” he repeated. “Where are the symbols? Where are they?”
“My lord.”
Paulin’s eyes bulged, and he gurgled as his throat closed under Hugh’s grip. “You do not have much time. Where are they?”
