“Hush now and pay me heed. He will leave. Ye will stay. And ye will bear the cost if ye allow him what ye should not.” She tied the bottom off with a strip of leather and patted her shoulders. “Sometimes we have no choice. I suspect the woman who birthed ye had none. But do not allow the excitement and interest of such a man to spin yer head until ye make bad choices.”
Her mother had never once referred to Brienne’s parentage. She had never brought up the subject of Lord Hugh willingly.
“Men of power use and cast aside, whether that be women or tools or playthings they no longer want. Remember that, Brienne. Men of power use.”
“Mother, I—”
“It is just a little advice for ye, love,” her mother said, standing behind her. “Now, let’s carry the washing back to the cottage.”
With nothing else to say, Brienne followed along, helping through the rest of the day but not without noticing the glances that her parents shared.
It was only in the dark of the night that Brienne allowed herself to relive those few moments of fearless passion. She knew she should have refused him and rebuffed his advances. She should have at least attempted to push him away.
She had not. Instead she’d allowed him to touch her and to kiss her and to hold her. Brienne knew there would be nothing between them, and no amount of hoping would make it different. Yet those few stolen moments of passion would be in her memory forever. If she had to give him up, if whatever was coming parted them, at least she had those memories to enjoy.
As she lay on her pallet on the night of the most strange and incredible day of her life, Brienne wondered at the path her life would take. Would all of this pass when William completed his task and left? Or would the growing danger she could sense rise up and claim them all? Though the door and window shutters were closed, a chill wind passed through the cottage, sending shivers of dread through her.
Danger. Danger was close and getting closer.
Brienne just never expected it to arrive so quietly at her door the next morning.
William sat near the fire,watching Roger and Gautier trying to accept all that he had shared. They’d seen him transform into something else when Brienne was threatened. They’d seen his arm become a weapon and yet still be part of him. And they both told him how his body grew and turned blue, like ice, as he went on the attack.
“Berserker,” Gautier had whispered afterward. They’d all grown up hearing the legends of old, especially since their Norman ancestors began as Norsemen in the Viking north before moving to France’s warmer shores. Berserkers were humans, taken over by the power of the god of war. They fought without thought or concern, often continuing to fight even when they had grave injuries. Some whispered that old priests gave warriors a nectar to make them change into these battlefield giants.
But William had taken no nectar or concoction. He did not believe in the old gods, be they Norse or the ones that Marcus claimed as his, the older Celtic ones. He was a warrior and not a berserker. And yet he did not remember anything that happened from the time he heard Brienne’s voice in his head, screaming his name, until she said his name in Marcus’s camp.
William drank more of the wine and waited for his friends to give their answer. He must move in the morning and wished to have them at his back. But after this morning and what they claimed they’d seen, he did not know that they would be there.
“Will you change again?” Roger asked, drinking the last of his wine down in one mouthful. “Into . . . whatever you were?”
“I know not,” he answered truthfully. “I know not how it happened, nor what happened.”
“She caused it,” Gautier said, nodding at both of them.
“Do not blame Brienne.”
“I am not placing blame, Will. I think you changed because you knew she was in danger. The old berserkers needed the call of battle to enrage them. You, well, it looks like all you need is her.”
William could not argue with him. He knew that both times he’d felt some change come over him had involved her. The first time, when he’d watched her and the young man from the forest. This second time when she’d called out to him somehow. Both times she’d needed to be protected. Both times he’d needed to protect and claim her. And each time the change pushed him further than the last. How far would it go?
“What did the old man tell you? When you spoke?” Gautier asked.
“He . . .” William looked at each of them and leaned in closer so no one would hear their words. “He said they worship the old gods and that there is a war coming between good and evil. And they want me to lead them.”
The silence was heavy and foreboding as it settled around them. It sounded even more foolish and maniacal when spoken aloud like that. How could a sane man believe any of it?
“She, the girl with the strange gaze, knew about your father,” Roger said. “Your true father, the king. I know that was whom she referred to being in danger. Do you think it’s true?”
“Do not speak of such things!” he warned. “I would not jeopardize what little chance I have by exposing it.”
“Will.” Gautier shook his head, then glanced over to the gathering of men near the tents and back at him. “It is the worst-kept secret at court. Those over there who know not the truth suspect it. Your mother was not the most discreet woman among the king’s . . . favorites.”
“You did not answer me, friend,” Roger said. “Is the king in some kind of danger from this?” He motioned with his hand in the direction of Hugh’s castle.
William had thought on that all day, while watching Brienne return to her village and while finalizing his plans. And he knew the truth of it—if the king suspected Hugh of some duplicity, it would not be difficult to imagine that Hugh knew of his suspicions. And if treason was in the air, the kingwasin grave danger.
“Aye, he is.”
