“Is it linked to Brienne, then? Can I use this only when she is endangered?”
Running his hands through his hair, he wondered what kind of connection was growing between them. Oh, he was attracted to her, drawn by a desire the likes of which he’d not felt before. But there was more. Something deeper, something caring, already existed and grew stronger.
“I am sorry, Sir William,” Marcus said, approaching him and speaking lower. “It has been centuries—nay, longer—since any humans have had and used these powers. We priests have not witnessed such things in a very long time. Though we have heard and studied the legends, I have never practiced making it work with a descendant of the bloodline.”
William shook his head, frustrated that he could not learn what he needed if he was to use this power.
“Try to call it hence.” He turned to look at the self-proclaimed priest of the ancient gods. “Come into the trees where you will not be seen and call upon it.”
He followed the man through the small cluster of tents, already within the trees to a place deeper in the forest. Once they reached a clearing, he turned and faced Marcus.
“I will try to assist you.”
“How?” he asked.
“By praying, of course. Calling on the ancients to lead us, to lead you.”
The blasphemous thought that Marcus’s words were no different from those of the Catholic priests when calling on God entered William’s mind then. Shrugging, for he was no theologian or philosopher to debate such a thing, he walked a few paces away and faced Marcus.
Uncertain of what to do, William closed his eyes and thought about the changes he’d noticed before—his vision changing to red, his blood heating and racing within him, and his body growing stronger and larger. Though he felt silly, he called the warblood forth in his thoughts.
“William?”
He heard the priest speak his name. He opened his eyes and watched him take a step away and then another, nodding as he moved.
His vision held a red tint, and he noticed small creatures and the movement of the trees around him. Inhaling, he smelled the fear in the priest’s blood and then the scent of a deer close by. Glancing down, he saw larger hands covered in blue-tinged skin rather than his. Flexing them, he ached for a weapon and watched as one hand began to change into . . . something else.
“Warblood,” the priest said.
He could hear the pride and wonder in the priest’s voice now. Crossing his hands over his chest, he smiled and nodded. He was the warblood.
And then, as quickly as a passing moment, it faded away.
“Sir William?” Marcus asked as he strode to him. “How did you make that happen?”
“I thought about becoming it, thought about the way my sight and ability to smell and body had changed before, and it began.”
Can it be that simple?
“It is only the beginning. Your power is just rising, so you should practice this,” Marcus advised. “Come when you can and we will continue trying.”
“I think I should bring Roger,” he said. “For your protection if it gets out of my control.”
“Sir William, should the warblood get out of control, it will take much more than one of your human warriors to stop him.” Then Marcus shrugged and laughed. “Or one woman.”
It all came back to Brienne.
“I will return as I can,” he promised. Things were beginning to move now, and William felt the future pressing hard on them. He must be ready. He must learn.
He left Marcus then and rode back to the castle, waiting for Lord Hugh to make his move, all the while knowing he would. The invitation to share a meal with the lord and his family waited for him on his arrival back in his chamber.
ChapterEighteen
Brienne heard his call in her head, yet this time without pain. It was unexpected, for it was morning, and it was his custom to train her in the night. She left her chamber for his. Lady Margaret stood in the corridor outside the tower room and glared as Brienne approached. She curtsied before her father’s wife and waited for the insult that always accompanied any encounter between them.
“He is waiting, girl. Hasten to him!” she hissed at her. Then Lady Margaret began calling out orders to the servants who scurried to her side.
Brienne rushed up the steps and knocked before entering. Lord Hugh stood at the window. The sun had won the battle over yesterday’s storms, and its light filled the chamber through the costly glazed window in the wall that looked over the yard. For a moment, she did not see the feared lord but a man filled with regrets. But that was not possible.
