“I should thank you, Gavin, for raising her to respect her father’s words,” he said. “But I think she learned to be willful from you and the bitch you married.”
Before Brienne could stop him, Lord Hugh slammed Gavin into the wall with his power and held him there. Then, grabbing her hand in his, he pointed at James, who stumbled toward her in spite of his struggles not to. When the terrified young man stood within arm’s length, Hugh placed their hands, now flames, on the center of his chest and forced him back to the opening in the wall.
“Next time you will obey me the first time,” he warned her, as they pushed the screaming man through the barrier to the goddess.
Hugh released her, and she reached in, trying to grab James and pull him free. She heard his screams and then a roar before she lost her grip. Falling back, she wrapped her arms around her head, trying to block out the sounds as he was sacrificed within the darkness. Brienne fell to her knees and retched until she could only heave an empty stomach.
She had killed him. Killed James. And he knew it as she pushed him in to be destroyed by whatever lived on the other side of the barrier. Rocking back on her heels, she wanted to die.
When Lord Hugh released Gavin from his hold, she expected he would be her next punishment. She had no strength left to resist him and would not be able to save him. Sobbing, she curled into a ball on the floor, unable to watch her father die because of her.
“Get out,” Lord Hugh said quietly.
She lifted her head to see him directing Gavin to the steps. And she knew he would not leave her behind.
“I pray you, go now,” she begged him.
Then she lay back down and gave up the fight.
William would have likednothing more than to laugh off every word that Marcus had told him that first day. Ancient gods and goddesses. Gateways. Stone circles. Prophecies and spells. And he might have if only . . .
If he had not seen the power of the fireblood.
If he had not felt the warblood bubbling within him. With time racing by, they needed to take positions to stop Lord Hugh from escaping Yester. They must not let him get to the stone circle that sat somewhere in the northeast of the country. Having traveled to that region, William knew that there were countless standing stones and circles all over Scotland. Without knowing specifically which one it was, they would be wasting valuable time.
From what William could tell, none of the people with Marcus had any fighting skills at all. They would be worthless in a battle, except he knew this would be no ordinary battle. And William would not remain an ordinary warrior for long either. He would be able to call the warblood to rise and fight, but whether he could control such a power was the unanswered question.
The most elite of Lord Hugh’s soldiers would be the biggest concern for his men. And considering the cache of weapons hidden in the village, there must be more fighting men that Hugh had at the ready. Mayhap they were on the way from Gifford even now?
As his two hours came to a close, one of his men raced back to him from the village.
“They are not far behind me, Will,” Emery called out as he took his place within the line of horsed warriors behind him.
A burst of light filled the sky, and he peered in the distance toward the castle as fire rose above it. Then it was gone and he heard the sound of approaching riders. Had there been an explosion of some kind? Had Hugh destroyed the keep or castle behind him so that none could use it?
A few minutes later, the riders broke through the edge of the forest and he faced Hugh de Gifford on horseback. As he expected, Hugh held Brienne before him. Ashen and in a stupor, she looked exhausted. What had he done to her?
His blood roiled and raced and his vision began to narrow. This time he did not fight the changes though that did not make it easier. His muscles stretched and grew, his arms strengthened, and his legs grew longer. “Keep your attention on her, William,” Marcus urged from behind. “Do not lose yourself as the power takes over.”
As Hugh’s forces lined up across from his men, William became the warblood that lived within him. His vision, red and ringed, could see farther and better than his human eyes could. He could smell each of those around him and differentiate their own separate scents. His right arm became a war hammer and his left a huge sword. Now towering over the men, he leaned his head back and let out the war cry that simmered in his blood.
“Take them,” he ordered in a voice he did not recognize.
His legs ate up the ground beneath him, and he crossed the open space between the lines before anyone else could. And he ran right for her. Hugh called out a word, and many of his warriors ran in front of him, blocking Will from getting to her. Hugh pivoted and began to ride away, and the warblood could not allow that.
Swinging the hammer and thrusting the sword, he cut down the first ones who tried to stop him. Turning in a circle, he killed several more, parrying and thrusting, swinging and pounding, reveling in the blood that splashed and the bodies that exploded under his blows. They dared to stand between him and the fireblood who was his.
Swing. Hit. Dead. Slash. Cut. Dead.
Over and over until his opponents fell before him. It felt good. It felt wondrous. It felt . . .
Her scream pierced the air and drew him from his deadly dance. Turning to where Hugh held her, he saw her pointing at the forest, a look of sick horror on her face before she screamed again.
“William!” Marcus called to him. The priest used some voice that reached through the fog of war to him. He looked at the forest, and even the warblood in him was horrified. He pulled his power back, thinking of it going back into his blood, and his body shifted, but not all the way back. His weapons remained where he needed them.
He’d wondered where the soldiers were that would use the swords Hugh had stashed at the ready. Coming through the forest was Hugh’s new army—the villagers. William recognized many of them, but they were different. Men, women, even children, carried swords or daggers before them. Walking at a stinted gait, they were lifeless. They were creatures with glowing eyes and no will of their own. Worse, Gavin led them forward.
“He has bespelled them!” Marcus explained. “They will fight and kill because they cannot resist it.”
