“He knew.” Soren had forgotten his aunt remained with them until she spoke. “He knew his end was near.
He left something for you for when”—she paused, her voice thick with emotion—“for when he passed.”
Soren followed her into the other chamber in the cottage and waited as she searched through a trunk for whatever his grandfather had left him. She lifted a small packet of parchment from within and held it out to him. A spark surprised him as he took it from his aunt. Her expression told him nothing. Did she know what was inside? Did she know what Einar left for him? As though he’d asked aloud, she smiled and shook her head.
“That is between you and Einar. He made me promise.” With watery eyes, a smile bowed her mouth. “Men’s work, I suspect.”
“I will return later,” he said. “I will see to my farm and come back to do whatever you need of me.”
“Soren?” His aunt met his gaze and Soren knew what was coming. “Will you send word to Ran? She held him in high esteem.”
As Einar had held the young woman high in his regard.
“I know not where she is, Ingeborg.” Thinking that would end the painful subject of Ran Sveinsdottir, he turned to the door once more. But his aunt did not know how to let that dog lie quietly and poked him again.
“As though I would believe that, Soren. Well, the matter is yours, but I think she should hear it from you.” Ingeborg wiped her hands down the front of her apron, telling him clearly what she thought.
His heart heavy with sorrow, he made his way to the door and pulled it open. Clouds raced across the sky over his head and swirled, covering the bright sun and changing from day to near-dark. The smell of rain filled the air and bolts of lightning lit the sky ablaze. The thunder that followed each flash made the ground beneath him shake. ’Twas as though the elements saluted the passing of the old man.
He tucked the precious parchment inside his tunic and readied his horse to return to his home some miles away. The skittish animal pulled from him and tugged with every bolt of lightning. Soren would never make it home in this storm. He’d find himself facedown in the dirt or worse if the horse fought him. Glancing up as another bolt flashed, he thought on Einar’s word last night.
Laughing at the sheer folly of it, Soren whispered in his thoughts to the winds.
Take the rains away,he thought.Go south and do not bother us now.
Stop the lightning and thunder.
A second later the rain and lightning ceased. The clouds still circled above him and Soren could almost feel them waiting on him for his next command. Realizing what he was thinking, Soren shook his head and chuckled. He knew how strange and changing the storms could be on Orkney. Pushed by the sea winds, rain could come and go in an instant. As these surely had. How could he think otherwise?
He mounted then and the horse obeyed his commands, heading for his farm in the interior of the island. Within the shelter of the hills, his lands prospered and never more than when his grandfather guided him.
Now, Einar was gone.
Mayhap the parchment he carried would tell him more? Until he examined it, he would not know and, by the time he arrived back at his cottage, he had no answers to the questions that already plagued him and many more questions to add to his growing list.
After the burial, he would see to matters and questions brought up by Einar’s behavior and his passing. At least, he did not have to try to find Ran to tell her about his grandfather. She’d left the island two years before and had not returned since their parting. The only thing he could do was to send word through her father—and that was something he simply could not do.
Northwest coast of Scotland
It seemed as if the fates and now the weather conspired against them.
Marcus stood outside his tent, his face lifted to the sky, offering another prayer that the gods would side with them and allow their passage. The prayer had not changed, nor had the weather, over the last five days. He turned, watching as Aislinn approached in the rain. The young woman, like a daughter to him, had shown her mettle during their recent test against the evil goddess’s followers. Now, she seemed more at ease with the role she would play in the coming confrontations.
“Could I have misinterpreted the prophecy, Marcus?”
Marcus nearly laughed at her words, but he held his amusement in check for they exposed her vulnerability.
The words of the old gods directed them north, away from the Scottish lands to those of the Norse. He’d recognized the truth in them as she spoke them to those who now gathered to fight for humanity.
“Nay, Aislinn,” he said, drawing her into the shelter of the edge of the tent. “I heard the gods’ words in what you said. And we know that Lord Hugh heads north, too.”
Her gaze darkened and he reached out to her, trying to offer what comfort he could, for terrible, dark days awaited all of them ahead. Embracing her and wishing he could save her from the pain and loss to come, he nodded at the group of warriors who trained in spite of the torrential rains and lashing winds.
“See, our new allies prepare themselves to meet the challenges ahead. With the Warblood and the Fireblood at our side, we will defeat the evil one . . . again.”
The first battle had been theirs, but not without the steep price of lives lost. But they’d found the truest of allies, two who had inherited their powers directly from the gods. And, William Warblood’s sworn men to fight at their sides.
“And the two we seek now in Orkney? Will they join us?” Aislinn asked as a shiver shook through her.
