“And are you embarrassed?” He took her chin and studied her face. “You never worried over it before,” he said. “Should I disavow the declaration you made to me in passion just hours ago?”
“Passion does not answer all the questions yet standing between us, Soren,” she said.
“No it does not,” he said. “We will see to those other questions, Ran. I owe you an explanation but it is not time for that. First, we must see to your father’s safety and to this matter we are caught up in.”
She had not even realized that he’d lifted her up and returned her to the camp on the other side of the island while they conversed. Soren put her on her feet and changed form. Before she could let go of him, William and his man Roger strode up to them.
“Ander has gone missing,” William announced. “He was here this morn,” Soren said. “I spoke with him.”
“He received a missive; an emergency arose with the bishop and he was called back to Kirkwall,” Roger explained.
“The bishop is not in Kirkwall,” Soren said.
William’s grim expression spoke volumes without saying a word. He nodded at Soren and the two walked off, whispering and planning something.
“He will not survive,” Roger warned her. “He is too full of godly spirit to survive de Gifford’s care.”
“Mayhap that will be his protection against the evil?” she whispered as she followed the men back toward the tents.
How many deaths would she carry on her soul if they did not find a way to defeat this fireblood? How many?
Sixteen
After delays and disappointments,things were beginning to go his way. Hugh was furious when he lost control over the waterblood, but he still held her father. Even the man’s reaction to seeing his daughter as she truly was would not harden a loyal, loving daughter’s heart to his suffering.
The seas worked against his journey after she disappeared screaming into it. Hugh thought it was not something she did apurpose at all. More likely, it was the reaction of the sea and an untrained waterblood to his attack and her fury and guilt. He would use that when the time came. Her expression when she realized she held someone in her grip as he convinced her to kill him was something he would remember and rejoice in for a long, long time.
At least until he killed her. And her stupid, stubborn father. And, now, an added pleasure—the priest.
Hugh walked down the stone steps of the round church. He’d felt the presence of the chamber as they approached Orphir. At first, he mistook the feeling as the one he experienced when coming in contact with something of a sacred nature. A church was consecrated and holy, made so by the bones of the saint in the altar stone. Whether he believed in that God or his saints, the power was there. Once he’d forced the Roman priest to remove the altar stone and its relics, he felt the building tremble from the power beneath it.
Here was the portal through which he could worship his goddess.
Through which she could touch him with her fire and purify him.
Through which his own powers would be strengthened for the coming battle.
He laughed now, following the corridor to the end and pushing open the last door that stood between him and Chaela.
“Good Father,” he said, passing the priest who stood immobilized against the wall. “You carried out your task well. I shall make your death—when it comes—a swift one in honor of that service.”
The priest, not an old one, did not meet his gaze, he never had. He only prayed under his breath, relentlessly. Over and over the same Christian prayer.At the hour of our death.Well, he would be at the hour of his death shortly.
The other one retained there said nothing. He was not certain whether Svein Ragnarson had lost his mind. He reacted to nothing now—not pain or pleasure or words or threats. It mattered not to Hugh. Less resistance now was one thing he would not have to worry over when the ceremony was ready.
Neither of them matter now. Nothing mattered.
Hugh disrobed and stood there, waiting for the opening to reveal itself. He spoke the words of worship and praise over and over until the heat burst into the chamber . . . from the floor. Hugh walked around it, outlining it, memorizing it, honoring it. His body, now showing the ravages of his true age, ached with every step.
But soon, soon, his goddess would come to him.
A scratching at the door dragged his attention from the portal. Eudes opened it and dragged in one of the sailors from Svein’s ship. Hugh pointed to a place and Eudes pushed the man there and left. Crouching before the gagged and bespelled man, he placed his hands on the man’s head and spoke within his thoughts.
You are privileged as few are. You will be my sacrifice to the goddess. Do not die too quickly.
All was in readiness. He knelt and then prostrated himself over the portal, preparing himself for the agony of Chaela’s blessing. When it came, especially in his weakened form, he knew that nothing could have prepared him for it. His skin burned and he screamed as she touched him.
“Hugh, my faithful one,” the goddess whispered through the portal. “Always faithful.”
