“And . . . ?”
“I remember not where or when, but I will seek that out, too,” Ander said, lying as Soren had. The man’s left eye began a slight but noticeable twitch. Soren laughed then.
“Lying is a sin,FatherAnder,” he reminded.
“A weakness about which I pray daily,” his friend said, ushering him out of the chamber. “I will see you at week’s end.”
Soren nodded and walked down the steps to the main corridor. Almost to the door leading to the outside, Ander’s voice called out to him and Soren paused and turned back.
“I forgot to tell you. Ran has returned.”
He’d always told himself that he would not react to this inevitable news. The woman was born and raised here in Orkney. Her father’s shipping business was centered here. She had other kith and kin here—she would return here someday.
Ran had returned.
His life had barely returned to a normal one and now she was back. It would be torn asunder, even if he managed to avoid her, just by knowing she breathed the same air he did. Soren found he could not breathe, so he nodded and wordlessly left, seeking something he knew he would never find now—peace of mind.
He stumbled down the busy streets, not caring where he went or what he did. His mind reeled at the thought that she was on the island. Her father’s business was here in the city. There would be too much to explain and too much he could not explain if they met. Deciding to leave now and go to the broch, Soren realized he’d wandered far from where he’d left his horse.
Turning back, Soren walked through the marketplace where he found himself, greeting the merchants and nodding to the vendors selling their wares. Kirkwall was a blending place, filled with people from all parts of the north and beyond. Norse, Scots, French, English all using Kirkwall and Orkney for replenishing supplies, stocking ships for travel and trading goods.
But something this day, now, was different.
As he walked the streets, Soren noticed a change in the air around him. In the colors of the fabrics offered in the weavers’ tents. In the faces of the villagers. The brightness and hues had been leached from the world in which he lived.
The realization stopped him between paces.
He glanced around to see if something had thickened above him and had blocked the sun. The clear, blue cloudless skies answered him. What was happening?
And then she walked out from one of the alleys.
Ran Sveinsdottir.
The woman he’d loved.
The woman he’d betrayed.
Soren stepped back into the shadows, to regain control over himself and to watch her. Tall and svelte, she moved with the same easy grace on land that she did on her father’s ships. Her blond curls were tamed into several smaller plaits framing her face and one larger unruly braid. ’Twas a hopeless attempt to control the uncontrollable, but the longer woven tresses lay down her back and swung in time with every step she took. His body recognized hers. His mouth remembered the taste of hers and his hands itched to glide over those curves and touch every inch of her.
He shuddered and released the breath he did not know he’d been holding, continuing to watch her make her way through the crowded street. Without considering the folly of it and without thought he followed her, drinking in the sight of her, of her every smile and glance and movement. She bestowed that smile on many as she greeted the merchants and tradesmen along the street. Ran was the one woman he’d loved and the one he could never have. It had been two years since he last saw her and yet—
His vision flickered then and he realized that she was surrounded by color and light. They were missing in everyone else around them and were vibrant and almost alive in her. Turquoise—the color of the seas— surrounded her body, glowing and glimmering. He blinked several times, trying to clear his vision, for what he saw was simply not possible.
When that made no difference, Soren even dragged the sleeve of his tunic across his eyes, but it did not change. Her blond hair was bright and golden, her skin glowed and her eyes shimmered. Unsure of what was happening, he hissed in pain as his forearm began to burn.
Lifting his hand, he tugged his sleeve back and watched as the skin there grew red and an outline of a bolt of lightning became visible. It changed as he watched, growing brighter and clearer in shape. And it burned as it did. Covering it with his other hand, he glanced around to see if anyone else noticed.
Those seeking goods or food did not spare him a second glance. Those selling their wares did not either. Everyone else walked around him ignorant or uncaring about this significant change in their world. As he looked around the area, Soren realized that Ran had the same bewildered expression on her face that his must be wearing. She clutched at her arm, touching the same place on her forearm that yet burned on his.
He’d taken three steps out of the shadows and onto the street toward her when he finally pulled himself back and stopped. As much as he wanted to understand what was going on, he knew she would not welcome his approach. Or his questions.
Two years. Two years and much more than time separated them.
Since he knew her father would remain in Orkney while his ships and boats were prepared for the sailing months ahead, Soren doubted she was going anywhere too soon. If this strangeness somehow involved her, he knew where he could find her.
He would always know where to find her. Now though, he turned and walked away. He would seek out his grandfather’s tower and try to put her from his mind. As he rode out of Kirkwall, north along the sea, he understood the truth that stood between them—he would never be able to completely rid himself of Ran Sveinsdottir.
Though he stood in the shadows between the merchants selling their wool and other fabrics, she would recognize him anywhere. Taller than her brother and her father, Soren towered over most men she knew. The years of working the fields and ships had built muscle and strength in his body and she could not help but notice that he looked even larger now. Her traitorous body responded to the memories now filling her mind of their times together. The feel of his skin on hers. His strong hands moving over her and bringing her to pleasure. Relentlessly. As he did everything.
