One
IF ANY HARMhad come to Bridget MacCulloch, there would be hell to pay.
Not that he had personal feelings for the MacCulloch woman one way or another. He absolutely didn’t. The very last thing he needed to complicate his life was a woman. Especially a woman as stubborn and undisciplined as Bridget.
Halldor O’Donar had determined long ago that he’d hold tender feelings for no woman. Unless a man was of a mind to settle down with a wife and raise a family, a woman had but one purpose in his life. And Hall was not of a mind to marry. Besides, no Mortal woman would have the least bit of interest in him, once she learned what he was and how he was destined to spend his life.
His vow regarding Bridget’s safety was made for no other reason than that he’d hate to have wasted all the time and effort he’d put into saving her life in the first place. Not to mention that enlisting the aid of the Tinklers to spirit the woman away from the clutches of Torquil MacDowylt had put him squarely back in the debt of the Fae.
It rankled mightily that he’d barely settled one debt to them before incurring another.
Thunder rumbled overhead, and Hall’s companions cast worried looks to the skies.
“Unusual weather for this time of year,” Eric MacNicol mused. “But unusual tends to be the order of the day when I’m in yer company, does it no, my friend?”
“Only Thor himself has power over the weather. This is no fault of mine,” Hall muttered, though the words he spoke weren’t completely true.
Not even years of training and solitude had succeeded in giving him complete control over those unruly emotions of his.
Hall’s second traveling partner, Patrick Mac-Dowylt, younger brother to the laird of the MacGahan, reined in his horse and stood in his stirrups. “Look down there,” he directed, lifting an arm to point into the distance. “Unless my eyes deceive me, we’ve finally found them.”
Hall jerked his attention to the spot Patrick indicated. Even from this distance, there could be no mistaking the bright colors of the Tinkler wagons. With a kick to his horse, he lurched forward in full gallop, the knot in his stomach still balled up tight.
The Tinklers were several days overdue. Until he could see with his own two eyes that Bridget was unharmed, he couldn’t bring himself to start his quest to find the sword and the scrolls that had been taken from Tordenet before Chase Noble’s battle with Torquil MacDowylt. Without those treasures, there was no hope of defeating the monster that now possessed the MacDowylt laird’s body. And if the monster couldn’t be defeated, the world as they knew it faced an unholy change.
“Aho, warrior!” The elder Tinkler, William Faas, drew his wagon to a stop and rose from his seat as Hall approached, waving a hand in welcome. “We’d no thought to be seeing you out here upon the trail.”
Damned careless of the Tinkler to greet riders in such an open fashion. And exactly what Hall would expect of the Fae and their chosen people. He hated how they blundered through the Mortal world, acting as if they were impervious to danger. They, of all beings, should know that appearances meant nothing. He could have been anyone. Or anything.
“You worry too much, mighty warrior.” William’s wife, Editha, reached out to pat his arm as he pulled his horse up next to their wagon. “I felt yer presence long before we saw you and yer friends. The one you seek is in the back of the second wagon.”
Editha was more than Tinkler. Of that, Hall had not one single doubt. It was she who had convinced the others to help him spirit Bridget to safety away from Tordenet. And it was to her that he was now indebted.
Damned difficult Fae. A fine trick fate had played on him, repeatedly weaving the path of his life with that of the Fae.
Hall kept those thoughts to himself. At least he hoped he did. With a respectful dip of his head, he turned his horse toward the next wagon, anxious to reassure himself of Bridget’s safety. Only then would he ask what had delayed them.
Bridget leaned out from the interior of the wagon. He could tell the instant she spotted him because she gathered her skirts and hopped down, striding toward him in long, sure steps. Even clothed in the colorful Tinkler garb, she looked every bit the warrior princess. Determination and self-confidence shone in her every move.
An unfamiliar excitement rumbled through his veins at the sight of her. Relief, like as not, that his efforts to save her hadn’t gone to waste.
She stopped and rested her hands on her hips, waiting for him to reach her, her chin lifted as if for confrontation. For some odd reason, he’d expected a smile to greet him. Odder still was the twinge of disappointment he felt when she didn’t offer it up.
“He’s dead, then,” she said with great finality, as if there could be no other outcome.
The Shield Maiden was single-minded, bent on revenge for her father’s death at the hands of Torquil MacDowylt.
“Not exactly. At least not yet.”
Trapped in the burning tower, Torquil should have died. Would have, if he’d been only himself. But the evil that possessed him could not be killed so easily.
“Not yet?” she repeated incredulously. “Then what in the name of the Seven are you doing here, lollygagging about?”
Good question. Now that he’d found her safe, his business here was almost finished, and as soon as his questions were answered, he’d be on his way.
“Hunting for you.” When he should have been on the trail of the missing treasures. “Where have you been?” he demanded. “The whole of Castle MacGahan is disquieted with worry over your safety.”
“The whole of the castle?” she asked, a trace of a smile lighting her eyes. “Would that include you as well, big man?”
