The Tinkler was correct—Halldor should trust her. By the Seven, nothing would keep her from getting him the help he needed. Not Torquil, not this creature Fenrir, and certainly not the big, stubborn warrior standing beside her.
Twelve
THE DIFFERENCE INhow his shoulder felt since the Tinkler had bandaged him was amazing. Hall could still feel the evil seething just under the skin, but not as pronounced as it had been before. His strength had returned, though he accepted this to be a temporary state of well-being. The evil would win out as the Tinkler had warned, of that he had no doubt.
None of Asgard’s bloodline could hope to survive an encounter with the business end of the Sword of the Ancients.
He would do his best to reach Rowan Cottage as Editha Faas had instructed. Considering his debt to her, his honor demanded it. But knowing as he now did that Orabilis was not a witch but a powerful Faerie healer, he had little hope of making it through her defenses to obtain her help. No matter what Bridget said, if Orabilis had designed those defenses to keep out the descendents of Asgard, there was no way he was getting past.
A sideward glance brought Bridget’s profile into view. She rode tall in her saddle, back straight, eyes focused into the distance. A whole range of adjectives flooded his mind every time he looked at the woman.
Strong. Determined. Proud. Beautiful.
A ridiculous thought, that last one. Her beauty was of no matter to him. Even if he weren’t doomed by his encounter with the Sword of the Ancients, no woman in the whole of this world would be interested in tying her fate to a man like him. Abeinglike him. He was bound in service to an ancient god, his whole life at the mercy of Thor’s every whim.
Bridget brushed a stray curl from her face and a spear of regret stabbed through Hall’s heart.
Funny, how traveling the world in defense of Mortals who called on Thor for help had never rankled before. Maybe it was only his own mortality that made it feel like such a burden now.
“What?” she asked, turning to catch him staring at her.
“Nothing.” She arched an eyebrow and he was forced to come up with a better response. “Fine, then. I was only wondering how much longer you might last before we have to stop for the night.”
“How much longerImight last?” She snorted her derision. “My stamina is hardly in question, now, is it? Yer the one with the patched-up arm. Better I should be askingyouhow much longeryoumight last.”
Prickly-spirited, as always. It was one of the adjectives he’d somehow left off his earlier list, along withimpatientandannoying.The woman had a temper that made him grind his teeth.
She would be one of the things he’d truly miss when he left this world.
“You think that’s funny, do you?” she asked, her brows drawing into a frown as she glared at him. “I fail to see anything the least bit amusing about our situation. It’s no bad enough that we’ve two days of hard travel ahead of us, into territory where neither of us is welcome. Now yer sitting there with that silly grin upon yer face. And look at this, would you... it’s starting to rain! On top of everything else. Fine reward that is, and me trying for nothing more than to see you safe.” She wiped a hand over her face and pulled up the hood of her cloak with one last annoyed look in his direction.
As if the rain were his fault.
Hall stared into the solid gray wall of precipitation moving toward them, knowing that, in fact, the rainwashis fault. He’d allowed his emotions to run wild, doing nothing to cloak them. Nothing to prevent the all-too-obvious result of his depression.
He’d never realized that masking the way he felt required so much energy. Energy he simply didn’t have to spare right now. But mask it he must.
With an effort on his part that stole from him his ability to do anything else, the pounding rain slowed to a light, annoying mist. By the time they reached a spot where he felt they could camp for the night, the rains had completely stopped.
He brushed away the assistance Bridget offered and slid down from his saddle, praying his legs would hold him.
“Leave the horses and I’ll see to them after I’ve taken care of a fire.” Her words were more a command than an offer, leaving him no alternative but to argue with her.
“I’m not on my deathbed yet. I can still take care of our animals.”
Bridget glared at him, her mouth set in a hard, straight line as if she had something she wanted to say but held it back. Finally, after a long moment, she shrugged and turned away, leaving him to lead both their horses to drink.
It was as if, no matter what he did, he managed to anger her. Never in all his days had he dealt with a more complicated, more strong-willed, more annoying woman than Bridget MacCulloch.
He had also never before crossed paths with a woman he found more appealing.
Had the Norns not conspired against him long before his birth to eliminate any chance for a future of happiness, Bridget, with her bravery and her willingness to confront every situation head-on, would have been exactly the woman he would have looked for to share that future with him.
THE FIRE BLAZEDsteadily and Bridget had already begun to lay out their evening meal by the time Halldor finished readying their animals for the night. It had taken him twice as long as it should have, and he wore his exhaustion like a heavy cloak when he approached the fire.
“Best we enjoy the luxury of this warmth tonight,” he offered as he sank down to sit across from where she stood. “Another day’s travel will bring us too close to Torquil’s domain for us to risk drawing his attention with such a large fire.”
If only he had shared that handy bit of information earlier, she might have had time to bring down some fresh meat for them tonight. A rabbit, perhaps. But no, he’d waited until well after dark before he bothered to—
