With his face as hot as if the fever had never left, Hall turned his back on the Faerie, fighting to keep his anger in check as he left. The sound of her satisfied chuckle followed him until he slammed the bedchamber door.
Quickly, he dressed and returned to the main room to find her packing a large bag for him.
“I’ll saddle my horse and return for that shortly.” He couldn’t abide wasting any more time. “And then I’ll be on my way.”
“There’s no point in yer being in such a hurry. What’s to be will be. It’s no within yer power to change Bridget’s fate.” Orabilis tipped her head to one side, her gaze piercing him. “Or is it?”
How could she be so uncaring about the woman who had risked everything to save him? “It’s Bridget’s safety we speak of. Her life. The dangers stalking her are beyond her abilities.”
Again the old woman chuckled. “And what of it? What’s happened to your Northman’s fatalistic view of life? Where’s all yer standard blether about the weave already having been woven and the Norns determining what’s to happen to all of us?”
“To hell with the Norns,” he growled. “I live outside their tapestry and, believe me in this, I won’t allow Bridget to succumb to harm. Not even that which she brings upon herself.”
To his surprise, Orabilis laughed out loud. “Oh, lad, it does my heart good to hear you speaking from that half of yer ancestry.”
“What do you know of my ancestry?” he asked, suspicion building. She had recognized his name that first night. She had known of his people, and where they came from.
Orabilis continued to gather items and stuff them into the bag, not looking in his direction. “More than you might think. I knew yer mother. She was quite a talented healer in her own right. And every bit as hardheaded as you are.”
“And my father, did you know him as well?” If that was the case, then she knew the whole of his secret.
“I did indeed. A disappointing wastrel who proved himself to be much more trouble than his poor mother ever deserved. And definitely more trouble than yer poor mother realized when she ran away with him.”
Unable to dispute her description of his father, Hall nodded his acceptance of her words and left the little cottage to retrieve his horse, old feelings of bitterness bubbling within his chest.
His father had deserted his family so long ago, Hall had difficulty in recalling his face. A self-involved coward, he had refused to carry out the tasks required of him to aid Mankind and had forced the burden upon his son.
Only someone with intimate knowledge of Hall’s family could have described his father so well. But whether Orabilis knew who—and what—they were was another matter. This was a secret he guarded closely.
With his mount saddled and his sword on his back, Hall led the animal to the front of the cottage, where Orabilis waited to hand to him the bags of provisions she’d prepared.
“You’ll want these, too,” she said, holding out her hand to reveal the goat carved from rowan wood he’d worn around his neck and a small cloth bag. “Remember to keep the jewels covered once you leave the protection of Rowan Cottage.”
“Thank you,” he mumbled, embarrassed that he’d lost his temper with the old Faerie who’d saved his life.
She reached out with her gnarled fingers to pat his hand. “Go on yer way confident in the knowledge that it is yer own free will that guides what happens from this point forward, no the aimless weavings of three old women who sit under a tree.”
He dropped the necklace over his head and secured the bundle of jewels inside his pack, then tied the pack to his horse. Finally, he turned back to face her.
His fury wasn’t with her, and she didn’t deserve to be treated as if she’d done something wrong. Especially not after all she’d done for him.
“I apologize for my behavior and for my anger.”
“You’ve no need to apologize to me.” Orabilis tightened the ends of the shawl she wore around her shoulders. “But you do need accept that yer anger is but a mask for the true emotion you refuse to acknowledge.”
“And what emotion might that be, Faerie? Since you seem to know me so well.”
“One of the most powerful emotions of all, my young warrior: fear. I suspect it may be a stranger to you, but you’ve met it now. It’s the beast curling in yer stomach and threatening to crush yer chest. Can you deny the fear you have for Bridget MacCulloch’s safety?”
He refused to snap at her bait. He also refused to lie. And denying her assertion would be a lie. Itwasfear holding him within its mighty clutches. Fear of what might be happening to Bridget at this very moment, and every moment he delayed.
“I will find her. Iwillsee her safe,” he said, as much to reassure himself as anything.
“Even if yer actions anger the Norns themselves?”
He would not allow Bridget’s destiny to be determined by three old women who spent their days under a tree, weaving the tapestry that ensnared both their worlds.
Foot in his stirrup, he straddled his mount and prepared to leave. No matter what the cost, he would not be deterred from the path he had chosen.
