His face revealed no emotion, no evidence that he had even heard or understood my threat.
I turned on my heel and stalked out of the cave. Already the night had turned bitterly cold, the type of cold that made one desperate for a fire. The kind of cold that should loosen a prisoner’s tongue to guarantee he’s never abandoned in such an environment again.
The goat trail was as inhospitable as always, causing me to choose my footholds carefully. Heavy footsteps announced Fergus’s approach, and once I had reached the bottom of the trail, I held my hand aloft in greeting.
Fergus’s eyebrows rose the moment he took in my frustrated expression. “The prisoner refused to answer you?” he asked. “But how—with your . . . abilities . . .” He trailed off, and I was surprised he’d said as much as he had. My mental powers weren’t a subject many enjoyed talking about.
I shook my head. “I wish I had an answer for you.” I glanced up at the darkened cave. “The wind and tide will do the job well enough, I’m sure. If not . . .”
“I could break his silence for you, milady.” He smiled then, for both Conall and Fergus loved nothing more than the chance to use their swords.
“You may get the chance,” I said. My muscles tensed as I remembered the prisoner’s mute stare, but even so, torture wasn’t one of my strengths. “You needn’t make the trek to the cave. It was hard going just now, and if you’ve nominated yourself as guard, then you’d be much warmer here.”
He shrugged, and the flame from the torch he held danced merrily. “I would be glad to escort ye back, milady. The Northman scum will keep in his prison tonight—the manacles will see to that. And even if he should escape, he will surely fall to his death.”
I glanced back at the dizzying height of the cliff, and the rocks and sea waiting hungrily at the bottom. Escape would indeed be risky, even for an uninjured warrior.
“I can see well enough in this light. I have no need for an escort. But what of my mother and sisters? Are they well?”
“Aye, milady. Only eager to see ye.”
A relieved breath escaped me. Thanks be to God. “I will go to them, then. Thank you, Fergus.” As I walked away, I called back over my shoulder, “I’ll be sure to relieve you of your post in the morning.”
Fergus chuckled, settling himself down among the rocks. “I have no doubt you’ll be back. It’s not many who would stand up to ye.”
My muscles were drawn as tight as a bow as I hurried back to the castle keep. Fergus was wrong. I wasn’t angry because the Northman had defied me—that was to be expected. No, it was the fact that he continued to resist me that fueled my anger. With him so physically weak, it should have been easy to break through his mental defenses and access the information I needed. It was too great a risk to send anyone to the monastery now, not after we had lost so many in battle; we needed his information. But what if we stalled too long and the Northmen should come back for their leader? Truly, the man was a liability. It would be better to chop off his head and throw him into the sea.
You need him, the dangerous voice whispered.
Warily, I scanned the environment around me. I didn’t see the crow, just darkness around me.
Who are you? I asked.
No answer, and in this, at least, I found comfort. The voice never responded. Perhaps I was foolish to listen, possibly even reckless. For all I knew, it was a demon whispering warnings to me.
It wouldn’t have been the first time such a thing had happened here. The coast could be a dangerous place, not just because of the hungry sea, heights that could maim as easily as kill, or rocks lying in wait to break one’s bones, but because of the creatures that made it their home.
As a child, I was told a tale of a sluagh who tormented an old woman who lived in a fisherman’s hut not far from here. The restless spirit took the form of a vulture, and followed her night and day, perching on her roof, its talons scraping across the thatching until it drove her mad. It whispered things to her, evil things, and after a time, she succumbed to it. She plucked out her husband’s eyes in the night and threw herself into the sea.
But this was a familiar voice, even though the intercession was unusual. Needed him for what? What could a Northman pagan possibly help me with?
Suddenly, I was angry at myself. I shouldn’t have spared the Northman’s life. I was feared and disliked enough within my own clan. Why bring more trouble upon myself? But even as I thought that, I knew I couldn’t execute him.
Not without reason.
4
When I returned to the castle, my sisters were huddled under a bear’s pelt in front of the fire in my room, their deft fingers weaving needles in and out of embroidery, their golden hair shimmering in the light. Branna threw her needlework down as soon as she saw me. She wrapped her slim, freckled arms around me for a tight embrace. Deirdre, ever the more reserved of the two, hung back by the fireplace.
I held out my arm to her, and she joined in. “I’m so thankful you are both unharmed,” I said.
“We were never in any danger,” Branna said. “Thanks to you.”
Deirdre nodded solemnly and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Why must you fight with the men, Ciara? It’s so frightening, and I couldn’t bear it if anything should happen to you.”
“I never wanted to leave you, but I have a duty to you and to this clan. As long as I have the power to keep those who would harm us away, I must use it.”
“Branna is right in saying we were all afraid for you,” my mother said from the doorway of the room. Her long blond hair was plaited, and she wore her warmest fur-trimmed robe. With the same sky-blue eyes as my sisters, she was often mistaken for their older sibling. With my hair as dark as crows’ feathers, pale skin, and dark eyes, it was no wonder I was rumored to be a changeling. Not for the first time, the similarities in the three of them caused a dark feeling of foreboding to make its home in my chest.
“Máthair, it is for you and my sisters that I fight. It would be sinful of me to remain here when I can make a difference on the battlefield.”
“You didn’t allow me to finish,” my mother scolded. “Branna, Deirdre, we must be strong for Ciara. She risks much for us, and it only burdens her heart to have us beg her not to leave.”
Deirdre hung her head. “Yes, Máthair.”
But Branna regarded me with a determined expression that reminded me of the Northman boy of the battlefield. “Since the battle is over, will you accompany us to the market tomorrow?”
God willing, I would be extracting answers from a prisoner tomorrow. “Bran, I—”
“Your sister cannot leave the castle,” our mother said, her voice quietly firm. “Especially with so many of our men away.”
“Ciara never comes with us,” Branna persisted. She was right. Máthair rarely, if ever, asked me to accompany them away from the castle.
“She is of more use here. We must all play our part—for the good of all.” She held her arm out, the sleeves of her robe hanging down to her waist. “Come now, girls. Ciara needs her rest.”
“Please, Máthair,” Deirdre said. “Can’t we sleep here with Ciara?”
Máthair met my eyes, wariness evident in the thin press of her lips. There had been a time when the three of us slept in the same bed every night. But that was before I had become of age, before my abilities had manifested and my own mother treated me as though I were more wolf than daughter—one to be respected and feared.
Indeed, the first time I’d used my abilities was when I’d accidentally used them on my own mother.
I remembered being furious with her. She’d forbidden me from riding for the rest of the week because I hadn’t gotten up in time to go to Mass.
“You’ve shamed us, acting like a pagan,” she’d said, her face red with anger.