Temptation of the Warrior, Page 2

  He stood before her, with that eerie light that came into his eyes whenever he inflicted his punishments, and she realized he intended to strike her as he’d done when she was a child. She blushed with shame, unable to force away the memory of the terrible beatings she’d suffered, bent over his knee with her skirts over her head, aware that the only other girls who ever suffered the same outrageous treatment were the ones as fair as she was, with light eyes.

  “Come here.”

  “No, sir. I will not.”

  She clasped her hands behind her back, surprised at the degree of satisfaction she felt. At age twenty-one, her life was her own now, and she gave no one the right to touch her. Especially not Reverend Usher.

  “Satan still dwells in you, girl! You are s—”

  “Meanness is not discipline, Reverend Usher.” Jenny spoke quietly but firmly, her courage bolstered by the letter from Darbury, securely hidden away. “If Satan dwells anywhere on this earth, ’tis within the hearts of those who abuse little children.”

  “You dare—!”

  She turned away defiantly and moved to the door, suddenly afraid he would rush over and stop her before she could put a safe distance between them. But he stood still. Jenny took a deep breath and looked back at him. “I’d intended to give you a week’s notice that I am leaving Bresland, but your actions force me to leave immediately.”

  His knuckles turned white as he clenched his fists at his sides. “What?”

  She felt light-headed with such unaccustomed boldness. Never before had she possessed the nerve to speak up to the headmaster. “Y-you heard correctly, sir. I am leaving Bresland and taking a position as f-far away from here as I can possibly go.” No matter what the situation at Darbury, it would certainly be better than this.

  “You will get no references from—”

  “I do not need any,” Jenny retorted bravely. “The position is already mine, and I will leave for it just as soon as I pack my things.” And if she found the situation at Darbury unacceptable, she would leave there, too. She was done with serving everyone’s whim but her own.

  “You will regret this, young woman,” Usher said, his voice shaking with anger. “No one leaves Bresland without my consent.”

  “I cannot think why you’d want me to stay. You’ve despised me since the day I arrived.”

  Two bright spots of red appeared on his sharp cheekbones, and his eyes darkened with hatred. He circled around to his desk and opened a drawer. “The sin in you is the blackest kind…tempting and taunting even the most steadfast of men.”

  Suddenly fearful that he might attempt to strike her with the wooden ruler he kept in his desk, Jenny gave Usher no further attention, but quickly took her leave, letting the door slam shut behind her. In spite of her careful control of her temper, she heard a row of books fly from his bookcase and crash to the floor. She hoped the old headmaster would assume it was due to the closing door. But Jenny knew differently.

  She was responsible, even though she had not touched the books. She didn’t understand how these things happened, nor could she control the strange accidents that occurred when her emotions were high. When she was far from Bresland, she intended to try to understand how these strange events happened, try to control the hot prickling in her chest when some freak event was about to occur. But now was not the time. She had to confront Harriet and get the locket, then take her leave of Bresland before Reverend Usher found some way to detain her.

  It took only another minute to get up the stairs and into her room. Harriet had not moved a muscle in the time she’d been gone, and Jenny called to her again. She felt emboldened after her confrontation with the headmaster and did not bother mincing words. “Harriet, I am missing one of my belongings. A locket.”

  Still, Harriet did not move. Jenny crossed to the girl’s bed and placed a hand upon her shoulder, but quickly realized she was not touching flesh and bone. Ripping back the blankets, she found that Harriet had only propped up her bolster and some old rags to make it appear as though she were lying there, sleeping. She was gone.

  Angry and frustrated, Jenny made a quick search of the room, though she didn’t expect to find her locket. Obviously, Harriet had taken it and absconded. How long she’d been gone was anyone’s guess.

  Jenny jammed her few belongings into the sturdy traveling bag she’d brought with her eleven years before, and hurried down the stairs, ignoring the startled looks of the overworked maid and footman she met on the landing. But she could not ignore the headmaster, who stood in the entryway, his hands fidgeting in his coat pockets. His expression was one of a man still in control, one who thought he still had the power to turn her over his knee.

  “Miss Keating,” he said, “you are mis—”

  He was interrupted by the exuberant entrance of Clara Tremayne. Jenny was grateful, for once, for the other teacher’s appearance. “Miss Keating!” cried the young woman who would soon announce her betrothal.

  To Jenny’s fiancé.

  The young woman came ahead of Mr. Ellis, the handsome young doctor who had courted Jenny all winter long. She eyed Jenny’s traveling bag, then gave her a superior smile. “So Reverend Usher has finally dismissed yo—”

  “On the contrary, Miss Tremayne,” Jenny retorted, ignoring the other woman’s scarcely concealed smirk. “I’ve just resigned my position here. Eleven years at Bresland has been quite enough for me.”

  She could not bring herself to look at Mr. Ellis, not after he’d jilted her so cruelly. He’d believed every horrible thing Reverend Usher had said about her, not once opening his mouth to defend her. Walking past them, Jenny decided she was glad to be quit of him, too. He had agreed with Reverend Usher’s disciplinary methods, even suggesting that Jenny had somehow deserved the beating that had caused her partial deafness. She was far better off without such a husband.

  Without looking back, Jenny hefted her traveling bag over her shoulder. She ignored the sensation of Usher’s hateful gaze boring into her back, and headed directly for the road to Carlisle, where Harriet had certainly gone. The woman had mentioned a brother there—a rum distiller, as Jenny recalled—so it would be the logical place for her to go.

  And since Carlisle was directly on Jenny’s path to Darbury, the estate where she would begin her new life, it made sense for her to go in that direction. She started walking and hoped to catch the next northbound mail coach.

  There was nothing to keep her at Bresland.

  Northumbria, late winter, 1826

  Merrick Mac Lochlainn shook his head to clear it, then rose weakly to his feet to take his bearings.

  England was cold, and he was soaking wet from his passage through the Astar Columns deep in the waters of the Coruain Sea. The spells he’d cast to travel through time had dissipated well before he reached the shore. ’Twas the only way to prevent Eilinora and her Odhar from finding any trace of him once he reached the correct time and place. But moving through time without the full protection of his magic was fraught with danger, not the least of which was his arrival at his destination feeling ill and weak.

  Shivering and disoriented, Merrick collapsed to his knees and doubled over with pain in his belly. His muscles cramped and his head swam as he lowered himself to the cold ground. Remembering that he could not use his healing powers to restore himself, he realized he had to get some warm clothes on, before he froze to death and ended his quest before it had even begun.

  With trembling hands, he reached for his satchel and struggled to pull out the suit of clothes he’d conjured before leaving Coruain. But two purple-black, long-fingered hands grabbed the satchel and tried to run with it. “Hold, sìthean!”

  In spite of his weakened state, Merrick tripped the big-eared little beast, and watched him fall to the wet ground. He knew from past visits to the Tuath lands that sìtheans were not visible to the plain people here. Though the wicked little sprites had been commanded to leave the Tuath lands with the Druzai eons before, a number of them had defied the
elders and remained here to plague the unsuspecting Tuath who could not see them. Missing possessions, unexplained clumsiness, strange accidents…the Tuath never knew ’twas a sìthean pest who caused them.

  “Who ye be?” it shrieked, aghast at being caught, being seen.

  “Aye, I can see you, little deamhan.” Merrick detained the leathery black sprite with a foot across its neck. “I’m no’ some poor Tuath you can torment.”

  “You canna be—Druzai?” it squealed, narrowing its bulging eyes at him. “Ye be a magical one?”

  “Tathaich an bàrdach, sìthean!” Merrick commanded. “Begone!”

  The creature cried out again, shoved the satchel aside, and pried itself out from beneath Merrick’s foot. It ran away through the rain, leaving a shivering Merrick to dress himself and hope he would not need to deal with any more sìthean interference while he searched for the brìgha-stone.

  Somehow, Merrick managed to pull on his Tuath clothes and drag his heavy woolen cloak over his shoulders. He had to move along quickly in spite of his dizziness, in spite of the knives piercing through his abdomen and the grief that weighed so heavily on his heart. The truth of the Druzai tragedy struck him once more. His father was dead, his powerful scepter gone. Stolen.

  If only Merrick had learned of Eilinora’s attack right after it happened, he might have been able to displace himself in time to protect Kieran and prevent his death. Yet Merrick’s father had been dead for many hours before he had discovered his body, making displacement useless. Nor could he make use of the Astar Columns and return in time to thwart Eilinora’s attack. No one, not even Druzai, could achieve dual existence in such a manner. ’Twas impossible.

  Merrick threw the satchel over his shoulder and trudged inland, staggering like a drunken Tuath. He needed to find a place where he could sleep a short while, to cast off the effects of moving across a thousand years’ time. An inn would be best, but even a quiet barn would do. If nothing else, a sheltered corner in the woods would have to suffice. Unfortunately, there was no grand wealrach in any of the Tuath lands to carry him to his destination.

  Merrick headed eastward, toward the road, his head pounding, every muscle in his body aching. He’d trained extensively with Brogan’s men and was as capable as any Druzai warrior. But without magic, the Astar Columns took their toll. It was only a short time before his heart was pounding in his chest and his legs were wobbling as he walked. He had no choice but to find a place where he would be sheltered from the rain to lie down and recover his strength.

  Coming out of the woods, he stumbled into a road and saw a pretty young woman in a black cloak being accosted by several ruffians. As weak as he was, Merrick could not ignore her plight when she screamed in terror.

  Jenny had been walking more than an hour, and was far from Bresland School. She was far from everything, it seemed. The road was desolate, and when it began to rain, she despaired of ever meeting with the northbound mail coach.

  She pulled up the hood of her heavy woolen cloak and plodded on, only to stop abruptly when four men came out of the trees beside the road to confront her.

  “Aye, what’ve we here?” drawled the tallest of them.

  “A sweet bit o’ skirt, Bob!”

  “And carryin’ some blunt, I’ll wager,” said a stocky one with thick, red side-whiskers.

  Jenny said nothing, but held her bag tightly to her body and tried to edge around the four hooligans.

  They did not let her pass, but closed in on her on all sides. “Leave me be!” she said defiantly, though her knees were knocking and her heart quaking.

  “What’s she got in ’er bag, Dickie?”

  She pulled her arm away from the groping scoundrel and heard her sleeve tear at the shoulder. “’Tis none of your concern, you…you ruffian!”

  Dickie laughed, showing rotten teeth, then wiped his nose against his sleeve.

  The man in front shoved her, knocking her off balance. “Bet she ain’t got much but what’s under her skirts.”

  “No!” Jenny dropped her bag and tried to run, but one of the men caught her and knocked her to the wet ground. She screamed, slapping and kicking him away, but it was no use. The men were undeterred, even when a stout branch of a tree cracked and fell, barely missing them.

  She screamed.

  “Be still, dolly,” said Bob, tearing her cloak from her shoulders. One of the others dumped her belongings from her traveling case, but Jenny’s panic worsened when Bob pulled a pistol from his pocket and pointed it directly at her heart. She let out an unfamiliar plaintive sound, certain she was doomed.

  Another voice called out sharply from the edge of the road, shouting unfamiliar words. “Fosradh an ragair!” he said in a commanding tone. “Stop!”

  Her assailants turned to the intruder and Jenny managed to scramble to her feet. She hardly noticed her dress becoming soaked as the men converged upon the newcomer, a tall, striking man with black hair long enough to brush his shoulders. He looked pale and ill, but he dropped his greatcoat and satchel and came to her defense, throwing punches and shoving one ruffian into another. He was either the bravest man alive to take on four such scoundrels as these…

  Or he was a fool.

  The urge to whisk the blackguards into the air and toss them high onto the branches of the nearby trees came naturally to Merrick. So did the thought of displacement to arrive at this spot several minutes before the attack to prevent it. But he had the presence of mind to avoid such a mistake. He could not risk using magic, not when the Odhar might be searching this very locale for the blood stone. After all, Ana was not the only seer in the world. Surely the Odhar had someone with seeing abilities who also sought the stones.

  In his weakened state, he had difficulty holding his own against the villains. But at least he could provide an adequate distraction while the young woman made her escape.

  Only she did not. From the corner of his eye, Merrick saw her pick up a broken branch from the road and swing it at one of the men who’d attacked her. The scoundrel grunted with pain and fell to the ground in a disheveled heap.

  Catching her eye, Merrick grinned in appreciation at her indomitable Tuath spirit and ducked another blow from one of her three remaining attackers. She was beauty and strength, an admirable combination. If she’d been Druzai, Merrick might well have wished she were the one foretold as his céile mate, the wife who would help him avert the crisis with Eilinora. As it was, everyone believed ’twould be Sinann whom he would wed.

  Sinann was beautiful and talented, and any Druzai sorcerer would be proud to take her for his mate. Her blood would strengthen the Mac Lochlainn line, making their children capable leaders for yet another thousand years.

  “Ye’ll be sorry!” said one of the assailants, swinging his meaty fist, but Merrick made a quick turn and coldcocked him. ’Twas a simple maneuver taught him by his brother—a swift, fierce punch to the nose that incapacitated an attacker before he had a chance to realize what was coming.

  Now there were two, and Merrick could see that the woman was trying to position herself to deliver another blow with her cudgel. But the taller of the two highwaymen turned suddenly away from him and grabbed her. She screamed when he knocked away the wooden club, but remained undefeated, even so. She kicked the scoundrel in the leg and he pushed away from her, yelping in pain.

  Merrick made a quick move to dispatch the fellow who was still throwing punches, but a shot rang out and he felt a stinging blow to his head. Taken by surprise, he fell heavily to the ground.

  He saw a bright flash of light before losing consciousness.

  Chapter 2

  “Goddamn it, Bob, you’ve killed ’im! Put that gun away afore any of us gets hurt.”

  Jenny barely heard the muttered curses of the highwaymen as they frantically gathered up their wounded. She rushed to the side of the handsome young hero who’d come to her rescue and dropped to her knees. He was unconscious, but still alive. The bullet had grazed him just above his ear, and h
is head was bleeding profusely.

  He’d hit his head hard when he’d fallen, too, and Jenny knew such an injury by itself could be fatal. Her throat burned and she blinked back tears, aware that she should be running away as fast and as far as her legs could carry her.

  But she could not leave her rescuer here to bleed to death in the rain, not the man who’d grinned so audaciously at her, in spite of their dire circumstances. Tossing a quick glance back at the villains who were busy rummaging through her traveling bag, she tore a strip of cloth from her petticoat and pressed it to the man’s wound, wishing she could somehow make an entire tree fall on the highwaymen, and not just a branch.

  The highwaymen would be back for her as soon as they saw she carried nothing of value, but she could think of no way to combat them, no way to get herself and the young man to safety. Even if she abandoned the poor fellow and ran, it was just a matter of time before they caught her.

  “Wake up!” she cried softly, patting his cheek in an effort to revive him.

  If only he would get up, they might be able to run into the woods and find a place to hide. But he remained unconscious. He was much too large for her to pull out of the road, and she doubted she’d be able to support his weight even if he managed to get up. It was hopeless.

  Jenny heard footsteps behind her, and her heart pounded even harder than before. “Oh please,” she whispered urgently as she gave him another gentle shake. “Get up and help me!”

  “Naught but books in yer case, dolly!” Bob said angrily.

  “I’m a teacher!” she cried. “I haven’t anything of value.” Just the Bible and her favorite, an old edition of Malory’s tale of King Arthur.

  “Well, ye’re just going to have to—”

  Several horsemen came into view at the curve of the road. The black-haired newcomers wore vivid colors, and even their horses were draped similarly. At the sight of them, the highwaymen started to back away.

  Bob put his gun in his pocket and fled alongside the others while some of the dark ones chased them down the road. Four of them—Gypsies—stayed with her. Jenny was afraid she might melt on the spot at their blatant, rude appraisal, but she managed to hold her head up and face the four men who dismounted and approached her.