HOW LONG HADhe been lost and wandering in that strange place?
Freakish shadowy figures populated the landscape Hall had traveled, an alien world unlike any he’d traversed before. Though it might not have been Niflheim itself, it had to have been close. Of that he felt certain.
Hall opened his eyes, searching for any memory of the place in which he found himself. A bedchamber, that much was clear. Butwhosebedchamber was the question.
Memories began to return, slowly at first, in bits and pieces so strange, he doubted their reality. Likely they were figments of his imagination, born out of the madness that had held him in its grip. Excruciating pain. Heat beyond human tolerance as if he’d traversed a land of pure, unrelenting fire.
And through it all, like a cool respite from the torment, Bridget MacCulloch had filled his dreams.
Only it couldn’t have been Bridget. The phantom that had appeared in his delirium had worn nothing more than a thin white shift, her every enticing curve outlined by the flickering fire behind her. Her hand, soft and cool when she’d touched him, bore exotic markings unlike any seen in this world for many centuries.
It would make sense that he’d dream of Bridget, even as his mind distorted her visage. Since dreams were the only place where he could claim her for his own, it was unlikely he’d ever be able to banish her from his dreams.
His mouth felt half its normal size, as if his tongue were swollen and made of paper. He was thirstier than he could ever remember being in the whole of his life. Andthatwas a very long time, indeed.
He swung his legs to the side of the bed and sat up, waiting until his head quit spinning before he attempted to stand. It took two tries to make it to his feet and stay there.
This was good. He was standing. Standing, but naked as the day he was born. With a great effort, he pulled the top blanket from the bed, wrapped it around himself, and headed for the open door.
The melodious sound of someone singing reached his ears, the beautiful notes of a woman singing to herself as she worked. A soothing, tinkling, rippling cascade of music floating on the air that took him back to another time and another place. A Faerie glen where his mother had taken him as a child...
Orabilis!
He remembered now. Bridget had brought him here for the Faerie healer to work her magic.
Since he was standing on his own two feet, apparently she’d done exactly that, leaving him in the debt of not one but two Faeries.
Two Faeries and one beautiful, stubborn Pictish princess.
As he entered the main room of the little cottage, his grumbling stomach announced him before his words could.
“Oh!” Orabilis turned with a little squeak of surprise and the air shimmered around her, obscuring her for an instant. “Well, look at this. Patience has paid off. It would seem my potions worked after all. Welcome back to the world of Mortals, my young friend.”
“Thank you, my lady. I am in your debt.” Hall dipped his head in a deferential little bow.
“Indeed you are, Hall O’Donar. Indeed you are. You and yer rather determined companion both.”
“My debt to you is my own, not Bridget’s.” He would not have Bridget held accountable for the Fae’s services to him. The last complication Bridget needed in her life was a Faerie seeking repayment for something she didn’t owe.
“True. And Bridget’s debt to me is hers.” Orabilis smiled and held up a bowl freshly dipped from the simmering pot beside her. “I was just about to eat. Stew? Some meat and broth will do wonders for you after all these days without food.”
Again his stomach rumbled and he accepted her offering, taking a seat at the heavy wooden table. The first bite was so heavenly delicious he allowed himself a second to enjoy it before pursuing Orabilis’s argument.
“What is Bridget’s debt to you?”
“Her business, and none of yer own. Now, eat yer stew like a good lad. Bread to go with that? I’ve some nice cold goat milk, for after yer meal, if you’d like.”
She held out a chunk of what appeared to be freshly baked bread and he accepted, forcing himself to wait for his next bite until she was seated across from him with her own bowl.
Of all the conversations he might have expected her to start, the one she chose was not among them.
“What will you do with the Beast once you’ve captured it?” Orabilis glanced up at him from her bowl, a half smile curling one corner of her mouth. “Ifyou succeed in capturing it, that is.”
In truth, he hadn’t actually given that as much thought as it deserved.
“Return him to his prison in the scrolls, I suppose. Like the Elves who originally put him there intended.”
The old woman nodded thoughtfully, as if to herself. “But where will you keep him and his scrolls? Surely you can see now, after the debacle with Torquil, this is a burden not safe in the hands of any Mortal.”
