had done.She turned her head to the side, forcing her heavy lids open. A man stood beside the bed, staring down at her. Tall, dark-haired, pale-skinned, with a long wooden staff clasped in his hand. She rolled away, curling her body into a ball.
“Freya, listen to me. I’m here to help.” She took no notice of the words. Soon he would cease to matter.
A few minutes more, and she would be beyond anything they could do to her.
“In the name of the Goddess, what have you done?” Hard hands clasped her shoulder, wrenching her around. She no longer had the strength to fight him, and she lay quiet as he ripped the sheet from her body. The bed was drenched with blood, warm around her cold body.
Her eyes fluttered closed. Behind her lids, she saw a vision of a woman, dark-haired, pale-skinned, with the mark of three sickle moons on her right cheek. Freya gazed upon the face of the Goddess and knew she hovered on the edge of death. So close now.
No!
The word was clear in her mind.
It’s not your time yet.
But I want to come.
Save your daughter. Her name is Shayla, and she’s needed. Do this, Freya, or Arroway will die.
Then she was gone.
Freya shivered as regret washed through her, followed by resolve, and a fleeting spark of joy. The Goddess had not deserted them.
She pried her lids open. The warlock sat on the edge of her bed.
He grabbed her hand and swore as he stared down at her wrist. The flow had slowed, but blood still oozed from the jagged wound.
His staff clattered to the stone floor as he pulled a key from his pocket and released her from the chain that tied her to the bed. He tore a strip off the sheet and wrapped it tightly around her forearm, stemming the flow of blood.
“Why?” he asked.
“Couldn’t let you do to her what you have done to me,” she mum-bled.“Goddess, I was almost too late.” He ran a hand through his hair.
“Can you move?”
Freya tried to push herself up, but her arms were too weak. She managed a slight shake of her head. He studied her for a moment, then reached down and picked up his staff. Holding it over her, he whispered the words of a spell, and strength flowed into her limbs.
Her body pulsed with the power, and inside her, the baby responded, kicking out hard and strong. Freya lay still and savored the feeling.
“Is the baby alive?” he asked.
She nodded.
“Good. I’m here to help you both.”
“Why?”
For the first time, he appeared uncertain. “You don’t know who I am?”
“You’re a warlock. I don’t need to know any more.”
“I...” He trailed off as if unsure what to tell her, then reached out a hand and stroked her cheek.
The touch was light, but she flinched and jerked her head away.
She didn’t understand what this man wanted from her, and she didn’t care. She didn’t trust him, but for her daughter’s sake, she would accept his help and worry about his motivations when she was free.
Free.
Was it possible?
She sat up, and his gaze dropped to her breasts, heavy now. Her body was awkward, clumsy as she rose to her feet, dragging the sheet with her and wrapping it around her body.
He led her out of the small room into a wide corridor. Torches along the wall lighted the way. They saw no one, and he finally came to a halt at a heavy wooden door that led out into the main courtyard.
He turned to her. “I’m Jarrod.”
She shrugged. She cared nothing for who he was.
“I’ve cast a spell,” he said. “Cleared the way. There is a small door, to the right of the main gate—it should be open. If you head due south, I’ve left clothes and supplies under the big oak tree not far from the walls.”
She nodded and he continued. “Wait for me there.”
“What?”
“I’m coming with you. I need to stay and make sure the spells hold until you get clear. I’ll join you as soon as I can.” She cast a sharp glance at his face. She didn’t want him with her.
She would be happy never to set eyes on a warlock again as long
“Freya, listen to me. I’m here to help.” She took no notice of the words. Soon he would cease to matter.
A few minutes more, and she would be beyond anything they could do to her.
“In the name of the Goddess, what have you done?” Hard hands clasped her shoulder, wrenching her around. She no longer had the strength to fight him, and she lay quiet as he ripped the sheet from her body. The bed was drenched with blood, warm around her cold body.
Her eyes fluttered closed. Behind her lids, she saw a vision of a woman, dark-haired, pale-skinned, with the mark of three sickle moons on her right cheek. Freya gazed upon the face of the Goddess and knew she hovered on the edge of death. So close now.
No!
The word was clear in her mind.
It’s not your time yet.
But I want to come.
Save your daughter. Her name is Shayla, and she’s needed. Do this, Freya, or Arroway will die.
Then she was gone.
Freya shivered as regret washed through her, followed by resolve, and a fleeting spark of joy. The Goddess had not deserted them.
She pried her lids open. The warlock sat on the edge of her bed.
He grabbed her hand and swore as he stared down at her wrist. The flow had slowed, but blood still oozed from the jagged wound.
His staff clattered to the stone floor as he pulled a key from his pocket and released her from the chain that tied her to the bed. He tore a strip off the sheet and wrapped it tightly around her forearm, stemming the flow of blood.
“Why?” he asked.
“Couldn’t let you do to her what you have done to me,” she mum-bled.“Goddess, I was almost too late.” He ran a hand through his hair.
“Can you move?”
Freya tried to push herself up, but her arms were too weak. She managed a slight shake of her head. He studied her for a moment, then reached down and picked up his staff. Holding it over her, he whispered the words of a spell, and strength flowed into her limbs.
Her body pulsed with the power, and inside her, the baby responded, kicking out hard and strong. Freya lay still and savored the feeling.
“Is the baby alive?” he asked.
She nodded.
“Good. I’m here to help you both.”
“Why?”
For the first time, he appeared uncertain. “You don’t know who I am?”
“You’re a warlock. I don’t need to know any more.”
“I...” He trailed off as if unsure what to tell her, then reached out a hand and stroked her cheek.
The touch was light, but she flinched and jerked her head away.
She didn’t understand what this man wanted from her, and she didn’t care. She didn’t trust him, but for her daughter’s sake, she would accept his help and worry about his motivations when she was free.
Free.
Was it possible?
She sat up, and his gaze dropped to her breasts, heavy now. Her body was awkward, clumsy as she rose to her feet, dragging the sheet with her and wrapping it around her body.
He led her out of the small room into a wide corridor. Torches along the wall lighted the way. They saw no one, and he finally came to a halt at a heavy wooden door that led out into the main courtyard.
He turned to her. “I’m Jarrod.”
She shrugged. She cared nothing for who he was.
“I’ve cast a spell,” he said. “Cleared the way. There is a small door, to the right of the main gate—it should be open. If you head due south, I’ve left clothes and supplies under the big oak tree not far from the walls.”
She nodded and he continued. “Wait for me there.”
“What?”
“I’m coming with you. I need to stay and make sure the spells hold until you get clear. I’ll join you as soon as I can.” She cast a sharp glance at his face. She didn’t want him with her.
She would be happy never to set eyes on a warlock again as long
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