Warrior Untamed by Melissa Mayhue Page A

gone, battling some new enemy, leaving her to a life of loneliness.
    Not that it mattered now. He’d be lucky to live through the day, so worrying over how often Thor dispatched him to see to the welfare of one of his believers was of little consequence.
    All he could do now was put her out of his mind and focus his efforts to stay alive. In the long run it was better this way, the way he had always known his life was meant to be.
    What life he had left, anyway.
    He couldn’t hold on much longer. Between keeping the rain at bay and the vile Magic eating its waythrough his body, he’d about reached the limit of his strength. Pain radiated out from the wound and up into his neck. For the past several minutes, he couldn’t quite get that side of his face to work as it should. His eye drooped shut, no matter how hard he struggled to keep it open. His shoulder felt as if lightning bolts sawed back and forth within the wound, and that was with the bandage-wrapped jewels firmly in place.
    Day three, the maximum extent of time the Faerie had allotted him.
    He lifted his hand up toward the west, his shaky palm facing him. Four fingers’ distance remained between the sun and the horizon. On this last day Editha had given him to reach Rowan Cottage, maybe an hour of daylight remained, and he was fading fast.
    The way he felt now, he wouldn’t last to see another sunset.
    He tied a knot in the end of his reins, slipped them down over his head, and fitted them under his arms. When he lost consciousness, that precaution might at least keep him in the saddle. If he fell to the ground, he doubted Bridget’s ability to get him back on the horse, though he didn’t doubt her willingness to try.
    The woman was stubborn to a fault. It was one of the traits he’d come to admire most in her. That and her temper.
    “It willna be long now. We’re close,” Bridget called over her shoulder, continuing the repetitive encouragement she’d adopted over the past hour. “Oh, bother it all, the rains are back.”
    So they were. He had no choice but to let something go, and it was taking everything he had left just to remain upright on his horse.
    “Sorry,” he managed to mumble, but doubted she’d heard him. He wasn’t even sure he’d heard it himself.
    He regretted all the people he’d be letting down. Regretted how angry Bridget would be that she hadn’t been able to get him to Rowan Cottage in time. Most of all, he regretted that he wouldn’t get to witness it. Nothing he’d ever seen was quite as beautiful as Bridget MacCulloch in full rage, her eyes sparkling with the fire of her emotions, her cheeks pink with the heat of her anger, her tongue honed to its sharpest point as she argued her case.
    He would miss that.
    The only thing he could think of that was more beautiful than Bridget in full fury was Bridget lying beneath him, her eyes unfocused with a need he was prepared to meet.
    He didn’t want to leave that behind. Perhaps he could hang on just a bit longer . . . but no. Even as the thought flared, all control drained from his arms and his back began to buckle.
    He pitched forward as if in slow motion, to bury his face in the wet hair on his mount’s neck.
    B EHIND HER, THE sound of hoofbeats slowed to a stop and Brie huffed out an irritated breath. They’d stopped too often today already. If Hall didn’t get amove on, it was going to take until well after dark to reach Rowan Cottage. They were running out of time.
    “How many times do I have to tell you to keep up with me? Yer no helping in the least, when you constantly . . .”
    Her tirade faded to a stop as she turned. “No, no, no, no, no,” she cried, hopping down from her mount to race to his side. “Hall? Hall! Answer me, damn you!”
    He lay sprawled facedown on his horse’s neck, motionless.
    Had the bandage slipped again? That must be it. She wouldn’t accept anything else. She’d simply redress the bandage, snugging the jewels over the wound