Forged in Dreams and Magick (Highland Legends #1)(96)
A heavy hand squeezed my shoulder, and I glanced up through bleary eyes.
Sennian.
He pulled me up into his arms and held me while I shook like a nearly drowned cat pulled from an icy lake. Finally, the tears ceased, a numb calm spreading into my veins like a morphine injection.
As my body settled down, I pushed away from protection I didn’t want. Sennian released his hold, and I turned around to face harsh reality. Everything felt foreign.
My state of shock lifted me out of my head, casting me aloft as an observer to the events going on around me. Two men carefully wrapped Velloc’s body in discarded furs and draped the bundle with reverent care over his horse.
With my head vacant of thoughts, I walked toward Malibu, but Sennian intercepted me.
I looked into pleading, darkened eyes. Onyx hair framed his dirty, blue-painted face. “Isobel, ride with me. I can protect you, and Velloc would want you safe.”
By default, Sennian had become tribal leader, even if no one formally acknowledged the fact yet. I sighed. Reason hadn’t returned to my traumatized mind, and I had no strength left to argue.
With no reply as answer enough, Sennian guided me to his stallion. He mounted the animal first then gripped my upper arms firmly, hoisting me up in front of him. The rest of our tribesmen quickly gathered the last of the belongings, preparing to leave.
A small group struck out ahead of us, heading back north. Sennian’s arms caged me protectively as he grabbed the reins, leading his horse to follow the others into the dense forest.
Enough moonlight broke through sparse cloud cover to illuminate several riders ahead. My unblinking eyes stared at the horse that carried its fur-wrapped burden. The slow pace and somber mood made it seem like the funeral procession had already begun.
Thankful I could see his body, rather than have it ominously behind us, I found small comfort in knowing that even in death, Velloc remained in good hands. I wondered if his soul had gone elsewhere. Surely, it had gone somewhere, his energy in life having connected so readily to the world and all its living creatures.
I growled. Feelings of loss and frustration at the beautiful facets of a vibrant man whose life had been cut short—who would never take another breath—threatened to overwhelm me again. I needed to get out of my heart and back into my head to make it through the journey.
“Talk to me, Sennian. What about the battle?”
I felt his chest inhale deeply and exhale slowly against my back.
“Tonight’s battle is over. Our attack wounded them severely in body and mind. Now we see if the enemy retreats and reconsiders a foolish claim on land they will never hold.”
“How will you know?” The tribes had all packed up and left, from what I’d seen.
“Scouts will remain. There’s no need to stay when we’re only a few days ride from home.”
Home.
A bright moment of clarity pierced through the heavy shroud of depression. “Sennian, we have to go to the Lugi first. We need to meet with Drust. Velloc would’ve insisted upon it.”
Sennian’s entire body moved, his chin brushing the top of my head as he nodded. “Very well, Isobel. The Lugi are on our way.”
The moment I visualized Brodie Castle, that strong, familiar tug of energy pulled at my core. In my darkest hour, I smiled. Something along the timeline had clicked a stuck tumbler into place, unlocking the passage out of Velloc’s world.
Like a silent boarding call for the only passenger on the plane that could ever hear it . . .
I’d been summoned . . . home.
CHAPTER Thirty-three
A cold wind bit at my wet skin as I rose from the hot spring, but I ignored the discomfort. Linen towels warmed by a nearby fire were wrapped around me. Attendants led me over by the flames and sat me down on a stone bench.
Scota’s friendly face smiled as she knelt before me. She took a dampened cloth and wiped my face. With careful precision, she dipped a brush into a pot of woad paint and traced over the faint stain marks, darkening every symbol that Velloc had painted less than twenty-four hours ago.
I dressed with care. After I politely declined a fresh change of clothes, my clothing had been cleaned, thanks to Scota’s thoughtfulness.
As I pulled on my leather pants, tying the strands at the waist, I remembered how Velloc had left part of my outfit for me that first morning in his village. I fastened the same bikini top, recalling every time he deftly removed the scrap of material with a pull of his fingers and a smirk on his face.
With a duck of my head, I slung the bow and quiver of arrows over my back. I squatted and strapped my ax to my ankle. I rose up and adjusted the scabbard hanging on my left hip. My fur, fastened by a jewel-encrusted, golden torque gifted from Scota, draped over my left shoulder.
The women surrounded me as we walked together toward the sea. We passed by a line of Caereni tribesmen who fanned along the entire edge of the cliff as far as I could see.
Sennian, Drust, and many elder tribesmen joined the procession as we made our way down to the beach. We descended winding steps that had been cut into the earth and fortified with stone.
A small crescent of golden beach lined a bay that calmed the power of the ocean’s waves. An enormous funeral pyre built upon buoyant logs gently rose and fell with the lapping of the water. Velloc’s body lay in peaceful repose at the top.
I walked to the edge of the structure, kissed my fingers, and placed them briefly on his cold, blue lips. My hand dropped to my side, gripping the hilt of the sword he’d lovingly trained me on.