Beyond the Highland Myst(168)

Hatchard sped off for the loch, unaware of two other people who'd been alerted by the shouting and were hot on his heels.

* * * * *

Hatchard found Grimm standing motionless, a black shadow against the misty red sky. He was facing the water, standing amidst the scraps of what had once been an animal. His arms and face were covered with blood.

"Gavrael," Hatchard said quietly, using his real name in hopes of reaching the man within the beast.

Grimm did not reply. His chest rose and fell rapidly. His body was pumped up with the massive quantities of oxygen a Berserker inhaled to compensate for the preternatural rage. The veins in his corded forearms pulsed dark blue against his skin, and, Hatchard marveled, he seemed twice as large as he normally was. Hatchard had seen Grimm in the thick of Berserker rage several times when he'd trained the fosterling, but the mature Grimm wore it far more dangerously than the stripling lad had.

"Gavrael Roderick Icarus McIllioch," Hatchard said. He approached him from the side, trying to enter Grimm's line of vision in as innocuous a manner as possible. Behind him, two figures stopped in the shadows of the forest. One of them gasped softly and echoed the name.

"Gavrael, it's me, Hatchard," Hatchard repeated gently.

Grimm turned and looked directly at the chief man-at-arms. The warrior's blue eyes were incandescent, glowing like banked coals, and Hatchard received a disconcerting lesson in what it felt like to have someone look straight through him.

A strangled noise behind him compelled Hatchard's attention. Turning, he realized Zeke had trailed him.

"Ohmigod," Zeke breathed. He trundled closer, peering intently at the ground, then paused mere inches from Grimm. His eyes widened enormously as he scanned the small bits of what had once been a rabid mountain cat, savage enough to shred a grown man and, driven by the blood sickness, mad enough to attempt it. His astonished gaze drifted upward to Grimm's brilliant blue eyes, and he nearly rose on his tiptoes, staring. "He's a Berserker!" Zeke breathed reverently. "Look, his eyes are glowing! They do exist!"

"Fetch Quinn, Zeke. Now," Hatchard commanded. "Bring no one else but Quinn, no matter what. Do you understand? And not a word of this to anyone!"

Zeke stole one last worshiping look. "Aye," he said, then fled to get Quinn.




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CHAPTER 18




"i truly doubt he ripped the animal to pieces, Zeke. It isn't healthy to exaggerate," Jillian reprimanded, masking her amusement to protect the boy's sensitive feelings.

"I didn't exaggerate," Zeke said passionately, "I told the truth! I was down by the loch and a rabid mountain cat attacked me and Grimm threw me on his horse and caught the beastie in mid-leap and killed it with one flick o' his wrist! He's a Berserker, he is! I knew he was special! Hmmph!" The little boy snorted. "He doesn't need to be a puny laird—he's king o' the warriors! He's a legend!"

Hatchard took Zeke firmly by the arm and tugged him away from Jillian. "Go find your mother, lad, and do it now" He fixed Zeke with a glower that dared him to disobey, then snorted as the boy fled the room. He met Jillian's gaze and shrugged. "You know how wee lads are. They must have their fairy tales."

"Is Grimm all right?" Jillian asked breathlessly. Her en tire body ached in a most pleasurable way. Every move was a subtle reminder of the things he'd done to her, the things she'd begged him to do before the night had ended.

"Right as rain," Hatchard replied dryly. "The animal was indeed rabid, but don't worry, it didn't manage to bite him."

"Did Grimm kill it?" A rabid mountain cat could decimate an entire herd of sheep in less than a fortnight. They wouldn't usually attack a man, but apparently Zeke had been small enough and the beast had been sick enough to try it.

"Yes," Hatchard replied tersely. "He and Quinn are burying it now," he lied with cool aplomb. There hadn't been enough left to bury, but neither love nor gold could have persuaded Hatchard to tell Jillian that. He winced inwardly. Had the infected mountain cat bitten Zeke even once, the boy would have been contaminated by the ferocious animal's blood sickness and died within days, foaming at the mouth in excruciating agony. Praise the saints Grimm had been there, and praise Odin for his special talents, or Caithness would have been singing funeral dirges and weeping.

"Zeke rode Occam all by himself," Jillian marveled aloud.

Hatchard glanced up and smiled faintly. "That he did, and it saved his life, milady."

Jillian's expression was thoughtful as she headed for the door. "If Grimm hadn't believed in the lad enough to try to teach him, Zeke might never have been able to escape."