Warrior's Last Gift

Chapter One

            Castle MacGahan, Scotland

            Winter, 1294


Chewing her own foot off would be more pleasant than what she was preparing to do.

            Jeanne MacGhie Horvesson lifted her chin and knocked upon the big wooden door leading to the soldiers’ barracks.

            “Do I look to be a damned kitchen maid that I might wait upon yer every need? Can you no open the damned door for yer ownself, you lowlife—Oh.” The face of the big man who opened the door to her knock colored a dull red. “Begging yer pardon, Mistress Horvesson. I thought it one of the men who—How may I be of service to you?”

            Jeanne wasn’t surprised by his reaction. Since Eymer’s death in service to their laird, all the men treated her with the utmost respect.

            Respect she hardly deserved but was determined to earn.

            “I wish to speak to yer captain.”

            In truth, the captain was the last man she wished to speak with, but there was no one else for her to turn to. And she’d given her oath that she would do this.

            “If you’ll but wait here, I’ll see if he’s yet returned from—”

            “I’m here.” Eric MacNicol stepped from the shadows of the long hallway, his gaze riveted on her.

            For an instant, it felt as though her foolish body had forgotten how to take its next breath. But then she remembered and forced herself to push aside the anxiety, shoving it back into the secret box where it dwelt. This wasn’t about her. She was here for Eymer.

            The big guardsman dipped his head respectfully and made a discreet exit as Eric approached her.

            “It’s well past time that I should have delivered my condolences on the loss of yer . . .” Eric paused, glancing down to his hands and back up again. “On Eymer’s death. He was a true warrior and a good man.”

            “That he was,” she agreed. Perhaps the kindest, most caring man she’d ever known.

            “Why have you come here? What would you have of me, Je—” He bit her name off, clamping his lips into a thin, straight line before he recovered himself and continued. “Mistress Horvesson.”

            Jeanne hated the cold blanket of formality and disdain that lay between them, but it was for the best. Besides, she had no more control over Eric’s feelings than she did over her own. Were that the case, the last year and half of her life likely would have been a very different story.

            She drew a deep breath, once again reminding herself that her visit here today was not about her feelings. Or Eric’s. She had a promise to keep.

            “I’ve come to ask a boon of you, Eric MacNicol. A final boon on behalf of Eymer Horvesson.”

            Eric’s expression blanked as if a curtain had dropped across his eyes, hiding any true emotion.

            “Tell me what it is you’d have of me. I’ll do whatever I can.”

            “Eymer’s wish, his one and only request of me ever, was that should he die, he wanted to receive a proper Viking burial. He wanted his body set adrift in a burning vessel dedicated to the patron god of his family, Thor.”

            For just an instant, pity shone starkly in Eric’s face.

            “You ken there’s naught I can do to make that happen for him, Jeanne. His body canna be reclaimed from the MacDowylt stronghold. His fate would await any who approached Tordenet’s gates.”

            Did he honestly think her that stupid? She knew the laird who’d ordered her husband’s death would never release his body to them. But Eymer had considered such a possibility before he’d left Castle MacGahan on his trek north.