Free Warrior Untamed by Melissa Mayhue Page A

his lungs as if he fought off some great pain.
    Unable to stop herself, Brie reached for his hand, holding on as his grip tightened around her fingers.
    “And you tie it, just so. You see? Twice around and tie it again. You can do this, yes? Yes.” Editha answered her own question, nodding to herself as she rose to her feet and brushed her hands off on the long folds of her brightly colored skirt.
    Halldor squeezed Brie’s hand and then released his hold, pushing himself up to stand and offering a hand to assist Brie. Already the normal skin tone had returned to his face and he seemed steadier on his feet.
    “Excellent work, my lady Tinkler.” He bowed hishead respectfully before turning to catch up his horse’s reins. “I feel well enough to return to our hunt for—”
    “Three days at most,” Editha cut in. “Time to reach Rowan Cottage if you hurry, but nothing more.”
    “Reclaiming the sword is more important than what might happen to me.”
    “No!” Brie’s cry overshadowed the Tinkler’s.
    “You are wrong, Halldor O’Donar.” Editha pointed a finger in his direction, her voice taking on a musical quality Brie hadn’t heard before. “You must live. Perhaps you forget that you are indebted to me—and not even death frees you from a debt owed the Fae.”
    The Fae? Brie had no time to consider Editha’s startling revelation or Halldor’s apparent lack of surprise at the Tinkler’s words.
    He ran his free hand down over his mouth and chin as if he’d forgotten his beard was no longer there. “Even if I go along as you say, the protections set at Rowan Cottage will prevent my entry. We both know that.”
    “Bridget will gain your entry,” Editha responded. “Trust in her.”
    The Tinkler was correct—Halldor should trust her. By the Seven, nothing would keep her from getting him the help he needed. Not Torquil, not this creature Fenrir, and certainly not the big, stubborn warrior standing beside her.

T welve
    T HE DIFFERENCE IN how his shoulder felt since the Tinkler had bandaged him was amazing. Hall could still feel the evil seething just under the skin, but not as pronounced as it had been before. His strength had returned, though he accepted this to be a temporary state of well-being. The evil would win out as the Tinkler had warned, of that he had no doubt.
    None of Asgard’s bloodline could hope to survive an encounter with the business end of the Sword of the Ancients.
    He would do his best to reach Rowan Cottage as Editha Faas had instructed. Considering his debt to her, his honor demanded it. But knowing as he now did that Orabilis was not a witch but a powerful Faerie healer, he had little hope of making it through her defenses to obtain her help. No matter what Bridget said, if Orabilis had designed those defenses to keep out the descendents of Asgard, there was no way he was getting past.
    A sideward glance brought Bridget’s profile intoview. She rode tall in her saddle, back straight, eyes focused into the distance. A whole range of adjectives flooded his mind every time he looked at the woman.
    Strong. Determined. Proud. Beautiful.
    A ridiculous thought, that last one. Her beauty was of no matter to him. Even if he weren’t doomed by his encounter with the Sword of the Ancients, no woman in the whole of this world would be interested in tying her fate to a man like him. A being like him. He was bound in service to an ancient god, his whole life at the mercy of Thor’s every whim.
    Bridget brushed a stray curl from her face and a spear of regret stabbed through Hall’s heart.
    Funny, how traveling the world in defense of Mortals who called on Thor for help had never rankled before. Maybe it was only his own mortality that made it feel like such a burden now.
    “What?” she asked, turning to catch him staring at her.
    “Nothing.” She arched an eyebrow and he was forced to come up with a better response. “Fine, then. I was only wondering how much longer you might last