“We must get her in a different chamber,” Gillespie said. “Can she walk?”
“She doesna need to walk.” Duncan stood smoothly with her held in his arms.
“I can walk,” she protested weakly. Her gaze was distant and her head wobbled slightly.
Duncan adjusted her in his arms to ensure she was secure. “But ye willna.”
Before she could struggle against him, he carried her from the chamber, leaving the ravaged state of it behind them. He took her to the chamber nearest his, the one with lushly appointed golden yellow velvet. The one which had belonged to his mother.
A servant flitted about within, her movements so fast, they appeared jerky as she dusted a tabletop. Her hair fell down her back in a bushy brown mass. Duncan’s boots thudded over the hard floor and the woman jumped, dropping the rag she’d been holding.
“Sorry,” she squeaked. “So sorry.” Her beady gaze darted around the room before she raced out with the same impossible speed she’d cleaned with.
Gillespie shrugged. “Squirrels.”
Evina struggled in Duncan’s arms, pushing at him until he had no choice but to lightly set her on the ground. Her cheeks were no longer pale, rather they were flushed with the same rage which left her eyes a deep, stormy gray.
“What has happened?” she demanded. “What attacked me? What had you put in my bed?”
Duncan tried to relax his face, to maintain a seemingly innocent countenance. “Ye should lay down.”
“Nay.” she stabbed a finger into the air at him. “I’ve no’ bled a drop in my entire life, and yet I nearly died.”
Duncan’s heart slid into his stomach. “Ye did die. Gillespie…” He observed the older man in quiet wonder. “Gillespie brought ye back to life.”
Gillespie shook his head. “I dinna bring her back to life. I’m no’ that strong. I simply returned the blood into her body. I’d hoped she would be able to do the rest.” He grinned, a wide, excited grin. “And she did. Because of who she is.”
Evina shook her head. “I dinna understand.”
“Ye mean ye dinna know?” Gillespie’s brow pinched.
Duncan shook his head. “She was left at a monastery as a lass. She dinna know her parents.” There would be more to explain to Gillespie later. Aye, he’d seen Duncan’s rage, but he didn’t understand what had prompted such destruction.
Gillespie stepped toward her, and put a long, thin hand on her shoulder. “Ye, my dear, are a daughter of Morrigan.”
PERHAPS EVINA SHOULD HAVE LAID down. The floor seemed to waver under her feet and left her knees soft. Duncan had been right to carry her into the chamber, though she’d never admit it. Her flesh still hummed with a pleasant warmth where her body had pressed against his. Not that it helped her believe a tale so preposterous.
“Ye spin some wild tales, Gillespie,” she said. There was a tightness in her chest. Surely it wasn’t hope. “I am many things, but a goddess’ daughter isna one of them.”
The men exchanged looks.
“I dinna believe ye’d question it if ye witnessed what we did, lass,” Gillespie said.
“Dinna ye ever wonder about yerself?” Duncan asked. “Ye said ye dinna bleed until now. Ye’ve said ye’re the only surviving member of a band of mercenaries in a battle where no one else survived. Have ye truly no’ ever questioned these things?”
Evina gave in to the weakness in her legs and sat down hard on the edge of the bed. She had ruminated over those things, to be sure. Her whole life, she’d been curious. Why didn’t she bleed? Why did she survive? After so many of her comrades dying, how did she emerge without so much as a scratch or a nick?
“This.” Gillespie lifted a spearhead, rusty and chipped. “This was enchanted to only cut a daughter of Morrigan. We put the layers of mattresses over it to ensure it was not overpowered. Did it no’ cut ye last night?”
Evina’s face blazed. “It did. But a warrior doesna complain about their weakness. And it only sliced when I would fall asleep.”
“Of course. I should have expected as much.” Gillespie gave a wry chuckle. “Sleeping is the only time a daughter of Morrigan ever has her guard down enough to keep from deflecting the hit.”
That part did make sense. She had never been hit in battle, her moves too quick, too deft.
“Why?” Evina demanded. “Why would ye put that in my bed?”
Duncan lifted his brows at Gillespie, who paused before answering. “We had to ensure ye were absolutely the daughter of Morrigan. I had my suspicions, but I couldna be sure.”
“Ye could have asked.” Evina folded her arms over her chest.
“We dinna want ye to be aware we knew,” Gillespie answered. “I’m endeavoring to create a spell to free Duncan and I required a daughter of Morrigan for it. We worried if ye knew, it would complicate matters. We dinna anticipate ye’d strip the mattresses from the bed. It was unexpected.”
Evina remained quiet. She had been the one to strip the bed. That was not their fault. “What do ye want from me? From a-a” She broke off, unable to say the words: Daughter of Morrigan. The idea was far too extraordinary.
“I…I I’m uncertain as yet.” It was the first time Gillespie faltered and it left Evina questioning the truth of his words.
There was a reason they wanted proof as to who her mother was, but they weren’t saying it. Not that it mattered. She would find out.
Evina hadn’t paid much mind to the Gods and their stories. They had never had an impact on her as they had with others. Or so she’d thought. It appeared they had impacted her entire life. Or at least one had.
Morrigan.
The goddess of death and war.
It was no wonder Evina had taken so easily to weaponry and battle, nor how she’d walked away from every fight alive. The blood in her veins had been forged by death and war.
She had been born for the life she led.
Why then had Morrigan not claimed her,
