Chapter Eight

I sat before the smoldering coals in Maeve’s tent, warming my numb hands. Maeve had left to meet with one of her warriors, leaving me in the grim company of Scáthach. I had eaten a simple dinner of black bread and some strange-smelling cheese, and I washed it down with a cup of wine that left me with a fuzzy head and drooping eyelids. I thought of the bull beyond the hills, the tiny black dot surrounded by hundreds of guards. I couldn’t just zip in and out. Not if I wanted to get home. I had to deliver this beast to Maeve and somehow still get a sample. The quick zap in and out I had planned in Morven’s tent seemed so naive at that moment, and my weary head couldn’t even begin to wrap itself around the series of problems now facing me.

Stifling a yawn, I turned to my sullen guard. “So what’s the plan for stealing this bull?”

Scáthach snorted. “You tell me, sorceress.”

“I want to strike soon,” I said. “Tomorrow.”

“We will strike when the Queen decides.”

I bit back a silent scream, exhaling and settling back on the cushions. “I would need some kind of cover,” I began thinking out loud, picking invisible lint from my trousers. “Might take me a few seconds to snatch it away, and I wouldn’t want to be out in the open.” I glanced back at Scáthach. “I can get a few soldiers in there and get us back.”

Scáthach nodded, taking a deep sip of wine. “How many?”

“Three? Maybe four to be safe.”

“Done.”

I leaned forward. “And then, there’s the matter of the bull itself. If I transport it back here, I don’t want to be gored by it. We’ll need people who can rope it down or something. Make sure I can get away safely.”

Scáthach smirked. “Would you like anything else? A bed of roses for your landing? Perhaps some pillows?”

I frowned, leaning back on my elbow. “Are you going to mock me, or are you going to help me get this bull, because it looks like your lady is pretty set on it.”

The warrior woman looked away and stood up, grabbing her spear. “She’s not my lady.”

Scáthach’s voice was like ice, and she drifted to the back of the tent, her shoulders tense. “You can sleep back here in the Queen’s tent with me. You’re too valuable otherwise.”

“Fine.” I stood up with a stretch, following Scáthach to her corner where a pile of blankets lay tucked under a woven mat.

The warrior woman pointed to a strip on the ground. “You sleep there.”

I rubbed my shoulders, a damp chill flooding my bones with the fire so far away. “You don’t have an extra blanket or something?”

Scáthach made a low growl in the back of her throat and plopped down on her mat, turning over on her side.

“Okay, I guess that’s a no,” I said beneath my breath.

Pulling up my cloak, I curled up on the ground beside her.

Outside the tent, the camp still pulsed with life. Soldiers calling out orders, horses whinnying, the endless clamor of pounded metal as the blacksmith forged more arrows. Sleep pulled at me, but the events of the day had my mind whirring. I recalled something Finn had told me once about my spear. That the only person who could teach me how to wield it was the warrior woman Scáthach. An idea formed in my fuzzy head.

“Scáthach,” I whispered.

She gave a low, annoyed grunt.

“Do you ever, you know…teach people how to fight?” My throat tightened, and I tried to spit out the words. “Like, uh, with a spear?”

She paused, and for a long time I thought she had fallen asleep. Then she turned around, her eyes blazing.

“Why do you want to know?”

I shrank away. “Just wondering.”

She sat up, throwing her shoulders back. “I have trained the finest warriors this world has ever known. There is no man or woman I cannot teach.”

I stifled a smile, thinking about Grainne screaming at me to use “my other right” as we did various attack variations and then holding her head in her hands and walking away as I tripped on my own feet. Grainne had the patience of a saint, but she was no match for my eternal clumsiness.

“If there’s time, would you mind showing me a few things?” I asked.

Scáthach frowned and turned abruptly away from me.

Okay…

I paused, playing with one of the tassels on the rugs that served as my bed. “I could do you a favor, like with Queen Maeve. If there’s something or someone you need—”

“Don’t presume to know what I need,” she snapped.

“Right.”

I let out a sigh and shook my head. “Listen, I know you don’t trust me. But something brought me here. To you. And Maeve. I think the gods wanted me to find you.”

She let out a barking laugh. “And now, she presumes to know what the gods want. Go to sleep, sorceress, and stop asking me nonsense questions.”

I turned and laid on my back, staring into the shadows. I wanted nothing more than to sleep, but no matter how I tried, slumber eluded me. A cold chill emanated from the ground, seeping into my bones, and I shivered, wishing I had a blanket or something to keep me warm. Wishing I had Finn.

Finn.

My heart clenched at the thought of him waiting for me in the future. What if I couldn’t find Bel? I closed my eyes tight, suppressing a scream welling up in my throat. My arms ached for him, and I bit my lip, imagining his mouth on mine, his hot breath against my ear. I sought out his energy, flying through the astral plane to seek out his light. Nothing but darkness greeted me—the tie between us severed utterly. Finn didn’t exist yet, and I didn’t have the power on my own to sail across time to find him.

I rolled on my side, letting out a deep breath. I had spent the past year as the pawn of one entity or the other. I had to keep going. Get the blood. Find Bel. Destroy the device. And if I couldn’t do that, I would somehow get back to the future, return to Teamhair, and burn it all down.

The tent door flew open, and the sound of giggling pierced through my vengeful fantasies. Maeve stumbled inside, a hulking male warrior following in her wake and grabbing her waist to keep her from tumbling to the floor.

“Watch yourself, love,” he murmured, pulling her close to the length of his body.

She pressed a hard, passionate kiss to his lips, running her fingers into his hair and rolling her curvy body against his. His palms spread across her ass, and he lifted her up, her legs encircling his torso. He roared something insensible and carried her to a quiet spot in the other corner of the cavernous tent, pulling a sheer curtain behind him. The sound of slapping skin, wet, seeking kisses, and lusty moans filled the space, and I rolled over with a sigh.

A pair of big, shimmering eyes met mine. Even in the darkness, Scáthach’s face appeared drained of life, and she blinked back a flood of tears. She frowned, snarling at me.

“Go to sleep, witch!” she hissed.

I shook my head, turning back to the other side. Maeve’s moans grew louder and louder, climaxing in a throaty scream. I shut my eyes tight, and minutes later, in spite of the wild sexual congress taking place in the tent, I drifted off to a fitful sleep.