IN THE SUBTERRANEAN level of Dun Mor, Brennus stood at the back of Ruadri’s healing chamber and watched as the shaman used a new blade to cut away the lass’s shredded trews. He’d already applied woundwort and yarrow to the wounds he had exposed. Brennus’s gut knotted as he took in all of the ugly gashes slashing across her delicate skin. To see her like this made him want to return to the mountain with the clan and kill everything that moved.

“’Tis no’ so bad,” Ruadri said, his voice low and soft. “She’s chilled, but that slowed the bleeding. She’ll be hobbled for a time, but I reckon ’twill all mend.”

Brennus pushed some of the damp hair away from the swelling gash on the side of her head. “And the blow she took here?”

“I’ll ken more of that when she wakes. Better there than the back of her neck. That ’twould have ended her.” The shaman regarded him. “When you carried her in, Bren, you said she saved you. How did you mean, saved?”

“Just so. I crossed the path of two famhairean, and they attacked me.” Brennus let the delicate strands of her hair sift through his fingers before he stepped back. “Both had me pinned when she came from the forest and turned them to ice. Froze them to their cores with but a touch of her hands.”

“Did she utter a spell before she touched them?” When Brennus shook his head Ruadri rubbed the back of his broad neck. “’Tis no’ a tree-knower’s gift. Did you see the black-haired healer?”

“Only this lass, and I’ve never seen the like of what she did. Once the giants fell from me I broke them apart like riddled kindling. They discarded their remains and used two more trees to attack her.” He nodded at her legs. “Their roots did that when they seized her.”

“So the giants still can use other trees, but cannae die. Our luck remains dismal.” The shaman covered her with a fleece before he went over to toss more wood on the chamber’s hearth. “I gave her a potion for the pain. ’Twill keep her asleep for the night. Now you should go and attend to the clan.”

Brennus frowned. “What of the men?”

“They ken that you’ve brought a young, beautiful woman to Dun Mor. Some saw her and her strange garments. She’s no’ from our land. I cannae open that satchel she had strapped to her back.” Ruadri glanced at the unconscious female. “To have her here among us, even for me to treat her wounds, ’twould never have been permitted.”

“Before we rose, no,” Brennus told him. “We shall live as all men do now.”

The shaman’s expression grew thoughtful. “But after so long, can we?”

“If I’ve to beat the freedom into your heads, aye, we will.” He strode out of the chamber and mounted the stairs up to the keepe level, where most of the clan had gathered around the hearth. They collectively turned to look at him, their expressions guarded but their eyes filled with strong emotions.

“War, Weapons, Horse, counsel in my chambers. Bring the lass’s satchel.” Brennus deliberately let his gaze sweep around the room. “The rest of you, find a bed and sleep. We shall speak of this and other matters on the morrow.”

The men reluctantly scattered while Brennus led his advisors below ground. While he had been at the mountain the clan had repaired his door and done much to make his chamber more habitable. The old decayed furnishings had been removed, and in their place stood a new bed draped with blue silk over a generous pile of snowy fleece. Fine curtains and tapestries covered the stained walls, and a thick rug stretched out under a big, grand-looking hide chair by the hearth.

“We couldnae buy much made garb, but we found a tailor willing to send for more. He’ll clothe the clan within sevenday. An obliging herd of sheep in the next valley provided bedding,” Cadeyrn said as he watched the chieftain inspect the room. “Kanyth fashioned shears from what iron could be salvaged.”

“I’ve a mountain of rust in the forge’s upper stores,” the weapons master admitted. “But the ore in the undercroft remains intact and dry. ’Tis enough to fashion ten thousand blades.”

“We want but a hundred,” Brennus said. He knew the pain his half-brother would suffer while making weapons for the men, for his power over iron came with a price. “Dinnae burn yourself to the bone in the making, Ka.”

His men listened without comment as Brennus related what had happened when he’d been attacked at the lochan. Once he finished, Cadeyrn began to scowl and pace. Kanyth grinned and Taran looked alarmed.

“I cannae think of what to do with the lady,” Brennus said, prompting his second to stop and give him an incredulous look. “Dinnae be crass, Cade. She’s no’ a pleasure lass. Nor shall I permit her to be treated as one.”

“’Tis the only manner of wench we’ve ever ken,” Cadeyrn reminded him as he picked up the satchel and studied the long, odd-looking seam at the top. He pulled a tiny metal tab, and the seam parted with a slithering sound. He tugged it in the opposite direction, and the seam closed again. “What do you make of that? ’Tis unnatural.”

“’Tis a fastener,” Brennus said, keeping a straight face. “Mayhap she’ll teach you to make such.”

“So comes true my dream to be apprenticed to a satchel-maker.” Cadeyrn sighed. “She’s a tree-knower, Bren. I say we hand her back to her people. She’s their burden, no’ ours.”

“I say no’,” Kanyth put in. “She did save you, Chieftain, and ’tis no’ a debt to be repaid with words.”

Brennus regarded his half-brother. “What do you reckon as fitting?”

“To abide here in safety with the Skaraven.” He folded his big hands behind his back. “This ice magic she possesses to vanquish the famhairean, ’twould be useful to us. As mine has been, and mayhap more so. She could teach Ruadri the magic she wields. He’s clever and strong enough to resist her beauty. She mentioned others. We may go take them from the giants and learn if they have similar gifts.”

“You dinnae ken what she is,” Taran said suddenly. “Flen said the giants came back from the future. Mayhap they stole her from that time. If ’tis so, we should strive to return her.”

Brennus thought all their advice had some weight to it, but he could not see himself handing the lass over to the druids. Nor could he use her for her magic. Even if it could somehow be managed, the prospect of returning her to a distant future made him feel as if he contemplated cutting off an arm or leg.

Why she seemed so important to him remained a mystery. Nor could he fathom how he would ever repay her for the life-debt. Until he understood the first and resolved the second, he’d keep the lady safe.

“She’s too hurt to travel,” he finally told his men. “She’ll stay below for now. I’ll watch over her while I think on it.”

His second nodded and left, and after a long, troubled look Taran did the same. That left him alone with his half-brother, who waited with his arms folded, and one brow raised.

“Dinnae prod me, Ka,” Brennus told him. “Else you want your face less comely.”

Kanyth’s roofbeam shoulders rolled. “Use it if you wish. I’ll heal by morn.” He winked. “And I’ll always be prettier than you.”

“Before Flen’s awakening, I had a vision of the lady,” he found himself admitting. “She knelt in the forest, gathering ferns.”

“A pretty fancy, but that isnae what troubles you.” His brother eyed the satchel. “What of her, then?”

“I saw her face again tonight, when she ran to save me,” Brennus admitted. “’Twas plain, the fear she felt. She ken that she would likely die in the effort, and yet she ran to me still. What manner of lass does such?”

“One who’d rather fight than cower, which doesnae to me seem like mortal or druid kind.” Kanyth spread his newly-scarred hands. “Mayhap she’s a goddess.”