Kim Harrison - Hotter Than Hell

“But the invaders aren’t aware of how weak we are,” the guard said. “They’ll march straight for us now.”

“They will be arriving soon,” the woman said. “I had to come back to warn my people that their doom approaches.”

Bern wished she hadn’t put it like that. It made him feel sorry for the indigenous population. Even worse, the way they all looked to him to take command made him feel responsible for them. These people were going to be easy pickings without some help. Bern thought of all the defenseless people camped out around the stronghold. They’d come here for a religious celebration, not to be slaughtered.

“How will you defend us?” Lord Ched asked him.

Ginger came forward and put her hand on his arm. “I was studying the pool for advice on that very subject when you arrived. If you would let us continue with the divination, the king will meet with you afterwards, better prepared to save your people.”

The chieftain and his people left without another word.

When they were alone, Ginger grabbed the front of Bern’s tunic, held on tight, and talked fast. “You listen to me, Colonel Bern. I will not have you quoting rules and regs about noninterference and the possibility of changing history. We don’t have any solid history from this era to go on. But we do have myths and legends, and, hon, I think I know what’s going on here. You have to fight the invaders. You. You are the element necessary to slow down the incursions and give the native culture more time to recover from Roman rule. That way, when the Saxons do take over it’ll be overlaying a British-based culture rather than a Roman one. In our time we’ll have England the way we know it. If you duck this battle we won’t. It’s your duty take on the invaders here and now. You were meant to do this.”

Bern gaped at her. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You said it yourself, last night, ‘at least I don’t have to pull it out of a stone.’ You pulled the sword from the soil of Britain and claimed the kingship. You are—”

“Don’t you dare put that on me.” He’d finally figured out where this was going.

“Bern means ‘bear,’” she went on. “One of the translations of—”

“No.”

“And then there’s your men’s names. There’s Kaye and—”

“You’ve been drinking that spring water too long, as well as looking into it, haven’t you?” His tone was doubtful, but his instincts were shouting at him that she was right.

He knew he’d hurt her feelings, but they were interrupted once again before he could apologize. This time it was the rest of the team that came into the sanctuary.

“Look who we found, boss!” Kaye crowed. “Your gut was right again.”

“Stop looking smug,” he ordered Ginger. “Welcome to your rescue, Professor Owen,” he said to the newcomer.

“I’m grateful the Project sent a team for us.” Owen gave Ginger a nod and smile. She smiled back. “And if rumor is correct, you’ve come to the rescue just in the nick of time.”

“We’ve heard that the Saxons are heading this way,” Kaye told him. “Time for us to bug out, right?”

Bern waited for Ginger to protest, but she crossed her arms and bit her lower lip instead of nagging him. Damn it! That made it even harder for him to say no to her.

“I took an oath to protect these people last night,” he told the team. “The least we can do is give the locals a chance at getting away.”

“What precisely to you mean by ‘we’?” Percy spoke up. “At no point do I recall having signed a social contract with these people. Going native is not one of our options.”

“What’s wrong with helping people?” Owen demanded. “The locals have helped me survive for months. I owe them.”

“So do I,” Ginger said.

“Very touching, but irrelevant,” Percy responded.

“You are such a wuss,” Gareth said. “Come on, fighting a bunch of barbarians will be fun.”

“No, it won’t,” Bern said sternly. “And don’t make the assumption that I’m asking for a consensus, or volunteers. This is a military operation, and I’m in command. We’re all going into this fight.”

His soldiers immediately snapped to attention, and he nodded to them. Percy didn’t look happy, but at least this finally shut him up. Bern glanced at Ginger. She was looking at him with enough pride in her eyes to set his heart on fire. She made him feel like a hero. This wasn’t the time to kiss her all over the way he wanted to, but he did put his arm around her waist and draw her close.

As they stood, hip to hip, he said, “Remember the hillside we crossed on the way here?” There were nods. “We’re going to set up our perimeter there. It’s time to break out the claymores, boys.”

Ginger gave him a puzzled look, but her expression cleared before he could explain. “Oh, you’re not talking about big Scottish swords, are you?”

“No, hon, I’m talking about shaped charges that blow up.”

“Fire in the sky,” she said. “Just what the vision showed me.”

This had better work , Ginger thought. She hugged herself tightly. Please, God, let it work. And don’t let anything happen to Bern—or any of the good guys—while you’re at it. Please, Lady, she added, since she was officially a priestess of the goddess.

Well, maybe not officially anymore since soon she’d be leaving Lord Ched’s villa forever. She was standing in the woods at the source of the spring with a bundle of provisions at her feet, waiting for the rest of the team to join her. The plan was for her to wait safely out of the way while the men carried out the op. Bern had insisted she stay out of harm’s way, and she hadn’t argued. She was no warrior.

Besides, securing their nexus was probably the most important part of this op.

Some of the other women had taken up arms to fight alongside their men after Bern gave a rousing speech to the gathered pilgrims. This was the ancient way of the Celts, and more proof as far as Ginger was concerned that this battle was going to slow the tide of invasion. The people were eager to follow Bern into battle. Their willingness to defend their homeland was a good sign, too. Right?

Please, Horned God and Lady of the Spring, don’t let me have started something that’s going to get a lot of people killed. Especially not Bern.

She reminded herself that he was a competent professional soldier. He had a good strategy. He had trained subordinates. He had explosives. He was going to win the day.

The plan for the TTP team was that after the battle was joined, and the good guys were winning, they’d withdraw and join Ginger in the woods. With their obligation to help the people fulfilled, the team could then continue their search for a working nexus that would take them home.

Home. Away from Bern. She dashed away tears. It had to be. If she went home with a broken heart and a deep ache for the way he made her body sing, she still had the memories to appreciate. At least they’d spent as much time as they could over the last three days making love while waiting for the Saxons. And now the Saxons were here.

Ginger paced nervously. What if it didn’t work? Was there something she could do to help?

She hated the quiet here in the woods. Maybe she was safer here, but the sudden need to know what was going on got the better of her. She cut through the woods rather than take the path that led toward the villa.

The perfect spring weather of the festival had been replaced by a pewter sky that threatened rain, and a wind that blew cooler than it should for this time of year. It was a grim day, fit for a battle, she supposed.

When she reached the south edge of the woods she got a good view down the valley to the hill beyond. Half of the British fighters were spread out below the hill, waiting there instead of occupying the high ground. She caught sight of chainmail and swordblades as gray as the day and the energy—a mixture of fear and anticipation—hit her like a blow. She put herself behind a tree and waited, and watched.