Chapter 1
North of Loch Lomond, Highlands of Scotland
Year of our Lord 1263
“Keirah!” Lord Karlson Kollungr bellowed.
If only she could sprout wings to fly, she would. Her steps blazed away from his violent summons through the forested terrain.Infernal rain!She rubbed her wool-clad forearm across her lashes before darting a look behind to the inky surroundings. The Northman wasn’t visible. So, if she couldn’t see him, Kollungr wasn’t looking at her.RUN!
The treescape beyond, was it left or right for the denser foliage? Racing like a rabbit from a Northern falcon, her feet charged right. Stay to the right till the next lightning bolt shows the best path south toward Stirling, to King Alexander.The King of Scots needs to know of the foreshadow; it will change Scotland forever.Hiking the drenched skirts over her knees, her stride widened. A stitch tried to form within her ribs.Ah, raging hell,ignore it!
She couldn’t be recaptured. Move. Move.MOVE! The king must know!
Kollungr declared, “You belong to me, Keirah!”No, I don’t.
Faster, Keirah,move faster.
“Keirah!” He was gaining!
Her heart was ready to burst from her chest before her foot caught into a trench. No! Her clumsy nature was not going to trip her up again! Too late. Ugh! As she collapsed onto the slop, the red shield in her left hand crashed in a puddle.Slap!Muddied water burst across her cheek. It would be the Northman’s palm if she didn’t hide by biting her lip to keep from crying out. A smear of blood took her taste as a grim reward for her efforts. She set her jaw.Up!Move it lassie, don’t be retaken by the Northern devils!
Scrambling onto her feet, appearing more a foal trying to find its legs than lass, she bounded ahead, hearing the chorus of curses behind her. Her breath hissed with gasps. Kollungr, alongside his wolfpack of four Northmen whom King Håkonsson had ordered to re-capture her, was closing!
A flash hit the sky above the woodland’s labyrinth.It’s right.She darted faster; the weight from the red-painted shield would soon meet its purpose in distracting the Northmen.How odd is it to be carrying a shield? Very!She’d never raised a weapon in all her forced years serving the Northmen. No; they wanted her docile for her abilities with second sight, being a fate-seer, and wouldn’t risk her raising a dagger nor bow nor sword against them. She was finally free and never going back!The grove to the right, focus– aye, it had denser growth by the mammoth yew trees.Stump! Leap!Her feet sailed over the top. The plan again?Release the shield left; it should catch the Northmen’s eyes, and then charge the opposite direction from them. Solid. Solid plan.Do not mess it up!
“I saw her, Lord Kollungr,” Svørn yelled, trailing in the far distance. “Keirah, you will be found!”Never-ever, Northmen.
Had a dagger just pierced her side? Nae, ’twas the infernal stitch, but it would be Svørn’s dagger if he caught her. She barreled ahead.Release the shield. Swiftly she ripped out her left arm.Augh,cramp!The leather strap released, and the pine shield tore like a lash across the landscape while she veered farther right into the giant’s grove.This is a single chance!If taken, they would force her to hunt more of her own countrymen.
“Keirah! You will suffer for this!” Kollungr vowed.Raging hell, he, he is closing!
Another strike overhead released a shake to the ground as if it would swallow her up.Branch! Jump over!A whimper tore her lips, fear shook her bones, as the branches snagged at her skirts, slowing her.
Svørn called out, eagerly. “There! The shield is there!”
No! They had found it too quickly! A matter of moments, and the pack would be upon her. She squinted her eyes.There, duck right at the next trunk wider than a stallion’s stride.
Never would she stop seeking King Alexander; he must know what the fates had revealed. Her teeth ground as she charged ahead blindly. A fresh gasp took her lips. Why had the tree limb dragging across her upper arm sprung to life and ripped her inside a hollowed-out trunk? A woodland beast! Her feet tripped and she would have fallen on her face, but the creature righted her straightaway before him.
The rain became an echo, dotting her scratched legs as her skirts struck something solid. The frigid droplets on her arm were replaced by warmth belonging to the fingers gripping her. No…no beast.Worse! Northman!If she cried out, perhaps astray Scot would hear. Gasping for a deep inhale, she halted. This stranger’s scent was different. Aye, there was the rotted bark from the interior belonging to the yew trunk, but over this why didn’t her captor have the sour odor belonging to a Northman’s beeswax-coated garments? No, the hidden stranger smelled the same as pine. She held her stance. Her fingers trailed up over the coarse wool covering his torso, higher then higher then higher then…higher? When the hell had giant beasts begun growing in the trees of Scotland? No, beasts didn’t have fingers giving an unspoken promise: if she pulled away, he would let go. Her breath came out a sigh, not a scream.
“Sárr?” the stranger’s rich tone questioned. A…a Scottish brogue. The heat from his breath brushing her ear, she leaned closer when another chilling shiver surged over her. He was a two-footed Scottish flame.Ahh– warmth so desperately craved ebbed across her flesh. The Scot must consider her to be from the North as well, giving the word for ‘wounded’ in their language; despite the pounding rain, he obviously had heard the accent belonging to the Northmen.
“Nae,” she whispered back in her native brogue. Her shoulders lowered some. If the beast meant to force her into some worse fate than those who hunted her, why bother with such an ask? He grew tenser than her. Why? Perhaps he thought the Northmen were hunting a Scottish lass for a rape in the rain.No, Scotsman, they want their fate-seer who harbors the element in second sight back as a force upon the battles to come against King Alexander.
Her hands grasped what felt like a rough cloth tunic covering his chest. At her grip, he lowered both his palms firmly to the back of her waist. Raising her gaze, she squinted: only shadows belonging to the impromptu savior. Darkness reigned supreme until,CRACK! A bolt struck fifty steps from their hideaway. Inbut a blink, she saw him. Her eyes narrowed a moment at the flash and deafening crash, which caused her to inadvertently quiver. He…he was the one from her foreshadow! His hair was dark as a thousand midnights, jaw shadowed by matching bristle, and his eyes bluer than the sky reflecting upon Loch Lomond’s shores. Oh. My. Scotsman. He was even more dashing in person.
Her fingers tightened into fists onto his woolen. “Aonghus MacCade,” she whispered, in awe from fate’s hand crashing her into his presence.
After hearing his name, Aonghus held his palms tighter on her back. Before either could speak, another voice roared over the pounding tempest.
“Keirah,” Kollungr condemned, “you will not escape me! No matter how far you run, where you hide, rage will feed the creature in me to find you!”Good luck with that.
At the threat, the Scotsman’s left palm lifted from her waist. Aonghus had to be reaching for that big-arse broad axe strapped across his back; the glint off the double-sided blade resting above his collarbone had blinded her almost as much as the bolt. His warm palm leaving her, cold seeped her bones as her teeth chattered, or was it fear adding to the chatter? Could be either at this point.
Her fingers grasped his wrist after she heard the grate from leather releasing the hilt into his palm. What if Aonghus was preparing in case they were discovered? Made sense. If he was readying to directly engage Kollungr? Nope,not the way to go.
Aonghus didn’t know their dark tactics. They were luring her in threat. ‘They’ had been the pack of four, but she couldn’t be certain if more from Rudri’s ranks led by Sturan were trailing behind. A lone Highlander, no matter the beastly size, would fall,and she wasn’t going to have his blood on her hands. Her grip tightened when she felt him start to pull away. Hewasgoing to engage Kollungr!
