Her heel caught a sharp rock; her throat nodules tensed to cry out but no sound emerged, her lips only parted.
Step,step and see the destiny to unfold.
The fog grew to a heavy weight upon her naked back, once more belonging to the hands of fate as the vapors pressed her forward. The sounds from water over the stones set in time eternal on the unseen river urged her quicker curiously. She gasped when a needle pricked her arm and, looking down, saw the source belonged to a low-lying pine tree branch.
The fog almost began to swirl with a dance away from the path before her eyes, and she caught a glimpse in the far distance of a warrior; he faced away from her. It was not Aonghus – the build was too slight, and hair was as muddy a brown as the stream’s shores which now oozed between her bare toes.Her feet matched the rest of her body, the same as the day she entered this realm – naked.
Focus!The mist parting further, she saw there was a purpose lining the warrior’s stance. An arrow! He nocked an arrow in a way calling to experience. What was his game or kill or siege? Infernal mist! Only shadows belonging to the forest beyond fell into view. If only she could see his target, than perhaps the wash from dread filling her chest would subside. A few steps more, almost there…see who the archer was aimed at then capture a look upon his hidden features…just one more step. The frigid steam hit her toes like an icicle dragged across her foot…her eyes ripped open to discover she was safe in their bed at Stirling, her naked body warm from Aonghus, who lay clad in only his braies, asleep beneath her.
The last few days had been filled with her archery lessons; could it simply have been a dream? No, the marks were present: the mist, her bare backside, the fog clearing to reveal the far fate yet to come. The fog. She looked toward the hearth, which was no longer visible; beyond the bed’s drapes the room was shrouded in an eerie fog. Remnants. It was remnants filling the chamber. She rubbed her aching temple. Aye, it had been a night-glance.
Who was the archer and what was he aiming at? Infernal mist! If she carefully went to pace the floor, perhaps the answer would become clear. She began to pull away from Aonghus.
Arms tightened about her protectively. “What ails you, my Cluaran?” The chest rumbled with the deep brogue under her cheek.
“You are awake!” she squeaked.
“Aye, my lady, your heart beats same as a wee bird in flight which awoke me a time past, but I did not dare disturba night-glance in fear it may bring you harm,” he replied. She looked up to find his eyes had dashed open to gaze at her. “I am presuming ’twas a night-glance given the chamber now oddly looks like we stand beside a foggy moor, demonstrating a ‘remnant’. Are you well, my lady?”
“I am,” she answered, then added forlornly, “You are not mistaken, ’twas a night-glance – the most peculiar twist took my mind.” She found this was the first time she had shared one of her more disturbing images direct from sleep with another. To tell him, it felt…fated. “A warrior, nae, ’twas an archer, who stood beside a stream with a waterfall broken over two boulders curving into the trail while he was taking aim upon prey unseen in the folds of forest.”
“I know of this place; there is a similar terrain within Stirling’s hunting grounds,” he said, rubbing his hand reassuringly over her spine. He offered, “Archer….perhaps Callum or Sir Brayden?”
At giving Callum’s name, his arm tightened a second before relaxing after mentioning Sir Brayden.
Her fingers began brushing over the sprigs upon his barrel torso; they were ticklish against her palm. She rubbed more. “Nae, the archer’s hair was a dark brown, not the same fit as either Brayden or your brother.” A silence filled the chamber for a long moment.
“MacCade” – she breached the subject of clan carefully – “the days we have been here since my first archery lesson with Sir Brayden, have you edged a wee bit closer in mending the bridge with Callum?”
His muscles under the sprigs grew tense. “Aye, I never wished to leave the clan nor understood the rage he lashed against me in my refusal to marry Deidre,” he said, sad. “Idid not tell him the true purpose and swore Alec into silence. I feared he would take out some form of wrath upon our wee brother; this I would not have. So, I walked out the portcullis at Castle MacCade, seat of Clan MacCade, and never stepped back.”
“Would you have wished to?” she inquired tenderly.
“Aye.”
Seeing the edges belonging to peace take root within him the days past, the more time he spent by his older brother’s side, she asked, softly, “The bridge being mended eases your pain?”
He kissed her brow. “Aye, and ’tis important to Alec as well,” he answered, then asked, “Cluaran, we have spoken many times of my kin. You have yet to mention your sire or mother.”
She lowered her eyes toward his collarbone. “There is not a very grand amount to bestow,” she murmured. “My mother passed from a fever before I saw my second winter. My sire always carried a sadness marked in his gaze; he never wed another. He was a smith and a bonny one at that; he would have adored the armor you have been suited for.” She smiled at his collarbone before the flesh became blurry. “He grew ill, so we sought the abbey for his care. A lone fortnight later he joined my mother. In his final days, he set forth a strong purpose I was to be cared for and educated at the abbey after his passing; ’twas the path till Lord Kollungr saw otherwise the day of the shadow-glance.”
As she rubbed her moist eyes, Aonghus’s lips brushed her brow; she leaned into his touch. She couldn’t fix her sorrowful past but the future. She returned toward the matter to come. “Important,” she declared. “MacCade, ’twas important, the night-glance, I felt it, but I could not garner an impression on either the archer’s face nor the prey.”Infernal mist!
A fresh sweat bead traveled down her neck, matching her anxiety-ridden palms. As if sensing her mood, she heard him try to distract her. “What occurs if you are awake, however you close your eyes? Will a shadow-glance still appear such as it did the day in the great hall with staying the king from being poisoned?”
“Nae; if I purposefully close my lashes, nae glance. I must be gazing upon the event then my eyes must close of their own will to release the display of proposed fate to come. It has been this way since my instinct in sense as a fate-seer took hold as a wee lass crossing the bridge to becoming a Scotswoman with my natural courses commencing,” she answered, then went back to the original worry. “MacCade, ’twas a most unique night-glance.” She paused, rubbing her temple, taking the cost of measure in a rousing headache. “Wretched angle! I could not behold a clear view.”
“Cluaran, the longer I am at your side the more it draws clear, fate has a plan all her own.” He tucked her closer, and his lips took the place of her fingers on the sore spot by her lashes. “We may journey to the terrain on the king’s hunting grounds upon the morrow if you wish?” She eagerly nodded.
He spun her about so he loomed over her, seeking her mouth for a long kiss.Hhhhhmmmm– his touch was an entrancement all its own. When the kiss ended all too soon –every one of them does– she raised her fingers to course them over his jaw and lips and brow. She recalled all the moments of the past days, like this morning when he was forced to leave for early training with the other knights, and he tenderly tucked an extra blanket about her, knowing she grew cold. How he gave a ridiculously loud cough each night as supper was presented in the great hall to mask the avid growl from her stomach which always caused her cheeks to heat in embarrassment. The timeshis eyes would seek her out the second he entered a room. What did it all point toward?
She. Loved. Him.
“MacCade,” she whispered, “You have my heart.”
His palm brushed the damp hairs from her brow. “Keirah,” he breathed her name, “I am yours; youaremy heart. Till my final breath, I am at your command.” His lips found hers once more. A yearning ignited after speaking their emotions; her thighs parted and knees hitched up on his hips as he gave a rumble against her tongue at her natural action.
In a groan, the same as a wounded animal would air, he dragged his lips from hers to rest his brow against hers; the panting in their breaths echoed off each other.
