Prologue
Kaiden McGregor unsheathed his sword and sent his horse into a swift gallop, his heart thundering in his ears. His shoulder length red hair was a mess and his bright blue eyes were trying to focus as the dense fog made it difficult to see beyond a few feet before him. But the sounds were enough for Kaiden to ensure he was going in the right direction.
Adrenaline flowed through his veins as he gripped the sword hilt tighter, the horse’s hooves pounding in the dirt. He barely felt the chill of the wind as he raced through the wood, knowing that at any moment, he would be coming out into the clearing and in the heat of the battle.
Battling was what he lived for. His father wanted him to take his rightful place as laird of their clan, but Kaiden didn’t see any sort of excitement in doing so. Tedious meetings with his advisors and listening to the squabbling of their clansmen were not things that he wished to do.
He wanted to be in the heat of battle, the smell of blood and the groans of the dying addling his senses. Kaiden wanted to wield his sword like an extension of his body, cut down those that dare rise above the McGregor clan.
His sword, his warriors; they were what drove him. He would always settle the score with the steel in his hand and not the words that his father liked to use.
No, he was not ready to become laird.
The trees parted, and some of the fog cleared. Kaiden slowed his horse as he surveyed the scene. He could see the fight, his clan’s tartan swirling in and out of the fog. Kaiden dismounted in one swift move and struck down the charging Scot, his sword making clean work of the falling enemy before he was on the move once more.
His muscles stretched with effort as he swung his sword repeatedly, taking down his enemies without hesitation. When he had told his father that he wished to be a warrior, his father had conceded, likely to keep Kaiden from asking so many times.
But it was likely that Laird McGregor never imagined his son to be in the thick of battle like this, leading their warriors to a likely victory.
“Mah lord!”
Kaiden whirled around to see his second-in-command, Erik, standing before him, his sword coated with blood. “Wot?” he asked, wiping his brow with his hand.
Erik arched a brow. “Wot are ye doing here? I thought we agreed—”
“We agreed that I would lead the warriors,” Kaiden interrupted, pushing Erik out of the way so that he could take on the ensuing Scot. Their swords clashed as Kaiden stopped a death blow from coming down on his head, pushing the Scot back with a grin on his face. “Ye think ye can win?” he bellowed, moving his sword into the other hand. “Ye think that ye can smite me?”
The warrior didn’t respond, but instead charged toward him.
Only he never made it.
“Ye talk tae much,” Erik grumbled as his sword ran through the enemy’s stomach. The man went down with a grunt, but the two Scots were already moving away. “There are more coming from the north,” he continued, a frown on his face. “We will be surrounded in a matter of hours.”
Kaiden gripped the hilt of his sword tighter. “If we dinnae stop them, then they will move tae the village.” All the warriors were on this battlefield, leaving the village largely unprotected. It wasn’t what he wanted to do, but the sheer size of this clan had taken all the warriors that he had. “We cannae fail.”
Erik nodded, the understanding dawning in his eyes. This was not just a battle, but the one that could have their clan’s future at stake. He reached out. “We fight until we cannae any longer.”
Kaiden clasped the Scot’s forearm. “Until the end.”
Erik cleared his throat and moved away, back into the fray, and Kaiden did as well, cutting their enemies down with a vengeance. The entire clan’s future rested on his shoulders.
With a roar, he swung his sword harder, letting all his anger come through his swings. This was not going to be the end. He couldn’t let it be the end.
The McGregors would prevail.
A tall, bulky Scot turned toward him, and Kaiden gave him a leering grin as he stalked in his direction. The Scot met Kaiden’s grin with one of his own, wielding his own sword in anticipation for the strike. These were the matches Kaiden thrived in, the ones that he felt true strength and power.
There were no words shared, just the clang of their swords as they met in the midst of the battlefield. Soon, Kaiden’s arms were heavy under the constant swinging of the sword, sweat pouring down his back. The other Scot grunted under the exertion as Kaiden pressed him, kicking at his thigh to make the other Scot fall into the dirt. He was winning.
His momentary distraction in his thoughts made Kaiden overlook the Scot’s movements, and Kaiden roared as a searing pain shot through his left leg, the hilt of the sword lodged deep in his own thigh.
He fell to the ground in agonizing pain, blood pouring out of the wound. “Ye were never meant tae be a warrior,” the other Scot said as he loomed over Kaiden, yanking the sword from Kaiden’s leg. Kaiden swallowed as he noted his own blood on the steel, feeling his body weaken from the blood loss.
This was not how he had pictured his death to be.
The other Scot grinned as he raised the sword high, the death blow impending. “Yer clan is no more, McGregor,” he stated before the sword hurled toward Kaiden’s chest. Kaiden whispered an apology to his father as he closed his eyes, waiting for the final blow that would take him to the gods.
He had failed. He had let down his father and his clan.
