For a Warrior’s Heart (Ancient Songs #1)

Prologue

A t the hall of a Scottish chief deep in the western Highlands, a bard entertains those gathered, singing and telling tales while accompanying himself on the harp. He weaves his tales in praise of his host’s ancestors, with a rare talent that keeps his listeners enthralled from the highest to the lowest. Amid the leaping torches and the flickering candles, there is magic encircling the great chamber this night.

Finlay the Bard gives a smile, knowing he holds his audience by the ears and by the heart. Slim fingers dance over gut strings and green eyes glimmer.

The tale he weaves is this:

Once, in Erin, the land of our ancestors, there lived a great warrior. Before ever Chief Airlee’s forefathers came across the water to Scotland, this was, before he or any of us was so much as a thought in the minds of the gods. In a kingdom called Armagh, that fair land which on a clear day can be glimpsed still from the braes of our purple mountains, did this young warrior work and train. ’Twas a place of magic, of song, and laws so ancient we now hear only the echoes of them. Many are the tales of men who hold greed in their minds and those with a firm grip on justice. Songs such as this one I sing ye, for a warrior’s heart.