Chapter 1
CHAPTER ONE
“Daenae think I will take it easy on ye because I’m still a little rusty from me injuries,” Fergus warned.
Aiden and Fergus had gone out to spar in the forest, so that the other guards didn’t see Fergus struggling from his injuries.
The two men walked along the tree line next to the castle until they got to a clearing.
Fergus had a few moments before he met with the council, and he wanted to stretch his legs. Running a clan was no easy task, but the council, filled with those his father trusted, helped him stay calm and take care of things.
Aiden was part of that council as Fergus’ man-at-arms, but Fergus wouldn’t take it easy on him.
Aiden scoffed. “Nay, ye’re nae. Daenae give me that. Yer injuries were ages ago, so daenae think I’m goin’ to take it easy on ye.”
Fergus smirked, enjoying the banter. “All right, then let’s see what ye got, shall we?”
Aiden drew his sword, and Fergus did not, bouncing around as he spaced his hands far apart in a fighting stance.
Aiden frowned, hesitating. “What are ye doin’, Me Laird?”
“Sparrin’,” the Laird said simply.
His friend stared at him. “Without a sword?”
“Ye said ye wouldnae take it easy on me, did ye nae?”
“Ye think ye can beat me unarmed?” Aiden asked incredulously.
“I think I can beat ye with both hands tied behind me back,” Fergus said, and Aiden shook his head.
“Ye’re mad.”
“Perhaps,” Fergus agreed and lunged at him. Aiden tried to sideswipe him with the back of his sword, but Fergus darted away.
“Ye’re a wily one, I will give ye that,” Aiden said with a laugh, swinging the back of his sword toward Fergus again.
Fergus ducked the blow again, and Aiden cursed.
He went after his laird again, and then the sound of hoofbeats stopped them.
Malcolm Allen, one of their younger clansmen, barely old enough to fight, rode up to them.
“I apologize, Me Laird,” Malcolm said, breathing hard. “I’ve been sent to fetch Aiden. His brother is sick.”
“Sick?” Aiden sheathed his sword. “How sick?”
Malcolm shook his head. “I daenae ken, sir. I was just told to come and tell ye that yer mother’s askin’ for yer help.”
Aiden frowned and turned to Fergus. “Can I take him into town to see if I can find a healer?”
The healer who had helped Fergus with his injuries years ago was now dead, and another had not taken his place. Fergus had been looking for one for months. He hoped Aiden had better luck.
Fergus nodded. “Aye, Aiden. Anythin’ ye need.”
He knew that Aiden’s brother was born sickly, a failure to thrive, the healer had said. He was not yet seven and had many health problems.
Fergus had his own problems with his sibling’s health—his sister, Lottie—so he understood.
“I will stay here, do some trainin’ by meself,” Fergus said, and Aiden’s frown deepened.
“By yerself, Me Laird?”
“I will be all right,” Fergus insisted. “Daenae act like me nursemaid.”
“Today is…” Aiden started, and Fergus held up a hand to stop him.
“I ken what today is.”
It was the anniversary of the day that Fergus had lost nearly everything, and he would not soon forget the date.
Aiden and Malcolm rode off, and Fergus drew his sword at last, planning to practice on the large trees. Aiden would likely miss the council meeting due to his brother, but Fergus would have to attend. He wasn’t looking forward to it. There wasn’t much to report, and it would be a boring affair.
Fergus was a man of action, not thought, so council meetings often bored him to tears. He wanted to train and wake his muscles up just in case danger was on the horizon.
Before he could start, though, footsteps pounded behind him, and Fergus turned just as a man lunged at him, his sword nearly connecting with Fergus’s side. He dodged, growling in surprise.
Fergus swung his sword. The man parried, crashing his broadsword against Fergus’.
“Who are ye? What do ye want? What are ye doin’ on my property?” Fergus demanded, forcing the man back against a tree.
“I want to kill ye, Me Laird,” the man said, his face twisting in a sneer.
He was tall, dark-haired, and broad-shouldered. Not as large as Fergus but a considerable man. His sword strikes were thick and deadly, and if Fergus were a weaker man, he would already be dead.
It struck him then—bitter, almost mocking—that this night marked the very anniversary of the ambush that had nearly killed him years ago. The night that had taken his face, his betrothed, and any illusions he’d once held about mercy.
Fergus kept his guard up, parrying the man again and again.
But Fergus would not allow this man to kill him. He lived out of spite alone these days, and he would not let some stranger cut him down.
“Vengeance for Leary,” he sneered, and Fergus was caught by surprise as the man sliced a gash across his ribcage.
So that was it. The past, once again, reachin’ for me throat.
Fergus growled. “He deserved to die.”
Memories flooded over Fergus as he stood there, panting, parrying the sword strike yet again.
He thought of his parents. Of Fife Leary, who had ruined his life.
There was no wonder one of Leary’s followers had breached his property line.
They were a determined bunch, and they had a leader who was always shrouded in mystery, wearing a hooded mask.
Fergus had bid his men to track every last supporter of Leary down, but apparently, a few had slipped through the cracks.
The man parried again, and Fergus forced him down, knocking the sword out of his hand.
Fergus pressed the blade of his sword against the man’s throat, drawing a thin line of blood.
“Who do ye work for?” he demanded, and the man looked up at him with wide eyes.
“I will never tell,” he spat.
Fergus shrugged. “I daenae need ye to talk. I will figure it out meself.” And he lifted his sword to stab the man in the stomach.
The mystery man cried out and then stilled.
Fergus stumbled away toward a tree, sheathing his sword and pressing his hand against the wound on his side. When he pulled it away, it was sticky with blood.
Behind him, the man lay unmoving, blood soaking into the forest floor. Fergus did not look back. He had no reason to believe the bastard still breathed.
The world seemed to tilt on its axis, and black spots bloomed across his vision.
Darkness crept in at the edges of his vision, but Fergus clenched his jaw against it.
Nay.
Nae here. Nae tonight. I refuse to die in the dirt like this.
Fergus then slumped to the ground, unconscious.