CHAPTER TWO
Strathlachlan, Scotland
“Good luck to ye, lads.” The blacksmith waved a broad hand.
Gregor returned the gesture then rocked forward in the saddle, prompting his horse to follow Duncan’s lead. Two ghillies traveled with them, pack horses in tow for transporting the deer back to the castle.
They climbed the heather-covered incline behind the stables and forge as rays of sun peeked above the eastern ridge, painting the sky in shades of red and gold.
The soft mossy scent of crushed purple blooms triggered fond memories of romping across the same slope when he fostered at Castle Lachlan as a green lad.
Although he’d been advised against returning to Strathlachlan due to rumors of fae activity, accepting a position as part of Archibald’s lèine-chneas would prove the right decision.
Serving under the ginger-headed Duncan, the captain of the MacLachlan chief’s elite bodyguard, was an honor.
Besides, brownies and faeries didn’t scare Gregor.
After riding along the ridge for a distance, they entered the wood and traveled a good path in single file with little chatter until the sun was high in the sky. Finally, Duncan raised a hand, halting them. Deer tracks crisscrossed the path.
Duncan grinned. “A small herd has crossed here.”
Gregor slid from his horse and squatted. He fingered a deep track in the mud. “Fresh. Appears they’ve recently used this game trail.”
Slim cuts bisected thickets on both sides of the path they’d been following, marking a much-used game trail.
“Me and Gregor will continue on foot. Secure the horses here and await our signal,” Duncan instructed the ghillies.
After tying his mount to a tree near some fresh grass for grazing, Gregor slung his bow and quiver over a shoulder.
He and Duncan followed the game trail for a distance in silence.
’Twas evident from the tracks a large stag travelled with the herd.
His stomach bubbled with anticipation. A successful hunt would be the first deed in which he proved his worth to the clan.
The trail led them from the wood into a large clearing bordered by a semicircle of mountains. They climbed into the corrie.
“Keep low. Move slow,” Duncan whispered, voice rough from exertion.
They found a herd of about fifteen hind and a large stag, and stalked within two hundred yards, but the wind direction changed and the animals spooked. Gregor and Duncan climbed onto the shoulder of the hill where they could move undetected. Clouds collided, darkening the sky.
“We have lost them,” Duncan grumbled.
They retreated down the slope to the edge of the wood a substantial distance from the original game trail.
“Here.” Gregor pointed at the ground and squatted. “This track is verra fresh. ’Tis the print of a single large stag.”
“Ach, then, I will circle round. Flush him out for you.”
They entered the wood together. Gregor found a decent spot behind a large boulder at the edge of a wee clearing from which to wait.
He used two fingers to signal to Duncan he was in place, and the man disappeared through the trees.
Time seemed to drag. He prepared the bow and selected the arrow with the straightest shaft from the quiver at his side.
Suddenly a hart wandered from the brush twenty-five yards upwind of Gregor’s spot.
The animal hesitated for a moment, mobile ears listening, sensitive nostrils testing odors in the air, then lowered his head and nibbled the tip of a leafy branch.
Not just any hart, but a sixteen-point white stag—a mystical beast. Could the animal be real?
Gregor closed his eyes; rubbed them. When he looked again, the animal was still there, browsing.
Breath quickened; excitement fired his blood.
He slowly, very quietly, raised his bow and nocked the arrow, praying he wouldn’t spook the deer.
The stag raised his head, ears perked. Eyes on the mark, Gregor drew the arrow steadily back until his right forefinger touched the spot on his jaw perpendicular to his right eye.
He glanced along the length of the shaft, his aim perfect.
A lavender-winged dragonfly landed on the spine of the arrow just behind the hand that held the grip. One with iridescent green wings landed forward of the handgrip. A third buzzed his ear.
Lips curving into an annoyed frown, Gregor held the bow and arrow with one hand and shooed the bugs away with a wave of the other.
His luck held. The deer continued to feed.
As he prepared a second time for a clear shot, one of the bugs returned and perched on the arrow again.
Stuck its tongue out at him. He jutted his head forward to better inspect the—
The bothersome creature stood on wee feet.
Nae. Couldn’t be. She had wee feet, wee arms and hands, and a curvaceous body draped in an iridescent purple fabric the same color that outlined her lavender diaphanous wings.
She raised a dainty hand and tucked an ebony tress behind a pointed ear and smiled at him with rosy lips.
“What trickery is this?” he demanded.
Tee teehee hee, the pixie tinkled like delicate chimes.
The stag skittered, bounded over a thicket, and dashed into a copse of trees.
“Shite!” Gregor burst into a sprint without giving the pixies another thought, following the rustle of fallen leaves.
The beast darted hither and farther, leapt barriers, doubled back on his tracks, and led Gregor on a merry chase.
Gregor’s muscles tired, but he kept going until he completely lost all trace of the animal.
How much distance had he traveled? For how long?
He couldn’t guess. When had the heavy mist crept over the land?
He sucked in much-needed air as he slumped against a tree and closed weary eyes.
Disappointment a deep wound. The smell of damp earth combined with old fallen leaves and the rich scent of fir surrounded him.
When he opened his eyes, he caught sight of a clump of coarse white hair stuck within the rough bark. The stag had come this way.
Perhaps I’ll get another chance at the beast. Buoyed by the thought, he stalked through the fog-laden wood.
As evening fell, he stole from the trees at the edge of a mist-free grassy mound.
A bright full moon hung from the sky. The white stag, head held high, stood at the top of the knoll beside an ancient tree.
Silvery lights sparkled in the branches like evening stars.
The deer caught sight of Gregor and stared with curiosity through lustrous brown eyes. He didn’t spook, didn’t run.
This was it. This would be Gregor’s first kill since returning to Castle Lachlan.
His heart beat too fast. He inhaled sharply, trying to steady his breathing.
Instinctively, he rose to his full height, placed his feet at shoulder width, nocked the arrow, raised the bow, and drew the string back to his jaw.
Aimed and…paused. Seemed wrong to kill such a magnificent beast.
The lavender pixie reappeared, jounced on the arrow, and blew dust into his face, startling an unintended shot from the bow. The white stag vanished as if it never existed. Standing in his place was a wide-eyed lass.
“Nae,” Gregor howled. Shock and fear wrenched his gut. He bounded onto the knoll. Thankfully, the wild shot had buzzed over the woman’s shoulder barely grazing her ear. He slid to a stop in front of her. “By the Saints, what mischief is this?”
The woman met his gaze with the bluest of eyes and stole his heart in that moment. Then those beautiful eyes rolled back into her head, and she crumbled to the ground in a faint at his feet.
What should he do? He rubbed a niggling twinge over his heart, certain he’d just met destiny.
’Twas an uncanny fate such an eve’n be charged by magic.
He knelt on one knee and gently brushed a lock of light brown hair away from the soft skin of her cheek sadly marred by scratches.
He frowned, grasped the lass by the shoulders and shook.
Her head lolled to the side, but she didn’t waken.
“We have tracked you the better part of the afternoon and into the eve’n. What brought you to the Sithichean Sluaigh?” Duncan’s deep voice startled him, as the man approached from behind. “Come, Gregor. Hurry. We must be away from this place of enchantment.”
Gregor set aside his bow and lifted the woman into his arms. She was as light as a bairn. He stood, and turned toward his captain. “This is a faerie hill? That explains much.”
“Aye. A knoll of the Fae.” Duncan shivered then picked up the castoff bow. “Who have you found?”
“I dinnae ken.” Gregor glanced at the ghillies and horses at the edge of the knoll. “She swooned.”
“At the sight of you, aye?”
“Aye…nae!” He shook his head. How was he to explain the magic of this day? “We must take her to the castle for tending.”
“Must we?” Duncan raised a brow. “We should set camp away from this place of enchantment and continue the hunt on the morrow.”
“She is injured.” Gregor held the man’s stare.
Duncan’s brow furrowed as he peered at the lass. “It appears naught but a flesh wound.”
“Still…” Gregor had no intention of leaving the lass behind. Alone. Unprotected.
The big man’s sigh resonated from deep within his chest. “Of course, we must take her to the castle,” he finally yielded. “Lady Isobell will ken what to do.”
The captain strode to the horses. With the lass cradled in his arms, head resting upon his shoulder, Gregor followed. She smelled sweet. Like flowers and summertime. Of days of happiness.
“She rides with me.” He handed her to Duncan and mounted his horse.
The man’s lips quirked when he lifted the lass and placed her in front of Gregor. “As you wish.”
One ghillie rode in front, one to the rear, both holding torches raised high. The mist seemed to dissolve from around them. Where the trail widened, Duncan rode alongside.
“Will you tell me what happened back there?”
“I believe you flushed a white stag my way.”
“Ah, the mystical beast believed to be a messenger from the otherworld. An encounter with a white stag is said to portend profound change in one's life.” The man’s gaze flicked to the lass for a moment.
“There is more,” Gregor said.
“Then tell the rest.”
“I waited where you left me behind the boulder in the wood. The white stag appeared and I readied my shot. What I thought were dragonflies landed on the shaft of my arrow. I believe they were pixies. Annoying wee sprites. They caused me to startle the stag, and he ran off.”
Duncan’s jaw tightened, but he said naught.
“You dinnae seem surprised.”
“I am not.”
“You believe in such things then?”
“Aye. And more.”
“I chased the animal. Time seemed to…languish. The next thing I kenned was the beast on the faerie hill, then vanishing, and the lass…” Gregor gazed at the comely woman enwrapped within his arms. “Appeared as if by magic.”
“A similar event happened here near to ten years ago.”
“Do tell.”
“Our chief’s twin brother, Patrick, found a lass on the knoll after seeing her in visions.”
Gregor swallowed uneasily. Some of his MacLachlan kin were known to have the sight. Mostly women, but occasionally men were born with the gift.
As a youth, Gregor kenned Patrick. The man had been an impressive warrior.
A hero to Gregor. Years later, mystery shrouded the events leading to Patrick stepping down from the position of clan chief, naming Archibald, his twin brother, chief, and moving with his new wife to France.
With time, rumors surfaced. Subtle at first then more insistent.
Conjecture that they hadn’t gone to France at all, but had traveled farther abroad—as in to another realm—to live amongst the Fae in faerie land.
A preposterous notion. Or was it?
He inhaled the scent of the woman in his arms. Foreign. Enticing. Enchanting.
“I almost shot the lass with a wayward arrow when one of the pixies startled me,” he said.
Duncan snorted. “’Tis said they are particularly pesky.”
Gregor tightened his hold on the lass, feeling an intense need to provide for her, to offer protection. “Who is she? Do you think she might be one of the Fae?”
“Nae. If she were, you would already be enchanted.”
He squirmed and glanced at Duncan. Had the man read his mind? Gregor had become enchanted at first sight.
Deep in thought, he was surprised when the small hunting party broke from the wood onto the ridge above the stables and forge. Loch Fyne and Castle Lachlan lay below. Torchlight, leading from the distant beach to the castle situated on the islet within the small bay, shimmered on the calm water.
Trepidation slid into his gut. He’d intended to impress the clan with his hunting prowess. Instead, he returned with an unknown lass.
By all that is Holy, what am I doing? The chief and his lady-wife might well be furious. And rightly so. What if I carry a Fae woman through their gate?