17 FIERCE
DARACH BUCKLED HIS dagger belt around his hips and cast Ailsa a sidelong look. “Right, let’s get moving.”
Dawn had just broken, taking with it the eerie shrieks and cries of the Slew.
He’d slept long and deep and awoken more refreshed than he’d felt in moons. He could still sense the beast sleeping beneath his skin—he always could—but its growls had almost eased to a purr this morning. A welcome relief.
However, his companion didn’t look so well rested.
Ailsa’s face, usually paler than most people’s, was bloodless this morning. Her cheeks were drawn, her dark eyes hollowed and red-rimmed; almost as if she’d been crying. And as she shrugged on her fine green cloak and fastened it at the throat, he marked the slight tremble in her fingers.
“Aye,” she replied huskily.
Darach frowned. “Is something wrong?”
Her gaze glanced off him, yet she didn’t meet his eye. “No.” Her tone was clipped, and he wondered if she was still sore at him over his disappearing trick. She had every right; even the best of his excuses had been weak.
However, there was no way he could tell her the truth.
She’d drop him like a hot coal if she knew. And he needed to stay with her.
“Didn’t you sleep?” he asked.
“I did … but the Slew woke me early.” She cut him a rueful look then. “Unlike you. I swear, a gang of boggarts could have marched through the door, and you wouldn’t have stirred.”
He caught the disapproval in her voice and frowned.
Another mark against him. A bodyguard who slept through danger wasn’t worth much.
In truth, he’d been so tired the night before that little could have disturbed him. Even so, it was dangerous to slumber so deeply. What if a malevolent wraith had squeezed in through the smoke vent?
As a warrior, he knew better.
And what use was he to Ailsa, if he slept like a stone?
He couldn’t let that happen again.
“Well, at least that’s Gateway done with.” Throwing on his cloak, he pulled the iron bar free from the door. Then, one hand on the hilt of a knife strapped to his thigh, he drew the door open. Best to exercise a little caution.
Pale light streamed in, bringing with it clean, frosty air.
Outdoors, the sun was cresting the hills to the east. The Sweeper had died.
The air felt light, as if the world had just let out its breath.
Now that Gateway had passed, the people of Rhu could get on with their lives for another turn of the seasons.
Darach crossed the stable yard in long strides.
Rùn greeted him with a whicker from the stable opposite. The stallion pawed at the ground, making it clear that he too was eager to be off.
“Looks like no damage was done,” Darach announced, ducking into the stall.
His belly growled then, demanding food. They couldn’t delay though. They’d eat on the road.
He looked over his shoulder at the tall, slender figure who’d followed him across the yard. Ailsa looked almost frail in the silvery morning light, her expression strangely cowed.
For the first time since their meeting in Farnoch, she appeared vulnerable.
He really needed to take better care of her.
Darach’s gut tightened then.
The woman had no idea just how desperate he was. This job wasn’t like the others he’d taken over the years. It wasn’t just Kayla’s life but his own at stake here.
This chase couldn’t go on for much longer. If it did, the beast would have him.
He flashed his companion a tight smile. “Ready to go hunting?”
Ailsa lifted her chin, her black eyes narrowing. Her fragility vanished, and the indomitable young woman stood before him once more. “Aye.”
Rùn’s hooves beat out a hollow tattoo on the frosty highway.
Clinging to Dale’s waist, Ailsa watched the bright morning fly by.
They’d walked for a short spell as they left Rhu, eating a few mouthfuls of bread and cheese, before Dale kicked the stallion into a brisk canter.
And now they were on their way.
Ailsa was grateful. Not just because each stride brought her closer to Kayla, but because it also meant she and Dale had a clear focus once more.
Last night had forced them to stop—to take a breath.
Maybe that was why the dream had come. Now, she dreaded nightfall and the depraved urge that might return with it. The sunlight made her feel better. It chased away the darkness and made things seem more manageable.
She had managed to get some sleep the night before; even so, her body felt leaden this morning. Initially, she’d thought it was a reaction to just how upset she’d been, yet as the morning wore on, a familiar dragging ache settled low in her belly.
Damn it.
Of all times.
Her moon flow was on its way.
Although it never lasted more than three days at most, it always brought terrible cramps, backache, and a lingering nausea.
She usually knew when to expect her moon flow, but after her life had been upturned, she’d lost track of such things. Traveling on horseback, in close quarters with a man who both aggravated and unsettled her, while dealing with cramps and bleeding like a stuck pig, was the last thing she needed.
They stopped mid-morning, not far from a hazel thicket, and she ducked behind the trees to check.
Indeed, it had begun.
She cleaned herself up, folded the only rag she had, and pushed it between her thighs before pulling on a pair of leggings to keep it in place.
Emerging from behind the trees, she found Dale waiting astride Rùn, bristling with impatience. “I was going to come fetch you,” he said with a scowl. “Why were you so long?”
“Women’s business,” she replied brusquely.
His expression softened slightly before he reached out to help her up behind him. “Are you in pain?”
“A little,” she admitted, surprised by his concern. “But I’m used to it.”
He grunted before urging his stallion into a trot and then a brisk canter.
Darach drew Rùn to a halt, taking in the village of Dunfyre.
It was mid-morning. Acrid smoke lingered in the cold air. A roundhouse at the center of the village was gutted, its roof collapsed, blackened beams jutting skyward like snapped bones. Ash drifted across the frosty ground.
Ailsa slid from the saddle, staring at the damage.
Doors creaked open then, one by one, and faces appeared—drawn, hollow-eyed. A woman of around forty winters stepped forward, gripping an iron poker so tightly her knuckles blanched.
Ailsa met her eye. “What happened here?”
“They came just after dusk,” she rasped, “and demanded we open up.”
“Who?”
“No idea … we never saw their faces. There was a group of them though … men.”
“You refused them?” Darach spoke up then.
The woman scowled. “No one opens the door after dark on Gateway.” Her gaze flicked toward the smoking ruin. “They set my home alight … and threatened to burn down every roundhouse in this village.”
Darach’s lips thinned. He didn’t need to guess who was behind this attack. Kayla’s pursuers had pressed on, braving the darkness just to reach the next village. However, they hadn’t received the hospitality they’d hoped for.
A man spoke up then, his voice trembling. “Everything changed when the Slew started screaming.”
The woman nodded. “Aye. They were about to torch all our homes … but then” —she hesitated— “they ran. All at once. The wraiths spooked them.”
The man shook his head. “Sounded to me like they were chasing after someone.”
Ailsa and Darach exchanged a long look, and his pulse kicked.
Kayla.
A clear trail led north from Dunfyne, and they followed it. A short while later, came across a small clearing.
A man lay sprawled in the center of the glade, throat cut.
But it wasn’t him that drew Ailsa’s attention, but the small boulders surrounding him.
And on closer inspection, they weren’t boulders at all, but carven rock effigies of imps. The creatures had long limbs and sagging faces, and some of them still clutched crude-looking weapons.
“Trows,” Dale muttered. “They were already dead … but the daylight has turned their corpses to stone, nonetheless.”
Dragging her attention from a trow’s twisted face, Ailsa glanced over at the dead man. He was young, tattooed, and leather-clad—clearly a warrior. “Do you think he was one of Kayla’s abductors?”
“Most likely.” Dale dropped to a crouch, gaze narrowing as he studied the warrior.
Moments passed as he cast his gaze around the surrounding clearing.
He shifted sideways and stretched out an arm, his fingers sliding over the crushed grass.
“There are smaller boot prints in amongst the others. A woman’s. Kayla was here.”
Ailsa stiffened. “They caught her?”
“Looks like it.” Rising to his feet, he skirted the clearing. “The undergrowth is flattened on this edge.” He halted then, crouching to check something else. “Back soon.”
Straightening up once more, Dale disappeared into the undergrowth.
While he was scouting, Ailsa glanced around the clearing again. Dark patches of blood stained the ground, and her gut tightened. Gods. Had Kayla been hurt?
Dale returned then, striding toward where he’d tied Rùn to a nearby birch. “I found their tracks heading toward the road,” he announced, his voice tight with urgency. “We need to be after them.”
They rode hard after Dunfyne, yet they didn’t catch up with their quarry that day.
Dale stopped every so often to check for tracks, confirming that they were heading in the right direction, but those warriors had gotten a decent head start and had ridden hard all day.
They were well ahead now.
Every furlong that passed without sign of Kayla tightened Ailsa’s chest. By late afternoon, hope had thinned to a brittle thread. By dusk, it had snapped.
Finally, she stopped searching every rise ahead for movement.
Fuck. They’d lost her again.
Night found them camped in the woods, a couple of furlongs back from the loch-shore. The first thing Ailsa did was go in search of something to use instead of rags for her bleeding. Fortunately, there was plenty of moss nearby.
She gathered it without paying much attention, her fingers numb, her thoughts circling the same bitter truth—they had been so close. And now Kayla had been snatched out of reach.