Chapter One B
Auchnacree, the Scottish Highlands
It was a clear night, with the moon high and full in the sky bathing the landscape below in light that was undulating and white, as if a mist had settled and covered everything with a fine web of pale.
Oidhche-airgid.
A silver night.
That’s what Isadora’s father called nights such as these. As a young bairn, he’d had her convinced that fairies walked the earth on nights like this, touching the land with their special kind of magic.
Unfortunately, those were the same fairies that would gouge the eyes of children who were not sleeping, making a sweet and wondrous tale something of a horror story. Sleep, lass, or the fairies will blind ye!
Therefore, on cold and silver nights, she always harbored a sense of dread.
Like tonight.
But it had nothing to do with roaming fairies.
There was a heavy smell of smoke in the air and the glow of a massive fire off to the east, something that had alerted the entire village of Auchnacree.
From their hills, they could see the flatlands spread out before them, lands that went all the way to the sea.
With a night this clear, it gave the inhabitants of Auchnacree a bird’s-eye view of what was happening down in the village of Netherton.
Something very bad.
There was apprehension in the air. The men of Auchnacree were restless, watching the burning of Netherton with pikes in their hands, fearful that whatever had overtaken Netherton would soon come and overtake them.
It seemed to be more than a raid because Netherton was fairly large, and raids didn’t usually encompass the entire village.
On this night, however, all of Netherton was burning.
There was a smell of seared human flesh they could not get out of their nostrils.
The chieftain of Auchnacree had been wise, early on. He’d sent out scouts to discover what was happening and, even now, waited nervously for their return. Isadora watched him closely as he stared at the burning of Netherton in the distance.
“Da, what do ye think has happened?” she asked softly.
Niall Keith’s gaze was riveted to the scene below, the distant fires reflecting in his dark eyes.
“I’m not certain, Issie,” he said. “Raiders from the sea, mayhap? We heard nothing of Sassenach armies heading north. I canna guess what has happened, but we shall know soon enough. Yer brothers will return soon.”
Isadora turned her focus to the burning in the distance. “Northmen havena raided this coast in many years,” she said, “and they never touch Netherton when they do. Why would they do this now?”
Niall simply shook his head, sighing heavily because he had no real answer for her.
All he knew was that Netherton was in flames and his men were scared.
The women of the village had already headed into the mountains to hide, but Isadora wouldn’t go with them.
He should have made her, but he didn’t have the heart.
She was a better warrior than most of his men.
He needed her.
“Look!” Isadora suddenly said, pointing to a path that led up the steep hill. “They’re returning!”
The sight was enough to jolt Niall, who began to run down the path to meet them.
Behind him, his men followed, as did Isadora, who shoved one her father’s older, slower men out of her way.
As the man plummeted into a patch of spongy heather, Isadora leapt over the downed man and caught up with her father about the time they came together with the riders.
The men were out of breath and their shaggy mounts were frothy.
“Well?” Niall demanded. “What did ye see?”
The first man slid off his horse, looking back down the hill and toward the burning village.
“It’s not good, Da.” Ewan Keith wiped at his nose, his dirty face. “Groups of men in cloaks, their heads covered, dropping sprigs of bog myrtle tied with hemp throughout the village as they go about burning.”
Niall was confused by what he was hearing. “Sprigs of… But that belongs tae us. That’s what our warriors carry intae battle and everyone knows that.”
“I know, Da.”
Niall looked behind him to count heads, making sure that every man in his village was with him even though he knew full well that they were. There were no rogue groups of his men running about.
He was bewildered.
“But… our men are here.”
“I know, Da.”
“Ewie, who is in Netherton?”
As Ewan shook his head in disgust, another man came alongside him. He was an older man who had seen much in his lifetime. He could explain what they saw far less emotionally than young Ewan.
“They started from the north of the town, lighting everything with their torches,” he said.
“From what we could see, they were killing everything that moved. We saw them strike down women. But as they burned, they were dropping the sprigs of bog myrtle. They’re not Keith men, but they want everyone tae think that they are. They’re leaving our mark.”
Niall was looking between his eldest son and the old warrior, genuinely perplexed. “But why?” he asked. “Did ye see who they were, lads?”
It was Ewan who spoke the fateful words.
“Aye,” he muttered. “We hid tae the north of the town, watching the men who were burning it tae the ground, and tae the northeast, we could see a group of men as they watched in the moon’s glow.
I sent my men tae see who they were and they returned tae tell me that it was St. Drostan. ”
Niall had to make a conscious effort to keep his jaw from dropping. “Lindsay?” he gasped. “St. Drostan Lindsay? But Netherton is on his lands.”
“’Tis true, Da.”
“Are ye telling me the man burned his own village?”
“With men bearing Keith bog moss.”
Niall could hardly believe what he was hearing. St. Drostan Lindsay was the chieftain for the larger, more warring Clan Lindsay to the north, a branch of the clan that had been hostile toward the Keith in their small enclave since St. Drostan became chieftain a couple of years earlier.
There was a history of hostility between the two clans.
St. Drostan’s grandfather had been at odds with Niall’s grandfather, who had inherited the lands from his father and grandfather, lands that went back to a Lindsay mother, the daughter of one of the great Lindsay chieftains.
The woman had married a Keith and had been exiled for that love.
The Lindsay had been trying to get the land back, more or less, ever since.
They entire clan knew the story; there was no need to repeat it. The Lindsay had been chipping away at the Keith for years, but never more brazenly than at this moment. This went beyond what the Lindsay had ever done. As the men started to grumble with shock and anger, Isadora looked at her father.
“They will end us,” she hissed. “Dunna ye see what they are doing? They burn their own village, leave evidence that we did it, and then turn tae their allies for help in ridding the Keith from their lands once and for all.”
It was the same thought that had crossed Niall’s mind, but he couldn’t give in to her panic; not yet. “Keep yer head, lass,” he said quietly. “The men dunna need tae hear this. We’ll talk later when—”
“Da, listen.” Isadora wouldn’t be put off. “St. Drostan became the new chieftain when his da died two winters past of the cough. He has never wanted us here. Ye know that. It was just a matter of time before he moved against us—this is his move. Dunna ye see it?”
Niall did. The fear that they’d been experiencing all evening had turned into something darker and deeper, something cloying that he couldn’t shake.
St. Drostan Lindsay was an ambitious wretch of a man, a rotten child who had grown into a rotten man.
He hated anything he couldn’t have, and he hated the Keith in particular because they sat on prime lands to the west. There was even an old silver mine on the lands the Keith occupied, so greed was also part of St. Drostan’s motivation.
Not as if he needed real motivation.
Men of evil deeds seldom did.
“I see it,” Niall said after a moment. God, he hated muttering those ominous words. His focus returned to Ewan. “And yer men are sure they saw him, Ewie? Do they swear tae it?”
Ewan nodded, an effort considering the events in Netherton meant the beginning of the end for their clan. He knew it. They all knew it.
“Aye,” he said. “He was with some of his men, the ones that follow him around and give in tae his every wish. Da… he’ll go tae Clan Murray and claim ’twas us who burned Netherton. They are allies, ye know that. If Clan Murray strengthens his numbers…”
Niall held up a hand. “I know it,” he said. He didn’t want to hear how the Lindsay would gather their biggest ally and wipe them all out. “He’s burned an entire town in his greed. He killed his own people. He’ll do far more tae us if he has his way.”
Isadora grasped his arm. “We must do something.”
“What would ye have me do, lass?”
Isadora glanced at Ewan. Her second brother, Ossian, had also gone on the scouting mission, standing back with the horses, a sickened look on his face. But neither brother offered any solution to the issue, so Isadora simply shook her head.
“We need help,” she said quietly because she knew her father would not want his proud men to hear that they needed assistance. “We have kin tae help us, Da. Why not send for them?”
Niall shook his head. “Ye know my da cut ties with the rest of his clan,” he said. “They wouldna come. I wouldna ask.”
Frustrated, Isadora tried another way. “Then we find men in the Highlands tae fight for us,” she said. “We’ll go tae every farm and ask them tae come. We’ll tell them why. If we have enough men, then the Lindsay canna run us off so easily.”
“Issie, ’tis no place for ye tae tell Da what he should do,” Ewan spoke up. As the eldest, his position was often usurped by his sister who thought she knew better than the men did. “Ye keep out of this.”
Isadora flared. “Do ye have a better idea, then?” she demanded. “If ye do, I would fall dead on the ground tae hear it. Ye never have an idea of yer own, Ewan.”