First Glance
Starring Ian and Farrah Fenclan from The Orc’s Christmas Romance
and a dozen other Pine Ridge books.
Ian Fenclan motioned to his eyes and ears, then to his bow.
Across from him, crouched down in thick clumps of Hebridean heather, Douglas Wickstaff, a half-grown lad who was just starting to hunt alone, looked up and nodded at him.
He pointed to his bow and then back across the high hill.
He would follow the trodden path through the heather, sure to find a stag, then head over the peak to the Wickstaff holdings.
Ian turned and headed into the forest, a far more dangerous and tricky place to hunt, but that was good. He wanted to keep productive and busy.
It was a good distraction. Finlay Wickstaff, Douglas’ older brother, had just proposed marriage to an Orc maiden he’d met at a gathering of the clans, and he was packing up and moving over the border, into York, to be with her clan, which was smaller and needed an infusion of fresh blood.
That wasn’t to say Clan Fenclan didn’t need the same thing. Ian had just been put off by the thought of leaving his clan for anyone. Clan was all.
But as he walked silently through the underbrush, a snarl on his features, tusks jutting as his jaw clenched, he couldn’t help replaying their last conversation.
“When you meet the one, Ian, you’ll know.
She’ll be your all. You’ll see your own sons when she gives you that certain look.
You’ll go anywhere in the world with her.
And York isn’t so far away. You’ll look after Dougie for me, won’t you?
I think you’d best teach him to hunt—God knows my father’s hopeless at it. ”
“It’s 1990, Finlay. Your father’s a remote programmer for Aer Lingus.” Ian rolled his eyes.
“I still think Dougie ought to know how to hunt, and I’ll be too far away to take him except on the occasional weekend and at the summer holidays. You’re a real landsman.”
Ian sighed and smiled. “Aye.”
THAT CONVERSATION WAS weeks ago. And now he was shepherding Dougie around, trying to teach him practical skills like hunting, fishing, planting, and maintaining the land while still being a bright young Orc, as braw and bonny as a clan could wish.
I’d like a boy like Douglas. Top marks in reading. With his father’s connections, he’ll be a programmer. Maybe an accountant. A solicitor.
Ian paused and sniffed the air.
Prey was somewhere near. He could hear rustling and snapping ahead of him, maybe a hundred yards, just where the stream ran into the woods. Plenty of game there.
A long, guttural howl followed by three short, sharp barks echoed throughout the woods.
Good. That was their agreed-upon signal to let him know that Dougie bagged his catch.
Ian reared back and emptied his lungs in a long falcon’s screech, acknowledging that he’d heard. It might be a primitive type of communication, but it was effective.
Soon, we’ll be carrying mobile phones, like all thon tightarse Yanks who can’t step away from their desks, or those London city men attached to their copies of the Financial Times and their bloody beepers like a baby at the teat.
Babies. Again? How come mates and children never seemed far from his mind these days?
Maybe his father was right. He was a traditional Orc, meant to wed early and pour himself into his family—his mate and their bairns.
Twenty-two would have been considered high time to wed a few decades ago.
Now? Orcs could wait a bit. They had careers that required more study.
And what have you got to study, Ian Fenclan?
That clearing up ahead. Make your kill, fool, or there’s no point in thinking of anything else. Got to eat. Clan counts on the hunt more than the village shops. Can’t let them down because your head is full of—
“Women.”
The word ripped out of his throat, but it was a whisper.
Ian flattened his back to the wide tree just to his left, one hand tight on his bow, and the other pressing to his pounding heart.
There was a human woman standing in the stream.
A beautiful human woman, with pale, golden-wheat hair that hung in a long, single braid to her waist.
Ian reached silently around his waist and felt the tip of his own plait. One long braid. Just like mine.
But there were seldom any humans in this remote part of the islands!
I’m having a... What was he having? He felt fine, just... lonely. Worried about changing things and finding someone who could love him for what he was. An Orc that wasn’t dead keen on moving with the times.
You’re taken with a heart-fever. Seeing what you long for.
Ian peeked his head around the tree and whipped back around, heart hammering again.
She was there, and she was staring in his direction!
Did she see him?
No. She wouldn’t have. Couldn’t have. Most humans didn’t see a thing until it bit them in the arse. Even then, they were eager to make up a “logical” excuse.
She’ll have seen a flash of green and brown. That’s all. Green and brown. A fallen branch, yes. That’s what she’ll tell herself.
“Crimson cross and the rowan tree, protect this soul and heart in me.”
Ian almost dropped his bow as he heard a sweet, low voice amidst the sounds of the water and the stream.
Rowan and red thread—the crimson cross! How does she know to call about the ancient protections?
She’s got to be fae.
No, a witch.
No, just some human playing with magical spells. Probably found the words in an old book.
One more look just to make sure she hasn’t seen me, and then I’ll head to a different part of the forest. Maybe catch a guga instead of a deer...
Ian gave one more glance around the tree—and this time he stood transfixed.
His vision had shed her long dress and pair of sturdy boots, and was now wading knee-deep into the water, walking with slow, even steps.
Ian backed away slowly, not even daring to breathe.
He’d never found humans beautiful or ugly. They were just—there.
Now, he was certain he’d seen the most beautiful woman in the entire world—and she was standing naked in his favorite fishing stream.