Chapter 1
From the land of mists and waters she came….
Berwick Castle
Northumbria, England
Medieval England & Scotland
They were going to hang her.
And the strange part . . . she really didn’t care.
Fidach, had beaten her for the last time.
Lady Siena Bertram had had all she was going to take from her brother. When he’d lunged at her she’d had no choice but to stab him through his black heart. Aye, she regretted taking a life, but when the life was that of a snake, Siena hoped God would forgive her.
Evidently, Fidach’s men didn’t agree . . . since they were the ones who intended to hang her.
Siena’s body ached all over from the beating her brother had inflicted upon her, and now the rough handling by his men, who were treating her like a criminal instead of a lady, wasn’t helping. Blood trickled from the side of her mouth.
There was a gash on her arm that needed tending, and she could feel her face swelling. Since a noose dangled in front of her, she supposed a cut wasn’t the worst of her problems, and that simple thought made her smile. Now she wondered if she were truly daft. Who would smile when they were getting ready to hang?
Glancing around at the gathered crowd in the bailey, Siena thought she would have had some support from her own people. A few did look uncomfortable, especially the ones she’d healed in the past, but what could they do? Mostly they stood helplessly watching and doing nothing to stop the hanging. Did they, too, think she was a witch?
Twisting her wrists, she tried to alleviate the pressure of the rough ropes that bound her, realizing she’d been cursed from the day she was born. She had heard the gossip. They said she’d sucked the breath from her twin brother, so she might live. Of course, that was utterly absurd. However, the strange birthmark on her wrist, which resembled a pitchfork, only added fuel to the gossipmongers.
The only blessing that Siena possessed was the vision of sight. However, it didn’t always work, or she would surely have seen this noose being slipped over her head. The guard tightened the noose, placing the knot behind her left ear. She flinched at the pressure on her throat.
She grew tired of not belonging.
Perhaps, death would be better.
And then she saw him…the devil, face painted blue, charging toward her on a huge black beast.
She was going to hell for sure.
They said he made a deal with the Devil….
On the hilltop overlooking Berwick Castle, Laird Roderick Scott threw up his right hand and pulled Hercules, his black destrier, to a halt. His face was painted blue and he was breathing hard. How long had he waited for this day?
A day to right a wrong … a day to avenge his family’s death.
The rest of his men halted behind him except, Duncan, Roderick’s first in command, who rode up beside him and asked, “What do ye make of it?”
Roderick leaned forward on his pommel. “Does it not strike ye as odd that no one seems to be guardin’ the castle and the drawbridge is down?”
Duncan nodded. “Aye. The battlements look bare. Almost as if no one is home.” He watched Roderick and noted the scowl on his laird’s face. The mon was no’ happy, Duncan thought, and he pitied any man who got in his way today.
“Could be a trap,” Roderick said, shifting in his saddle. “I canna imagine Fidach has been tipped off we were comin’.”
“I can see smoke coming from the chimneys, so the bastards are there.” When Roderick remained quiet, Duncan asked, “What say ye? We dinna put on war paint for nothin’.”
“Take all the men but three around the back of the castle, and I’ll take the others with me through the main gate. I want Fidach to ken I’m coming for him. Remember, Fidach is to be caught alive. He dies by my hand.”
“As he should,” Duncan said, and motioned the men forward. Roderick waited until the group had made their way to the back of the castle, then he and the rest of his men started down the hill.
On this cold, January morning, the crisp air blew around them and felt good on his face as they rode. They galloped down the bottom half of the hill, across the drawbridge, and straight into the enemy’s castle without one arrow being shot.
Surprise would be on his side.
However, Roderick wasn’t prepared for the chaos he saw once they rode through the entrance. There was no one manning the main gate. The entire castle seemed to be out in the bailey. Small fires burned here and there, giving off rotten smells so that the smoke made the air hazy. Everyone, including the castle guards, who had their backs toward the main gate, were gathered on the left side of the bailey near a raised wooden platform.
It appeared they were preparing to hang someone.
Roderick nudged his mount and they moved closer, so he could get a better view. The crowd parted for him, but no one paid him any attention or his men. Instead, their attention was on the hangman. As Roderick drew near, he saw long, black hair hanging over the noose. My God, they were hanging a woman! What in God’s name could they be thinking?
A big, burly guard was getting ready to shove the stool out from under the lass. As he kicked at the stool, Roderick charged forward, parting the rest of the crowd by knocking them down. Just in time, he reached the girl and snatched her up just as she lost her footing. The hangman had fallen backward in his haste to get away from the rider, and his body had loosened the rope that he’d never gotten secured.
Roderick jerked the woman into his arms before the rope could break her neck, then settled her on his lap in front of him. His men moved to flank him for protection. Gently, he loosened the noose and pulled it over her head, noticing the rope burns on her neck. Next, he removed the ropes from her wrists, yet she still hung limp against his chest. Was he too late? Roderick leaned down and placed two fingers on the side of her neck. A slight thumping beneath his fingertips, gave him his answer.
She lived!
Slowly, he let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
The girl’s clothes were torn and stained with blood. A four-inch gash on her arm was bleeding, and her lip and one eye were swollen and turning blue. To add to that, she now had rope burns around her neck. The woman had been through hell this day. It was probably a blessing she was unconscious.
The men-at-arms, having noticed that they were no longer alone, had drawn their swords. They appeared ready to fight off the intruders.
The fools!
Roderick thought as he insolently studied the soldiers from his position high upon Hercules, daring them to give him a reason to murder the lot. Rage ran hot in his veins; Roderick took a deep breath and waited for his temper to cool.
Everyone need not die because of a few fools.
After a moment, he gave them a contemptuous smile. “Where is Fidach, son of Cinge?” Roderick bellowed so that his voice carried over the crowd’s noise as Hercules pranced beneath him. Roderick tightened his knees and the horse settled down.
One of Fidach’s soldiers approached and spat on the ground. “Who the bloody hell are you?”
Roderick’s temper flared again. Since he still held the woman, he couldn’t very well throw her on the ground and challenge the insolent guard, so he bumped the man with his stallion, knocking him flat on his back. The rest of the castle guards rushed to surround him, their swords raised ready for battle. However, they kept their distance, afraid of the big black horse who stood twenty-four hands tall. He was snorting and stomping his hooves and appeared just as mean as the man who rode him.