PROLOGUE
August 10, 4829: Planet Skye
West of Lochwood Castle on the edge of A’Gul Woods
Och, but one of these days, his cousin’s libido was going to be the death of him; Ciaran was certain of it. He’d spent two hours on horseback already, and no way were they ever going to make it before dark. This was their big day. Their fostering was over, and they were finally going home. Ciaran glanced up at the darkening sky with its wispy clouds, then at his cousin.
“We’re going tae miss supper with the clan in the great hall.”
Ram smiled, showing off the dimples he was renowned for. His hair was still mussed from whatever lass’s bed he’d crawled out of. “Cook will still feed us. Besides, I wasnae that late.”
Shaking his head, Ciaran couldn’t quite contain his smirk. “Ye five minutes was more like an hour. Ye ken, they probably have a big feast planned fer our homecoming.”
“They do have a celebration planned, and Ciaran is right—we’re going to be late for it.” Patrick, who rode on Ram’s other side, chuckled and leaned over to pluck a piece of hay from Ram’s hair. “What was it again that you had to do before leaving, Ram?”
Perhaps it was a hayloft rather than a bed.
Ram rubbed his nose and sniffed.
“More like who instead of what,” Grant said from slightly behind them.
They all chuckled.
Ram at least had the decency to blush, though he did puff his chest out a bit, but then he wrinkled his nose and rubbed it again.
Duncan hurried his horse up beside Ciaran’s and grinned at them. “I just want tae ken who the lass was.”
“A gentleman never tells. And I’ll have ye all ken I was saying my goodbyes,” Ram declared and pulled ahead of them with his chin firmly in the air, then promptly covered one nostril with his finger, leaned over, and blew snot out of his nose.
More laughter ensued.
Rolling his eyes, Ciaran snorted. It wasn’t like they wouldn’t be going back to visit. Och, but he was really going to miss Patrick and Marcus.
“Oh yes, you are a gentleman and a scholar,” Patrick quipped.
Ciaran laughed along with the rest of the group, but truth be told, he was actually okay with Ram’s delay. They’d been home on visits—Ellenwine Castle, the Campbell keep, wasn’t far from it—but he was nervous about going home for good. Not, of course, that he’d admit that to anyone. What if he didn’t live up to his father’s expectations now that he would be around all the time? What if he couldn’t learn the managerial things about being a chieftain as quickly as he’d learned to be a warrior?
“Why dinna we just go through A’Gul Woods?” Boyd asked. He’d been bringing up the rear, but he hurried alongside Ciaran, pointing to the woods on their right.
Glancing at the tall oaks and pines of A’Gul Woods, Ciaran grinned. Those woods bordered his clan’s land, acting as a natural defense against enemies. At night there was a constant low fog, giving it a very mystical feel. He’d played in those woods as a child because it butted up against the castle wall and ended at the back of his aunt Agatha’s cottage. If they turned now and headed into the woods, it would only take them fifteen minutes to get to the MacKay keep, assuming one took the right path. A man could just as easily get lost in those woods for hours.
Resigning himself to another hour in the saddle, Ciaran said, “They are haunted.” He trusted the Campbells, but he preferred to keep the shortcut to his home secret.
“Really?”
“Oh, aye,” Ram answered with a straight face. “There are bogles and fae, and I’ve even seen a kelpie. Loch Sterling is on the other side of Lochwood Castle, dinna ye ken?”
“It’s really haunted?” Boyd asked again, his voice full of wonder and a bit of apprehension. It took everything Ciaran had not to laugh.
Patrick didn’t have as much restraint; he chuckled and rode ahead of all of them. “We are not going through the woods.”
Out of nowhere a thin beam of red stretched across the gloaming, then disappeared. Then another and another. Like little fireflies. There were dozens of them, and they were beautiful.
Ciaran stared, fascinated. “What is that?”
Everyone seemed to stop, puzzled by the phenomena.
Next to him, one of the lights landed on Duncan’s chest. “It’s on m—” He froze, his eyes widened, and he fell from the saddle so quickly Ciaran couldn’t process what had happened, much less grab him.
Chaos descended on them like a highland storm in spring, and everything seemed to happen at once. With a distressed snort, Duncan’s horse reared up, then bolted. More beams of red zipped through the air, and Patrick kicked his horse’s flanks, running full-out toward the right, toward the trees, his blond hair flying out behind him. There were gasps all around. The horses pranced, agitated. Even Horace, Ciaran’s unflappable warhorse, sidestepped. The cries of victory echoed in the distance like an ominous rumble.
“To the woods!” Patrick shouted.
The others followed, thundering past.
Duncan lay on the deep green grass, staring up at the darkening sky with sightless eyes and a hole through the middle of his chest. There was no blood, but there was no mistaking the utter stillness of death.
“Ciaran!” Patrick shouted again.
Snapping out of his daze, Ciaran raced after his mentor and their small band of warriors as more lights lit up the hazy dusk.
Once he hit the tree line, he didn’t stop. He drove Horace deep, following the other four men until fog settled around them, embracing them in the darkness under the canopy. Branches and leaves slapped against his face, arms, and thighs, stinging him.
The men slowed to a stop in front of him, forming a circle among the trees. Men and horses breathed hard, filling the quiet of the forest.
Ciaran started to protest but realized the red lights had stopped—they could not penetrate the thickness of the woods—though the dull sounds of enemy combatants remained, if one listened carefully.
Patrick threw his leg over his saddle and dropped to the ground. Twigs snapped under his boots as he patted his horse’s neck.
“What are ye doing?” Grant huffed out, sounding outraged. “Why are we nae continuing on tae Lochwood Castle?”
Boyd spat next to him. In the dark, his expression didn’t show, but his tone clearly announced his disgust with Grant’s suggestion. “We’re Campbells! We dinna leave our kin. We have tae go back and get Duncan.”
“Ye go get ’em, ye fuckin’ bampot.” Grant leaped from his horse and started toward Boyd.
Ram, always the peacekeeper, jumped off his horse as well, but Patrick got there first.
“Enough!” Patrick said, pushing Grant back.
Neither man seemed inclined to continue after that. As captain of the Campbell clan, Patrick was their leader in the absence of the laird. And even if he wasn’t, his reputation as a warrior would have made him so. The Campbell warriors followed him out of respect, but the power their elderly laird had trusted him with and his prowess as a swordsman caused a little fear as well.
“We will get Duncan, but not now. Now, we are going to assess the situation. We have more than ourselves to think about. Lochwood Castle is less than an hour’s ride to the east of us, and our own keep is only three hours west.” He turned toward Grant. “How many arrows do you have?”