by Sy Walker
Alisa stepped forward, clutched the hem of her dress, and bowed for the Earl. Smiling up at him, she said, “Pleased to meet you, my lord. I very much look forward to seeing your home.”
Cheshire smiled at her, but there was little warmth in it. “Do you indeed? I should think you’re also filled with terrible trepidation.”
Alisa didn’t know what to say to this. His voice was dry and wavering, as if he smoked too much. He had a somewhat shambly appearance also, a lace collar unfastened at the neck and a fine red coat he’d not bothered to button.
“No, my lord, I’ve no trepidation,” Alisa lied. “I am at your service, as is Clan McGregor.”
The Earl laughed at this. He eyed her father keenly and said, “Is that true, McGregor? Is your clan at my service?”
Her father grimaced and cleared his throat. “Of course, my lord. We want no further bloodshed. The crown has nary an enemy in us, I assure you. As long as this lass is well taken care of.”
“She’ll want for nothing, I assure you,” the Earl said crudely licking his lips. “Come my dear, our carriage awaits.”
Alisa hugged her father and said her goodbyes to her sisters. Her mother nearly burst into tears when she told her she loved her, but proud woman she was, she kept them in check and gave her a hug. With nothing further to be said, Alisa left with Lord Cheshire and felt the weight of her entire Clan as the heavy doors of her father’s castle closed behind her.
“Will there be time to collect my horse?” Alisa asked.
“No. You can have a new one when we’re in England,” the Earl said. “You want a quality foal for riding, girl, not a Scottish nag.”
Chapter Two
The Earl’s carriage bumped along through the forest as the sounds of evening fowl and woodpeckers echoed in the soft gray twilight. Why Cheshire had insisted on traveling through the night Alisa couldn’t understand, and now that they’d taken to the road he seemed fidgety. He mumbled to himself as he squinted at a handful of yellowed documents. Every so often he’d spare a glance out the window, as if he expected to see something other than the deep Scottish woodland. Alisa knew she had no business asking, but she found herself too curious for her own good.
“Lord, what is it you’re trying to read?”
“Trying to read? What do you mean trying to read?” the Earl said.
“You’ve not taken your eyes off those leaves this entire hour. Is there something I can help you with? Can ye not see them clearly?”
Lord Cheshire looked up at her and gained a bitter, morbid expression. “How old do I seem to you, dear? The elderly Earl of Shrewsbury? It must be a frightful worry, this betrothal of ours.”
Alisa knew she’d stepped in it. She sat up straighter and smoothed out a ruffle in her dress.
“No, my lord,” she said. “It’s just that the light is waning and you seem as though—”
“I’ve lost my sight,” Cheshire said. “You know not too terribly long ago I’d have had my pick of any woman in England. Do you believe that?”
“Of course I do, my lord. You’re very handsome.”
“You’re lying. You don’t find me handsome. I’m no longer a specimen of young masculinity, which is all little girls raised in little castles in little countries can think of. I’ve lived a life of sacrifice and heartbreak, my dear, which is precisely what you’re likely to live. That I’ve earned a few scars and wrinkles along the way is merely a testament to the fact I survived. You could learn a thing or two from an old face like this. You’re very pretty, and your loins are very young, and at my age the only thing you’ve got to leave behind is progeny. Does that suit you? You’re to bear me sons, as many as I want. My last wife didn’t have it in her.”
“And … and what became of her, my lord?” Alisa ventured.
“She died. Tragically. I do so intend better fortune for you.”
The carriage came to a stop. They heard Cheshire’s men barking at each other, issuing orders, then a hail of arrows rained down on them, punching holes in the carriage and dropping the Earl’s men from their horses.
Cheshire shouted, “They’ve found us!” and then a battle cry sounded from the woods and a group of tartaned highland assassins bolted from behind the large, moss-covered trees. They joined battle with the remainder of Cheshire’s men, English steel meeting powerful, brawny Scottish broadswords.
“Who are they?” Alisa said, whipping around to get a better view.
“Clan Campbell,” the Earl said.
“Campbell? I thought—”
“They’re displeased with your father. The old blood feud holds true, it would seem. They don’t like him marrying you to me.”
“They’ve come to kill you?”
“They’ve come to kill us both,” Cheshire hissed.
The earl ripped up the papers in his hands, retrieved a flintlock pistol and rapier sword from a compartment under his seat, and then he kicked the carriage door open.
“What are those papers?” Alisa said.
“Our marriage contract. You’re on your own, my dear.”
With that, Lord Cheshire scrambled into the woods for a nearby boulder.
“He’s there, lads!” one of the assassins called.
Musket fire peppered the boulder. The Earl was over and dashing away, heading for a thick knot of oaks.
“After him!” the assassin said. Three assassins bolted after him. Alisa recognized her chance to escape, but rather than rushing from the carriage, she dropped to the muddy ground and began crawling for the low embankment off the side of the road. The final, piteous sounds of battle ended behind her as one of the Earl’s men screamed, gurgled loudly, and then fell to the ground with a heavy thud.
“Search the carriage,” one of the assassins said.
Alisa scrambled for the embankment. She rolled down into it then crawled behind some leafy undergrowth. Two assassins searched the carriage, announcing loudly the McGregor girl wasn’t in it.
“Well find her, ye halfwits!” their commander bellowed. “The bitch couldne have gotten far.”
On her hands and knees, Alisa backed her way behind a large birch. She scrambled a few hundred feet and dove behind the cover of a decaying log. Scanning the assassins at the carriage, fear coursing through her, she picked her time and ran away as fast as she could.
* * * * *
It was cold and dark in the forest before long. Though Alisa hadn’t heard them crashing through the underbrush and barking at each other in at least an hour, she felt more afraid now than she had during the attack. She clutched herself tightly, willing her feet to carry her further from harm. She shivered all over, remembering again and again arrows punching through armor and swords hacking limbs from bodies.
Alisa drew her hands to her mouth and blew into them. She felt something wet on her face and imagined it to be blood, though of course she’d been far from the brutality of Campbell’s killers. Clan Campbell had long been sworn enemies of the MacGregor’s, but they’d not tried anything so brazen in many years. Alisa recalled her father and his counselors speaking of them in recent weeks, but she’d just assumed they were bickering over a minor land dispute. And somehow, the Earl had gotten word Campbell meant to attack. Why else would he have seemed so jittery during the carriage ride?
Exhausted, frightened beyond anything she’d ever know, Alisa broke down and fell to the ground beside the babbling water of a small brook. What was she going to do? How on Earth would she find her way home? She knew these lands as well as any young lass, but she’d lost all sense of direction as she’d run from the assassins. October had come to the Highlands and with it the first bitter chills of winter. If she couldn’t find shelter and build a fire for herself, she wasn’t likely to make it any—
Twigs snapped in the underbrush behind her. She spun around and came face to face with a Campbell assassin. He had a large, bushy orange beard, and a stock and body so big his shoulders were like the A-frame of a house. He chuckled and drew his sword from
his tartan sash.
“There you are, little gorgeous,” he said. “We’ve wondered off, have we?”
Alisa scooted away from him and splashed into the brook. Icy water bit at her, and her breath seized in her lungs.
“Now, now, no need to fear,” said the assassin. “I think you’ll find I’m a very spirited man once ye get to know me.”
He laughed and splashed into the brook. Alisa’s muscles refused to move. The water was so very cold and the terror so all-encompassing. She tried to crawl for the other side. The Campbell assassin grabbed her by the hair and jerked her to her feet. Alisa cried out in pain.
“Don ye try nothin’ pretty with me, little lass,” he breathed into her ear. “I’d make ye a skinned heifer just as soon as I’d—”
An arrow whistled through the air and punched through his shoulder. The assassin screamed and dropped her back into the water. Alisa’s head went under. Water got into her lungs, and she scrambled to her knees and coughed. A large black shape rushed from the trees and dropped the assassin with a single heavy blow. For a moment, the figure seemed more beast than man, but Alisa got a look at a heavy hunting bow, and she realized this individual had happened on them by chance.
The assassin struggled and received a final heavy blow to the head. He didn’t struggle after that. Alisa coughed and choked, the darkness seeming to consume her entire world.
She heard a deep, grizzled voice say, “Lass, are ye all right?”
She swooned and dropped. Her savior caught her and then she passed out cold.
Chapter Three
Alisa felt the motions of the horse before she was fully aware enough to open her eyes. The world seemed yellow and bright, and she wondered perhaps if she had died.
“Whoa, Roach. Easy does it,” she heard someone say.
Alisa opened her eyes. She’d been slung over the horse. It was early morning judging by the golden light filtering through the trees. A highland warrior sat proudly with her on the mount. His body was wide and muscular, and a certain tantalizing musky yet sweet aroma hung about him.
“Stop,” Alisa said. “I’ve got to get off.”
The warrior bade his horse halt and she nickered. Alisa dropped to her feet and grunted, her body stiff and achy. She turned to take him in. Handsome, ruggedly so, with long black hair and the scratchy beginnings of a beard. He was built like an ox, yet his eyes were warm and compassionate. He unslung a water flagon from his side and handed it to her, smiling. She snatched it and tugged on the stopper, drinking greedily as water ran down her chin.
“There, feel better now?” the warrior said.
Alisa very nearly emptied the flagon. She took a final gulp and then wiped the water from her chin.
“Who are ye?” she asked. “What do ye want with me?”
“I want nothing, lass. Happened to be hunting last night. Clan Campbell has driven the herds from my lands, so now I must venture far afield to feed my kin.”
“Campbell? You’ve had dealings with them?”
“I have,” the warrior said in his deep, grizzled voice. “It seems ye have as well. Those assassins were well trained.”
“Are you going to take me home?”
The warrior sighed and hopped off his horse. He towered over her, an absolute giant of a man. His bright blue eyes seemed to sparkle in the morning light. And there it was again, that amazing musky scent sweet as sugar.
“No,” he said, “I cannae risk it. Your father is embattled, and whether he knows it or not, the only thing keeping him alive is your death.”
“You know who my father is?”
“Aye. My kin and I were foot soldiers of his at one time. I know who you are, young lass, though the last time I saw ye …” He paused and looked her over, his eyes lingering for a moment or two on her bosom. “Ye weren’t so tall.”
“Why would they think I’m dead?”
The warrior extended a hand and gestured for her to take it. She did so and he kissed the ring on her finger. “My lady, my name is Logan Allaway of the Artos Clan. I swear to protect and watch over you in any way I can, but I cannae take you home. Too much is at stake.”
“Why?”
“Your father is the only one keeping Campbell in check,” Logan said. “This bloody war will make corpses of us all. My men and I would be defending him still if we hadn’t …”
“Hadn’t what?”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m taking you to our village. You’ll be safe there.”
Alisa folded her arms over her chest and glared at him. “And what if I choose not to go?”
Logan shrugged. “I wouldnae recommend it. You don’t even know where you are. And more assassins may be lurking about.”
“And I suppose you’ll force me to go regardless?”
“No. You’re a grown woman. Ye can decide for yerself.”
Alisa bit her lip and looked into the woods. Though morning had come, the clouds and mist were rolling in, and in the depths of the forest the right direction may be impossible to determine. She noticed he was staring at her lip with a hint of attraction in his eyes. She stopped biting it and unfolded her arms.
“They won’t come looking for me?” she said.
“I hope not. Beggin’ yer pardon, but I, uh, tore off a piece of yer dress and covered it in blood. Left it where they’ll find it. Lay down more blood to suggest an animal attack.”
“Where’d you get the blood?”
“I’m a hunter. There’s always blood.”
Alisa appreciated the ingenuity of Logan’s plan. It was a fair bet Clan Campbell would fall in line behind his assumptions. And he’d said her father would be safe if they believed her dead for now.
“My family, they’ll feel such grief,” she said.
“But you’ll be alive. My kin are hearty and brave and they’ll aid you in whatever way they can. Clan McGregor have always been friends to us. We’ve not forgotten the oaths we swore.”
And yet you’ve all abandoned him, Alisa thought.
Roach whinnied and rose up to kick at the air. She circled Logan and Alisa, her back legs bucking anxiously.
“What is it, girl?” Logan said.
Despite herself, Alisa moved closer to him and eyed his broadsword. “What’s wrong? More assassins?”
“No. She wouldnae be so spirited if—”
A pack of wolves darted from the forest, gnashing their teeth and growling. Roach wheeled and bolted. Logan withdrew his sword too slowly, and the largest wolf—jet black and covered in scars—leapt for him and drove him to the ground. Alisa cried out and watched in horror as the wolf angled its jaws for his throat. Logan took hold if its snout, its jaw chomping shut over its nasty yellow teeth. She heard growling behind her. Quickly, she dove for Logan’s dropped sword and came up swinging. The nearest wolf dodged the blade. It circled around and reached for her leg.
White fire leapt from her skin as the wolf swiped and drew blood. Alisa cried out.
Logan roared, not the sound of a man but a mighty beast. Before her eyes, the highland warrior who’d saved her life transformed into something bigger, deadlier, covered in dark fur and claws and with wicked, sharp teeth. His bones snapped and popped, and his skin stretched to accommodate his new mass. Logan howled in agony.
“Bear,” Alisa breathed. “Yer a bear.”
He threw off the black wolf with his mighty arms big as tree trunks. Logan climbed to his feet and moved to stand between Alisa and the pack. One wolf pitched a sudden snarling attack, and Logan batted him aside and opened his throat with his jaws. The other wolves made a show of aggression, advancing, retreating, circling to test for weakness. Logan showed them none. He roared a final mighty challenge, and to a wolf, the pack tucked their tails between their legs, whimpered, and scurried back into the depths of the forest.
Logan growled at them, a deep rumbling sound that seemed to shake the earth beneath her feet. He was enormous, twice the size of a man. His claws were long and severe, and his dark muzzle wa
s covered in blood. She gaped at him in wide-eyed bewilderment, terrified of his strength and ferocity, daring not to speak his name or draw his attention.
After a time, Logan’s posture relaxed, and he met Alisa’s eyes and nodded at her. He hadn’t the eyes of a bear, dull and simple, but rather the same sparkling blues. He huffed in pain and dropped to the ground. The alpha wolf had bitten his shoulder. It looked deep. Alisa took a step and his body suddenly reversed back into his human form. He howled again, his bones popping and a bed of thick fur dropping from his pale skin. A few moments later, Logan lay there as a man, naked and trembling, clutching his bloodied shoulder. Dear lord, his body was beautiful. Strong and muscular and full of life. Alisa did her best to avert her eyes, but it was much tougher than she thought.
“Lass, my tartan,” he said.
Eyeing the wound, she searched for the scraps of his kilt and sash and covered him with them. He thanked her and got to his feet, swooning and swaying and at last collapsing.
“My village,” he said. “We have medicine. My kind will know what to do.”
“Where?” she asked.
“Ride north. Full day’s journey. You cross into their lands and they’ll find you.”
Logan’s eyes rolled into his head and he lost consciousness. Alisa looked over his body, rippling muscles, more scars then she’d ever seen a single person wear. She folded up his tartan and wrapped it around his wound.
“What are you, Logan Allaway?” she said.
Chapter Four
At nightfall on the second day, Alisa rode Logan’s horse into a rolling green glen, the grass of which swayed in the gentle October breeze. She was freezing and starving and had not had decent rest or a meal in days. She thought perhaps she’d gone the wrong way, the moon above bright despite the lingering orange sunlight on the horizon. She glanced back at Logan, who had passed out again despite having been awake and speaking with her the previous hour.
“Are these your lands, Logan? Have we made it to safety?”
As soon as she spoke these words, a group of four horseman came up over the hill and rode down to meet her. They drew around her in a tight semi-circle. The foremost of the group—a grey-bearded old warrior—brandished his sword and told his men to hold.
