by Sky Winters
“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 was covered in bloo
d. 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.
“Who are you, lass?” he said. “And who’s that slung over yer horse?”
“This man helped me in the forest. He told me to seek out the village of the Artos.”
The warriors exchanged nervous glances, yet recognition lit the eyes of the oldest among them.
“You’re Alisa MacGregor. The Chieftain’s daughter,” he said.
Alisa swallowed roughly. “I am. And this is Logan Allaway of the Artos Clan. Would ye be them?”
The old grey beard jumped from his horse and moved to get a better look at her passenger.
“Ack, Logan, what have ye gotten into?”
“We were attacked by wolves,” Alisa said. “He saved me.”
The old man eyed her suspiciously. “Did he now? In what way, I wonder?”
She glanced at the other warriors. “In a way perhaps we best nae speak of outdoors.”
He nodded and placed a gentle hand on Logan’s forehead. “Lads, young Miss Macgregor is our guest.”
* * * * *
Alisa stood by as the warriors lifted Logan from his horse and carried him inside a squat peat house in the middle of the small village. She followed them inside and did her best not to get in the healing woman’s way as she examined his shoulder. He lay on a bed of straw. His face was so pale, and the men confirmed his skin was cold as a bottomless loch.
“It’s deep,” the healing woman said in a wavering brogue. “Who wrapped his shoulder this way?”
The warriors turned to Alisa. She cleared her throat and said, “I did. I worried he’d bleed to death.”
“He would have. Very lucky you thought of it. Who are ye, deary?”
One of the warriors leaned in and whispered in the old woman’s ear. She smiled and said, “The marriage is off, I take it.”
“It would seem so,” Alisa said.
Nodding, the old woman went to a dusty, moldering cabinet. She opened the doors with a creak and withdrew a small bottle filled with a deep and murky liquid.
“Hold open his mouth,” she said.
One warrior, taller than the rest, did as she asked. The healing woman unstoppered the bottle and dumped half down Logan’s throat. She gestured for the warrior to shut his mouth then pinched his nose closed until she was satisfied Logan had swallowed.
“Will he be all right?” Alisa asked.
“Time will tell, deary. Though I do believe he’ll be awake and talking sometime in the next few days. Logan’s very lucky to have had you there. The thread between life and death is so fragile some dinnae even know it’s there.”
The door banged open and the grey bearded warrior strode into the peat house. He got a look at Logan and asked the old healer if there was anything she needed.
“Not for now, Drew,” she said. “Magic cannae be rushed.”
“Magic?” Alisa said.
“Indeed,” said the grey beard. “Not magic of spells and incantations but of the wild things that grow all around us. Tell me, lass, why is it Logan urged you to come? He’d not have insisted if it were only his life in danger.”
“That’s true. It wasn’t. Logan saved me from…”
Sensing her hesitancy, the healing woman shook her head.
“Ye may as well trust Drew, deary,” she said. “It seems as though yer short on friends.”
Alisa had concluded as much. She drew a strand of golden yellow hair from her eyes and divulged everything to them.
“Clan Campbell meant to murder me and the Earl of Shrewsbury. The Earl may have gotten away, but I don’t think so. We’ve always known they despised us for our loyalty to the crown, but until now, we’d thought them incapable of such aggression. Logan made it appear as if I was dead, so as far as I know, my family is grieving deeply even as we speak.” A wellspring of remorse and regret filled her heart. “I wish I could send word to them. But Logan said Father wouldnae be safe if they knew I was still alive.”
The old warrior, Drew, eyed her and scratched his beard. The sounds of the village called to them. There were families here, which surprised Alisa. She heard the mooing of the shaggy highland cows and the murmur of villagers as they went about their day.
“It’s quite the story,” Drew said. “I wish I could say we also believed Clan Campbell harmless, but they’ve been pillaging our lands for several month now. I’m surprised they managed to pull off this attack without us knowing about it. Believe me, lass, if we had, we’d have warned yer father.”
“Who are you?” she asked. “What is this place? How can Logan…?”
Drew smiled. “Shift. How can he transform into a bear?”
Alisa nodded.
“Perhaps ye should show her, Drew,” the medicine woman suggested, her face grave and serious. “We cannae stay hidden forever.”
* * * * *
Alisa followed drew to a ramshackle hut built over an old burial mound, otherwise known as a cairn. The druids of old were said to yet dwell beneath the sloping piles of earth, their worldly remains shelters for their dark magic and eager souls. Stopping outside the door to the hut, Drew withdrew a large bronze key. Pausing, he said, “Lass, what will ye do once you have yer answer? Will you tell yer father of Logan?”
“Not if he doesn’t want me to,” Alisa responded.
“You’d keep a secret like that? You’d be strong enough to do it?”
“I’m a woman of my word. My Father taught me to be so. Why should anyone need to know what Logan’s capable of?”
This seemed to satisfy Drew, though she thought she still detected uncertainty. He jerked open the door and gestured for her to enter. Something dark and pungent wafted over her, and she peered inside.
“It isn’t just Logan, is it?” she said. “You can do it too.”
“Please, en
ter.”
She stepped inside and waited for Drew to close the door. At the back of the shack a narrow tunnel had been dug into the side of the cairn perhaps half a man tall and just as wide. The smell of earth and decay filled her nose, and she felt her stomach twist. There were dark things lurking in the burial mounds of Scotland. Every young lass and lad knew that.
“Miss MacGregor, we all deeply regret leaving your father’s service,” Drew said. “The chieftain always treated us well and looked after our interests. I wish we could help him now. His enemies are much deadlier than he realizes.”
“Why can’t you? Why are ye so isolated and hidden from the world?”
The old warrior’s eyes grew sad. He took a torch from its sconce beside the door and sparked a flint against a stone. Light filled the shack and tunnel as the torch flared to life.
“Watch yer head, my lady,” Drew said, stooping low and passing into the cairn.
Alisa did her best to suppress a sudden trill of fear and then followed. The tunnel was perhaps only two meters long. Pungent earth and mud dropped onto her in small clumps. Upon entering the cairn, she saw it was bowl-shaped, the length and width of a small boat. Ancient, semi-fossilized wood could be seen at anchor and support points, and a large oak table rested in the center, covered with jewels and gold that glinted in the flickering yellow light.
“Who was buried here?” Alisa asked.
“The first of our kind. It’s said he towered over men and had the strength of the gods. He had a woman he loved deeply, but she was taken by another. He came to this glen in search of the druid gods of old. He found them.”
Alisa spotted a rolled parchment on the table and moved to pick it up. Unfolding it, she discovered a long and storied lineage chart. Hundreds of names, some of which she recognized from local history and lore.
“There are so many of you,” she said.
“Aye, though many less than there were perhaps even a hundred years ago. We’ve served the chieftains of this region for centuries, and we never made a mistake when it came to concealing our true nature.”
“It’s true, then. It isn’t just Logan.”
“No, lass, it’s not,” said Drew. “And perhaps it’s no coincidence Logan was there to help you.”
