The wind refused to die down. It shrieked between the pine boughs and rattled the leaves in frantic bursts.
Lavina’s cloak clung to her back, soaked through, her legs streaked with mud as she and Maisie stumbled deeper into the forest. They were breathless, terrified, but driven by something stronger than fear: the will to survive.
Lightning forked again in the distance, casting eerie shadows over the glen. The scent of pine, rain, and wet earth clung to the air. Every branch snapped too loudly. Every footstep felt like a herald of doom.
Maisie coughed beside her, her small frame trembling. “Lavina, I cannae—I cannae run much longer.”
“Just a little farther,” Lavina whispered, squeezing her sister’s hand.
Her eyes scanned the undergrowth desperately. There—just off the path, half-hidden behind a thicket of brambles—stood an old tree, massive and ancient. Its trunk was hollowed out from rot or lightning or time itself, forming a dark cavern beneath its twisted roots.
“In there!” She tugged Maisie forward, ignoring the bite of the thorns on her palms.
She pushed her sister into the hollow and crawled in after her. The space was damp and cramped, but there was room enough for both of them to huddle close.
They held their breath.
Moments later, hooves pounded past.
Four—no, five riders. They thundered down the slope, voices raised in curses and commands. Lavina pressed Maisie’s face to her chest and dared not move. Through the gap between the roots, she watched.
The torches cut through the trees, their flickering light illuminating the rain-slick trunks. Then, something shifted.
A voice barked from beyond the trail, deep and commanding. “That’s far enough.”
The riders pulled their mounts to a stop. Lavina squinted through the gap, her heart lurching as she made out the tartanon the newcomers’ shoulders—deep green and black with a sliver of crimson.
Her breath caught.
It was the McGowan tartan.
Her blood ran cold.
If only she hadn’t come so far north. The storm had misdirected her, causing her to misinterpret her surroundings, and now, their lives hung on the edge of a blade.
Panic surged in her chest. This was McGowan land. The very clan that had destroyed her family. Who had sent her father and mother’s souls directly to Hades. Who had burned her brother’s body until it was nothing but ash and bones.
Maisie whimpered.
“Shhh, lass,” Lavina whispered, brushing back her sister’s damp hair. “Dinnae make a sound.”
“We’re trackin’ runaways,” one of Micah’s men barked. “Nay business of yers.”
“Everything that happens on McGowan land is our business,” came the steely reply. “Ye’re nae welcome here. Turn back.”
There was a pause, then the unmistakable sound of steel being unsheathed.
Lavina tightened her hold on Maisie. She couldn’t see the fight, only flickers of torchlight over wet bark, and could only hear the clash of blades and the cries of men. Rain made the soil slick, and horses reared and screamed.
In the end, it didn’t last long. Micah’s men were no match for trained Highland warriors defending their borders. When the fight died down, Lavina dared to take another peek.
Bodies lay on the path. Not all were dead, but all were wounded.
And then a shadow moved closer to the tree.
Lavina’s heart leaped into her throat. She pressed back, but it was too late.
A figure crouched, his eyes scanning the brush. Rain ran down his cheek, mingling with blood at the small cut above his brow. His gaze locked onto the hollow.
