Page 1 of The Refuge

Chapter 1

The Vale of Leven, Strathclyde, Scotland 1071

Catrìona stepped to the edge of the crag perched high above the vale. Wind whipped her auburn hair and umber cloak behind her as she raised her gauntlet and let the falcon fly free. Kessog soared into the air over the blue waters of Loch Lomond. Her heart soared with him.

This land of tall peaks and deep lochs was her home. Gray clouds might hover over the tops of the mountains, but the foothills were clothed in the green velvet of spring dotted with bright yellow flowers.

In the distance, the falcon shrieked as he arrowed toward the loch’s crystalline waters, then flew in tight circles over a flock of teals, seeking his prey. The clouds parted and a golden shaft of sunlight reflected off the ducks’ wings and shimmered in the waters of the loch.

Excitement rose within her in anticipation of her future and of the arrival of Domnall, her intended. This very day he would come by ship from Leinster to meet with her father and seal their betrothal. She had oft heard Domnall speak of his home in Ireland. One day it would be her home, too.

In her mind Domnall appeared a most handsome man, except for his nose, which was thin with a high ridge. His wavy light brown hair, always neatly combed, and his well-trimmed beard gave him a noble air. His eyes were the palest of blues. But it was not his appearance that had made her father choose Domnall. It was his noble Irish lineage and his wisdom in matters of business that would enhance the trade between Leinster and the vale.

Whenever Domnall visited, his eyes followed her as she moved about the hillfort. In his gaze, she had glimpsed desire, flattered he wanted her and not just the trade with her father. Her cheeks flushed to think that one day she would bear his children.

In the distance, Kessog streaked toward a duck, but missed his strike.

Catrìona watched the falcon for a while until a sharp gust of wind made her shiver. A sudden urge to return to the hillfort had her whistling Kessog back to her uplifted gauntlet. She fed him a bit of meat from the small leather pouch secured at her waist and turned toward the place where Angus, her faithful guard, waited patiently next to the horses.

His craggy face broke into a smile. “’Tis best we go back, milady. Yer mother will be wantin’ to see ye about the final packin’ fer yer journey.”

“Mother did not want me to fly Kessog today,” she said with a grin, “but I had to, just one more time.” She set the falcon on his perch affixed to the pommel of her saddle. Fastening the leather hood over his head, she secured his jesses and stroked his breast feathers.

Angus helped her to mount and she turned the pony toward home, her heart warming with the thought of the trip east to visit her cousin, Fia. This time, Domnall would be with her for the journey to Atholl.

The sure-footed garrons she and Angus rode over the mountain pass easily found their way along the familiar rock-strewn path.

They approached the last ridge where they would begin their descent to the River Clyde. But instead of the quiet she expected, men’s shouts, cries of terror and women’s screams rent the air.

Quickly, she reached the crest and dismounted. Wide-eyed, she stared into chaos fifty feet below.

Two longships with dragonheads carved into their stems belched forth silver-helmed warriors wielding axes, swords and spears. At the top of one mast flew a banner, a black raven on a field of yellow. Stirred by the wind, the raven appeared to fly. The eerie sight made her shudder.

Northmen!

The long-haired raiders shouted battle cries as they charged across the sand toward the hillfort, cutting down her father’s men as if butchering cattle. They moaned as they fell, pierced through with spears and swords, grunting their last as blood spurted from their bellies.

Unarmed servants shrieked as axes sank into their backs.

Panicked women ran in all directions, shouting for their children.

Catrìona’s heart pounded in her chest as she watched the unfolding terror. She gripped the seax at her waist. “A Dhia m’anam!” God preserve us! “I must go to them!”

Angus pulled her back from the crest. “Nay, ye cannot. Keep away from the edge lest they see ye. The bushes here provide scant cover.” Grabbing up the reins, he led the horses away from the ridge.

“But—” She looked toward the crest, now unable to see what was happening. “My father did not raise me to stand aside when evil strikes.”

Angus returned to her and spoke in a low voice. “Ye can do nothing fer them, milady. We can only await the end of it.”

Fear of the brutal Northmen warred with the desire to come to the aid of those she loved. She bit into her knuckle as she remembered what she had heard of the Norse raids. But if she went to help, in the face of so many bloodthirsty warriors, she would be only one more victim. Angus, sworn to protect her, might die trying to prevent her death.

With the sounds of the mayhem ringing loud in her ears, Catrìona dropped to the ground and crawled on her belly to the edge of the rise, pulling her hood over her flame-colored hair to blend with the shrubs.

Angus came to join her, lying on his stomach in the grass. “Are ye certain ye want to see this?”

She peered down at the scene below, not wanting to witness the bloody fighting, yet unable to turn away. “My family, my friends…” The women’s screams sliced through her heart like knives. “I cannot look away.”

Huge Northmen grabbed screaming women and dragged them over the sand and pebble-strewn beach to one of the longships.