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Chapter Fourteen
“Swift as a shadow, short as any dream; Brief as the lightning in the collied night; That, in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and Earth.”
—Lysander, Act 1,A Midsummer Night’s Dream
A mass of black clouds seemed to dog their heels over the course of the following day as they traveled at a fast trot to Castle Mar on Strath Dore.
When they arrived, it was only afternoon, the pace at which they pushed the steeds making better time than expected. But the land was already shrouded in darkness, as if it was full night. No moon or stars in sight.
Brigid had never feared darkness. After all, it was when she escaped into sweet, beautiful dreams. But, this day, the darkness seethed with unpleasant things. Made all the more ominous by the eerie silence that surrounded them.
All the night creatures she was used to hearing—owls, foxes, hedgehogs, and even bats—she didn’t hear them now. The trees did not sway. The moths didn’t flutter their wings. As if every living being was holding its breath.
Or simply hushed by an external force against their will.
It wasn’t just her imagination that the clouds had descended to earth from the skies. They burgeoned and oozed like boiling tar almost directly above the riders and the carriage. They were so opaque and substantive, that she almost expected the clouds to drip and pour onto the ground, covering everything beneath them in suffocating inkiness.
Most chilling of all, she began to hear a taunting, low rumble in her mind. An inhuman sound that was difficult to interpret.
But it seemed to be laughter. Full of malice and evil glee.
Through the dense black fog, she could barely see the road they traveled upon as the unicorns blindly pulled them up the steep side of the Glen leading onto Drumashie Moor.
“Is it just me, or is it getting more difficult to breathe?” Annie whispered from the seat across her in their carriage.
Brigid could only nod. Speaking took too much strength. She needed every ounce for the battle to come.
The ominous rumble grew louder. So loud, it vibrated the ground beneath them, making the men’s borrowed horses startle and sidestep, neighing with distress.
“Stop,” Brigid said on pure instinct.
She didn’t speak loudly, but she was heard nonetheless. For, the carriage rolled to a halt, and Lord Larkin pulled his steed alongside them, leaning down to better hear her instructions.
“The carriage is a hindrance,” Brigid said. “And so are the horses. They are afraid, skittish, and therefore unreliable. Unhitch the unicorns. We can ride double on them.”
Wordlessly, Lord Larkin and Sai did as Brigid bade them.
This was her domain, they understood. She knew these lands, and she knew her foe.
Brigid herself didn’t know all this until she simplydid. This reckoning had been delayed too long. The so-called Master had been allowed to amass too much power, spread too much fear and poison.
They had to be stopped.
“Grab the bottom edges of your skirt and tear,” she told Annie, showing her how it’s done.
Not questioning her orders, Annie followed her lead. With quick, precise motions, the women tore two vertical slits into their skirts from ankle to thigh along each hip. Beneath the dresses they both wore long stockings and wool pantalets. And on their feet, they wore sturdy, laced ankle boots.
Brigid doffed her fur hat, as well as the thick velvet cloak that had kept her warm on this winter road. Annie followed suit. In wordless accord, both women understood the need for speed and agility for whatever might come. They couldn’t afford to carry unnecessary weight.
Brigid reached under her seat and opened the hidden compartment to reveal extra blankets and two pistols, a dirk and asgian-dubh, wrapped in oiled cloth.
“Which do you prefer?” she asked of Annie, holding a knife in each hand.
“Uh… the smaller one, thanks,” Annie said a little uncertainly, eyeing both weapons.
“Do you know how to use these things?”
Brigid handed her the small dagger and strapped the dirk around her own hips.
