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CHAPTER1
WAKE! HE IS HERE!
Fia jolted up out of sleep, eyes wide and heart pounding, the deep, commanding voice continuing to echo in her ears. She pulled her wool cloak tightly around her, not that it did much good against the cold that penetrated the dungeon’s stone walls where she was held prisoner—though not for much longer.
He had arrived to take possession of her and there was nothing she could do to stop it. There had been nothing she could do when captured weeks ago, imprisoned, and accused of being a witch. Her twenty-odd years had taught her that ignorance was a difficult foe to battle.
She was no witch. She was a healer from a long line of healers. She had inherited the skill of her ancestors and their passion to learn, to prefect their craft, to help the ill, and… like some before her, possess the knowing. She would sense things to come and a voice in her head often guided her. Both had benefited her, kept her safe, had even helped her as a healer. Other times it had nearly gotten her killed. She tried to make sense of it and find a way to control it, but it wasn’t possible. It had a will of its own, so she had learned to live with it the best way she could, and, at times, she had learned to hide it.
She shivered, a long, drawn-out shiver, and it was not only the cold that brought it on, but fear. She had sensed, not long after her arrival here, that a man would come for her and demand to take possession of her. Unfortunately, she did not know why. She only knew that fate had sent him, but fate could be a friend or foe and only time would tell which one it was meant to be.
Fia stood, stretching the stiffness and aches from her limbs. Her sleeping palette was nothing more than a thin layer of hay with a sparse wool blanket spread over it. She often wrapped the blanket around her cloak for extra warmth. Still, she had never felt warm enough since arriving here.
Her stomach grumbled, reminding her of her hunger. Tavia, the daughter of Chieftain Newlin of Clan Strathearn, made sure she had sufficient food, as did Flora, the chieftain’s niece. But an arranged marriage had Tavia recently leaving with her husband. A hastily arranged marriage had taken Flora away as well.
Cora, one of the cooks in the kitchen, had tried her best to bring her food but Chieftain Newlin made it difficult for her. He believed Fia a witch and feared what she might inflict on him and the clan, making it difficult for Cora to sneak her sufficient food.
She would forgo the food right now for a bucket of water so she might clean herself before meeting her fate. The stench in her cell had her wrinkling her nose and she worried that some of it was coming from her, having had no chance to wash since her capture.
Fia stilled, catching a sound. It was the door at the top of the stairs creaking open. Light footfalls followed cautiously and Fia hurried to the iron bars on the cell door.
“Cora?” Fia called out softly.
“Aye, it is me,” Cora acknowledged just as softly, fearful someone would hear.
Fia was glad to see the short, round woman, though the worry on her face had Fia asking, “What’s wrong, Cora?”
“He has arrived,” Cora said and hugged herself protectively. “He has the finest features I have ever seen on a man and yet he is the most frightening man I have ever seen. His warriors do not move without a command from him. And one look from his,” —she shivered— “I have never seen the color of his eyes before, a blue so bold it captures you and you cannot look away. One look, not a word from him, and his warriors obey without hesitation. Thankfully, he did not bring his army of the dead with him.” She shivered again. “Chieftain Newlin trembles in his presence, most do. I have heard the legends spread about him. Spawned from the mist of battle one day the tale goes, but they seemed more fanciful than true.” Her eyes went wide. “Now, though, seeing him with my own eyes, I believe the tales are true and I cannot wait for him to take his leave.”
Cora’s words sent a shudder through Fia. She would go from one prison to another, forced to leave with him.
“I am so sorry,” Cora rushed to say. “I wish you could be set free. I do not believe you are a witch, though I cannot say that to others. They would believe you cast a spell on me and have me do your bidding.” She hurried a wrapped cloth through the space in the bars. “I managed to sneak some bread, though you might be better meeting him on an empty stomach.”
“I am grateful for your help, Cora,” Fia said, taking the wrapped cloth. “Is there any chance you could bring me a bucket of water? I would like to wash some before leaving here.”
Cora leaned close and whispered, “I would leave the stench on you. He will keep his distance then. Besides, I will not be able to return. We are busy preparing food for him and his men.” Tears rushed to her eyes. “I wish you well, Fia.” With that, Cora turned and hurried up the stairs.
Though hunger poked at her, she had no desire to eat, but she forced herself to do so anyway, not knowing when she would eat next.
Fia returned to her sleeping palette and sat, a sadness washing over her. She thought about her small cottage in the woods and all the things it held. Crocks of herbs and salves, the mortar and pestle that had been her grandmother’s, the bunches of herbs on her drying racks, her mum’s wool shawl she wore daily. Her aprons she had stitched from her grandmother’s worn garments, and two shifts she had stitched for herself from her mum’s garments. Her home not only contained those precious items, but it also contained the memories of her family, of being cared for, of being loved. She feared she might never see her home again or feel the lingering love that greeted her when she entered there.
Tears threatened her eyes and she let them fall, knowing she could not, would not, shed tears in front of…
Fia had heard tales as well about him and Cora had been right. The tales had seemed more fanciful than true. How could anyone believe he commanded an army of the dead? But how could one man possess such remarkable strength, be so fearless, and care nothing for the sanctity of life unless… he was heartless.
She shivered at the frightening thought, then wondered. What could a heartless warrior want with a woman he believed was a witch?
The question troubled her, for no doubt he was expecting something from her that she did not have the power to give him. What then would he do with her?
Fia did not like where her thoughts were taking her. Her grandmother had warned her many times to be careful, for few, if any, understood how a woman could thirst for knowledge about the workings of the body. A woman was simply not wise enough and, therefore, it had to be the devil enticing her to do his evil bidding. Even if careful, trouble could befall a wise healer as it did her grandmother.
She brushed the last of her tears away. She would stay strong and meet her fate with courage like so many of her ancestors had done. She wondered, though, had they suffered the gripping fear that she now did when fate had intervened?
She could not help but be fearful of what her fate would be. Would fate be kind to her or would she meet suffering and death at the hands of Lord Varrick… the ruthless, legendary Highlander.
CHAPTER2
Newlin tried to stop his body from trembling, but it was useless. He had something to tell Lord Varrick and he knew it would not go over well. But he had a duty to his clan, and he would not fail them.
