Legend of the Fae: A Highland Fantasy (The Dark Fae Saga Book 1)

by April Holthaus

  A sudden eerie feeling came over Galen, and he raised his head to the sky. The wind had changed and the sky suddenly darkened, signaling a storm had abruptly begun forming overhead. Strong, howling wind blew leaves from the ground to dance in the air.

  “Where’d the storm come from so sudden like?” Ella asked loudly over the wind, as she brushed her long, golden-colored hair out of her face.

  “I dinna ken, but we better find shelter,” Galen suggested.

  Hand in hand, the two of them ran down the hill towards the village. At the base of the hill, Ella yanked her hand out of Galen’s. He stopped and turned to her.

  “What are ye doing?” Galen called out.

  “Do ye hear that?” she asked.

  Galen strained to listen, but only heard the shrieking moans of the wind and the horses stirring in the stable.

  “Come on,” he encouraged her, but Ella did not move. “Ella?”

  As if in a frozen trance, Ella stared into the woods. Galen looked in the direction her eyes were affixed and saw a woman coming out of the woods, walking toward them. Her shoulders were covered by a long, black shawl, and her black hair waved around in the wind like wild fire. Carried in the wind, he could hear the faint sound of singing, as if he were in the middle of the chapel choir. The voice was as sweet as nectar and the melody as calm as a lullaby. Though he could not make out the words, the woman’s whimsical lyrics hung in the air like music from a harp.

  As the strange woman drew closer, her sparkling blue eyes and pale face came into view. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her features were flawless, every curve of her face perfect.

  The woman’s eyes scanned over the village, and Galen took a chance to turn his head over his shoulder. A group of children had come out of their homes and out into the storm. They all stared at the woman as they marched toward her, including Ella.

  “Ella!” Galen yelled, reaching for her small hand, but as he reached out, the woman and the entire group of children vanished before his eyes.

  In a blink of an eye, the wind died down and the sky cleared. No one saw the manner in which the children had vanished, and no one saw the woman in black. No one, but Galen.

  ~ Chapter 2 ~

  Ten years later…

  The Highlands

  November, 1413

  The late autumn air was crisp, as the first snowfall of the season had lightly covered the barren fields. Dark, shale-grey clouds created an ever-looming presence. Nature’s fury had stormed the Highlands with its icy breath, stifling the land. All was quiet, except for the sound of crunching snow underneath the horse’s hooves. Battle-worn men rode alongside Galen, anxious to return home to their families. Galen, however, did not share their enthusiasm. For him, this battle was just the beginning of more to come.

  For three days they journeyed west across the frozen terrain of the Highlands. It seemed like a lifetime had passed since he’d last laid his eyes upon his home. Battle did that to a man. Hours would feel like days, and days like weeks. Had it only been three months? When he left it was midsummer, the perfect time to wage war against Arthur McGregor and his men. But after a series of unexpected delays and surprise attacks, he was returning home four weeks later than he had anticipated. The only good that had come from this war was that few lives were lost.

  The last stretch home felt the longest. Over the last few days his men had grown weary and irritable, snapping under pressure and fighting among themselves. Dealing with his own sleep deprivation, Galen ignored their grunts and moans.

  Within hours of the sun setting they rode over the last incline before the towers of Castle Dunquest emerged. Sitting on the hill like an old maid, shards of light shone down on her craggy face. Its ancient stone walls towered over the land like a beacon to welcome them home. The men around him cheered with delight, and they picked up their pace down the hill toward home.

  The snow-covered peaks of the towers appeared more like an ice castle than the stone keep he had left behind. Black smoke could be seen rising from the cottages within the castle walls, as the villagers kept the hearths burning to fight the bitter cold.

  As they drew closer to the castle, the group broke off; some toward the village, others through the castle gates. Galen crossed the drawbridge and under the portcullis that led to the bailey. Within the courtyard, he could hear the pounding of metal and iron from the Blacksmith’s shop and smell the aroma of herbs and freshly baked pastries drifting from the kitchen.

  The rest of the castle folk appeared busy with their duties as him and his men approached the castle. Dismounting from his horse, he took a quick survey of the surroundings. So far, everything appeared as it should.

  Unbuckling his sack from the saddle, he swung it over his shoulder and grabbed the reins of his horse. As Galen led the beast toward the stables for some much needed food and water, Warrick, his cousin, Evelyn’s husband, stepped out to greet him.

  Warrick was a tall, husky man, whose skills Galen felt at times were wasted hammering iron instead of wielding a sword. After losing much of the sight in his right eye in a battle several years ago, Warrick had retired his sword and took up as the clan’s blacksmith, skills he had learned from his father.

  “Welcome home, my Laird,” Warrick said, in his gravelly voice.

  “Tis good to be home,” Galen replied. “How are ye?”

  “Good, my Laird. Evelyn has been asking about ye. She said she would keep asking every day until ye come and join us for a meal.”

  “Aye, I know how Evelyn can be. Tell yer wife that I will join ye tomorrow evening. A good hearty meal sounds like a fine idea.”

  “She will be delighted to hear that, my Laird.”

  “If ye will excuse me, Warrick, I have much to attend to. Please find Alex and send him to my solar,” Galen said, as he hung the reins over a post next to the trough, leaving the horse to drink.

  As Galen made his way to the keep, he was greeted by many of his clansmen. Many fellow soldiers were in the arms of their wives and children, while others regaled their fellow clansmen the stories of their victory. Galen smiled at their morale, but to him, this was not much of a success. Not as long as McGregor still breathed air and walked upon the earth as a free man.

  Heading to his solar, Galen instructed one of the maids to have a bath ready in his chamber within the hour, with a platter of food and bottle of whiskey. But before he could indulge in the luxury of comfort, Galen needed to update his master of arms and get his report of what had taken place in his absence. The fact that all four walls were still standing was a good sign. It wasn’t that he did not have faith in his officer. Having an absent laird for three months made his clan vulnerable to their enemies, though it was a risk they needed to take.

  They were a small clan of only a few hundred. With undeveloped land of mostly bedrock and trees, their soil was poor for growing crops, which made their small piece of earth useless to other clans who wished to fight over ownership. In the two hundred years Clan Graham had occupied this territory, they had been at peace. It was not until his uncle, Robert de Graham, instigated a war with Clan McGregor by knowingly defiling a woman Arthur McGregor was set to marry that Clan McGregor has made it their purpose to wipe Clan Graham from existence.

  Pushing open the door to his solar, Galen stepped inside. The room looked exactly as he’d left it. Tapestries draped the stone walls giving the room a sense of homage to his ancestors and reflecting his rich clan history, and stacks of books with broken spines and well-worn pages filled the bookshelves. Many of them were used often during his youth when he was well into his studies at the priory, but ten years had passed since the bindings had been opened.

  The room still very much reminded him of his Uncle. Though he had removed many of his uncle’s belongings, his foul scent still lingered in the air. Above the hearth, Galen could still see the square line of dust where his uncle’s portrait had been displayed for many years. Galen had removed the portrait after his passing.
Although he’d contemplated burning the thing several times, he’d instead had it stored in the room below the stairs, though the man deserved much less.

  The day of his uncle’s passing five years ago was not a mournful day for Galen, but the day his fortune changed. The man had drunk himself to death. Next in line and his Uncle Robert’s only male heir, Galen was given Lairdship of Dunquest Castle. Robert tried to fight the decree from his deathbed, refusing to allow his sister’s bastard to succeed him. Instead he wanted for the title to go to his daughter, Evelyn but many did not want them entrusted to a woman.

  Once Galen took over the ruling of the castle, Clan Graham had once again prospered. Fields were properly tended to provide an abundant supply of food. Buildings that were beginning to wear and crumble were rebuilt to their former glory. The most important change that Galen had made was the disposition of his men. They were happier, and therefore worked harder to help make this clan a glorious one. It all had to do with respect, something his uncle never earned from his own men.

  Walking over to his desk, Galen sat down in his dusty chair. On his desk were a stack of letters, his ink and pen, and a map that marked the borders of his land. With a map spread across his desk, he marked off the known locations of the McGregor clan, their worst and most loathsome enemies. If they were going to retaliate, Galen wanted to make sure that his men would be ready. Once he settled on a plan, he sat and waited for Alex to arrive.

  With a permanent crease on his brow and lack of sleep over the past several weeks, he looked and felt as if he was aging faster than time. With his head resting on his hands, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

  The library was quiet, other than the faint noise of the maids as they began cleaning the hall. Galen wanted to savor this moment of silence. As hectic as his days had been, spending a few quiet moments alone felt as comforting as the company of a woman, though he had not been able to enjoy either as of late.

  Swinging his chair around, Galen glanced out the window, but a film of dirt and dust covered the glass. Leaning back, Galen raised one leg and rested it on the window sill. Using the tip of his boot, he tapped the window open. Bright golden rays of sunlight radiated their warmth on his face, and a slight autumn breeze freshened the air in the stale smelling room.

  Focusing on his task, Galen went through a stack of papers on his desk and pulled out the ledgers of the inventory and supplies. Three months behind, reconciling them would be the first task he would need to delegate. Interrupting his thoughts, a brief knock pounded on the door before it swung open.

  “My Laird, ‘tis good to have ye home. How did the campaign go?”

  “Campbell’s plans to negotiate failed. I think talks of peace are far from our reach. McGregor is an unpredictable, fool-headed bastard. He dunna understand how crucial this alliance would be. I dinna think this battle did either side any good, but took the lives of many good men. In the meantime, we will need to increase the security of our borders. We ran into many of McGregor’s men unexpectedly on our journey home. There is no saying how many other stragglers were left wandering our borders.”

  “If I receive the call to arms, my Laird, ye can count on me,” Alex vowed.

  “I know I can, good friend.”

  “I was told that ye wish to see me?”

  “Is there anything to report while I have been away?”

  “We are well prepared for the winter months, and the taxes we collected have paid for rebuilding the kitchen from the fire last year. As ye can imagine, Moira is one happy lass now that she can once again cook in the kitchen.”

  “Aye, is that all?”

  “Laird McFadden has been asking for ye. He wishes for a betrothal wit’ his daughter to unite our clans.”

  Galen cringed and shook his head. He’d first considered the offer several months back and met with the infamous Lady Braelyn. Her behavior had turned him away from the idea of uniting their clans. He’d quickly realized the lass was no lady by any means. She was a harlot, with a well-known reputation of spreading her legs to any man who plied her with jewels and pretty words. It was part of the reason Laird McFadden had troubles marrying her off, and the reason why Galen refused the offer. Braelyn was a beautiful lass, but her looks only masked her eccentric behavior.

  “My answer is still nay. If there is nothing else to report, I have something for ye to look over,” Galen said, as he rotated the map on his desk for Alex to see. “I have marked off the locations of Clan McGregor’s last known locations. Entering this war with the Campbells may not have been such a wise move. I fear we have aligned our fates with the devil himself, and I expect more lives will be lost in battles to come. We must strengthen our patrols here to the west and the north. Keep a keen eye on our borders. If anyone wishes to cross, we will charge a toll. The collection of cheminage will help pay the taxes.”

  “Aye, my Laird.”

  Alex picked up the map and began rolling it before placing it under his arm.

  “There is something else. I need an updated accounting of our supplies recorded in the ledger.”

  “Right away, my Laird. It truly is good to have ye home,” Alex replied, as he headed out the door.

  Galen finished organizing the letters on his desk and headed toward his chamber. Once inside, he removed his dirt-stained leine and trews and threw them on the floor before getting into the tub that was waiting for him. The hot water felt good on his sore muscles. Though his body was relaxed, his head began to ache. Rubbing the water up and down his arms and face, he washed off the layers of dirt, sweat and grime that had accumulated over the past several weeks.

  Within moments, Lenora, a young blonde-haired chambermaid, appeared with a tray of food. The aroma of roasted beef filled his nostrils, causing him to unconsciously lick his lips. But damn the food, he wanted the whiskey. One drink would be like elixir to a dying patient.

  As Lenora was about to pour the whiskey in a small pewter cup, Galen called out, “Just leave the bottle. I dinna need no blasted cup.”

  “Aye, my Laird,” she replied, as the cup fumbled out of her hand and onto the floor. “Would ye care for me to stay and help wit’ yer bath?”

  Galen could hear a hint of seduction behind that innocent voice. Galen normally would not refuse an offer from such a young and beautiful lass, but the ache in his head pounded harder than the ache in his groin. Perhaps he would feast on her later.

  “Nay, that will be all,” he said, as he draped a wet cloth over his face and leaned back into the tub.

  Galen allowed the water to wash away his anger and built up anxiety. Pairing with Neville Campbell and his clan against McGregor had been a bold move, but a necessity. Galen’s army may have been small, but they fought with the strength and ambition of five hundred men. For the past several months Galen’s mind had been consumed by nothing but this mission and his responsibilities to the clan. As laird, his job was never done. A laird did not simply go on a merry holiday or take time away from his duties, as tempting as it sounded. He had to stay focused.

  Feeling relaxed after a long soak, the pain in his head finally eased after he finished off the entire bottle of whiskey. Full from his meal and tipsy from the drink, Galen stumbled out of the cooling bath water. Walking over to the massive bed, he fell upon it sinking into the plush covers. Compared to the hard ground on which he’d slept for the past three months, the bed felt like a soft puffy cloud. Within moments, he felt as if he was lifted into the air, tangled in a web between awareness and dreaming. Sprawled out onto the bed buck-naked, Galen fell into a heavy slumber.

  ~ Chapter 3 ~

  The stench of sweat filled the room as the two guards dragged the prisoner into the center of the atrium. Ella could practically taste the bitterness in her mouth. The man struggled to escape, but the firm grasp of the two guards prevented him from doing so. Ella watched in amusement as the rest of the men and women of the Order murmured amongst themselves.

  This was the second attempt to breach the walls of
the fortress in the past week. Talara must be getting desperate, Ella mused. By the looks of his tattered clothing and scars, the prisoner did not appear to be a man of court or high authority, but rather a warrior or hired assassin.

  “Why have you come here?” Ella demanded.

  As she spoke the room fell silent.

  “To prevent a war,” he shakily replied.

  “War is inevitable,” Ella responded, articulating each word slowly and clearly. “If what you say is true, why did we find you sneaking around in the forest? My guards say you tried to run. Admit it, you were sent here to kill us.”

  Her words and expression were as cold as the ice around her heart. Ella did not divert her eyes from the so-called messenger, and though she admired his bravery, it would only lead to his untimely death.

  “No! I tried to run because I knew you would not believe me. I was given a message. I was told to be in the woods on this day for a meeting. There is a group of people who wish to stop the war. ”

  “Who?”

  “I do not know. Please, you must believe me.”

  The man fell to his knees and sobbed.

  “Perhaps we should listen to what he has to say,” Darius, the magistrate, suggested.

  Ella glared at the other members of the high council. Whatever the messenger had to say mattered not. There was no denying it. Queen Alaris wanted her war and it was up to Ella and the rest of the Order to follow her command.

  “There will be no hearings or tribunals this day,” Ella informed him.

  “What of the prisoner, my lady?” one of the guards asked.

  Ella looked back to the prisoner and sneered. Heartless, she replied, “Kill him, and make sure you send his body back to Greylyn. It will serve as a message. No mercy will be given to those who cross into our lands, for they would do no less to us.”