Born of Mist and Legend (Highland Legends Book 3)

by Kat Bastion

  His interrupted discussion with Orion trickled back into his mind, what Orion had advised: Then surrender to it.

  As the mists swirled through the tree tops, he forced a slow exhalation, resigned to his fate. “Accept what you cannot change,” he muttered to himself. Fighting against the stupidity of flying blind into an unorthodox mission would do him no good.

  “Determine the issues, assess their parameters, seek to rectify,” he murmured, aligning himself with his only course of action.

  On his next breath, the burning vibration behind his sternum snapped so hard, he gasped from the intense pain. His leeway for reconnaissance had run out. He’d held fast against the inevitable for as long as he dared. Until he could no longer resist the dual tethers that bound them together, that obligated him to end her if need be.

  As Skorpius stood from his perch, he wondered how Brigid had come into her extraordinary power. And the fierce soul behind those penetrating silvery eyes flickered into his mind. He scanned over the aerial view of the Highlands, knowing she was down there, somewhere. All he needed to do was let go of his reservations and allow the dual tethers to lead him.

  Who are you, Brigid? And what have you been up to in my absence?

  Eager to solve the mystery, he dove into the wind, and…let go. After a long exhalation, he snapped open his wings.

  When a strong updraft caught him, he released all resistance to the path, to his course.

  But I refuse to surrender.

  Chapter 3

  Clan Brodie lived a lie.

  Nay, ’twas not the whole of it.

  With a heavy headshake and her eyes pinched shut, Brigid gripped the chestnut mane of her thunderin’ mare and swallowed past a cramp in her throat.

  ’Twas not merely her brother and kinfolk who’d gone adrift through life: endless days tendin’ to food and shelter, births and deaths, festivals when lasses collected bonnie ribbons, battles where warriors fought with deadly weapons. Aye, those within their castle’s curtain wall had long been protected from the outside world. Fast asleep.

  But all the folk beyond their clan’s sheltered existence? Lived in a blindin’ fog as well.

  Everyone based their worlds, their verra lives, on solid objects, on matter. But none of what her fellow Scots believed to be real held any true import.

  Matter no longer…mattered.

  Somethin’ greater did.

  And she’d happened upon that shockin’ truth by accident.

  Weel, in truth, Brodie Castle’s sparklin’ magickal wall had always held her fascination, since she’d been a wee one. Ripplin’ like the surface of a loch when awakened, still as a midnight sky while asleep, its pinpricks of glowin’ light mesmerized. Knowledge of their great wall’s purpose had been handed down from generation to generation. Only the rulin’ laird was entrusted with its most powerful secrets and instructed on how to wield its power. Along with a second, an apprentice in kind, one dependable who’d step in should Laird be away or incapable.

  And on one harrowing day, she’d become that second through a strange twist of fate.

  Tasked at once with savin’ her clan from attack, she’d leapt to action, pressin’ her hand to the wall. The next thing she knew, she’d stumbled through its shimmerin’ surface—and awoke…

  …within another world…

  …awash in the vast knowledge of the ancients…

  …imbued with the secrets of the mysteries…

  The whole of it had filled her nigh to burstin’. Then, with each rapid beat of her heart, the flooding tide of information had begun to recede from the forefront of her mind.

  Yet nothin’ remained the same as she’d once known it.

  Not the world, upon her return. Nor her.

  For as she passed through her days since the encounter, the verra elements had sparked, alive. They’d glittered and flashed behind her, alongside, above, and all around, like a million stars dancin’ in the dark of night. And she’d become their new sun, pullin’ them toward the horizon.

  In the blink of an eye, her entire existence had altered.

  One mere taste. The smallest glimpse.

  “Aye. ’Twas only the crack of a door,” she whispered. But through that crack, she’d stumbled from harsh darkness into unimaginable light. Her mind still grappled with the enormity of that brief flash. “’Twas only a wee peek…but enough to know.” Enough to crave more. Be immersed in its glow, a tranquil floatin’ through the warm shallows of a clear summer pond.

  The rest of the world still existed, but only as a journey—no longer as an end unto itself. “For none holds truth in purpose.”

  Such vivid…life…existed beyond the realm of her kinfolk, of Scotland, of earth and sky.

  Furthermore, upon Brigid’s return to her castle and homeland from the realm beyond the wall, another vibrant new awareness awoke within her: the ability to sense energy, power.

  “Magick,” she murmured. She believed that to be the reason. For her accidental taste of otherworldly magick had not merely enabled her to discover the same exquisite form of energy hidden all around them. She’d developed the ability to sense her own. And another’s.

  Frightful nights had startled her awake in her bedchamber, sensin’ that strange other energy. The occurrences had heightened the urgency of her takin’ the leap—clarified that she had no other choice but to escape the confines of Brodie Castle, the only home she’d ever known.

  For after she’d burst from the keep one midnight hour to gain some fresh air, the endless night sky had banished the smotherin’ energy of the unwelcome creature. Repeat departures had confirmed the same. She’d still sometimes detect its immense power, but less so, and only on the edge of her awareness. Then upon each return to the keep, she’d discovered that the ominous presence had since vanished.

  Escape had been her only course.

  Darkness hunts me. The clear threat nipped at her heels.

  Which was why she’d left the castle in such haste. Exposin’ herself to the powerful magick had brought forth a heavy burden. ’Twill be mine alone to bear. She’d not be puttin’ her clan in harm’s way. Especially not her brothers, Iain and Gawain, and not her new friend Isobel. All who’d already fought plenty for her, risked their lives for her and their clan.

  “Nay.” The new power sizzled under her skin. “’Tis my path that stretches forth.” She tightened her grip on the reins until the leather bit into her fingers. Mine alone.

  Even though none of her clan would see it that way.

  Alone. What she’d always been, even in her home, amidst her clan. Fate had made hers a way of solitude. Journeyin’ on my own, ’twill be no different. They’d have to accept what she’d done, the solitary path she’d chosen.

  A lance of fear spiked through her for the hundredth time.

  But as with each bout of unease before, she drew in a deep breath and closed her eyes, focused on the heavy thump of her heart, then struck the false emotion from her mind.

  Warriors doona question duty.

  And warrior she’d become. A woman warrior? Uncommon, to be certain. But true, all the same.

  “’Tis too late to stop me.” Her clan had protected her from danger for her whole life. “’Tis my turn to protect you,” she vowed on a fierce whisper.

  She’d given chase to her own destiny, drawin’ the dark other magick to follow.

  And as she ducked under a low branch, then broke into an open meadow, the menacin’ presence prickled right behind her like an icy winter’s wind breathin’ down on her neck.

  Verra weel. She’d face whatever power stalked her, on her terms. When I choose.

  Feelin’ the magick spark all around as it called out to her, Brigid smoothed her upper body over the muscular neck of her steed and grounded herself with the strength of the beast beneath her. As she did so, she opened her mind and heart, breathin’ in the vital essence of nature itself.

  Warm energy hummed through her body.

  Tingles sparke
d under her skin.

  Alive like never before, her spirit soared.

  “I’m followin’ my true course,” she whispered to the wind, knowin’ the rightness of it to her bones.

  All of a sudden, her mount bucked, planted its hooves, then reared.

  Brigid leapt from the startled mare’s back while it pranced sideways in agitation. When the horse tossed its head, Brigid freed her packed satchel with the tug of two slip knots, released the reins, then pushed outward with her mind on a strong and silent wish for the mare to find safety.

  With amazin’ obedience, the horse charged off, back the way they’d come.

  Did you hear my plea? But she had no time to puzzle over the oddity of talkin’ to beasts.

  Dried twigs snapped far off to her left.

  Thick bramble jostled through the forest ahead.

  Muffled angry shouts echoed from the dark woods.

  A short blur raced by, then another, and a third. Children, she sensed. She caught only a glimpse of drab colors, no details of form or shape, but one hadn’t been taller than her chin, the others, smaller by nigh half. None were older than ten summers.

  Babes.

  Instinct rushed in with her thunderin’ pulse. And on a deep inhale, she somehow gathered the sparkin’ magick around her.

  Then time seemed to slow, draggin’ by at a snail’s pace over the next handful of seconds.

  Tiny shimmers of light floated up from ground to sky, winkin’ brilliant hues as they swirled, like the verra air had caught fire in a turbulent rainbow. And while a heavy warmth radiated from deep within her body, the cool, wispy, color-drenched particles brushed over her skin with a wintry kiss.

  Till time exploded back with a burst of activity.

  Rough lookin’ men broke into view from the denser scrub, some on foot, a larger man on horseback. Sunlight glinted off the chainmail that the lone rider wore. Soldiers.

  “C’mon out, yo’ bloody chits,” a foot soldier taunted. He stabbed his broadsword into blackberry bramble off to her left.

  “Criminy, Albert. Don’t kill ’em li’l buggers.”

  English soldiers.

  But not one of the men detected her, even though she stood at the edge of the glade.

  Leashed wolfhounds bounded into view, eager hunters whose muscular legs and diggin’ claws strained the hold of their keeper.

  Without thought, she stepped back. And a twig snapped.

  She held her breath.

  But none noticed the loud sound. Not even the hounds.

  “’Tis as if…I’m not here,” she whispered, loud as she dared.

  Yet none reacted.

  The group of a dozen men and three dogs were well-nigh upon her. She stood directly in front of them, yet no gaze angled her way. The magick she’d gathered appeared to work like a cloak, concealin’ the whole of her from detection.

  Amazin’. But she decided to be brave, and find out for certain.

  “Och!” she shouted. Breath held as her voice echoed forth, she pinched her eyes shut.

  No response came.

  Somehow, she’d been spared.

  But the wee ones? Remained in harm’s way.

  Grippin’ the marvelous magick around her like the cloak she imagined it to be, she spun and ran, searchin’ for them.

  As she ran, she fanned out her awareness, probin’ outward with her mind.

  Cold terror! She sensed the frightened emotion; it originated from twenty paces forward, from behind a large fallen tree. Stretched along the length of the trunk’s decayin’ bark, a delicate patchwork of wavy mushroom caps and bright-green moss crouched under a lacy canopy of fern fronds.

  But the growth did not hide all, for as she approached, wheezin’ breaths exposed the wee ones’ position.

  “Loose the dogs!” the rider bellowed, from not far behind.

  Barks erupted as the beasts lurched free.

  Then the world broke apart into rapid-fire images.

  Dried leaves trampled underfoot.

  Wet dirt kicked loose.

  Mold spores exploded.

  A bitter wind gusted.

  Terror gripped her heart. She snapped her magick out, taut and wide, panicked for the wee ones. She had no idea how far she’d cast the curtain of energy, only hoped its magick protected more than just her.

  When the gallopin’ wolfhounds bolted on either side of the fallen tree, then kept on runnin’, she pinched her eyes shut and exhaled in relief.

  But she didn’t release her hold on the camouflage. Because the dozen soldiers scoured the terrain ahead and to the immediate sides of the fallen tree. And the dogs had circled around and searched vigorously behind them. She and the wee ones were trapped between.

  Tense seconds crawled by while she endeavored to hold her protective magick curtain in place.

  The warm rush of energy that radiated from within…grew hot.

  Hotter.

  Beads of perspiration sheened over her brow. Open hands at her sides curled into fists. Jaw clenched, she swallowed past a hard lump in her throat. Shallowed breaths soon lapsed into ragged gasps. And every tightened muscle began to fatigue, till she trembled with the pressure of the unusual exertion.

  She bit her lower lip, fightin’ harder, afraid that the tiniest weakness in her rigid stance would cause their magick camouflage to fail.

  A low whimper escaped her throat when the strain burned through every fiber of her being.

  All of a sudden, a blissful coolness rushed over and through her. The tension eased at once. A pulse of energy invigorated her from head to toe.

  Surprised by the sudden change, she blinked her eyes open.

  But her shimmerin’ rainbow curtain remained intact.

  Her brow furrowed. “I dinna…” Then at once, she understood why. She sensed…Skorpius.

  The dark angel’s unimaginable power flared from behind her, close, but not threatenin’. At least, not at that moment. Whatever his reason, Skorpius had come to their rescue, bolstered her magick with his.

  Yet, regardless of his timely aid, she refused to let her guard down, would not release her tether on the magick she’d drawn forth.

  And the shimmerin’ protective cloak held stable, her energy its primary source, but its strength clearly bolstered with the angel’s added power. For the first time in painful endless seconds, she drew in a deeper breath, relaxed her muscles enough to alleviate the burn.

  Had Skorpius suspected she’d been close to collapsin’?

  How’d you known where I’d be at all?

  Low sounds began to infiltrate the hazy muted bubble of her cloak. Nearby twigs snapped. Male voices grumbled. Sniffin’ wolfhounds wandered into the glade once again, well-nigh bumpin’ into her. The soldiers circled back into her peripheral view. And the bramble-stabber resumed his deadly assault of brush, a methodical elimination of hidin’ places. His fellow Englishmen unsheathed their weapons and joined him, skewerin’ leafy hidey-holes as they spread outward into a wider and wider perimeter.

  Rapid quieted breaths from the hidden wee ones scraped over her ears. A frail whimper started, then muffled.

  A hot flash of anger flamed through her. That her kinfolk—innocents at that—had been reduced to lowly prey.

  By invaders.

  Outrage roiled deep in her gut, firin’ up greater heat. The tiny shimmers within their magick cloak spun faster, flared brighter.

  Particles of decayin’ plant matter began to lift from the forest floor within her translucent shield—leaf bits, moss filaments, fern spores—all risin’, vibratin’. The lower branches of the firs nearest them, well outside her protective cloak, started to tremble, bowin’ outward, upward.

  Immense power discharged from the cells of her body, ripplin’ forth in ever-greater waves.

  Both dogs and soldiers alike started to glance around. With widened eyes and swivelin’ heads, they scanned about the glade, clear panic in their rigid frames, down to the last beast and man. None focused on her. All cowe
red in sudden fear.

  Till their leader, the lone man on horseback, narrowed his eyes. He cocked his head, as if listenin’. Then he leaned forward in his saddle and stared with intensity—directly toward her.

  But then a foreign pulse of energy burst out from somewhere behind her. A translucent energy shot through the forest, cracklin’ leaves as it flew past. It angled toward her far left, then raced toward the horizon, like a sideways lightnin’ bolt. Dried leaves rustled and branches snapped in its rapidly vanishin’ wake.

  The dogs and men alerted toward the sudden new sounds.

  Then the beasts tore off, eagerness in their expressions, invigorated once again by the hunt. The soldiers on foot glanced at one another, then up toward their leader. With his clipped nod, they chased off after the hounds.

  Brigid’s pulse hammered a hard beat against her eardrum as the keen rider turned back, facing her. A ruthless stare landed directly at her, before his brows twitched down in confusion.

  But after a brief headshake, he disregarded gut instinct over his more reliable senses and abandoned his suspicion. With a snort, he turned his horse, then negotiated back through the thick brush to chase after the rest of his group.

  However, even with their departure, she held fast. She harbored a great distrust of everythin’: beast, man, newfound magick and, above all, the angel at her back, so close, the heat of his presence burned like a summer’s midday sun.

  The children had no such patience. After a first few seconds of silence—apart from the returnin’ sounds of birdsong and insect trills—the wee ones flushed themselves from their refuge, their aggressive hunters none the wiser.

  A boy, the eldest, stared at her. His eyes widened as they sidestepped around at a safe distance, but within the perimeter of their magick cloak. The two smaller ones clung to his waist, tuggin’ at his tunic to urge the lot toward safety, back toward the direction they’d run from.