by E. B. Brown
“Boys!” Winn shouted. Their parents lay together on the flat rocks near the clam nest shallows, seeming not to care that the salt water splashed onto their clothes. Winn’s words were somewhat muffled, being his mouth was still half-buried in their mother’s skirts as the boys raced down the beach, but they heard him and came to attention at the sound of their father’s voice. Twelve-year-old Dagr was the image of Winn, his expression shielded with both respect and curiosity as he faced his father. Malcolm stared openly at them, his eyes wide across his round little face.
“Yes, Da?” both boys echoed in unison. Winn sat up slightly and cast a stern glare at them.
“I have an important duty for you,” Winn said. The boys nodded eagerly, their attention seeming entirely on their father rather than the spectacle of their disheveled mother, for which she was grateful. “In the woods where the trail splits there is a nest. I think I saw a few goose eggs. Gather them for our dinner,” he ordered.
“Yes, Da!” the boys answered, taking off in a sprint back toward the wood line.
They searched for a long time before they found evidence of a nest, and Dagr reigned triumphant when he put four large round eggs in his satchel. Crushed, Malcolm stared up at Dagr with sad eyes, his mouth twisted into a pout.
“You are always faster than me, brother. Father will think I did not try,” Malcolm said.
It was nothing he thought too heavy on – he simply wished to end Malcolm’s misery. Pulling the satchel off of his shoulder, Dagr placed it carefully crossways over Malcolm’s shoulder and bent down to whisper in his ear.
“Run fast, Mal. Surely, Father will be proud of your find.”
Malcolm’s frown creased into a wide grin and he took off in a sprint back towards their parents.
Yet the man standing before him was no longer that petulant boy, and truth be told, Dagr did not recognize him. Dagr felt Winn’s hand rest lightly on his shoulder as he took a step forward.
Malcolm hesitated, his eyes wide. Benjamin took the opportunity to slap Dagr on the back and shake his hand.
“’Tis a blessing to see ye alive and whole, Dagr,” Benjamin said. “Welcome home.”
“Thank you,” Dagr said, his voice low and even.
Benjamin raised his brows, his gaze shifting between Malcolm and Dagr. Breaking the silence, the older man cocked his head at Winn.
“Let ‘em be, brother,” Benjamin said quietly to Winn. “Some things must be hashed out between men, for sure.”
Winn muttered something low in his native tongue, bringing a wry grin to Benjamin’s face as they left. Malcolm’s eyes followed their father and uncle, the color of his skin turning a shade paler with each passing moment. Finally, when they stood face to face in the courtyard, Malcolm caught Dagr by surprise.
“Dagr,” Mal said, taking Dagr into a hearty embrace. “Thank God ye are here! What magic is it that has returned ye to us?”
Stunned, Dagr disengaged himself from Malcolm’s grasp. Were those tears in Malcolm's eyes, he wondered?
“Kanor healed me. He said I passed over, and that I owed my life to him for pulling me back. I do not remember much after I was run through,” Dagr replied. His memory of the battle was admittedly vague, with most of what he knew from Kanor’s lips. Yet Dagr was in no mood to make pleasant talk of miracles with Malcolm, no matter how happy Malcolm appeared to be to see him alive.
“And your blade? Why do ye hold the weapon of a Chief Protector?” Malcolm continued.
“Because now I am a Chief Protector and we all must carry one.”
Malcolm’s throat tightened, his mood immediately dampened by Dagr’s response. When Malcolm took a step backward, Dagr noticed the third rider dismount from his horse.
“We have greater truths to discuss. I spoke with Skye. I know you watched over her when I could not. You will forever have my thanks for your kindness,” Dagr continued. The edge of bitterness in his words did not go unnoticed. Malcolm stiffened his back.
“You were dead,” Malcolm said quietly.
“Yet here I stand. Will you do what you know to be right and true, Malcolm? Or must we tear the heart from our mother for want of settling this?” Dagr replied.
The younger man’s eyes widened. A mask descended over his face, a hint of the vulnerable boy he had once been.
“Must ye take everything from me?” Malcolm asked, his words choked out in a gutteral groan. “Is it not enough that you are the first born son, or that you have our father’s love while I have scrapings of his affection? You were gone. Skye agreed to marry me of her own will. She willna break our vows.”
“She agreed because she thought I was dead!” Dagr growled. His fist clenched around his knife as he tried to subdue the dangerous thoughts he held towards his brother. “This is your chance to show us – all of us – that you are a man. Let it be by your own hand, instead of mine.”
“And what then, Chief Protector?” Malcolm shot back. “Father will not forgive me, he has made that quite clear. Do you know what it was like to tell him you were dead – to beg his forgiveness and then have him banish me from our home? He dinna care that I was injured in the battle, nor did he care to hear of my adventures. His only concern was you. Just as it has always been, for all the days of my life!”
It was that glib pronouncement that sent Dagr over the edge. He grabbed Malcolm by the neck, thrusting him backward until he slammed into the fence rail.
“Your adventures?” Dagr demanded. “Men died because of your games. Men that were kin to us, our own McMillan line. Skye nearly lost her life trying to get away from you. Was that a grand adventure? Did you quench your thirst for greatness with the blood of those men?”
The shadow of Malcolm’s companion came to the edge of Dagr’s vision, the man warily approaching.
“Let him go, savage,” the man said. He had a high-pitched voice, more of a boy than a man, yet he wielded his knife as if he truly intended to use it. As Dagr assessed the situation and decided he was more than willing to take his chances, Winn and Benjamin intervened.
“Back away, McBain!” Benjamin barked. The companion withdrew immediately, his brave demeanor shattered at the sight of the two older men.
“Let him go,” Winn commanded to Dagr.
Dagr struggled to steady his breathing. With every inborn sense of honor inside him, his reflex was to obey his father. He could feel the hot blood soak through his bandage and the ache in his side, yet even then it was difficult to release his grip.
Malcolm was unhinged. He was a danger to himself and to all others – and especially to Skye.
“This is not over,” Dagr said quietly. He removed his hand from Malcolm’s neck and watched his brother stagger away, sputtering through a tirade of muttered curses.
“Tend to the horses and get comfortable, ye’ll be sleeping in the barn tonight,” Benjamin said. He handed Malcolm the reins of two horses and slapped one of the beasts on the rump, sending it into a jittery trot which caught Malcolm off guard. With a final sour glance at Dagr, Malcolm and his companion left for the barn, the sound of retreating hoof beats his only reply.
Chapter 4
Skye
THE SKY OVERHEAD was stained with dark storm clouds and the sharp scent of rain hung in the air. Skye tucked her hair back beneath the hood of her wool cloak as they walked home, hoping the storm might hold off for a few more minutes. Although she enjoyed visiting the small town center of Basse’s Choice, she was more than eager to return to the Neilsson’s farm where she might slip away to speak with Dagr. Perhaps it was her imagination, but Maggie seemed to be preoccupied with keeping Skye busy, and Skye did not know if the woman meant to keep her from Dagr or not.
When they arrived at the farm, Skye noticed the barn door was wide open. A quick glance as they passed revealed three strange horses housed in the front stalls, and Skye felt her stomach clench into a knot. Was it Benjamin’s horse? And if Benjamin was visiting, it meant only one thing – Malcolm was home as well.
“If he’s burst his stitches, I’ll kill him myself!” Maggie muttered, shoving past Winn and Benjamin. Skye kept clear of the crowd, observing from a few feet away. With the hint of an apologetic grin on his lips Dagr met Skye’s worried gaze.
“It’s nothing. Truly,” Dagr explained.
Marcus poked at the wound with the tip of his finger and Dagr winced, the color draining from his face. Perhaps she had been privy to Maggie’s behavior too long to stem her irritation, and suddenly a tirade flowed from her mouth as well.
“Stop jabbing at it!” Skye snapped, leveling her gaze at Marcus. “Ye’ll make it bleed more with yer fussing!” The older man chuckled but obeyed, removing his hand from Dagr’s proximity.
Marcus and Benjamin moved to benches at the long table, seemingly happy to turn over their duties. Maggie handed a stack of clean rags to Skye.
“The bleeding seems to be over. The stitches are intact. Bind him up again while I fetch more water,” Maggie said. “Winn, will you help me?”
Skye noted the grim nod Winn gave. Clearly there was more to Dagr’s injury, and Skye was certain Maggie would get to the bottom of it. Yet the more pressing question remained – where was Malcolm?
She bowed her head and kneeled at Dagr’s side. Peeling away what remained of the soiled bandage, she was acutely aware that they were in observation range of Marcus and Benjamin.
“Give me your hand,” Dagr said.
She looked up at him, confused by his request.
“What?” she stammered. She held up her hand anyway, which he cupped between his palms and raised to his mouth. He blew gently on her fingers, his lips pressed against her knuckles as he looked into her eyes.
“You’re cold as ice, my lady,” he said softly.
If she had been cold, she was no longer. His touch set her blood to burn, a surge of heat rushing through her veins as he stared at her. All the truths unsaid flamed inside her heart, aching to spill forth.
“And yer bleeding,” she whispered, tearing her gaze away. She bent back to her task despite his low chuckle.
“Ah, there she is. I knew that stubborn woman was still inside you.”
Tilting her head enough to see his grin, she could not help but smile.
“Well, if ye were no foolish lout, then there would be no need for my ire, true enough? What did ye do to cause it?” she replied. She tucked the cloth in place as best she could beneath a wide cotton band encircling his belly, giving it a few extra layers so it would not soak through.
“Malcolm is here. He arrived with my uncle Benjamin while you were in town with mother.”
Skye darted a glance at the men across the room. She realized she was clutching Dagr’s knee when he gently removed her fingers.
“I must speak to him,” she said. She lowered her voice when the men looked up. “I owe him that much.”
“You owe him nothing!” Dagr growled, an uncharacteristic display of anger surging forth. Skye wound her fingers through his, squeezing his hand tightly. She did not know how to make him understand her intent, her words spilling out like an untamed river.
“He will release me from our betrothal, Dagr. I know he will. But he brought me here to yer family – he made sure I was safe and cared for. I know what he has done…but if we must all live here in this place together, I will not be the one who stands between ye and yer brother.”
“Malcolm is the only one to blame for what he has done,” Dagr replied, “and you must not trouble yourself for it.”
She nodded. “Let me speak to him.”
The discomfort with her plea was clear, shining through in his worried gaze. When he finally squeezed her fingers she smiled, trying to reassure him as much as herself. Lifting her hand to his mouth, he pressed his lips to her hand once more, his voice stirring the deepest valley of her soul when he spoke.
“I will not lose you again. Not to him, nor any other. I promise you that, my lady,” he whispered.
The door flew open and the men jumped to their feet. Seeming to forget his injury, Dagr stood up and positioned himself in front of Skye, shielding her from Malcolm as he entered the house. She put a hand on his arm but quickly reconsidered interfering when Winn followed Malcolm inside, his hunting musket in his hands.
“A stranger took Susanna. Kyra saw him carry her into the woods near Pagan River. He cannot get far on foot,” Winn said.
The men in the room responded without question. Marcus unlatched a large cedar chest along the back wall and pulled out a long-handled ax, which he tossed to Benjamin. Skye felt her breath catch in her throat as Dagr walked forward and Marcus handed him a musket, her fear reaching a fever pitch when Dagr placed the musket upright in the corner and took a sword instead. Before she could protest, the men were walking out the door. Dagr passed her, brushing his lips over her forehead as he bid her farewell.
“Stay here with the women. We will be back soon,” he said.
Skye followed him to the door. She knew he would not listen to reason, especially when it was his own uncle that handed him a weapon. If there was one thing she both admired and feared in him, it was his loyalty to his kin – and she knew beyond any doubt that he would not stay behind when his niece was in danger.
In the courtyard, Maggie had her arm around Kyra’s shoulders as they watched the men mount up and gallop away. Kyra clutched baby Finola in her arms and six-year-old Rebecca held tightly onto Kyra’s skirts. What had happened? Why would anyone want to harm Kyra’s daughter?
“They’ll find her and bring her home. They won’t rest until they do,” Maggie said fiercely as she consoled her daughter. Kyra’s eyes burned with frustrated tears, her features streaked with fear. Kyra was not a woman that let down her guard easily, keeping her softer emotions close when it was anything other than anger. Maggie took the infant from Kyra’s arms as if her mother’s instinct knew the young woman needed space.
“No one knows what my children are,” Kyra moaned. She sank down onto her knees in the dirt, wrapping her arms around her narrow waist. “I never bled them. I did not wish to know. How would anyone know if they are Blooded Ones?”
When Maggie kneeled beside her daughter, Skye put an arm around young Rebecca, who was shaking and tearful at the events before her.
“We don’t know who took her, or why. We don’t know anything,” Maggie said.
Skye saw the riders approach before she heard them. Four figures on the horizon, outlined against the orange setting sun. She did not think they were natives, but she did not have enough knowledge of the time to know exactly who they were. Dressed in the typical English garb she had grown accustomed to seeing, she would have guessed they were from town by the long gray homespun coats they wore. It was not until Rebecca pointed at them and Kyra gasped that Skye realized they were in danger.
“There’s the man I saw take Susanna, Momma,” Rebecca said, wiping her tear-stained face with her tiny fist. “Maybe he’s bringing her home.”
There was no child with them, only four armed men.
“Rebecca,” Kyra said. “Take your sister into the house right now. Lock the door and stay with yer cousin Jonathon. Let no one inside until I come for ye.”
Maggie handed Susanna her infant sister. The swaddled baby was wider than the girl’s shoulders, but Susanna’s blond curls bounced up and down as she nodded in obedience and clutched the baby. She took off towards the house, where Jonathon was watching them and waiting with an open door. Once they were safely inside, Maggie glanced at the riders and removed a knife from her belt.
“Are they Englishmen?” Sk
ye asked.
“I don’t know them,” Maggie replied. “Just let me talk to them. Surely there’s some terrible mistake.”
That plan was abandoned the moment the first rider dismounted.
“How dare you, sir! Where did you take my daughter? Where is she?” Kyra demanded. When the man simply grinned, Kyra marched up to him, striking him in the face with her flattened palm before he could utter a word.
The other men moved as if to intervene, but the first man grabbed Kyra by her upper arms and calmly looked down at her. With a half sneer, half grin on his face, the tow-headed man laughed.
“She’s fine. I expect yer men will follow the tracks I left them and find her hale and hearty. ‘Tis not far. They will return with her in oh, say, ‘round an hour, so we shall make this quick,” he said. He shoved her away in a quick motion, tipping the edge of his wide-brimmed hat with one finger as if he meant to convey his polite regards through his jagged-tooth grin. “Now, kindly tell me where you’ve hidden those weapons – the ones with the gemstones embedded in them. I’ve a friend who says he’s seen them with his own eyes in yer house. Your assistance ‘twill make our visit much simpler, and no one need get hurt.”
Kyra stumbled and fell down on one knee inside the circle of men when she was shoved out of the way, just beyond the reach of Maggie or Skye. Skye’s legs felt rooted to the ground, frozen in place as she watched.
“Let her alone. You’re mistaken. We don’t have any weapons like that,” Maggie insisted.
“And I thought we might be cordial about this,” the man snapped. “If ye want to live, ye’ll be of help to me.” He was quick, snatching Kyra by the hair. Maggie tried to intervene and her struggles occupied the other two men, and suddenly Skye felt herself acting on pure impulse, her self-preservation abandoned in the face of what was happening. Launching herself at the man who still held Kyra, she went for his eyes before he could hurt Kyra again. Although she was able to land a blow to his face, she misjudged her strength by far, being easily caught before she could do enough damage.