see her swinging from a
gibbet for attempted murder no matter the charge false.
She held no illusions, he’d search for her with
unwavering determination. Her only chance was to ride for Glasgow and procure
passage to France. Distant relatives lived there who might agree to harbor a
fugitive.
The going was easier out of the wind, within the
protection of fir trees, but she needed to guide Dealanach Dubh carefully, away
from tree wells, into which he might sink and break a leg or worse. They
emerged from the trees into a clearing. The blizzard had worsened.
They rode until she realized they crossed their
own tracks. They’d ridden in circles and were miserably lost. Leaning forward
in the saddle, she shielded her eyes, unsure which direction to travel. In the
distance, a bright white light beckoned. Dealanach Dubh trudged toward the
glow.
Archibald’s wool plaide pulled over her
head gave minimal protection as they slogged through the blinding snow, the
light guiding them to who kenned where. Isobell clung to Dealanach Dubh with
fingers numb from cold. Icy flakes stung the exposed skin of her face. Yet they
followed the light taking them further from Castle Lachlan and the man who
would never forgive her for an act she didn’t commit.
As the storm worsened, Isobell wondered if she’d
gone mad, risking life itself, traipsing over a countryside experiencing the
worst weather of the season. For what? To escape a man she once loved. Was it
worth killing her horse and possibly losing her life over such?
Should she go back and plead her case? If only she
could curl into a ball and fall asleep in the snow and forget. Feeling drowsy,
she started to slip, but caught herself before falling.
Isobell. Isobell. Fear not.
What? Who said that? She raised her head and tried
to see through the blowing snow. The white light remained; drew them ever
closer.
Emerging from the trees, they stepped out of the
snow onto a mound of the most unusual green grass. Grass that should be
autumn-brown. Above, a full moon shone bright. How was that possible? Isobell
jerked a look over a shoulder at where they’d just been and gasped. The
blizzard raged. Falling snow created a heavy curtain of white.
She patted Dealanach Dubh’s ice-crusted coat.
“Where are we, lad?”
A place of magic.
“’Tis known as the Sithichean Sluaigh , a
faerie knoll.” A golden-haired woman of inconceivable beauty sat a stunning
white horse. “Dinnae fear this place.”
Isobell arched her back, stiffening in shock, and
inadvertently kicked Dealanach Dubh, who reared on hind legs. “Easy lad.”
She couldn’t bring him under control. He nervously
skittered sideways, until the woman sidled near and placed a hand on his neck,
said words in a strange ancient-sounding language, and he calmed.
The woman dismounted, and Isobell followed suit.
“’Twas you guiding us to this place.”
“Aye.”
“Why?”
“To save you from a fate you dinnae want.”
“Being the wife of the MacLachlan?”
“Aye.”
What Isobell could only guess was a vision came
over her. The green grass on the mound replaced by a cover of the purest white
snow. Drops of blood stained the pristine surface. She remembered the
bloodstained sheet in the bridal chamber. A trembling took hold of her. She
already belonged to Archibald.
“The only way to avert this travesty is to leave
this realm for another,” the woman said.
“What do you mean?”
“You must leave this place for another. Come with
me unto the center of the mound.”
If she left she’d never see Archibald again. That
thought hurt more than she would have supposed. Isobell closed her eyes,
refusing to shed the tears of her heart.
When she felt strong enough to open them again and
face the truths of the past night, the vision was gone. She stood with her
horse on the mound of green grass. The mysterious woman had vanished.
Isobell stepped back in fear and bumped into
Dealanach Dubh. The horse bolted through the
gibbet for attempted murder no matter the charge false.
She held no illusions, he’d search for her with
unwavering determination. Her only chance was to ride for Glasgow and procure
passage to France. Distant relatives lived there who might agree to harbor a
fugitive.
The going was easier out of the wind, within the
protection of fir trees, but she needed to guide Dealanach Dubh carefully, away
from tree wells, into which he might sink and break a leg or worse. They
emerged from the trees into a clearing. The blizzard had worsened.
They rode until she realized they crossed their
own tracks. They’d ridden in circles and were miserably lost. Leaning forward
in the saddle, she shielded her eyes, unsure which direction to travel. In the
distance, a bright white light beckoned. Dealanach Dubh trudged toward the
glow.
Archibald’s wool plaide pulled over her
head gave minimal protection as they slogged through the blinding snow, the
light guiding them to who kenned where. Isobell clung to Dealanach Dubh with
fingers numb from cold. Icy flakes stung the exposed skin of her face. Yet they
followed the light taking them further from Castle Lachlan and the man who
would never forgive her for an act she didn’t commit.
As the storm worsened, Isobell wondered if she’d
gone mad, risking life itself, traipsing over a countryside experiencing the
worst weather of the season. For what? To escape a man she once loved. Was it
worth killing her horse and possibly losing her life over such?
Should she go back and plead her case? If only she
could curl into a ball and fall asleep in the snow and forget. Feeling drowsy,
she started to slip, but caught herself before falling.
Isobell. Isobell. Fear not.
What? Who said that? She raised her head and tried
to see through the blowing snow. The white light remained; drew them ever
closer.
Emerging from the trees, they stepped out of the
snow onto a mound of the most unusual green grass. Grass that should be
autumn-brown. Above, a full moon shone bright. How was that possible? Isobell
jerked a look over a shoulder at where they’d just been and gasped. The
blizzard raged. Falling snow created a heavy curtain of white.
She patted Dealanach Dubh’s ice-crusted coat.
“Where are we, lad?”
A place of magic.
“’Tis known as the Sithichean Sluaigh , a
faerie knoll.” A golden-haired woman of inconceivable beauty sat a stunning
white horse. “Dinnae fear this place.”
Isobell arched her back, stiffening in shock, and
inadvertently kicked Dealanach Dubh, who reared on hind legs. “Easy lad.”
She couldn’t bring him under control. He nervously
skittered sideways, until the woman sidled near and placed a hand on his neck,
said words in a strange ancient-sounding language, and he calmed.
The woman dismounted, and Isobell followed suit.
“’Twas you guiding us to this place.”
“Aye.”
“Why?”
“To save you from a fate you dinnae want.”
“Being the wife of the MacLachlan?”
“Aye.”
What Isobell could only guess was a vision came
over her. The green grass on the mound replaced by a cover of the purest white
snow. Drops of blood stained the pristine surface. She remembered the
bloodstained sheet in the bridal chamber. A trembling took hold of her. She
already belonged to Archibald.
“The only way to avert this travesty is to leave
this realm for another,” the woman said.
“What do you mean?”
“You must leave this place for another. Come with
me unto the center of the mound.”
If she left she’d never see Archibald again. That
thought hurt more than she would have supposed. Isobell closed her eyes,
refusing to shed the tears of her heart.
When she felt strong enough to open them again and
face the truths of the past night, the vision was gone. She stood with her
horse on the mound of green grass. The mysterious woman had vanished.
Isobell stepped back in fear and bumped into
Dealanach Dubh. The horse bolted through the
Similar Books
