curtain of falling snow and into
the storm.
She darted after him but the snowdrifts had deepened
to her waist. If she continued she’d surely perish. Backtracking, she returned
to the grassy knoll, but stayed at its edge, afraid to venture onto the mound
itself.
Rumors abounded about places such as this. Stories
told by old folk. Stories Isobell had thought were intended to frighten
children into behaving.
There were many such tales about the knoll in the
Fir-wood. Legend claimed the place was inhabited by faeries. As a child, she’d
marveled over stories of mysterious beams of brightly colored lights hovering
over the hill on especially dark, starless nights. A chill skimmed over
Isobell’s shoulders. They claimed that beneath the hill resided Finvarra, King
of the Faeries. She’d heard stories of melodious music coming from below where
the king hosted wild gatherings. Some believed he kidnapped beautiful mortal
women and forced them below to spend a never ending evening feasting and
dancing.
Perhaps there was some truth to the stories. The
hill was definitely a place of magic. Wee twinkling stars danced just above the
grass and in the single tree at the center of the mound. A tree with an
abundance of verdant leaves and fragrant citrus-scented blossoms that shouldn’t
exist in this place, and certainly not at this time of year.
She cautiously approached, drawn by the twinkling
lights glimmering on the unusually green grass. She touched one and it flew
away on wings. She took a step back, away from the knoll, turned, and ran into
the snow.
An arrow whizzed past her head. Isobell dove back
onto the mound. She lingered at its edge for the longest time, chewing on her
bottom lip, wondering what to do. How had the other reivers found her during
such a dreadful storm? Why hadn’t they followed her onto the mound?
Walk to the center of the knoll, Isobell.
More words in that ancient tongue yet this time
she understood.
She couldn’t help but stroll onto the mound and
try to capture one of the wondrous dancing lights. She giggled and forgot to be
afraid. She danced in a circle and laughed aloud.
When she reached the center of the mound, she
looked at the sky and at the full moon, and her stomach quivered. Nausea made
her sway. She grasped her belly as she fell backward into a dark well, falling
as if there was no bottom.
Down, down, down, deeper into the black hole. She
screamed but heard no sound.
Her body spun…or was the hole spinning? She
couldn’t think. Pain exploded behind her eyes. A sharp white beam of light
appeared afore her and on instinct, she followed it. What would she find there?
Before she could find out, she burst into a cloudy sky and dropped ever so
slowly, landing with a soft thud on snow-covered ground.
Isobell clutched the cloth covering her chest. Her
heart felt as if it would gallop away.
Where was she? Nothing looked familiar. She
reached over her shoulder and squeezed the leather scabbard strapped to her
back. Her sword remained in its sheath. She pulled the blade free and pointed
it forward, darting a gaze from left to right, searching for a threat.
She must be somewhere beneath the faerie mound.
Finvarra’s enchanted world?
She stood in a noble winter garden, but none she’d
ever visited. Snow still fell, but in the gentlest of ways, dusting the soil
and bushes with glistening sparkles.
“What are you doing here, Isobell?”
CHAPTER SEVEN
A rchibald
held the ruby ring in a clenched fist, the large stone jabbing his palm. “She’s
gone? What do you mean she’s gone?”
“Keep calm, my Chief.” Aine was not intimidated by
his bluster. “Dinnae fash. ’Twill make you ill.”
Munn wrung his big hands, gaze lowered to the
stone floor. “She ran away.”
“I gathered that. But why?”
“She refused to stay with a man she hates. Who she
foolishly believes did harm to her clan. That father of hers filled her head
with lies.” Hands on hips, Aine glared at the
the storm.
She darted after him but the snowdrifts had deepened
to her waist. If she continued she’d surely perish. Backtracking, she returned
to the grassy knoll, but stayed at its edge, afraid to venture onto the mound
itself.
Rumors abounded about places such as this. Stories
told by old folk. Stories Isobell had thought were intended to frighten
children into behaving.
There were many such tales about the knoll in the
Fir-wood. Legend claimed the place was inhabited by faeries. As a child, she’d
marveled over stories of mysterious beams of brightly colored lights hovering
over the hill on especially dark, starless nights. A chill skimmed over
Isobell’s shoulders. They claimed that beneath the hill resided Finvarra, King
of the Faeries. She’d heard stories of melodious music coming from below where
the king hosted wild gatherings. Some believed he kidnapped beautiful mortal
women and forced them below to spend a never ending evening feasting and
dancing.
Perhaps there was some truth to the stories. The
hill was definitely a place of magic. Wee twinkling stars danced just above the
grass and in the single tree at the center of the mound. A tree with an
abundance of verdant leaves and fragrant citrus-scented blossoms that shouldn’t
exist in this place, and certainly not at this time of year.
She cautiously approached, drawn by the twinkling
lights glimmering on the unusually green grass. She touched one and it flew
away on wings. She took a step back, away from the knoll, turned, and ran into
the snow.
An arrow whizzed past her head. Isobell dove back
onto the mound. She lingered at its edge for the longest time, chewing on her
bottom lip, wondering what to do. How had the other reivers found her during
such a dreadful storm? Why hadn’t they followed her onto the mound?
Walk to the center of the knoll, Isobell.
More words in that ancient tongue yet this time
she understood.
She couldn’t help but stroll onto the mound and
try to capture one of the wondrous dancing lights. She giggled and forgot to be
afraid. She danced in a circle and laughed aloud.
When she reached the center of the mound, she
looked at the sky and at the full moon, and her stomach quivered. Nausea made
her sway. She grasped her belly as she fell backward into a dark well, falling
as if there was no bottom.
Down, down, down, deeper into the black hole. She
screamed but heard no sound.
Her body spun…or was the hole spinning? She
couldn’t think. Pain exploded behind her eyes. A sharp white beam of light
appeared afore her and on instinct, she followed it. What would she find there?
Before she could find out, she burst into a cloudy sky and dropped ever so
slowly, landing with a soft thud on snow-covered ground.
Isobell clutched the cloth covering her chest. Her
heart felt as if it would gallop away.
Where was she? Nothing looked familiar. She
reached over her shoulder and squeezed the leather scabbard strapped to her
back. Her sword remained in its sheath. She pulled the blade free and pointed
it forward, darting a gaze from left to right, searching for a threat.
She must be somewhere beneath the faerie mound.
Finvarra’s enchanted world?
She stood in a noble winter garden, but none she’d
ever visited. Snow still fell, but in the gentlest of ways, dusting the soil
and bushes with glistening sparkles.
“What are you doing here, Isobell?”
CHAPTER SEVEN
A rchibald
held the ruby ring in a clenched fist, the large stone jabbing his palm. “She’s
gone? What do you mean she’s gone?”
“Keep calm, my Chief.” Aine was not intimidated by
his bluster. “Dinnae fash. ’Twill make you ill.”
Munn wrung his big hands, gaze lowered to the
stone floor. “She ran away.”
“I gathered that. But why?”
“She refused to stay with a man she hates. Who she
foolishly believes did harm to her clan. That father of hers filled her head
with lies.” Hands on hips, Aine glared at the
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