Page 4 of Enchanted

“Nothing is simple when the English are involved. Remember that,” Tormod said.

Keiran nodded.

Alastair looked to his brothers, then Marcus and Graeme. “It looks like we will all be here to see Marcus and Rowena off on their next journey.” His gaze landed on Keiran. “And you, dear brother, will take your place as the new family spy.”

*

The next morning,Keiran clutched his horse’s reins in his hands as he stood next to Alastair. It was not yet sunrise, so the lanterns in the courtyard of Dunvegan Castle had been lit. Golden hues sent the shadows writhing into the darkness beyond the castle gate. The earthy scents of dirt and grass mixed with the tang of the salty air. This was the smell of his home—a home still unfamiliar in many ways, especially the ways of his family.

Earlier abovestairs, determined to wear the clothing of his people, he had lain his clan’s tartan on the floor, pleating it the way his brother Callum had shown him. It had taken Keiran three tries before he had managed to create something akin to the lay of the garments his brothers wore.

Despite the fact the garment was crafted from marvellously soft wool, the human-made cloth itched against his skin. It took great strength not to scratch his upper thighs as he slipped his feet into equally unfamiliar leather boots. These were the garments of his people. No matter how uncomfortable they were, he would wear them until they felt as though they were a part of who he was—the last-born son of a Scottish laird, not the favoured yet stolen son of the fairy king.

“Keiran, are you listening to me?” Alastair asked, bringing Keiran’s attention back to the courtyard and the men beside him. “Perhaps you are not yet ready for this task.”

Keiran straightened, terrified that his wandering thoughts might cost him the very thing he had sought since he’d returned: the trust of his family.

“Nay. I am ready. I can do this, Alastair. Please.” He’d never had to beg for anything in the fairy realm. Oberon had allowed him anything he asked until the enchantment over him had been broken by his fairy sister, Aria. Then Oberon had called him a fool.

Keiran bristled at the memory. He was no fool and he would prove such to his kin. He needed them to look upon him not as a sad charity case who had lost his childhood, but as someone who could grasp his future and mould it to his liking. Keiran needed this simple task Alastair asked of him to prove to himself and to his family he was ready to be a man, not a youngling in the nursery. “I won’t let you down.”

“I know you won’t.” Alastair still hesitated, studying Keiran intensely. “Are you certain you want to do this mission alone? I could send a small contingent of soldiers to accompany you.”

Keiran shook his head. “I will be less conspicuous as a single rider should I come upon the enemy.” He could ride a horse, navigate the land better than most humans—having learned his navigating skills in Fairyland—and could hold his own in battle, making him the perfect choice for this mission. “A simple enough task even for me. I can do this, Alastair. Give me a chance to prove my worth.”

Alastair nodded. “The Nicolsons will meet you past the village of Struan at the iron-age broch, Dun Beag. The meeting shall take place as the sun reaches its zenith, meaning you will be able to ride there and back well before sunset.”

Keiran mounted the horse and turned towards the open gates. “Then I shall see you at supper.”

The silence of morning surrounded Keiran as he passed through the gates, following the path to the south-east. With a renewed sense of determination, Keiran urged the horse beneath him into a faster gait as he watched a yellowish-white glow spread across the land before him. His breath hitched at the sight. He still could not believe the differences in the light between the human and fairy realms, especially at sunrise.

As the sun crested over the horizon, he felt his whole being warm, stretch, as though he too were embracing the new day that was upon him. As the crisp white light intensified, he drew in a slow breath, connecting momentarily with the source beyond his reach, the source of all life, hoping today would not be the day Oberon, the king of the fairies and his one-time father, would force him back to Fairyland.

Keiran turned to look behind him at the fading image of Dunvegan Castle. The MacLeods were happy to have him back, and he was eager to find his place among his human family. Yet, a part of him also held back, waiting for something to happen, for Oberon to show himself. The MacLeods assumed Keiran would be safe in the human realm forever because Oberon had vanished under a wave of fairy magic. But Keiran had witnessed Oberon’s ability to survive when defeated previously. There would be a day in the future when the fairy king would reappear to take his revenge against both Keiran for leaving and the MacLeods for taking what Oberon believed was his—both Keiran and the magical Fairy Flag.

Keiran sighed as he pulled his thoughts back to the present. Perhaps he should have told his brothers about the possibility of Oberon returning, but Keiran hadn’t wanted anything to stand in the way of his going on this mission for his clan. It might take years for Oberon to retaliate. Or he may never come for the MacLeods again. Instead of dwelling on what might happen someday, Keiran watched the morning light illuminate the leaves and branches of the trees with a gentle caress. The trees welcomed the light, stretching their limbs and swaying in the breeze. With a second sigh, Keiran encouraged his horse into a gallop, feeling suddenly alone and longing for something he could not name.

As he rode, the bright and fresh morning light came over the landscape ahead of him, changing the colours and shapes of everything it touched. The green grass and the rusty-gold moss that covered the moorland looked more alive and vibrant than anything he had ever seen in Fairyland.

Two hours later, Keiran held the reins loosely in his hands as he navigated the unkempt road leading into Struan. Instead of entering the village, he headed for the grassy terrain along the outskirts, not wanting to bring any attention to himself. He continued, pausing only for a small herd of deer to bolt across his path and disappear into the sparse woodland on the other side.

When finally, he came to the top of a ridge, he peered into the distance, seeing the broch. Keiran frowned. The iron-age fort had seen better days. The roof had collapsed, and the stones of the once mighty tower lay in crumbles about its base. He had assumed the Nicolsons resided here, but clearly, he had been wrong. No one could live in such a derelict place.

Keiran rode down the hillside until he pulled his horse to a halt in front of the ruined doorway, then jumped down. Allowing his horse to graze on the grass nearby, he walked along the overgrown path that led to Dun Beag. Suddenly, the heavy door of the broch swung open, and a young man stepped out, a sword in his hands. His clothing was covered in dirt and blood and his eyes were wild. “Leave immediately if you value your life.”

The hard metallic snap of firearms being cocked sounded behind him and Keiran turned to see two men had stepped from the treeline towards the broch. For a terrifying moment, violence thickened the air.

“I am no threat to you.” Keiran stopped, splaying his hands at his sides in a gesture of surrender. “I am here to meet the Nicolsons.”

“And you are?” asked a voice behind him.

“Keiran MacLeod from Clan MacLeod. My brother Alastair sent me.”

The sword in the young man’s hand lowered. “Apologies. We needed to be certain. We are still gathering our wits. The English set upon us only an hour ago as we waited for you to join us.”

Keiran looked behind him. The rifles lowered. One older man handed his rifle to the other red-headed man before reaching inside his sporran for a folded and sealed missive that he held out to Keiran. “Take this and protect it with your life. If the English find you with a map of their whereabouts, they will show you no mercy,” the elder Nicolson said.

Keiran accepted the missive and tucked it into the tail of his tartan, close to his heart. He must return with the news, and quickly, especially if the English were roaming the area. “Thank you for the information. I will make certain Alastair sees it before nightfall.”

The elder Nicholson offered a nod. “Safe journey, MacLeod.”

Keiran returned to his horse and set off at a swift trot back up the hilly terrain. He would find a safer place well away from Struan to allow his horse a rest. For now, they had to journey on and keep the information he’d gathered from the Nicolsons safe.

After a brisk hour of riding, Keiran slowed his horse to a stop near a creek that was just deep enough for horse and man to refresh themselves. The afternoon sunshine filtered through the trees, lending a quiet peacefulness to the area. For a moment, Keiran allowed himself to relax near the creek, reclining on a bed of tall grass. He closed his eyes and listened to the gentle rustling of the wind as it moved through the tender blades.

He wasn’t certain how much time had passed when the whispering of the wind shifted to a soft thumping, then a sharper thudding. He sat upright just as a horse shrieked in the distance, followed by the clanging of steel against steel.

Keiran’s heart pounded wildly as he saw ten men dressed in bright red coats surge towards another contingent of five men dressed in drab travel clothes. A heartbeat later, Keiran saw a splash of green silk, a length of brown hair, and a slim figure among the drably dressed men.

A woman. His breath caught as the men in red set upon the entire travelling party, savagely slicing anyone in their path.

A feminine cry pierced the air.

Abandoning sanity and self-preservation, Keiran mounted his horse and drew his sword. He shifted his weight forward. His horse understood the command. Together they charged through a sea of red towards that strangely misplaced femineity floating on a sea of death.

His mission had been to stay in the shadows, but how could he when a woman’s life was at stake?