Highland Shadows (Beautiful Darkness Series Book 1) (2 page)

“Hold still, lad.” He glimpsed his father’s anguished eyes the instant before a blanket covered his body and hands patted out the flames. Then the blanket was whisked away.

“Where’s your mother?”

“Inside,” he gulped out, but the night air bit at his exposed, charred flesh. Jolts of hellish pain shot through him. He seized, unable to breathe. Then the world slowly turned black.

CHAPTER 1

Twelve years later...

Alexander MacKenzie rode beside his most trusted friend, Jamie, along the shore of the North Minch, the stretch of water separating the north-west Highlands from the Inner Hebrides. Their horses trod carefully among the jagged stones and tangled seaweed. Alex shook his head. He could still remember better days when merfolk had surfaced unseen and with their fins swept the shores clean of debris and calmed the wild Highland sea. But those gentle, timeless spirits had fled the night of the stable fire. Despite the passing of years, they remained within their watery kingdom unable to contend with the evil that shadowed the surface.

Just as his father had prophesied, darkness had descended, and with it came the wolves.

His horse sidestepped a rotting stag carcass. Shredded hide and ribbons of wasted meat lifted in the harsh wind. He scowled. Fury struck straight to his core. The vicious beasts who had invaded their land were infected by greed, killing to satisfy their lust.

He looked back at his warriors who struggled to move their wagon over rocks and debris. Fierce waves lashed out, grabbing at the wheels like phantom fingers intent on stealing their meager supplies.

Alex’s mare stumbled on a slick rock. He reached forward and scratched behind her ear.

“’Twill be fine, Midnight,” he whispered, although he knew he lied. There was nothing fine left in their world.

The merfolk were not the only gentle spirits to flee from the wolves’ curse. Faeries had once darted among the verdant trees of Daonnan Forest—so named because of its evergreens, which once had grown tall and straight to the heavens. But the faeries had also vanished the night the world erupted into flame, and wickedness sank its teeth into the land. Now, the trees grew gnarled and bent, blocking out the sun so only those plants and animals that craved darkness could flourish.

Angry waves blasted the shore while large, black birds circled overhead, crooning of the sea’s sorrow. Pulling the rough hide he wore tighter about his shoulders in a feeble attempt to block the bite of the frigid wind, he turned away from the troubled water and stared ahead with grim resolve. His father’s health had taken a turn for the worse, leaving Alex to make the rounds and collect what little rents his people could spare.

Jamie reined in his horse. “The shadow over our land continues to spread waste and decay. These rocks are as sharp as daggers. The wagon will never make it through. We should not have come this way.”

Once more Alex glanced back at his men. Fergus and Kendrick pushed the wagon from behind while Dougal drove the shabby team that strained to advance their burden.

“What other choice have we? Or would ye rather take our chances in the wood?” Alex said, eying the thick forest, which had spread, intruding upon the shore. His eyes narrowed as he strained to see beyond the bramble and thicket, which ensnared every trunk and had swallowed up the forest roads. Sleek creatures moved slowly along the tangled brink, their eyes glowing in the murky darkness.

“Wolves and only God knows what else,” Alex growled. “We stay our course. The cliffs are not far.”

He stroked Midnight’s black mane. “Steady, lass,” he said as he dismounted and passed his reins to Jamie. “Watch the tree line. Just because the wolves have never left the woods in daylight doesn’t mean they never will.”

He picked his way back toward the wagon to aid his men.

“We can manage,” Kendrick said to Alex when he squeezed between the two breathless men and started to push.

“Like Hell we can,” Fergus said, his long, red hair clinging to his sweaty face despite the frigid air.

Kendrick pressed his back against the wagon and dug his feet into the wet sand. He bared his teeth and squeezed his eyes tight while he pushed. “Ye shouldn’t have to help, Alex,” he gritted. “Your burden is already too great as it is.”

Alex met his kinsman’s earnest gaze. Few men possessed Kendrick’s goodness. He never failed to put other’s needs before his own.

“One clan, one back.” Alex took a deep breath and pressed his shoulder into the wood. Slowly, the wagon moved forward.

Finally, they spied the jetty that marked the end of the shoreline. The earth rose in a steep incline until it met the surface of teeming cliffs. Jamie dismounted and guided their horses up a steep pass while Alex stayed behind to push the wagon.

When they finally reached the top, and he could see the road ahead, he breathed out a long sigh of relief. Every year the dark forest spread, encroaching upon the coast and consuming the moors. But the greedy beasts that moved among the trees had yet to lay waste to the fair expanse of open land that stretched out before him. He swung into his saddle and, with a whisper, compelled Midnight to gallop over tufts of frozen bracken and heather.

A small cluster of huts awaited them within a valley that lay hidden still behind distant hills. It was the farthest outpost before MacKenzie territory ended and Clan Ross began. It also marked the final stop, after which Alex and his men could journey home to Creag de Sonas. For three weeks, they had ridden from croft to croft, encountering bleak poverty every step of the way. Despite Alex’s efforts, with each passing year, conditions only grew worse.

At last, the valley spread out before them in varying shades of gray. Winter had come early just as it had for years and no doubt would linger long past its seasonal due. Children in tattered rags and bare feet spotted their approach and bounded toward them. When they drew closer, Alex smiled at the raggedy gang, bringing an abrupt halt to their race. They froze with eyes wide open and mouths agape the instant before they ducked behind the nearest hut.

Jamie shrugged. “A full year has passed since our last visit. They do not know us. They’re right to fear strangers, especially now when an ill wind blows all manner of wicked souls to our doorsteps.”

Alex smiled. “Ye’re a good friend. Even after all these years, ye still try to pretend away what I am.”

“What ye are is a great man.”

“I would settle for being a good man,” he said absently while scanning the grounds.

“Ye’re that too,” Jamie said with conviction.

As they rode into the small crofting community, Alex angled his head so that the left side of his face, the undamaged side, was more prominent. By then the children had sounded the alarm. Their parents raced from within long, thatched huts, or popped up from fields where they had no doubt been foraging for something missed during the harvest.

“Alexander,” an older man called out. He had a long gray beard that swayed when he walked and broad shoulders stooped with age. “What news have ye brought?”

Alex slid from his horse and strode over to greet his kinsman. “Nothing that bears repeating I’m afraid.” He clasped the older man’s shoulder. “Happy I am to see ye, Thomas. How have ye faired this year past?”

“The days are short and cold, yet we survive, keeping watch over your borders as ever.”

“Have ye heard from Ross?”

“The air is fresher on Ross soil,” Thomas said. “I do not ken why. I’ve spoken with Camran Ross who keeps a croft beyond Rionnag loch. He said the wolves still darken their forest but their people fair better.”

Alex’s mind drifted back to the night of the fire, when the darkness first descended upon their land, and the heart of the MacKenzie clan had been burned alive. His mother and all the famed MacKenzie horses had died, taking the clan’s hope with them to heaven.

“Where our fortune had once come from horses, William Ross has filled his coffers with grain sold at market. No doubt their planting skills surpass our own. Mayhap they’ve discovered remedies to combat the crop sickness, though I cannot imagine how they’ve managed to contend with the shortened growing season.”

“Camran did say they were rotating fields, leaving them to fallow for two seasons. We’ve let the stretch down by the stream sit since last season. We plan to leave it fallow for another to see if the plants grow stronger.”

Alex nodded his approval and was about to ask after Thomas’s family when his friend continued. “Camran Ross said something else that struck me as odd. He complained that Laird Ross has become some kind of recluse. As it is, his only living daughter has hardly been seen for the better part of a decade. He tells me the clan suspects her mind was lost when tragedy befell the Ross’s wife. Do ye recall the incident? It must be ten years ago now.”

“Vaguely,” Alex replied. “But tell me of Ross himself. His daughter does not concern me.”

“Camran said he expelled most of the servants from the keep and spends his days alone now.”

Alex rubbed his jaw while he considered Laird Ross. “Mayhap, he despairs. His clan may not be starving, but the same ill wind blows beyond Rionnag Loch that blows here. Come spring, I’m certain he’ll set his keep right.”

“’Tis possible, but these are dark times to be sure.”

Alex nodded grimly.

“Were ye able to buy fresh horses this year past?” Thomas asked, his eyes glinting with hope.

Alex pressed his lips together and shook his head.

Every year since the fire Thomas had asked the same question, first of Callum and now of Alex. Thomas’s shoulders stooped a little further. Alex knew he wanted what every other MacKenzie craved, for the return of the glory days when their stables were filled with the finest horses in the Highlands.

Just then Alex felt something graze his back. He turned and spied a grubby face peeking out from behind a hut. He glanced at the rock on the ground, which he knew had been thrown to snake his attention. Alex pretended not to notice as, one by one, the children peered around the corner to get another look at him before sprinting away.

“Get ye gone or your arses will be sore for a fortnight,” Thomas yelled after them. He turned back to Alex. “I’m sorry. Their mothers and fathers have taught them better.”

“They’re not to blame,” Alex said. He knew the boy had not wished to hurt him. He had only wanted Alex to turn around so the children could once more witness the scars that ravaged the right side of his face. He watched them race over the moors, no doubt spurred on by their fear that Thomas might make good on his threat of a walloping. But a sad smile curved Alex’s lips, knowing he was the real cause of their flight. When they looked at him, they did not see a man—they saw a monster.

The children had not injured his pride. As a lad, the taunts he had endured had caused him great heartache. But now that he was two and twenty and acting leader of his clan, the only emotion stirred by the terror that filled the children’s eyes, was regret. As fresh as new leaves at springtime was the memory of traveling throughout MacKenzie lands with his father. Alex had always ridden in front of his da, tucked close inside Callum’s arms, and when they approached a new croft, the children would race out to greet them. Callum had been father to the clan, and their people had prospered. Alex reached up and absently touched his raised and leathery skin, which extended from just below his eye, down his right cheek, neck, and shoulder. Although his scars had faded in color over the years, his skin was severely marred by the fire that had ushered the darkness into their lives. He was a fitting leader over a land as spoiled as his face.

With regret, Alex looked away from the fleeing children to follow Thomas into a small hut, which housed the community’s meager count of oat sacks.

“Rot spread from the root before the fields could ripen,” Thomas said.

Alex reached into one of the bags and scooped a handful of grain. Letting the fragments sift through his fingers, he observed the small size and gray tint. The land was cursed, and only God knew the secret that might right all that was hopelessly wrong.

After he finished going over the stores and refused Thomas’s offer of rent, he scanned the grounds. Jamie engaged the children in a game of monster. He growled while his attackers wielded wooden swords. Alex shook his head when he spied the children’s bare feet. Few deer roamed the moors anymore, and to enter the forest meant certain death. There simply was not enough hide to fill his people’s needs. Shaking away his grim thoughts, he began to inspect the huts. They seemed in good shape, but the winter wind had only just begun to blow. He needed to make certain they had peat enough for future repairs.

Turning a corner, he spied a young lass of around fifteen years whom he did not recognize. She had a wee one on her hip, a basket on her head, and a large bundle slipping from her grip. He rushed forward and scooped up the linen sack.

“Ye’ve got your hands full.” He angled his head to the right to diminish the impact of his scars.

“Between the wash and my wee sister here, I would say so,” she said, looking to the small child who had begun to fuss in her arms. She hitched the girl higher up on her hip and then looked up at Alex. Her smile faltered. “Saints above,” she said, making a hasty sign of the cross and hurried away without another word.

“Ye forgot your wash,” he called after her.