Sheep Herd of the Hill Country

Chapter One

Long ago, in a land still untamed there lived a maiden, an ordinary maiden in an ordinary cottage, but this is not an ordinary story.

Her eyes burned and bled from the wind and the smoke, or maybe it was more from the sights she had seen. It seemed as if she had been running for days, and she nearly had been. Could it be that only the evening before she had latched the sheep securely in their fold and followed the packed dirt path to the cottage, pausing in the garden to gather some ripened vegetables? And then she had stepped to the split door. The top half swung wide to let in the last sunrays before the gathering twilight and the bottom half only slightly ajar. It was what she saw in that twilight that brought bile to her throat and made her body shake. Her knuckles whitened on the doorframe and the beets lay forgotten on the ground as she lost the contents of her stomach.

And then she ran.

She fought to keep her eyes open. Every time they closed she saw the sunken faces again. Those empty eyes staring at her, the gaping mouths. She stumbled. Her throat felt like sand. Every breath tore through her lungs with a scorching fire. Her body ached. Her feet were bleeding and her hands were torn as well from falling and pulling herself back up. She must run.

And then she heard it, from behind her, beside her, all around her, an awful keening. Wailing so full of anguish, she wailed along. Her hope was gone. She had never heard the sound before, but she knew well the only creature to make a call so horrible, so sad, would be one without a soul. And her hope was gone.

She stumbled again, and this time she fell. She did not feel the arm that caught hold of her leaving yet another bruise as it lifted her from the ground.

When Caitriona woke it was to the taste of a bitter drink scalding down her throat and chin as it spilled from her mouth. She spit it in the face of her captor and knocked the cup away. Her eyes flew over the ground until she located a weapon. As stick of good size, a club really, but as she reached for it her hands were pinned at her sides.

"And that's a fine way to thank one for saving your skin."

She spit again, kicking him once in the stomach before he was on top of her, holding her down and muttering to himself. "I think I liked her better knocked out."

She hissed at him and her clenched her wrists tighter. "Lie still." He commanded. "You are safe here. Calm. Calm." He said softly as if soothing a child or an animal. So she lay still. "Can I let you go now?" He questioned. "Will you lay still and hear me out?"

She nodded slowly. It wasn't as if she had much choice. She could see the knife curving at his side and the bow and quiver in his pack. He had already proven that he was much more skilled in combat than she, so she lay as he moved and hunched down by her.

"You are safe here." He said again. "I will do my best to see that no harm comes to you."

She stared at him.

"What were you running from?"

She said nothing.

"I know you can talk. You were screaming in your sleep."

Still not a word.

"If you would tell me then I might know better to guard against it."

"How do I know you aren't it?" Her voice sounded like an old woman's in her ears. She knew he wasn't it. Even in her terror she had seen the soul in his eyes. But still she pulled away. She wrapped her woolen cloak around her head. "Have mercy." She whispered. "Kill me now."

He found the cup where it had landed and retrieved it, filling it again with the strong brew from the pot on the fire. He held it out, but she refused. He took a sip and grimaced at the taste. "Ay, it's awful stuff, but your body needs the healing."

This time she took the cup and drank deep, choking the thick liquid down. It did sooth her throat, but it was still hot, too hot.

He searched through his pack and handed her a strip of dried meat. Her stomach growled at the sight and she gnawed at it.

He dropped another branch on the fire and she struggled to sit upright. When he came to her aid she tried to fight against his hands, but was forced to relent. He propped her back against a tree and sat down on his heels, chewing on his own piece of meat.

"How long have I been here?" She asked.

He studied her a moment. "Not more than three or four hours."

"Why haven't they come for us yet?" Her whole body was shaking and she couldn't control it.

"They can't find us."

"They can."

"Not here." He soothed, searching for the right words. "This is a safe keep in the forest. Very little evil can reach us here."

Her trembling didn't stop, but she nodded. She wanted so badly to be safe that it was easy to believe him. "From the stories?" She said. "Magik. From the Ancient Days?"

He nodded.

"It's true?" She was so cold.

He nodded again.

"I am going to the Queen." She told him. She didn't know when she had come up with that plan, but now that it had formed itself in her mind there was no shaking it.

"Ay." He nodded. "That you should, and I will take you myself."

Too late, she realized her folly, but her captor rose and bowed slightly. "Riordan Ap Ailean, in the service of the King." His open cloak disclosed the blue suiting of a royal guard.

She could not trust her life to a stranger in the woods. But she had no other choice.

Caitriona examined her wounds when he left the clearing. A few bruises and scrapes, but she was holding together. Her feet were tender and crisscrossed with ugly white scars, but they were not open. The pain in her side had subsided to an ache and she found that she could walk easily. Her fingernails were cracked and her hands rough, but no more than after a hard days labor.

He returned leading a charger.

"Let me help you mount, my lady."

She shook her head slowly. "I have never seen a beast so large."

"He is quite gentle." He assured her.

"A gentle warhorse?" She snorted.

"But he is." Riordan ran a gloved hand over the horses neck and mane. "My sister's mare foaled Eachann. The ladies doted on him until it became quite apparent that he was not built to be a ladies pleasure horse."

"So he is accustomed to women?" She timidly approached.

He nodded. "Fancy women." He said. "Billowing clothing and strong perfume."

She touched the giant's nose and her hand jerked back as he snorted.

"It's wet!" She laughed nervously. "Like a sheep's."

"See, rub him just so." He lifted her hand as high as she could reach.

She shook. "I've never touched a horse before." She followed the soldier's example and stroked through his mane. "He is much like an ox." She decided. Her companion laughed. "Eachann will be offended if you compare him to an ox."

She looked into the horse’s eyes. "He will be?" She asked worriedly. "I'm sorry. I just meant, he is solid and strong, and his coat is soft."

"Grab hold." He instructed pushing her hands to the saddle horn and before she quite knew what had happened she was boosted up and onto the saddle, her tattered skirt pushed to her knees and her white fingers clutching onto the horse.

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A/N: Please respond with encouragement and constructive critism. I will return the favor. I will updatewith newchapters regularly. I have the story almost finished, it is just a matter of posting. Thankyou.

Thankyou to lccorp2 for the very helpfulreview. I havefixed some of the problems and am working on the rest.