A Witch's Tempest

Story by annajade

1364 A.D.
Aberdeen, Scotland.

When she was a child of 12, Tara MacMillan rescued and lost her heart to a young knight blamed and hunted for the death of his father. But when Hugh McHale reunites with his wee savior, it's not the same Tara he knew and remembered. At last, Hugh has a chance to repay the brave kindness she had bestowed on him 8 long years ago by joining her band of raiders and destroying the dark rein his half-brother held over her lands...and trying hard not to fall into the temptation her mismatched eyes promised him.

Prologue

The yells were getting louder and louder as were the bombardment of thuds began to join the ruckus. The men-at-arms stationed at the gates had their hands full, even injured, to keep the waves of screaming people from entering the bailey or scale the walls. To the fore was a young woman, whose untidy hair, flowed down to below her waist and it almost shone like dark waves of fire. She surveyed the chaos and calamity from a viewpoint where she ken no-one can see her; her dual-colored, mismatched eyes wide with sorrow and terror. She wished to clamp her hands o'er her ears and hide away in the stables or underneath the large bed of her marriage chambers; but she ken tha' it wouldnae dim the sounds of the chantin' the men were deafeningly sayin' o'er and o'er again.

"Kill the witch! Witch! Kill the witch! Burn her! Laird McRae is dead! Kill the witch!"

A soft sob escaped the beauty's lips as she raised a soft, small hand to her mouth and silently cried for her dead betrothed and the loss of her dreams. Her head was bowing when suddenly a solid strength was at her side, lifting her chin and rubbing away the tears that slowly overflowed the eyes that were her curse. The face that greeted her was so familiar, so overwhelmingly loving that she gave a cry and threw her slim arms around his waist and buried her face on his chest. He whispered nonsense into her hair as he tightened his hold on her, kenning that he was the only thing keeping her from crumbling. His gaze strayed to the window, where he could see the men-at-arms putting a fight for the marauders nay to enter. But he ken that nay matter what, they will break through and demand the seizure of one lone, innocent woman, spurred by anger and superstition of a mon's lies and schemes.

"Hush, now, loving," he said as he tightened his hold on her and averted her face from the vantage point when a painful shriek was heard o'er the chanting din. "Nay, dinnae look." He sighed and cradled her face in his large, handsome hands. "Look at me, lass," he whispered, kissing her lips brusquely when she complied. "Listen well, wee warrior; ye cannae stay here. Nay now. Ye weel hie yerself off from these lands and dinnae look back; hide. Dinnae go ter yer sister's, they weel look fer ye there once they ken tha' ye dinnae dwell here nay longer. Gowan has given word tha' he arrived at our king's court and he is doin' his best to catch our king's notice. Doona fear; but for now, ye must flee here. Forget about yer people, they ken weel what to do. Robbie wouldnae ha'e wanted ye to sacrifice yerself, lassie. T'was why he died- to protect ye." His hand swept through her hair as he pressed a kiss to her temple, the sweet smell of lavender and heather filled his nose. "T'is the only thing ye can do…please. Please go."

The young woman opened her eyes, tears filling their expressive depths until they filled and dripped down her pale cheeks. "I weel go," she promised brokenly. "Promise me, ye weel come find me. I cannae do this alone…I cannae bear to do it alone." Squaring her trembling chin and settling her shaking shoulders, she stood straight and proud. "In memory and honor to my late betrothed, Laird Robert McRae, I weel avenge him and set free of the terror invading his lands and people. On that I swear, by oath of blood." She took the dagger he held and sliced open her palm with a delicate grunt. She fisted her small hand, blood oozing between her slender fingers, she kissed her fist and laid it over her thundering heart.

The tall, brown mon nodded solemnly, his dark eyes quivering with unshed tears as he took her hand in his and wrapped the open wound with a piece of the McRae tartan. "Yer horse is readied, the supplies on the pummel," he said, tying the ends together.

A cry of defeat and denial broke outside the bailey as it was drowned by the bellows of the blood-lusting marauders. The couple turned to stare in horror and alarm as the bailey filled with men clamoring to kill and survive, to drive back the men invading their home and sanctuary…their life. The woman sobbed and gritted her teeth as she stared at the scene, tears falling freely.

"Nay!" she cried out, sobs choking her voice. The mon grabbed her shoulders roughly and pulled her away from the window, dragging her down the hallways as maids and men ran to help or find a hiding place. "Oh, God, nay…" she whimpered as she stumbled behind. "I ha'e to help, I cannae leave them!"

The man stuttered to a halt at the bottom of the stairs, gripping her hard and shaking her. "Ye can and ye weel, ye daft woman!" he shouted, spittle flying with his words. "Dinnae ye think that once they ha'e ye, they willnae hurt them just to spite ye? Think! Ye ken all this; think like the warrior I taught ye to be." When he saw the raw determination and bitter acceptance in her mismatched eyes, he set off again taking a corridor he kenned it lead to a secret door out of the tower house. "Do ye remember what Robbie said in case of troubles?" When she nodded, he grunted in approval. "Hie to the cliffs as fast as ye can then lassie. Dinnae look back. Dinnae hesitate. Ye keep on riding until ye are far from these accursed lands." A maid handed him a thick cloak of dark blue as they passed the servant's dining hall, mumbling a pagan prayer of good blessing. "I weel come to ye in twa days time, sooner if I can achieve it."

"Two? That number has always been naught but a folly and a stroke of luck," she giggled wetly, her lips trembling in a saddened smile as he fastened the brooch to her neck and swept the hood of the cloak over her thick hair. "Dinnae fail me, my fine knight. I shall wait for ye," she promised as she took hold of his hand in hers and squeezed it lightly. When he met her solemn stare, he saw the delicate, distraught woman she had become recently and nay the strong lady he had kenned so weel. Turning away from him, she opened the hidden door; the noise of battle and screams filling her ears. "I love ye, Bowen. Godspeed," she hiccupped, quickly mounting the nervous horse and quickly set the pace to a gallop.

"Godspeed…Tara," Bowen said quietly, watching the wee figure of the woman he had loved since she was a growing child, disappear into the foliage of the dense forest surrounding Mor Dubhaill; his heart heavy.

Author's Note:

At last the prologue of A Witch's Tempest! Yay!
Tell me what you guys think? Where will it lead to?

Don't worry, my dear readers, I will start writing again. I took a very long break and I really needed it. But I have come back with new ideas and a hearty determination to write. So please, berate me and tell me your thoughts. I love hearing from you guys. It gives voices to the many numbers I see on the traffic stats.

First chapter coming later tonight.
- Love, Anna.