Page 1 of The Guardian

Chapter One

Autumn, Ross Keep, Isle of Skye

“Are ye certain ye need to return to the keep so soon?” Hendry McNichol’s mother asked, her hands cupping his face. “Ye arrived just the day before yesterday.”

Every time he visited it was the same; his mother’s reluctance to bid him farewell reminded him how blessed he was to have such loving parents.

His father came up behind her and gave him a warm smile. “Be with care, son, and come back within a fortnight. I will roast a lamb, and we will invite the fair Meredith and her family for supper.”

Hendry wanted to groan. Another reason he cut most visits short was because of his parents’ quest to get him married off. It didn’t matter that his brother, Ethan, and sister, Arlene, both had a gaggle of children. To his parents their children were not fully grown until they were married and producing offspring.

“I will do my best,” he promised, bending to kiss his mother’s cheeks and then his father’s. “I’d best go. My duties begin first thing in the morning.”

It was another long period before he was finally mounted and heading from his father’s small farm on the outskirts of Ross lands to Ross keep. He’d grown up playing in the forest around the farm, rarely seeing people other than the farmers’ families who lived nearby. There was little need for anything that required a trip to the village or to seek the laird’s help. His father and their neighbors lived a peaceful existence with very little discord.

It wasn’t until Hendry was ten and five that he had his first encounter with the laird’s guards. Mounted on huge horses, the equally impressive warriors had stopped at each farm to inform them of a threat by the Mackinnon’s, a rival clan.

He’d been awestruck; so much so, he and his brother had raced after the men and trailed them to the next farm just to watch how they carried themselves with assurance and an air of fearlessness.

After that day, he’d been obsessed with the idea of one day becoming like those brave men.

Guiding his stead along the familiar road toward the keep, Hendry kept a watchful eye, something ingrained after years at the service of the laird. It was when a man’s guard was down that danger struck.

A hare darted into the road, stopped, and stared at his horse for a split second before dashing back into the safety of the forest. He couldn’t help but chuckle at the small creature giving into curiosity before fleeing.

Just as he turned his attention back to the road, movement between the trees got his attention. Hendry pulled the horse to a stop and watched as three men with bows and quivers strapped to their backs traveled on foot.

One held a strap with two rabbits. The other two held various small creatures they’d killed.

For a moment, he considered stopping them and ensuring they’d received permission from Laird Ross to hunt, but seeing they’d only killed enough to feed their families, he decided to let it pass.

He continued on, looking forward to the familiarity of what he felt was home. Although returning to his family’s dwelling was always fulfilling, it was not where he lived. The keep, his quarters there, was truly his home.

A usual stop on the route was a small creek where he stopped to water his horse and if needed, himself as well. The clear water gurgled as it passed through the rock bed, the soothing sound beckoning the thirsty to come.

His horse went to the edge and drank greedily. They’d not traveled far, but like him, the steed was always sure to drink and eat plenty. One never knew when the next meal or water source would come when in battle or traveling.

“We will be home shortly,” he told the animal. “No need to act as if in a drought.”

Hendry went to one knee and cupped his hands, dipped them in the water, and lifted the refreshing liquid to his lips. He repeated it twice before stopping and looking around.

A warrior was always aware of his surroundings, of the changes in noise. The ceasing of birds’ calls, and the shifts in the air. The first thing that caught Hendry’s attention was a group of birds taking flight, as if startled.

Straining to listen, the unmistakable crunch of leaves meant movement. There was a soft noise, perhaps a whisper by someone thinking themselves covert. Whether human or beast, to Hendry it was clear he was not alone.

It was better to be safe than not, Hendry pulled his sword from the scabbard across his back and pretended to study it, as if assessing its need to be cleaned or sharpened at the creek’s edge. The entire time he strained, listening to ensure all was well before mounting.

A rock flew through the air, striking his mount. The startled animal cried out, moving away from Hendry, just as two men rushed from the woods’ edge toward him.

Keeping their distance, they stopped in front of him. One slightly to the right, the other to the left.

“Hand over yer money pouch,” a bearded man with matted hair ordered, pointing his dagger at him. “I never miss my target,” he said, winding the dagger between his fingers.

“Throw it here,” the other bedraggled man called out. A short sword in his hand. “We won’t wait long.”

Hendry stuck his hand into the belt of his pants, pretending to untie his pouch whilst taking a pair of steps toward the man who held the sword. Although he didn’t doubt he’d be able to dispatch this one, he had to remain wary of the one with the dagger.

The man with the sword took steps backward and glared at him. “Do I as we say, or we will kill ye.”