A Voice in the Air: Long Ago

By Daryl Devore

Leading an army of faeries and pixies into battle against mountain trolls was not what Cadi expected when she accepted the task of rescuing Ewen - the son of the Overseer of the Faeries.

Squire Ewen followed his liege into battle with a head full of romantic notions of knights, heroics, and damsels in distress. Being captured by a troll, thrown into a cave, and awaiting a hideous death was not how he had foreseen his adventure to play out.

Can Ewen stay out of trouble long enough for Cadi to rescue him? Will Cadi overcome her doubts and fears and bring her beloved Ewen home to Plucks Ridge?

Or will the petty evilness of The Scorned One defeat all and destroy the magickal realm?

If you love action, humour, quirky characters, and romance, then Daryl Devoré's latest medieval fantasy romance – A Voice in the Air – is a must read.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Daryl Devore
• Release date: Nov 15, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215682678

Daryl Devore

Autrice di narrativa erotica, Daryl Devore ama creare personaggi forti, indipendenti e affascinanti. I suoi cattivi ragazzi ispirano ogni volta un mondo di storie avvincenti.

Book preview

Prologue

Ablade of grass tickled the back of Cadi’s neck as she lay on the side of the hill. Eventide was falling. The clouds, coloured an angry red, swirled about the sky. A breeze brushed across her face. A hint of a hearth’s wood smoke scented the air. Snuggling deeper into her cloak, she sat up. Her gaze swept across the horizon. Rolling hills tinged with the hues of the harvest season. Deer grazed nearby, ever alert for the sound of a hunter. Far to her right rested the ancient ruins of a Keep. Legends said it was once the home of a magickal people who had fled the area generations ago. She again scanned the vista. No Ewen. Her warrior.

He had ridden south with his liege to battle with demons so large and fierce, even the land shook when they walked. Both knights and villagers rode together, vowing to slay the hideous beasts.

Worry filled Cadi’s thoughts. Ewen and the others were not the first to attempt to defeat the creatures. While serving ale in the tavern, she listened to the rumours whispered by the men. The beasts dined on man, crunching their bones as if they were made of dried twigs. They stole babes from their mother’s breast. No weapon, sword, or arrow could pierce the callous flesh that covered their grotesque bodies.

Cadi trembled. Ewen was just a squire. How could he slay such a creature? He was cunning and brave, but a demon was still a demon.

Nightly, she knelt in the church, praying for Ewen’s safety. Daily, she sang a song of protection as Enfys had instructed. Still no Ewen.

Would he return?

A brisk wind rustled the fallen leaves, settling a rawness on Cadi’s shoulders. She shuddered as if the icy fingers of death gripped her heart.

Chapter 1

Acloud of dust rose above the road. The men were coming home. Those who lived. A chill shuddered through Cadi. Those who lived.

Would many return?

Would Ewen?

Calls sounded throughout the village of Plucks Ridge. They return.

They are coming!

The men are back.

Can ye see them?

Women and children streamed from the homes and shops into the village square. The mass moved to the east, gazes searching the horizon for the sight of a loved one.

The soul-satisfying scent of freshly baked bread drifted past Cadi’s nose as Marwyn, the baker, stood next to her. His neck stretched to see over the crowd. His only son had gone to fight the creatures.

She visualized the last moment she saw Ewen, Marwyn’s son, seated proudly in his saddle, showing a brave face to his father’s worried one and his sister’s tears.

Would he return?

There! A child’s voice rang out.

The crowd surged forward. Gazes scanned the vista. Ears strained to hear the pounding of hooves. Fists clenched. Fingers picked at sleeves. Nervous feet shuffled in the dirt. Souls trembled, terrified to learn the truth.

The first rider entered the village, not with the elation of returning, but with a slow, mournful clop-clop of an exhausted beast.

Sianna screeched then raced to him. Four young ones tumbled along behind. Parry slid off his mount, collapsing into his wife’s arms. His face and clothes were bloodied. His demeanour defeated. Sawly, the eldest son, grabbed the reins, leading the horse away.

At the sight of Parry’s injuries, a hush settled on the crowd. Cadi stepped aside. She had no husband, father, or son to greet. Ewen was not hers. She dreamt of the day when a knight’s squire and a barmaid became betrothed. She had privately wept when he’d left to fight the – dare she even think the word? When he’d left to fight the trolls.

She had heard the word whispered in the pub. The local men had gone to fight not a human enemy, but creatures too big and vicious to be imagined.

The Father Abbot sternly preached that there were no trolls, no dragons, nor no faeries. No magickal creatures walked the earth, only humans. Angels and demons were beings of God and Satan. She’d learned to silence her tongue after witnessing the brutality of the punishment for doubting the Father Abbot’s word.

A gasp from the crowd brought Cadi out of her thoughts.

Six more horses entered the village square. Six more wives or mothers screeched with gladness.

Then no more.

The crowd waited.

Hopes dwindled.

Fear consumed souls.

Thirty-three men had answered the call to fight. Seven broken men returned.

Damnation to the trolls. Cadi pressed her lips together. She would not openly grieve. No one would ever know the love burning in her now broken heart.

Gwyneria stepped forward from the crowd. She dropped to her knees, hands clasped, her lips mumbling a soft prayer.

Others knelt, with lowered heads they waited.

Nothing.

A small boy scooted ahead. His mother reached to grab him, but he slipped away. He raced down the road, disappearing around the bend.

Cadi glanced about the square. Every face colourless. Breaths being held. Children with tears streaming down their pale cheeks. Wives and mothers staring blankly forward, unable to think or believe.

More horses! The boy returned, breathlessly shouting, More. Horses.

A gasp of hope sprang from the crowd. Would their loved one be in the group? Prayers were sent heavenward.

Two horses trudged into view, pulling a blanket covered wagon. Behind them, another pair drawing a heavy load.

Wails filled the air. Some collapsed, unable to withstand the tension and fear.

The drivers reined the horses to a stop. Father Abbot and several monks stepped past the crowd, reverently removing the blankets from the wagons. The monks knelt. Everyone settled to their knees. The abbot made the sign of the cross then recited a prayer for the lost souls who lay crammed in the wagons.

A sharp autumn breeze blew across Cadi’s neck. She lifted her hood to cover her head. The sky darkened as clouds respectfully dimmed the glow of the sun.

Once the abbot had finished his prayer, the monks stood. Two by two, they walked to a wagon and lifted a corpse from the pile. With gentle respect, they laid the body on the ground near the town’s well. Grwn, the acting sheriff, stepped forward, examined the man, then announced his name.

A woman’s piercing scream stabbed Cadi’s heart. The newly widowed woman brushed past her, screeching, No. No! No! She dropped to the ground, hugging her lifeless husband.

The monks lowered another body to the ground to the left of the first. The sheriff announced a name. Another wail of agony.

Cadi brushed the droplets from her face as the sky grieved.

Twenty-five more times a body was lowered to the ground, a name was called out for each.

Twenty-five more times a heart was broken, and a family shattered.

Guilty relief filled Cadi. Ewen’s name was not called. Where was he? If not with the living and not with the dead, where else was there?

She pushed her way through the mourners to Grwn’s side. Ewen? Where is he? He’s missing.

Grwn shrugged as contempt crossed his face. The scar above his lip increasing the repugnance of his sneer.

She knew why, even though she refused to accept it. In this moment, for that man, the most horrible, most repulsive idea was not the death surrounding them or the endless pain of the survivors. His disgust arose because she was only a woman — and an unwed one at that — and she’d dared to ask a question of so important a personage as himself.

Many thought she had no rights or a say in matters, being over sixteen years, still unwed, and from away. A man-less woman was worth less than a cow. But she did not believe that to be so. The fighter in her raised its voice.

Look. She pointed at the crowd. All are paired up. The injured men have left with their womenfolk. The dead are grieved over by their loved ones. Marwyn stands alone. His son has not returned.

Without acknowledging she had spoken, the sheriff snapped an order at a guard then hurried away.

Ran like a scared mouse. Will not answer the simple question of a woman.

Disheartened at the sheriff’s lack of concern, Cadi turned. Two lads were leading the horse-drawn wagons to the monastic stables. Steeling her nerves, she crept closer to the wagons and peered inside. Empty.

The abbot’s frown caught her attention.

Ewen, she explained. He is not here. He did not ride in. Nor... she tilted her head to the wagon and shuddered. Thirty-three men left. Thirty-two have returned.

Side by side, they looked towards the square filled with grieving families and mangled corpses. The abbot’s low voice offered slight comfort. Let’s pray that on the morrow, we will learn his fate.

A tinge of hope fluttered in Cadi’s breast. Maybe Ewen still lived. Maybe he had no horse to ride and would return in a day or two. Maybe he lay injured in a hospitalier in another monastery. Maybe... Cadi would pray. Not knowing was worse than knowing.

The abbot raised his right hand. I will pray for his soul this evening. He made the sign of the cross over her, then walked to a grieving family.

Why pray for his soul? Her head spun as the answer revealed itself. The abbot thinks he is dead. If he is dead and was not returned with the others. Then... no, stop thinking. Fighting to hide her worry, she wandered through the families, offering a bit of comfort.

Sad eyes gratefully smiled, but some glared. Rage filled them. She understood the unspoken message. What was she doing there? She was not suddenly a widow with five children to raise. She had lost no one. Why was she not suffering like they were?

She had suffered. Many years ago.

Chilled from the incessant drizzle, Cadi walked to the well. She closed her eyes then lifted her voice. The voice God had given her. She sang not a song but calming sounds. No words could make this moment heal. People needed to grieve. They needed a release of pain and anger. She raised her voice as their wails built, then softened it when grief ebbed for a moment.

One by one, bodies were shrouded and removed. The few elderly men who had not gone off to battle and the monks would be busy, building coffins or digging graves. She would sing at many gravesides.

But not Ewen’s.

She stood alone in the square. The bodies had been removed to be laid out in their homes. The monks called to church.

Cadi drank in the silence. The chaos and horror of the day ended.

Tomorrow the sun would rise, and the villagers would begin to live again.

Not she. She could not live until she knew the fate of Ewen. Good or bad.

She walked to her refuge behind the tavern. A small barn with a hayloft and horse stable, with a part sectioned off for her. As Plucks Ridge had no nunnery to provide a bed to an unwed woman, the tavern keeper offered a space, while keeping back part of her wages for rent. It suited the basic needs of Cadi. Only a short walk late at night from tavern to bed. Much safer for a lone woman.

Shutting her door, she crossed the room to her table and chair and sat. Cutting a large chunk of bread and cheese, she stared at her meal. Her hunger fled. Anguish flickered in her belly, then flooded her. So many deaths. So much pain. She dropped her arms onto the table and bowed her head against them. The first sob bubbled out. Many more followed. Her howls of fear and loss rang in her ears. She could not stop the tears. Her breath broke into strangled hiccups.

Sobs lessening, Cadi stumbled to her bed, collapsed, allowing sleep to roll over her.

The morning sun peeked through the broken slates in the stable roof. Yawning, Cadi climbed out of bed. These next few days would be long and tiring. Working at the tavern; lugging ales to men trying to drink away their pain, feeding meals to family members who’d descend on the village for the funerals. And as always, avoid the hands of those who felt they had permission to squeeze and pinch her.

Face scrubbed and hair tied under her scarf, Cadi made her way to the monastery. The monks who weren’t working on coffins or graves would be in the chapel practicing the funeral dirge. She would never be allowed to sing with them, but she could take a moment of her day and revel in their voices. Later, in her spot by the river, she would practice what she had heard. ‘Twas a sin for a woman to sing this holy music.

Settling onto her knees in a back pew, Cadi lowered her face, pretending to pray. The deep voices of the monks echoed off the grey stone walls. She did not understand the words. The language of the music was not what she spoke. But the sadness in their voices allowed her to understand the meaning.

Tears streamed down her cheeks. A passerby would think she was praying for those lost, not the passion of the music. Before she left, she lifted a prayer, asking — seeking — pleading — for a hint of the fate of Ewen.

She did not expect an immediate answer. It would be delivered when the time was right. She rose, then hurried off to the tavern. It would be a long while before she could lay her head on her pillow.

SUNDAY MORNING THE church bell called everyone to mass. Cadi lay on her cot, staring at the ceiling. It was not her room. It was a cell; three stone walls and a thick wooden door with a small window. In the far corner, her chamber pot. In the other, a small table on which lay a candle and a bowl. Inside it, the remains of her once-a-day meal. The abbot had confined her to this room for three days for her sin. He instructed her to think about what she had done and how she needed to beg forgiveness, not from him but from God.

Forgiveness for singing.

By the fourth day of funerals and working at The White Goat, she was physically and emotionally tired. The monks sang their funeral dirge for the final time. She had not meant to sing. But the release was overwhelming. Days of heartache, cries, and the sad faces of bewildered children had pushed her to an edge. She was unable to stop her voice. It rose above the monks’, singing the same words which she believed were asking God to save the souls of those lost.

The sheriff had grabbed her by the hair and dragged her from the chapel, yelling, Be quiet, ye blasphemous wench. How dare ye violate such a sacred moment.

She tried to reason with an angry abbot that she was just singing to help their voices reach God’s ears. He berated her for the impudence of her thinking she should sing such holy words or that God would listen to... her; an unmarried, childless woman. The scorn on his face as he looked down his long nose was like a giant rock crushing her soul.

She had sinned.

The church bell hushed.

She felt alone — abandoned.

As she had been so many years ago. Small, scared, and alone. The cold of winter biting through her cloak. Near death, she sang out to the heavens for a release from the pain of her hunger, the cold, and her discarded soul.

Warm arms rescued her. She embraced a childhood with loving parents and a warm home. Then the sickness came. Many died.

Again, she was alone.

There was a scratching at her door. She peered out. Enfys, the old woman, hunched over from her ancient years, peered up. Out ye come, girl. Ye has places to be, and this be not one of them.

But tis locked.

Nay, her raspy voice rattled with laughter.

Cadi pushed the door open. The Father Abbot will be angry.

Enfys signalled to Cadi to follow. I worry not about the Father Abbot. I answer only to a higher goddess.

Stepping through the archway then out of the monastery, Cadi released a sigh of relief. She peered over her shoulder, still expecting a hand to clamp down and drag her back.

Enfys hurried to a bush and pulled out a small bundle. Yer things. I collected them for ye. Come. We must hurry before yer disappearance is discovered.

Cadi struggled to keep pace with her. For a woman who appeared to be the age of ancient ruins, she was very spry. Through the forest they hurried, following a twisted path until they stepped into a small clearing. The old woman’s hut stood close to a waterfall fed creek.

A large black raven cawed.

Enfys glanced upwards. Tis safe?

The raven answered, then flew away.

Inhaling and releasing a loud sigh, Enfys shook herself. With each movement, a white light grew, encasing her.

Cadi blinked from the pure brilliance. When her vision cleared, she gasped and stumbled back. What...? Who...?

The old woman had vanished. Before her, floating above the ground, stood a tall, proud woman with silver hair rippling behind. The vision before her held out her arms. Be not afraid. I am the Overseer of the Faeries. This is the true me. Enfys is what the people of the village see. They believe me to be mortal and therefore do not fear me.

Overseer? Like a queen? Cadi dipped into a small curtsey. Faeries?

Aye. Step inside. The overseer pushed open the weather-worn door.

Cadi stooped to enter the low archway. The squalid hut disappeared. Before her was a large manor house and courtyard. She opened her mouth to speak, but the woman raised a hand. Nay. Hold yer questions. A bath. Fresh clothes. Food. Then we shall speak.

A tall lass with tawny hair tucked neatly under a scarf stepped into the room.

Ah, Aderyn. Please show Cadi to her room.

Aderyn curtsied then smiled at Cadi. Follow me.

Cadi chewed her lip to keep a soft gasp from escaping. The friendly gaze cast at her came from a green eye and a blue one. She forced her focus from the unusual sight to the path Aderyn followed.

The hallway to her room was lit, but not from sunlight nor torches. Cadi could not discover where the light came from. As she passed round a darkened corner a voice whispered, Fira.

Cadi paused and looked about. Pardon?

Aderyn turned.

Did ye speak? Cadi tilted her head. I thought I heard a voice. It spoke a name.

What name?

Fira.

Tis good. Now all will be well. Aderyn smiled. I did not speak it. A faerie did.

Cadi glanced about, hoping to spot a faerie. What one looked like, she did not know. But if she saw something and she didn’t know what it was then it might be a faerie.

Aderyn pushed opened a door. Yer bed chamber.

When Cadi stepped into her room, the scent of summer roses tickled her nose. A large bed filled one side of the chamber. Cadi sat on the edge and giggled when she sank into the feathery softness.

Aderyn laughed. Aye. Tis wonderful, isn’t it? I slept on the ground until Fira brought me here. I prefer my bed.

Ye aren’t a... Cadi paused.

No. I am not a faerie. I am mortal like ye. Fira rescued and brought me here. Ye are the first visitor we have since the prince.

Cadi bounced once more then stood. A handsome prince?

Aye. Most handsome. But his heart belonged to someone else. When she bent forward straightening the disturbed bed covering, a stone suspended from a leather thong fell from her blouse.

The stripe of gold colour across the dark brown caught Cadi’s eye. Tis beautiful. That stone about yer neck.

Smiling, Aderyn wrapped her fingers around the stone and dropped it back under her blouse. Tis a charm Fira has entrusted me with. It is to ward off the darkest of demons. She pulled back a screen. Yer bath.

A large bronze tub sat near a small fire. Cadi rippled her fingers across the surface. The scent of roses lifted from the water. I think I will like visiting here for a while.

I will lay fresh clothes on yer bed. Aderyn smiled then exited.

Cadi removed her soiled, drab clothes and slithered into the scented water. The warmth enveloped her. When she had finished cleansing and had dressed in the red blouse and grey skirt, she wandered the hallway back to the main room. The swish of her skirt echoed off the walls. She had never owned such beautiful clothes. The red was the colour of the winter bird. The cloth soft as the fur on a rabbit.

Fira appeared in a doorway. A meal awaits ye.

Cadi’s stomach grumbled with delight at the site of a bowl of fruit, a fresh loaf of bread, cheese, honey and nuts, and a pitcher of ale. Having trouble remembering the last full meal she ate, Cadi ripped off a chunk of bread, dipped it into the honey and bit down. Mmmm. She licked the sticky sweetness dribbling down the side of her hand. With an apple in one hand and the bread in the other, she gulped down her meal. Fira floated nearby, an angelic smile on her face.

Do ye not eat? Cadi asked, between mouthfuls.

I no longer need to consume the same foods as ye. There is plenty. Ye do not need to gulp it down.

Oh. Cadi swallowed. The burn of embarrassment flushed across her cheeks. Are ye a faerie?

Nay. The overseer. Like a queen. Fira settled on a chair across from her. I was not born with faerie magick, I was granted those powers.

But... She paused her sentence. But what be ye? If ye are not faerie nor mortal?

I am the essence of the air and sun. I am magick. Fira’s smile lightened the room. Yes, magick is real. Some possess powers. Others do not. Many refuse to believe. But in yer soul, ye have always believed and that is why ye can see me as I am and ye know my name.

I heard a voice. Aderyn said it was a faerie’s.

Aye. I cannot speak my name to another until the faerie test. If a faerie whispers it and ye hear it then ye are a good person with a true heart.

I have never seen a faerie. Are they big like ye and I? How could magickal beings wander about and she never noticed one?

Nay. Fira laughed. ‘Ye could hold one on the palm of yer hand. In a few days ye will be presented to one."

Cadi finished her mug of ale then placed it on the table. With the hollowness in her belly filled, she settled back in her chair.

The rest of today is yers. Fira waved her hand. Wander about the manor house. Speak with Aderyn. Ye are about the same age. Then sleep this eventide. On the morrow, we will begin the preparations for yer journey.

Journey? I have never been anywhere. Where will I be going?

Ye have to find my son. Ewen. And bring him back home. Fira smiled. The blush on yer cheeks at the mention of his name warms my heart. I am glad he is loved.

Cadi scratched her fingernail against the wooden table. Aye, he is loved. But he does not know it. Nor returns it. A spark of joy lit inside her. She looked up. Ewen is alive?

Fira nodded.

Then why does he not return? Her heartbeat quickened with concern. Is he injured?

Imprisoned. If he is not rescued, I fear he will be slaughtered.

At the word slaughter, a shudder of terror rippled through Cadi. Is he at... where the... the others were?

Aye.

A simple word spoken with pain. Cadi lowered her head and whispered a quick prayer for the brave knights and village men who had perished trying to defeat the trolls.

Aderyn entered then cleared the food from the table. Will there be anything else? I was going to pick apples to dry for the winter.

Cadi jumped up. Let me help. Oh. She glanced back at Fira who smiled.

Enjoy the day. Fira tilted her head then dissolved like a puff of smoke.

Cadi gasped and looked about the room.

Aderyn handed her a basket. Aye, I know tis strange, but ye get used to Fira’s disappearing and appearing. Come along. The orchard is behind the Keep.

As Cadi walked beside Aderyn, she asked, Ye are not from here. Plucks Ridge is small, and we be about the same age. I should know ye. I have never seen ye in the village.

I do not go there. Fira says, it would be unsafe. She dropped the apples she had collected in her skirt in the basket. I be not from here. I am from away. I do not know what my village was called. I was too young when I left.

Cadi stood on the opposite side of the tree and picked up the windfall apples. Why did ye leave?

I remember very little. I was young. And alone.

As was I, once.

Aderyn smiled. We be kindred spirits.

May I say... oh, tis wrong of me. Cadi picked at her sleeve.

Placing her fingertips under Cadi’s chin, she tilted her friend’s face up. Ye may feel free to speak. Remember, we are kindred spirits.

Yer eyes.

Aderyn flinched.

Nay! Do not be alarmed. Cadi placed her hands on Aderyn’s shoulders. Yer eyes be unusual but beautiful. The blue be like a fine summer’s sky. The green be like the thick hay before harvest.

Aderyn’s voice was soft. Beautiful? Most called me—

Cadi hugged her new friend. Those people were vile. Pay them no mind. Ye are beautiful.

A flush of bright red tinged Aderyn’s cheeks. We mustn’t stand here all day. There are apples to pick. She hitched up her skirt, scampered up the old apple tree, then crawled out onto a branch. These are the ones the deer could not reach. She dropped several down to Cadi. We will have plenty to slice and string.

Stop. I must empty my skirt. She poured her apples into her basket.

Aderyn rested, munching on a piece of the fruit. Is yer warrior handsome? The one Fira wishes ye to rescue.

He is not a warrior. Cadi reached up to catch the next apples. He is one only in my heart. And aye, he’s handsome. Brown hair that curls at the ends. Eyes that shine when he smiles. And a laugh that makes me want to sing with joy.

But he went to fight the trolls. Oh, sorry. That one slipped.

Cadi dodged the falling fruit. He is... was squire to Sir Franklin. A retired knight from Potter’s Gulch. Both baskets are full and there are several ripe apples we could snack upon. As she settled against the trunk of the tree, she bit into the apple’s red flesh with a crisp snap.

Aderyn dropped down, picked up an apple then sat on Cadi’s left. I pray yer warrior is safe and did not fight a troll. She shuddered. Such a demon. She fluttered her hand by her ear. Be gone. Annoying wasp.

It senses the sweetness in the fruit. Oh. Be still. There be one... Cadi brushed at Aderyn’s right ear. Nay. Tis not a wasp. She leaned closer. Ye have a mark behind yer ear. Like I smudged my finger in ashes and rubbed.

Aderyn touched her head. She checked her finger then rubbed again.

Cadi swallowed the last bite of her second apple and tossed the core onto the grass. The mark be not dirt. It is still there. There is a child in the village with a mark that looks like wine on her neck. It does not wash off.

Shrugging, Aderyn tossed her core then stood. Full baskets in hand, Cadi and Aderyn walked back to the manor house. Cadi swinging her basket high and letting it fall back.

Careful. Aderyn cautioned. I’ve no wish to pick up the apples we have picked.

In a sing-song voice, Cadi repeated her words. Pick up the apples we have picked. Have picked. Have picked. Pick up the apples we have picked on the glorious autumn day.

Ye sing wonderfully.

Such a silly song. Cadi sang it again and Aderyn joined in. Laughing and singing, they swung their baskets as they ambled back to the manor house.

In Cadi’s recent memory, she could not recall such a happy afternoon. In the kitchen, she and Aderyn washed, sliced, strung then hung the apples to dry, while barely pausing their chatter for a moment.

Fira floated in to join them for their evening meal. Neither of ye is very hungry after yer exertions of picking apples.

That may be due to, Cadi laughed. Several apples that did not make it back to home.

She had called the manor house home. She’d been a guest for only a short while, yet she called it home. It felt like home. A place where she could be happy and be loved. A place where the horrors of life faded away. Cadi covered her mouth to hide her yawn.

Ye have had yer day of fun, now off to bed with ye. Fira placed Cadi’s hand in hers. Tomorrow, we begin yer training. I will teach ye to fight and ride. It will be hard. But ye are strong.

Hunching her shoulders, Cadi tilted her head. Why? Why me? I am just a barmaid. Not a warrior.

Ye must go rescue him. It is to ye that Ewen will be betrothed.

I? Rescue Ewen?

Cadi blinked. Betrothed?

Chapter 2

Dark.

So dark.

And cold.

Ewen pressed his palm against the tip of his nose. Even that close, he could not see it. But he was safe back here. Deep in the cave. Out of the reach of a troll’s arm or club.

But he was trapped. He’d crawled along the floor, touching everywhere, hoping to find a way out or a source of light. He found neither. He did find water. Almost drowned. He was a fair swimmer, spending plenty of summer days in the river near the mill. But never had he felt water so cold. It ripped his breath from him. In the blinding darkness, he’d only just found an edge to grab hold of to climb out. He’d lain curled in a ball, shivering until sleep settled on him. When he woke, the pain of his bruises had faded and the ache in his body had lessened.

The rumble of his stomach interrupted his thoughts. He placed his hand on it. I have no idea whether it be time to eat or not. Nor whether it tis morn or eventide. Ye’ll just have to wait until a troll throws in my meal. He patted his hand near his right hip, comforting himself by finding the mound of small stones he’d gathered. His meal’s protection from the rats.

He shifted to resting on his knees. With hands pressed together, he lowered his head then closed his eyes. Dear Lord. I do not wish to seem impatient, but I do not know if it is today or tomorrow. Please forgive me if I have already asked this today. If it is yer will that I die here, so be it. All I ask is, please watch over my father. He is a good man.

Opening his eyes, he blinked, checking to see if they were truly open. "Should