12 WARY OF STRANGERS

IF CAILEAN HAD been paying attention, he wouldn’t have found himself this close to Bracehell Barrow at dusk.

But he’d been distracted. Instead of scanning his surroundings as he usually did, he’d been imagining the shock in Eilig’s pale-grey eyes, followed by agony, as he twisted a blade in his guts. He’d lean over the shitbag then and whisper. “For my family.”

It was only when he passed a marker—a stone laid by druids to warn passersby not to stray off the road—that he jerked from his vengeful thoughts. The marker indicated that the barrow lay around twenty-five furlongs to the north. Too close.

“Dung-brained fool,” Cailean cursed himself as he stared down at the lump of mossy spearhead-shaped stone thrusting from the roadside. A muddy puddle surrounded the marker, for the weather had worsened further as the day lengthened. Sheets of rain slashed in horizontally now, and the bitter Gales of Complaint chafed his skin.

Gods, by this stage he’d forgotten what it was like to feel dry.

The weather had turned against him. He felt as if he were riding through the Underworld—a dark and hostile place where winter storms lashed for eternity. Unlike the Otherworld, where most people went when they died, the Underworld was for those whom the Gods spurned. After the life he’d lived, Cailean had always believed he’d end up there.

And after this blunder, his arrival might be quicker than anticipated.

He couldn’t believe he’d been so careless. The night before, he’d sworn that he wouldn’t be caught off guard again, and now here he was, far too close to a barrow at sunset. The time before dusk and dawn was the most dangerous to linger in these places, for that was when the Shee crossed into Albia.

Cailean’s jaw tightened. What the fuck was wrong with him? Time was, he’d never have made a novice mistake like this. An enforcer didn’t let emotion drive him; he knew that. But the restlessness that had seized him as he stood in The Hallow Woods, watching his people burn, and his bitterness and anger toward Bree were affecting him.

He needed to rein the emotions in. When he faced Eilig again, he wanted to be dispassionate. In control.

He angled his gaze forward, to where the rutted road cut between two stands of tall pines. And all the while, the rain streamed down his face, stinging his eyes.

An instant later, he stilled, his hand straying to the hilt of his dagger.

Dark shapes crouched upon the road around ten furlongs distant.

Cailean’s pulse quickened as he squinted through the murky gloaming. Had the Shee come out to play?

His lips flattened then. If they had, they wouldn’t be expecting an enforcer laden with iron. Drawing the blade, he urged Feannag on.

But as he approached, he realized the Shee weren’t waiting for him. Instead, he made out a listing wagon and four struggling figures, who were attempting to free it from the mud. Meanwhile, the garron that pulled the wagon grunted under the strain as it valiantly tried to heave the cart forward.

The family—a man and woman and two sons of no older than twelve winters—wore thin woolen cloaks and were all soaked to the skin. Mud splattered their strained pale faces.

Upon noting his approach, they halted their efforts, their eyes widening nervously. And as expected, their gazes slid from him to the massive hound at his side. Skaal’s ears had pricked, and the ruff on the back of her neck lifted.

Like him, she was always wary of strangers.

Sheathing his dagger, Cailean drew up his stallion, his gaze flicking to the wagon. Its left wheel was stuck up to the axle in mud. “Need some help?” he asked curtly. He really was tempted to ride on, to leave this foolish family to their fate.

However, he found he couldn’t.

“Aye,” the man, who had the ruddy complexion of someone who drank heavily and spent a lot of time outdoors, rasped, out of breath from attempting to push the cart free of the mud. “It’s stuck good and proper.”

“You shouldn’t be traveling the road at this hour … so close to Bracehell,” Cailean pointed out.

The man grunted, before lifting heavily muscled shoulders in a shrug, and knuckled the rain out of his eyes. “And neither should you.”

The light was fading fast, and Cailean had pulled up the collar of his cloak. They couldn’t see his tattoos, although his size and the fae hound made them wary. The family clustered together now, like a mob of skittish sheep, as if they were expecting trouble.

Moments passed, and then Cailean huffed a deep sigh. Swinging down from the saddle, he squelched through the mud toward them. “Right,” he muttered. “Let’s see if we can get this wagon unstuck.”

“Thank you,” the woman replied, her gaunt face lighting up.

Cailean moved around to the back of the listing wagon. He then nodded to the family. The two lads were staring at him like startled rabbits, and their parents hadn’t moved.

Uneasiness shifted inside him, his gut tightening. Something in their gazes made the hair on the back of his nape prickle—and when the husband and wife shared a look, his instincts flared. Shit . He shouldn’t have stopped to help this lot.

Shouts echoed across the road then, cutting through the drumming rain.

Swearing, Cailean swiveled on his heel, his gaze going to the line of trees behind him, on the northern side of the road. A swarm of warriors, men and women clad in fur and leather, their bare arms smeared with woad, was hurtling toward him—murder in their eyes.

Watching from the safety of the trees on the southern side of the road, Bree hissed a curse.

Behind her, Tivesheh snorted in agreement. He’s done for.

Her pulse leaped into her throat. The stag wasn’t wrong.

She was soaked to the skin, and the wind felt as if it were knifing through her leathers. However, her discomfort was forgotten as she witnessed the warriors streaming onto the road. The moment Cailean had dismounted, Bree’s stomach swooped. Surely, he realized how suspicious it was to find a family out here, so close to Bracehell Barrow?

All the same, they’d been a pathetic sight, drenched and muddied, their faces hollow with hunger. And despite the face her husband presented to the world—that of the pitiless chief-enforcer—she’d seen his protective side a few times now.

Something jolted painfully in her chest.

Aye, Cailean mac Brochan was a man of contradictions, but his decision to stop and help this family had been the wrong one.

Warriors surged out of the woods and converged upon him, howling as they came.

Her husband reacted with enforcer speed, drawing his broadsword in one easy sweep and dropping into a fighting stance as the first of them swung an ax at his head.

With a snarl, Skaal launched herself into the fray, barreling into two women who were charging at Cailean with lethal iron-tipped pikes. The warriors screamed as the fae hound attacked, the sound choking off as Skaal dealt with them.

And as Cailean faced off against four warriors at the same time, his tattoos flaring bright in the gloaming, curses rang across the road. “Enforcer!”

Aye, it had been too dark for them to realize whom they were dealing with. Not that it mattered though. Enforcer or not—and even with Skaal’s help—Cailean was vastly outnumbered.

Meanwhile, the family he’d stopped to help had shed their pathetic expressions. The two lads ran off into the trees while the couple advanced on Cailean’s stallion. It was a fine beast and highly valuable. However, the horse bared its teeth, its neck snaking and huge hooves kicking, as the man tried to grab its reins.

Its teeth sank into his arm, and he gave a rough shout of pain. The stallion then swiveled on its muscular haunches and kicked out, bringing the man down. His wife shrieked, reeling back as the stallion took off into the trees, crashing past where Bree and Tivesheh still looked on.

Bree’s heart started to pound, urgency twisting under her ribs.

I must help him.

Go then.

Bree drew two fighting knives, her gaze narrowing as she surveyed the fight taking place just yards away on the road.

Cailean was surrounded now—and although he cut down warrior after warrior, and Skaal mauled anyone who came within reach of her teeth and claws, it wasn’t a fight the enforcer and his fae hound would win.

A crowd of warriors grew thick around man and beast now, more of them emerging from the trees.

She hesitated then. That’s a lot of iron they’re wielding.

Aye … but you’ve got Sheehallion steel. Move fast enough and the iron won’t bite.

Bree grimaced.

Tiv was right. She’d fought the Marav before. She’d do so again.

Bursting from the trees, she raced across the muddy ground, her strides long and fleet. She gave the warriors no warning, cutting those nearest down from behind, before slashing her way into their midst.

Something stung her right arm as she drove a dagger through a man’s throat and kicked him in the guts, sending him reeling backward. But ignoring the fire that now raced up her bicep, she fought on—until she was at Cailean’s side.

His tattoos lit up the gloaming like silver corpse candles, and he fought viciously, the blade of his broadsword slick with blood. Beside him, Skaal had turned frenzied, her jaws wet with gore as she fastened them around the throat of the man she’d just brought down.

Teeth and claws weren’t a fae hound’s only weapons though. Their blood-curdling howl, when issued three times, could stop a Marav’s heart from terror. Yet, Skaal couldn’t wield it. The fae hound’s howl wouldn’t hurt Bree, but it would harm Cailean.

Her husband cut a glance sideways, his eyes widening at the sight of her. His skin was slick with sweat, and his chest was heaving. He was drawing on his reserves now.

Bree flashed him a harsh smile, sheathing one of her knives and drawing her longsword with her right hand. The rasp of razor-sharp Sheehallion steel echoed across the road, and a few of the warriors growled oaths.

“Shee!” Someone shouted. “The Gods help us!”

“Come on then,” Bree shouted back. “Which of you wants to die on my blade first?”

To their credit, they were brave. Many a Marav fighter would have turned and fled at the sight of a heavily armed and enraged Shee slicing through their ranks. But not these warriors.

Desperation turned them savage, even as—one by one—they fell upon Bree and Cailean’s blades, and as Skaal ripped her way through them.

The proximity of iron made her skin buzz and muscles twitch, yet battle lust made it easier to push the discomfort aside.

Finally though, when their numbers dwindled, some of them did run, stumbling into the trees, and leaving a trail of dripping blood behind them.

Trying to ignore the vicious burning that now covered her entire right arm, Bree watched them go. She then glanced over at Cailean. He too stared into the trees, where Skaal bounded after the fleeing warriors, before digging his blade into the ground and leaning upon the hilt. His chest rose and fell sharply now, and his tattoos had faded to their usual dark swirls upon his skin.

A chilling howl split the wet air, and Cailean sagged.

Bree cut a surprised look toward the trees. It appeared Skaal was determined to deal with the stragglers. However, despite that he wasn’t her intended victim, Cailean could still hear the hound.

Another howl followed, slightly fainter yet no less frightening.

Cursing, Cailean fell to his knees in the mud, a shudder going through his big body.

Panic surged up Bree’s throat, protectiveness swiftly following. If he heard another, his heart would stop. Squelching over the churned-up ground, she slapped her hands over his ears and whispered a Shee protection charm—just as a third howl shattered the gloaming.

Another shudder passed through him, yet Bree squeezed her eyes closed, repeating the charm over and over, until Skaal’s final howl faded.

Night had fallen now, and she wagered that none of the warriors who’d tried to retreat were still alive.