Page 3 of The Guardian

With a shaking hand, he drew letters into the dirt.

Three men two bearded.

Once again blessed blackness closed in, lifting away the pain and granting him rest.

Chapter Two

Ailith rarely ventured into the woods without Teller, her fiercely loyal companion, but that morning the dog had limped across the garden whining with every step. She’d checked his paw for thorns or cuts but found nothing. She figured that perhaps he’d twisted it or something and needed to rest it. Still, she hated leaving him behind.

Teller had whined low when she slipped out with her basket, his protest pitiful enough to make her pause at the edge of the trees. But necessity pushed her forward. She needed the herbs desperately. Her coin purse was nearly empty, and without dried bundles and salves to sell at market, there’d be no money for flour. Let alone for the inexpensive fabric she’d been eyeing so she could make herself something to wear as most of her clothing was threadbare.

The forest was quiet, eerily so. No birdsong. Only the crunch of her boots over dry leaves and the rustle of her skirt as she moved quickly through the underbrush. She’d just plucked a cluster of yarrow when deep, male voices broke through the stillness.

She froze, her breath catching.

Dropping low, she shoved her basket into a thick patch of leaves and crawled behind a thorny bramble. The thud of hooves echoed closer: heavy and purposeful. Not a casual ride. Not the easy pace of merchants or the laird’s guards on routine patrol. These riders sounded determined.

Ailith pressed herself into the earth, barely breathing. The path, a crooked ribbon through the woods, was only yards away. If one of them so much as turned their head, they’d see her.

She didn’t trust strangers. Not out here. Alone, unarmed, and without Teller. She was too easy a target. She’d heard many stories of women pulled from paths, dragged into trees, found barely alive or never seen again at all.

Her pulse roared in her ears. All she could do now was stay hidden… and pray they passed her by.

The closer they came, the drier Ailith’s throat became. As if fear itself had stolen every drop of moisture from her body. Her heart pounded a furious rhythm in her chest. Her body was tense and still, every instinct screaming to stay hidden.

Then she saw them.

Through a narrow slit in the foliage, she caught glimpses of three men emerging from the shadows of the trees. They looked as if just been in a fight. Cloaks torn. Faces streaked with grime. Eyes wild.

“He was gone,” one of them grumbled.

“By now the bastard’s dead,” another said with a laugh that cracked through the forest too loudly for the quiet surroundings.

Another laughed, low and without mirth, as he slapped his companion on the back. “Aye, he probably crawled somewhere and died. We’ve enough coin now for drink and a warm wench or two.”

The first one who’d spoken pointed toward the village. “To the pub!” he bellowed, voice sharp with triumph.

Ailith’s eyes locked onto the crimson stain that darkened the man’s sleeve there was no mistaking what it was. Blood.

She bit back a gasp, clutching the ground beneath her as if it could swallow her whole. Murderers. They’d killed someone and were now heading toward Tokavaig as if returning from a victorious hunt.

The stink of blood and sweat clung to the air as they passed. Fortunately, they’d not once glanced her way.

Only when their laughter had faded into the trees did Ailith allow herself a full breath.

Ailith waited until long after the men disappeared from view before grabbing her basket and scurrying back into the trees. But she couldn’t seem to slow her heart, her mind, or her feet. She found she could not relax even surrounded by the forest. It wasn’t a short walk to reach her cottage, and she longed for the promise of refuge from danger it provided.

Somehow she had to figure out a way to get word to the laird or the village constable about what she’d seen. Though not today. Today, it was best to remain safe at home. Tomorrow, she’d be able to think more clearly.

As she approached the back of her house, Ailith was able to take a long breath and release the tension. It was a humble home, made of stone and wood. But it was also well-built and sturdy, providing her safety from danger.

Teller was barking even before she opened the door. The dog rushed out as soon as she pulled it open and raced around the cottage, not even bothering with a greeting.

It was strange, but perhaps the dog was in a hurry to relieve himself. Ailith went inside and pulled the door firmly closed. Teller would scratch at the door to be let back inside.

Despite the interruption of the men, she’d managed to almost fill her basket. But before she got busy hanging the herbs to dry, she decided to have some cider and warm up the leftover stew. Her fright and hurried return home had left her more than a bit hungry.

There was noise at the front door from Teller, more of a whine than a bark. It was the noise he often made when he’d caught a squirrel or a rabbit.