Page 42 of Fang & Fury

Ailsa compressed her lips. Now wasn’t the time.

She had to come to terms with what she was before she could think about letting anyone get close to her.

To her relief, Darach hadn’t seemed to notice her discomfort; he was focused on the journey, on guiding Rùn over rough terrain. The pine woods fell behind them now, woodland of elder and beech pressing close, carpeting the rocky landscape.

They were moving fast, yet Darach often glanced over his shoulder, eyes narrowed as he scanned for danger. They’d outrun their pursuers the day before. However, that didn’t mean they weren’t gaining on them with every furlong now.

Eventually, Ailsa cleared her throat. “Can I ask a favor of you, Darach?”

A beat followed before he answered, “Aye.”

“Back at the broch, when we were fighting our way out … I used my nails rather than my dagger.”

“Aye, you were still lethal though … I saw.”

The memory of her nails raking through flesh intruded then, and she shut her eyes. “That’s the bavaan.” She paused then. “Back at Braewall, Kayla showed me a few moves, but my blade skills could still do with improvement. It’s usually rage … and a bit of luck … that carries me through. Could you give me a lesson or two?”

His head turned, his lips lifting at the corners. “Of course. When we stop later, we’ll make a start.”

Her hand tightened where it rested on his hip. “Thank you.”

They rode on.

The Goatfells had dipped south here, towering overhead now, and so they traveled through forested glens and deep corries where red deer flitted amongst the naked trees. It was still winter, a while before the first of the snowdrops would peek out of frozen soil, and longer still before these trees would burst into leaf.

Mid-morning, deep in a strath above a sheer-sided dark peak, they came across the opening to a narrow-sided glen.

Fern had just doubled back and now rode only a few yards in front of them.

“Shouldn’t we go that way?” Kayla called out, gesturing to the path that cut directly south. “It’s faster.”

“I wouldn’t,” Fern replied. “Someone lives there.”

Darach inclined his head. “And they don’t welcome folk passing through?”

“Aye, they do … that’s the problem.”

Ailsa stiffened against Darach’s back. Her attention swiveled then to where the path led into the glen, overshadowed by gnarled oaks and spindly hazels. Their branches formed a twisted canopy against the smoke-colored sky.

There was a stillness there, one that made her senses sharpen. And then, as she looked on, winged shapes fluttered across the pathway.

Moths. Large ones, as if someone had just emptied a sack of them there, gray and white wings fluttering in the dull noon light.

“Who is it then?” Kayla asked. “A faerie?”

“Aye … of sorts. The Circines call her the Bean Liath.”

Ailsa frowned. The Gray Woman. “I’ve never heard of her.”

“Few outside these parts have.” Fern’s gaze lingered upon where some of the moths still fluttered. “The locals leave her offerings at mid-summer. Sometimes … they ask favors of her.”

Ailsa’s attention returned to the path, longing pulling at her. The glen was indeed eerie. No birds sang, and not the slightest breeze stirred. However, just for a moment, she wanted to step beneath those twisted branches—and to see the Bean Liath for herself.

She became aware then of eyes upon her, and she glanced over at where Kayla sat astride her sturdy cob, Thicket, watching her. The worry in her eyes gave Ailsa pause. Had Kayla sensed her strange urge?

Ailsa glanced back at the path, uneasiness feathering down her spine.

Was the ‘bavaan in her’ drawn to such a place?