“EITHNI!” THE SHOUT jolted Donnel out of sleep.
He sat up, shaking his head to clear it.
That was Tea’s voice, and there was an uncharacteristic note of panic and fear in it. In an instant Donnel was on his feet. He ducked outside into the misty early dawn, his gaze shifting to where a crowd gathered a few yards away—around the smallest of the tents.
Donnel's stomach clenched. Eithni’s tent.
He strode over to the group—to where Lucrezia stood, her face stricken. “Eithni’s gone,” she told him.
Donnel moved past her to the back of the tent, where he saw a gaping hole. Someone had ripped it open with a knife. Tea stood there, her eyes wild with panic. Muin perched on one hip.
Tea’s gaze met Donnel’s. “Someone’s taken her.”
Donnel went cold.
Tea, who was watching him, stilled. “What is it? Do you know who took her?”
“Aye,” Donnel replied. “Loxa mac Wrad.”
Tea’s blue eyes hardened.
“Where’s Galan?” Donnel asked.
Her jaw clenched. “He and Tarl are searching the camp.”
Donnel strode past her and pushed through the gathering crowd. He found Galan and Tarl up ahead. His brothers stood before the knot of Boar tents. They were speaking with Urcal.
Galan saw Donnel’s approach. His brother’s sharp-featured face was thunderous.
“Loxa’s taken Eithni,” Galan informed Donnel.
“Were you part of this, Urcal?” Unbeknown to Donnel, Tea had followed him. She still carried her son on her hip although her face was hard, her eyes murderous slits as she faced The Boar chieftain. “Did you know he planned to take her?”
Urcal shook his head. For once The Boar chief seemed unsettled, at a loss for words. One look at his rugged face, and Donnel knew that this had come as a surprise to Urcal as well.
“I never even knew he’d taken a liking to the lass,” Urcal muttered. “I’ve just checked—his pony is gone.”
Tea cursed before passing Muin to the woman standing behind her. “Then we’ll ride out after him.”
Eithni kept her eyes squeezed shut and gave herself up to the jolt of the pony’s stride. Loxa had slung her across the front of his saddle like a sack of barley. Her mouth gagged, her wrists bound, Eithni had long since given up trying to get free. She could not run away; she could not fight. Her ribs were bruised. Each stride threw her up against the pony’s sharp wither.
Her captor did not speak as they rode although he kept one heavy hand clamped on her back, pressing it down between the shoulder blades just in case she tried to throw herself off the pony.
They journeyed for a long while, the pony racing over the uneven ground, before it eventually slowed to a bouncing trot. It was then that Eithni finally dared to open her eyes and look around her.
They rode through a landscape she did not recognize, possibly far to the north of The Gathering Place. She had been too scared, too blinded by the darkness, to take note of their direction of travel. The surrounding landscape was craggy, and they continued on up a hillside studded with huge blue-grey boulders. After a spell the ground grew steeper still, and Loxa slowed his pony to a walk.
Finally they stopped, and Loxa swung down, his feet crunching on gravel. He pulled Eithni into his arms and turned her around to face him before untying her gag.
“Finally.” His smile was oily. “Alone at last.”
Eithni looked about her. He was right. They stood alone upon the stone-strewn hillside under an overcast sky. It was then that Eithni realized they were next to a large stone overhang. The stone ledge cast a long shadow over a damp and mossy space littered with stones and the remnants of an old fire pit.
Her knees wobbled and her stomach clenched. It was suddenly difficult to breathe. “You won’t get away with this,” she gasped, her jaw aching from being gagged. “They’ll track us here.”
Loxa shrugged. “Eventually, aye. But not before I’ve had my fill of you. I’ve been wanting to plow you since I set eyes on you last summer.” He paused here, contempt flashing across his features. “And this time the Battle Eagle isn’t here to protect you.”
He left her wrists bound while he hobbled his pony—a shaggy bay stallion with a white blaze. Eithni watched him, her body chilling. She wanted to run, but she knew he would only catch her and punish her for it.
Finishing the last knot of the hobbles, Loxa returned to Eithni, and he untied her wrists. Then he grabbed her by the arm and dragged her under the overhang.
Eithni’s feet stumbled, her limbs struggling to obey. Like when Loxa had taken her from her tent and dragged her through the slumbering camp, fear threatened to paralyze her.
Loxa pushed her to the ground and stood over her. He then began to unlace his plaid breeches, leering down at her. “Lift your skirt. No use pretending to be coy now—we both know you want it.”
Eithni stared up at him, aghast. She did not obey Loxa. Instead she lay there frozen. Do you really believe that?
Loxa grinned. “You like to watch, eh?” He pulled down his breeches, revealing a dark thatch of hair and a huge swollen member that thrust arrogantly out at her. “Take a look at this, lass.”
Eithni’s gorge rose.
Loxa fell to his knees before her, hampered by the breeches, which he had pushed down to his ankles. He grabbed the hem of her tunic and shoved it up, revealing her legs.
“Lovely,” he growled. “I’ve waited too long for this.”
Loxa pushed her onto her back and lowered himself onto her, his breath hot on her cheek.
Eithni struck.
While Loxa had been distracted, she had picked up a blunt-edged rock from the ground behind her. With her right hand, and with every inch of her strength behind it, she smashed the rock into the side of Loxa’s temple.
I won’t let another man hurt me.
The warrior grunted and collapsed on top of her.
Eithni dropped the stone and wriggled out from under him, pulling down her skirt as she went. She did not stop to check on Loxa. He was knocked out, but likely would not stay that way. She could not waste a moment, for Loxa would come after her as soon as he awoke.
Eithni ran onto the slope below the overhang. Loxa’s pony stood cropping at dry tufts of grass. It was hobbled so the beast had not gone far. Eithni hesitated. She wanted to steal the pony and was just considering how long it would take to untie the knots on those hobbles, when she heard a low pain-filled groan behind her.
Gods, he’s waking up already.
There was no time to untie the hobbles. She had to run—now. Eithni took off down the hillside, fleeing as if The Reaper himself had come for her.
They found Loxa’s trail just north of Bodach an Stòrr—one set of hooves in the damp earth heading north-east, deep into the territory of The Stag.
Eight of them tracked Loxa: Galan, Tea, Tarl, Lucrezia, Donnel, Urcal, and two other Boar warriors. All of them, even Urcal and his men, wore grim expressions.
Donnel rode at the front of the column alongside Galan. Reothadh pulled at the bit. The stallion itched to outrun the beast galloping at his side. Galan’s stallion, Faileas—as dark as Reothadh was pale—was his rival. The two stallions had to be kept apart at night or they fought.
Donnel urged his pony forward, letting him draw ahead of Galan. He tried not to think about what awaited them—he doubted they would find Eithni unharmed. He blamed himself; he should never have left her alone in the tent. Yet he had thought Loxa would respect The Gathering Place and leave her be.
He had underestimated the man’s desire for the comely healer. Not only that, but both Eithni and Donnel had slighted Loxa the night before.
He was taking his revenge now.
Rage simmered within Donnel. He dug his heels into Reothadh’s flanks and the stallion responded, surging forward and leaving the others behind.
Loxa, I’m coming for you.
Eithni had never run so fast. Her feet flew over the rocky ground. Even barefoot, she barely noticed the sharp stones. Her heart pounded in her ears, her breathing now coming in ragged gasps.
She ran down a shallow valley in between huge boulders. There were few places to hide here, no dark spot where Loxa would not find her. Panic pushed any coherent thought from Eithni’s mind; all she could think about was fleeing. Cold sweat bathed her skin.
Ahead she could see the land opened out into rolling green hills, but she would find even less cover there.
Don’t stop running, or he’ll find you.
Then she heard the tattoo of hooves behind her, audible even over the drumming of her heart. Eithni twisted her head back, her gaze alighting upon a figure many furlongs behind. Even at this distance she could see Loxa’s mane of dark hair, and the white blaze on his pony’s head.
Terror gave her feet wings. She had thought herself exhausted, that she had reached the limits of her endurance, yet she discovered another reservoir of strength. However, it did not matter how fast she sprinted, Loxa was gaining on her. She could hear his pony drawing closer with each heartbeat.
Despair rose in her breast. He’ll catch me.
Eithni kept her gaze fixed ahead, her arms pumping by her sides as she pushed herself on. She would not let him take her easily. She would fight him this time, fight till the end.
And then she saw them. Dark shapes approaching from the opposite end of the valley.
Eithni’s heart soared. Riders.