Even though I knew it came from an animal, still the screaming sounded like a girl in terrible pain. I ran through the woods, branches scratching at my face, trying desperately to find her.
I saw movement in the brush to my left. I turned and pushed the scraggly bushes open like a curtain. She was there, lying on a carpet of pine needles and blood. The baby deer. An arrow was sticking straight out of an oozing wound on her neck.
As soon as I burst into the little clearing, I was greeted with complete silence.
I’d had the dream about the baby deer three times in the last week, and it was starting to wear me down. Every time, I arrived too late to save her, and woke up with a sick heart and even sicker stomach.
As if the recurring dream wasn’t bad enough, I was haunted by a thought that would pop, unwanted, into my head during the day. Find the fawn, it echoed. I had to do something about it. Maybe if I could find the deer in real life and see that she was okay, the nightmares would stop. It sounded crazy, even to me, but I didn’t know what else to do. I couldn’t sit in my bedroom crying about my mother’s desperate letter to me one more day, and I couldn’t dream about someone or something dying one more night.
The forest across the lane from my grandparents’ house looked like a good place to start. I was going to walk until I found the familiar clearing or it turned dark—whichever came first. Since the sun stayed up until eleven p.m. in Scotland this time of year, I was hopeful.
Up close, the trees were phenomenal. They were some kind of evergreen, although nothing like Christmas tree pines. They twisted hundreds of feet up into the sky like giant strands of black licorice. They were crazy fairy-tale trees. I imagined if they wanted, they could yank their roots up out of the mud and walk away.
The forest floor was soft, covered in a dusting of pine needles and dewy, green moss. Everything shimmered like it was never completely dry. I found a small stream and followed it uphill.
As I rounded the top of a knoll, I spotted her: the tiny deer from my dreams. She was standing alone, pulling strands out of a patch of grass and eating them, quietly, daintily. It might have been my imagination, but a perfectly straight sunbeam seemed to shine directly on her.
I froze. I knew the tiniest crunch of a broken twig underfoot would send her bounding off, and I didn’t want to lose her. It was silent, except for the gurgling of the brook and the whistle of a . . . THWACK!
I screamed like I had been shot, even though I saw the arrow lodged in the tree bark, still quivering from impact. The tree was a good twenty feet away from me—I was nowhere near in danger—but I’d never been shot at before. Before I could scream again or decide which direction to run, a thickly accented male voice bellowed, “Crivens!”
I couldn’t see anyone. “You didn’t have to holler like that!” the voice continued. “Now you’ve cost me my supper.”
As if disengaging invisible powers, a young man emerged from the woods. I had been staring in that exact spot and didn’t see him until he came crashing toward me. He wore a rough-looking kilt of green-and-brown plaid. The pattern clearly did a perfect job of camouflaging its wearer.
Even though I knew the boys back home would mercilessly call it a “skirt,” there was nothing girlish about Scottish kilts, especially this one. Its ragged edges fell across his tanned knees in a way that was more masculine than any pair of jeans. His hands were as rough as his clothing, but he gave the overall impression that he could take care of . . . anything.
As he got closer, his eyes flared for just a second as if he recognized me, but then the look passed. I desperately wished I did know him.
“I’m sorry,” I stammered, taken aback by how beautiful he was. I’d never thought that word, beautiful, about a boy, but it popped into my head instantly, and in this case, it definitely applied. He was the most breathtaking guy I had ever seen, and—thank you, God!—seemed to be about my age. His wavy, chestnut-colored hair fell over his forehead, but not enough to hide his dark blue eyes. He was tall and broad shouldered, but had a thin waist. He carried his bulging frame like he was wearing football shoulder pads, but I could see from where his white tunic shirt hung open at his chest that he was all bare skin and muscle.
“You should be,” he answered. His accent was thicker than anyone else’s I had heard in Scotland, but I had no trouble understanding him. In fact, the way he spoke, his particular cadence and rhythm, seemed to suck the breath out of me. He was literally making me dizzy.
I’d never gotten dizzy over a boy, and I certainly wasn’t going to start with a baby deer killer. I had to pull myself together.
“Well, come to think of it, I’m not sorry,” I said, hoping my voice didn’t crack. “That’s my deer you were trying to murder.”
“Your deer?” He cocked his head. “Is that right?” One corner of his mouth rose in a half smirk, and I wasn’t sure, but I think he winked at me.
“Yes, it is,” I answered. “My deer. My baby deer. I came out here with the specific purpose to find her and make sure no one harmed her—like you were about to!”
He crossed over to the tree, and pulled the arrow out of the bark as easily as if it were attached by Velcro, not lodged three inches deep. Despite my best effort, I was impressed by his strength.
“Well, seeing as this is my forest, you’re going to have to come back every day if you want to save that doe, because I intend to kill her.” He looked so intently, directly into my eyes, that even though he said “kill her,” I was sure I heard “kiss her” in my head. For one insane second, I didn’t know if he was talking about me or the deer.
In the ultimate act of betrayal, my knees buckled, and I tumbled to the ground. I blinked, and he was instantly standing over me. His entire face blocked out the sun, so that when I looked up, he had a golden halo of light around him.
“Are you a’right?” he asked, looking at me with such earnest concern, it almost made me cry. His voice made me feel like no one in the world had ever cared for me so much. It was unnerving.
“I’m fine,” I said, completely mortified. Before I could jump up on my own, he extended his hand to help me. Instinctively, I took it. Touching his hand as he pulled me up sent a small shockwave through my body—a warm electricity that didn’t fade away even when he let go. I brushed the leaves off the back of my jeans.
“That’s good,” he answered. “Because I’ve no time to rescue a damsel in distress.”
“I’m not a damsel in distress,” I argued, slightly irritated at the label. “I just tripped on something.”
He took a few steps back, shouldering his giant bow. “Are you sure? ’Cause from where I’m standing, it kind of looks like you fainted.” His teasing mixed with his gorgeousness tormented me.
“I didn’t faint,” I said, probably too quickly. “I’ve never fainted in my life. I don’t faint.”
“If you say so,” he said. He turned as if he was going to walk away. My heart sank. I had to stop him.
“I’m Maren,” I blurted out. It worked. He looked back over his shoulder with a dazzling smile.
“Nice to meet you, Maren,” he answered. “I’m Gavin.”
When he said my name, I got the same glorious drop in the pit of my stomach as I did when I drove too fast over a small hill. I searched my brain for something else to say to keep him around a little longer.
“Do you live around here?” I asked lamely. I was desperate for him not to leave. I didn’t know why, but there was something about him. Something that pulled me to him. Something I wasn’t ready to let go of.
“Aye,” he answered.
“Where?” I pressed, realizing a specific answer would mean nothing to me since I didn’t know the local area, but not caring as long as he kept talking in his amazing accent.
“Across the way,” he answered. He leaned against a tree, folded his arms across his chest, and waited. It was maddening, his short answers and long silence. I studied my shoes. He’d effectively killed my attempt at a conversation. I couldn’t think of anything else to say that wasn’t completely idiotic.
“Is that it?” He raised his eyebrows, and his brilliant blue eyes danced a bit. He was enjoying my frustration.
“Is what it?”
“Are you done interrogating me?”
A new heat—anger—washed over me. I was furious he was having an effect on me that I couldn’t control. And now he was making fun of me for it. “I’m not interrogating you,” I shot back. “I was just making polite conversation.”
“Asking where a perfect stranger lives is polite conversation?”
“It’s . . . I’m new here, and I just wondered . . . I thought maybe you were a neighbor or something,” I stuttered.
“Are you sure there’s nothing else you want to know?” he asked. “My height? My hobbies? What I ate for breakfast?” He smiled, and I swore I saw him wink again. My ears prickled.
“No, I’m good.” I tried in vain to sound casual.
“Well, you best be getting home then,” he said. “It’s not safe out here after dark.” Almost as if he willed it, the sun went behind a cloud, and mist seemed to roll in from nowhere.
“Why?” I asked.
A piercing cry echoed through the forest, as if a bird had been struck down from the sky midflight. It reminded me of the inhuman scream at my mother’s funeral. A cold wind blew around inside of me. I stroked my arms to dissipate it.
Gavin stiffened and raised his head, like an animal sensing a predator . . . or a predator catching a whiff of his prey.
“I have to go,” he said, ignoring my question. “Can you find your way out?”
“Yes,” I said. The woods did suddenly look a hundred times creepier, but I was pretty sure I could get home. And after hearing that sound, I wanted to.
He didn’t look so convinced. His face was tense, as if he was torn about something. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah. It’s no problem. I never get lost,” I lied.
“Like you never faint?” His entire face lit up when he teased me. It was mesmerizing. I blushed. He took a step toward me and leaned in so close, I could feel his warm breath on my lips. “Promise me you’ll go straight home?”
I nodded ever so slightly, afraid the tiniest movement would break the spell and he would move away from me.
“You have to say it, or I can’t leave,” he breathed.
A sweet warmth flooded my entire body. I fought the completely irrational urge to throw my arms around his neck and rest my head on his chest.
“I promise,” I gulped.
“Thank you, love.” He grinned like he had just won a prize.
My heart leapt at the tiny, affectionate nickname. Anything that came out of his mouth, however short, sounded like poetry.
Love. I was looking at this strange—although incredibly handsome—boy and thinking about love. How was that even possible? I had never been in love before. I’d never even been in deep like. But my heart was jumping around inside my chest and sending my brain definite love signals. Is this what people meant by “love at first sight”? I’d never believed in that, but I’d also never met anyone like Gavin . . .
Get a grip, I chastised myself. This isn’t love. I’m just attracted to him—a pure, physical, completely understandable attraction. Why wouldn’t I be? His eyes, his lips, his chest . . .
I shook my head. What was going on with me? I never had thoughts like this. He had me completely transfixed.
“Go on then,” he said, breaking me out of my reverie. He wasn’t going to leave until he was sure I was safely on my way.
“Okay.” I smiled weakly, and started walking back the way I’d come.
“Faster,” he commanded.
Dutifully, I picked up the pace a bit. After a hundred feet, I looked back. He was still standing there, watching me go. I had always been uncomfortable when people were looking at me, especially boys. But for some reason, I felt wonderful knowing Gavin was watching me. It gave me a thrill and made me feel safe.
As I turned away and headed toward my grandparents’ house, I prayed he wasn’t just a dream.