Eleven years later
Spring sat atop a rock clutching her bow and arrows, watching as her fool brothers chased after a rabbit with their daggers in their hands. It was already dusk. If they couldn’t catch the animal before they lost all light, they were never going to do it.
A group from her clan was camping here, on their way back home after having had a good two days of raiding. Their wagon was loaded down with stolen goods.
Spring had learned over the years how to be a skilled warrior and hunter with her bow and arrows. She was the primary provider of food every time her father took the men out to raid. Since the death of her mother when she was a child, she felt sad and lonely. Her father might think of her as one of the boys but, in her heart, she wished she were closer to the women of the clan. She wasn’t. They all feared her and felt as if they had nothing in common with her. They didn’t. Not really accepted as one of the boys and not welcomed by the women, she had only her father and brothers to talk to and consider as her family.
Through the years, her life had changed much since the horrific night she’d stolen a bow and arrows off a dead man. Over time, her heart had become hardened just like her father’s. She no longer felt sickened by death and blood. It was a natural occurrence and was to be expected. Perhaps it was the Viking blood of her ancestors running through her that had made her void of emotions or, mayhap, it was her desire to make her father proud. It didn’t matter. No matter what happened in her life, she never had to feel vulnerable again. She wouldn’t.
She had the means to protect herself, and nothing much ever upset her anymore. It was better this way. She was strong now and the strong were survivors. No one could make her ever feel weak again.
In the process of honing her skills, she’d finally managed to please her father. He no longer hated her for not being a boy. She’d even convinced him to let her grow her hair long. Her golden tresses fell halfway down her chest. She pulled her hair back to keep it from getting in her eyes and also put a braid at each temple. Just like the Vikings used to do.
She didn’t dress like the rest of the Gunn Clan in their dark green plaid. Instead, she wore leather and animal furs, since they felt more comfortable. Her father liked it because he said she looked like a Viking. He wanted her to become a strong warrior like their ancestors. She had. A Scot by birth, she brought back the traits of their Viking heritage in small ways, making her father very happy.
“Magna, hunt us more food,” snapped her father, gnawing on the bone of a cooked pheasant she’d caught earlier. He threw the bone into the fire and wiped his hands on his plaid.
“Aye, Faither.” She stood, slipping the quiver of arrows over her shoulder, heading off toward her brothers.
“Magna, come join me in the woods tonight.” One of the men of the clan sitting on the ground ran his hand up her leg as she passed by him. She stopped in her tracks, her jaw clenched by the bold act of the despicable man named Gawl. He was always trying to get her into his bed. So were most of the men of the clan. It was hard being the only woman that went out on raids. She turned on her heel and, with one sharp kick, rammed her foot into the man’s gut.
“Never,” she snarled at him, making her message clear.
Gawl let out a groan with a whoosh of air from his mouth. Then he jumped to his feet and grabbed for her, but she was too fast for him. Reaching back over her shoulder, she plucked an arrow from the quiver and nocked it, pulling back the bowstring and aiming it at the man’s heart.
“One step closer and this arrow goes right through yer heart,” she warned him. The man raised his hands in surrender.
“I didna mean anythin’ by it,” said Gawl with a nervous chuckle. “Please, dinna kill me like ye did to Roth.”
Roth had been one of their clan members and also the brother of Gawl. He’d been the first man she’d ever killed when she was four and ten years of age. She hadn’t meant to do it and wasn’t proud of it. Roth had been drunk and had tried to rape her. She’d managed to escape him, but when he came for her again, she put an arrow right through his heart. It was the act that turned her into a cold-hearted warrior, making her naught but a killer like her father.
Most of the men had feared her since then, but her father had seemed to find a new respect for her skills. He’d never even reprimanded her for her action. He’d told her he was proud she was able to protect herself and that the man had deserved to die. In her mind, no one deserved to die because of their actions while in a drunken stupor. From that day on, her father had always taken her along on his raids.
“Magna! The food,” called out her father, using the name for her that she didn’t like. She preferred to be called Spring. That’s what her mother had always called her. It bothered her to be called Magna, but she said nothing.
Releasing a sigh, she turned back to where Bodil and Egil were still trying to catch the rabbit with no results. “Move aside, ye two,” she said. They stopped their hunt as she approached, glad not to have to waste time and energy if they didn’t need to. Sometimes her brothers were very active, and at other times they were downright lazy.
“Get us a fowl while ye’re at it,” said Bodil, pushing past her, making his way back to the fire.
“Nay, I’m so hungry I could eat a deer,” added Egil, following in his brother’s tracks.
“Ye’ll get whatever I decide to give ye.” She followed the rabbit farther into the forest. She tracked it for a few minutes and then stopped and smiled. She knew exactly where it was. She listened, cocked her head, and let the arrow fly.
“Did she hit it?” called out one of the men.
“Does my sister ever miss?” asked Bodil.
“Nay. No’ that I can ever remember,” said the man.
Spring strolled over to collect her kill. Pulling her arrow out of the rabbit, she wiped its blood on the grass. She was about to pick up the rabbit and take it to the fire when she heard the sound of a twig snap from up ahead.
Reaching for another arrow, she hurried forward toward the noise. Perhaps, she’d be able to take down a deer for Egil after all.
A dark shadow disappeared in the brush. As she got closer, she realized it was not an animal at all. The green plaid of a Scot flashed for a mere second as a man hid behind a tree. She raised her bow, readied the arrow, and slipped into the shadows of dusk. When the man poked his head out, she released the bowstring and let the arrow fly.
“Och!” the intruder cried out in a high-pitched voice, sounding more like a young lad than a man. He looked much shorter than the average man as well.
She hurried over to the tree, pulling back the bowstring, ready to shoot again to finish him off if need be.
“Who are ye and what are ye doin’ here?” she demanded to know.
“Dinna shoot,” pleaded a soft voice. “I mean ye no harm.” The man’s head was covered by a small hat and his plaid was thrown over his shoulder, stuck to the tree from her arrow.
“Ye are spyin’ on us. I should kill ye for that.” Spring glanced around, looking for more men.
“Nay,” the man protested, sounding terrified. “I was just out collectin’ mushrooms and heard voices and was curious. That’s all.” He lifted the cloth bag slung over his shoulder to prove his point.
“Then why didna ye show yerself instead of slinkin’ around in the shadows?” She moved closer, realizing just how small the man was after all. He was no threat to her. She released the tension on the bowstring. Being tall for a woman, Spring’s body towered over the intruder.
“Ye ask me why?” The man’s head nodded toward his plaid shot through with her arrow. “This is why.”
“Someone’s here,” shouted Egil from the fire. “I hear voices.”
“It must be a spy. Kill him,” came her father’s command, followed by the sound of crunching leaves and snapping twigs as the men headed into the woods.
“Please, dinna let them kill me. I mean no harm,” begged the intruder, sounding more like a wench than a warrior. He pulled at the arrow to try to remove it from the tree. When it wouldn’t budge, he ripped his plaid away to get free.
Spring felt disgusted that the man wasn’t even strong enough to pull a single arrow from a tree. “My faither and brathairs will kill ye,” she warned him. “They willna care if ye were collectin’ mushrooms or no’. Neither do I. Ye were spyin’ on us and ye need to be taught a lesson.”
“Nay!” The man stumbled, tripping and landing on his backside. When he did, his bag fell from his shoulder, mushrooms spilling across the ground. Spring lowered the tip of her arrow, realizing he spoke the truth. Then he looked up at her and her heart about stopped. His hat had fallen from his head and, in the light of the moon, she could see his face. He wasn’t a man at all, but rather a young girl! She lowered her bow quickly.
“Ye’re a lass,” she said softly.
“Aye. And so are ye.” The girl’s frightened eyes perused her and something in Spring’s mind broke free. The intruder reminded Spring of herself at that age. She’d also seen this look before. But where and when? Then it hit here. It was the same look of fear in the dead’s man’s eyes – the man she’d stolen the bow and arrows from so many years ago. Her heart softened. She swore that man’s spirit was looking out of this girl’s eyes now - if that was at all possible.
The rest of the clan was getting closer and she had to help this poor girl. If not, the lass was going to wind up dead.
With one hand, she reached down and yanked the girl to her feet. “Get out of here,” she commanded. “Dinna ever come to the woods alone again, ye fool!”
“Thank ye.” The girl reached down and grabbed her hat and flopped it atop her head. Then she bent over for the bag of mushrooms. Spring glanced over her shoulder to see the men approaching. The girl was taking much too long.
“Leave it!” She turned the girl by the shoulders and gave her a shove. “Now, run for yer life and dinna look back.”
The girl took off at a run. As she disappeared into the woods, Spring heard the whinny of a horse from somewhere in the brush. If Spring stalled, perhaps, the girl would be able to get away.
“Where’s the intruder?” asked Gawl, getting there first with his sword drawn. Spring’s brothers and father followed.
“It was only a lad and he’s gone,” she lied. If she told Gawl it was a young lassie all alone in the woods at night, he’d consider her fair game and go after her. There was no way she’d let this nasty man lay a hand on that poor, innocent, stupid girl.
“Who was it?” asked Egil.
“Which clan?” asked Bodil. “One of our enemies?”
“Hah! They’re all our enemies,” remarked Spring. “Mayhap if we’d stop raidin’ and killin’ every clan we pass, we’d have one that would align with us.”
“We dinna need alliances,” spat her father. “We’re strong enough without them.”
“Look!” said Gawl, bending down and picking up the bag. “The intruder must have dropped this.”
“Mushrooms!” Egil snatched the bag away. “We’ll cook these up with the rabbit.”
“It was the Gordons,” sneered Cromwell, yanking the arrow from the tree along with the small piece of plaid that had torn. He clutched the cloth in his fist. “Ye should have killed him, Magna. The Gordons are our worst enemy. They must have sent a spy and are most likely plannin’ on attackin’ us since we’re near their territory.”
“Nay, Faither,” said Spring with a shake of her head. “It was just a young lass out collectin’ mushrooms, that’s all.”
“Lass?” Gawl’s head snapped up. “I’ll find her.” He took a step forward. Spring pulled back the bowstring with the arrow in place. The sound of the creaking wood caused Gawl to stop.
“Ye leave the lass alone or, this time, I really will kill ye,” she warned.
“Enough!” said her father. “Back to camp to eat. We’ll discuss our raid against the Gordons over a meal.”
“Raid?” Spring lowered her bow. “We’re goin’ after the Gordons now? Why?”
“Because, we’ve been at odds with their clan ever since I can remember,” her father answered. “It’s because of their late laird that I dinna have possession of Edinvale Castle. Norval Gordon stole it from under me years ago, and then his son, Shaw, took the bastard’s place. It’s about time I pay the Gordons a little visit.”
“Are we goin’ to take the castle?” asked Gawl.
“We’ll never be able to go up against their defenses,” said Bodil.
“Then we’ll find another way to get inside their walls,” sneered Cromwell. “And once we do, the castle is as good as mine.”