Adara was not in a hurry. She took her time, her steps not slow but not rushed. The chilled air felt good especially after this morning when she had woken feeling poorly. It nipped at her cheeks, setting them aglow against her pale skin. A slight breeze stirred her blonde hair that had grown to her shoulders, her long tresses having been chopped off to just below her ears not that long ago when she had been held prisoner at…

She shook her head, not wanting to think on it and yet knowing no matter how many times someone told her she was safe, she did not believe them. She had never felt safe, secure, protected. She had lived with fear for so long that it was more her friend now than her enemy. It kept her on edge, aware, and waiting for what would happen next. Something always happened to disrupt whatever moment of peace she had ever found. So, she was always prepared to run, though now… she stopped, her hand resting at her stomach, the unease returning.

She glanced up at the darkening sky that made it seem later than mid-day and added to her unrest. Autumn was strong in the air, though it was a week before it would actually arrive, its early presence portending a frigid winter. What then did the darkening sky foretell for today? A harsh rainstorm or more?

She could hear her uncle Owen admonishing her for not taking a horse and an escort with her. She wiped at the tear that rose in her eye. She wished she had gotten more time with her uncle Owen, having known him for only a few months before he died. He had been ill, but had grown strong over the months she had spent with him. A foolish fall had claimed his life and stolen the little bit of happiness she had found with someone who seemed to truly care for her.

His death had left her the sole heir to the Clan MacVarish, but her uncle, the wise man that he had been, had left the clan’s care and leadership to Lord Craven of the Clan MacCara, friend and neighbor to the Clan MacVarish. Adara could not be more pleased. Craven was a good and powerful man from what she had seen of him so far and from what his wife, Espy, had told her about him. And if she trusted anyone, it was Espy.

A sudden wind caught her in a strong hug almost as if it were arms that captured her, and it sent a shiver burrowing deep into her bones. A faint thunder rumbled in the distance and her leisurely steps turned to hurried ones. It would do her no good to be caught in a thunderstorm and if the rain persisted throughout the day, she would be stuck at the MacCara keep for the night. Not something she had planned on or would want.

Adara cherished her new home and the solitude it brought her. She preferred spending time alone, not feeling comfortable with people. It was why she tucked her hood low over her head and kept a quick pace upon entering the small village that surrounded MacCara keep.

The village seemed unsettled today, people rushing about, not a smile to be seen, and women gathering up their children and hurrying them into their cottages.

Something was wrong.

Adara continued, her steps more anxious than they had been as she made her way to Espy’s healing cottage. She grew even more apprehensive when she found the door shut and no one in sight. Espy should be here by now, it being mid-day. Espy was not only wife to Craven MacCara but healer for the clan as well and an exceptional one at that.

Espy’s absence proved something was definitely wrong.

Fear that something may have happened to Espy had her hurrying her steps to the keep and as she did, she realized the thunder had drawn closer. A storm was brewing and would unleash itself upon the land soon. She did not want to stay here for the night and if the thunderous storm did not sound so close, she would leave and make the nearly two hours’ trek back to the MacVarish keep.

She worried her hands as she approached the keep, casting a quick glance at her right hand. Her two end fingers were badly crooked, leaving them nearly useless, a result of the torture she had suffered. A torture she would have never survived if Espy had not helped her escape. She shook away the horrifying memories that refused to let go, refused to stop reminding her that she was not safe and would never be.

“Good, she is here. Now this can be settled once and for all.”

Adara looked up to see Craven MacCara standing on one of the steps to the keep. There was a reason they called him the Beast. He was larger than most men, broad with such thick muscles, Adara wondered if a sword could penetrate them. His dark eyes glinted with strength and confidence that intimidated and his handsome features stirred many a woman’s heart. But the mighty Beast’s heart belonged to one woman alone… his wife, Espy.

“Perhaps,” Espy said, not sounding as confident as her husband as she hurried down the steps toward Adara.

Adara could tell from Espy’s soft blue eyes that grew wider as she approached that she had been right. Something was wrong. For a moment, Adara was plunged back into the dark cell where she heard the terrifying screams of those being tortured. Her heart beat madly against her chest and her skin prickled with fear as it once had done when terror filled her with the prospect that the guards would come for her next.

She jumped when Espy’s arms slipped around her and Adara went willingly with her as she led her up the steps, just as she had done that night Espy had helped her escape. More memories assaulted her when her eyes caught sight of the scar that had faded but lingered on Espy’s right cheek. A scar she suffered for freeing Adara.

“We will set this right. He has been made aware of everything and heads are already rolling for it,” Craven said. “Adara will be safe.”

A terrifying fear gripped Adara so tightly that she almost doubled over if it were not for Espy’s firm hold on her.

“But Adara does not have to be here for it. She has not been feeling well and I think it would be wise that she retreats to a bedchamber and rests,” Espy said.

“It will take but a moment and it will serve him well to see what has been done to Adara in his name,” Craven said. “I warned you he would come one day and without notice. That day is here and it is time for all to be settled.”

Adara felt as if her breath had been stolen from her. It could not be. Please, dear Lord, do not let it be him, she silently prayed.

The pounding thunder penetrated her thoughts and made her realize that it was not thunder she had heard. It was the sound of a hundred or more horses’ hooves beating upon the earth as they rode closer and closer to the village.

She cast a glance in the distance and there in the lead, approaching the village, was the man she feared the most… Warrick the Demon Lord.

“She is not feeling well. She needs rest,” Espy argued.

“She will rest when this is done and she will fear no more,” Craven said, leaving no room to argue his command.

“All will go well,” Espy said softly, keeping her arm around Adara. “Warrick has been made aware of what his dungeon guards have done and is setting things right. This will all be over soon.”

Adara remained silent, words stuck in her throat or was it the silent scream locked there that blocked all sound? It would be over soon, but not as Espy thought.

Her thoughts swirled as madly as the fallen leaves the wind had scooped up off the ground to send scurrying in the air around them. Why had she not listened to herself? She would never be safe. Never.

Run. Hide.

What good would it do?

Doubt and fear froze her and so she waited, knowing fate would make the decision for her as it had done most of her life.

She watched with horror as Warrick and his warriors entered the village and drew near the keep. His warriors seemed to stretch on forever behind him. A sea of men draped in black shrouds, their hoods pulled down so low you could barely see their faces. It was as if the army of the dead approached and Adara saw that everyone there thought the same, their faces as pale as freshly fallen snow.

Or was it the Demon Lord who led them that put God-awful fear in them?

Warrick rode a beast of a black horse, his hooves pounding the earth with such force that one could feel the earth tremble. He sat the majestic animal with ease, almost as if he commanded the horse by sheer will.

He was a sight to behold. His black shirt hugged defined muscles in his arms and chest while his black plaid, thin lines of red running through it, wound snug around his narrow waist and slipped over one shoulder to fit tight against it. Black boots rode high on lean but powerfully defined legs and he wore no cloak. Some believed he was forged in the fires of hell and needed no defense against the cold. His dark hair fell in unruly waves barely skimming his shoulders. But it was the exquisiteness of his face that stole the breath and made one wonder how evil could spawn such beauty. His eyes, however, were as black as night which led most to believe he had no soul. And it was said he never smiled… not ever.

Adara eased out of Espy’s arm to step behind her and Espy let her go, though reassured her with gentle words.

“You are safe. Do not worry.”

Adara knew differently.

Craven approached Warrick after the mighty warrior brought his stallion to a halt and dismounted. Warrick’s most trusted warrior Roark dismounted as well, though he remained standing beside his horse, his hood pushed back off his head. The warriors that stretched out behind Warrick remained lined along the main path through the village and also remained mounted.

“Do you fear war with me that you bring so many warriors to my home, my friend?” Craven asked, reaching his hand out to Warrick.

Most would not dare speak to Warrick so bluntly and dare not address him properly—Lord Warrick—since the King had bestowed a title on him, for what reason, one could only wonder.

“I see you still speak bluntly to me,” Warrick said and those who could hear him shivered.

Adara was one of them. He had a deep, powerful voice that none could ignore and all obeyed. Wagging tongues insisted his voice came from the depths of hell and that he spewed fire when angered. Adara wondered if it could be so.

Warrick’s hand locked around Craven’s wrist and the two men gave a strong squeeze.

“Always,” Craven said.

“That is why I continue to call you friend,” Warrick said and it was as if a collective sigh was heard throughout the village.

Not so for Adara… her breath caught.

“My men will set up camp on the outskirts of your village. I will speak to your wife about the incident at my castle, and I heard there is another woman here who suffered injustice there as well. I will also speak with her.”

“You are always welcome here, Warrick. A bedchamber will be made ready for you, though let me be clear,” Craven said, a warning in his tone. “You may speak to whom you wish, but no harm comes to those under my protection.”

“If I intended to harm someone here in retribution for the incident at my home, the person would already be dead. Espy will tell me what she knows and those who betrayed me will suffer greatly for it as some already have.”

“Then let me show my appreciation with some good food and fine wine before I sit with you while you speak with my wife.” Craven turned to Espy who was already approaching the two men.

“Welcome to our home, Lord Warrick,” Espy said with a respectful nod.

“I am pleased that my friend has found a good wife, though I am not pleased that I have lost a healer. I am also not pleased that you did not make me aware of what was going on at my dungeon,” Warrick said his annoyance obvious in his sharp tone.

“Would you have believed me?” Espy asked, not a bit of fear or tremble in her soft voice.

“I would have believed you enough to investigate your claim.”

“That would have been too late for too many.”

Warrick caught the movement on the steps and a flash of a face before the woman turned away as he responded, “We have much to discuss.”

“I look forward to it,” Espy said and saw that Warrick’s glance had drifted beyond her. “I would like you to meet one of the women who suffered wrongly at your dungeon.” She held her hand out. “Adara, come meet Lord Warrick.”

Adara stiffened and the voice in her head kept screaming… run! Run! Run!

Craven took a step closer to his wife when he saw Warrick’s whole body grow taut, as if he was ready to spring into battle.

“Adara?” Warrick said not only in question but in a way that demanded a response.

Craven slipped his arm around Espy’s waist and eased her back against him as Warrick took a step forward.

“Adara!” Warrick repeated, a warning so sharp, so pointed that it was as if he had slipped his blade from its sheath, ready to strike if no answer was forthcoming.

Silence ruled over the village, breaths were held, and all waited for Adara to turn and face Warrick.

Indescribable fear gripped every inch of Adara, forcing her to turn and face the man who would determine her fate.

Their eyes locked and when a snarl rumbled from his lips, Adara responded instinctively… she ran.