CHAPTER ONE
“ I dinnae ken where she went, but we have to find her!”
Rosaline’s feet moved so fast, it felt as if she was pushing the ground beneath her. She ducked through the trees, and when her tunic snagged on branches, she swiftly pulled it free with a twist of her shoulders and carried on.
She fought with every ounce of energy left in her body, little though it may have been after years of beatings and starvation. She propelled herself through the woods at all costs.
Suddenly, the trees stopped racing past her and started to tower above her. Her body had fallen, though her mind was determined to go on. Something had taken her down. She looked down at her hands, her tunic, her legs, only to see her boot wedged between the deep roots of a tree and a large rock.
It must have been painful. Her ankle was twisted at an unnatural angle, and the rock grazed her skin, but her body could not register the pain, only the urgency to carry on.
She yanked at the rock, trying to move it to free her foot, but a shout from behind stopped her movements and almost her heart.
“All of ye, after her! She is a frail young lassie—she cannae get far!”
Mother Denise ordered the hunt.
“I willnae be caught again. I am never goin’ back,” Rosaline muttered to herself and yanked her foot free.
She looked long enough to see blood rise to the surface, but the wound was not deep enough to stop her. She charged onward, the sounds of the novices’ footfalls fueling her determination to flee.
Rosaline watched the path ahead more carefully this time, peering through the sunlight as it filtered through the trees, watching out for any obstacles that may hinder her again. She could not slow down.
“Spread out!” she heard the Abbess cry, quieter this time but still enraged.
The woman was as determined to find her as she was to escape.
Rosaline powered on, but she could feel her body grow weaker. Her ankle throbbed now, and at a quick glance, she could see the blood staining her boot. She would have to slow her pace.
But there were so many of them, and they would find her in no time if she stopped.
Her eyes caught a sliver of light to her right, and her body instinctively turned left. Water. She fled from it at all costs. Everybody knew that about her.
Perfect.
Against her instincts, she turned towards the loch.
She limped now, quick but still stinted, minding her steps and leaning on nearby trees for support when needed, until she reached the clearing where the loch sat.
Her nerves grew as she drew closer to the water and heard it lapping at the shore. It was a sound she considered as a warning and often fled from, but here she was, heading straight for it.
But her heart was racing and her legs were trembling regardless as she ran from the nuns, so there was no use in fighting them. She had to choose one fear over the other.
Rosaline pushed onwards, using the strength left in her aching ankle to drag herself to safety.
But as she drew closer to the gap in the trees, she began to hear unnatural noises—the clash of steel against steel.
The clatter of swords. She paused at first, in case the danger was behind her, closing in on her.
But she soon saw movement in the clearing ahead and realized that a battle entirely different from hers was being fought there.
She slowed her pace and ducked lower, casting her gaze around the trees to get a glimpse of what she was approaching.
She had to get right to the edge of the woods to gain a clear view, and by then, the noises were louder, metal clanging as swords were swung, men grunting as they avoided the blades.
“Get him, Samson!” the tallest of the men shouted. He was arguably the strongest-looking, yet he seemed to be doing the least work.
“Aye, kill him, Samson!” the smallest bellowed.
Three men against one. Unfair, was Rosaline’s first thought.
As the men fought, circling each other, she was finally able to get a glimpse of the underdog fighting alone. A gasp slipped past her lips as her eyes landed on his handsome features, but then she quickly clamped her hand over her mouth.
He was tall and strong, but there was a sort of softness to his skin and features that told her he was more than just a brute.
His hair was dark as the night sky, but his eyes shone like the moon.
They beamed a bright silver even from a distance, and they enchanted her immediately. She could hardly take her eyes off him.
Samson swung his sword at him, trying to land a blow from all angles, but the man dodged every single one.
He seemed relatively calm, despite facing three armed Highlanders.
His eyes watched their every move, judging their next hit perfectly and swerving out of the way with ease.
He looked braced, ready, but he showed no sign of tiring.
Samson, however, was panting and heaving, his body folding now as his energy waned.
It was a good thing he had backup, Rosaline thought, as he would have had no chance of coming out alive if he were alone.
The smallest man stepped in, trying to catch the handsome warrior with his blade, aiming just beyond Samson’s last swing. The handsome warrior had to put in extra effort to dodge both, but he still managed to do it in swift, close motions, spinning out of their reach at the last second.
Finally, he began to swing his sword at them, perhaps growing frustrated with their attempts.
Every blow landed, never fatally, but taking them down a peg each time.
He caught Samson in the thigh, slicing where his kilt brushed his knee and drawing blood.
Samson clutched his leg and limped. Then, the smallest man was hit just below his right shoulder, and he immediately loosened his grip on his sword.
The men grew angrier at being hit and tried to come back harder, but their wounds slowed them down, making their moves sloppier. Each swing had even less power and speed than before, and the handsome warrior dodged them with even more ease.
He’s got them.
Rosaline barely held back from whispering the words. She had to stay silent.
She had allowed herself a brief pause, hoping that her proximity to the loch and the fighting men would put the nuns off this area altogether. But she hadn’t even turned around to check. One of them could be nearby, hunting for her in an unexpected area.
Furthermore, these four armed men were likely a threat to her as well, even though they had no idea who she was. She might be favoring the handsome warrior, but he looked even more threatening than the others.
Just as the fight looked like it was coming to a close, with the three men wounded and the handsome warrior coming out the victor, she spotted movement on the other side of the clearing. A fourth man emerged from the tree line and began to creep up on the others.
She looked back at the group to see if they had spotted him and found that the team of three could see him clearly. Their faces showed no hint, but he was directly in their line of sight. The handsome warrior, however, had his back to him.
She watched him grow a little cocky in his victory, loosening his posture and relaxing his core. He lowered his sword slightly and brushed his hair from his face. He thought it was all over—he was not prepared for the attack from behind.
Rosaline’s heart thundered in her chest, and she was unable to stay silent any longer. The fourth man was mere steps away now.
“Behind ye!”