Page 1 of The Beast in the Loch (The Beasts #1)

The light was fading, and soon it would be night, but for now there was a sense of magic in the air. As if anything might be possible.

Maire had tried to make a fire but the wood was damp and she had given up. It was chilly rather than cold, and her woollen arisaid was of fine quality, keeping her warm enough when she wrapped the blue and lavender coloured plaid about herself.

For the past three nights she had slept like this, alone, dozing off and on, her thoughts returning again and again to her reason for being here.

The Viking raiders had arrived a week past. Violent, savage men in their long boats, rampaging through the villages along the western shores—

even attacking the Mackenzie strongholds.

Her own village hadn't been spared, and although Maire had hoped to make a stand, the Norsemen were too practised in the art of war.

Once the first blow was struck—their finest young man killed by an axe wielded by a creature from a nightmare—her people had fled, up into the mountains to hide in the caves only they knew.

Maire had led the way as they left behind their homes and crops, promising that soon they would return.

But the Vikings had stayed on, making merry in the village and the house Maire had been born in and from which her father, and now she, ruled this land under the lordship of the Mackenzies.

There was no help to be had from other nearby villages.

Those that hadn't been raided themselves were all too frightened to interfere in case the same thing happened to them.

Maire knew in her heart that her people were no match for these outlanders, not if it came to a face to face fight.

They had lost everything and, when the winter came, they would lose their lives.

After endless fruitless discussions, huddled around their campfires, a name had been spoken. Tentatively at first, and then louder and more frequently. It was a name more of legend than reality.

"Someone must fetch the Knights from the Loch," Farquhar, her steward, had finally declared. "They are our only hope now."

Such a proposal should never be considered unless it was the very last resort. And even then . . . There were frightened glances. Maire met her steward's eyes and opened her mouth to say 'No, there must be another way,' and closed it again.

Because there was no other way. Their landlords, the Mackenzies, were busy defending their own, and could not respond to their calls for help. They had run out of options if they were to survive the Viking raid and ever return to their homes again.

"But if we ask the Knights for help then we must give them something in return. A sacrifice." The whisper caused heads to nod and some of the older people exchanged fearful glances.

Everyone knew of the story. Long ago, and far to the south, there was another village where there had been a calamity.

Strangers from the islands to the north had come and taken all the fish, and the people were starving.

Somehow they survived to the next season, only to see it happening all over again.

In their desperation they sent for the Knights.

This was perhaps more than a hundred years in the past, but the story had been told and retold, and everyone knew it.

Maire felt her heart sink a little. She knew there must be a supplicant sent to Castle Samhanach to beg for the Knights' assistance—a woman chosen for her beauty and her brains. And most importantly, this woman must be untouched by a man.

Now that they had decided to ask the Knights for help, the matter of who to send began to be discussed in earnest. This woman needed to be someone who could persuade the knights that their request was of the utmost importance. Someone of looks and intelligence, but brave too.

Inevitably, they decided upon her.

Maire was unmarried. Her father had held the village for the Mackenzies his entire life, and Maire was his only child.

When he died Maire had stepped into his shoes and no one had questioned her ability to do so.

She had been meant to marry, but her intended had drowned years ago in a storm, and for various reasons she had never found another man who was to her taste.

It wasn't as if her life was empty, for she had much to do. Her days were full and she was content. At thirty she was still lovely, but now her beauty was stately and calm rather than the fresh vivaciousness she had had as a younger woman.

"I am too old," she told Farquhar.

He shook his head, hope and sadness warring in his eyes. "You are as bonny as ever, lady, and you are a virgin. That is all the Knights demand. Besides . . ." He stopped, his gaze slipping away, but she knew what he was thinking.

Besides they are monsters and why should monsters be finicky?

"The choice is yours, lady," he said instead.

But what choice did she have? These were her people and her village, and if she had the means to save them then she must use it.

"I will go," Maire had said.

And she had spent the past three days walking toward her fate.

Now her thoughts scattered as a flock of geese rose from the loch.

She peered through the copse of trees in which she had taken shelter, gazing out toward the shore and the water, which was darkening as the evening waned.

She had a little food remaining but she wanted to save it until the morning.

Tomorrow should take her to her destination, Castle Samhanach, and whatever awaited her there.

Something splashed in the loch. A fish, she supposed, but then she realised she could see a shadow making its way out of the water and onto the narrow stretch of beach. The night was closing in but there was still enough light to make out that it was a man.

Maire stared. She could see that he was tall and broad shouldered, much bigger than the men from her village.

His wet hair was slicked to his head in a dark cap, and as he moved toward her she kept very still.

With the Vikings about, it was dangerous for a woman alone, and she was not about to test this stranger's good nature.

She was grateful that the soft colours of her arisaid made her almost invisible in the gloaming.

And then her eyes widened, because she realised he was naked.

She had seen naked men before but it had always been a fleeting glimpse, a momentary thing, where she might catch sight of a man when she was visiting his wife in his home— which usually resulted in much hilarity—or swimming in the sea, and there were of course the wee boys who ran about bare in the summer.

It had never been like this, and to her surprise she found there was great beauty in a man's body.

The dying light turned his skin to bronze and as he moved she could sense the leashed power in his hard muscles and long legs.

Something hot curled inside her, a need she had not felt for a very long time, and she had to consciously push it aside and remind herself to take care, that she may well be in danger.

The man had found a pile of clothing by the bank above the beach that led from the loch, and now he pulled on breeches, so tight they fit his thighs and hips like a second skin.

He quickly laced them up and then bent to tug on his boots.

Maire expected him to cloth his naked chest in a tunic but instead he rose again to his full height and stood, staring out over the water.

That was when she heard him sigh.

It was a deep sigh, and seemed to come from the depths of his being.

Maire's heart quickened, for she had sighed like that, and she thought she understood it very well. He was lonely and he had the weight of many other souls upon him. Oh yes, it was the sigh of someone whom others turned to for help and who must always put themselves last.

She closed her eyes, just for a moment, feeling her own pain and apprehension about her quest. When she opened them again he was gone. She rose to her feet, looking cautiously about, but he really was nowhere to be found, and she was all alone by the loch.

Later, as Maire tried to sleep, she wondered if in fact it had all been a dream, or even a trick of the light.

Had he been a ghost, freed from the realm of the dead, and allowed to wander the earth in those brief moments between day and night?

But come the morning, when she went to the shore to stand where the man had stood, she found the sand in disarray.

It was as if the tide had swept over it, waves crashing, and yet she knew no such thing had happened.

Then, at the very edge of the beach where it rose up to the stony bank, she spotted the footstep.

Not a dream then.

She'd slept longer than she meant to, and she knew she must hurry.

And yet for a moment she stood, thinking of the stranger, and gazing across the loch.

Without realising it Maire sighed in the same way as the man.

She knew there was no going back. She had sworn to make this sacrifice, and failure was not a situation she could contemplate.

Straightening her back, Maire set off around the loch.

She was swaying with exhaustion. Her feet in their once fine boots were sopping, and her skirts clung to her slim legs, while her long dark hair was like seaweed, so wet and tangled was it.

She pulled her arisaid more closely about her, although it had long ceased to give her any warmth.

Narrowing her blue eyes, she stared down from her vantage point.

The castle sat dark against the loch, brooding upon its rocky island and surrounded by grey water. Smoke trickled from the keep but other than that there was no movement. On the horizon the sun was setting in pale pinks and soon it would be night once more.

Castle Samhanach was aptly named, for legend would have it that there were monsters within its walls. Monsters masquerading as men.

And Maire had come here to ask for their help.