Warrior's Secret: A Dark Ages Scottish Romance (The Pict Wars Book 2) by Jayne Castel

Author:Jayne Castel [Castel, Jayne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Winter Mist Press
Published: 2019-11-13T16:00:00+00:00

“Muin … no!”

Ailene sat up, heart slamming against her ribs.

Gods, not again.

Darkness shrouded her, save for the welcoming glow of embers in the nearby fire pit. Like the last dream, in which she had first witnessed Muin’s burial, Ailene found herself sweat-soaked and shaking in the aftermath.

But this dream had been far more detailed than the first, far more vivid.

She had been there, had felt the cold water brush against her skin and the frozen ground numbing her bare feet.

Trembling, Ailene gathered a fur around her nakedness and got up, shuffling over to the fire pit.

Seated there, she cupped her face in her hands.

The Reaper take me, I have seen the future.

She had been so relieved when Muin had returned from the scouting mission. Afterward, she had cast off her dream as folly. Yet the vision she had just experienced could not be ignored. Her dream had not warned her of that scouting mission to An Teanga, but of the siege itself.

The journey that Muin had just departed for.

He had not even let her bless him before leaving.

She had seen it all, seen him cut down by a mortal wound to the neck. Muin would not survive this campaign, would not return to Balintur.

Panic surged within Ailene. Heart pounding, she lurched to her feet, clutching the fur around her.

Muin could not die. She would not let him. Sweat beaded across her skin once more, as a sickening realization settled over her.

Life was not worth living without Muin mac Galan.

“Gods,” she whispered. Bile rose up, stinging the back of Ailene’s throat. “Eithni was right.”

She could not bear facing the future without him. Ailene’s vision blurred, but as she faced the truth about her feelings toward her oldest friend, guilt surged within her.

She had dismissed that earlier dream, when she should have heeded its warning. Muin should not have gone with the others. If she had warned Galan, he would have forbidden it.

Ailene started to shuffle back and forth across the dirt floor of her hut, agitated now. She had to do something, yet panic had momentarily rendered her witless.

“I have to tell someone,” she muttered.

Initially, all she had been able to think about was Muin. But it was not just his life at risk. Her vision of An Teanga had given her a chill premonition of what was to come. The warriors of the united tribes would swim in from the loch to a slaughter. Someone needed to reach the army and warn them.

She had to let Tadhg mac Fortrenn and Wid mac Manus know.

Ailene shrugged off the fur and reached for her clothing. It was a chill night so she pulled on a thin linen tunic, a heavy plaid skirt, a long-sleeved woolen tunic, and a leather vest that she laced at the front. Then she hauled on fur-lined boots and a fur cloak.

Moving toward the door, Ailene’s step suddenly faltered.

There was no time to go to the chieftains, no time to convince them of what she had seen. If

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