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watching as she gathered her items, wanting to say more.
    “Let me sleep on it, Archie. There’s too much to comprehend.” She gave him a half smile and went to embrace him, feeling oddly sad.
    “Then sleep well, bonny Brigid,” and then Archie looked into her face one last time. “Call if you need anything.”
    Brigid smiled again. “I will.”
    Stepping outside, she walked briskly to her truck. The rain had stopped, and the sun had broken through the clouds with sunbeams streaming through. Brigid tilted her head up and soaked in the last rays of light before they slipped away.

Chapter 4
    October 1205—Castle Creag
    “The difference between justice and righteousness is often times blurred.”
    They were as one, rider and horse along the water’s edge, racing faster with each thunderous crash of the ocean’s waves. Spray covering both, the wind whipped a fury around them, as they continued to move with the elements. To look at them, one would not be able to distinguish between beast and man, for each melded into the other. Fear and madness drove them both, and neither cared if the gates of Hell opened and swallowed them within. The anguish they lived with was far greater than the fires and demons of Hades combined.
    Oh, how the rider longed for release of his pain...faster and faster he urged his beast on. Sand and spittle flew into his face, but he did not care. Nothing mattered anymore to him. There was no light, no hope, and there certainly were no gods! His soul was damned for all eternity.
    He would live in agony here until they dragged his wretched soul away.
    Lightning splintered across the sky, and the rider shoved his fist in the air, daring it to touch down upon him. He continued to ride, pressing on toward oblivion.
    He shook the water free from his face, noticing Cormac Murray standing along the turret wall, hands clasped behind his back and watching the fury of the storm unleash across the land.
    It was always the same, Duncan contemplated. Cormac ever watchful for his return.
    Yet in the year since he came stumbling across his threshold, haggard and with the blood of his sister still on his tunic, Cormac had been unable to do anything to help him.
    He would not let him.
    For almost a month, he could not speak. The death of Margaret by his hand left him scarred, bitter and hell bent on trying to destroy what little was left of his soul.
    Oh, Cormac had tried, but after months of pleading with him, he made the decision to stand back, though only from a distance. Duncan remembered the day Cormac ordered his men to stay clear from him, and he threatened to cleave his friend in two. On several occasions when they were sparring, a rage would descend over him, forcing Cormac to pull back and stop.
    The rage in him always ready to do battle.
    Duncan slowed his pace as he neared Castle Creag, as both he and his horse were breathing heavily. For a few brief hours, he was alone in his grief and the world itself, separated from all. Now, as the stone fortress loomed in the distance, he almost turned away. He feared he was no longer human—devoid of all emotions. Those he encountered required civility on his part, one he was unable give.
    There was only Cormac, and at times, it was near to impossible to be around his friend.
    Duncan sighed, becoming aware they were moving closer, Brandubh’s steps matching the mood of Duncan. There was a screech from above the trees, and Duncan saw a falcon circling above one of the oaks.
    “Hold, Brandubh,” commanded Duncan. He strained his head to the side watching the falcon riding the wind. Something or someone had caught its eye, and it descended with talons pulled forward, perching itself on the limb of a birch tree.
    “Are ye friend or foe? If ye bring a message, show me now.” Tired and exhausted from his ride, Duncan ran his fingers through his hair and clicked the reins of Brandubh on toward the castle.
    Duncan’s mood was still foul as he and Brandubh passed