Highland Storm Read Online Free PDF Page B

Mormaer Óengus, but only he and Cameron had been told as much. The rest of his men all believed they were merely en route to Dunràth to deliver the king’s message to its steward. Dunràth was but a small manor house, though David was apparently reluctant to give William fitz Duncan yet another thaneship, for it remained without a laird since the battle at Stracathro in Forfarshire.
    They’d lost sight of the scouts about midday, although Keane had not yet witnessed any attempts by his men to seek anyone out, nor any quiet trepidation over the prospect of spies being caught. For all that he could tell they seemed perfectly oblivious to any intrigue, and for the most part, they were a soft-hearted bunch of dafties, with little purpose in life but to fill their bellies and piss under the stars.
    But even if it were the scouts they’d been following, there was no way to know whether the insurgent sons of Óengus actually existed. By all accounts, the sons of Óengus had not been seen now in five years or more. They lived only in whispers, around campfires, and at the bedsides of little children—like faeries, brownies and the like.
    And yet, some faerie’s tales were true, for until this moment, Lilidbrughtoo had been only a tale from the lips of an auld woman…
    He saw a flash of silver in the waning light and positioned his bow, nocking the arrow. Beneath him, Beithir remained motionless, taking her cues from Keane’s form. Betimes the animal knew him better than he knew himself.
    Beside him, Cameron slid off his own massive beast, with its lumbering limbs and great hairy hooves, and patted the animal’s rump, urging it back down, toward the burn, taking a ready post. Slithering down the mountainside was a steep, rock-strewn path. If by chance Keane should hit his mark, they would needst fly down and Cameron would travel better on foot, while Beithir had been bred to the Mounth.
    “I see but one man, not two,” Cameron said.
    Keane’s gaze followed the figure in the sights of his arrow, wondering who it could be. Lilidbrugh was not a place where men were wont to come. Most folks turned a blind eye to the ruins, seeing only what it had become. As far as he knew, no one ever ventured there anymore. It lay forgotten upon a remote piece of earth where mortal men dared not go, rumored now to be a place where faeries lay in wait to curse the unwary soul.
    But someone was there…
    Keane couldn’t make out the features, but the figure was slight, half swallowed by a bright blue cloak. How dull-witted was that? To wear a rich coat, especially with the coming snows. If the man had but cloaked himself in common colors, he might not seem worth the trouble of descending for the spoils, but by law, no peasant ever wore such a garb. The fool might as well have waved huge sacks of gold.
    At the moment, his target remained a good three hundred yards away.
    Keane was not the greatest of archers, but he was not the worst. A lifetime of competing with his ruthless sisters had greatly honed his skills. Inasmuch as Lael was a master with her blades, Cailin was an expert with her bow. She could nail a mark from two hundred fifty yards. Keane’s best effort was twenty yards’ shy of that. He was far better with his sword. Still, with the downward trajectory, he could do it, although his target seemed far more pre-occupied with someone—or something—following behind… so he waited to see who else would come.
    No one did. The man was alone.
    He waited for the perfect opportunity as the idiot scuttled along a half wall. At last, when he flattened himself against a spot and went perfectly still, Keane’s eyes honed in on a small ruby purse in his hand—and he smiled, for the purse afforded Keane a perfect mark. Whatever that purse held would be valuable enough for the man to carry naught else. Cailin would call it an impossible shot, but Keane was not a man to back down from a challenge. It was never his intent to harm the man, nor