Isle of Mull 03 - To Love a Warrior Read Online Free PDF

Scotland’s countryside. He will use the hills, the rivers, and the forests to our end. He will burn fields and kill livestock as our army advances to deny the English fresh supplies. As for me, I’m going to break off and focus on bringing down the Scottish strongholds still held under English authority.” James moved to stand before Angus Og. “I told the Lord of Islay that I needed a small band of men as fierce and cunning as Wallace. He told me I could live ten lifetimes and never again encounter finer warriors than those found on the Isle of Mull. I ask you all now, was Angus Og correct?”
    In reply, the hall echoed with the battle cry of the MacKinnon.
    “We will be outnumbered,” James said. “A small band of men versus a well garrisoned castle, but we shall use stealth and cunning to take each stronghold, one by one. What say you, Ronan?” James asked as he stopped before the chieftain.
    Ronan stood and stretched out his arms to include every Mull MacKinnon in his reply. “We shall not be sated until Edward of England and all his affiliates have been beaten, bled, and burned from this land,” he roared. “We’ve been waiting for the true king to rise to power.” His hand then clamped down on James’s shoulder. “Ye arrived today on the shores of Mull looking for the best, and, by my trove, ye’ve found the best!”
    Logan raised his cup. “Come,” he said. “Feast with us, for we’ve much to celebrate.”
    “To new beginnings,” Garik shouted before tipping his own cup.
    The hall soon filled with villagers drawn to the celebration that had ensued. Garik’s heart filled with merriment as he danced a reel, joining Logan and several beautiful lassies as they wove through the hall in circles while pipers played. After a time, the music changed, and a rich, braw voice drew his attention, uprooting all other thoughts.
    Like a strong breeze it surrounded him and stole his breath. He opened his eyes to find what creature could croon with such feeling that it made his heart ache. He gasped with surprise. There by the fire, surrounded by a rapt audience, stood the child, Nellore. Her eyes squeezed shut, her hands clenched, and from her lips came forth a sound powerful and lush.
    Her hair remained unkempt, falling in ragged curls about her waist, but her face shone clean and warm in the firelight. He joined many of the clan who sat enraptured while they listened to her croon each impassioned note. She surprised him when suddenly her eyes flew open and green fire met his. Her gaze bore into his soul as she continued to fill the night with her haunting song. He did not look away. Instead he smiled and was given such a smile in return. Her expression held pure joy. It reached across the crowd and the fire and filled him with the same happiness.
    Nellore sang from her heart. When she stood before her clan singing tales of battles won and lost, she never felt more alive. She used to watch her audience when she sang, but then one night she realized the warriors listened with their eyes closed. As she sang their stories, they relived the glory and sadness. It was then that she too began to close her eyes. She would imagine herself among the men, fighting for justice, fighting for those who could not. Pain would grip her heart while she lived a dream through her song, and when the music ended and her voice trailed off, the pain grew for she knew that was all it would ever be—a dream.
    She was not destined for battle. Her future resided in a cage of stone and peat. She would be like her mother, tied to the hearth and harvest. When she came of age, her sword would become a trinket to glimpse in the corner, and the part of her that in youth craved to fight would go unfulfilled until it was altogether forgotten.
    When she sang that night and realized Garik, the Viking warrior, listened to her song, her heart filled with pride. Perhaps upon hearing her passion he would ask her to join his band of warriors. She closed