Excerpt from "One Snowy Knight" by Deborah MacGillivray

Annis took her hand. “Come see, Mama. He is beautiful, a knight true, like some great warrior king of old that the Seanchaidh tells about around fireside.”

“We need to get back to the dun―now. Dark surrounds us. You are aware night falls early now that the Solstice draws near. You are soaked. I am soaked. We catch our death if we do not get back and dry ourselves―”

“MA-MA,” Annis sobbed, tears streaming down her pale cheeks. “We leave him out in the stour…the wolves will come…and get him.”

Andrew took her other hand and tugged. “Come, we must fetch him back with us. He is ours now. I asked the Kelpie if he was and he shook his head aye. Watch.” He stroked the horse’s velvety nose. “The warrior belongs to us now. You brought him for us, eh?”

The beast shook his head up and down, and then looked at Skena with soulful eyes. She blinked in shock. Was this warrior steed indeed one of the Fae?

“See, Mama?” Annis hopped back and forth on her feet. “Come, we must save the man. Please…”

Heaving a sigh, she saw the twins were in their obstinate mood and would refuse to listen to her. If she pushed them to obey, they might run off in different directions―a ploy they had used more than once when defiant. With the snow worsening, it was vital they get back to Craigendan quickly. “Very well, one should not doubt a Kelpie, I suppose.”

Taking the reins of the beautiful steed, she turned him in the direction the children had come. Picking up Annis, she set the little girl in the saddle and then watched to make sure the horse would accept the small rider. Some destriers were trained never to permit anyone upon their backs but their masters, yet this animal turned his neck and merely observed as Skena settled Annis’s hands on the high pommel. The horse’s huge eyes seemed so gentle it was hard to believe this beast was trained to kill in war, was as valued a weapon as a lance or broadsword.

“Hold tight and grip with your knees as I taught you.” Skena pulled the hood on the child’s mantle about her small face.

“Aye, Mama.” Annis’s head bobbed in a nod.

Taking the reins, she allowed her son to tug her in the direction he wanted. Just as she feared this was a fool’s errand, her eyes spotted an odd shape on the earth up ahead. As they neared, she grew alarmed some poor soul was on the ground covered by snow. Passing off the reins to Andrew, she rushed forward. By the length of the body she judged it to be a man.

“We tried to clean him off, Mama,” Andrew said, “but the snow only covered him again.”

“By the blessed lady, he must be the rider of the horse.” Was he even alive? Skena knelt beside the still body, and with her freezing hands swept the snow from his face.

As she brushed off the slope of the second cheek, a small gasp came from her lips; she stared, transfixed by his beautiful countenance. Never had she seen a more perfect man. The wavy brown hair was not a dark shade, not light, though made a measure deeper from the wet snow. He had a beautiful chin, strong, yet not too square. Angus’s face had been pleasant, but his jaw looked as if it had been carved from a block of wood. This man’s showed strength, character, yet there was a sensual curve that caused her to run her thumb over his nearly clean-shaven cheek. No face hair. Norman? Her hand stilled as a shiver crawled up her spine, one that had naught to do with the cold. Dismissing that concern, she swept the snow from his neck and shoulders. She rather liked that she could see his features; it allowed his perfection to show clearly. Nice strong brows, not bushy like Angus. And lips…so carnal, a woman would wonder what it would feel like to taste them, crave to discover such mysteries for herself. Surely, this man was touched by the blood of the Sidhe; only one blessed by magic could be so lovely formed, a man possessed of the power to lure a woman into darkest sin, nary a thought of the risk to her soul.

She jerked back slightly at the odd notions filling her mind, a yearning that had never come before. Still, there was no time to fritter away on such nonsense. Trembling in alarm, she feared he might be dead. Great anguish arose within her that one so beautiful would have his life cut short. As she touched his neck, she felt the throb of his blood. Faint. So very faint. Relief filled her heart at that small flicker of life. She had to get him to Craigendan and warm his blood or he might not survive. Even then, it would be a fight to save him. How long had he been lying in the snow? In the fading light it was clear his skin was grey, his lips tingeing blue.

Fretting at the urgency of the situation, Skena glanced up at her daughter. There was no way the children and she could get this man onto the horse’s back. As well, waiting until they were missed and her people came searching for them was not a choice. Aid had to be summoned from the fortress. The warrior’s life and theirs hung in the balance.

“If wishes were wings we could fly back to the dun,” she muttered under her breath.”

Rising to her feet, she tried to decide what the best course of action was. She could not abandon the man here alone, defenseless, while she went to fetch help, not with dark closing in. Nor could she leave the children with him. Grabbing Andrew by the waist, she swung him up behind his sister in the saddle.

“Andrew, you must ride for help. Do not run the horse. I know you love to do that. You must be careful he does not slip in the snow. Hie you to Craigendan and tell them to fetch a cart…and furs…any warming stones if they are ready. Tell Cook to heat water for baths and prepare hot broth for us all.” She handed him the reins.

“Aye, Mama. I will be careful,” he promised solemnly, assuming the responsibilities of a man upon his small shoulders.

“Our lives depend upon you, Andrew, my brave lad.” She moved to the horse’s head and rubbed his forelock. “My noble steed, carry my children safely to Craigendan…save us all and I shall see you get apples through the winter.”

Closing her eyes tightly against the tears, she hugged him, and then said a silent prayer to the Auld Ones to keep her bairns safe. Hoping she was doing the right thing, she gave the horse a light slap on his haunch and set him in motion. With her heart pounding, she watched until the pale stallion disappeared in the blinding blizzard.

Turning back to the man on the ground, she once again had to wipe the gathering flakes from his face. She attempted to tug him to a sitting position, thinking she could wrap her mantel around them both and lend him what little body heat she still had. When she went to lift him, she realized he still had his broadsword lashed crosswise over his back. Finding the strap’s buckle on the center of his chest, she released it.

Then froze as the howl came.

It was close by. The man groaned as she urgently rolled his dead weight, enough to drag the sword out from under him, and then dropped the leather sheath as she freed the blade. Holding the sword in her right hand, she used her left to release the clasp of her mantle. She would need her arms free to swing the sword. Keeping her eyes fixed upon the trees, she dragged her woolen cape over the man’s unmoving body.

The deep growl sent a chill to her marrow as the threat of the snowstorm had failed to do. Low tree limbs rustled and then parted as the set of glowing yellow eyes peeked through the wintry foliage.

Swallowing hard, Skena brought the sword up, preparing to swing, and praying she had strength enough to wield the mighty sword true.