A dark-haired male declared, “Kade, the lass must die.” The others grunted their agreement.
Freya looked around in a panic and bolted towards a gap between two of the men, but she was no match against their brawn. She found herself lifted off the ground by burly hands as if she weighed nothing.
“Take her to the fire,” Kade snarled.
Freya kicked and screamed in terror as they headed back to the roaring flames. Out of desperation, she cried out to the other woman but she glared at Freya, obviously as offended by the intrusion as the men.
“Let me go! I’ve done nothing wrong,” Freya screamed, trying to stab the eye of the man who held her.
He swatted her hand away and growled ominously, “Don’t try that again.”
“Please don’t hurt me,” she begged. “I didn’t see anything, promise I won’t tell anyone.”
“Ye tainted the ceremony. Now ye must die. It is the law,” Kade insisted.
“But I know nothing of your laws. I’m innocent!”
“Shut her up, Tavin,” Kade ordered.
A powerful hand covered her mouth, effectively muting her protests.
They dragged her next to the fire, and discussed her fate. Kade, the apparent leader of the group, spoke first. “We could throw her in the fire and be done with it.”
Freya stared at the flames in horror, struggling against the strong grip they had on her.
“I cannae stomach the smell when they burn,” Tavin complained.
What!? They’ve burned humans before?
“Then I say we cut her throat. Silent, quick, done,” Kade suggested.
“Nae,” an older male growled. “Her offense demands more than that.”
Kade huffed. “True enough. What do ye suggest, Skene?”
“Let’s rip her heart out and share it while she watches.”
Kade shook his head, snorting in disgust. “She’s a foreigner, we cannae give her that honor.”
Honor? Freya shuddered, there was no honor in having your heart ripped from your body and eaten in front of you. Freya looked up at the moon, praying for mercy.
Tavin shrugged. “Fine. Then let’s just rip open her chest and throw her heart into the fire.”
“Aye,” the rest agreed in unison.
“Put her down, but keep her mouth covered,” Kade ordered.
Freya fought with all of her strength, but could not break free when two of the males held her arms still, while another ripped her shirt open to expose her chest. Her screams of terror were muzzled as Kade approached.
“This will hurt and, aye, ye will die. However, I cannae think of a nobler way fer a human to leave this Earth than by the light of the full Moon in the hands of the Chosen.” He loomed over her, his eyes glinting with an unnatural glow.
Freya shook her head violently and broke free long enough to shriek, “I don’t want to die!”
The shortest of the males called out loudly, “I will vouch fur her.”
Kade stopped, and glared at him. “Ye cannae!”
He repeated coolly, “I vouch fer her.”
Kade snarled, stating with disgust, “But she’s… human.”
“Nothing in the law states who can or cannae be vouched fur.”
Tavin howled angrily. “Bryn, this is an outrage! She has seen us, she must die.”
Bryn moved over to Freya and sniffed her hair. “She is already dead. What honor do we bring the Moon by offering an inferior sacrifice?”
Kade moved closer and inhaled, huffing in obvious distaste afterwards. “Yer right, she’s not worthy.”
The other men shifted uncomfortably, upset to discover she was dying. It almost seemed funny.
Who knew cancer could save your life?
“She only has a few more days,” Bryn stated. “Let her die in peace.”
“How can ye be sure she won’t speak of what she’s seen?” Tavin growled, pressing his hand painfully against her nose and mouth in an attempt to cut off her air.
“I’ve vouched fer her. Do not question me, again,” Bryn snarled.
Tavin instantly removed his hand from Freya, bowing his head in deference to Bryn. “It won’t happen again, Ceannard.”
Freya knew that Ceannard meant the same as chief and was surprised that the smallest of the males seemed to be the leader of the group, not the imposing Kade.
The group watched in silence as Bryn pulled the remnants of her shirt around her, before taking her arm and escorted her down the hill. As Freya passed the tree, she glanced at the woman still bound and naked. Her eyes were wide with disbelief.
Bryn spoke quietly, but with a commanding tone as he told her, “I know ye will not waste yer final moments trying to convince the villagers yer not crazy. Take these last days and enjoy the beauty of this land. Dinnae concern yerself with this.” He gestured towards the bonfire and line of angry men.
Freya nodded numbly in response.
“I say this to ye in kindness, but also as a warning. Yer life and anyone ye talk to will be forfeit should ye fail to keep silent.”
She nodded. It didn’t matter what strange ritual they were performing here, she wanted nothing to do with it or them. “I understand… and thank you.”
He snarled under his breath, looking back at his group. “As a foreigner ye dinnae know yer offense. Better ye leave this world safe in the ignorance of yer kind.”
Bryn’s reference to her kind made her wonder what they considered themselves. She’d heard Kade refer to them as The Chosen. Were they a secret society of perverted Scottish nudists?
“I will keep it to myself until I die,” she assured him, grateful he’d set her free.
He opened the car door for her, “Good.”
“But why—”
Slamming the car door shut, he stated harshly, “Ye have four days at most. Spend them wisely.”
Freya felt a cold chill run down her spine after hearing his death sentence for her. Even modern medicine couldn’t pinpoint the exact time and yet… she believed him. There was something otherworldly about Bryn and the others, it was remarkable—and frightening.
She drove away completely shaken by the events, but determined to take heed of Bryn’s final words to her. Only four days…
That didn’t leave much time to realize a lifetime of dreams.
Little Lamb
Freya woke the next morning feeling far more pain than the day before. Was it simply her mind playing tricks on her after Bryn’s pronouncement the night before?
Despite the excruciating pain, she headed out to explore a new castle—one far away from the madness of the night before. She drove a long stretch of dirt roads in the exact opposite direction, only stopping when she came across an unusually large herd of fluffy white sheep in a green field.
She couldn’t explain it, but she felt and overwhelming urge to hold one of those tiny lambs, and pet it to her heart’s content.
Freya climbed slowly out of the car, feeling a wave of nausea as she squeezed her way through the fence. She took a moment to recover, before timidly approaching the skittish herd. They wanted nothing to do with her, especially the mamas with babies. She finally quit chasing them, and sat on a grassy knoll, believing that if she remained still they would quickly realize she meant no harm.
To her mortification, however, the owner of the sheep showed up. He yelled at her from the road. When she didn’t move, he angrily crawled through the fence and made his way to her.
“Get off ma land!”
Although Freya was embarrassed, she was equally determined to hold a lamb, and shook her head with an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, but I simply must pet a lamb or die.”
He scoffed. “Being a bit dramatic, aren’t ye?”
She shrugged. “It’s the simple truth.”
Freya noticed the twinkle in his eye when he asked her, “So a wee lamb will save yer life?”
She smiled shyly. “Aye.”
“Well… I suppose I could allow it if ye promise t
o leave afterwards. Yer scaring ma herd.”
Freya giggled, looking at the white bundles of fur that wanted nothing to do with her. “I kind of noticed that myself. All I want to do is pet one, but they keep running away.”
“Ye have to know how to talk to them, lassie.”
The old man began speaking to his herd in soft lilting tones that even calmed her. “That’s it my pets, that’s it…” He went up to the smallest one and picked it up without any protest from its mother.
He walked back over to Freya and laid the tiny thing on her lap. “The runt. Seems fitting fer such a brash lassie as ye.”
Freya grinned, cradling the tiny creature to her chest. “Yes, the runt will do me just fine.” She petted it gently, holding the little lamb close to her body. She was gratified when it lay its head against her and closed its eyes. Its heart beat rapidly against her chest—so much life.
Peace washed over Freya in soothing waves, and a single tear ran down her cheek, making the old man uncomfortable.
“Dinnae cry, lass. It’s just an animal.”
She looked up at him, smiling. “This is the most beautiful lamb in the world. Sweet, innocent, and full of life…”
Lifting the lamb up, she turned it to face her so she could gaze into its dark eyes. “You will live a long and productive life, little one.”
The old man laughed. “Aye, she will until it’s her time. Then she’ll make a delicious chop.”
Freya gasped in mock horror as she kissed its tiny nose. “No, never, little one. I’m your fairy godmother. Nothing bad will ever happen to you.”
He laughed uncomfortably. “Look, lassie, I have a long day’s work ahead. It’s time ye were going.”
She sighed in resignation, putting the little lamb down. She watched it scramble back to its mother, bleating sweetly. “You’re right. It’s time to move on,” Freya replied sadly. The reality of her words cut like a knife.
Freya attempted to get up, but crumpled over in severe pain.
“What’s wrong with ye?” the old man asked in concern.
Sweat beaded on her forehead as she fought to stand up. “It’s nothing… just a cramp. I’ll be fine.” But she grasped the hand he offered, stifling a cry as he pulled her to her feet. It took her several moments to steady herself enough to walk.
The old man looked troubled, but said nothing.
Freya dug through her purse, pulling out a huge wad of bills and handing it over to him.
The old man crinkled his brow, refusing to take it. “What’s that fer?”
“I want to pay for the lamb… and its mother.”
“They’re not fer sale, lassie.”
She smiled, hoping to win him over. “I need you to keep them safe for me. Hopefully, this will be enough to feed and care for them.” She held out the money again, beseeching him to take it.
He shook his head. “These are eating stock.”
“I understand, but not these two,” Freya told him, gesturing to the tiny lamb and its mother. “These two are special and destined for a long, full life.”
He stared uncertainly at the large amount of bills.
“Please!” she begged. “It would mean so much to me.” Not taking no for an answer, she placed the money in his palm and closed his fist over it.
“It’s far too much, lassie.”
“Good. You deserve to be compensated,” she insisted.
The old man shook his head, but stuffed the bills inside his pocket. “Ma name’s Robertson,” he told her, shaking Freya’s hand formally.
She grasped it warmly, taking it as a sign he would honor her request. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Robertson. My name is Freya McKenna.”
After shaking hands on the deal, she moved cautiously towards the lamb, speaking in soft tones as Robertson had done. She knelt beside the tiny creature, then took off the necklace her mother had given her on her sixteenth birthday—a small gold cross with a tiny ruby in the center.
“This is to remind you of me, little one,” she told it, as she doubled the chain and fastened the jewelry around its thin neck.
The old man shook his head and chuckled. “I knew Americans were odd, but I never guessed ye were doo-lally.”
“Only doo-lally in the best way,” she grinned up at him.
“If ye say so.”
Freya successfully got to her feet without his aid and tried to walk to her car without further incident, but bending down to navigate the fence proved too much. She cried out in pain, and found Robertson immediately by her side.
He helped her into the car, but seemed hesitant about letting her go. “Are ye okay to drive, Miss McKenna?”
Freya nodded, holding back cries of pain until the car was safely down the road. She was truly frightened now. It seemed to be happening just the way Bryn had predicted. Her time was running out…fast.
Passing through a small village, she noticed a quaint pub with a brightly painted red sign with the words Slainte Mhath, which was a traditional Scottish toast meaning ‘Good Health’.
How ironic, she thought as she slowed down to park. She hoped a strong, rich lager might help to ease her pain, as well as numb her growing fears.
Before getting out of the car, Freya pulled down the visor mirror to wipe away the remaining tears. She was sure that having a drink at a local pub would take her mind off the ticking clock inside her head.
A crackling fire greeted her inside the small establishment. She quietly made her way to it, longing for its warmth and distraction. The locals didn’t even seem to notice her as she sat down at a small table beside the fireplace.
A large group of men were cozied up to the bar, laughing and having far too much of a good time joking with each other so early in the day. She silently appreciated the plethora of manly kilts, grateful for the view.
Can it get any better than this?
Bryn
Freya smiled to herself, resting her chin in her hands as she watched them. This was exactly what her soul needed.
Although the group of men were laughing too hard to notice her, the waitress at the bar did, and sauntered over to her table. “What’ll ye ’ave?”
Freya grinned, pointing to the lively group. “I’ll have what they’re having.”
The waitress clicked her tongue. “It’s a strong brew, I ’ope ye can handle it.”
She poured a thick, dark, foamy lager into a pint glass, swishing her skirt as she returned to Freya with the drink. “Enjoy…”
Freya closed her eyes as she lifted it to her lips. She purred in appreciation as she sucked the foam off the top. It tasted like an adult version of whipped cream. “Yum!”
Somehow, her quiet exclamation must have garnered the attention of the group, because the room suddenly became silent. She opened her eyes and found the lot of them staring at her.
Oh, hell no!
Freya tensed as Kade approached. “Well, well…what do we have here?”
The others followed, surrounding her table.
Feigning ignorance, Freya answered pleasantly, “Do I know you?”
Kade’s eyes narrowed as he stressed, “Nae. Ye do not.”
“I didn’t think so.” She took another sip of the lager, almost choking on her fear.
The pub keeper had been meticulously wiping down the bar, and flung the towel over his shoulder before looking up and asking good-naturedly, “What’s going on here?”
The charming smile on his lips melted Freya’s heart, and she was struck dumb by how impossibly cute he was—until their eyes met.
Bryn!
Someone new entered the pub and stood in the doorway. “Know where I can get some tolerable brew?” the balding Scotsmen joked, breaking the uncomfortable silence hovering in the room.
Bryn recovered from his initial shock at seeing her, and answered the man in a jovial tone, “That I do, Fletcher. Elsa would be happy to serve ye.”
The waitress looked confused by the hostility floating in the room, but obediently grabbe
d a glass and filled it up. “There ye go, Fletch.”
Bryn joined the circle of men surrounding Freya and asked her in a flirtatious tone, “What are the chances a sweet American like yerself would find yer way to my small, remote corner of the world?” His voice was light, but his eyes flashed with anger and distrust.
Freya stammered under his intense stare. “I… I was out in the countryside and just happened to pass by here. It was the name of the establishment that caught my attention, and I felt an urge to stop in for a drink.”
A flicker of understanding showed in Bryn’s eyes. “Slainte Mhath is but a common toast, lass.”
“Still, it struck me as appropriate… surely you can understand the attraction I had to it?” she asked him beseechingly, needing Bryn to understand it had only been a terrible coincidence.
His nostrils flared slightly as he considered her words.
She felt the disquieting instinct to run take over, and stood up. “I’m sorry if my presence disturbs you…”
The circle of men crowded in closer, effectively blocking her escape.
Freya looked to the old man who’d just entered and was now sitting at the bar. She decided to engage him in conversation, hoping he might prove her means of escape. “I hear they have the best lager in these parts. Would you agree?”
“Aye, it’s true, little lassie. Bryn is the master of the brew.” He lifted his pint to her. “Slainte Mhath!”
Freya picked up her glass and pushed her way through the men as she made her way to Fletcher, in the guise of wanting to toast. “I’m Freya McKenna, and I’m more than happy to drink to that.” She held up her pint, smiling at the old man as she clinked her glass against his.
Now, at least, one person outside this group knew her name, as well as the fact she was here. Hopefully that would be enough to deter Kade from harming her.
“So ye just happened on this place, Miss McKenna?” Bryn asked skeptically, still not believing her story.
She looked him in the eye, raising her chin in defiance. “Yes, I’ve come from Mr. Robertson’s place. He’s raising a lamb for me.”