LOCH MORAR, SCOTLAND
The Past
Back at the Loch, Clarion was preparing a meal, which consisted of a small rabbit he had snared and was now turning it on a spit over a fire. The juices ran down onto the hot coals, making a billow of smoke waft upward.
Frankly, he was surprised he had even been able to catch the rabbit. Animals, especially small ones, were on the slim side around the loch.
Of course, he could have set a line for fish, but he wasn’t planning to be here that long. And now that he had the rabbit, he didn’t see much sense in doing anything else.
The rain had at least let up long enough for him to get a fire going and the wind had died down as well, but now, it was almost too still. Too quiet. The water wasn’t even moving in loch—it was smooth as glass.
An eerie sense of foreboding washed over him.
Having lived in the highlands for most of his life, he knew that wasn’t a good sign. Something was afoot. Something holy unnatural.
He heard a twig snap and was immediately on guard.
The rabbit forgotten for the moment, he released the spit and dug into his bag for one of his charms, but he wasn’t fast enough.
Something came out of the darkness and hit him with such force he fell backward onto the rocks. Before he could gain his feet underneath, another blow slammed into the side of his head.
As his blood pooled onto the rocks, he envisioned the sweet lass from his dreams and then Clarion de Grey, the firstborn of Greystone, saw no more.