The wind shrieked and tore at her, as if it’d come to life in an attempt to keep her from getting nearer. She faced the squall and roared back, being far more terrible a foe than anything it would ever encounter. Her muscles burned, yet she pushed on and on and on until all at once, the storm stopped.
She froze in bewildered shock at the absence of the slicing wind. The chill of her limbs warmed in the blaze of golden sunlight. She blinked against its brightness and put her hands up to shield its assault. There, in the shade of her palm stood a mighty rowan tree, its thin smattering of leaves as lush green as summer, its berries clustered in brilliant red. A castle stretched beside the tree, nearly the same height. Bits of snow clung to its sides as the storm howled and raged against the stone. The tempest clearly did not leave the castle untouched, merely the garden.
The moist scent of sun-warmed earth surrounded her.
Evina spun in a circle, taking in the cone of light she found herself in. The grass underfoot was a deep, healthy green, thick and sweet-smelling with a line of snow only a foot beyond. It was as if this one piece of earth was left in summer while the remainder of the world continued on with winter. White walls of billowing snow framed the garden, and at its center: the rowan tree.
What magic was this?
She edged closer to the tree, cautious. Awareness crackled through her, ready to detect a trap.
Nothing.
She stopped under the tree and looked up the length of its massive trunk. The leaves grew sparse in contrast to the berries, which grew in hearty clumps and cast the tree in a red hue.
Evina shoved up her sleeves and reached for a nearby mass of berries. A pleasant tingling swept over her skin, as if she’d dipped into the magic. The enchantment imbued in such a creation was powerful indeed to overwhelm a rowan tree. She’d always known them to be immune to magic, which was why they were favored by the druids of old.
Her fingertips brushed the hard berries. The shook slightly and fell one by one to the ground like drops of blood.
She stepped back and regarded them where they lay against the tender green grass.
She held her breath and waited. For hell to rain down, for the world to open up and swallow her, for demons to streak from the sky, for whatever charm to do its nefarious task.
Nothing happened.
She glanced up at the castle. Surely the enchantment had to do with it. And with the option of the storm outside or the unknown, she’d take her chances with what lay within the castle, be it man or beast.
DUNCAN OBSERVED the tree from the uppermost tower, unable to pull his gaze from its leaves.
“Laird, ye’ll no’ ever find a lass to break the curse if ye dinna leave the castle.”
Duncan shifted from the window to where Gillespie held out a proffered goblet. Duncan waved it away irritably.
The conversation was one they’d had several times over the last fourteen years. One with a resolution that never concluded. Duncan remained inside, and Gillespie continued to needle him.
It was the tree. The damn tree.
Duncan’s back tensed at the very thought. He couldn’t bear to leave the rowan tree. Leaves could fall and he would not see them. His feet had become rooted to the spot at the windows on the western side of the castle. He stared vigilantly day after day, sleeping only in bits and snatches while he ticked off each moment of his life that fell from the gnarled branches.
If he left, the lot of them might fall. Or someone might happen upon it and pluck branches bare. A shudder prickled down his spine.
Movement. Out of the corner of Duncan’s eye. He pressed to the window as another bit of his life released from the tree and floated downward. His mortality passed thus, one leaf at a time. Helpless, he could only bear witness to every one of them, like grains of sand slipping between his fingers.
“Watching the tree willna stop it,” Gillespie said again. “Go out there. Even if ye dinna find a daughter of Morrigan, ye will at least live.”
Far below, something else moved. Duncan put up a hand to silence his wayward servant. His heart thumped hard.
A person.
Near his tree.
Mindless rage seared his veins and his vision went red. He darted from the room without bothering to answer Gillespie and raced down the steps, taking them two at a time with his giant stride. He did not stop until he burst from the rear door leading to the garden. The man stood facing away from Duncan, hand outstretched. There was a bow slung over the stranger’s heavy cape. It would do him no good. Duncan launched himself at the intruder, but did not reach him in time to stop him from plucking a single remaining leaf from the now bare branch.
Duncan bellowed in outrage and slammed into the solid figure. The man flew across the garden from the impact and landed beside the thick trunk of the rowan tree. Without giving him a chance to recover, Duncan leapt onto him and drew an arm back to render his opponent senseless. Or preferably dead.
He stopped abruptly, his hand held aloft.
It was no man who glared up at him. It was a woman. An angry woman.
Her steely gaze clashed with his. “Get off me or ye’ll pay with yer life.”
He leapt off her. Not because he feared her threat, for certainly she was far
