Fight relentlessly for what you want.

Have no regrets.

Stand by your morals & uphold them.

Live your life according to your own beliefs & desires.

Allow no one to stand in your way.

Fantasy Romance – A Castre World Novel Standalones

Piercing Jordie

Mitering Avalee

Forging Calida

Uplifting Irie

Braving Eavan

Warring Devan

Hunting Megan

Shifting Aramoren – A Castre World Short Story

Anchoring Nola – A Castre World Short Story

A Bayonet Books Anthology

Storming Area51: Stalking Death

Slay Bells Ring: Stocking Gryla

Clean & Sweet Western Romance – Whitman Series Romances

To Find A Whitman

To Love A Thief

To Save A Life

To Lift A Darkness

To Veil A Fondness

To Bind A Heart

To Find A Treasure

To Want A Change

To Form A Romance

Slow Burn Paranormal Romance – Dangerous Ties Series

Opening Danger

Hunting Danger

Burning Danger

Year of Corwaithe 1239

Devan woke to thunderous repetitive crashing. She rubbed her eyes groggily, hazily glancing around. It wasn’t a crash like thunder in the sky or something falling from a nightstand. It was rougher, like heavy pieces of metal grinding together. Whatever was happening, it shook the crystal perfume bottles in her chamber and rattled the glass panes in the windows.

She jumped out of bed like a cat, running to the small chamber window, where bright flashes of orange streaked through the sky. In the dead of night, the east castle wall crumbled to bits of dust.

“Haris!” Devan cried.

She frantically scanned her chamber. Her husband wasn’t there. Devan turned back to the window; her eyes fixed on the scene below. The armored invaders came rushing inside the broken castle wall. Women screamed, running, clutching crying children to their chests. Blood-curdling shrieks rent the night air. Innocents fell to their deaths with gaping holes in their bodies left by enemy swords. Her warriors came hustling out of the keep and barracks, weapons raised, charging into the fray to protect the vulnerable. They collided with the invaders, metal gnarling together. Women, hands full of clinging fearful children rushed toward Clouneder’s closed doors. Flaming arrows soared over the wall, piercing the night like falling stars, dropping to strike man and beast. Flames caught on the thatched roofs bellowing black choking smoke into the air.

Devan glimpsed her husband near the double doors of the keep. His strong voice roaring orders to his men. His sword dripped in blood. Haris charged into the fray along with several other soldiers, shoving those they could behind them. Some of the invaders made it past their defenses, going after the helpless; cutting down children like blades of wheat.

Her husband’s magic swirled in his hands, pushing the enemy back with a giant wall. His magic stopped the enemy for a moment. However, it was too much to maintain. It gave Haris enough seconds for reinforcements to come. Two enemies came barreling at him. Haris plunged his sword into the chest of one. His fist connected with the face of the other, and with a clean strike of the blade, cut off his head.

Haris peeked up, catching her in the window. He gestured for her to run. Devan couldn’t. She wouldn’t leave her husband behind. Haris pointed to the west. Devan responded with a shake of her head. An ally grabbed Haris by the shoulder, moving him away from a thrown ax. Her husband, narrowly escaping the assault, ran back into the madness, attacking with everything he had. The villagers crowded the door, banging to be brought into the sanctuary.

The flames from the arrows swallowed buildings, soaring into the night; announcing to all Clouneder had fallen. Sonorous collapsing of villagers’ homes echoed over the cries of the rushing people. Bodies darted everywhere. It was like hot oil being poured over an anthill with everyone screaming and dashing in all directions. The warriors fought in small groups against the invading forces. The village men, pitchforks, and homemade weapons fought back. Some succumbing to the blow of a sword before their weapons ever collided. Snow once covered the ground, now brown and muddy from the fleeing footprints of her people.

The invaders grabbed whoever was in their path, women or children, the frail and helpless, cutting them down like flowers. Blood ran in rivers, flowing in a path like tiny veins to the main gate below. Numerous enemies came rushing in from the east wall like hornets. Her soldiers desperately tried to fight them off but were grossly outnumbered. In less than three strikes of a blade, most of her men fell. Horses whinnied in panic, rearing up, taking off without their riders. A little boy stood amid the chaos crying, hands out, reaching for anyone to take him to safety. Haris bolted for the child, picking him up by his stomach. Her husband carried the boy to the front door of Clouneder.

Devan dressed hurriedly in trews and a tunic. She snagged Haris’s dagger and short sword, holding them close to her body. Bolting from her chamber, she took the stairs down two at a time. She was by no means a seasoned warrior like Haris or his cousin Rais. But she could hold her own, which was enough for her. She slid her weapons into the belt about her waist.

The banging of desperate fists on the wooden doors echoed in the dining hall. Those already inside shook their heads at her to keep the door closed. Devan wouldn’t leave her people to die. Sprinting to the door, she lifted the barrier and pulled it open wide. Crying people charged inside, trying to find a crevice to hide themselves in. Wide-eyed children clung to their mothers, blood splattering their bodies. Devan shut the door. With help, a large beam slid into place, barricading them inside.

Devan stood there for a moment, panic and fear building in her. The sting of bile rising gradually in her throat. She swallowed it down. She needed to get her people to the secret passageway under the castle stairwell. Following the tunnel brought them a mile north of Clouneder.

The dining hall stilled, more silent than a grave. The booming noise of murder and chaos outside echoed in the stone castle, intensifying the sounds. Devan stood up on a table. Her citizens watched her uncertainly. She would not forsake them all to die.

“Ye all have to leave right now. Dinna argue with me. Listen,” she commanded. “Under the stairwell, there’s a hidden passage leadin’ out and away from here. Follow the tunnel. Dinna look back. Dinna come back!”

Devan didn’t wait for a response but went to the stairwell. She moved several barrels away from the stone wall. She pushed the gray speckled stone on the upper left and a hidden door slid open. The tunnel roughly turned to the right. A lone wafting, mildew-scented draft kissed her face. Devan grabbed a woman and shoved her through.

“Be quiet and get movin’. Ye will pop out in a forest a mile from here. There will be a sign at the end of the footpath. Get goin’! Dinna stop! Dinna come back!”

Devan shoved a woman and her son through. A man and his family went through next. All her people moved quietly and swiftly. It didn’t take very long for them all to leave. When the last person went through, she hit the stone below the speckled one. The door slid back in place soundlessly. Devan heaved the barrels back, aligning them to the rings they left on the floor. Slamming the door, she sighed.

Megan! Devan thought, realizing her sister was still asleep. I have to keep her safe! All the magickers were outside and fighting, unable to magic Megan to their eldest sister in Orthilio.

Devan made a dash for the stairs, taking them two at a time, and sprinted to her room. She found her sister asleep in her bed, oblivious to the invaders at their door. Devan hit the bed with force, jostling her sister awake. Megan didn’t move. Devan ripped the blankets off, then snagged a traveling cloak and a scarf off a chair and tossed them at her sister.

Megan woke with an angry growl. “What’re ye doin’ that for at this hour?”

“Clouneder is under attack. Ye need to leave here right now! Yer goin’ to ride Merit and go to our sister and mum in Orthilio!” Devan ordered. “Or anywhere for that matter!”

“Leave? But why? I can stay here with ye and help,” she replied.

Devan growled. Megan was the last heir to Clouneder. If someone came for them, then Megan needed to leave, by any means necessary. Devan had to get Megan to their older sister Eavan in Orthilio. Megan needed to get aid. If she couldn’t find help, at least she’d be away from the castle falling down around their ears.

Megan sat on the bed, staring at her dumbfounded.

“If I die, yer the last leader, Megan. Yer the last one who can get help for us. Ye canna go with our people in case they get caught. One might sell ye out,” Devan told her. “Merit will protect ye. He will keep ye safe.”

Devan packed Megan’s traveling pack, slipping in a sack of coins. “Ye need to be safe. So ye canna stay here.” She walked to her baby sister, sitting down on the bed. Devan took Megan’s hands in hers, giving them a squeeze. “It will be alright. Ye need to go to Flowermoss. They will take ye to Eavan.”

Devan gave her sister a peck on the cheek. Megan shook, her gray eyes large. Megan methodically did what she was told, dressing quickly and getting on her boots. Devan was scared too but had no time for fear. Everyone outside was counting on her. The entirety of her clan was on her shoulders.

She looked out her sister’s chamber window. Haris fought back-to-back with another beast of a man. He kicked the invader, bringing the weapon down on the fallen enemy. Blood splattered his face. Haris turned, cutting down another. He and the other man became engulfed by the enemy. More men came charging to aid her husband and comrade, slicing into the group like a piercing arrow. Devan let out a breath she was holding.

The invaders raised strange banners on large poles, bearing the insignia of a severed pig’s head on a pike. Whoever these people were, they came for a reason.

Devan swallowed. The Meerdoran men began amassing together to force the invaders out. They gained back some ground, but not enough. Devan faced west, seeing the enemy had yet to breach the defenses of her warriors. Devan didn’t have long to get Megan out of Clouneder.

“Ye have to go now,” Devan called to her. “Now!”

Megan stood there, tears falling down her cheeks. “I dinna know where to go. I canna do this.”

Devan embraced her. “It will be alright. Bein’ alive is better than dead.”

“What about ye?” Megan protested.

Devan cupped her sister’s cheek. “I will be fine. Ye know I will. Ride Merit. Dinna look back and dinna come back.”

Together they flew down the stairs two steps at a time. They ran for the kitchen, making their way through the mess of scattered utensils. Devan paused by the door. They were three buildings away from the stables. The blacksmith’s building was consumed in fire. Hungry flames lapped up every bit of the structure as it spread. Devan gripped her sister’s hand and made her move, running straight for the stable doors.

Devan let go of Megan’s hand, pushing the barn doors open wide. She ran to the frightened horses in the stalls, taking tack with her. Silently, Devan saddled Merit for Megan. It was the only horse she trusted to safeguard her sister. Devan practically tossed Megan on the saddled horse. Her sister settled herself in, shakily grabbing the reins.

“I love ye, Megan,” Devan said. “Be safe. Dinna stop ridin’ until the sun rises. Put the castle at yer back and the sun at yer face.”

Megan started to cry. “I canna leave. I dinna want to leave ye behind.”

“Ye must, Megan!”

Megan shook her head, tears gushing down her innocent face.

Devan spanked Merit to run. “I love ye,” she whispered.

Merit bolted from the stable, taking a bouncing Megan with him. Megan escaped through the throngs of fighting soldiers. Merit dodged past fights, past people trying to bring her sister down. The loyal steed made his way out of the castle. Merit ran in a wide circle east, taking her the easiest way out and away.

Devan let out a haggard breath. May the Goddess Corwaithe be with ye, my sweet sister, until we meet again.

She dashed back into the stables, setting all the horses free so they could escape the quickly spreading fire. Wide-eyed and terrified, the animals bolted from the stables, bucking and whinnying loudly.

Devan grabbed the weapons at her sides, sprinting headlong into the fray toward her husband. Men charged at her, eyes narrowed menacingly, believing she would be an easy target. Devan crossed her weapons above her head, her stance readied as Haris had shown her. A man charged. Devan shoved him off with a sharp kick to the gut. Devan drove the dagger into the side of his chest. The thump of her blade and the quick release in his flesh brought a victorious smile to her face. She yanked the weapon out. The man fell dead at her feet.

“Nope!” she yelled, taking on another.

Her stomach twisted in knots. Air burned her lungs. Devan desperately fought her way to her husband. She caught glimpses of him through the throngs of bodies both dead and alive. Devan dodged past another man swinging a club. She ducked down low, rolling to the side. The man countered, bringing his sword down upon her. Devan stayed on her back, short sword up, blocking his blow. With a flick of her wrist, she brought out her dagger, stabbing him in the foot.

Devan’s back flat on the ground, she pulled her legs up to her chest with her hands by her ears. Putting all her weight on her shoulders, she kicked into the air, landing on her feet. Short sword still in hand, she sliced open her attacker’s throat. He gurgled, choking on his hot blood steaming in the cold.

“Haris!” Devan yelled, running for her husband.

“Get out of here, Devan!” he hollered, his sword plunging into the chest of an enemy.

“I’m no’ leavin’,” Devan replied, her dagger burying itself to the hilt in a man. “I love ye!”

“I love you, too! Leave, Devan!” he yelled, his voice constricting on her name.

Devan stole the dead man’s sword. She turned, bringing the sword up into the gut of another to the right. His weapon raised over his head, falling dead to his knees. His last breath of life escaping from his lips, eyes open to the heavens. Devan sprinted, witnessing Haris’s magic blasting the enemy back. She wished the Orthilioans magic could kill. The war would be over in a matter of moments. However, the Goddess Corwaithe took the ability, along with the other Gods over six hundred years ago.

She slipped on blood and mud, down the slope toward the ruined wall. Haris charged in front, driving the enemy back with his magical wall. A man stood upon the wall-walk, a crossbow pointed at Haris and the other Meerdoran soldiers. He picked off her men one by one.

Devan charged for her husband. Three men charged her. She gulped, throwing her sword like a spear at one. It struck, burying itself through his chest. She snatched up an ax only to find the men circling her like wolves. She snarled at the invaders. Devan gripped the handle of her weapons tighter, the blood of the enemy squelching in her hands.

“Surrender,” the man sneered.

Devan attacked, pushing him back down the hill he came up. He deflected her blows easily like she was nothing more than a newborn pup. He threw her to the side then came up quick, with an elbow to her face. Devan dropped backward, driving the blade of her ax into his calf to the bone. He yowled in pain, collapsing to the side as he rolled down the hill. Devan got to her knees, forgetting about the other man there. Devan took off for her husband. The other one grabbed her by her hair. She struggled to unbind herself, flailing like a hissing cat. The man upon the wall walk smiled, aiming his arrow at the last man who stood.

“Haris!” Devan screamed. “Haris, look out!”

Her shrieking was lost in the din of the battle. The thumping release of the arrow ricocheted in her mind. The arrow slammed in her husband’s gut. Haris faltered but rose, cutting down more men in his advancement to the crumbled wall. One man rushed Haris, driving a sword up through his middle. The man lifted Haris off the ground. Her husband’s breath hitched. All other sounds lost to her but those of her husband slowly dying. Another man came behind Haris, sinking his blade through the back of his neck.

Devan screamed, kicking and fighting at the captor who continued to drag her away. She grabbed a weapon, flinging it backward at her jailor. He growled, picking her up by her middle. Devan rocked her head, connecting with his. He dropped her. She crouched down, picking up a sword rotating on her heel. The enemy advanced, swiping his blade low. Devan sprang forward, clearing his low blow. She sunk her blade in his neck, twisting it in her hands. It slicked through his soft flesh.

“Go to the abyss!” she hissed withdrawing her weapon.

Devan’s hot tears tracked down her cheeks. Her mind went black. She felt empty, like a vast cave with nothing inside. Every joyful memory she had with Haris flooded her mind. Replaying over and over like a toddler singing the one song it knows. Devan white knuckled the weapon in her hands. Her teeth ground together. Blood rage swelled in her eyes. Devan snatched her blade out of an enemy body. His blood covered her blade, dripping onto her hands.

“Come and kill me!” she roared, quickly becoming surrounded.

For spilling the blood of her husband, she would spill much of theirs!

“You cannot take us all, woman,” spit the tallest of the three.

“I will die tryin’,” she told him coldly.

The man laughed at her. “Don’t be stupid. This is King Morgear’s keep now. You can either stay and work, or die right now.”

“It’s no’ I who dies this night,” she hissed.

Devan took her stance. Her sword straight above her head, at the ready to strike low. She steadied herself and waited tensely for one of the three men to rush her. She only needed to take out one to get away. She might not make it far, but she had to give it a shot. The armored men loomed over her. More came, surrounding her at every point of escape. Devan realized the disadvantage, dropping her weapons.

“Smart woman,” the tall man remarked.

Devan lowered her head. “Take me to Morgear,” she said, every word painful.

The bloodied man laughed at her. “It does not work like that.”

“I’m Queen Devan Alfarsi,” Devan growled. “Take me to Morgear.”

The man nodded. Encircled, she followed the men through the busted open kitchen doors. Heidi, the main cook, shoved along in front of her. The doors to Clouneder were open. Wounded men were carried inside out of the biting cold. The man marching behind her shoved her toward the gnarled man sitting composed on a bench. His clean hands, flat on the table. Devan growled. The men behind her, strong-armed her into taking a seat.

A large flag, tattered and ruined, draped over the table. A severed pig's head bore the insignia of her captors. To her left, the remainder of her people were being brought inside. The stable hand Keith stood in front of the women with his head down. Devan shot them a quick glance, silently asking why they didn’t leave. The four of them straightened their backs, faces turned hard as stone. Devan dipped her head.

Confidently, she narrowed her eyes, palms flat on the table. “Laird Morgear, I presume?” she asked.

“Who are you, woman?” the arrogant man asked.

“I’m Queen Alfarsi.”

“Suzan?”

Devan aligned her back, a sneer curled on her lip. She stared down her nose at the man. He used her mother’s name. If he thought her to be Suzan, she wouldn’t correct him.

“You’re not Suzan,” he determined, sighing. “You’re not my wife.”

Devan didn’t respond. Morgear looked like an aging buzzard, and smelled worse than a rotting carcass. His malevolent eyes glared into hers as he paced around her. Devan sat there quietly, looking straight ahead at the stone wall. Her back rigid, hands folded in her lap. She wasn’t going to give into his tactics.

“Get to the point,” Devan spat.

Morgear grinned at her. “Who are you?”

Devan glared back. “Sure as the damned abyss I’m no’ yer wife!”

“I asked, who are you!” Morgear growled, slamming both hands on the table.

The wood shook. Devan glared, her lip curling back like a wolf. “Queen Devan Alfarsi.”

Morgear laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. Devan glanced around to the stern faces of the invaders. From the hollowness in their eyes, she was in trouble. Morgear slammed his fists on the table, glaring at her with wild, green eyes. Devan stole a sideways glance at his men who were now bringing the rest of her people inside the keep. A few of the elderly didn’t escape in time. They were forced to their knees. Swords pointed to the back of their necks. Weeping elders, too frail to fight back. A few youthful ones, like herself, shook like leaves in a howling winter wind.

Devan bit her bottom lip. Her mind raced, scrambling to figure out how to save them from death. She didn’t know. She had failed them and everyone. These few people would die. The blood would forever be stained on her hands.

Heidi, Clouneder’s old cook, gazed at her with tired blue eyes and shook her head. The stable master Keith, hardened his face, his jaw tight and set. They stayed behind for her. Devan hung her head, tears welling in her eyes. How could she possibly save them from Morgear?

Morgear laughed at her. “I haven’t even done anything to them, yet you cry!”

Devan lifted her head slowly. Her hands flat on the table. Devan glared green eyed daggers at him. “They’re my people I could no’ save.”

“Oh, Devan,” Morgear chuckled. “You are quite a prize, just like your mother. You look so much like her.”

She stared at the table. Morgear strutted around the table like a rooster, occasionally looking at her with a devious grin. Finally, he came up behind her. He picked up strands of her hair, feeling it between his fingers and smelling it. Devan tried not to cringe, but it could not be helped. Morgear put his hands on her shoulders, massaging her. He kissed the top of her head. Devan locked her eyes on Heidi, who stared at the ground. Morgear hands tightened on her shoulders. Devan spun around in her seat, a balled fist flying up to meet Morgear’s jaw. He caught her hand, frowning at her like a stern father.

Devan growled. “Dinna touch me!”

Morgear leaned over her again, his putrid breath hot against her skin. Devan closed her eyes, trying to keep her face impassive. It became harder by the moment. Tears streamed willingly down her face.

“You’re mine and you will be forever more,” he whispered in her ear. “This castle is mine. Everything in it is mine. You, dear daughter, are mine!”

Morgear frowned. Hands clasped behind his back, he walked in circles around her again. His brown hair matted in spots in the back. His beard was busy and unkept.

Devan glanced outside. The sky lightened to a gray color, announcing the sunrise. Turrets of smoke billowed from places once on fire. Devan hung her head, praying in the few hours since the start of the siege, Megan got away. She prayed her little sister was somewhere else and safe, wherever safe happened to be. Devan prayed her other sister, Eavan, did not magic herself here to surprise her with her husband and child.

“I’m no’ yer daughter!” Devan seethed.

“Where are your sisters?” Morgear demanded.

Devan crossed her arms. “I dinna have any.”

“See,” Morgear began, “I’m having a hard time believing that because sources told me of an Eavan and Megan.”

Devan lifted head, her back aligning, scowling at Morgear dead in the eye. “They’re dead.”

Morgear swayed his head, grinning. “You’re lying.”

“Ye will never know.”

Morgear grabbed her face, pinching her cheeks together. “Tell me now, or I will gut you!”

She laughed, spitting in his face.

Morgear chuckled. “You will be severely punished for your insolence.”

Devan leaned in and grinned back. “Gut me! I dinna give a damn, auld man!”

Morgear let go of her face.

She rose out of her seat, but was forced back down.

He laughed, still not bothering to wipe the spit off his face. “Such spirit!”

Devan pulled her left fist back. Morgear took it, bending it backward. Devan didn’t balk as her wrist popped. He laughed gutturally. He walked around the bench with his wild green eyes constantly fixed on her. Morgear sat on the edge of the table with a twisted grin on his face.

Finally, he pointed to her, wagging his finger. “Get out of those regal clothes. You’re not royalty anymore.”

Devan's upper lip curled, she leaned across the table. “Nay,” she said defiantly.

“I said, get out of those clothes.”

Devan laughed at him.

He leaned across the table. “Get out of those clothes,” he punctuated with wild eyes. He smacked her across the face. Devan hardly moved. She grinned, wiping at the cut from her split lip.

“Do as you are told!” he bellowed, striking her again.

Devan stood, not making another move nor sound. She was not removing her clothing. She wasn’t even in regal clothing. She wore a long tunic with a pair of trews underneath. They were Haris’s clothes, the only thing she had left of him and she wasn’t removing them.

She waited, expecting for Morgear to do something else to her. The only reason he wanted her to undress was to shame her. She wasn’t going to stand for it. Devan welcomed the sting she felt on her face. Inside, she felt cold, numbed throughout, winter’s ferocity could not upset her body. She’d lost everything precious to her.

“Fine,” he said, grabbing her by the hair. “Spend the rest of winter in the dungeon.”

He took her by the hair and flung her to a group of guards.

“Find the dungeon and put her in it!”

A man grabbed her arms, pinning them hard against her back. Devan knew it was pointless to fight back or say anything. By Corwaithe, she was not removing her clothing, especially when it was all she had left of her love. Devan kicked backward with her left leg. She laughed, her foot connecting with his balls. He let go. Devan spun around, slicking his sword from its sheath. Devan readied herself, waiting a tense second for someone to attack.

No one did.

With a shrug and a yell, Devan advanced.

“Subdue her!” Morgear yelled disinterested.

Devan dispatched a man, running him through on her way to the kitchen. She grabbed the side of his head, throwing him off her blade. Eight men came barreling through the kitchen. Devan gulped, spinning on her heel she slid under the stance of a man, slicing open his inner thigh. She popped back on her feet, sword sinking through his spine, the bone crunching.

Devan pivoted, colliding her blade with another.

“Enough!” Morgear roared.

The men backed up. Devan raised her sword above her head. Her face relaxed and focused. Her breathing calmed. Her heart pounded uncontrollably. Her left wrist ached something fierce though she cared not. No amount of pain could compare to her grieving heart.

“You dare raise your sword against me!” he boomed.

“I more than dare,” Devan hissed.

Morgear snapped his fingers.

Devan rushed him. A blunt weapon struck her back. Devan faltered. Morgear caught her, grabbing her by the throat. His hands constricted her airway. Devan gasped, her feet lifting off the ground.

“Oh daughter,” he said with an arrogant snort.

Soldiers each took an arm. One hand on each wrist, the other on her bicep, ready to break her arm if she tried to escape. Devan spat in his face. Morgear kicked her in the stomach. Devan lurched forward, breathless. Her arms remaining pinned behind her, kept her from falling.

“I hope you love winter, Devan,” Morgear chuckled, wiping the spit from his face. “You’re spending the entirety down there.”

“Good,” Devan growled. “It’s my favorite spot!”

The men dragged her kicking body down to the dungeon and threw her inside the first cell they came to. The stone floor tore at her skin, leaving red rashes from where she slid. She got unsteadily to her feet, staring at the bars blocking her freedom. She turned around, a dim light entering her cell from above. Devan got on her toes, peeking outside. The window was level with the ground. Devan stepped back to the iron door. Booted feet crunching in the snow, passed busily by her small window. Dawn inched its way across the sky. Tendrils of color snuck its way over the landscape to wake up the day.

The invaders picked up the dead, dragging them to a large pile down at the bottom of a small knoll. Devan looped her forearms around the bars to get a better look. The cold metal burned her flesh. She hissed, clenching her eyes shut for a moment. She needed to see what these monsters were doing. She had to know what they were going to do to Haris.

“Haris,” she whispered. Tears coursed down her face. “Haris!” Devan yelled.

She knew Haris would never answer her back. Two men passed her barred window. They bent down, picking up a body. Tears coursed down her cheeks, smearing the dried blood. Her heart leapt in her throat. Devan inhaled deeply, the frigid air burned her nose, stinging her face. Her arms shook for a reprieve but she wouldn’t let go.

Her body trembled at the sight of her husband. She sucked in her lips, watching with unblinking focus. Devan brought her knees up, alleviating some of the weight on her arms. She felt sick. Any moment she was certain she would retch on the floor.

“Haris,” she sobbed.

Men kicked his body to be certain. It was a kick to her own gut. Devan caught her breath. His silver eyes staring blankly at the heavens. Blood coagulated on his chest, too cold for it to truly spill.

I was too late, she thought repeatedly in her mind. Corwaithe nay, please… please, please let him live. Let him come back. Please dinna take him from me. Dinna take him.

Devan pressed her body against the cold and wet stone. She reached a hand out through the bars.

“Haris,” she wept.

Her body trembled with her sobs. She reached out to her husband. A man stepped on her fingers, grinding them into the ground. Devan didn’t make a sound. The two men grabbed an arm and began dragging him down to the pile of bodies. Haris’s head was back, bouncing as the men drug him over rocks.

“Nay,” she wailed. “Dinna burn him. Dinna drag him down there!”

Devan screamed for them to not take her husband’s body away. She bawled, beating her hands against the stone. She couldn’t even give her husband a proper send off to the Goddess. Devan slumped against the wall, curling herself into a ball. Her heart wrenching for the one man she will never again hold in her arms. Devan closed her eyes, remembering his bright smile that lit up his eyes on the winter solstice when they danced. She remembered how they would lay in bed for hours, snuggling because it was too cold to get out.

“Laird,” Keith’s voice whispered to her. “Laird Devan.”

Devan picked herself off the stone, looking up at the tear-streaked face of her stable master. She wiped her eyes on her sleeve.

“Keith?” she croaked.

Keith tossed her down a small trinket. Haris’s gold engraved ring tumbled in her fingers. The dark red ruby shone brightly in the dim lighting. Devan put a hand over her mouth. Fresh tears poured down her face. Hand shaking, she removed her necklace and slipped Haris’s ring on the chain. When she slipped it back over her head, it felt like it belonged, and Devan breathed out peacefully. Already, she felt a smidgeon closer to her husband.

Devan choked out, “Thank ye, Keith.”

“What are your orders, milady?”

Devan dried her eyes, swallowing the hard lump in her throat. “Ride, Keith. Go to Earnswey, Rowanoake, somewhere. Send word to Eavan no’ to come here. Get away from here and save yerself.”

“Aye, Laird.”

Devan heard Keith’s feet crunch in the undamaged snow. She could only pray he made it.

Niall stared out the window. His attention focused on the men amassing outside. Archers assembled to the far left, testing bow strings and target practicing. Warriors to the right, thoroughly checked over armor and weaponry. Blacksmith’s forges glowed nearby, the constant pounding of their hammer reaching his ears.

War came to Meerdora. War claimed Clouneder. The people inside the besieged castle escaped, coming to Earnswey for safety and comfort. Many lives were saved, thanks to the quick action of Laird Devan. Now, war was knocking at his door and Niall was being forced to reply.

He gripped the windowsill, leaning against the stone and wood. He needed a plan. Already, his magicker Salamon went to Rowanoake and Hernan. Each respectable king replying with armed men.

Niall pivoted around, staring at the map of Meerdora on his desk. Even counting the men from Rowanoake and Hernan, he only amassed three hundred and seventy-five total. It wouldn’t be enough to push Morgear Midas out of Meerdora. Niall put his hands together, strumming his fingers against each other. Morgear’s castle was at the Borderlands. Morgear’s son, Claude, would be pushing men from behind to aid his father. Niall’s booted strides paced in front of his desk, occasionally glancing down at the map.

Morgear’s army attacked villages ruthlessly, sometimes leaving a few alive, but more often than not, none at all. Niall sighed, his hands pulling at the skin on the back of his neck. He had an option. He had multiple. However, he didn’t want many casualties for his people. At least not yet. Not until everyone, in every clan, was fully ready to push back together. Conquering as a divided force was not in his plans. It left him with one main option: challenge Morgear himself.

He laughed. “I must be out of my right mind.”

Behind him, the floor creaked. Pivoting around, Niall found his father sitting in the wooden chair beside the oak corner desk.

“I’m goin’ to Clouneder,” Niall told his father. “We need to reclaim the Meerdoran castle.”

His father, Hamish, shook his head. “Ye think it’s wise?”

“Aye. If Morgear continues to have Clouneder, he can use it as a stronghold for resources.”

Hamish leaned back in his seat, arms crossed. “And how d’ye plan on takin’ it back?”

“I plan on challengin’ Morgear.”

Hamish laughed. “That’s no’ very wise. What happens if ye die?”

Niall snorted. “I wilna die. At least I hope no’,” he smirked. Niall took a seat across from his father. “I canna afford to lose men. A greater war is loomin’ on the horizon. I can feel it. If half our forces get destroyed before the main war, then in the real war, we would be in trouble. Especially when I have no’ heard back from the other clans.”

Truly Niall did not plan on dying. It was made clear from Morgear’s brazen attack on Clouneder, he assumed himself indestructible. An open invitation to one-on-one combat would make the man laugh and accept. It was his only choice. In order to save men and resources, this attempt had to be made; and if it cost him his life then it was the price to be paid. Niall didn’t know if he could best the man. He didn’t know if he would live. However, the castle had to be won back, even at the cost of his own life.

“Kerry will be laird if I die,” Niall said after a moment.

Hamish snorted. “Aye, and ye know how well that will work out.”

Niall smiled, kicking his boot against the floor. “I have to give this a shot, Da. If I can take out Morgear, then we can focus on takin’ back Earnswey lands. Right now, they’re closin’ in around us. It’s a matter of time before they head to Hernan or Rowanoake. Clouneder fell four days ago. Already they could be headed here.”

Hamish nodded his gray head. “Aye, yer right. What about here, what’s the plan for that?”

Niall scratched his beard. “Burg is goin’ to ready the men, tighten defenses and hold down the castle until I get back. I’m taken a few men with me so we can scout the castle to see if Morgear is even there and if no’, come up with a plan. If the magicker Salamon comes back, send him to me.”

Hamish frowned, slapping both hands on his knees. He rose with a stiff groan.

“I have to do this, Da.”

“’Tis a fool’s errand.”

Niall smirked. “Then I’m a giant one.”

“Aye. Be safe,” Hamish replied wanly. “I may no’ have ever told ye this, but I love ye and ye make me a proud auld man.”

Niall hugged him tight. “I love ye too.”

The door flung open and Kerry barged in. “So, where’re we goin’?”

“To Clouneder,” his older brother replied.

“Ah good,” Kerry said. “Adventure, women, debauchery, and a crazed beastie of a man. Good choice, although I do fancy to have more of a summer vacation…”

Niall rolled his eyes.

Hamish shook his head. “Be careful and be sure to tell yer Mum goodbye, Niall.” Hamish turned stern eyes on his younger son. “Kerry, yer no’ goin’.”

Kerry sighed dramatically. “Da, ye canna let Niall have all the fun.”

“Aye, I can and I will,” Hamish grumbled. “Yer no’ goin’.”

“Ye have Findley,” Kerry said with a sarcastic grin.

Niall embraced his father. “Aye, Da.” He grabbed his brother’s shoulder and steered the annoying younger man out the door. “See ye in a few days.”

“I’m comin’,” Kerry whispered out of ear shot.

“I know, numptie.” Niall grumbled.

Niall and Kerry left the solar together, parting ways down the hall. In his room, Niall grabbed a small bag. He stuffed numerous weapons upon his person from short knives to daggers. He left his room in a hurry to get started on the road. Niall wouldn’t admit this aloud, but he was anxious to get there. Nervous, in fact. His hands sweated.

Raking a hand through his hair, he maneuvered to his mother’s solar to tell her goodbye. Niall poked his head in to tell her goodbye. His mother embraced him, wishing him safe travels and to come home whole or else. After promising he would come home, he jogged down the castle steps, two at a time to the dining hall. His best friend, Burg, sat at the table talking to a pretty maid. Niall slid into the seat across from the burly man. The maid took off at his presence.

He grinned at his sour faced friend. “Ye have eyes for Isabelle now, aye?”

“None of yer business,” Burg shot back, taking a sip of ale.

“What happened to Lana?”

“Can we stop talkin’ about my private life, ye nosy horse’s arse!” Burg hollered, taking a long draught of ale. “What is it ye need to ask me since yer goin’ to Clouneder?”

“I’m goin’ to take Clouneder so Morgear canna attack us from all sides,” he stated firmly.

“Yer no’ only goin’ there for Morgear. Yer also goin’ there for Devan. Ye’ve always had eyes for the lass.”

“Nay,” Niall countered. “I’m goin’ to reclaim the castle, to spare my people’s lives, however many I can before the larger war commences.”

“Right and no’ the queen trapped inside the place, if she’s no’ already dead. Off ye go into the sunlight to save a woman.”

“It’s sunset,” Niall chortled, pouring himself some wine.

Burg belched. “Whatever.”

“I’m goin’ to reclaim the castle.”

“Then ye wilna mind me goin’ then, aye?”

“Who will guard the keep, post more guards on the wall, and prepare for war should the numpties come here? I need ye to send nine score men tomorrow to Clouneder,” Niall ordered.

“Done.”

Niall grinned. “Leastways, ye’ll be close to Isabelle.”

Burg threw his cup at Niall’s head.

“All right, I wilna mention another lass,” Niall grinned.

“Perfect, so, more men on the walls, lock down everythin’, and start preparin’ for battle, aye?”

“Aye.”

“I will get started.”

“Thank ye.”

“A beautiful queen, trapped inside, beggin’ for freedom. Rescue her, lad! Run, and dinna look back until ye find the lass. Hurry, Niall,” Burg laughed, walking away to the door going outside.

Shaking his head, Niall left the keep to saddle his horse. Kerry was already there, mounted and ready. Kerry took liberty to saddle his mount. Niall rode out of the stables with Kerry behind him. Niall glanced back at the stern face of his father, glaring at his disobedient brother and of his worried mother with hands over her mouth. He could only send a prayer to Corwaithe that he, too, would make it back alive.

Niall and Kerry rode hard for two days. The snow fell lightly from the sky and clung to the feathered hooves of his beast. The air was icy in their lungs and travelling was hard. Still, he pressed on even through the night, lit by the moon. Dawn crested over the rising Meerdoran hills in brilliant colors of pink and orange, but no beautiful dawn would bring him the delight of being almost to Clouneder.

With Clouneder falling six days ago, he needed to act. It was probably stupid of him to challenge Morgear; further stupid of him to come here without a contingent of men. But the tyrant must be stopped, and the man would not be able to refuse a challenge. Morgear, brazen in his attacks, dominated all who crossed his path. If he was like that with skirmishes, then surely, he must be like that as a person.

Niall blew his lips. He certainly hoped so. Glancing to the left, Niall inhaled the pungent aroma of smoke with whispers of it rising above the hill. He veered off the road, driving his horse to face the direction. The hill obstructed his complete view. Kerry went to say something, however, Niall held up his hand. Deliberately, his mount came to the top. Kerry stopped on his left. Clouneder’s ground was savaged. The once gray castle walls, now charred black in spots. Various pieces of walls were crumbled. Most of all, the east wall, was an obliterated graveyard of rock.

The once proud castle of Queen Devan Alfarsi was in shambles. Buildings purposely set ablaze, still smoldered. Bloated animals were being dragged outside the castle walls. How Devan managed to save her people, and so many, was beyond him. Frozen bodies of women and children who were unable to flee, littered the ground carelessly. Morgear’s men swarmed from spot to spot, hauling bodies in between. One man towed two children by the hair, tossing them on the growing pile of corpses. Enemy men slid on the slick muddied ground. Small fires burned in random places to keep them warm but also in hopes to harden the ground where they trampled.

Niall’s attention went to the blackened smoke, puking into the heavens. His eyes long tried to avoid what he knew would be there. However, he no longer could look away. A large pit of bodies, trying to burn in the cold, smoldered just outside the portcullis as a warning to those who sought to attack. On the other side of the roadway, dead men with their heads on spears lined the road for two hundred feet.

“By the Goddess,” Niall stated. “He killed the wee ones… even the bairns.”

“And ye wanted to come here to challenge him,” Kerry laughed. “Ye got ballocks, brother. Large ones.”

“I dinna think they’re large enough.”

“Oh, they’re large. If they were no’, ye would be turnin’ on yer heels back to Earnswey.”

Niall turned in his seat. “I canna turn back. No’ when so much is at stake.”

“Or who is at stake.”

“I’m ignorin’ that.” Niall squeezed the horse with his legs, urging the tired animal forward. The men at the gates raised the alarm. Niall dropped the reins, his hands in the air. He eyeballed over to Kerry to do the same. Men came jogging out, taking the reins of the horses.

“What do you want?” a guard demanded.

Niall looked down at him and smiled. “I’m Laird Niall MacKerwin of Earnswey, here to see Morgear Midas.”

The guard spat at his feet. “You thought you could ride on in here?”

Niall’s eyes narrowed. “Clearly I can. Ye will do what I say unless ye want all eight other clans barrelin’ down yer throat. No’ only that but allies from Euainley, Orthilio, and Swanshé.”

“Orthilio?” the man laughed. “Impossible.”

Niall shrugged. “Suit yerself, wee man.”

The guard pivoted slightly on his foot. “Announce to Morgear he has visitors.”

“Aye, Captain!”

Niall dismounted, hands still up in the air. Morgear’s warriors fell in around him, leading him up the slope to the castle. Everywhere Niall looked, there was death. Never in his life had he seen such careless carnage. Dead women and children littered the muddied ground, eyes opened with horror of their tragedy.

Niall ground his teeth. His muscles tightened. For this, he wished he could kill Morgear more than once. The doors opened and Niall strode in.

Devan had been locked in her cell for six days. She was brought minimal food and even less water. Her stomach stopped rumbling days ago. She stopped feeling cold around the same time, and a cough developed. Her left wrist no longer ached. She pretended she wasn’t sick, instead warm and sitting in the sun with Megan. Devan closed her eyes, going to Orthilio in her mind. Her feet were buried deep in cozy sand, filtering in and getting stuck between her toes. Megan was laughing, burying her legs.

Devan sat, open legged on the floor. She stared blankly toward the door. Haris was across from her, sitting still like she was. His bright silver eyes glimmering, full of love. His full lips twitched in a smile, creating a dimple in his left cheek. He was whole. Not a scratch marred his body. Haris wore the same red button-down silk tunic he had when they married. Black trews snug against his frame. His hair, cut short, slicked back and to the side, creating a little lift in front. Stubble lined his jaw. Devan grinned at him, reaching out a hand.

“You look beautiful,” he told her.

Devan moved her cracked lips. Tears slid down her cheeks. “Yer no’ there,” she whispered, wiping at her eyes.

That was a preview of Warring Devan. To read the rest purchase the book.

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