Awaiting the Wolf Killer Highlander by Alisa Adams
Prologue
That awful night was fifteen years ago when the full moon leered down on the bloody hands of the two brothers, making the gore that clung to their pale skin appear as black and sticky as pitch.
Both of them had the same thought, though neither wished to speak it aloud: No matter how hard I scrub, it will never come off, not completely. I shall wear the vile stain of it for the rest of my days, like the very mark of Cain.
The smell of bonfires drifted on the breeze, and the lights of the neep lanterns twinkled merrily in the distance. It was the festival of Samhain, the one night of the year when it was said that evil spirits were allowed to roam freely.
The brothers desperately wished that they could blame the tragedy that had stained their hands on such malign forces. Alas, they knew that none would believe them.
And even if any did, they themselves would still know the horrid truth and carry it with them always.
“What are we to do?” the first brother hissed, as panicked and wild-eyed as a deer with an arrow in its side. “When what we have done is discovered, we shall surely be put to death!”
“What if we were to bury the body?” the second asked hopefully. “Then perhaps he might be thought disappeared, rather than…” He could not quite bring himself to utter the dreadful word.
“Then a search will surely be arranged! The recently-disturbed earth will be found, his body will be dug up, and our guilt will be compounded!” He bit his lip, desperately trying to come up with another solution. “What if we brought him into the woods?”
“What purpose would that serve? They would still find him soon enough!”
“Yes,” the first brother said, “but by the time they did, perhaps the beasts of the forest might conceal what caused his death by…that is, um…”
“Gnawing upon him.” The second felt as though he might be sick.
The first nodded.
The second thought it over for several moments, asking himself whether he could find it within himself to do just that. Finally, he shook his head. “We have already done this poor man injury enough without meaning to. To then throw his body to the wolves and wildcats would be an obscenity and a deliberate one at that. I cannot do it.”
“Then propose something else! Surely you do not suggest that we simply confess to our crime and trust in the tender mercies of the headsman?”
“Not at all. I must flee this very moment and never come back, that I may be blamed fully, and you may remain and claim innocence of the deed,” the second said grimly. “You can tell them that you witnessed it and that I fled before you had a chance to stop me so that there is no doubt left in anyone’s mind. You can say that the blood on your own hands and clothes was a result of you trying to save the man, only to discover that it was too late.”
“And if they catch you?” the first brother pressed. “What then? I will not be able to recant my story! They will expect me to swear to it before God when they put you on trial!”
The other shook his head. “It will not happen. I shall ride fast and far to a place where none know my face. I will change my name and begin anew and leave this place—and this tragedy—behind me forever.” If I am able to, he added mentally, though I fear the face of the dead man will always lurk behind my eyelids, waiting to accuse me.
“Aye,” the first brother said, his voice choked by grief, “but you will be leaving me as well, and our mother and father.”
“I have no choice in the matter. I must go. And you must not tell our parents the truth of this, do you hear? They must believe in my absolute guilt as all the others must, else this will amount to nothing.”
“They will not believe such a thing of you. They might believe it of me if pressed, but—”
The second brother took the first by the shoulders, looking into his eyes. “You must make them believe. Now, I must flee at once. There is no more time to waste.”
“I will find a way to see you again, Corncrake. I promise.”
His sibling smiled wistfully at the bird nickname he’d been given by his brother when they were small children and replied in kind, “No, Bonxie, you must let me go. Our parents need you now more than ever before. Be there for them and promise that you will do all that you can to forget about me.”
The one called Bonxie nodded, but he refused to utter the promise aloud, telling himself that it gave him the option of breaking it later without guilt. The two boys had spent almost every waking moment together since the hour of their birth, and it was incomprehensible for either of them to consider a life without each other.
He knew, deep in his heart, that they would reunite someday.
Or at least, he hoped so.
They embraced one last time, and then Corncrake fled to the nearest stable as fast as his legs could carry him, doing all he could to stick to the shadows and keep from being seen. He clearly could not risk taking a mount from their own family, as they lived in the center of the village, and the risk of being spotted would be too great.
So now I am a horse thief into the bargain, Corncrake thought bitterly. If I manage to escape and find a new place to live, I will have wrongs indeed to atone for. I pray that God will allow me ample opportunities to do so and that His grace is not lost to me forever for what I do this night.
