Page 9 of Bride of Mist
But pure horror.
For the first time in three days, he saw clearly. What he saw was that he’d become the monster he despised.
His chest sank. The claymore dropped from his nerveless fingers. He staggered under the crushing weight of the atrocity he’d committed.
But ultimately, his instinct for survival took over.
Now, riding for his life through the darkening wood, he realized how rash and reckless he’d been in coming here. His judgment had been clouded by anguish. His thirst for revenge had been fed by grief and guilt.
Nothing had come of it but tragedy. More death. More suffering.
Despite tearing up the ground to flee Creagor, he knew that no amount of distance he put between himself and his sin would diminish the truth.
Dougal was no better than the savages he’d set out to punish.
Feiyan had to act now.
The monster had to be stopped.
And time was of the essence.
It didn’t matter that Hallie had survived. The brute with the claymore had intended to kill her. He’d intended to kill everyone on the field.
Under different circumstances, Feiyan would have rounded up Hallie and Jenefer for the journey. The three cousins did almost everything together, working hand-in-hand to mete out justice and protect the clan.
But for the first time in her life, she realized that where she was going, her cousins couldn’t follow. This particular kind of revenge required stealth, speed, shrewdness, and nerves of steel. A cold heart and a steady hand. Qualities only Feiyan possessed.
Hallie was cool, measured, and thoughtful. She would likely try to reason with the villain, hoping to make him see the error of his ways, and get herself killed for her efforts.
Jenefer was brash and hotheaded. She would strike first, ask questions later, and end up with her head in a noose.
Besides, her cousins’ lives had changed. They were married now. They had husbands, leadership, new responsibilities. Now that the immediate threat was gone, they wouldn’t want to tag along on Feiyan’s mission of vengeance.
It was time for her to prove herself. To prove to her illustrious cousins and to the clan that Feiyan la Nuit was worthy to be a warrior daughter of Rivenloch.
All her life, she’d been considered theweelass of the three. Small and dark-haired, she’d always stood in the shadow of her towering, golden cousins. When shewasnoticed, she was seen as young, quiet, harmless. Sometimes she wasn’t seen at all.
No one remembered that it was Feiyan last year who had escaped Creagor on her own, stealing past the guard, when the three cousins were taken hostage. That she’d been the one to warn Rivenloch of the English attack.
But it was that same invisibility that would serve her well now.
Besides, she knew something about herself that not even her cousins suspected.
Of the three of them, Feiyan was the most ruthless.
The most cunning.
The most deadly.
The same demure manner that allowed Feiyan to disappear in the wake of her magnificent cousins also enabled her to steal up on her enemy, to do what needed to be done, quietly and efficiently.
It was up to her—and her alone—to take on the unsavory task of assassination. She was the only one with the will and the nerve to do it. And the safety of the clan depended upon it.
She studied the claymore once more before dropping it back on the sod. Then she slipped through the crowd toward the pavilion where her weapons were stored.
She armed herself for battle, hiding her exotic blades in the secret folds and pockets of her dark green gambeson. As she tucked away heryan zi fei dao,her swallow tail darts, she furrowed her brows.
Mac Darragh. That name belonged to a clan in the west of Scotland, by the sea near Ayr, more than a hundred miles away. What quarrel could a Westlander possibly have with the border clan at Creagor?
