By the Light of the Scottish Moon - Unrated (My Kilted Wolf, #1) (3 page)

Kade snarled, stating with disgust, “But she’s… human.”

“Nothing in the law states who can or cannae be vouched fur.”

Tavin howled angrily. “Bryn, this is an outrage! She has seen us, she
must
die.”

Bryn moved over to Freya and sniffed her hair. “She is already dead. What honor do we bring the Moon by offering an inferior sacrifice?”

Kade moved closer and inhaled, huffing in obvious distaste afterwards. “Yer right, she’s not worthy.”

The other men shifted uncomfortably, upset to discover she was dying. It almost seemed funny.

Who knew cancer could save your life?

“She only has a few more days,” Bryn stated. “Let her die in peace.”

“How can ye be sure she won’t speak of what she’s seen?” Tavin growled, pressing his hand painfully against her nose and mouth in an attempt to cut off her air.

“I’ve vouched fer her. Do not question me, again,” Bryn snarled.

Tavin instantly removed his hand from Freya, bowing his head in deference to Bryn. “It won’t happen again,
Ceannard.
”

Freya knew that
Ceannard
meant the same as chief and was surprised that the smallest of the males seemed to be the leader of the group, not the imposing Kade.

The group watched in silence as Bryn pulled the remnants of her shirt around her, before taking her arm and escorted her down the hill. As Freya passed the tree, she glanced at the woman still bound and naked. Her eyes were wide with disbelief.

Bryn spoke quietly, but with a commanding tone as he told her, “I know ye will not waste yer final moments trying to convince the villagers yer not crazy. Take these last days and enjoy the beauty of this land. Dinnae concern yerself with this.” He gestured towards the bonfire and line of angry men.

Freya nodded numbly in response.

“I say this to ye in kindness, but also as a warning. Yer life and anyone ye talk to will be forfeit should ye fail to keep silent.”

She nodded. It didn’t matter what strange ritual they were performing here, she wanted nothing to do with it or them. “I understand… and thank you.”

He snarled under his breath, looking back at his group. “As a foreigner ye dinnae know yer offense. Better ye leave this world safe in the ignorance of yer kind.”

Bryn’s reference to her
kind
made her wonder what they considered themselves. She’d heard Kade refer to them as The Chosen. Were they a secret society of perverted Scottish nudists?

“I will keep it to myself until I die,” she assured him, grateful he’d set her free.

He opened the car door for her, “Good.”

“But why—”

Slamming the car door shut, he stated harshly, “Ye have four days at most. Spend them wisely.”

Freya felt a cold chill run down her spine after hearing his death sentence for her. Even modern medicine couldn’t pinpoint the exact time and yet… she believed him. There was something otherworldly about Bryn and the others, it was remarkable—and frightening.

She drove away completely shaken by the events, but determined to take heed of Bryn’s final words to her.
Only four days…

That didn’t leave much time to realize a lifetime of dreams.

Little Lamb

F
reya woke the next morning feeling far more pain than the day before. Was it simply her mind playing tricks on her after Bryn’s pronouncement the night before?

Despite the excruciating pain, she headed out to explore a new castle—one far away from the madness of the night before. She drove a long stretch of dirt roads in the exact opposite direction, only stopping when she came across an unusually large herd of fluffy white sheep in a green field.

She couldn’t explain it, but she felt and overwhelming urge to hold one of those tiny lambs, and pet it to her heart’s content.

Freya climbed slowly out of the car, feeling a wave of nausea as she squeezed her way through the fence. She took a moment to recover, before timidly approaching the skittish herd. They wanted nothing to do with her,
especially
the mamas with babies. She finally quit chasing them, and sat on a grassy knoll, believing that if she remained still they would quickly realize she meant no harm.

To her mortification, however, the owner of the sheep showed up. He yelled at her from the road. When she didn’t move, he angrily crawled through the fence and made his way to her.

“Get off ma land!”

Although Freya was embarrassed, she was equally determined to hold a lamb, and shook her head with an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, but I simply
must
pet a lamb or die.”

He scoffed. “Being a bit dramatic, aren’t ye?”

She shrugged. “It’s the simple truth.”

Freya noticed the twinkle in his eye when he asked her, “So a wee lamb will save yer life?”

She smiled shyly. “Aye.”

“Well… I suppose I could allow it if ye promise to leave afterwards. Yer scaring ma herd.”

Freya giggled, looking at the white bundles of fur that wanted nothing to do with her. “I kind of noticed that myself. All I want to do is pet one, but they keep running away.”

“Ye have to know how to talk to them, lassie.”

The old man began speaking to his herd in soft lilting tones that even calmed her. “That’s it my pets, that’s it…” He went up to the smallest one and picked it up without any protest from its mother.

He walked back over to Freya and laid the tiny thing on her lap. “The runt. Seems fitting fer such a brash lassie as ye.”

Freya grinned, cradling the tiny creature to her chest. “Yes, the runt will do me just fine.” She petted it gently, holding the little lamb close to her body. She was gratified when it lay its head against her and closed its eyes. Its heart beat rapidly against her chest—so much life.

Peace washed over Freya in soothing waves, and a single tear ran down her cheek, making the old man uncomfortable.

“Dinnae cry, lass. It’s just an animal.”

She looked up at him, smiling. “This is the most beautiful lamb in the world. Sweet, innocent, and full of life…”

Lifting the lamb up, she turned it to face her so she could gaze into its dark eyes. “You will live a long and productive life, little one.”

The old man laughed. “Aye, she will until it’s her time. Then she’ll make a delicious chop.”

Freya gasped in mock horror as she kissed its tiny nose. “No, never, little one. I’m your fairy godmother. Nothing bad will ever happen to you.”

He laughed uncomfortably. “Look, lassie, I have a long day’s work ahead. It’s time ye were going.”

She sighed in resignation, putting the little lamb down. She watched it scramble back to its mother, bleating sweetly. “You’re right. It’s time to move on,” Freya replied sadly. The reality of her words cut like a knife.

Freya attempted to get up, but crumpled over in severe pain.

“What’s wrong with ye?” the old man asked in concern.

Sweat beaded on her forehead as she fought to stand up. “It’s nothing… just a cramp. I’ll be fine.” But she grasped the hand he offered, stifling a cry as he pulled her to her feet. It took her several moments to steady herself enough to walk.

The old man looked troubled, but said nothing.

Freya dug through her purse, pulling out a huge wad of bills and handing it over to him.

The old man crinkled his brow, refusing to take it. “What’s that fer?”

“I want to pay for the lamb… and its mother.”

“They’re not fer sale, lassie.”

She smiled, hoping to win him over. “I need you to keep them safe for me. Hopefully, this will be enough to feed and care for them.” She held out the money again, beseeching him to take it.

He shook his head. “These are eating stock.”

“I understand, but not these two,” Freya told him, gesturing to the tiny lamb and its mother. “These two are special and destined for a long, full life.”

He stared uncertainly at the large amount of bills.

“Please!” she begged. “It would mean so much to me.” Not taking no for an answer, she placed the money in his palm and closed his fist over it.

“It’s far too much, lassie.”

“Good. You deserve to be compensated,” she insisted.

The old man shook his head, but stuffed the bills inside his pocket. “Ma name’s Robertson,” he told her, shaking Freya’s hand formally.

She grasped it warmly, taking it as a sign he would honor her request. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Robertson. My name is Freya McKenna.”

After shaking hands on the deal, she moved cautiously towards the lamb, speaking in soft tones as Robertson had done. She knelt beside the tiny creature, then took off the necklace her mother had given her on her sixteenth birthday—a small gold cross with a tiny ruby in the center.

“This is to remind you of me, little one,” she told it, as she doubled the chain and fastened the jewelry around its thin neck.

The old man shook his head and chuckled. “I knew Americans were odd, but I never guessed ye were
doo-lally
.”

“Only
doo-lally
in the best way,” she grinned up at him.

“If ye say so.”

Freya successfully got to her feet without his aid and tried to walk to her car without further incident, but bending down to navigate the fence proved too much. She cried out in pain, and found Robertson immediately by her side.

He helped her into the car, but seemed hesitant about letting her go. “Are ye okay to drive, Miss McKenna?”

Freya nodded, holding back cries of pain until the car was safely down the road. She was truly frightened now. It seemed to be happening just the way Bryn had predicted. Her time was running out…fast.

Passing through a small village, she noticed a quaint pub with a brightly painted red sign with the words
Slainte Mhath
, which was a traditional Scottish toast meaning ‘Good Health’.

How ironic,
she thought as she slowed down to park. She hoped a strong, rich lager might help to ease her pain, as well as numb her growing fears.

Before getting out of the car, Freya pulled down the visor mirror to wipe away the remaining tears. She was sure that having a drink at a local pub would take her mind off the ticking clock inside her head.

A crackling fire greeted her inside the small establishment. She quietly made her way to it, longing for its warmth and distraction. The locals didn’t even seem to notice her as she sat down at a small table beside the fireplace.

A large group of men were cozied up to the bar, laughing and having far too much of a good time joking with each other so early in the day. She silently appreciated the plethora of manly kilts, grateful for the view.

Can it get any better than this?

Bryn