The Betrayal

“The Betrayal - By Ruth Langan

Chapter One

Scottish Highlands, 1559

The clang of sword against shield rang in the Highland forest as barbarians rose up from their places of concealment to attack the horsemen in plaid who rode toward them in single file. Caught unawares, there was nowhere the Highland warriors could reassemble their forces. They had no choice but to put up a brave front, even though they were badly outnumbered.

“They knew we were coming, my lord.” Finlay, the old man who had ridden with the clan MacCallum for more than two score years, caught the young lord’s arm. “Ye must turn the men back. Else, all will be lost.”

The thought of retreat went against everything Grant MacCallum believed in. But common sense had to rule over ego. These men had wives and families depending on them. If they were to stand and fight against such overwhelming odds, most would be lost, leaving their clan with even more widows and orphans grieving their losses.

Through gritted teeth he shouted the order. “Sound the call to retreat.”

Minutes later the wail of the pipes had the horsemen turning and plunging into thickets to escape the swords of their enemy. Grant stood his ground, fighting alongside old Finlay until every last man had made good his escape. Then, watching the old man’s back until he, too, was free, Grant pulled himself onto his steed and took off with a thunder of hoofbeats.

As he made his way back to his Highland fortress, he mulled this latest in a series of chilling events. Since he’d been declared laird of the MacCallums, they had twice been met by an army of invaders at the very spot they’d hoped to mount a surprise attack. Once could have been considered an accident. The second time could no longer be considered an isolated incident. Taken together, they proved without a doubt that he was being betrayed. But since plans of this march had been known to only a handful of his most trusted Council members, he now knew that the betrayal was personal, and was coming from one of his own.


“We just heard the news.” Grant’s brother Dougal, younger by thirteen months, was breathless from racing up the stairs of the fortress to his chambers. Though he was shorter and broader, his hair and eyes a paler version of Grant’s, the two bore a striking resemblance to each other.

Behind him trailed a tall woman dressed like a cloistered nun, wearing a black gown and head cover, with a veil covering her face. She crossed the room, quiet and stiff backed, and settled herself into a chair set before the fire.

“Aunt Hazlet.” Grant turned from the balcony, where he’d been deep in thought, and crossed to the woman to press his hand to hers. It was the only sign of affection she permitted.

She folded her hands in her lap. Even her voice had the clipped, precise tone of a mother superior. “I’ve been told by the Council that you didn’t catch the invaders, nephew. You realize the people will now think you a coward for running from a fight.”

Grant turned toward the flames of the fire. “What others think of me is the least of my worries.”

“What can be worse than letting invaders go free, or having your own people brand you a coward?”

“What’s worse? I’ll tell you. Betrayal.” Grant spat the word.

“What are you saying?” Dougal crossed the room to stand beside his brother.

Grant shot a glance at old Finlay, who stood quietly across the room. “Our attackers knew we were coming. They were hiding along the bend in the trail, where fighting would be the most difficult.”

Dougal’s eyes narrowed in thought. “Perhaps they saw the glint of your shields.”

“There was no sunlight in the forest,” the old man said softly.

“The sound of men’s voices, then. Or the thundering of horses’ hooves.”

Grant shook his head. “I’d cautioned my warriors to remain silent. The horses were walking. I tell you, our enemies had been forewarned of our arrival.”

Dougal shot him a look. “Are you saying there’s a traitor in our midst?”

“Exactly.” Grant picked up a length of plaid and tossed it over his shoulder before strapping on his scabbard.

Seeing it, his brother touched a hand to his arm. “Where are you going?”

“To the Mystical Kingdom.”

That had Dougal shaking his head. “You jest.” Seeing the flare of anger in his brother’s eyes, he arched a brow. “Nay, I see that you’re serious.” He turned to their aunt to back him up. “But surely you know what they say about that place.”

Grant nodded. “Aye. I’ve heard a lifetime of tales about the dragon that guards the loch, protecting the witches who live there. But if the legends be true, and a man successfully crosses into their kingdom, those witches can be forced to reveal their secrets to him.”

“You’re mad.”

“Perhaps.” Grant picked up his dirk and tucked it into his boot. “But the people of Duncrune have declared me laird of the clan MacCallum. With that privilege comes the responsibility of keeping those under my protection safe. If that means I must risk my life, so be it.” He laid a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “I’ll not return to Duncrune Castle until I have what I seek.”

“And what is that?”

“The truth.”

Their aunt got to her feet. “You’d take the word of a witch as truth?”

“Am I better off trusting one who would betray me?”

“You don’t know that to be true.”

“I know it in my heart, Aunt.” Grant looked from Hazlet to Dougal, before turning away.

Dougal said softly, “I should go with you.”

“Nay.” Hazlet’s eyes blazed behind her veil. “Our people cannot afford to lose both of you. If you intend to follow through on this folly, nephew, you’d best leave Dougal here to reign as laird in your absence.”

Grant heard the murmur of voices coming from the great hall below stairs, where many of his most trusted men had gathered. “We have the Council. They’re capable of seeing to the safety of our clan until I return.”

“They’re fine enough warriors, if that’s all that is needed. But you said yourself there may be a traitor among them. Who can be trusted to make a decision of any importance while you’re off chasing after witches?”

Grant took no offense at the hint of sarcasm that colored her words. There was a time when he, too, would have dismissed witches and magic as complete nonsense. But that was before he’d become desperate to learn the truth behind his betrayal.

He turned to his brother. “Aunt Hazlet is right, of course. Until I return, I leave the protection of our people to the Council, and any decisions requiring my seal to you, Dougal. You’ll see to it?”

“If you order it, though I’d rather ride with you than stay behind.”

“I order it, then.”

The two men clasped hands.

“What about me, my laird? Will you at least permit me to ride with you?”

At Finlay’s question, Grant looked over. “Nay, my friend. You’ll stay and see to the safety of my brother and my aunt.”

A short time later the three watched as Grant strode from the room. They stood together on the balcony and heard the servants shouting out words of farewell as their laird turned his steed toward the misty mountains that loomed in the distance.

Hazlet turned away, shaking her head. “Grant is as stubborn as my brother Stirling was. I only pray he doesn’t prove himself to be as foolhardy, as well.”

Her words sent a shudder through Dougal. It was common knowledge that his father’s reckless disregard for his own safety on the field of battle had cost him his life and that of his closest friend, Ranald, who had been the great love of Hazlet’s life. Brokenhearted, Hazlet had taken to her chambers in mourning, refusing to see anyone.

To add to the family woes, Stirling’s beautiful young wife, Mary, made frail by the birth of her firstborn, died hours after giving birth to Dougal. Hazlet had been forced to rouse herself from her grief to assist at the birth and care for the infant.

Seeing Dougal’s distress, Hazlet was quick to soothe. “You mustn’t fret, dear heart.”

“But what if our family is doomed to repeat the mistakes of the past? You said yourself that Grant is reckless.”

“That doesn’t mean you must be like him.”

“The same blood flows through our veins.”

“As it flows through mine.” She touched a hand to his cheek. “But I am no more like my brother than you are like yours. Come. We’ll go below stairs and meet with the others. Once they learn of their laird’s latest folly, they’ll be in need of wise counsel. Together you and I will ease their fears.”

Behind them, old Finlay remained on the balcony, watching until his laird was out of sight.

The forest was dark as midnight. No sunlight could penetrate the thick growth of twisted, tangled brush that resisted every step taken. Grant had been forced to dismount and use his sword to hack at the vines and shrubs that barred his way. Several times his steed drew back in terror as creatures swooped from above, eyes glittering like burning embers in the darkness. It was enough to chill a man’s soul and fuel a raging terror. But the need that drove him consumed him far greater than any fear of the unknown. And so he plunged on, determined to reach his goal.

After many torturous hours he saw the faint glow of light ahead. At last he breathed a sigh of relief as he stepped from the forest and was almost blinded by the glare of sunlight reflecting off the water that lay directly before him.

“The Enchanted Loch.” He breathed the name of the place he’d heard about since childhood. Surely it was so, since the water glistened with the colors of diamonds and sapphires. He cupped a handful and drank. It was the sweetest, purest water he’d ever tasted. When he looked down at his fingers, he saw the jewel droplets remaining. But instead of water, they were actual jewels, winking in the sunlight. Brilliant white diamonds and silver-blue sapphires. Enthralled, he wrapped them in a bit of linen and tucked them into a pocket at his waist.

At a rumble of thunder that echoed across the sky, he looked up. Not thunder, he realized. It was the roar of the dragon that guarded the loch. The creature came up slowly from the water, looming closer and larger, until it dwarfed even the cliffs that rose up on the far side. Its body was longer than any boat, and covered with scales. The giant mouth opened. A tongue flicked out, followed by a stream of fire that had Grant diving into the sandy shore to escape being burned alive.

He felt intense heat rush past his head and watched in horror as the beast emerged from the water and lumbered toward him. His first thought was that he’d never faced such a fearsome opponent. He had often been outnumbered in battle, and had been forced to fight until there was no strength left in him. But he’d always believed he had the inner resources to win. This time, his courage would be sorely tested.

He unsheathed his sword and started forward, determined to conquer both this monster and his own fear.

The dragon reared back, resting on its tail. One giant claw lashed out. In the space of a moment Grant caught sight of razor-sharp talons that could shred a man to ribbons with a single swipe. He veered to one side, and felt the quick slice of pain as his arm was cut to the bone from shoulder to elbow. For a moment the pain dropped him to his knees as blood flowed like a river, soaking his plaid. The sword slipped from his hands. The dragon used that moment to turn wrap its tail around him, pinning his arms to his sides. Ever so slowly it began to squeeze the life from him.

Grant could barely breathe as the pressure against his chest increased until he could feel stars dancing in front of his eyes. The giant tail swished to and fro, tossing him about in a dizzying ride. He knew it was only a matter of time before he would lose consciousness. Though he no longer had his sword, he still had the dirk in his boot. He eased his foot up until his fingertips came in contact with the cold steel of the dagger. Sweat beaded his forehead as he moved the blade inch by inch, until at last he managed to grasp it firmly and began methodically cutting away at the scaly flesh that held him prisoner. With the first cut he felt his chest expand enough to breathe easily. With the second cut, and the third, he could feel himself slipping free. Another slice, and then another, and he was falling through air until he landed with a splash in the water. For a few unsteady moments he sank beneath the waves and wondered if, after all this, he might face death by drowning. But then he felt the sand beneath his feet and knew that he had reached the shallows. There, just in front of him, lay his fallen sword.

He saw the dragon rear up, and knew that he wouldn’t survive a second attack. Taking up his sword, he changed course, choosing to attack rather than simply defend himself. Darting between the creature’s front legs, he looked up and saw the massive pulsing chest just above him. Using both hands, he grasped his sword and drove it deep into the beast’s heart.

The dragon fell back, its eyes fixed on the sun as it emitted a roar that echoed across the heavens. The water ran red with its blood as it slowly sank beneath the waves.

Grant staggered to the shore and lay struggling for breath as the Enchanted Loch stirred and bubbled, before growing calm once more. When he sat up, there was no sign of the dragon. But the water remained bloodred, glistening like rubies.

He tied a length of plaid around his arm to stem the flow of blood. With his sword at the ready, he caught his horse and led it into the loch. Whatever other dangers lay in wait for him, he would meet them with the same unflinching determination. Though he was exhausted from his battle with the monster, he was determined that nothing would keep him from his goal of reaching the Mystical Kingdom and the witches who dwelled therein.

Hearing the distant roar, Nola Drummond looked up from her loom and cast a worried glance at the sky outside her cottage. The heavens were a sea of blue, without a cloud on the horizon.

She hurried to the doorway and called out to her mother, who was cooking over an open fire. “The dragon cries.”

“Aye.” Wilona wiped a sheen of sweat from her brow. “We must summon the lasses home.”

Leaving Bessie to stir the kettle, the two women started across the meadow until they reached a hill, giving them a clear view of the area around them. Lifting their fingers to their lips, they gave the whistle that had always been their signal of impending danger. Minutes later Gwenellen stepped out of the forest, trailed by the little troll, Jeremy, and hurried toward them.

Nola greeted her daughter with a hug. “Where is your sister?”

Gwenellen shrugged. “Knowing Kylia’s love of the water, I’m sure she’s in the loch, or near it.”

Wilona saw the fear that crossed Nola’s face. Drawing an arm around her daughter’s shoulders, and another around her granddaughter, she said soothingly, “Have no fear. Our Kylia’s not one to take foolish risks. Surely she would have heard the dragon’s cry and is even now on her way to the cottage. Come.” Linking hands, she led them across the meadow, with Jeremy running to keep up. All the while she prayed they would soon spy the slender figure of the one they sought awaiting them in the doorway of their home.

Kylia stared in amazement at the bloodred water that washed ashore, staining the hem of her gown. This same thing had happened not a year ago, when a stranger slew the dragon that guarded their kingdom, and forced her older sister, Allegra, to accompany him to his home. What had begun as a fearsome situation had grown into a deep and abiding love between Allegra and her beloved, Merrick MacAndrew. Now Allegra lived with him and his young son, Hamish, in Berkshire Castle, far from the Mystical Kingdom. But they returned often, and Allegra’s family was assured that she had found great joy in that other world.

It had been Kylia who had later found the dragon’s egg, in a nest hidden along the banks of the loch. She had watched the egg hatch, and the tiny dragon grow until it had become, like its forebears, a fierce protector of their land. She felt a heaviness around her heart, thinking about the nest she had recently found, bearing yet another egg. Had the dragon somehow sensed that its time on this earth was nearing an end?

Kylia thought about her grandmother’s favorite expression. To all things there is a season. There was a rhythm to life, Wilona explained. A time to live. A time to die. A time to learn. A time to love.

When would it be her turn? Kylia thought as the water began to churn and bubble.

As if in reply, she saw a shimmering image beneath the waves. Gradually the image came into focus. The face of the man she’d seen dozens of times here in the loch since her childhood. The familiar dark hair, streaming past his shoulders. The gray eyes, deeply troubled. The strong, firm jaw and the cleft in the chin. But instead of fading, as it always had in the past, it came into sharper focus and began to rise up out of the loch.

Now there was more than a face. So much more. There were broad, muscular shoulders and a powerful chest, barely covered by a length of dripping plaid. In his hand was a sword with a jeweled hilt that caught and reflected the sunlight. His other hand gripped the reins of a horse that followed slowly behind him.

Both man and beast appeared exhausted and were breathing heavily.

For a moment neither the man nor Kylia spoke a word, but merely stared at each other with matching looks of surprise.

When he stepped closer, Kylia found her voice. “The fact that you were able to slay our guardian means that your strength is great, indeed, for Gram says it takes superior powers to overcome the dragon.”

When he continued staring at her in silence, she felt the heat rush to her cheeks. “Forgive me. My first words to you should have been in greeting. Welcome to the Mystical Kingdom. My name is Kylia. My family is of the clan Drummond. And though your name is not known to me, your face is. For I’ve seen it here in the loch since I was but a child.”

Grant was incredulous. The woman facing him was no witch. Here was a goddess. Skin as pale as milk. Hair as blue-black and shiny as the wings of a raven, twisted into one fat braid that fell to her waist. Such a tiny waist, tied with a ribbon into which she’d tucked a sprig of heather that matched the color of her eyes.

Her words of greeting made no sense to him. “You’ve seen me?”

“Aye.” She spread her hands to indicate the water that was now as crystal clear and dazzling as diamonds. “Here.” She looked up and her smile rivaled the sun. “I always knew one day you would come.”

“You knew…?” He felt an odd buzzing in his head, and wondered why her voice was fading.

Her smile vanished. “Forgive my babbling. You’re wounded.”

“Am I?” He glanced idly at the blood that streamed from his throbbing arm, and started to reach for it to stem the flow of blood. Before he could move, he felt his legs fail him.

Spots danced in front of his eyes. The buzzing increased in volume until it seemed a hive of hornets had taken over his brain.

Without a word he dropped to the sand just as the sunlight disappeared from his view and he was engulfed in a tunnel of darkness.