Faith is Fallen (Broken Fantasies Series)

Chapter 3

Conall McKay, Lord of the Clan McKay, had gone for a ride to get away from the rumors of his brother's indiscretions. He knew traveling on Samhain wasn't smart. Even a child knew that there were things in the world that would think nothing of ending him, and even as experienced a warrior as he had become would not be able to lift an arm in defense of himself. The veil between worlds thinned on this night of all nights, and unthinkable, deadly things came through.

Even so, to avoid yelling at his brother once again, and to give him time to think on how he would word his most recent chastisement, he'd saddled his favorite horse and dashed off to the far reaches of his lands.

Away from the bustle of the keep, he knew he couldn't let things lie as he had. His brother's responses had always been the same. "What proof is there?" "Has anyone come forward? Of course not. Because it didn't happen." Strangely, and he'd always felt this was the most telling, his brother had never out and out denied the accusations Conall barked at him.

But his brother, Duncan, had always been a little slimy. Just, somewhere along the way, slimy had turned into something else. He had no proof. As his brother often mentioned, no one had ever come forward. But Conall couldn't ignore the rumors. Rumors of women attacked, taken against their will. He knew as well as his brother did that one would be hard pressed to find someone willing to speak out against a nobleman that wasn't of noble blood herself.

He decided he would confront his brother, given him an ultimatum. If the rumors didn't stop, he would have to banish him. He hated the very idea, but he could see no way around the idea. Something had to give.

With a nod of his head, he pulled at the reins, slowing and turning his horse to head back to the keep. As he turned, his eye caught on something radiant white in the distance. He stopped, and turned his horse to face it, momentarily intrigued. What could it be? What of pure white could be out in these woods at that time?

He intended to find out.

It took a few minutes, but soon his horse trotted out into a meadow he never used as it was too far from the keep. A form lay face down on the ground, surrounded by pure white feathers.

He dismounted, and crept to the figure on the ground, wary, hesitant, and on a night like Samhain, suspecting some fairy trap. But nothing happened as he approached. The feathers glittered like moonlight on a restless loch. He reached down with his left hand, his right anchored secure over his pummel. The long, iridescent feathers scattered on the ground, and with a gentle touch, he revealed sticky, red blood, and a purple-clad woman wearing what appeared to be very expensive fabrics. Fabrics reversed for nobility or maybe even only royalty.

"There's too much blood," he mumbled to himself, and leapt into action, lifting her and gently placing her over his horse's back. With a deft move, he mounted, then made the slow trek back to the keep, mindful of how each movement of the horse made the unconscious and mortally injured woman moan in pain.

To sooth her, he sang a song his mother used to sing to him to put him to sleep, his deep brogue giving the Gaelic words entirely new context, an eerie tone that made the enterprise even more disconcerting than it already was. But the singing seemed to settle her, so in spite of his own misgivings, he continued, right up to the moment he reached the keep's doors.

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Duncan lounged at the trestle table in the Great Hall, ogling the prospects. He felt another lecture coming on, his brother was regular as clockwork in that way, but it didn't faze him. It was as regular as the seasons. Duncan would have his fun, his dalliances, and eventually rumor would filter back to Conall.

Conall would fly into a temper, but he never confronted anyone in his temper. No, it wasn't proper of a lord to lose his temper, to unleash said temper on some hapless fool. Duncan shook his head at the ludicrousness of the idea. After all, what was the point of being a lord if you had to constantly keep yourself in check?

No, Duncan was grateful that he'd been born second. He would not want to be lord, regardless of the advantages it brought. No, he would maintain his bachelor ways and mooch off his brother as long as he was able. Hadn't God seen fit to do away with his betrothed at a young age, thus leaving him free to live his life as he saw fit? If that wasn't divine intervention, he didn't know what was.

He took another swallow of his ale, and focused in on a lovely filly that had only recently started to fill out in all the right places. His mouth slipped into a crooked grin that had the girl cringing into her mother's skirts. Not that anyone could save the girl in the end. Duncan always got what he wanted.

Then Duncan's musings were interrupted by the keep doors banging open as his brother kicked them open, storming in on a flurry of purple fabric and obscenities. Conall called out several names, people skills in healing that Duncan had never bothered to remember, then sped up the stairs to the private rooms there.

"Huh." Wonder what that's about.

Author's Note: If Faith is Fallen receives 2 additional votes by 9pm EST today, I will post Chapter 4 today as well. That's 9 total votes for the book. Hope you enjoyed! I will also post Chapter 4 early if someone shares the story then posts a comment with a link to how they shared it (they'll also get a dedication in the book for being so awesome!).