Urram - Rekindled Hope [Excerpt Only] | NOW A PUBLISHED NOVEL

Chapter 1: Tomorrow's Dawn

GREY and formless clouds hung like billowing shadows from the heavens. Bright bluebells, creamy snowdrops, and golden gorse dotted the verdant moorlands outside Caerdun Castle. The air blew cold about the towering stone walls, but not bitterly so, bringing with it a sweetened hint of the coming spring.

Fiona McCurragh stepped quickly through the arched entrance of Caerdun, ignoring the black murder holes and the sharpened tips of the portcullis above her, grim reminders of the castle's defences. But they did not frighten her like the ones she had been accustomed to at Caerloch.

These were meant for her protection, not her destruction.

Rolling her tense shoulders, Fiona sighed, glad that practice was finally over; the peace and quiet of her room, as simple as it was, had never seemed more inviting. She shifted her bow from one hand to the next as she passed the guardhouse, loosening the quiver strap. Her arm was sore from the bowstring snapping against it a few times during the archery drills, which everyone who was able had attended.

The treaty with Lord Erland and Lady Nuith signed two years ago had not made for an easy peace. The Lowlanders had heard reports of the Danes searching every village and castle for the High Chieftains and their princess last spring and into the autumn, but they had not yet come here. Fiona prayed they never would—there were so few hiding places left.

She stepped into the main courtyard, which, as usual in a place of this much importance and size, bustled with activity.

Men in chainmail and leather armour entered through the archway, and stable hands rushed to take their steeds. Fiona noted the mud streaking the mounts' flanks from the practice fields, where the men had ridden through obstacles such as fire and the clashing of swords while wielding their own weapons. For should the Scots ever go to war again, they would need every fighter they could get.

Upon the stone battlements, men-at-arms leaned on their spears as they watched the horizon for any coming stranger or host, whether it be the Danes or perhaps the Scottish embassy returning from Cymru, for whom they had waited a year with no news. Annag McCladden had sent a courier soon after they had arrived in An Dùn to let her husband know of their safety, and that the High Chieftain Jamie McBride's young widow was staying with them, but they never received a reply, even if not expected. Though the distance was too great to waste another messenger, Fiona often wondered whether the request for an alliance had been accepted. The Lowland Scots had too few men left after the last war to carry on the fight for freedom alone, and the Danes were merciless in their pursuit of total control over Scotland.

Fiona wove her way between the many people walking about the courtyard, returning greetings and waving in particular to Elspeth McBride, who gave a shy smile in return. To anyone else, it may have appeared like a mirror, two young women of similar likeness waving at their reflections. But Elspeth was the High Chieftain Jamie's widow with two young children, and the griefs of the past year made her appear far older than her one and twenty years.

A sudden gust of wind rushed through the place, ruffling the horses' manes and tossing about Fiona's flaming curls. She pulled the folds of her worn, pine-green cloak against the chill that lingered at the beginning of spring, and entered the keep inside the castle walls.

Fiona passed the Feast Hall, whose doors were open, a wave of warmth blowing into the corridor from the large hearth fire. The heat warmed her numb fingers for a moment before the draughty air took its place again as she passed on.

Though only a High Chieftain's residency and not the capital of Scotland, Caerdun was in many ways far grander than Caerloch in the Highlands, and she did not miss her old prison. What few good memories she had in that place had been lost with her brother's death in the first war against the Danes. She would be happy enough to never set foot within its walls again, even if she someday did indeed reclaim her throne. A bitter taste filled her mouth; any other place would feel strange to call home, but Caerloch had far too many painful memories.