Highland Sword. Ruth Ryan Langan

and grandmother had taught her how to build a wattle fence of green willow branches and twigs, intricately woven to keep the forest creatures at bay.

      Around her, the meadow was a sea of heather, the graceful purple blossoms swaying in the gentle breeze. Out of nowhere a shadow fell over her. Puzzled, she glanced heavenward. A hawk, perhaps. Or a thundercloud. The sky was sunny and clear, without a single cloud to mar its beauty. There was no sign of a bird. Alarmed, she looked around to see what had caused the shadow.

      Too late, she saw the figure of a blood-spattered giant, mouth set in a tight line, eyes narrowed on her with grim concentration. In his hands was a length of plaid that he tossed over her, pinning her arms to her sides, covering her head to blot out the light and still her cries.

      She struggled, and managed to kick her legs until even they were wrapped firmly. Swaddled as helplessly as an infant, she was unable to move.

      She could hear the sound of his breathing as he raced through the meadow, carrying her slung over his shoulder. Once in the forest he paused to pull himself into the saddle while holding her firmly in his arms. Then the horse was running, the wind rushing past them as he urged his steed ever faster. Tree branches slapped and snagged, and she could hear the giant’s occasional muttered curse. But though they splashed through streams and clattered over rocks, never once did he pause, or even slow the pace.

      Allegra struggled to clear her mind of fear, so that she could get her bearings. But all she could see in her mind’s eye was the giant. Standing as tall as a tree. Hands big and rough and bruising as they bound her. And that one brief glimpse into his eyes. Eyes filled with utter darkness.

      How had he bested the dragon? Could it be that this giant was even stronger than the mighty creature that stood guard over their kingdom? The thought terrified her.

      The horse slowed to a walk and Allegra could hear the splash of water. Moments later she was shivering as the water soaked her bindings.

      Her heart sank. This had to be the Enchanted Loch, the barrier that had always kept her and her family safe from the outside world. Once her abductor made it to the other side, he would be free to take her anywhere, and she would be unable to stop him.

      She had to act now, or all would be lost.

      Concentrating all her energy, she conjured an image of her mother, and as the image came into focus, called out to her in her mind.

      Nola sat at her loom, pleased with the design she was weaving. At her feet sat Bessie. Despite the old woman’s fearsome looks, she was a gentle soul who had long ago forgiven those who had mocked and reviled her. In gratitude for the haven she’d been given here in the Mystical Kingdom, she was devoted to Nola and her family.

      The fabric on Nola’s loom looked as though it had been spun by angels. Soft as a spider’s web it was, with fine, intricate spirals that looped one into the other like exotic jewels.

      Old Bessie smiled. “This will make a lovely gown for one of your daughters.”

      “Aye. I so enjoy making them pretty things.”

      “And why not?” Bessie’s smile deepened. “They’re fairer than any flowers.”

      At a cry Nola’s head came up sharply. “Allegra?”

      She looked around for her daughter. Seeing no one, she glanced at the old woman. “Did you hear that?”

      “Nay. But then I don’t have your gifts, Nola.”

      At that Nola shoved away from the loom and walked to the door of the cottage.

      Outside, Wilona was stirring her stew over an open fire.

      “Allegra just called to me. Have you seen her?”

      “Aye. Weeding her garden.” Wilona’s sharp eyes narrowed on her daughter’s troubled face. “What’s wrong?”

      “Something, though I know not what.” Already Nola was hurrying up the hill toward the meadow. “She needs me, for I heard her calling my name.”

      Wilona set aside her wooden spoon and hurried after her daughter, with the old woman trailing slowly behind.

      When they came to the meadow, Nola knelt and retrieved the hoe from the dirt where Allegra had dropped it.

      Her mother was already examining the print of a man’s boot in the sand. Her tone was low with fear. “An intruder from beyond. He would have to slay the dragon.” Wilona frowned in concentration. “I thought I heard a cry earlier, but because I was surrounded by bleating lambs, I couldn’t be certain just what it was.”

      “Is he a barbarian?” Nola’s tone was little more than a whisper.

      “Nay.” Wilona straightened, holding a torn piece of plaid that clung to a section of wattle fence. “A Highlander, from the look of this.”

      “No Highlander would dare to risk the Enchanted Loch.”

      “No ordinary Highlander, perhaps.” Wilona caught her daughter’s arm. “You must know that even hidden here, away from prying eyes, there are those who desire the power.”

      “But for what reason?”

      The older woman shook her head. “I know not. But this I know. We must stop him before he crosses the loch, or all will be lost.”

      The two women lifted their fingers to their mouths and gave a series of shrill whistles. Within minutes Kylia stepped from the stream and hurried to the meadow. From out of the forest came tiny Gwenellen, moving as swiftly as a shadow, followed more slowly by Jeremy.

      After a hasty explanation, the four women formed a circle and joined hands, chanting in an ancient tongue, while Jeremy and Bessie sat in the grass, adding their voices to the chorus.

      Merrick MacAndrew had never seen anything like this. One minute the waters of the loch were so clear and calm, he could see all the way to the bottom. The next they were swirling and churning as though they were a bubbling cauldron stirred by a witch’s spell.

      Witch. His eyes narrowed on the bundle in his arms. She may have looked like a goddess in her garden, with that exquisite gown and hair neatly plaited in one fat braid, but now he had no doubt that this fiery female was the reason for the loch’s abrupt upheaval.

      If he weren’t so desperate, he’d have the sense to be afraid. If his life meant anything at all to him, he would surely turn back. But without his son, his life was meaningless. And without the woman in his arms, his son would surely die.

      “Witch. You’ll not deter me from my path,” he muttered.

      Just then the angry waves swept him from the saddle and he found himself floundering in the deep. For a moment his precious bundle was torn from his hands, but he managed to snag an end of the plaid and drag her close.

      Coughing and choking, Allegra struggled against the cloth that bound her. “You must set me free at once.”

      “So you can flee? I’ll see you dead before I consent to such foolishness.”

      “Then you’ll have your wish soon enough.” She coughed and came up sputtering as another wave washed over her. “At least give me an opportunity to stay afloat.”

      He was about to refuse when a thought came to him. “Aye. I’ll do as you ask.” Within seconds he’d unwrapped the length of plaid, freeing her hands and legs. Then, just as quickly, he wound it around his own waist and around hers, binding her firmly to him. “As long as you understand that in order to save your own life, you must save mine, as well.” He shot her a look of triumph. “If one of us dies, the other dies, as well.”

      “You’re mad.”

      “So I’ve been told.”

      A series of waves rolled over them, tumbling them about like leaves in a storm. But the cloth held, and when they came up, gasping for air, they were still bound together.

      Seeing a flash of movement beside