Free Highland Moon Sifter (a Highland Sorcery novel) by Clover Autrey Page A

here? It doesn’t look that defensible. Especially against a witch.”
    It wasn’t. Although the MacTavis warriors would make a good attempt if it came to it. Even now he sensed several men watching them from the forest. They’d been shadowed for the last few moments, for which he was grateful as it would keep the monsters from getting too close. Shaw shot Bekah an appraising look. “Toren remains on the move. He’s been uniting the clan chieftains to go against Aldreth. Against me. He’s only recently returned from the lowlands.”
    “Then how do you know he’s here?”
    How indeed? “Aldreth sees every movement and ripple upon the land, especially as it concerns my brother.” Toren and his magic had slipped through the witch’s grasp three years ago—and Shaw had paid the price for that within her dungeon.
    He wondered sometimes if Aldreth still harbored hope that Toren would come back to her.
    “Oh. So do you think he’ll listen to us? Or is he the shoot first, ask questions later type?”
    Shaw grinned at her strange way of phrasing things. ”He’ll want answers after he—“
    An arrow slammed into the ground fractions to the right of his smallest bare toe.
    “—shoots first,” Bekah finished the sentence and instantly shifted behind him, facing outward toward the trees to take up a defensive position at his back.
    Warmth welled in his chest that she put herself between him and a perceived threat. He vaguely remembered a time when others had always been there to stand with him. Several warriors drifted out of the shadows, moving to encircle them.
    “What do ye here, striapach ?” Haddon spat.
    Shaw crossed his arms over his chest in indifference to the MacTavis Chieftain’s second in command.
    “I have come to confer with my brother.”
    “Confer?” Thick red brows knitted over a pock-pitted nose and the warrior pointed the top of his dirk toward Shaw. “You dinnae get to confer with anyone here, least of all the High Sorcerer.”
    “Um…” Bekah peeked around his bicep to look up at him. “Are we going to fight? Because you’ll probably want your boots back first.”
    Twelve sets of incredulous eyes latched onto the lass.
    “Nay,” Shaw gritted. “I do not need my boots.”
    “’Cause, you know, they’re so big, they’ll probably make me trip, but you’d be better off with them in case there’s a fight.”
    “We are not going to fight.” It would take little effort for him to knock them all on their arses on his worse day—and that’s without unleashing a bolt of magic on them. Or he could simply open a space rift, disappear and reappear behind any one of them. But being that this apparently was his worse day, he remained still. On a better day, he’d be able to disappear and come out within the keep right next to Toren for that matter. Unfortunately attempting it now while at merely a quarter of his usual strength, would put Bekah at risk too since he would be taking her along with him. He would not leave her here.
    Aside from his weakness of the moment, ‘twas not the manner in which he wanted to greet Toren after so long. He needed to offer himself up in peace.
    He dropped his hands to his sides. “I mean no harm here, but I will see my brother.”
    “Betrayers have no brothers.” A gruff warrior with stone beading braided into his gray beard planted the end of his longbow upon the ground. The surrounding warriors growled their agreement.
    Haddon lifted his hand, silencing the grumbling. “Ye say ye wish to confer?”
    Shaw jerked his chin in a tight nod.
    “I doubt the High Sorcerer has any use for the lies trickling off yer forked tongue, diabhal .”
    “But you’ll ask the High Sorcerer himself, right?” Bekah interjected. “I mean, what if he does want to see his brother and you’re the yahoo who doesn’t let that happen? Huh? So guessing not a lot of gray matter in that huge Scottish head then.”
    Haddon‘s eyes bulged out and his mouth dropped unhinged.