Highland Burn by Victoria Zak Page A

the birds as they scattered like black specks littering the sky. There was no time to move or even flee as James saw an arrow fly through the air from the thicket and plunge into his heart with precise aim.
    ~~~~~
    A wise man once said that patience was not a virtue, but a vice. A wicked moral, testing the true heart of a man. When fortitude was tested, it separated the weak from the strong, the faithful from the faithless. He knew this all to be true, he lived it every day. Now as fate would have it he would seek out what was rightfully his and gain its benefits. Not only did he have to possess patience, but he had to know when to strike and to push a little harder to achieve his goals. Perched high on top of a green mounding hill hidden behind a thicket of dense blackthorns, he waited for his glory. If fate would allow, the Gods would bless him this day.
    He reached behind him and pulled out a long shaft from the leather quiver on his back. As he sat there fondling the feather-light flight, his thoughts of being on the battlefield came to mind. James on bended knee being knighted by the king of Scotland, a banner in his honor, and the king’s daughter as a reward. It should have been him on bended knee being honored, not James. He should be the one with a banner in his name with men aplenty behind him. His blood had been shed on the battlefield that day. Shouldn’t he reap the benefits of land and a pretty princess to warm his bed? All of his life he had been second to James, but not today. He would outwit the clan’s chief, uproot the house of Douglas, and become a legend… the man who slayed the Bogeyman.
    Dull green leaves turning to a pale yellow thinly littered the blackthorn bushes. The blue-black color of the berries on its branches beckoned him to reach up and pick a berry. He studied it for a moment before placing it in his mouth. A bitter taste shot through his mouth reminding him winter was on its way. After first freeze the berries would taste much sweeter, he thought.
    After he spat out the remainder of the sour berry, he walked over to the spot that would give him the best vantage point. Looking down upon the trail, he knew it wouldn’t be long; his target would be approaching soon. He felt in his bones that his time was now. He grabbed his longbow that was resting by an autumn-stricken tree and paused for a moment. As he looked at the black contorted skeleton of a blackthorn tree it mocked him, revealing how twisted and evil his soul had become. Jealousy throughout the years had weaved through him and cloaked his heart in blackness. Ye are the keeper of dark secrets, lad, the tree mocked again. It was going to be a blackthorn winter, he thought with a smirk.
    To him, a traitor was nothing more than an actor upon the stage only revealing what seems fit at the moment. A master of lies and deception, he had played his part well throughout the years. Just like patience, betrayal had become second nature. A coat of many colors he wore, but his purpose stayed true. Friend or foe, ally or enemy, he waited to make his move, showing no mercy upon the fools who stood in his way.
    Much more than retaliation for his misfortunes was on the line. He fought for someone more precious to him than the air he breathed. An innocent victim handpicked and strategically placed on the game board to be played by someone else for their gains. Nay, there was no turning back.
    Feet planted true and firm like the excellent archer he was, he raised his bow, and notched the shaft. He surveyed the trail once more as he drew back the poisoned arrow. Feathers lightly brushed his neatly trimmed jawline, reminding him of how sweet Abigale’s kisses would be and how sweet victory would taste. Soon my pet, verra soon .
    All thoughts pushed aside, he took aim and released the string, sending the arrow straight to his target. James’s heart.

Chapter 9
    Were it not for hope the heart would break. ~ Scottish Proverb
     
    A powerful force