in days. He didn’t feel like eating now.
It was just as well. The moment he unsheathed his dagger, the lucky coney nibbled through the noose of rushes around its leg and raced away. With a curse of disgust, Dougal hurled the dagger at the creature. Missing it by a yard.
He grimaced and kicked at the leaves, wishing for the hundredth time that he’d stayed in Ayr. He should never have set foot on this hostile soil. This wild part of Scotland, where coneys were as wily as foxes and lasses wielded weapons of war.
Feiyan was so weary from traveling all night and day, she could hardly place one foot in front of the other. Her eyes were gritty and sore. Her eyelids were heavy. Her bones ached. Her mind kept wandering. As she trudged along, the combination of soothing birdsong and afternoon sunlight on her face began to beckon her to sleep.
Then she stumbled across the remains of an animal snare. She grew alert at once. The villain must have left it behind.
The snare was a simple device. A pliable branch with a noose made of rushes that had been triggered by a notched twig.
He’d caught something. But there was no ash to indicate a fire.
She grimaced. Whatever he’d snared, he must have eaten raw.
But what else would she expect from a barbarian?
She’d wisely packed a bit of sustenance from the pavilion. She had little appetite, but she needed to keep up her strength. She dug in her pack and pulled out a linen-wrapped hunk of hard cheese and an oatcake.
Though she’d sworn she wouldn’t rest until she’d punished the murderous mac Darragh, she knew she’d be useless without a break.
Hunting prey while the trail was warm was wise.
Exercising patience was wiser.
She would lull the man into believing he was safe. Catch him off his guard. Surprise him when he least expected it.
She bit into an oatcake and chewed thoughtfully.
She still wasn’t sure what she’d do when she finally caught him.
Feiyan had always believed in mind over muscle. Relying on wit rather than power. Turning a foe’s own strengths against him.
In a world conquered by might, a young lass like Feiyan was viewed as small, weak, vulnerable. Such misperceptions were useful. The principles of fighting her mother Miriel had taught her—agility, evasiveness, speed, flexibility—served her well.
As her mother’s teacher Sung Li often claimed, the greatest weapon was the one no one knew you possessed.
There was no question in Feiyan’s mind she possessed the skills to take the monster down. As long as she could practice patience.
What remained in question was whether she’d allow him the opportunity to defend himself.
In her mind, he deserved death without mercy.
Hardly tasting the rest of the meal, she finished it with a swig from her aleskin.
But a full belly made her even groggier.
Lying back on the bed of pine needles, she pulled her hood down over her eyes to block out the light. A short rest would do her good, refreshing her and giving her the strength to resume the hunt.
She wouldn’t sleep long. Just a wee nap.
Chapter 4
Dougal had to eat. Soon. Even if he had no appetite.
Hunger was making him delirious. He’d begun to wonder if it was possible to snatch a bird in mid-flight or scoop up a trout from the river with his bare hands. His famished body had almost convinced him to try the plump black berries of the poisonous nightshade growing along the path.
After the slaughter at Kirkoswald, he’d been too full of grief to think of food. In his haste to ride after the murderous mac Girics, he’d had only one thought on his mind. Driving the bloodthirsty clan out of Scotland.
And now, the fact that he had killed a woman left the bitter taste of sin on his tongue. A taste that no food or drink would ever wash from his mouth.
Still, time had dulled his grief and sharpened the hunger in his belly. If he had any hope of returning home, he needed to eat. He was past waiting for a coney to wander into a snare.
He’d brought no coin with him. But he could be resourceful.
Lightheaded, he made his way back to the main road. It was a risk. In broad daylight, he’d be much easier to spot. But perhaps, without his horse and armor, he’d be unrecognizable to the mac Girics tracking him.
Pulling his hood forward and staying in the shadows of the trees that arched over the road, he walked for nigh an