Where there had once been a couple of caves prepared for the humans who stumbled upon the Éan’s secret homeland to live in, the village now had several huts. They were for the mostly human families that had chosen joining their tribe over death, or had been born into it since an ancestor made that choice. Very few Éan dwelt among them, those mated to a human or who had been injured in some way that prevented flight.
Her father was one such bird. The home he shared with her mother was at the base of the very tree in which Una perched. She had wanted to live with them when they’d been forced to leave their home among the trees, but her parents had both refused.
She would be safer in their old home high above, they said. A bird should not live on the ground, her father claimed. Their home should not be abandoned, her mother insisted. And Una had known that they were right on all points.
So, she had stayed in the humble dwelling built in the giant ancient oak tree by one of her ancestors.
However, the five years since her horror had been lonely ones. Her parents did not know it, but Una never invited others to share the space that echoed with the loss her family had endured because of her curiosity and disobedience.
It was not just wolves she had a difficulty being in close proximity to. There were only a select few she could stand to be nearby, and the children. The little ones caused no panic in her.
Thanks be to the Creator, because Una’s one contribution to her tribe hinged on her ability to be near the young ones.
Her thoughts of the children ceased as the warriors drew close enough for her eagle’s vision to make out details of the wolves sent by the clans to somehow prove the improbable . . . that a Faol could be trusted by the Éan.
The warriors were huge, appearing even bigger as they got closer. Some few among their people, like Prince Eirik, shared such stature, but it was not so common among the Éan as the Faol to stand head and shoulders above human men.
One wolf in particular caught her sharp eagle’s eye. Wearing the blue and green plaid with thin yellow stripes of the Balmoral, this one wore no shirt with his kilt. The muscles on his arms and torso bulged with strength. A triangle of dark hair to match that on his head covered the skin of his chest made golden by its exposure to the sun.
Brown hair brushed his broad shoulders, the hairs on his face neither clean shaven, nor bristly with an unkempt beard. Sheared neatly to his skin, they accentuated the hard angles of his cheeks and strong jaw.
The wolf’s feet were bare, the muscles of his legs strong and corded. The only thing he wore besides the plaid was a huge sword and a knife at his waist.
He looked more imposing than the wolf counterpart he could shift into.
And this man was supposed to come in peace, an emissary for the Faol?
Though the others continued on, he stopped his mount near her father’s hut. Turning first to the right and then to the left, he seemed to be looking for something. He cocked his head, inhaling, as if sniffing the air.
Why? What had caught his attention?
Una let out a strangled screech when his head snapped up and his piercing grey gaze was directed right toward her.
A wolf, not an eagle, he should not be able to see her amidst the leaves and branches. Only she felt as if his keen grey eyes were looking right into those of her eagle.
One of the soldiers doubled back, stopping next to him. It was the other Balmoral soldier, by the colors of his plaid. He said something to the grey-eyed wolf, but she could not make out the exact words.
She’d perched herself too far up, and unlike the wolves, her sense of hearing was barely better than that of a human.
Petrified by the Faol warrior’s presence and yet feeling a wholly inexplicable longing to fly down and get a closer look, she remained still on the branch.
The other soldier said something again, this time his tone sharper. The grey-eyed man finally turned away and kneed his horse into motion. Just as her father came out of the hut.
Collision seemed imminent and Una let out a shriek of distress, her eagle louder than her human woman would ever be.
But her father did not end up in the dirt, his bad leg taken out from under him. The wolf, moving faster than she’d seen even among the Éan, had dismounted and nudged his horse out of her father’s path with his own body.
Unable to deny the need to get closer, Una hopped down from branch to branch until she could hear the Balmoral soldier apologizing to her father.
Her father ignored the man’s words, turning without acknowledging him and staring up into the tree. As if he, too, could sense her presence, which was far more likely. Considering he did have the vision of an eagle and was her father besides.
Even if he had not seen her eagle among the limbs of the tree, her father would know of Una’s need to see the wolves as they entered the village.
“You are not to come to the village for the time being,” he called up to her, proving her supposition correct.
She had no intention of coming into the village with the wolves there, but something stirred inside Una that had not stirred in five years.
Curiosity and aggravation at the restrictions placed on her. It only took remembering what those feelings had led her into before, and she was taking flight, making her way back up toward her home with a speed she would normally reserve for chasing prey.