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Authors: Kerrigan Byrne

Unwanted

BOOK: Unwanted
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UNWANTED

 

By: Kerrigan Byrne

 

AMAZON KDP EDITION

 

Published By: N. Ainge

 

www.kerriganbyrne.com

Unwanted © 2012 Kerrigan Byrne

 

All Rights Reserved

This
ebook
is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.
 
This
ebook
may not be re-sold or given away to other people.
 
If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient.
 
If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy.
 
The
ebook
contained herein constitutes a copyrighted work and may not be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, or stored in or introduced into an information storage and retrieval system in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the copyright owner, except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical articles and reviews.
 
Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This
ebook
is a work of fiction.
 
The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real.
 
Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

 

Cover Art © 2012 Kelli Ann Morgan

www.inspirecreativeservices.com

 

 

 

 

Dedications:

 

To Suzanne Goldberg.
Thanks for the laughs and your
friendship
. Thank you for being
unapologetically you
! You're a constant inspiration to me.

 

To Dawn Sullivan and Kerrigan's Celts.
Thank you for being there and keeping me going. You're the best team an author could hope for.

 

As always, to the other two Musketeers, Athos and
Aramis
, aka Cindy Stark and
Tiffinie
Helmer
.
I get more from your friendship than I could ever give.

 

To Cynthia.
Whoever you decide to be, I can't wait to meet her and watch her fly.

Thanks to WID and Lynne Harter! You're help is invaluable.

Chapter One

The Scottish Highlands, Winter 1411

 

The high-pitched wail tangled with the scream of the wind whipping over the rocks.
 
It surely wasn’t human.
 
What in the name of man or beast could make such a noise?
 

Without his preternatural hearing, Finn wouldn’t have been able to hear the reedy sound over the cacophony of the storm.
 
Nor could he heed the pants and yips of the starving wolf pack tracking him through the snow.
 
 

He drew his sword and hatchet.
 
Whatever it was, he could kill it.

He pointed his sealskin boots and jogged toward the racket with anticipation.
 
What danger would he vanquish in the Solstice storm?
 
The Highlands were steeped in tales of shape shifters and vengeful faeries.
 
Perhaps a demon?
 

Finn’s purpose on this isle was a lethal one.
 
To prove himself to those at the temple of Freya who would doubt his lineage and loyalty.
 
But a good fight would warm his blood.
 

He
bared
his teeth in a snarl as he leapt atop and over one of the giant stones that littered the Highlands.
 
Landing in a crouch in the snow, Finn spun to face the creature, his weapons raised for attack.

And froze.

Limbs straining against their bindings and a face as red with rage as he’d ever seen, the wee babe squalled at a pitch Finn would never have imagined humanly possible.
 

He made a face.
 
Did all babies make such a horrific noise?
 
If so, how did the world ever come to be populated?
 
Perhaps this was why women cared for little ones.
 
A man would likely murder his own progeny after ten minutes of such a sound.

He knew they were surrounded before the scrawny wolf leapt between him and the infant.
 
The beast’s intent was the child’s soft fleshy neck.
 
Finn kicked his hatchet out of his belt and embedded it into the animal’s jugular before it could lunge for the kill.

The child was lucky that only human blood brought out his Berserker lust.
 
Running the few paces toward the squirming bundle, he snatched it out of the gathering snow.
 
Spinning about, he locked eyes with the alpha and snarled.
 
They stayed like that for a moment, each beast sizing up the other.
 

The alpha was a female, large and strong, with dark grey and white fighting for supremacy in her winter coat.
 
She rippled with aggression.

Any other day, with any other opponent, she would have ordered her pack to slaughter, and she would have emerged the victor.
 

Not this day,
Finn thought, and growled again.

Lowering her head, the alpha turned, and she and her pack disappeared into the wind like a lethal mirage.
 

Finn looked around for any sign of the child’s people.
 
The storm was such that he couldn’t be certain if snow fell from clouds or if the wind whipped the deep drifts about to beat at whatever would dare to stand against it.
 
He could see for some distance, but it was all arctic
wilderness
.

Maybe he should leave the babe to its fate?
 
He knew all too well how cruel the world would be to a fatherless child.
 
But his hand had already killed to save it.
 
And the thought of discarding this life made him as cold on the inside as the merciless storm.

He looked around in desperation one last time before studying the purple, contorted face of the child who hadn’t let up its angry yowling.

Retrieving his axe from the dead beast, he swiped it through the snow and then returned it into his belt, all the while holding the tiny burden in his other arm.
 
Finn tucked it into his cloak, hoping the warmth would shut it up.
 
Somehow, that seemed to make it angrier.

The Gods must be punishing him.

He’d been following the shores of Loch
Fyne
for a time, and could see the lights of
Strathlachlan
grow closer when he crested each small hill.
 
At its edge,
Killrock
Keep, also known as Castle Lachlan, glowed like a beacon in a sea of white.
 

Finn ran through the snow, grateful now more than ever for his supernatural speed and endurance.
 
The faster he could divest himself of the burden, the better.
 
He didn’t stop until he reached the outskirts of the village.
 
The town square had been forsaken due to the storm.
 
Solstice dawned tomorrow and townsfolk still reveled in the warmth of their neat row houses and cottages.
 
The strain of lutes, pipes and song accompanied by the roar of laughter tangled with the wind.
 
Finn sank further into his furs, though the chill that snaked through him had nothing to do with the weather.
 

The trade street had been locked down, and each stall or business sat dark and deserted.
 
The only light spilled from the large inn and tavern where cheerful sounds of drunken revelry filtered through thick, sturdy walls.
 
Finn tried once again to quiet the baby’s cries.
 
Which is to say, he ordered it to cease its yowling.
 
 
It only squirmed harder within its meager wrapping and found an entirely new octave in which to suffer.
 

Letting loose a string of curses in English and then his own Nordic language, he pounded on the door to the inn hard enough to shake the rafters.
 

The door swung open immediately and the smell of ale, roast mutton, and copious unwashed bodies assaulted his senses.
 

“Got no rooms left,” a heavy, aging wench hollered at his chest over the din of the common room.
 
She looked up when he pulled the hood of his furs back.
 
Heat and interest sparked in her dirty gray eyes.
 
She thrust a hip to the side and narrowed her shoulders, creating a deep groove in her already cavernous cleavage.
 
“Even for the likes of ye, love, lest ye want to warm
my
bed.”

The child started screaming in earnest.
 
This time he agreed with the whelp.


Wot’s
this then?”
 
Her thick brogue, deepened by libations, muddled the words.
 

“I found it in the snow.”
 

“Then the poor bastard’s hungry.”
 

Finn flinched at the word
bastard
, but the woman didn’t seem to notice.
 
The look on her ruddy face told him that she was reconsidering her offer.

“He needs a woman.”
 
Finn shoved the bundle toward her.
 

“He needs a
nurse
.”
 
She recoiled, swinging the door toward him.
 
“Ye
canna
leave him here.”

Finn blocked the door with his fist.
 
“Then where do I find a nurse?” he growled through clenched teeth.
 

Her eyes went round as saucers and the sharp tang of her fear filled his nose.
 
“A-at the end of the row on the left,” she stammered.
 

Finn turned and pulled his hood back over his head as the heavy door slammed against him.
 
He had to leave this babe with someone tonight.
 
For on the morrow he must carry out his holy charge.

To assassinate Connor and Roderick MacLauchlan.
 

Chapter Two

 

By the time she’d finished her hip bath,
Rhona
McEwen shivered so violently her muscles protested.
 
It felt as though they would lock her joints down and she would become a standing statue of ice and pain.
 

Casting a baleful look at her dwindling cache of wood, she decided to go without a fire again tonight.
 
She hadn’t the coin to buy any more from the woodcutter and she didn’t want to consider the alternative means of payment.
 
The next time he came by, she might have to take him up on his salacious offer.
 

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