Shadow Wolf Remembrance

Status: Finished

Shadow Wolf Remembrance

Status: Finished

Shadow Wolf  Remembrance

Book by: Natalia Vermont

Details

Genre: Romance

Content Summary

SHADOW WOLF
BOOK 1: Remembrance:

In book one my heroine will travel back in time with the help of her Guardian, a giant spirit wolf, to vanquish a great evil in hopes of breaking an ancient curse.  But the evil wasn't defeated, only the mortal form it took. This evil's true objective was to use the heroine to free its master, The Arch Ruler, from the enchantment that has kept him trapped for over a thousand years, for she is the only one with the power to break the seal of Ardun, a Superior order of immortals.


Sophia considers her life pretty much normal, that is until she befriends a gigantic wolf, who happens to push her down a waterfall. Technically, the fall wasn’t so bad and she would have forgiven her four legged friend, but when she emerges from the water, she finds herself several hundred years in the past, in Scotland of all places, abandoned by the wolf. Lucky for her, she is rescued by a handsome Scotsman, or so the arrogant lout says. Really, what’s wrong with the man? One minute he drives her mad with his kisses, the next he accuses her of being a witch.

Cameron’s nights are plagued by dreams of a spirit, begging him to remember something long forgotten, and his days are tormented by a lovely stranger, who very well could be a spy from the enemy clan. What is a laird to do? Keeping the lass will only anger his mistress and cause him great distraction at the time of war, but the thought of sending her away leaves him barren.
When Sophia saves his life, he learns that maybe there is more to life than empty passion and the sound of clashing steel.
 

 

Content Summary

SHADOW WOLF
BOOK 1: Remembrance:

In book one my heroine will travel back in time with the help of her Guardian, a giant spirit wolf, to vanquish a great evil in hopes of breaking an ancient curse.  But the evil wasn't defeated, only the mortal form it took. This evil's true objective was to use the heroine to free its master, The Arch Ruler, from the enchantment that has kept him trapped for over a thousand years, for she is the only one with the power to break the seal of Ardun, a Superior order of immortals.


Sophia considers her life pretty much normal, that is until she befriends a gigantic wolf, who happens to push her down a waterfall. Technically, the fall wasn’t so bad and she would have forgiven her four legged friend, but when she emerges from the water, she finds herself several hundred years in the past, in Scotland of all places, abandoned by the wolf. Lucky for her, she is rescued by a handsome Scotsman, or so the arrogant lout says. Really, what’s wrong with the man? One minute he drives her mad with his kisses, the next he accuses her of being a witch.

Cameron’s nights are plagued by dreams of a spirit, begging him to remember something long forgotten, and his days are tormented by a lovely stranger, who very well could be a spy from the enemy clan. What is a laird to do? Keeping the lass will only anger his mistress and cause him great distraction at the time of war, but the thought of sending her away leaves him barren.
When Sophia saves his life, he learns that maybe there is more to life than empty passion and the sound of clashing steel.

Author Chapter Note

Okay, more changes. I added a new beginning by 409 words. I wanted to make Cam more appealing, also I changed the scene a bit when Cam was talking to his mother privately. Is the gy somewhat likable?

I want to know where it falls boring, PLEASE, don't want to bore my audience. Grammer, flow, and was it a fun read? Thanks guys.

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: April 27, 2011

Comments: 22

A A A | A A A

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: April 27, 2011

Comments: 22

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After a night of turbulent sleep, Cameron left Kirrah’s cottage and made his way back to his keep. Uncertainty loomed within him, causing him to doubt his own sanity. Last night had to be the fault of a very active imagination, and his mother's prized mead, which was made of two thirds liquor.

            Being the realist that he was, it was hard for his mind to define last night’s event as anything other than a dream within a dream.

            “Hallo,” said Tammy, the six-year-old butcher’s daughter.

            Cameron pushed his dream aside. He had real problems to deal with and he did not want to waste time pondering upon a fictitious ghost, no matter how troubled she sounded or how much his heart ached to grant her peace.

            He got onto bended knee and playfully pinched Tammy’s cheek. “And what is my wee lady doing this morn?”

            She giggled, hugging a torn dolly close. “I would like to go for a ride on Lucifer, milord.”  Her cheeks dimpled as her blue eyes sparkled in the sunlight.

            Cameron brushed a strand of brown hair out of her face. “How can I refuse a pretty lady such a simple request?”

            She jumped into his arms and embraced him. He hugged the tiny girl back. She was a sweet lass. He had thought so the first time he met her a year ago, with eyes full of tears. Her favorite and only dolly had been taken away by her older brothers, who held the toy hostage and taunted their sister mercilessly. Cameron did what any loyal warrior would do and rescued Dolly from the evil clutches of her brothers. Since then he had been her hero. And honestly, it humbled him and made him want to prove himself worthy of her adoration.

            “Tammy!” her mother screamed. “Dinna plague the laird. He is a busy man!”

            The girl immediately released him. “But he is my friend, Mam.”

            The older, portly woman pulled her daughter close. “I beg yer pardon, milord. Tammy here can be a bit forward. She dinna understand the ways of the nobility. ‘Tis my fault. I will teach her.”

            Cameron stood. “There is no need for apologies. Tammy is correct, I am her friend.” He winked at Tammy.

            Tammy brightened. “See, Mam. He is my friend and so is Lucifer. He likes it when I feed him apples. Eats them right out of my palms.”

            She inhaled sharply. “That great beast of a war horse? I forbid it! The horse is meant to defend his master in battle, can kill a man with his mighty hooves. Don’t be daft and stay away from his lordship’s horse. He is not a pet!”

            Tammy’s eyes teared.  “He wilna hurt me, Mam.” She hugged her dolly tight. “He likes me, his lordship told me so. And he does not lie.”

            “Of course his lordship does not lie,” the mother appeased.

            Cameron felt the need to defend his horse. “Lucifer may appear beastly, but when it comes to the wee lass, he is tame as a kitten.  I do understand your concern. I will make sure that she is supervised on her visits to my stables.”

            The butcher’s wife nodded, though she looked uncertain. “Aye, milord. Come, Tammy, I need help with the cooking.”

            Tammy groaned. “But that is what Ida is there for.” Her lower lip stuck out in a pout.

            “Yer sister is helping as well. ‘Tis time you start learning, if ye wanna make a good wife.”

            Tammy looked at Cameron. “Do ye like cooked meals?”

            He bit back a grin. “Aye, I do.”

            She nodded, slipped a hand through her mother’s. “Vera well.” She turned to Cameron again. “What do ye like best?”

            “Apple butter and cinnamon tarts.”

            Tammy nodded again. “Come, Mam. I want to learn how to make apple butter and tarts.”

            Her mother blushed and stammered words of apologies.

            Putting his palm up, he laughed.  “Aye, Tammy, you know you are my number one lassie. Now if you really want to please me, you will learn how to make plum cake and roasted ham with cherry gravy.”

            Tammy smiled, displaying two missing front teeth.  “I will go with Mam now. She will teach me and then you will eat.”

            Her mother was mortified. “Tammy! Ye wilna talk to his lordship like that. I should give ye a sound padding!”

            “’Twould be my pleasure to try anything you prepared for me,” Cameron said to Tammy. “And then I will take you for a ride, but first you must ask your mam, lassie.”

“Aye, I will.” She bobbed an awkward curtsy, then pulled her mother along, eager to learn her new duties. “Will ye teach me how to make cherry gravy, Mam?”

The woman flashed Cameron a hesitant glance. “Aye, lambkin, I’ll teach ye.”

            Cameron merely smiled and walked on.  He entered the Main Hall in the castle to the sight of his mother, Isolode, and his brother, Aedan, deep in conversation as they ate breakfast. 

         His mother’s long, silky black hair brushed past her right shoulder as she leaned towards Aedan.  "Aye, son, we should do well, remembering last year's shearing. We made a profit then, and should this time, too." She smiled at Aedan, her dark blue eyes lit with pleasure, and Cameron thought their mother looked far younger than the five and forty winters she had seen.

               They sat at the grand table made to seat a hundred and four, with a massive antler chandelier hanging above, lit by a hundred wax candles.  Colorful tapestry hung from the walls, along with armored plaques. The family crest, a pair of wolves howling at the sky above, rested over the marble fireplace.  Dark lavender curtains were pulled back to either side of the enormous window, allowing the warm sunlight to seep through, and exotic carpets his ancestors brought from their travels from the orient covered the cold stone floors.

             The Main Hall had always been his favorite chamber.  He felt like a king seated in his throne-like chair.  The armrests were carved into small wolf heads, mouths agape, while the back of the chair sported a leafed arch.  The middle featured a strange design of crescent moons and stars swirling around a unicorn.  It was a pretty piece and had been in his family for generations, rumored to be crafted by a blacksmith who obviously knew something about woodwork as well.

         “Cam,” Aedan said with a faint smile on his lips.   “To think I wondered why you spared Kirrah the punishment of theft when we caught the lass stealing two heads of our cattle.”

          “I punish her plenty,” he said with a wink, causing Aedan to throw his head back and laugh. 

           At four and twenty, Aedan was the middle child.  Their sister Eleanor, who recently married an English Earl despite her brothers' objections, especially his, was the youngest at the age of twenty.

          "Mayhap I should offer her my services. Some say I am the more handsome Kincaid." Aedan smirked.

           "Only the blind and the simple minded." Cameron's gaze moved over his brother, taking in their similarities.  He had always thought that they inherited their good looks from their late father, with their aquatic blue eyes and onyx colored hair, except Aedan’s hair curled, while his was straight.  Both had the same build, yet he stood a few inches taller. "It's that horrid nose of yours. Crooked like a broken arrow." Cameron pursed his lips.

               Aedan laughed. "The lassies claim it makes me more appealing." It was true. Aedan did not lack in female companionship.

                     “Cameron, ’tis good to see you this morn,” his mother said as she gave him a radiant smile—a smile filled with the love only a mother possessed for her child. 

            Taking his seat at the head of the table, he leaned over and gave his mother a brief kiss on the cheek.   

                 “’Tis good to see you too, Mathair.”   He helped himself to ham, eggs, cinnamon-sugared pears and warm bread.   “Anna makes the best pears.” 

              “Indeed she does.” Isolode nodded. “We are blessed to still have her in service.  I am surprised you two did not run her off with your childhood follies,” his mother scolded. 

            Cameron’s gaze met Aedan’s, who likewise was trying to suppress a smile.  When they were young, they had played numerous tricks on poor old Anna, though she was not quite so old then.   Once they had put a live pig in the kitchen.   It made quite a mess and nearly destroyed the entire scullery as Anna ran after it, trying to capture it.   

            He remembered their backsides hurting for a week after their father’s thrashing.  But that didn’t stop them from putting a bucket of water over the kitchen door so when Anna pushed it open, it landed on her head and drenched her all the way down to her toes.  At the time it seemed quite humorous. 

            ‘Little Devils’ their cook had called them then, until the day they put a dead rat in the flour jug.  She then refused to even acknowledge their existence.   Anna had served them oats for breakfast and threatened to make them a stew out of the dead rat while presenting them with a mutinous smile.  They hated oats and worse, they did not relish the thought of rat stew.  Wisely, they had decided that they were too old for foolishness.

              “I put Ian in charge of training the men this morn,” Aedan said as he finished the last piece of ham on his plate. 

              “After you, there is no one I trust more than Ian,” Cameron approved.

             Ian Fitzgerald was like a brother to him.  The three boys had been close since early childhood.  Even in their youth, they possessed startling good looks and made wagers on which one of them the milkmaids preferred.  Cameron usually was more favored.  The other two shrugged it off and claimed the lassies favored him merely because he was the laird.

            “I shall join the men on the field.” Aedan wiped his mouth on a piece of cloth and tossed it on the table. “I’ll see you shortly, brother?”

              Cameron gazed up from his breakfast long enough to present his brother with a brief nod.   The moment the latch on the door clicked shut, signaling the departure of Aedan, his mother turned to him, pursing her lips.

            “Cameron, I need to have a word with you.”

            “Mathair?”  he politely inquired, eyes never leaving his plate.

             Isolode cleared her throat in emphasis and when he finally looked up, she made a great show of placing her fork on the table.

             Cameron sighed and placed his fork down while giving the last slice of ham a longing look.  

           “I had a most unusual vision last eve.  I am trying to make sense of it all, but haven’t been able to thus far.” 

           Strange vision?  For this he stopped eating?  He was tempted to pick up the fork again but the narrowing of his mother's eyes stopped him.  What was it with his family and dreams and visions?   His mother believed she was blessed with ‘the sight’, claiming to be able to see the future and other such nonsense.  Though, she did foresee correctly rather frequently.  But then again ‘predicting’ the gender of a bairn was quite simple.  Either it was a lass or lad, not like it could be a pig or something else.

             “I saw a woman surrounded by flames, and you pulling her to safety.”

            He raised his brows.  “Mathair, I hope this isn’t one of your attempts to marry me off again. The last lass you presented from the Sinclair clan was half toothless.” 

           “She was bonny enough when she did not smile.” Isolode chuckled, then sobered.  “Nay, son. ’Twas strange—I cannot explain. You called for her…..her name does not come to me easily or perhaps I cannot pronounce it, for it is foreign. ‘Tis like I can hear it in my mind but my tongue cannot form the words.” She shook her head. “My sight warns me that you need her.” 

           Called for her?  Cameron shuddered.   “And you saw all this in your dream?”   His voice was drenched in sarcasm. 

             She crossed her arms.  “Nay, ’twas a feeling.”

            “Tis difficult for me to comprehend why I would need this woman. A man has no need of a woman other than to warm his bed and bear his children.” 

            He was sick of dreams and visions, sick of the angel tormenting him, sick of her voice.  You called for her, his mother had said.  Was it his lass his mother spoke of?  He was tempted to ask her what this woman looked like, but refused to feed into his delusions.  Just thinking about it made his stomach turn. 

            “I know you do not mean those words. I was much more to your athair than a warm body to beget children on. I know Melody caused you pain, but she had always been beneath you,” she said sadly.

            "So beneath me that she married an earl." A pained look passed his face. “I do not wish to speak of her.” He let out a long breath. “Athair was lucky to have you. You, Mathair, are a woman a man can be proud of, a woman worth loving.”

           “Of course he was,” Isolode said, “and he damn well knew it.”

            “I see your language has not improved with old age,” he teased and laughed when she sputtered.  “I really must tend to my men. I have tarried long enough.” 

             “Very well, love, go on.”  She waved her hand dismissively, deep in thought.  

          “As always, Mathair, you are a joy.”  Cameron shook his head as he left the main hall, wondering if his dream and his mother’s vision were just a mere coincidence.

            Perhaps it was merely his mother’s choice of words linking the two.  ‘Called for her.’  Cameron snorted.  Leave it to his mother to choose words to bring forth demons he was desperately trying to vanquish. 

            As Cameron neared the fields, his men were hard at training, with Ian and Aedan in command.  He had picked a section of barren land for field training.  His property was vast, twenty miles wide, occupied by over twenty thousand clansmen, one of the largest in the highlands.

          War would come as it always did. The strong would survive, while the weak would perish. It was his duty as laird to ensure the survival of his clan as his father and grandfather had before him. Cameron exercised his warriors mercilessly for hours till near exhaustion. From the moment a lad could wield a sword, he was ordered to the training field. One on one, the lads paired up, given wooden sword to fight, and if one cried or showed signs of fear, he was pushed the hardest until his own blood no longer scared him but fueled his determination for victory.  Yet not every boy was cut out to be a warrior. The weak were quickly weeded out and sent to farm or to another less lethal task. He could not tolerate weakness in his soldiers, for weakness would only lead to death and defeat.

            Kincaid was a clan to be reckoned with. Even King Charles would rather call the Kincaid clan a friend than an enemy. Not only did they sprout fearless warriors in alarmingly large numbers, but they were backed by the Earl of Dunnard, his uncle, known as the Red Lion of Dunnard, a man whose banners alone frightened the King of England.  

             If the Red Lion raised his banner for war, there were very few Scotsmen who would not follow him loyally into battle, making Dunnard a dangerous opponent, a man with the power to unite all of Scotland.  Unity was what the king feared most. He could easily force his rule on a divided nation, but if Scotland stood as one, she would become a force like no other, driven by her thirst for freedom.

            However, it was not the English who plagued him the most—they stayed in the lowlands and left his lot in the highlands for the most part in peace—but another Scottish highland clan, the Montgomerys. Theirs was a feud fought for hundreds of years, although no one could quite remember what had caused the hatred between the two clans.  

             “Good morn, laird,” his men greeted.

             The men were divided into two groups; Aedan’s group practiced the art of sword fighting.  Ian’s group practiced archery.  Cameron paused before the archers and watched as sets of two dozen men simultaneously pulled back their arrows, aimed it at the bull’s-eye, then released their hold.  With a repetitive thud, each arrow pierced its bull's-eye.  He had damn fine marksmen, he noted.  When the first unit finished, the next group moved up, taking the former group’s position and repeated the motion. Again each man hit the mark dead on.

               “’Tis a miracle you aren’t exhausted from your morning exercise, Cam.” Ian slapped his friend on the back.

            “You’re merely envious because you haven’t had a warm-up in days.” 

             Ian burst out in laughter.  “I do not brag about my conquests.”

            In truth, there was little the three did not know about one another.  If one of them did bed a wench, there was a story to be told the next day.

              Cameron took over Aedan’s group, instructing them on different fighting techniques.   Pairing up with his brother, he began his own exercise and continued their training for another few hours before dismissing the men.  The group broke for luncheon, leaving only the three friends.  

          “A quick swim in Lake Bruan would be welcomed,” Aedan suggested as he wiped sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand.

            “Aye, aye,” came two quick replies. 

           They jogged back to the village, stopped at the well for a quick drink of water, then made their way to the stables.

            “I watered the horses, my lord,” the eleven-year-old stable boy said.   

          “Good lad, Jamie. Ready our horses.”

             “Aye, at once, my lord.”  The boy hurried off.

            A few minutes later, Jamie brought back three black Arabian horses that Cameron purchased on his last trip to Edinburgh two years back.  They were magnificent beasts with sinister appearances.  It did not help that Cameron named them Devil, Satan, and Lucifer.

          He had gifted his brother and his best friend with two steeds, saving the best horse for himself.  He saw more spirit in Lucifer, a warrior horse with a spirit to match, perfectly suitable for a warrior laird.  There was something to be said about a man riding into battle with a horse named Lucifer accompanied by ones named Satan and Devil.  

           Though he did not suit his horse in battle armor—he’s Scottish, after all, and armor would slow the horse and produce far too much noise, not something he relished, yet he had a special chamfron made.  It covered the front of the horse's head in entirety and was plated in silver.  Horns pointed out above each eye-hole and spiked studs framed the face plate.  Of course Ian and Aedan felt their horses needed chamfrons as well, though theirs did not have the spiked studs. 

           If Cameron possessed an ounce of vanity it came from the possession of his steed.  He’d seen many lassies fawn and sigh over him by the mere sight of him riding Lucifer.  He smiled as he swung his leg over and reared his horse forth.  Devil and Satan’s hoof beats sounded close behind him.   

                                                           *** 

            Six miles north of the Kincaid stronghold at the small McGillis village, four sinister-looking characters met in secret. Three men in red and green Montgomery colors, and another rider whose identity was well hidden behind a long black hooded cloak.......... 

           

           “He’s training his men,” the hooded figure said. 

           “Wasted effort. His future, by my hand, has been written, and death he cannot escape,” Lachlan Montgomery said from on top of his horse.  “Our plan has worked thus far. Do not disappoint me, cousin.”

               “I do not understand why I cannot poison him and have it done with, Lachlan.”  

          “I will not grant him an easy death,” Lachlan sneered.  “When I have him, I will take my time ripping him limb from limb.  He shall pay for his crimes, as well as those of his father and his grandfather.”

            The laird’s right hand man spoke up.  “We Montgomerys have long memories,” James said.  “An insult paid to our ancestors is an insult paid to us, do not forget that, young Montgomery.”

           The bushes rustled, shaking slightly.   The riders stilled, withdrew their claymores and pointed them towards the bushes. 

           “Withdraw yer swords, ye fools! ’Tis only I, Ulla,” the old crone, Ulla McGillis, said. She hobbled towards them, using her cane as support. 

           “Ah…Ulla. To what do we owe the pleasure?”  Lachlan slowly put his sword back into its sheath.   

         Ulla McGillis was looked upon as a kind of witch.  If one were with child, she could prepare a brew which would cause a miscarriage.  She concocted all sorts of different poisons and occasionally she had the gift of ‘sight’—for a price, of course.  She didn’t care if people used her skills for good or evil, as long as they paid her in coin.

            Ulla looked up at Lachlan, rubbing her thumb and index finger together.

            He reached for his money pouch connected to his belt, pulled out a copper coin and tossed it down.  

            “It better be worth it, witch.” 

           Ulla grabbed the coin and bit into it with her rotten teeth.  Satisfied by its authenticity, she then placed it in a pouch she had hidden between her sagging breasts.  

           “Aye, laird, I have news for ye. 'Twill not be as easy as ye think,”  Ulla said with her half-toothless smile.  “Beware of the lass who follows the Kincaid and the great beast protecting her.” 

           Ulla turned to leave but her path was blocked by James’ steed.

             “Do not talk riddles to us, woman!” James shouted.  “Do you think we are fools?” 

           Ulla gave the man a strange look, eyes glittering amusement.  “Aye, I think ye to be fools.”  

          James reached for his sword but Lachlan’s hand across his chest interrupted him.

            Ulla let out a wicked laugh. “Listen lads, I only come to warn ye—and for my trinket, of course.” 

           She then turned and pointed her cane at the Montgomery laird.  “I value yer coin, so listen well, Lachlan Montgomery.  If she comes, ye will lose. ‘Twill be at her hand ye'll perish if ye dinna kill her first! I sense unearthly forces surrounding the lass.” 

           Lachlan’s nostrils flared.  “Who is this woman?”

            Ulla shrugged her boney shoulder.  “I dinna know,” she said as she turned around and started back to her cottage.  “If ye have need of me, ye know where to find me.”

            “You think the witch speaks the truth, Lachlan?”  William, another one of his favorites, asked.     

       “The old witch is never wrong.  If she says beware, then cautious we shall be,” Lachlan answered, annoyed at the new obstacle standing between him and his revenge.  He turned to the hooded figure.  “If a woman comes to the Kincaids, you will let me know.”

           “Do not fret.  If she comes, I’ll make sure she lives long enough to regret it,” the rider promised and rode away. 

              A dark look passed over Lachlan's face as his lips curving into a snarl. “I shall have my revenge and no whore of a woman shall deprive me of it.”  

 


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