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Prologue

Campbell stared at the woman She seemed an ill-used and wizened creature, despite the fact that she was likely not ht picked out but a fehite strands id bow, fat and ht on her bones

He shifted He'd have the woet on with her ritual His clansmen would look in horror at such black witchcraft, but the trepidation he'd initially felt aning, and Ca round like so into his palht on the cold, packed dirt

He tried to take her measure It had taken coin aplenty to track the witch down, but her reserve planted the seed of doubt in his head: Was she truly one to be feared, or was shemen from their purses?

Though he stared openly at her, Calance of her face full-on Her eyes focused on a place in the far distance and didn't deign rest on hihtly as if she were blind, though he knew she was not She moved in the darkness like a cat, and Cas told of witches choosing the detested animal as their familiar

He would see if this Finola had powers And he would burn her himself if she wasn't the sorceress she claimed

Finola His skin crawled Campbell knew the name meant “white shoulder,” and it thrust intiments of ivory skin The fall of red hair onto a pale shoulder

He gave himself a shake Perhaps it was the dark arts at work Perhaps she had the power to shift shape into so, he spat into the ritual lire to exorcise such thoughts

Finola's gaze shot up to , and Ca there, like an oily shadow sliding just beneath the surface He'd hoped to catch her in a glimpse head-on, and now he just wished her to look away

His voice cracked in the darkness Anything to break the spell he felt chilling through his flesh down into his bones

“When will you begin, woman?”

The sinister glare receded like a retracting mearding him with distaste “You yearn for your eneery of a simple task”

He pursed his lips Impatience indeed

There was a task at hand - he need not suffer the scoldings of some witch woman

His clan harbored a long-running feud against Clan MacDonald But it was Alasdair MacColla who'd raised the stakes, using his Royalist battles as an excuse to douse Scottish soil with the blood of untold numbers of Campbell sons

And it was MacColla he'd destroy

“I paid you good coin to help me ruin him”

Campbell's bravado was met with i her thu before her “You desire MacColla,” she said finally “And so here he is”

She leaned back to reveal a crude effigy, the reds and browns of the Highland earth packed together in a featureless, calico likeness of a man

“The corp creadha The clay body of your enemy MacColla” She retrieved a handful of silken black strands from a pouch at her waist and systematically worked clumps into the crown of the tacky clay “The hair of the sister recalls the man”

And then Finola struck fast, like a snake, reaching over to grab Ca his palm with a tiny steel blade

“How dare ”

“You will silence your tongue, or I will exact your silence from you” For the second time, the witch's eyes met his

Campbell's mouth went dry The first traces of true fear seeped into hi his blood chilled in its wake He would remember his purpose here Remember what he was about He was a man of stature who could kill this Finola with but a word And he would use whatever it took - use her - to ruin MacColla once and for all

She spoke again, but this tiht to a place where three streams meet”

Squeezing his hand with surprising strength, Finola pulled Ca his blood over the eye sockets she'd hollowed from the clay “That the enemy sees the blood of your hatred”

Finola pulled a bone from the sleeve of her cloak, dull and yellohere the meat was scraped clean from the blade of a lamb's shoulder “We place the speal upon the heart of your ene the surface of the bone, placed on the torso of the clay corpse “That the eneeance”

Power thrilled up Ca his apprehension He would strike the deathblow to MacColla and Clan MacDonald The blade of his vengeance Caave a small smile at the sound of it

She took tongs froan to extract charred river stones froy “That the enemy burns in the flames of your destruction”

Aye, burn MacColla Campbell would annihilate hienerations But with the war that now raged through Ireland and the Highlands, the rivalry had curdled into so murderous Burn

Campbell had rid the west of most of the MacDonald verh they roamed free now, he'd exiled the rest of the clan to Ireland

But he'd underestimated the middle son MacColla had