1

Fyne Mountain

JULIET SQUIRMED IN her bed, awake long past the hour when she normally fell asleep. The back of her neck prickled. She reached beneath her loose braid and rubbed vigorously, but still the sensation did not entirely subside. Something was wrong; she just couldn't determine exactly what that something was.

For the past three days she'd been unusually restless, pacing when she should be sitting, and snapping at Isadora over the smallest disagreements. That just wasn't like her. For the past three nights when she'd gone to bed, she'd tossed and turned for a long while, unable to get comfortable. When sleep did come, it was filled with vivid and odd dreams she could not decipher. In some of the dreams there was heat and blood. Her heart pounded hard and fast, and a sea of faces swarmed too closely around her. She could never tell when or where she was, and when she woke, she remembered none of the faces.

In addition to the dreams that made no sense, she'd been having an old nightmare for the past two weeks. It had been months since she'd had that dream from which she always woke in a cold sweat, the nightmare that had made her swear years ago that she would never lie with a man.

Her psychic ability was all but useless where her own life was concerned. Juliet could see the past and the future of a complete stranger, but she never knew what tomorrow would bring for her. She hadn't even been able to find her favorite hairclip when it had come up missing. Still, she knew in her heart that the nightmare was more than a fear. It was a premonition. And for the past fourteen nights she had suffered with that nightmare every night.

The dream always started pleasantly enough. The sensation of being taken into a man's embrace was nice. That closeness warmed her to the depths of her soul and caused her insides to do strange things. At the pit of her being she burned and fluttered, and in the shelter of the surprisingly strong arms she realized that there was something wonderful waiting for her and the man who held her.

But that realization of something good to come soon changed, and pain came without warning. It came with agony and blood. The arms that had held her so tenderly changed, a man held her down so that she could not move, and claws tore her flesh. She always saw the claws and knew what was coming, but she couldn't scream, not even as they ripped into her body.

Lying in bed, afraid of the nightmare that might or might not come again tonight, Juliet turned her thoughts to another subject of concern: her younger sister. Her ability to see what would come for her sisters was often no more clear than the window into her own life, but she knew in her heart that Sophie was safe. She didn't know where Sophie and her daughter Ariana slept on this night, but she knew without doubt that no danger threatened them at the moment.

The premonition that Sophie would never see this cabin again remained strong. Perhaps the youngest Fyne sister had still not forgiven her elder sisters for interfering where they should not, and perhaps she never would. But she was not in danger. No, Sophie was not the reason for this wave of anxiety that disturbed the night.

Juliet threw back the covers, lit the candle at her bedside, and walked to the window. On this cloudless night a softly shining half moon added a touch of light to the land surrounding her mountainside home. She lifted the lace curtain to peer outside. Her fingers brushed against the icy glass, and her toes quickly grew cold. Months had passed since Sophie's departure. It had been warm when Sophie and her rebel had ridden away in search of their daughter. Now the leaves on the trees beyond the barn had turned to vibrant reds and golds, with a few bright blue leaves mixed amongst them. Some of those leaves had died and fallen to the ground. When the sun shone down, the days were comfortable enough, with just a touch of a chill in the air. But the nights were cold as winter approached, time passing normally even though Juliet was certain nothing would ever be normal again.

Again her neck prickled, and she reached around to once again rub at the odd warning sign. It was downright frustrating to have a gift that could be used to help others, but was all but useless where her own life was concerned. Not that she wanted to know every detail of what the future held for her, of course, but still . . . when she had strange dreams she could not remember well, and that unsettling nightmare plagued her, and this odd sensation at the back of her neck disturbed her sleep, she did wish she could see a glimpse.

Of course, it was possible such a glimpse would not soothe her at all, but would only make matters worse.

Juliet's head snapped around sharply, drawn to the autumn trees. It was too dark in the mountain forest for her to see anything at all, and yet she was almost certain that something out there moved. Something that did not belong.

A man.

Juliet let the curtain drop and flutter into place, then turned and ran on bare feet to the hallway. "Isadora!" she shouted. Outside the cabin she heard the rustle of boots in the dirt and the whisper of male voices that seemed to assault her from all sides. The footsteps and the whispers sounded in her head, not her ears, and yet they were real. Very, very real.

Isadora, rumpled with sleep and wearing a plain white nightgown, stumbled into the hallway still more asleep than awake. "What's wrong?" she asked, a touch of annoyance in her voice. She likely suspected that a startling vision of some sort, or perhaps a frightening dream, had disturbed her gentler sister.

"Men," Juliet said. "They're coming."

Isadora came instantly awake.

Juliet halted while she was still several feet away from her sister, her heart heavy with the knowledge that her understanding of the warning had come too late. "They're here."

The front door splintered open with a resounding crack, windows throughout the house shattered, and men dressed in green invaded the Fyne home in a thundering loud swarm. They shouted threatening words and screamed ear-splitting war cries, and carried torches that lit their way and swords that gleamed in the firelight.

There were so many of them. Five, ten . . . twenty. And they were dressed the same, with only a few minor variations here and there. Emerald green trousers and tunics, some plain, some with the markings of their rank or awards for services rendered to the emperor. Soldiers. The men who burst into the Fyne cabin through the front door and the windows surrounded the sisters almost instantly after breaking into the cabin.

Copyright © 2005 by Linda Winstead Jones