Page 2 of The Irresistible Warrior
Some fell flat on their faces as if an unseen force had knocked them down.
Others fell with startled cries as their legs gave way.
A few cried out in shock as they toppled over.
Most fell with arms flailing and eyes wide as the ground rushed up to meet them.
He’d watched them fall, maidens, matrons, lasses, and servants alike. If they so much as came too near, down they went, as if struck by an invisible hand. The first few times seemed like cruel chance. But then the pattern emerged. He had been cursed with exactly what he had foolishly wished for… word for word.
His family finally had had enough. His mother wept constantly, not able to step close to him. His two sisters feared to be around him. So, his da had sent him off with a terse farewell, no longer able to tolerate the chaos.
So, here he stood—alone, unwanted, and angry—with naught but a few belongings and a reputation that preceded him. The MacCrone clan needed a chieftain, someone strong enough to keep them from splintering apart. That was the excuse his da used when he sent him here.
The wind picked up, carrying the scent of peat and heather. The air had grown colder, harvest time ending and winter a little over a moon cycle away, though feeling as if it had already arrived. He already felt the isolation here. No one here knew him. He had neither friend nor foe here. No one would look at him with pity… or worse, fear. That should have comforted him, but it didn’t. It only made him realize the truth of his situation.
His family had banished him.
Could he blame them?
He tightened his grip on the reins. His horse huffed and stomped once, impatient, but Declan didn’t scold him. He understood the unease. For once he passed that line between hill and hearth, there would be no turning back.
Why am I hesitating?
He knew why.
It was the weight of all he’d left behind—the land he’d grown up on, the laughter of his sisters, the rough bark of his father’s commands, even the old hound who followed him about the place. But it was more than that.
It was the shame.
At first, the wish had seemed like nothing more than foolish banter between three bloodied, battle-worn warriors. One tankard too many. One jest too far. He hadn’t truly meant it. Not the way it had come true.
He’d always been cavalier about his fine features and the ease in finding a woman to appease his passion. But he had grown tired of the chase. He wanted beautiful women to come to him and drop in worthiness at his feet. His words were meant mostly in jest, though it did occur to him that it would make things much easier if women pursued him rather than he doing the pursuing.
He certainly got what he wished for… women literally fell at his feet.
It was madness. A cruel trick. And when he finally accepted it as real, he tried to control it by warning women away and keeping his distance. It didn’t matter. Besides, what future did he have if women forever fell at his feet?
Word spread. They called him cursed. Dangerous. Bewitched. His kin, though they loved him, were left with no choice. So, here he was at Clan MacCrone, with its feuding factions and struggling lands, in need of a strong hand. And far enough away from his family, so they would no longer have to deal with his situation.
Declan dropped his gaze to the village once more. He saw no welcoming arms. No warmth. Only unknown faces and unfamiliar burdens.
He felt the loneliness settle deeper in his bones. He clenched the reins tighter and stared at the village below. A new start, perhaps. Or simply a new place to live out this humiliating punishment.
He’d once been a man respected by warriors and admired by women. Now he was avoided by both.
A bitter smile touched his lips. “So, this is the price of a foolish wish.”
Slowly, he nudged his horse forward.
Declan entered the village cautiously,the hooves of his mount muffled by the muddied earth and scattered straw. No one came to greet him. No fanfare. No curious children running alongside his horse. Just silence, broken by the occasional bark of a dog or the creak of a sagging door.
The place looked weary.
That was the first word that came to him. Not broken, not hopeless. Just… tired.
Stone cottages hunched low to the ground, roofs patched with moss and thatch that had seen too many storms. A few villagers paused at their work to glance his way, women with baskets, men bent over carts or chopping firewood, but their eyes didn’t linger. They looked, then looked away.
It wasn’t exactly fear, more like… caution. As if they’d seen too many men ride in with promises and leave the clan far worse off.
