Highland Moon Sifter (a Highland Sorcery novel) Read Free Page A

the flint she found. She considered leaving off the task. The smoke could lead the Sifts right to her. Of course her scent left a trail through the forest anyway, even as hard as she’d tried to hide it with mud. But, still, the risk of dehydration and infection were just as likely to finish her off too. Besides, she could coat herself in the ash to further mask her scent.
    Her hands shook with each strike of the poker across the flint. After many frustrated attempts, she had a fine blaze and two pots of water purifying. She threw her make shift bandages to sterilize in one pot.   The other pot would be for drinking.
    She stabbed the end of the poker into the fire and stared at the dead Sift. It looked as gruesome dead as it had alive, blubbery skin over lean muscle. Without the eyes looking any different with the thin layer of skin, it could be staring straight at her ready to pounce and she’d never know it. She kept sneaking glances at its still chest to make sure.
    Tearing her gaze away, she began to work on the guard’s cloak. There was plenty of material for to use as bandages as well as a covering.
    She had to rest up, drink the boiled water, or she’d be in no condition to take on the Moon Sifter. Who was she kidding? At her best, she wasn’t a match for his kind of dark magic.
    That’s why Col had been their best bet to go back here. As his brother, Shaw would never suspect him as an assassin.
    But even Moon Sifters could die from a blade if she got close enough.
    Or even had a freaking blade.
    She had one more thing here to do. Then she’d set the dead Sift on fire and burn the cottage down around it, and be on her way before the other Sifts caught scent of her trail. Best to double-back and go to the witch’s castle, hope that Shaw Limont was there, and finish what she came to do.
    The end of the poker glowed orange. Setting her teeth together, Bekah pulled it out of the fire, breathing heavily. She had to do this. No one was here to do it for her. Frightened, but resolved, Bekah placed the hot poker across the first slash over her hip and screamed.

    Chapter Four

    She was right back where she started, at the witch’s castle. At least this time she was somewhat clothed. She’d torn a strip off the bottom of the cloak to belt around her waist. She kept it loose to keep from chafing across the wounds she’d burned closed. At least the gashes were no longer bleeding, but the burned skin hurt with every footstep. At least the belt kept the loose folds from falling open every time she let go of the cloak. Every sound she heard in the forest set her skittish nerves on alert, fearing the Sifts were on her even though she’d stood downwind next to the burning cottage she set ablaze so she’d smell of smoke to hide her scent.
    At the moment, she rested on her belly on a slight knoll above the dark stone of the tall stark castle. Black birds darted around the crenellations, screeching beneath bruise-swollen clouds that seemed ready to bust wide and drop buckets of rain.
    It was a strange castle, seeming to rise straight out of a flat clearing surrounded by a hilly forest. There was no castle yard or secondary walls, just the building itself with tall imposing double doors as an entrance. The only visible guards were stationed outside the doors. The witch was obviously confident in her witchy wards.
    The stables across the yard was the only friendly appearing structure, and also seemed to be the area where the mercenaries not on duty preferred to hang out.
    Very few people moved about the castle. From what the hold-out survivors of her time gathered from history, the witch didn’t like nor need many people about her. She retained a handful of guards—hired mercenary types—and a few washerwomen, servants and cooks from the small village a few miles beyond the forest.
    The mercenaries Bekah got, but why any of the village women would want to enter inside the witch’s liar was a mystery. Must be one doozy of a