“That is what my mum told me.”
“How long have you and Henry been married?”
“Ten years now,” Belle said with a smile.
“I am curious, Belle,” Heather said, lowering her voice. “Was Henry a ghost warrior when you wed him?”
“Henry is a warrior no more, no less and you will hear the same from all the other wives.”
Heather understood without actually being told that the ghost warriors would never be acknowledged by their wives as such, and she had a strong suspicion that it was a rule of the Dragon’s that made it so.
“How is Henry’s wound?” Heather asked. Belle smiled wide and Heather sensed she was relieved at the change of subject.
“I changed the bandage this morning, with much protesting from Henry, but I think he was relieved to see how well it looked. He drinks the brew you showed me how to make and though he will not admit it, he has grown partial to the taste. Though, it might be that the pain subsides some afterwards.”
“I am glad to know he is doing well. Will you and Henry remain here when the Dragon takes his leave?”
“I am not sure, but either way I do not mind as long as Henry and I are together. I have fond memories of this place and it would not trouble me to remain here, but the Dragon’s home is beautiful, the village lovely, and I do so love it there. But either place is home for Henry and me.”
Heather and Belle talked a few minutes more, and then Heather took her leave. She stopped to see how Douglas was doing and was pleased to see that his wound looked good and that his fever had not returned.
She continued walking through the village, not sure what to do with herself. This would not be her permanent home, so she was not certain as to her duties here, and she certainly was not accustomed to being idle. She wished she could walk in the woods. She had done that often at home, sometimes to gather plants or wildflowers and other times it was simply to enjoy the solitary time it brought her.
Her eye caught a young lad busy polishing Rhys’ helmet, and she walked over to him.
He rose quickly, grasping the helmet in one hand as he did and gave her a respectful bob of his head.
“Please sit and continue your chore,” Heather said. “You are charged with keeping the Dragon’s helmet fit for him?”
“Aye, my lady. I polish it every day,” the lad said with pride.
“And a fine job you do,” Heather praised.
The lad smiled. “Thank you, my lady.”
“Roy!”
The lad jumped up. “Pardon me, my lady, my da calls.”
“Hurry then, you do not want to keep him waiting.”
The lad bobbed his head again and ran off after placing the helmet on the bench where he had been sitting.
Heather’s glance fell on the helmet and the odd symbols etched into the metal. She reached down and picked up the helmet. Holding it in one hand, she traced the unfamiliar symbols with her finger.
“Be careful, my lady, those symbols are evil.”
Heather turned and stared a moment at the old man, stooped with age and leaning on a worn walking stick. He looked familiar and she smiled, recognizing him. “Seamus, is it not? I tended yourarm injury a few years ago when I was here with my father.”
“Aye, you did, Lady Heather, and grateful I am for it. So I return the favor when I tell you those symbols are evil and better left alone.” He hobbled forward, relying heavily on his walking stick, reached out, and slipped the helmet from her hand, then placed it on the bench.
“Why do you say they are evil?”
He stared at her as if he was not quite sure if he should speak or not.
Heather placed her hand on his arm. “I am a friend, Seamus.”
He kept his voice low. “Evil protects evil. Those are witches’ symbols, and they protect the Dragon. The village looks better than it has in a long time. Cottages are being repaired and fields replenished along with the villager folk.” His voice sunk to a whisper. “But the old people are disappearing, and no one says a word.” He looked around to see if anyone lingered nearby, then said, “One night I could not sleep. I heard a strange noise and peeked outside. I saw Harold and his wife Bethany being placed in a cart and carried away, never to be seen again.” Seamus shook his head. “There is talk that the Dragon disposes of those who are no longer useful to him, just as he did to Glynnis.”
