She heard rushing footfalls drawing closer and while she stroked the wolf gently with one hand, she plucked the sliver of wood out with the other. “You must run,” she whispered to him.
“Step away slowly, Lady Heather.”
She almost sighed with relief when she heard it was Pitt and not her husband. She turned, keeping herself close to the wolf so that the warriors would not take a chance of releasing their arrows in fear of hitting her.
“He was injured. I saw to his wound. He means you no harm,” she called out.
“Step aside,” Pitt ordered again.
“I will not let you harm him.” She realized then that more men were gathering around, and they would be on the wolf as soon as he took off. She had no choice. She would not see the beautiful creature die. She had to run with him so that the warriors would not pelt him with arrows.
“The Dragon will be here soon, Lady Heather. He will not be happy about this.”
That was enough to have her turn to the wolf and say, “Run!”
She followed right behind him, pleased that her frequent runs in the meadow with her sisters had served a purpose after all. She kept pace with the wolf or perhaps he had sensed her intentions and kept a pace she could follow.
The footfalls behind her were growing closer and she called out to the wolf, “Keep going. No matter what keep going.”
The wolf picked up speed and she followed as best she could and when he jumped atop a formation of rocks and disappeared behind it, she sensed he was safe. She stopped abruptly and just as abruptly was grabbed from behind and swung around to face her husband.
Anything she was about to say died on her lips as soon as she saw his face. There was no doubt the Dragon stood before her. His dark eyes blazed with fury, his nostrils flared, and it would be fiery words he unleashed on her.
His hand tightened on her arm like an iron shackle. She was not going anywhere.
“We hurry back,” Rhys shouted to his men.
She was surprised that the warriors did not follow after the wolf, but instead surrounded her and Rhys, providing a thick safety barrier around them. She wondered what kind of danger lurked in the woods that caused such precautions to be taken.
When they were a few feet in the village, the warriors dispersed, while a few remained on the edge of the woods. Rhys kept walking, pulling her along with him, his pace barely slowing. People stared and whispers circled as they watched their leader practically drag his wife through the village. Heather almost tripped over her own feet twice, but Rhys was quick to right her.
Heather was shocked when he brought her to the barn. The guard, upon seeing them approach, hurried to his feet and moved the bench away from the door just as Rhys reached out for the handle.
He yanked her inside, ordering the guard to shut the door behind him. He rushed her along, stopping at the stall where she had last seen the two dead ghost warriors. Nothing was there but a partially filled grain sack sitting atop a barrel.
His heated tone flamed his words. “I give orders for a reason—to protect my clan. You endangered not only your life, but the lives of my men by disobeying me. Evil lurks in those woods.” He shoved her toward the barrel. “See it for yourself and perhaps then you will obey me.”
A tingle of fear rushed over Heather as she took a step toward the barrel. If the sack held no grain, what did it hold? She cautiously undid the tie on the sack and pulled the edges down around whatever was in it.
Heather’s hands froze when it revealed the severed head of a man that had been beaten beyond reason, his eyes gorged out of his head like theother warrior. Maggots feasted on what was left of the flesh and other bugs began to crawl out of the holes and what was left of his nose. His mouth hung agape as if in a perpetual scream when suddenly a spider crawled out of it.
She jumped back, her stomach revolting at the sickening sight, and she turned to her husband, stretching her hand out to him.
Rhys grabbed her around the waist and hurried her away from the disgusting sight. He quickly bent her at the waist, saying, “Take deep breaths.”
She did as he said and while doing so she heard someone enter the barn. The next thing she knew, Rhys was placing a wet cloth to her face. The coolness chased away the last of the protesting rumbles in her stomach and she straightened, though dropped back to lean against her husband.
Rhys had been too angry with his wife to care or give thought to how she would react when she saw the severed head. Now he regretted it and regrets were rare for him.
She turned in his arms, resting her head against his chest, wishing she could erase the atrocious sight from her memory.
Rhys wrapped his arm around her and gently eased her along toward the door.
Pitt stood there and opened it as they approached and Heather realized he had been the one to enter the barn before, but then he was always there when Rhys needed him.
Rhys watched the faces of his people as they looked at his wife as he escorted her through the village. Tongues would wag, speculating over what she saw that left her ghostly pale and trembling in his arms. The servants in the keep stepped away as Rhys walked through the Great Hall with her.
Nessa was the only one with courage enough to approach him. “Is there anything I can do for my lady?”
