“It is no longer your home. Wherever I am so is your home.”
His remark disturbed her. How could he be her home? Home was where there was love, caring,laughter, so that when tears and hardship came, love and caring, and even laughter, saw you through it. Was the Dark Dragon even capable of loving?
She chased the disturbing thought away and instead attempted to focus on the land in its rich summer growth. The trees, the grass, the wildflowers all eagerly stretched up to the bright sun, as if begging for its attention. Her eyes began to grow heavy, and her head bobbed now and again. The pace they kept coupled with being snug in his arms gave the impression of being lovingly rocked and after fighting to keep herself erect, she capitulated and laid her head on his leather-clad chest. The muscles beneath were hard as were the muscles that ran along his arms. He was thick with muscles all over and her breath caught a moment when a vision of him naked came unbidden. She tried to chase the wicked thought away, but the startling image refused to dissipate.
She had never seen a man aroused, though she had felt an arousal pressed against her. Her heart plummeted. It had been years since she allowed herself to think of that moment with Quinn. Every time she had, she had grown aroused herself and had ached for the man she loved more than life itself. He had gone away and never returned, though he had promised to come back to her. And there could be only one reason he had not returned… death.
Death would have been the only thing that kept Quinn from returning to her. He had sworn toher the day he had left that he would return. That nothing—absolutely nothing—would keep him from her. He had told her that his heart belonged to her. That she was to keep it safe until he returned, and then they would join their two hearts as one. She kept her head bowed so that the Dark Dragon could not see the single tear that slipped down her cheek.
Now she was wed to another, and she doubted their hearts would ever join as one. She wondered what kind of marriage she would have with this warrior who was feared like the devil himself. How would he treat her? Would he beat her if she displeased him? And what of intimacy with him?
She silently scolded herself for thinking of that now. It would do her little good to think on things that would only add to her distress. She raised her head and almost lost the courage she had gathered to speak when she met his dark eyes through the holes of his metal helmet. They struck her as soulless, the darkness so deep, though there was something else about them that oddly enough touched her heart.
Her sister Patience had often warned her about feeling sorry for others. She could hear her saying,not everyone is who they seem to be, and in the end, you will suffer for your kindness.But how could she not be kind to her husband? What kind of marriage would she have if there were always crosswords between them or worse, they rarely spoke at all?
The thought bolstered her courage and she asked, “May I know your name?”
“Rhys.”
She was not daunted by his curt response. She had found through the years that gruff men could be softened with a smile and thoughtful words. Patience had disagreed and once again warned that it was her beauty that softened the brusque men. But Heather was no fool when it came to men. She was well aware of their proclivity toward women and had never placed herself in a position that could prove compromising.
She did not have to force a smile. It came easily to her as she asked, “And are you a McCuil like your Uncle Ewan?”
“No.”
“Then what clan do I now belong to?” His dark eyes intimidated, peering through the holes of his metal helmet as he settled them on her, and to her concern it was the first time she ever had to force herself to maintain a smile.
“You belong tome—now and always.”
His response silenced her, for it was not delivered in a loving or caring tone and once again she felt a prisoner rather than a bride.
“There is one thing you must remember as my wife.”
His strong, imposing voice sent a tingle of fear racing through her or perhaps it was theanticipation of the command he was about to deliver that disturbed her more.
“Never, everdisobey me, otherwise things could prove difficult for you.”
Her innocent thought turned to words before she could stop it. “Is it even possible for things to prove more difficult than they already are?”
He leaned his head down closer to hers. “I assure you, wife, it is very possible.”
In the next instant, the truth of his words proved true. Suddenly, a ghost warrior rode up alongside Rhys and spoke anxiously in a language foreign to her. And the next thing she knew arrows whistled in the air, descending on them.
CHAPTER 4
Rhys wrapped his arms around his wife and draped himself over her just as arrows pinged off his helmet and bounced off his leather armor. He did not shout to his warriors, for they were well-trained for such a surprise attack. He hastily brought his stallion to a halt and dropped off him, his body wrapped tightly around his wife as he took her with him. His stallion fled to do what he was trained to do—hide until the attack was over and to let no one take him.
He hit the ground hard, taking as much of the blunt force as he could, then he quickly got them to their feet and hurried her to a large boulder. He pressed his palm to her chest and ordered, “Do not move from this spot.”
He flung his black cloak off and drew his sword as he turned and faced the onslaught of warriors pouring out of the surrounding woods.
Heather’s heart pounded with fear. It was as if she had been plunged back to the day she had been abducted. Only this time the warriors who attacked did not wear the white face paint of the ghost warriors. These warriors’ faces were smeared with dirt and their fierce screams echoed through the woods as they attacked.
She did as her husband ordered and braced herself up against the boulder, terrified she wouldbe taken captive once again. Her eyes grew wider as she watched her husband battle the warriors that came at him. Never had she seen a man fight with the ferocity and power that her husband displayed. He felled warrior after warrior. It was as if he grew in strength and determination with each deadly blow he inflicted.
When he suddenly turned around, his sword in the air, she cringed, thinking for a moment he meant to use it on her, but it caught a warrior perched on top of the boulder, slicing into his neck, his lifeless body dropping off to the side.
Heather looked to her husband, but he had already turned to battle another enclave of warriors advancing on him. Her eyes darted anxiously, watching as the ghost warriors fought the attacking horde, bodies dropping like swatted flies. She wrapped her arms around herself, frightened beyond belief.
