Highlander The Dark Dragon

by Donna Fletcher

  “Make no mistake, Macinnes, lives are lost well before clans declare war. It is the way of greedy men.”

  Heather was impressed by his wise words, perhaps he was not the barbarian many claimed him to be.

  The Dark Dragon turned to Heather with a look that could wither the staunchest of souls and said, “I have granted you this one favor. Do not ask for another. We leave now.”

  Hope sank with his words. He would command and she must obey. It would be the way of things from this moment on.

  He slipped his helmet back on, and then held out his glove-covered hand to her.

  Once she placed her hand in his that would be it, she would belong to him. There would be no escaping him. She wanted to run screaming from the keep, but knew she could not. Fate had dealt her another heavy blow. She was a fool. She should have realized by now that life was harsh and would always be so, but she had hoped—how she had hoped with all her heart that true love would conquer all. But it was not to be.

  She reached out and accepted her fate. His hand grasped hers not firmly, but possessively, the strength of his grip letting her know that she belonged to him and that he would never let her go.

  Emma cried out as the Dark Dragon led her sister out of the Great Hall, “We will visit soon.”

  The Dark Dragon stopped and turned. “You will visit your sister only when I give permission.”

  His words sent a chill through Heather. She was not his wife; she was his prisoner. He rushed her along so fast that she felt as if her feet barely touched the ground. That was when she realized that he had slipped his arm around her waist and lifted her ever so slightly as they walked. Another chill sent a shiver through her. If his one arm held such strength, how strong actually was he?

  The thought turned her legs weak and she feared they would no longer hold her. His arm suddenly tightened around her waist and she was lifted, the ground gone from beneath her feet, though her feet continued to move as if she could still feel it.

  The sun blinded her eyes as they stepped out of the keep and though the sun’s warmth settled over her, it did not chase the chill that continued to run through her.

  His ghost warriors had formed a circle around them and only parted when they neared his stallion.

  Heather could not help but feel helpless just as she had that moment the ghost warriors had abducted her. Only this time it was much worse. Then she had hope of being rescued, for she knew her sisters would come for her. No one would come for her now. The frightening thought sent her stomach roiling.

  His hands went to her waist and with one lift he hoisted her onto his black stallion and mounted behind her. His arms circled her as he took the reins to turn his horse and she had only a moment to catch sight of her family on the top steps of the keep, her sisters waving frantically to her before they disappeared from view.

  With a gallop they rode through the village, his men on either side of them and before she knew it they had crested the rise. Her home would be out of view soon and she longed for one last look. Not thinking, only aching to catch one last look of her family, she took hold of his forearm and pulled herself forward, careful not to lean too far forward since she sat sideways in front of him and could easily slip off.

  She could not see passed the leather spikes on the leather armor strapped to his upper arm, so she gripped his forearm tighter and leaned out a bit farther.

  Heather yelped when he yanked her back and shoved her in the crook of his arm.

  “Stay put. You will fall.”

  “I only wished to see my home one more time.”

  “It is no longer your home. Wherever I am is your home now.”

  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 wild flowers all eagerly stretched up to the bright sun, as if begging for their 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 startlingly 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 to her 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 was always cross words 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 to me—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 the anticipation of the command he was about to deliver that disturbed her more.

  “Never, ever disobey 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 ve
ry 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 Four

  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 would be 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.

  Get a weapon! Protect yourself! Her sister’s voice resonated in her head so loudly that she cast a quick look to see if Patience was actually there and was disappointed when she saw that she was nowhere to be seen. Patience had trained her and Emma in the use of various weapons. She had warned that fear would be the greatest enemy in such an attack. Turn that fear to anger, Patience had told them and do not go down without a fight.

  Heather rarely got angry, but what did spur her into action was watching a wounded ghost warrior trying to crawl off the battlefield to safety. Without hesitation or care for her own safety, she quickly slipped behind the boulder and made her way along the outskirts of the fighting. When she reached the wounded warrior, she ducked down by him. He had suffered a serious wound to his leg, making crawling difficult. She reached out and grabbed his hands and when he saw who had latched onto to him, he grabbed her hands tightly. With strength born of determination, she pulled him into the woods and behind an enormous bush. It provided a modicum of safety for the time being.

  One look at his injured leg told her it was serious. Such a sizeable gash often proved difficult if not impossible to heal, but Heather did not intend to let that stop her. She slipped off her tunic, tore it in half at the shoulders and wrapped his leg with one of the pieces. Once done, she helped him sit, bracing his back against a tree trunk.

  “Hopefully, you will be safe here while I go and see if other wounded warriors require my help.”

  He grabbed her wrist. “I cannot let you go, my lady. The Dragon would want you kept safe.”

  Heather twisted free, his strength having waned from the injury or else she would never have been able to escape his grip. “I will be fine. I will stay on the outskirts of the fighting.” She turned and took off, ignoring his pleas.

  Crouching down to remain as inconspicuous as possible, Heather made her way along the fringes of the battle. She managed to pull another warrior to safety and, with him leaning heavily on her shoulder, got him to where she had left the other warrior. He had taken a sword to his side and from what she could see it had gone straight through, giving him a better chance to survive. She wrapped the other half of her tunic around him and ignored his warning for her to remain with them.

  It was too late to help the next two wounded she came across—they were dead. The two that followed she was able to help to safety, their wounds preventing them from fighting, but she doubted they would prove fatal. She tore the hem of her shift to make more bandages and once finished tending the warriors, she went in search of more wounded.

  The next ghost warrior she came upon could not be helped, he lay dying. She dragged him away from the battle that seemed to be dying itself and sat on the ground beside him, taking his hand in hers. One thing she had learned about dying was that no one wanted to die alone. Those she had seen through death had gripped her hand tightly, as if by holding onto her death could not take them.

  She offered the warrior what she had offered all those she had seen through dying, soothing words and her presence. She had often wondered if someone had been with Quinn when he died or if he had faced death alone. She hoped someone had been there for him as she was now for this warrior. She held his hand firmly, caressed his brow, and offered comforting words.

  Before he took his last breath, he barely got out a whisper. “Thank you for...kindness.”

  A tear slipped down her cheek at the senselessness of his death. She closed his eyes with a tender hand and left him to, hopefully, help the wounded who could be saved. When she came upon the battle once again, she crouched down so no one could see her. She was horrified by the amount of men who lay dead or dying.

  From the looks of it, there seemed to be more of the warriors who had attacked dead on the ground than ghost warriors. The few left fighting remained determined, though outnumbered and would soon meet their fate. When she saw that, Heather hurried further out onto the battlefield to see who she could help.

  ~~~

  Rhys tore through the last few attacking warriors, wanting this done and Heather safely deposited at the McComb keep. He swung his sword with a heavy hand, easily slicing down those who dared to challenge him. The area around him was littered with bodies and the few left fighting stepped over them to get to him and certain death.

  Battle always fired his blood and he grew stronger with each thrust of his sword, taking life after life. Until one last frenzied warrior lunged at him and with one mighty blow of his sword, his body crumpled to the ground, blood pooling out from beneath him.

  With no more warriors left to fight him, Rhys turned to Heather only to find her gone. He hurried behind the boulder to see if she had taken shelter there from the mayhem, but did not find her. Had someone snatched her or had she fled on her own? Either way, how could he have not heard? The question left only one possibility. Heather was lighter on her feet than he realized and had fled on her own. If not, she would have screamed and fought her attacker and he would have heard.

  He yanked his helmet off his head as he made his way back around the boulder to cast a glance over the battlefield littered with fallen warriors. More of the attacking warriors lay dead than his men, though several of his men appeared injured. He let his glance wander over every inch of the area and it was at the far end, near a copse of trees that he spotted her, though if she had not stood, he would have missed her. She brushed loose strands of hair out of her face, though they stubbornly returned. Her tunic was gone and the hem of her shift was ripped in several places as was one sleeve.

  He watched as his wife gave a yank to the other sleeve and pulled it off her arm, then she hunched down and began wrapping the sleeve around the fallen warrior’s arm. She spoke with him while she did, all the while maintaining a s
mile. When she finished, she rested her hand to his chest, gave him a nod, and moved on to the next fallen ghost warrior.

  That she braved the battle to tend his injured warriors spoke of her courage, but she had also disobeyed him and that he would not tolerate. He slipped his helmet on, knowing full well he appeared more frightening with it on. Perhaps when she saw his true nature, she would think twice of disobeying him.

  As he approached, he heard her give orders to a few of his warriors who had survived the battle unscathed. They hurried off without question, while she returned to tending the fallen warrior, and he grew annoyed and hastened his step.

  “No one orders my warriors but me.”

  Heather glanced up quickly from where she hunched over the injured warrior and gasped loudly when she saw her husband. Blood drenched his sword and was splattered across his helmet and much of his leather armor.

  She hurried to her feet. “Are you wounded?”

  Was that concern he heard? He thought her gasp and rounded eyes were from fear, but were they?

  “I am fine—”

  “Thank God!”

  “God had nothing to do with it. It was my skill that saved me.”

  Anger burned in his dark eyes and Heather wondered whether he was angry with her or God. “Your skill may have saved you, but only God can save some of your men.”

  Rhys removed his helmet. “My men have been trained to tend wounds.”

  “Good. The more hands to help tend, the better chance the wounded will survive. Carriers will need to be made for some of the injured.”

  “It will be seen to,” Rhys said and held his hand out to her.

  Heather noticed that several ghost warriors had gathered behind him and it suddenly struck her. “You cannot mean to send me on to McComb keep.”

  Not only light on her feet, but a quick wit as well. There was much more to his wife than he had realized. “You will be safe there.”

  “I am safe here and I am needed here.”

  Rhys dropped his hand to his side and took a step toward her. “It is not a request. You will do as I command.”