“Let me have a look, and I will see what can be done to help him.”
“Thank you, my lady. I am Belle and my husband is Henry. He can be a surly and stubborn one. He let one of the warriors tend his leg, no doubt thinking they knew more than you, not that they do not know how to tend a wound. Most have learned out of necessity. But I hear you have a tender and kind touch that helps heal well.”
“It is my sister Emma I owe my knowledge of healing to,” Heather said as she walked alongside the woman.
Belle shook her head. “I think not. Your mum had the healing touch, God rest her kind soul. You are much like her.”
Heather almost stumbled over her own feet, she got so excited. “You knew my mum?”
Belle nodded. “Lady Enis saved my life. I am my mum’s only child, she being older than most women when she had me. It was not an easy birth. I gave no cry when I was born and my mum told me that her heart broke at the deafening silence. But Lady Enis worked her healing touch on me and suddenly I was crying as loud as a banshee.” Belle laughed. “And as my mum liked to remind me, I never stopped.”
Heather had no time to respond, having reached Belle’s cottage. There were questions she wished to ask Belle, to talk with her mum if possible, and to find out about the changes here, but that would have to wait.
“I warned you, woman,” came the gruff shout when Belle entered the cottage and announced Lady Heather’s presence. “There is no reason to be bothering Lady Heather. I am fine.”
“Then you will not mind if I have a look so that I may see what a fine job your warriors have done in tending you,” Heather said with a smile, though she could see from the soiled bandaged on his leg that the wound was far from fine.
“It’s a scratch, nothing more,” Henry insisted.
He was a sizeable man, thick in body like his wife, though age lines clung to the corners of his eyes and his hair was more gray than brown. And where his wife kept a smile on her face, he wore a frown, except when he looked at his wife. His whole face softened even when he spoke gruffly to her.
“Then it will be a quick glance I take,” Heather assured him.
Henry looked to Belle. “You do not listen, wife.”
Belle laughed. “What wife does?”
“Bah,” Henry said frustrated, “have a look and be done with it.”
“Henry, your manners,” Belle scolded.
Henry shook his head before giving Heather a nod. “Forgive me, my lady, I am a rude, old fool.”
Belle walked over to him and draped her arm around his wide shoulder. “You are my old fool and I love you dearly, and I will not let your stubbornness take you from me.”
Henry slipped his arm around his wife’s waist. “You can be a chore, woman, but I do love you.”
Heather watched the couple with envy. She had thought that she and Quinn would be like them, growing old together and more in love each day.
“A peek and I will be gone,” Heather said as she hunched down to unpeel the dirty bandage off his leg.
Belle hurried and got a small stool to rest her husband’s foot on, making it easier for Heather to examine the wound.
One look at the wound and Heather knew it needed immediate tending or it would turn putrid. She looked to Henry. “It needs some cleaning and a clean bandage applied.”
“I will fetch what you need,” Belle said, then pointed a finger at her husband. “And you will sit there and say nothing.”
Henry grumbled, but did as his wife ordered.
Once the wound was cleaned, Heather saw the problem. “You have a splinter of some sort embedded in the wound. It needs to be removed, and then you should heal fine, for the wound is not deep.” She turned to Belle. “Though, you must change the bandage often.”
“Bah,” Henry snorted, “a waste of time and good cloth.”
“You will mind your manners, Henry and do what Lady Heather says,” Belle ordered.
“Sorry, my lady,” Henry grumbled.
Heather bowed her head to hide her smile. He might be a gruff man, but he gave no guff to his wife when she gave him an order.
It did not take long to remove the sliver of wood with Belle’s bone needle and apply a fresh bandage to the leg. After all was done, Heather stood and looked to Belle. “He should stay off that leg for at least the remainder of the day, two if possible, to give the wound time to close some. And change the bandage in two days. If the wound has a bad odor or reddens, let me know right away. In the meantime, I will leave some leaves for you to brew and have Henry drink.”
Belle shot her husband a warning look before he could complain and he grumbled beneath his breath.
Heather left the cottage, her stomach grumbling, reminding her that the day was winding on and she had barely eaten. She also needed to change her garments, her appearance not at all presentable. She final made it inside the keep without being stopped and was delighted to see a familiar and friendly face.
Nessa was a few years younger than her. She was petite and plump with long red hair that she wore in a single braid. She had the prettiest face and the loveliest dark eyes and a smile that never faltered. She had worked, since young, alongside her mum in the keep. Her mum had passed on a couple of years ago and last Heather knew, Nessa had continued her duties in the keep. There was no one who knew the place like she did and Heather was glad to see her.
“Lady Heather,” Nessa cried and hurried to her.
The two hugged, neither noticing the stares from the few warriors and servants in the Great Hall.
“It is good to see you,” Heather said.
“I am so pleased to see you, though when I learned you were the Dark Dragon’s wife, I prayed for you.”
“The union was necessary,” Heather said.
“So I learned.”
“Tell me what has happened here,” Heather said. “I recognize few villagers.”
Nessa kept her voice low. “They are gone—disappeared—swallowed whole by the Dark Dragon.”
Before Heather could ask what she meant, Nessa’s face paled and her eyes turned wide. Heather turned to see the Dark Dragon standing a few feet away, raindrops running down his dark garments.
Chapter Six
Heather did not wait to be summoned. From the look on her husband’s face, he was there for her. She went to him, leaving Nessa frozen in place.
Her stomach chose the moment she reached him to grumble in hunger.
Rhys did not say a word. He took her hand and called out, “Nessa, food and drink in my solar.”
Nessa nodded and hurried off.
Heather followed along, his strides quick and powerful, as if leaving his mark wherever his footfalls fell. He shut the door behind them, slipped off her cloak, and taking her hand seated her in a chair by the cold fire. He turned his attention to the fireplace and in moments flames leaped off the logs and warmth drifted out to stroke Heather’s bare legs. She hugged herself and shivered from the delicious warmth.
Rhys returned to her side with a soft wool blanket and draped it over her lap to cover her legs.
She closed her eyes and rested her head back against the chair. She had not realized how tired she was until this moment.
He placed his hands on her shoulders and squeezed, her tender muscles protesting. His fingers took charge, digging into the muscles and they screamed with soreness while she sighed aloud and his fingers dug harder, relieving the ache little by little. She almost cried out in disappointment when a knock sounded at the door and his hands fell away.
Food and drink were arranged on a small table without a word from the servants and when Heather heard the click of the door, she hoped she would feel his soothing touch on her shoulders again.
“Your stomach begs for food, eat,” he ordered.
He was right; she was hungry. She reluctantly moved away from the fire, regretting the distance from its warmth with only a few steps. She quickly took some bread and cheese and hurried back to the chair, draping the blanket
over her legs and settling once again by the fire’s warmth.
She jumped when lightning struck just outside the window, turning the room bright followed by a crack of thunder that rumbled like the roar of a mighty giant. The rain began to slash angrily against the windows, and she was relieved to be tucked away safe and warm from the harsh downpour.
Rhys drew a chair up beside her and she saw that he had removed his leather armor. He did not appear as ominous without it, though one look in his dark eyes had her thinking otherwise.
“You disobeyed me,” he said, handing her a goblet of wine.
She took it with a questioning look. “When?”
“During battle, when I ordered you to remain behind me against the boulder,” he reminded.
His voice was not harsh or demanding, but more curious and amiable. Or was she hearing what she wanted to hear? She took another sip of wine, enjoying the warmth of it spreading through her body, easing aches that had crept up on her.
“The injured needed tending,” she said as if it explained it all.
“That is no excuse for disobeying me.”
“Your men—”
“Never disobey me again.”
She stared at him, thinking she had heard concern in his harsh command and for some unexplainable reason she felt the need to reach out and rest her hand to his cheek. “I meant no disrespect,” she whispered her glance falling on his lips and recalling how his kiss had tasted. The memory sent a tingle through her, stirring her senses and she suddenly got the urge to kiss him.
Her thought troubled her, for there had been only one man she had ever wanted to kiss. The urge grew stronger and her lips drifted closer to his. He did not stir, but his eyes lit with a touch of passion, flaring hers and made her wonder what it was about this man that seemed to draw her to him.
Just as she was about to rest her lips on his, a knock sounded at the door.
“Go away,” Rhys shouted.
“It cannot wait,” came the reply.
Rhys stormed over to the door and swung it open.
Pitt spoke before the Dragon could breathe fire. “Two of our sentinels have been found dead.”
Rhys turned to Heather. “Do not leave the keep and God help you if do not obey me on this.” The door closed abruptly behind him.
Heather stared at the door that trembled in the Dragon’s wake. He was angry and why not? His troop had been attacked without the slightest warning, a shocking revelation for warriors known for their exceptional skills of seeing and hearing everything, and now two of his sentinels had been killed. How could that be? How could anyone slip past such highly trained warriors? They could not unless their skills equaled or surpassed the ghost warriors.
With heavy thoughts and slow steps, Heather snatched up some meat and bread off the table before returning to the chair by the fire. She wondered if the McLauds or McDolans were somehow involved. Though the question begged, why would they be? Her marriage had yet to be announced. And the two clans certainly had no such skills as those she saw today. So who then was skilled enough to best the Dragon? And why would anyone want to?
She was just finishing her wine when a knock sounded at the door and she bid the person enter.
Nessa stepped in. “The Dragon ordered a bath prepared for you. It is being readied now.”
Of course he would, Heather thought. It would see that she remained in the keep, and also see that she was presentable for their wedding night. The reason mattered not though, for she longed to bathe and wash away not only the grime but her aches as well.
“How thoughtful of him,” Heather said, for she would not speak ill of her husband to anyone. She followed Nessa to the bedchamber and stepped into the room and around the servants who were busy filling a metal tub that had been placed before the hearth.
Heather’s eyes were caught by the substantial bed dressed with fresh bedding that dominated the room. The pillows were fluffed and the blanket drawn back in anticipation of the night ahead.
Her hand went to her stomach at the thought of climbing into bed tonight, for she would be doing more than simply sleeping there.
“All ready, my lady,” Nessa announced.
Heather turned to see that all the servants were gone, but Nessa. She waited by the tub. Heather went over to her and though she used no servant at home when she bathed or dressed, she knew it was expected of her here. She let Nessa help her undress, eager to get in the tub and soak her aches away. She stopped Nessa when she went to touch the blue ribbon that held the metal ring Quinn had made for her.
“I will see to this,” she said and slipped it off, rolling the ribbon up carefully and placing it in her healing pouch to keep it safe. It would not do for her husband to see it. It was for her and her alone and she would seek its comfort when necessary.
Once done, she sunk down into the hot water with a sigh.
Nessa got busy pouring water on her hair and then scrubbing it with a slab of soap Heather had instructed her to find amongst her belongings.
“Lavender,” Nessa said with a smile as she scrubbed Heather’s hair.
“It is grown in my garden at home,” Heather said and closed her eyes as Nessa’s fingers massaged her head. She let herself enjoy the moment, but as soon as Nessa rinsed her hair and was about to wash her, Heather stopped her and took the cloth from her. “I will see to scrubbing myself. What I want from you, Nessa, is to tell me what you meant when you said that many of the villager folk had disappeared—swallowed whole by the Dark Dragon.”
Nessa shook her head as she moved off her knees to sit cross-legged beside the tub. “The ghost warriors arrived here shortly after Fane McComb died with documents that showed the Dark Dragon now owned the land and all on it. Repairs began to be made and suddenly older clan’s people started disappearing. No one saw them take their leave. They just disappeared along with their belongings. There was nothing left of them. Then young women began arriving, wives to the ghost warriors who were already here and they settled in the abandoned cottages.”
“No one heard or saw anything?” Heather asked, feeling a chill, though the water remained warm.
“Nothing,” Nessa whispered as if frightened that someone would hear. “Not a trace of them, it was as if they were never here.”
“Have all the aged-folk disappeared? None of the young ones?”
“Some older ones still remain, though they fear one day they will be snatched away like the others.” She leaned closer to Heather. “A few young lasses have vanished, though some say they have heard screams coming from the upper floor of the keep and that the Dark Dragon keeps them as slaves to satisfy his endless lust. It is forbidden for anyone to go to the upper floor.” Nessa crossed herself, as if protecting herself from evil, as she stood. “You best not linger, my lady, the water will chill soon.”
Heather finished and was soon dried and wearing a pale yellow nightdress, the hem falling to cover her feet, the sleeves hugging her wrists, and ties keeping the low neckline drawn tightly together. It was a favorite of hers, soft and comfortable.
She sat combing her wet hair while Nessa directed the servants in clearing the tub from the room. Once that was done, Nessa saw that a pitcher of wine was left for her, presumably to help her face the night ahead.
Once alone, Heather found herself restless. Her thoughts continued to drift to what Nessa had told her about the Dragon keeping young women prisoners in a room on the upper floor. Somehow she did not think it was true, but it could be that she did not want it to be true. The only way to settle her worries was to see for herself.
Heather hurried out of the room, closing the door gently behind her, not wanting to alert anyone to her nightly excursion, especially to forbidden territory. But if caught, she could feign ignorance. After all, she had only arrived and knew little of the keep’s workings and rules.
She took the stairs quickly and once she stepped off the top step, she had second thoughts. The small area was dimly lit, one wall sconce holdi
ng a torch that barely flickered. There were three doors, one to the left and the other to the right and the third door sat between the other two.
Something told Heather that that was the room in question, but to be thorough or perhaps out of fear, she decided to explore that room last. With cautious steps, she proceeded to the room on the left and slowly opened the door. She had to open it all the way to allow light from the torch sconce to fill the room, if only partially.
It was not necessary to explore the whole room. One glance told Heather it was once the lady of the keep’s solar. Here was where the lady of the keep could spend time for herself with her embroidery or simply seeking some solace. A fine covering of dust alerted her to the fact that it had not been used in some time.
Heather closed the door behind her and went to the door on the right, opening that one slowly as well. It appeared a room where unwanted furniture was stored and as Heather went to close the door, her eyes caught on the cradle stuck beneath some chairs.
Dusty and forever childless the piece appeared forlorn, discarded along with other furniture that had been of no use. She closed the door, feeling sorry for the empty cradle and for the woman who had had such hope of filling it.
She went to close the door when a wind whipped it out of her hand, slamming it shut in her face. She jumped back startled, her heart pounding in her chest. The wind no doubt came from an open window in the room, but she decided against confirming her suspicion and hurried over to the other door. The shadows seemed darker in this space, almost as if they were embracing her or were they trying to imprison her?
Heather almost reconsidered exploring what lay beyond the door. She could always return another time, preferably during the day when the sun shined bright. A loud crack of thunder caused her to jump in fright and her heart to continue to pound.
Once she reached the door, she turned her head and placed her ear closer to it to see if she could hear any sounds coming from inside. She wondered then what she would do if she found women being kept as slaves in the room. An answer came easily. She would free them and send them home to her sisters.
Highlander The Dark Dragon Page 5