Highlander the Dark Dragon (3 page)

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 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.

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 smile. 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.”

A ghost warrior came running toward them and Rhys stepped forward to meet him. They spoke in whispers and when Rhys turned, he said, “You will stay here until I return for you. My men will protect you.”

He turned and was gone before Heather could say a word. She wondered what was going on, who the attacking warriors were and why had they been able to attack the Dark Dragon when his ghost warriors seemed to see and hear everything? But she had no time to dwell on the haunting questions. She had to tend the wounded. Once there was time she would pursue answers, for she feared that this battle was not over—it had just begun.

~~~

Heather rolled her shoulders back to ease the ache in her back. She did not know how long she had been working on the injured and with no sun it was difficult to tell how much time had passed. She did not even know when the clouds had moved in overhead, she had been so busy. She was relieved that most of the injured had not suffered severe wounds. With care, they would survive. A few others she was not so sure about.

She saw those who could not walk settled on carriers that were built so they could rest comfortably and would not be made to move when it was time to leave. She wished they were already on their way, the clouds gathering more heavily overhead in the last hour or so.

“You should rest, my lady,” the young warrior she sat beside said.

She placed a comforting hand on his shoulder and smiled. “There will be time for that soon enough, Douglas.”

“You have done more than your share and your garment proves it. There is barely anything left of it.”

Heather startled when she saw how much of her garment she had torn apart. Both arms lay exposed and her legs up to her knees as well. She had also torn a piece off by her chest, leaving the top of her one breast to appear as if it would spill out at any moment.

“I had not realized,” she said softly, trying to pull the torn garment together.

“You thought of others’ needs, not yourself, and for that we are all grateful.” He coughed and winced as he did. “I fear I will not survive. Will you tell my wife, Bea that I love her and I am sorry I will not be here to see our child born?”

“That is nonsense, Douglas. You will live and see your babe and many more babes born.”

“I pray that be so.”

“Then fight and make it so,” the deep voice snapped.

Heather jumped and Douglas struggled to raise himself in the presence of the Dark Dragon. His helmet was gone, his dark hair free to fall to his shoulders and his handsome face set in tight lines.

Rhys lowered himself to rest on his haunches and placed his hand firmly on Douglas’s shoulder, stopping him from moving. “Stay as you are. As a fine warrior, you instinctively know what weapons prove the most useful in battle. The weapons you need for this battle are rest and determination to heal and I expect you to use both.”

Douglas nodded. “As you say, my lord, though I surely would have died if Lady Heather had not pulled me off the battlefield and tended my wound shortly after I had fallen. She is a kind and brave woman.”

Rhys looked at his wife, his eyes going directly to her partially exposed breasts, then her bare arms, and finally taking in her bare legs. He stood and walked around to her, slipping off his cloak, and draping it over her shoulders before gripping them and pulling her to her feet.

“Rest, Douglas, we will leave soon and you will ride in one of the carts and be home to Bea before you know it.”

Before anymore could be said, Rhys hurried Heather off to a more secluded spot, and she rushed to speak before he could. “Forgive my improper appearance, my concern was for the injured and I did not realize how indecent I appeared.”

“You will never again strip yourself as you did today,” he ordered sternly.

“I cannot promise that,” she said quickly, “for if needed, I would so the same again.”

“So, you blatantly tell me you will disobey me?”

“I tell you the truth, something I hope will always pass between us.”

He felt her words like a punch to his gut. She would always be honest with him. Unfortunately, he was unable to reciprocate. His response was terse and hasty. “It is time to go.” He hurried her forward and without thinking she rushed away from him to tend the more severely injured as they were loaded into the cart.