Chapter Eleven #2
The druid forgotten, Ronan kept his gaze on the straight-backed, proud-featured veteran. “Tell me true,” he pressed, “did
you no’ catch a glimpse of a great wild-eyed bull, gray-white and massive? The beast went charging off in the very direction
whence you came.”
Sorley shook his bearded head. “We only saw yon two garrons.”
“And a wee dog fox,” another guardsman put in. “Strange creature, that. Creeping through a thick patch o’ bracken, he was.
Then, soon as he saw us, he hopped up onto an old holly stump and raised a paw as we rode past, almost as if he were saluting
our progress.”
“Weird eyes, he had,” another added, edging his horse near. “Deep orange, and . . . knowing.”
Sorley snorted. “ Shrewd-eyed foxes!” he scoffed. “I saw no such a creature or a bull!”
“The fox was a weird one,” a third voice chimed, “though I missed the bull for sure.”
Gelis eyed the men with interest, her cloak clutched tight against her breasts.
Ronan dismissed the comments with a deft flick of his hand.
“Good men of Dare, hear me.” He glanced round, his deep voice strong, lifting. “It scarce matters whether you spied a strange-eyed
fox or the bull. Only that we quit this place anon and see my lady wife safely returned to the keep.”
If any present felt a need to lift a brow upon hearing him refer to Gelis as his lady wife, they were too well-trained to show it.
Only the lady herself dared a reaction, her eyes flying wide.
But she caught herself as quickly, her glance turning artful.
“Might I hope that you intend to make me thus?” She leaned close, her voice pitched for his ears alone. “Could that be the
reason you desire such haste?”
“I desire haste because I would know you away from this place,” Ronan flashed back at her, his voice equally low.
“We shall see.” Her lips curved in a smile that was pure female triumph.
Off to the side, several guardsmen coughed.
One cleared his throat.
Ronan frowned.
Like it or nae, the temptation of her words was sliding through him. Warm and honey-sweet, they slipped ever lower to curl
around his vitals, squeezing and rousing.
A tight, pulling hunger, hot and urgent, that only served to blacken his scowl.
And, saints preserve him, made him consider doing just what she suggested!
Feeling like a great gowk, for he was sure the notion stood emblazoned on his forehead, he allowed himself a hearty bit of
his own coughing and throat clearing.
Let his men crane their necks and gawp at him. Doing so would serve them naught.
Making sure of it, he put back his shoulders and stood tall.
“You, Tam,” he called, pointing at the youngest guardsman, “ride hot-foot back to Dare and see that Hugh MacHugh sends a hot
bath to my chamber — and readies another in the kitchens for Buckie!”
The young man jerked a nod, then yanked his mount around and was gone, cantering away across the heather.
Satisfied, Ronan turned to the next-youngest guardsmen, a pox-marked valiant whose spotted face would not have been so notable
if he wasn’t cursed to have a missing front tooth as well.
His visage, quite passing until he smiled, didn’t at all match his by-name, Dragon.
But he was proud — and particularly good with animals.
“You, lad!” Ronan couldn’t bring himself to call out the ludicrous name. “Take yon onion creel and fasten it to my saddle’s
cantle, then heft Buckie into the thing and stand watch o’er him until I am ready to ride.”
Dragon bobbed his head. “As you will,” he acquiesced, already dismounting and hastening toward Buckie’s empty carrier basket.
“The rest of you” — he ignored the attar of roses wafting past his nose and made a great sweeping gesture, taking in the lot
of the remaining guardsmen — “gather up Lady Gelis’s shelter with all speed. As soon as you have, we ride.”
“And yon toppled feasting goods?” Sorley dismounted, his gaze snapping to the tipped-over trestle table.
The fine viands scattered across the grass — up to and including the spit-roasted side of beef, the aroma of which had so
tempted Ronan but a short while before.
It, too, lay ruined.
The perfectly done beef knocked clean off its spit and trampled into the ground.
Ronan eyed the chaos, his mind already elsewhere.
“Leave the food.” He spoke the order crisply and reached to swing Gelis into her saddle. “If yon bull returns, he’s welcome
to it all. Perhaps with a full belly, he’ll be less inclined to sink his horns where they don’t belong!”
Not that he believed it.
What he suspected was that he could search the width and breadth of the land and would ne’er see the benighted creature again.
Praise all the saints.
About the same time, but back at Dare Castle, a tall, cloaked figure hovered outside the gatehouse. He clutched his robes
tighter against the biting wind, resentful that Maldred the Dire’s ancient warding spells still held such power. The strength
of it pulsed and vibrated everywhere. Like bile, it rose all around him, poisoning the air and even rippling beneath his feet,
creeping up from the ground to seep through the soles of his boots.
The figure’s brows drew together in a frown.
As a Holder — and one vested with more skill than most of his kind — he should stand above his foe’s craft.
Yet the foulness of the place was nigh suffocating him.
Indeed, it was all he could do to keep his back erect and his shoulders straight. The sooner he put distance between himself
and the stronghold’s proud, spell-soaked walls, the better.
But he’d be damned — again — if he’d lower himself by hastening away.
Not after such a splendid victory.
So he remained where he was, a few painful paces outside the worst of Maldred’s influence, and watched the castle guards close
the massive double gates.
They, too, had been so easily fooled.
The figure’s lips twitched and he had to struggle against the urge to rub his hands together in satisfaction.
It wouldn’t do if such a gesture was seen.
But he’d never dreamed it would be so easy.
Best of all, the old chieftain had proved to be an even greater buffoon than his witless garrison. They’d at least challenged
him upon his arrival. Valdar, however, had welcomed him to his table, gustily offering meat and libations, the warmth of his
fire. Not once doubting the tale his visitor spun so cleverly.
Never guessing that he was seeing what he expected to see and not a carefully spun guise.
The figure relaxed his grip on his cloak, pride warming him more.
Then, at last, the gatehouse’s heavy portcullis creaked downward, clanking loudly into place.
The figure released a relieved breath and turned away.
Gaining strength with each step that carried him farther from those dreaded, hated walls, he shoved back his hood. Now, finally,
he could revel in the chill wind tugging at his robes and whipping his long white hair and beard against his ancient face.
Now, the cold no longer touched him.
Not as it would have many lifetimes ago.
Better yet, the darkness of the wood was just ahead. Wispy fingers of mist swirled there, almost luminous in the fast descent
of the gloaming. A few more steps and the shadows would engulf him, erasing his presence until he chose to show himself again.
Much as the purpose of that next meeting galled him.
Not that it mattered.
He had no choice, after all.
And whether the Raven acted on his warning or nae, the outcome would remain the same.
Entirely in his favor.
Pleased — if such a one as he could ever truly be so — the figure stepped into the trees.
And as soon as he did, night began to fall on Dare.