Chapter 5
Heather stared bewildered as they entered the McComb village.
She had visited here with her father over the years and with each visit the place had grown more neglected and the clans’ people older with few young ones to replace them.
She was amazed to see the changes in the village.
The cottages had new thatched roofs, doors and window shutters were all new, and summer flower wreaths graced most of the doors.
It appeared as if the village had come to life.
Even the gloom of a cloudy day could not diminish the improvements to the village.
As Heather looked about, she recognized a few of the clansmen. Many of the women were young, their stomachs swollen with bairns. There were a few elders, but not many she recognized. Where were those she was familiar with?
Rhys was not there to greet Heather and though she was directed to the keep, she ignored the ghost warrior’s orders and saw to the care of the wounded. Many wives and mothers came to claim the injured and Heather spoke with each of them, advising them on specific care needed.
It was when Bea appeared, looking far more pregnant than four or five months, that Heather knew she would need help with her husband. It was also the same time that the Dark Dragon made his appearance, all moving out of his path as he approached his wife.
“It has been a long day and it is time for us to talk,” Rhys said, holding his hand out to his wife.
Heather looked to her husband and then looked to Bea, crying over Douglas who clung to her as if for the last time.
She turned to her husband and said, “I cannot desert someone in need of tending.” She waited, seeing the anger in his eyes grow, but what else could she do.
She could never abandon someone in need and Douglas and his wife were in dire need, perhaps if her husband understood that.
She stepped closer to him and laid a gentle hand on his arm as she whispered, “I fear he will not last the night. Please let me help them.”
Rhys felt his anger dissipate. She thought not of herself, but those in need. There was a time he had known such kindness, though he could barely recall it, but the memories it did invoke were better left buried.
Rhys brought his face close to hers. “You have asked many favors of me today. What do I get in return?”
“What do you want?” she asked without hesitation.
“A willing wife in my bed tonight.”
Heather braced for the fear that clenched her stomach. How did she submit willingly when she wanted no part of this marriage? But what choice did she have? The agreement had been made. She belonged to the Dark Dragon and could not refuse him. So, what else was there for her to do but submit?
She spoke truthfully. “I will come willing to you, but know little of what is expected of me, so I beg your tolerance of my ignorance.”
Her words stabbed at him. She had known no other and would know no other but him. His touch would be the first she ever felt. She would truly be his and his alone. The thought turned him hard.
“Fear not, Heather, I will not harm you.” He brushed his lips over hers.
Heather shivered from the faint kiss. It stirred her, sparked her, ignited something deep inside her that had lain dormant far too long, and she leaned against him as if she suddenly needed to be close to him.
Rhys’ arms drifted around her and held her firmly. She leaned against him as if she wanted to be there, wanted his arms around her, wanted to feel him against her, wanted to be near him and he relished her closeness.
He brushed is cheek against hers and whispered, “You are mine.”
She moved her lips to whisper softly in his ear, “Are you mine?”
“Forever,” he said, and his mouth drifted to hers and settled a soft kiss on it.
Heather closed her eyes and let her senses take hold. His kiss tempted, excited, and sparked a stirring in her, and she found she was disappointed when he abruptly ended the kiss.
Rhys rested his brow to hers. “Do what is necessary, but if you are not finished by nightfall, I will come for you. Tonight is for us and I will let nothing stand in its way.”
Heather did not turn and watch him walk away, her legs too weak from his kiss to move.
It had been ten years since she had last been kissed and the memory still lingered.
She had been so young and in love and the kiss had stirred her wet.
She had so wanted to make love with Quinn that day, but he had remained honorable, telling her that he would claim her properly when she became his wife.
She had promised him then and there that she would not give herself to another or never feel for another man as she did for him.
She would wait no matter how long it took for him to return to her.
Tonight she would break that promise.
With tears she refused to shed, she turned and hurried to the cart to help Douglas and his wife.
* * *
Rhys approached the keep steps, his lips still pulsing from the kiss.
He had not expected his wife to so eagerly return his kiss or be so hungry for it, but then it had been some time since she had last been kissed.
He knew her past well, knew more of it than she did, though he would not let her know that. Some things were better left unspoken.
Tonight he would seal their vows, forever uniting them, and hopefully he would plant a seed and a babe would grow, one of many. But that was later this evening. Now he must keep his thoughts focused on the matter at hand.
He reached the bottom of the keep steps as his top warrior Pitt was coming down them.
He was almost as tall as Rhys, his body lean and hard from constant training.
He kept his shoulder length auburn hair tucked behind his ears and his deep blue eyes drew the lasses to him like bees to honey.
He had been with Rhys for five years now and the many difficult times they had faced together had made them more brothers than friends.
“You have news?” Rhys asked, remaining where he was.
Pitt shook his head. “Nothing. We can find nothing. Perhaps they left the area.”
“Have the men keep searching. Something may turn up.” He paused before asking, “How many men did we lose?”
“Five,” Pitt said. “Too many, but minor compared to the twenty-five dead enemy warriors.”
One warrior was too many for Rhys, but lost lives were inevitable in battle and there was no telling who would be claimed.
“Tell the sentries to keep alert. This is not over; it has just begun.”
* * *
As soon as Heather saw Douglas settled in bed in his cottage, the area around his wound cleansed and redressed with clean bandages, she got busy brewing a mixture of herbs to give him in hopes of preventing a fever from settling in or the wound turning putrid.
She also readied a soothing brew for Bea.
It had taken time for the young woman to stop crying after seeing how badly her husband had been injured.
And she had asked Heather several times if Douglas would be all right.
Heather had hopes he would survive, especially since the journey home had not claimed him. So, it was with more confidence that she told Bea that with care, time, and rest he should be fine.
Once Douglas was asleep, Heather insisted that Bea sit and enjoy the brew she had made for them. Bea did not argue, she sat at the table in front of the hearth and let Heather serve her.
It was when Bea was about to take a sip of the brew that her eyes rounded and she hurried to get out of the chair. “Forgive me, my lady, it is I who should be serving you.”
Heather placed a firm hand on her shoulder and eased her down on the chair. “At the moment, I am simply a friend.” Heather did not give her a chance to say anymore on the matter. She asked, “When is the babe due?”
Bea smiled and caressed her stomach. “As winter falls upon us.” She looked over at her sleeping husband, her smile fading. “Tell me he will be here to see our babe born.” She turned back around, tears pooling in her eyes.
Heather reached out and rested her hand on Bea’s. “I cannot say whether your husband will live or die. I can tell you with care and rest, he has a good chance. And he fights to live, another good sign. I will keep a close watch on him and do what I can to help him.”
“That is kind of you, my lady, and I am ever so grateful to you for your generosity.”
A moan from the bed drew their attention and Heather reached Douglas before his wife. One touch of his brow confirmed a fever had set in and she was unable to hide her concern.
Tears started rolling down Bea’s cheeks after caressing her husband’s brow and seeing the worry in Heather’s eyes. “Few survive fevers after suffering a bad wound.”
“But there are those that do,” Heather said. “Now let’s get this blanket off him and a cool cloth on his brow.”
A soft rap at the door had Bea going to it and opening it to find two women there, offering their help. They obviously were friends since they hugged Bea and tears filled all their eyes.
Heather was so pleased they were there, worried that it would be too much for Bea to handle once she took her leave, having to be at the keep by nightfall.
After explaining to the women what needed to be done and making Bea promise to send for her if a problem should arise, Heather bid them good day.
She was no more than a few steps out of the cottage when an old woman approached her and she wondered if perhaps she was a McComb and could tell her about the changes that had taken place here.
“My lady,” the woman said with a bob of her head.
“I wanted to thank you for what you did for my nephew. Several warriors told me how you remained with Oran while he lay dying with no thought to your own safety.” Tears clouded her eyes.
“You do not know how grateful I am that Oran did not lay there on the battlefield dying alone. You are not only brave, but so very kind.”