Chapter 6 | Cora

Chapter 6

Cora

“ O i! Lassie! Time to wake up now!”

The odor of old ale and a smack against her cheek jarred Cora from the deep sleep she’d been floating in. She jerked up, flailing an arm out in surprise. She struck something—a person if the surprised shout was anything to go by.

“Sweet Mother Mary, Lady, control yourself!”

A familiar face filled her vision, though it took her a moment to place it. Thad? Thane? Thom? No—Thom had been the other one. How did she know this man? He wasn’t a member of their staff—how did she know him?

Cora’s stomach dropped the moment her memory returned. Everything from the day before came back in a rush. The attack on the road. Her father’s study. Bran. Her stupid, stupid plan.

Cillian Fane.

An offer.

A wolf.

Then nothing.

Her stomach roiled without warning. A moment later, she heaved. There was nothing in her stomach to expel, but that didn’t stop her body from trying.

“Here now, Lass. You’ll be alright. There’s a girl.”

A large hand patted her shoulder. When the spasms passed, Cora lifted her head to find the guard from the night before—the one who’d led her to Fane. He looked older in daylight, with gray peppering his dark hair and beard. The lines at the corners of his eyes crinkled as he gave her an awkward smile.

“Where—where am I? Who are you?”

The man straightened and gave her a quick bow. “Name’s Dúngal. I’m one of the lucthonn under Fane. He sent me to fetch you.”

Sharp teeth and bright blue eyes flashed in her mind’s eye. It was a warm morning, but Cora couldn’t stop the shiver that ran through her body at the memory of what she’d seen. “Fetch me? Fetch me for what? Tell me where I am!”

Dúngal scratched the back of his neck and shrugged. “You’re in the lucthonn camp. Don’t you remember coming here last evening? I brought you in myself, Lady. Surely, you remember.”

Of course, she remembered. Till the day she died and the good Lord took her soul away, she’d remember what she’d seen. That didn’t mean she believed it had been real. “I—yes. Yes, of course. My apologies, Master Dúngal. I must have bumped my head last night. I can’t even remember how I got here.”

Dúngal shuffled and scratched at his neck again, averting his eyes. “I couldn’t speak to that, Lady. Look, Fane sent me to fetch you. Best we get on our way before he thinks I’ve gone and lost you instead.”

The last person in the world Cora wanted to see was Cillian Fane. Even if everything she’d seen last night had been some sort of trick, the man had to know some sort of evil magic to make it appear so real. And she’d—oh God, she’d offered him her hand in marriage. She’d practically begged him!

Her bravado from the night before had fled, leaving in its place a certainty of the danger that awaited. If Cillian Fane was looking for her now, it couldn’t be for anything good. Still, angering him further by hiding in a tent wouldn’t make things better. Cora smoothed her skirts and her hair and faced Dúngal with a solemn smile.

“I don’t suppose there’s any way you’d take me to my horse? I could slip away with no one the wiser.”

Dúngal’s grin made him appear years younger, and his surprised laughter filled the small tent. “Not for all your father’s gold, Lady. Fane would have my bollocks, and I’m quite attached to them right where they are!”

Well, there went any chance of a quiet escape. Still too confused by the events of the previous night to formulate a proper plan, Cora followed quietly... for now. Perhaps Fane meant to let her go himself? After all, he hadn’t sounded convinced by her arguments. If she pretended she hadn’t seen the man turn into a giant wolf creature the night before, perhaps he’d allow her to leave with her life. She sent up a quick prayer promising the Almighty that if she emerged alive, she’d never doubt such stories again.

Outside, men milled around the camp like ants in the grass. Each one had a task of some sort, and no one sat idle. Some sharpened weapons, while others carried firewood or tended to horses. A few even sat chatting around buckets as they scrubbed piles of dirty clothing. Cora watched, fascinated, as they went about their work. Most stopped to stare at her as she passed, their expressions curious rather than aggressive or predatory in the way she might have expected. Dúngal greeted a few as they walked by, but they never stopped. All too soon, Cora found herself in front of Fane’s tent again.

She must have hesitated a moment too long, because Dúngal cleared his throat and tilted his head toward the tent. “Off you go, Lady. He’ll be waiting for you.”

Cora stared at the entrance, half-sure that it had all been a dream. If it had actually happened... if Fane and his men could really become—

“Master Dúngal?”

“Aye, Lady?”

“I’ve not gone mad, am I?”

Dúngal smirked and replied, “I couldn’t say, Lady. Most people are at least a bit cracked, I’ve found.”

“But I didn’t—that is, I didn’t imagine last night, did I? He really can....” Cora trailed off. What would happen if she asked if his leader could magically turn into a wolf? Would he laugh her claims away? Would he think her mad then?

Dúngal took pity on her. “If you saw a man one minute and a wolf the next? I wouldn’t call you cracked. Just very lucky.”

“Why would you say that?”

Dúngal’s pale blue eyes flashed dangerously, and he bared teeth that looked much sharper than they should have been. “Because you woke up this morning.”

Suddenly, her guide seemed much more dangerous than he had before. She hadn’t noticed last night, but he wore a fine, thick wolf's pelt about his shoulders just like Fane did. The little gold pin holding it in place shone in the early morning sunshine. Her muscles tensed on pure instinct, the primal response of a smaller animal recognizing a predator.

As quickly as the danger had appeared in his expression, it disappeared. Cora blinked, muscles still tight and ready to vault her into movement, as he gave her an amiable smile. “Come now, Lady, none of that. If you were in any real danger, you’d have met it already. And it wouldn’t have been from the likes of me.”

“Why’s that?” She congratulated herself on keeping her voice steady.

His smile widened, cheerful and friendly. “‘Coz I likes you, Lady. Takes bollocks of pure steel to march up to a man like Cillian Fane and demand an audience. Not every day you see that from a man, let alone a young lass.”

Despite the spike of fear still present, as though someone had run an icy finger up her spine, Cora managed a smile. Dúngal nodded, content with that, and led her toward the tent’s entrance.

She parted the cloth and entered Fane’s tent, immediately noticing that, unlike the night before, there was no one there but Fane himself. He was dressed much as he had been before, with his dark hair pulled away from his face and tied with a cord at the base of his skull. Other than the fresh shirt and trousers, he appeared exactly as he had right before... the last time she’d seen him as a man.

Fane looked up from a piece of parchment on the large table. “Ah, there you are. I thought maybe you’d given Dúngal the slip.”

Nodding to her guide, he thanked him and sent him on his way. Once again, Cora found herself alone with the Wolf King, and all she could picture was the snarling beast he’d been the night before. Her heart raced, and she dug her fingernails into her palms. Every instinct demanded that she run away from the dangerous man in front of her, but she held herself still, remembering a central truth about wolves.

If you run from a wolf, it will hunt you down.

She’d worked so hard to maintain her brave facade last night, and it had served her well. It wouldn’t do to fall to pieces now. She’d already fainted in front of him, but she imagined that could be overlooked given what she’d witnessed. After all, it wasn’t every day a man changed into a wolf like a bloody bonfire story come to life.

“No, Master Dúngal was kind enough to speak with me as we walked. I’m afraid I slept later than intended.”

Cillian gave her a knowing half-smile. “You say that as though you intended to sleep here at all. As I recall, I had to carry you to that cot myself, Lady. Let’s not lie to each other for the sake of manners.”

Cora held back the sharp words that danced on the tip of her tongue. She imagined the enormous beast he’d become carrying her in his arms and only barely resisted the urge to heave again. Dúngal had been right—she’d been lucky just to wake up.

“My apologies. It’s not every day that one sees... such unusual things. Thank you for your hospitality.”

Her governess, Deirdre, would be proud of her manners. God alone knew how much of Cora’s childhood had been spent trying to beat good manners into her—occasionally with a large kitchen spoon.

Fane scoffed and sneered. “Unusual things? Is that what you’ve called it in your head, Lady Kilkenny? Just unusual things? Like a pig flying through the sky or an unexpected snow in July? I asked you for honesty, not useless niceties.”

Cora gritted her teeth. What was it about this man that infuriated her so easily? Her father had hounded her for years about her temper, but it had never been so hard to contain as it was in the two times she’d spoken with Cillian Fane. “Honesty, is it? Shall I be honest and tell you that what I saw last night was the most horrifying thing I’ve ever seen? That I never quite believed all that the priests said about demons and devils and such until you became... whatever that thing was?”

Fane’s sneer faded into something unreadable. “A demon, was it? I’ve been called many things in my life, Lady, and you’re not the first to use that particular word. A pity though, considering the bargain you’ve struck.”

Cora’s mouth went dry. “You can’t mean to—you didn’t accept!” After everything that had happened last night, she hadn’t even considered that he might still agree to her proposal.

Oh Sweet Mother Mary, her proposal! She’d offered marriage to a literal beast, and he meant to accept!

Fane’s smile seemed easy—as though they were discussing something as benign as the weather rather than marriage. “After careful consideration of your argument, I’ve decided you were correct. An alliance with your father—with any of the Irish lords —would be beneficial to my people. You spoke the truth when you said that many view us as little better than mercenaries or criminals despite our services in their lands. Our marriage would pave the way for my people’s prosperity and respect among our countrymen. So yes, I will accept your proposal.”

The room spun, and for one awful moment, Cora thought she might faint again. She laid a hand on the edge of the large table to steady herself. Somewhere nearby, someone beat on a drum. The noise was so loud that she couldn’t hear anything above it. Her vision narrowed until all she could see was his face and those icy blue eyes. They had looked the same when he’d changed.

By some miracle, she didn’t faint. When the drumming faded, she realized it had been her own pulse pounding away in her ears. Suddenly, a large gloved hand covered hers. Cora wasn’t sure when he’d moved. The immediate temptation to rip her hand away was only slightly beaten out by a fear of angering him if she did.

It was her father’s face in her mind’s eye that settled her. She remembered the way he’d looked in his study, so tired and hopeless. It reminded her of why she’d come to Fane’s camp—why she’d made such a foolish offer in the first place. Regardless of what he was, Cillian Fane was still her people’s best chance at survival when the English returned. It had been a miscalculation on her part to assume that the stories Bran had told her in the stables were pure gossip and fantasy. It had been another to believe that just because she no longer wished to go through with her offer, he’d allow her to take it back.

“Are you well, Lady?”

Fane’s voice shook her from her thoughts. Cora nodded and slowly removed her hand from beneath his. “My apologies, Master Fane. You’d not seemed keen on the offer last night, so this comes as a bit of a... surprise.”

His smile widened into something almost boyish. “Just full of surprises, aren’t I? Well, you’ll have plenty of time to come to terms with them on the journey home.”

“Home? You’re taking me home?” She’d been fully prepared to be kept prisoner in the wolf-men’s camp when she’d arrived. Theoretically, yes, he needed her for a marriage ceremony, but there had been no agreement that it would take place at the castle. Hope filled her chest. Perhaps there was still time. Perhaps her father would know how to save her from the mess she’d made.

If he couldn’t, she wasn’t sure what she’d do.