Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

C ree cursed the blasted horse. His heart pounded viciously, fearful Dawn could be lying helpless beneath its hooves, and he would trample her. His strength and commanding tone brought the animal quickly under control. He listened for his wife to clap as he had told her to do if they were separated in the fog.

He heard nothing and he called out, angry he had failed to keep hold of her, “Dawn! Dawn!” He was met with nothing but silence, and his anger and fright grew. “Damn it, Dawn, answer me!” He swerved his head to the right thinking he heard something. “DAWN!”

A wolf cried out in a soulful howl as if commiserating with Cree, though more likely alerting his pack to a hunt.

What that meant had him rushing to dismount. He had to find his wife before the wolves did.

“DAWN! ANSWER ME RIGHT NOW!”

A clap. Was that a clap?

“DAWN!” he called out again and listened.

She would answer him if she could. That meant she may have been injured in the fall and lay unconscious somewhere, making her easy prey for the wolves. If he kept calling out to her the wolves would hear and follow the sound. But what choice did he have? And why hadn’t Dylan or any of his men heard him? Were they that far of a distance from them that none of them heard him call out?

He eased off his horse, keeping the animal calm with a soft voice, and holding tight to his reins. “We go slow to find her, my friend.”

Cree shuffled along the ground, keeping the horse behind him to follow in his tracks to avoid trampling his wife and praying he would bump into her.

“Dawn!” he called out, though not as loud as before and stopped when he thought he heard a sound, a movement. He listened, praying he would hear something, but again he was met with silence. He tried again. “Dawn!”

A sound! He was sure he heard a sound this time—a rustle of leaves.

If she had been hurt, she could be just regaining consciousness and was probably disoriented. His heart pounded against his chest with hope, yet fearful she could be hurt and unable to alert him to her whereabouts.

“Dawn!” he cried out more strongly, hoping his voice would break through her hazy mind if she had been left disoriented. Another rustle? It was faint, so he called out again. “Dawn! Clap if you hear me.”

His worry grew when a soft clap sounded. She had to be seriously hurt, if she could not produce a strong clap.

“Keep clapping so I can find you, Dawn,” he called out, angry at himself for not stopping sooner and waiting out the heavy mist. But there would be time later to chastise himself for a foolish decision. Right now, he needed to find his wife.

He heard another clap and concentrated on where the sound came from, the mist making it difficult to determine the location. He shuffled along the ground slowly and when another clap did not follow, he called out to her again.

“Keep clapping, Dawn, I can find you if you keep clapping,” he encouraged.

The clap sounded again, no stronger than before, though not weaker either and he listened. He thought to turn, but something warned him against it and when the clap came again, he pressed ahead, sounding like it was somewhere in front of him.

Another clap sounded but this one was followed by a growl that sounded far too close to the clap and fear tightened his muscles. He would tear a wolf apart with his bare hands if one should dare touch his wife.

A weak clap sounded, and he feared Dawn might be losing consciousness again, and when a growl followed again, Cree hurried his steps forward.

“DAWN!” he shouted.

He barely heard the clap, and he felt a stab to his heart knowing his wife was fighting to reach out to him. Never again. Never again would he go anywhere without Beast. The large dog would have found her by now, but then if he had secured the rope around her and him, he would never have lost her to the fog. It was his fault, and he cursed himself for his foolishness.

A strong growl echoed through the mist and Cree followed it, knowing the wolf was probably prowling near his wife. He pulled his dagger from the sheath at his belt, ready to take the beast down.

Suddenly, snarls and barks filled the air as if the wolves were fighting amongst themselves. Had one of the wolves laid claim to Dawn and the others objected? He had to reach her. He had to chase the wolves and keep them from not only Dawn but himself and his horse or neither of them would survive.

A nasty growl tore through the mist followed by several whimpering whines. Whoever the pack leader was, he was powerful and had made the others aware of it. But Cree was an alpha as well and like the wolf, he protected what belonged to him and Dawn belonged to him.

A soft clap sounded, and it was not far off. A few more steps at most and that was when he spotted the green eyes glowing through the mist. There had to be at least four pairs. That meant four wolves. It would be difficult to defend against four wolves but not impossible if he got to the pack leader first.

His stallion snorted and tugged at the reins, anxiously.

Cree calmed the horse with soothing yet firm commands while keeping hold of the reins and the animal reluctantly obeyed.

A steady growl drew Cree’s eyes, and he knew he gazed upon the pack leader. The wolf stepped forward, emerging enough from the mist for Cree to see him. His mouth was drawn back, his fangs bared, and saliva dripped from them. He was all black and large, like no wolf Cree had ever seen before, a majestic creature displaying his power and his fearlessness. He would not be an easy foe to fight, and with his pack with him, victory did not look promising, but defeat had never stopped Cree from entering a fray and victory was always his to claim.

The wolf kept a low growl and cast a quick glance down and that’s when Cree saw that the animal stood right over Dawn’s head.

“She’s mine. She belongs to me. I love her and will fight to the death for her,” Cree said, the wolf’s intense green eyes so human, he thought the creature might understand him.

The wolf tossed his head up and howled and the other wolves began to back away. Then he looked once again at Cree, his fangs bared, and growled, then he slowly stepped back, disappearing into the thick mist.

Cree hurried to his wife’s side while keeping a tight hold of his horse’s reins and dropped down beside her, trying to determine what injuries she suffered, the fog making it difficult.

“I am here, Dawn. Wake up. You must wake up,” he urged, anxious to get her on the horse and away from here, away from the wolves, in case the pack leader changed his mind.

She stirred and lifted her hand slightly, though it fell to the side all too soon, the simple movement too much for her.

With a fall off the horse, it was plausible to assume that she struck her head. So, Cree felt around her head and when his hand connected with something wet, he knew without seeing that it was blood. Fear twisted his gut when he saw the blood that covered his hand.

“Dawn,” he said, when her stirring stilled and when she didn’t respond, his worry soared.

He wrapped the horse’s reins around his wrist to keep him tethered to him before he carefully lifted his wife and draped her gently over the saddle, then mounted behind her and carefully maneuvered her to rest in the crook of his arm. He had to find help, a place where she could rest safely. There had to be a croft or village nearby.

He cursed the mist and plunged into it. “You’ll not stop me!”

Cree continued slowly, avoiding any shadows in the mist and calling out to Dylan every now and again, hoping to find his warriors. He stopped once he realized he had probably drifted too far away from his men to be heard.

He tapped his wife’s cheek. “Stay with me, Dawn. Stay with me.”

He was relieved each time she stirred. It meant she heard him, and he was even more relieved when she tapped his arm once. But her wound needed tending and she needed a bed to rest in and he intended to find both.

The mist began to fade some to the point where he could make out the shadowy shapes of the trees, making travel a little less difficult, though he still had to remain cautious. He felt the slight rise in the terrain and slowed his horse, not knowing if that was all it was, a slight rise or if it was a hill that pitched deep once he reached the top. He proceeded extra cautiously and determined it was more than a slight rise when the ground evened out and, in the not far distance, he caught sight of the top of a turret that had broken through the mist.

“I found help, Dawn,” he said and slowly maneuvered his horse down the hill as cautiously as possible to prevent his wife from suffering any more discomfort or pain.

He kept the turret in sight to guide him as he navigated his horse through the threatening mist, the autumn leaves crunching beneath the animal’s hooves. Dusk was falling over the land. He didn’t have much time. He had to reach the castle before nightfall, or its safety could well be lost to him.

The village suddenly emerged like ghostly apparitions, its numerous structures rising from the mist as eerie silhouettes. He gazed about searching for signs of life, but it appeared deserted, and Cree wondered if the village had been abandoned and if so, why?

The air was heavy with a chilling stillness, broken only by the occasional hoot of an owl or the rustling of leaves as he continued apprehensively through the village.

Cree kept himself alert to all around him and the more he gazed about the more he thought that the mist appeared to cling to the structures, veiling the village in a strange aura.

His eyes caught sight of a flickering light, possibly a torch, at the far end of the village. The dim light filtered through the dense fog, creating a hazy, distorted view, and for a moment Cree wondered if the light waved him away in warning rather than extended a welcome.

Cree led his horse slowly toward the light, his breath mingling with the mist, forming wisps of vapor that curled and dissipated into the air. His eyes strained, trying to pierce through the mirky veil, all his senses heightened by the strangeness that cloaked the village.

Dawn stirred in his arms.

“Almost there. Help is in reach,” he said, hoping his words would prove true and their situation would not worsen.

Night began to fall and if not for the flickering light, Cree would not know where he was headed. It drew closer and closer and just before he reached it, the distant howl of a lone wolf echoed through the mist.

He was glad to hear it in the distance. It meant they were safe here where they were, wherever that might be.

The light allowed him to partially see the few stairs that led to the door of the keep. He spoke calmly to his horse before he dismounted, letting him know he would tend to him as soon as he could. He would not tie his reins in case the wolves should come this way, he could run. Otherwise, the horse would remain where he was until Cree came for him.

He coiled his arm tightly around his wife and dismounted with her in his arms, adjusting her to rest comfortably against him once he was off the horse. Then he mounted the stairs and kicked at the front door with his booted foot.

He heard nothing, though he did not know the size of the keep. It could take a while for someone to answer. He kicked at the door again and again until finally it creaked open.

“I need help,” Cree said, shoving the door open and entering without being invited in.

A petite, elderly woman, her gray hair coiled in a braid at the back of her head and her eyes wide, stared at him stunned.

Cree, forgetting how his size and commanding manner could easily frighten, hurried to ease the woman’s concerns. “I mean you no harm. My wife needs help. She fell off the horse and suffered a wound to the back of her head. She is in desperate need of a healer. Do you have one?”

“Aye,” the elderly woman said, “but she is at a croft seeing to a dying man. She will not be back until morning. I will show you to a room and bring you whatever you need to tend to your wife until the healer returns. Follow me.”

Cree let loose with several silent oaths, worried what such a delay would mean to his wife. Having no choice but to do as the woman said, he followed her.

She led him along a barely lit, narrow corridor to a closed door halfway down it and ordered him to wait, then she opened the door and entered the room.

His gut roiled with uncertainty. Was this place safe? Were they a friendly or fiendish lot? Again, he was reminded that he had no choice in the matter. He either remained here or returned to the uncertainty of the mist, and at least here Dawn was safe from the wolves.

A lone wolf’s howl sounded closer than before, and Cree was grateful for the stone walls that protected them. Humans he was used to battling, not wolves.

“Enter,” the woman called out.

Cree hurried and entered and was surprised at the large size of the room. The woman had lit enough candles to cast a good light over the generous area, and she was setting a fire to burn in the hearth, which added more light as the logs burst into flames.

He hurried Dawn to the bed and saw that the woman had drawn back the blankets and placed a thick cloth on the pillow. He didn’t think he mentioned his wife had suffered a head wound or perhaps she coated the pillow with a thick cloth for a different reason. He placed Dawn gently on the bed and removed her shoes. She wore no stockings. Even in the thick of winter she sometimes would forego her stockings, and yet her feet were often warm. He gave one foot a squeeze then the other surprised to find them cold and hurried the blanket over her to her waist.

“There is a bucket of water here you may use,” she pointed to one by the hearth, “and some cloths on the chest.” She pointed to a chest near the bucket. “I will bring you another bucket of water and more clean cloths. Is it a large wound or would honey help heal it?” the woman asked.

“Bring whatever you have and whatever you think may help a wound,” he said.

The woman went to the door, Cree’s firm voice stopping her.

“I am Lord Cree, and I am grateful for your generous help.”

“I am Olwen. I oversee the keep,” she said with a bob of her head and hurried out the door.

She left so fast he had no time to ask her the clan that allowed him to shelter and care for his wife. It mattered not at the moment, only his wife mattered. He leaned over the bed ready to turn her to her side so he could examine her wound when her eyes fluttered, fighting to open.

Her hand barely made it to her head, and before it dropped from lack of strength, he caught it in his hand.

“Your head pains you?” he asked.

She tapped his hand once.

“I am going to look at it, clean the wound and bandage it if necessary. The clan’s healer will be here tomorrow, and she can let me know if more needs to be done. We took shelter at a keep. You are safe. I will let no harm come to you.”

Her smile was weak but that she smiled at all eased his worry a bit.

“Easy,” he said as he rolled her gently onto her side and he winced along with her, feeling her pain.

Blood smeared the cloth that covered the pillow, but, to his relief, no blood ran from the wound. He knew from far too many battles how a head wound could bleed a lot but not threaten life. Then there were those head wounds that would claim the wounded in their sleep. He would need to keep an eye on his wife throughout the night and keep death at bay. He would let no one take Dawn from him, no one… not even death.

“It is not a bad wound as far as wounds go,” Cree said to help ease her worry as well as his own. “I am going to ease you to rest comfortably on your side while I clean it.”

Dawn reached back with a bit more strength, searching for his hand.

He took hold of it. “All will be well. We are safe here.”

Cree got busy cleaning the wound as gently as he could, as well as trying to get the blood out of her hair. He kept talking as he tended to her to keep her at ease.

“I do not know how we got separated from my warriors so quickly. We were so close and then suddenly we were at a distance. The mist. Heavy mist can confuse. We should have no trouble finding them once the mist passes. The wound is small, though it did bleed a lot, and you have a good-sized lump which probably is the reason for your pain. Hopefully, the clan healer will have something to help you with that.”

He watched her body sigh in relief. Though she had no voice, his wife spoke to him in so many other ways; the movement of her body, the expression in her eyes, her gestures that had become like a second language to him. They all forged a voice more powerful than any she could speak, and he often told her that she talked too much, which always brought a smile to her face.

“You would do well to sleep on your side tonight. You do most times anyway since you sleep against me.”

He loved sleeping wrapped around her, loved exploring her beautiful body with his hands or his lips. Loved how eagerly she responded and how much joy and pleasure they shared making love.

He felt his shaft begin to stir and hurried to chase the suggestive thoughts away. Now was not the time to dwell on such things, but it was difficult not to since thoughts of making love to his wife often entered his mind. He pushed the stirring thoughts away and just finished placing a clean cloth beneath her head when Olwen returned, a rap at the door sounding before she entered.

She carried a bucket and a sizeable sack and placed the bucket by the bed for Cree. She then got busy emptying the sack. Clean cloths came first, a crock of honey followed, and she pulled a smaller sack out. She removed the few items that she set on the table against the wall to the right of the bed.

“Meat, cheese, bread,” she said, unwrapping a cloth that held the food after placing it on the table. “I will fetch you some wine. It will help your wife sleep.”

Olwen left before Cree could stop her.

“She is fast for an elderly woman,” Cree said and slipped his hand under his wife to adjust her more comfortably in the bed. “Are you hungry, Dawn?”

She tapped his hand twice.

“Maybe later,” he said, worried that she did not want to eat, not even a small bite of something since it had been sunrise when they had last eaten.

With a tender touch, he turned Dawn onto her side and placed a pillow behind her back to keep her rested there. Then he got the crock of honey and spread a generous amount on the wound to help heal and seal it.

“Once we return home, Elsa can see to you,” he said, wishing his healer was here now. He gathered the dirty cloths in a pile and left the wet ones in the bucket with the dirty water. He soaked a clean cloth in the fresh bucket of water, rinsed it and placed it over his wife’s brow. “Hopefully this will ease your pain some.”

He watched her body sigh for a second time, and it was only a short time later that his wife’s gentle breathing told him she was asleep.

Olwen returned as promised with wine and tankards.

“Did you leave your horse out in front of the keep?” Olwen asked.

“I did. Is he not safe there? Is there a place I can shelter him for the night?” Cree asked, his concern turning to his stallion.

“The wolves are active when the mist is heavy.”

“They come into the village?” he asked, surprised and alarmed at the prospect of such danger to the clan.

“They have on occasion. There is a stable to the right of the keep when you are facing it. He will be safe there. I can take you to the front door now if you’d like and wait to escort you back here, so you do not get lost.”

Cree was good with direction and could easily find his way, but Olwen seemed anxious, and he was eager to get his horse to safety after learning that wolves might prowl the village.

He went to his wife and pulled the blanket up over her shoulders. He did not like leaving her here alone in a strange keep even for a short while, and he intended to hurry and finish the chore.

“Lead the way,” Cree said, keeping focused on his surroundings so he could better understand the layout of the keep and learn to maneuver it himself.

Once at the front door, Olwen opened it a sliver and mist rushed in as if waiting to gain entrance.

“Hurry and be done, my lord,” Olwen said anxiously and reached for a torch in a metal sconce attached to the stone wall. “It grows late, and the mist will thicken with the night.” She opened the door wide enough for him to step out and handed him the torch.

He had never heard that before, but she was more familiar with this part of the Highlands than he was.

He stepped out the door and stopped to ask, “What clan has been so generous to me and my wife?”

“Clan MacMadadh,” she said softly as she closed the door.

Cree stood there, a chill racing through him as he whispered, “MacMadadh, son of the wolf.”