Highlander The Dark Dragon Read online

  Seamus hurried off and she could see by his expression that the old man liked the Dragon even less now. And for a moment, she wondered if she could be wrong about his true identity. Quinn would never be so unkind to an old warrior.

  She could not stop herself from saying, “It would be better if you befriended him than frightened him.”

  “There is no room for friendship when you lead.”

  “Pitt is your friend.”

  “And Pitt knows my leadership comes before our friendship, but enough questions.”

  Rhys kept her close against him as he hurried her inside the keep and straight to his solar.

  Heather looked at Rhys as he filled a goblet with wine. Who truly was this man she wed? She thought she knew him, but did she? He handed her the goblet and she took it, eager to ask him questions, yet she remained silent. She drifted to one of the chairs near the hearth and sat.

  Pitt entered, the door having been left open.

  “Find out what happened to the guard at the door,” Rhys ordered and Pitt closed the door behind him as he took his leave.

  “Feeling better?” Rhys asked, standing near the hearth.

  “Much, but then I should feel well-rested, having slept most of the night away.”

  “Sunrise is less than an hour away.”

  “It is no wonder I feel so refreshed, but what of you? Have you slept at all?” she asked, though looking at him he did not appear a man who lacked sleep. No heaviness marred his eyes nor did his body appear fatigued. He stood tall, his shoulders broad, his chest fit and his eyes as alert as ever. The one thing different about him was his dark hair. It was not drawn back. It fell to just above his shoulders, one side tucked behind his ear...the way Quinn had worn his. While it gave a familiar tug to her heart, she could not help but think of the changes in him.

  “I slept well enough.”

  “But not alongside me,” she said, recalling that she had not caught the scent of him on the bed linens when she woke.

  “You needed rest.”

  “I rest quite well with you beside me,” she assured him.

  “I do not, for it is not rest I think of when lying beside you.”

  “What do you think of?” Heather said and found herself waiting for a reply while Rhys rested his hand to his chin and ran is thumb across his lips, paused in thought. Her eyes remained fixed on his lips and the way his thumb caressed them and she felt a small flutter in her stomach.

  He stopped suddenly and with a brief step, hunched down in front of her. “I think of touching you in the most intimate of places.”

  Heather gasped lightly when his hands slipped under her skirt to caress her legs. His touch was gentle, running from her ankles up along her legs slowly as if he did not want to miss touching any part of her. And as he did, the flutter in her stomach grew and took flight, settling between her legs and growing ever stronger as his hands slipped over her knees and down between her legs to stroke the inner flesh.

  Rhys watched her eyes flutter and her mouth dropped open slightly as he gently spread her legs apart. He had grown hard with his first touch of her, soft yet firm, and the further he explored the harder he grew. One yank forward and he could...he groaned with the thought of swiftly impaling her. Instead, he slipped his finger slowly inside her.

  Heather gasped, her hands grabbing his shoulders and digging into his flesh as his thumb settled on the direct spot that throbbed unmercifully. She moaned, then sighed, then moaned again.

  She grew so wet that Rhys could slip easily inside her without causing her much pain, but he would not take her here and now like a common wench. He would make love to her properly in their bed. For now, he would simply bring her pleasure, let her grow accustomed to his touch, and watch as she climaxed for the first time.

  Heather inched forward in the chair, needing him to go deeper inside her and the slight plunge of his fingers drew a louder moan from her as she dropped her brow to rest on his.

  “Kiss me.”

  It was a demand, not a request, and Heather complied most willingly. His tongue penetrated her mouth the same time his fingers plunged deeper. This time her gasp was caught in his mouth as his kiss turned more powerful and pleasing than she ever thought possible.

  She moaned in disappointment when he tore his lips away from hers to whisper in her ear, “Come for me, I want to feel you come.”

  He teased her nub until she thought she would go mad and she dropped her head back and moaned so loud she thought all in the keep would think the Dragon tortured her, but then he did, though most pleasurably.

  She cried out his name as she felt the overwhelming sensation continue to grow and as it did, she dug her fingers deeper into his shoulders. His name became a litany on her lips until finally...she felt an explosion of the most glorious sensation and let herself be swept away in it.

  Rhys watched as the climax hit and took hold of her and seeing the pleasure she was getting from it almost had him coming himself. But the years of learning to stay in control took hold and besides, when he came it would be inside her.

  As her climax subsided, she brought her head down to rest on her husband’s shoulder.

  “That and more is what I think of doing to you,” he whispered in her ear.

  If her breathing was not so labored, she would tell him that he could do that and more to her as often as he liked. Actually, she would not mind if they went to their bedchamber right now, for she had waited far too long to make love with the man she loved. For now, she just let herself enjoy all the little sensations that continued to linger in her body.

  Rhys loved feeling the last of her climax ripple through her and that she rested her head on his shoulder without thought as if it was most natural. He wanted her at ease with him, wanted her to enjoy his touch, to look forward to it.

  He closed his eyes against the thought that he refused to admit and constantly haunted him—he wanted her to love him. The problem was— could he give her the love she deserved?

  Her stomach rumbled, interrupting both their thoughts.

  “You are hungry,” Rhys said, easing her back in the chair.

  Her stomach may have grumbled, but it was the hunger that had lain dormant for so long that needed feeding. And she was not quite sure how much it would take to satisfy it.

  Rhys stood and held his hand out to her. “The kitchen should be stirring by now. I will have them prepare something for us.”

  Heather was pleased that her husband would share the morning meal with her and took his hand to walk with him to the Great Hall. She not only wanted to spend more time with him, she was looking forward to the next time they would be intimate. And if she could hasten that moment, she happily would.

  Sunrise broke just a few moments after they were seated in the Great Hall and food soon found its way to their table. They just began their meal when Pitt approached, a frown on his handsome face, though when his eye caught sight of Nessa he smiled at her. Nessa turned away, ignoring him and Pitt’s frown returned.

  “Sit, and eat,” Rhys ordered.

  Pitt shook his head. “We found the guard. He took a knot to the back of his head and was trussed up tightly. He remembers nothing, though he has been questioned endlessly. There is another problem.”

  “When is there ever not a problem?” Rhys said, sounding as if he had expected it.

  “It seems the body that was to be disposed of is gone,” Pitt said.

  Heather felt her stomach clench and she suddenly felt her appetite wane, though not her courage. She looked to her husband. “Tell me the body you speak of is not Aggie.”

  “Though it does not concern you, wife, it is not Aggie we speak of.”

  “Then who?” Heather asked.

  “Again, it is not your concern.”

  Heather thought to argue, but it would serve no purpose. Her husband would not tell her, but one way or another she would find out.

  Fife hurried into the hall, his eyes darting to Nessa and wide smiles
were exchanged between them before he solemnly faced the Dragon. The young warrior’s eyes went to Heather and back at the Dragon’s several times.

  Rhys stood and walked around the dais and over to the large stone hearth, Pitt and Fife following. The three men talked in whispers.

  When Rhys walked back to the dais, he said, “Remain in the keep while I see to this.” He turned and walked out of the room, expecting her to obey.

  Fife followed, though slowed his steps as he neared Nessa. He took a moment to stop and speak with her before hurrying after the Dragon.

  Nessa in turn hurried to Heather. “Fife says something has been found in the barn, but he claims it is too gruesome to tell me what it is. I wonder if the wolf has struck again.”

  Knowing a wolf had not been responsible for the death of the two warriors got Heather wondering what had happened. “The wolf has not been caught yet?” she asked.

  “There has been no word of his capture. If there was, my lady, there would be a celebration. And now with this,” —Nessa shook her head—“everyone will make sure their loved ones are accounted for while wondering what secret the barn holds this time.”

  Nessa took off to attend to her duties and Heather sat alone at the dais with much on her mind. She wished her sisters were here so she could talk with them. She missed the many times they would sit and talk for hours. They never lacked for conversation, for there was always something for them to share. She would have liked to confide her suspicions about the Dragon to them. They would keep her secret, even advise her on what to do. They would not think her foolish or laugh at her; they would be happy for her.

  Tears tickled at her eyes and she sniffled as she brushed them away with her hand. She would see her sisters soon. At least she hoped she would.

  Two warriors entered the room, the taller warrior leading the red-haired warrior to the hearth to be seated. The taller warrior gave the other warrior’s shoulder a squeeze as he gave a shout for a servant to bring food and drink. He left once the food was brought and the warrior who remained ate sparingly, his hand going often to the back of his head.

  Heather rose and walked over to him. “May I join you?”

  He went to jump up and winced, his hand rushing to the back of his head.

  “Please stay seated,” she said with a gentle smile and touched the back of her head in empathy. “I know how you are feeling and sudden moves can be painful.” She sat, asking as she did, “What is your name.”

  “Edward and I am so sorry, my lady.”

  “Whatever for?”

  “I failed to protect you,” he said as if it was the worst thing possible.

  “It happens. You were caught unaware.”

  “A ghost warrior is never caught unaware and if he is?” Edward shook his head slowly. “He has failed himself, his fellow warriors, and worst of all, the Dragon.”

  “Perhaps the one who struck you was simply more skilled at not being heard or seen.”

  “I have given that possibility thought, for I had remained alert the whole time I was outside your door and I heard or saw nothing.”

  “I heard something,” she said and his eyes brightened. “It was a thud and now when I think on it, I believe what followed was you being dragged away.”

  “I do not know where the culprit could have come from, though there are many shadows that haunt that area.” He rubbed the side of his head. “I remember hearing a sound overhead and I looked up and listened. I could not tell where the sound came from, then it stopped, but I continued to listen and that was the last I remember.”

  “You did well, Edward. You have nothing to be sorry for and I would have you guard me again without any concern.”

  “Thank you, my lady, you are most kind.”

  “Now you must eat, rest, and heal so you may resume your duties as my guard.”

  “I would like that, but I do not think the Dragon will permit it.”

  “We shall see, Edward,” she said with a smile and left him to his meal.

  Heather did not listen for footfalls following her up the stairs, but she did watch to see if any shadows followed her. She had learned a few of the ghost warriors’ skills after being abducted and held by them until her escape. She had also learned to tread more lightly, having watched how the ghost warriors walked without making a sound. Their steps were precise and light and barely left a footprint in their wake.

  Her husband’s skills, though, far surpassed his warriors. She never heard him approach and she never saw anyone who could blend with the darkness as if he was born to it like he could. She wondered where he had learned such skills, but most of all she wondered why it had taken him so long to return to her.

  She reached the upper floor without realizing it and that was one thing she needed to learn—not to let her mind wander, but to remain focused on her surroundings. Now that she was here, she might as well explore, but perhaps that had been her intentions all along.

  With light steps, she approached the room that had been Mary’s solar, the door ajar. She pushed at the door and it squeaked as it yawned open, appearing like a giant mouth ready to swallow her. She intended to look for the secret passage here, though in all honesty it was her mum that brought her here. After Seamus had told her that her mum had spent time here with Mary McComb, she wanted to come here and sit where her mum had once sat and see if the sound of her mum’s soft voice or her sweet scent would return to her. Through the years the few memories she had of her mum had faded and it felt as if she had lost her all over again. She wanted those memories back and she hoped to regain them in this room.

  Heather stepped into the room and shadows seemed to reach out to her, beckoning her forward. Darkness never appealed to her, though she was never afraid of it, but this room had been left to the darkness too long. She skirted her way around the chairs, tables, and chests to reach the tapestry that hung on the wall and when she yanked it back, she smiled.

  She grabbed the edge of the large tapestry and gave it several hard yanks until she jumped back as it fell to the floor revealing a window that flooded the room with light. She turned with a flourish eager to inspect the room and stopped abruptly, her breath caught on a gasp that she forced silent, seeing a shadow slither past the open door.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Heather remained as she was, staring at the door. Had she seen a shadow or had it been her imagination? No one knew she had come up here. No guard had followed her, unless the shadow was a guard who had been following her all along. But if it was no guard, then who was it? The culprit who stalked the keep?

  Look for anything you can use as a weapon.

  Her sister Patience’s voice rang loud in her head and she was relieved to be reminded of what her sister had once taught her and Emma. Heather quickly scanned the room.

  Nothing large and cumbersome that can easily be taken away from you.

  She kept her sister’s advice in mind as her eyes continued to search. She smiled when she spotted the bone needle tucked in an unfinished piece of embroidery. It was small enough to conceal in her hand, but deadly enough when jabbed in someone’s eye.

  Heather approached the open door cautiously, wishing she had a torch or some type of light to illuminate the small area outside the door. The torch in the wall sconce did not burn bright enough to light the small area sufficiently, but if she could grab it and shine it on the shadows it would chase them away and reveal...what?

  With her heart pounding hard in her chest and her hand trembling slightly, she reached the open door. She could do this. Had her sisters not complained of her quickness when chasing after them and catching them when they were young and unruly?

  She could do this. She would reach the sconce and not only would it cast light on the darkness, but it would prove useful as another weapon if necessary.

  Not letting her fear stop her, Heather rushed out of the room and grabbed the torch from the sconce and swung it around, chasing the darkness away to reveal... She released the br
eath she had not realized she had been holding. There was no one there. She was alone.

  She smiled, though her heart continued to pound against her chest. She returned the torch to the wall sconce and turned to find the darkness laying claim to the area once again. She entered the room, satisfied that the shadows had played a trick on her.

  She stopped a few feet in when she heard the squeak of the door closing behind her and a tremble rippled over her, but it was when the door shut and she heard the latch click that fear gripped her. She slipped the needle into place in her hand just as she felt a warm breath on the back of her neck.

  Heather turned quickly, hoping to catch the culprit off guard and raised her hand ready to strike.

  Rhys grabbed her hand, twisting it, forcing her to drop whatever it was she held, then yanked her up against him. “You could be in a dire situation right now, if it was someone other than me.”

  Heather gave her husband a hard shove, not that it did much good. He did not budge, so she took a few steps away from him. “How dare you frighten me like that?”

  “How dare you disobey me again,” Rhys snapped.

  “I remained in the keep.”

  “I ordered you to remain where you were.”

  “That still does not give you cause to frighten me,” she said, shaking her finger at him.

  “Do not point your finger at me, wife,” he ordered.

  “Then do not give me cause to,” she said, continuing to shake her finger at him the whole time.

  Rhys was on her in less than a blink of an eye, his hand grabbing and consuming the offending finger in his grasp. “I am warning you, wife, tread lightly or you will—”

  “Or what?” she shouted the anger that bubbled inside her now and then throughout the years suddenly erupting, spewing forth before she could contain it. “Punish me? Make me suffer? Do what you will, for I will not now or ever be an obedient wife.”

  Rhys rested his face close to hers. “And so your descent into darkness begins with anger displacing your sweet kindness.”