Hefaidd-Hen turned disturbingly milky blue eyes to his master, and Lorcan shuddered inwardly. “She may not have gone there willingly, but it doesn’t mean she’s not there.”
“Then she would already be dead?”
“No. All signs tell me she still lives.”
Lorcan snorted. He should have known better than to get his hopes up.
“Then what is your counsel, wizard?”
Hefaidd-Hen smiled, if you could call it that. “Let me take some of your men and go into Dark Glen myself. I will see if I can find her.”
“I can’t afford to lose you, Hefaidd-Hen. Even if it means destroying her. I need you during these rebel attacks. Every day more troops arrive to fight with her.”
“And while she lives they will continue to arrive.”
“I said no.” Lorcan, his anger spent, sat down heavily in one of the chairs he had not yet thrown. “But send a few of my warriors. Make sure they understand that they go into Dark Glen, or what lies in there will be the least of their worries.”
Hefaidd-Hen bowed low. “As you wish, my lord.”
Then the wizard took his leave and Lorcan began to breathe again. He thought of his ugly little sister and reveled in the delight he would take in planting her head on a spike outside his castle walls.
“I will have you, bitch,” he growled low, hoping his words would find her wherever she was. He wanted her to know that her time would soon end. He wanted her to know he would rule the land in his father’s place. He wanted her to know just how much he hated her.
He roared again, his rage returning tenfold. He roared and roared, until he knew she could hear him wherever she was.
Annwyl sprung naked from the bed. Her sword, which she always kept on the floor within arm’s reach, firmly grasped in her hand. Her brother’s presence surrounded her. She felt him near her. She spun around, expecting to find him standing behind her.
“Are you all right?”
Annwyl barked in surprise at the voice. Without thought, only instinct, she spun around again and threw her sword across the room. The only reason the blade didn’t slam into Morfyd’s forehead was because the witch moved too fast.
She dropped to the floor with a hoarse cry.
“By the gods, Morfyd!” Annwyl, now realizing where she was and that she truly was safe, ran to the woman. “Are you hurt?”
The witch grasped the girl’s hand and let Annwyl help her up. “No. No. I’m fine.”
“Morfyd, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s all right.” Morfyd sat down heavily in one of the chairs. “I startled you.”
Annwyl crouched beside Morfyd. She couldn’t bring herself to release the woman’s hand. “I thought he was here,” she whispered.
Morfyd frowned. “Thought who was here?”
“My brother. I felt him here, Morfyd. As surely as you are standing here now.”
“You were just dreaming. He can’t hurt you here. Fearghus would never let him.”
The witch spoke true, of course. She trusted the dragon with her life, more than any of her own troops. Even more than Brastias.
“Thank you for understanding.” Annwyl stood and went back to her bed, wrapping one of the fur covers around her shivering naked body. “And for being able to move so fast. I don’t know what I would have done if I . . .”
“But you didn’t. So let’s not think of it a moment longer. Here.” Morfyd handed her a parchment. Annwyl saw the seal of Brastias and grinned.
“You saw him, then?”
“Aye. He seemed heartily relieved that you still live.”
Annwyl sat down on her bed. “And my men?”
“They still have hope.”
Annwyl nodded. “Thank you for doing this.”
Morfyd stood up. “Do not speak of it. I will get you something to eat while you read your letter.”
Once the witch left, Annwyl carefully removed the seal and opened the parchment.
Annwyl read the letter again and then held it against her chest. Her army waited. Soon she must return.
Fearghus watched his sister grab several pieces of fruit. Her human body seemed shakier than usual. “Are you all right?”
“That mad bitch threw a blade at my head.”
He studied his sister. “What did you say to her?”
Morfyd swung around to glare at him, fruit flying everywhere.“What did I . . . why do you . . . how dare you . . .”Morfyd stopped and pulled herself together. “
“Or something?”
Morfyd shrugged as she knelt down to pick up the scattered pieces of fruit. “He could very well be contacting her through her dreams.”
“I thought you put up protections around the glen?”
“I did,” she snapped. “That doesn’t mean he hasn’t found a wizard to work around them.”
Fearghus walked up to his sister. He towered over her in his human form, dressed and ready to start his training with Annwyl. “No one should be able to get past your protections, sister. I don’t care if it’s the queen herself. I want Annwyl safe. Understand?”
Morfyd’s eyes narrowed as she examined her brother.
“Why are you dressed like that?” Her frown deepened.
“And for that matter, why are you human?”
“Town for what?”
“Supplies. Now get on with the spellcasting. Please.”
He stormed off before she could ask any more questions that would force him to lie to her more.
Annwyl was falling. Then she was landing. Her back hitting the hard ground, then her head. She lay there. Unable to move. Suddenly his face loomed over her.
“Sorry ’bout that.”
No he wasn’t. He wasn’t sorry about anything. She’d gotten in a couple of really good blows and he retaliated, knocking her right on her backside . . . hard.
It took her several moments to get her breath back; by then he reached out to help her stand. She slapped his hands away and dragged herself up so she knelt on the hard ground.
She glared at him.
“What’s that look for? It’s not my fault you weren’t fast enough.”
Annwyl punched him in the face. “Was that fast enough?”she snapped.
Now he glared as he clutched his slightly wounded nose.
Annwyl pushed herself to stand up, but the spasm in her neck and shoulder forced her right back down. She moaned in pain and the knight looked at her.
“What is it?”
“Nothing.”
“Liar.” He moved behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders. His touch sent shocks through her body. Annwyl tried to push his hands off, but he ignored her.
