Page 31 of Cree & Dawn and the Wolf

Dawn’s eyes sprang wide, the alarming sound waking her, and she glanced anxiously at her husband.

“Something is amiss,” he said but had no idea what it might be.

He wanted to go see for himself, but he didn’t want to leave his wife alone and vulnerable. Though he could be leaving them both vulnerable if he didn’t see for himself what was happening.

The disturbing sound came again.

Dawn got out of bed and went to slip her shoes on.

Cree hurried to help her, knowing she had made the decision for him. They would go together.

She shook her finger at him when he looked ready to argue, concerned at what they might be walking into.

“You stay close, but run, if necessary,” he ordered.

Dawn nodded, not bothering to argue with him or to remind him that she had no place to run.

Cree kept his sword in hand as they proceeded cautiously down the stairs and to the Great Hall, hearing no more vicious snarling as they went. When they entered the room, it was to find Lord Tiernan sitting shirtless at one of the tables, blood covering his shoulder and chest and a man lying dead on the ground, his head nearly torn off him and a headpiece made from the head of a wolf lying not far from him while wolf pelts clothed his body. A short staff with a wolf paw attached to the top of it, its claws extended lay nearby as well.

Lynall, her hands trembling, was just beginning to clean Lord Tiernan’s wounds while Olwen sat pale and trembling at a nearby table, Brigid tending to her.

Cree kept his wife tucked behind him as he looked down at the dead man, thinking it wasn’t possible. The crazy tribe who thought themselves wolves were too far north. What could they be doing here?

Dawn watched as her husband drew his shoulders back and his body tensed so badly that his muscles bulged to the point that they looked as if they would burst. He had had enough. The fierce and impatient mercenary in him was about to emerge.

“I have no patience left, Lord Tiernan,” Cree said with such powerful strength that everyone there leaned back as if his words had struck them. “You will tell me the truth or so help me I will kill you myself.” He pointed to the dead man. “I know of this vicious tribe. What is one of their warriors doing here in your castle?”

Lord Tiernan glared at Cree.

“Don’t bother to tell me that it doesn’t concern me. If I am willing to raise my sword for you, then I will know who I am raising it against and why.”

Lord Tiernan acquiesced with a bit of reluctance. “An old enemy of Clan MacMadadh.”

“Why? What made the Ulfr tribe your enemy when they believe themselves wolves and MacMadadh means son of the wolf? That would make you family.”

Dawn went to go to Olwen to see if she could help in any way, the woman appearing far too pale.

“Stay where you are, Dawn!” Cree ordered sharply. “You will not go near any of them until Lord Tiernan explains.”

Dawn knew when to obey her husband’s commands and when she could safely ignore them. This was a time to obey him, and she remained by him but not behind him.

Lord Tiernan did not look too pleased as he said, “You are no doubt familiar with how tales told to entertain grow outrageously in the Highlands, creating unbelievable legends. Due to past actions of some of my ancestors, a myth grew around Clan MacMadadh, leaving many to suspect us of being werewolves. The Ulfr tribe believes the tales and considers us cursed and unworthy of being associated with wolves. To them, we are an abomination and do not deserve to live.”

Cree’s response shocked everyone. “And are you werewolves?”

“An unnecessary question considering our last conversation.”

“I would think the same until I saw this,” Cree said, pointing to the warrior on the floor. “His head has nearly been severed by what looks like a vicious animal attack. Can you explain that?”

“The dead man was more vicious than a wolf, snarling, snapping, growling,” Olwen cried out. “He cornered me and was about to rip me to shreds with that claw staff and his pointed teeth when Lord Tiernan arrived. He didn’t stop even after several strikes of his lordship’s weapon, he kept coming. He was a madman.”

“You are safe, Olwen. All is well,” Lord Tiernan said to calm her.

“Not if there are more of these warriors lurking about,” Cree said. “And how was this one able to make his way into the keep?”

“The fog and his knowledge of wolves and how they hunt allowed him to slip past our defenses,” Sim said, entering the room and sending a quick glance at Lord Tiernan.

“But why a lone warrior?” Cree asked, searching all their faces to see if any of them questioned as he did and not one of them looked puzzled. “Or is he a lone warrior?”

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