Total pages in book: 40
Estimated words: 36428 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 182(@200wpm)___ 146(@250wpm)___ 121(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 36428 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 182(@200wpm)___ 146(@250wpm)___ 121(@300wpm)
Cree stood there, a chill racing through him as he whispered, “MacMadadh, son of the wolf.”
CHAPTER 3
Night had fallen and the thick mist remained. Cree’s horse’s snorts led him to where he had left him and he ran a gentle hand down his side to calm him, then took hold of his reins. He kept tight to the side of the keep following the directions Olwen had given him, taking no chance of getting lost in the mist and leaving Dawn alone in the keep. He made his way slowly along the stone wall keeping alert for sounds, particularly the howl of a wolf.
When he reached the end of the wall, he peered as best as he could into the mist and caught sight of something looming large a few steps away. He kept his eyes on it as he made his way towards it, his horse following behind, his gait agitated.
Cree made it to the building and pushed open the wide door and once his horse was inside, he hurried and closed the door. He spotted a sconce attached to a wood post and made his way to it to set the torch’s handle in it.
“You will be safe here and you are not alone,” Cree said to his horse as he eyed the four stalls curiously. Two were occupied and two sat empty.
He walked his horse to the empty one nearest the door in case he had to leave hastily. He would be easier to reach and to be on his way with Dawn if a quick departure proved necessary. The thought that his wife was alone in an unfamiliar keep had him hurrying to see his horse settled comfortably and safely.
Cree heard it as he tended to his horse—a low growl. The other horses’ sudden uneasiness told him they had heard it as well. It was a growling rumble, and it sounded like it was close to the stable.
He stilled and listened, but the horses remained agitated, snorting and stomping the ground with their hooves. He made no move to console them. It would be a worthless effort with wolves roaming nearby.
The door creaked as if someone or something pressed against it and this time the growl was distinct. A wolf prowled outside.
How had wolves entered the area? Where were the clan warriors and the torches that kept unwanted animals at bay?
“MacMadadh meant son of the wolf,” Cree whispered. “Werewolves.”
Where the foolish thought came from, he couldn’t say. It was utter nonsense to think such a thing could be true that humans could turn into wolves. But it was a tale that was repeatedly told in the Highlands as well as in foreign lands he had traveled to. He had even seen a man hung for believing to have turned into a wolf when the moon was full, even though no one had ever seen him transform into such a creature. He had learned that in the ensuing years after the hanging there had been no more wolf attacks. So, could it be true or merely a coincidence? Either way, he did not want to leave Dawn alone for long, though it also wouldn’t be wise of him to leave the safety of the stable when growling was heard. He feared Dawn’s fate if anything should happen to him, not so if he were home. There she would have friends to console her and would make sure she stayed safe.
“I need to get back to Dawn,” he said to the horse, though more to himself.
Once he finished tending to his horse, he stilled and listened again. The growling had ceased, and the horses had calmed down. That meant that the wolves weren’t around the stable, but what about the keep?
He had no choice. He had to take a chance.
He slipped as quietly as possible from the stable, but his steps seemed to echo in the fog and the door to the stable sounded as if it creaked loudly in the night. Even crackles and spit could be heard from the flicking flames of the torch he carried.
Cree stopped briefly, thinking he heard a low growl and swung the torch around him, in warning to any wolf that might be near, then he continued walking. He had taken several steps and stopped again. He should have reached the keep by now. Had he disoriented himself when swinging the torch and inadvertently gone in the wrong direction?
Stranger still, Olwen was right about the fog. It had thickened. He could not even see where he was walking. A few more steps and he found himself at a cottage, at least that was what he believed, having to feel his way around it.
When his hand felt the door, it creaked open, and Cree called out, “I am looking for the keep, can you set me in its direction?”