She sat up as the memory of what had happened the night before returned. Surely she hadn’t seen what she thought she had seen! She had heard the stories of the Reyes family, how they had been cursed by a witch to run with the wolves when the moon was full, but she had never believed such ludicrous tales. Men could not transform into wolves. It was impossible…yet how else to explain what she had seen last night, when the moon was full?
“A dream,” she murmured. “It was naught but a bad dream.”
And even as she spoke the words, she saw Reyes striding toward her, his long black hair falling over his shoulders, his dark blue eyes fixed on her face.
She suddenly recalled that the wolf’s eyes had also been blue…
“Get up, woman,” he said gruffly. “We ride at once.”
When he reached for her arm, she scrambled to her feet and backed away. “Touch me not!”
“I’ve no time for your nonsense,” he said impatiently. “We’re leaving.”
“Please let me go home.”
“All in good time,” he replied, and taking hold of her arm, he dragged her to his horse, lifted her into the saddle, and vaulted up behind her.
They traveled all that day. She was grateful, at least, that they rode at the head of the column as the horses behind them stirred great clouds of yellow dust.
They stopped once at noon to rest and water the horses and again a few hours later. She had expected they would make camp at dusk but night fell and there was no sign that they were going to stop.
She sagged against Reyes, too exhausted to care that he was her enemy.
She didn’t remember falling asleep but she woke abruptly, a huge castle rising before her eyes. Reyes guided his horse across the narrow stone bridge that spanned a moat, and then under a portcullis. They passed through the main gate and then they were inside the inner courtyard. Servants ran to and fro, offering water and wine to the trail-weary warriors. Youths led the war horses into the barns to look after them. Wives and children filled the yard, welcoming their husbands and fathers home.
No one came to greet her captor.
Reyes took Shanara by the arm and led her up a winding staircase to the first floor and into the banquet hall. Inside, he bade her sit down at one of the tables. At any other time, she would have argued but she was too tired to offer any resistance, and far too hungry, for they had eaten but little on the trail.
She watched through heavy-lidded eyes as serving women hurried into the hall, laying out trays laden with meat and vegetables and baskets of crusty brown bread. Tankards filled with ale were set on the tables.
Stomach growling, Shanara filled a trencher with food, acutely conscious of Reyes sitting at the head of the table.
The room was soon filled with hungry men. Laughter and conversation rose on all sides as the women joined their menfolk.
With the edge taken from her hunger, Shanara looked around the hall. It was an enormous room. A dozen long trestle tables were scattered down its center. A huge fireplace took up most of one wall with a pair of crossed swords hanging over the mantel. A chandelier hung from the ceiling, fresh rushes covered the floor. On the walls were tapestries depicting a variety of hunting and battle scenes.
But it was Reyes who drew her attention time and again. Clad all in black, he sat alone at the head of the table absently picking at his dinner while he watched the goings-on in the hall. He smiled as his men toasted him again and again, sharing stories of his bravery in battle, relating how he had ridden into the midst of a fierce skirmish to save one of his men.
She found it curious that he sat at the head of the table without female companionship.
She had no sooner finished her meal than a young woman clad in a long gray gown appeared at her side. “Please come with me, my lady.”
Shanara sent a glance in Reyes’ direction, but he was paying her no mind. When the girl gave a gentle tug on the sleeve of Shanara’s gown, Shanara rose and followed her from the hall.
The maid led her up a narrow winding stairway, down a long dark corridor, and into a large room where another, older woman also clad in gray waited.
Before she knew what was happening, Shanara found herself being undressed and urged into a round wooden tub filled with hot water. In spite of her protests that she was perfectly able to bathe herself, the women bathed her and washed her hair, then helped her out of the tub. They dried her off, anointed her with fragrant oil, wrapped a bit of toweling around her hair, then helped her into a long, loose-fitting gown of ice blue velvet.
“Sit here, my lady,” the older woman said, indicating she should sit on a low stool.
Knowing it was useless to argue, Shanara did as she was told.
“Such beautiful hair,” the woman said, removing the toweling. “Like auburn silk.”
“Indeed,” murmured her companion, a note of envy in her voice.
Shanara closed her eyes. She had always enjoyed having someone else brush her hair. The woman had gentle handsand for a few moments, Shanara gave herself up to the luxury of being pampered, something she had sorely missed since her mother passed away.
