* * *
Something rough and wet kept rubbing against Moira’s face. When she opened her eyes, Sàr’s black nose was an inch above her, and his tongue covered half her face.
“Bleck!” Moira tried to sit up, but it hurt too much to move. She felt as if a herd of cattle had trampled over her.
“Stop licking me,” she said, batting at the dog.
Sàr rested his head on his paws next to her ear and proceeded to whine until the sound was so annoying that she forced herself to sit up. She spit out the bits of dirt and leaves in her mouth and looked up the hill—or cliff—she had fallen down. It was so steep she could not see the path above.
“We are in a fine fix,” she said to Sàr.
She had scratches from head to toe, though it was a miracle she had not broken her neck. Sàr stuck his nose in her face until she hauled herself to her feet. She felt stiff, as if she had lain on the cold ground for a long time. She probably had.
What was wrong with Sàr now? The wolfhound had ceased whining, but he was pacing back and forth in front of her and growling.
Then she heard it—a long, high howl that sent a shiver of terror up her spine. A wolf. There was no mistaking the sound, for there was nothing else like it. Heart hammering, Moira picked up a stick.
Two answering howls echoed against the hillside. The wolves were close.
* * *
Duncan had been running along the path for an hour. Without slowing his pace, he took a drink from his flask and wondered how far ahead Moira was. He cursed himself again for not hearing her leave the cottage. It was not like him to be so slack.
Duncan thought of Moira’s fancy slippers. At least she could not be making good time in those. He should catch up with her soon.
Up ahead, at the top of the hill, the path had been washed out in a mudslide from the rains. Duncan scanned the hills, looking for another way across. Then, over his breathing, he heard a dog bark. Praise God, he had found them. He halted and listened. The barking was coming from the trees at the base of the ravine.
O shluagh!Moira and the dog must have gone down in the mudslide.
Duncan’s blood froze when he heard the yips and eerie howls of wolves, calling to one another.
He left the path and scrambled across the hillside toward the ravine. Judging by Sàr’s steady barking, the wolves had not attacked yet. Duncan had to believe that. He did not let himself consider that Moira could already be dead from the fall.
“Moira!” Duncan leaped over fallen trees and rocks and crashed through the brush as he entered the vortex of the ravine.
Suddenly Sàr’s barking became fierce and frantic. Duncan pulled his claymore from his back and ran harder. Through the trees, he saw the dog and a gray wolf fighting. The two animals were on their hind legs, locked in a death struggle, trying to bite each other’s throat.
Behind them, Duncan caught a glimpse of Moira’s blood-red gown.
From the corner of his eye, he saw a movement and turned. Four wolves were slinking through the trees toward Moira.
* * *
Moira did not see the wolf until it sprang through the air, lunging at Sàr’s throat. She screamed and gripped her stick, ready to hit it and protect her dog. But before the wolf’s jaws reached his throat, Sàr attacked the wolf with a viciousness that startled her. This snarling and snapping beast was a different animal from the gentle giant dog she knew.
The two fought on their hind legs, biting at each other in a brutal dance. With a ferocious lunge, Sàr caught the wolf’s neck in his jaws. Moira’s stomach turned as Sàr shook his head back and forth until the wolf’s body went limp.
Moira sagged, relieved that the fight was over and that she and Sàr were safe.
But then she saw two sleek gray forms sliding through the trees. When one of the wolves turned its head and fixed its yellow eyes on her, Moira’s blood froze. The next moment, Sàr was in front of her, growling and baring his teeth. She screamed as the two wolves attacked Sàr at once. While Sàr fought one wolf, the other tried to bite the back of his leg.
Moira heard a yip and turned to find another pair of sleek dark forms in the trees. While Sàr fought for his life, the two new wolves watched and waited.
Moira prayed.Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, protect us.
A roar filled the air, and Duncan burst through the trees brandishing his claymore. With the flat of it, he slammed first one and then the other of the wolves attacking Sàr. The wolves turned on Duncan, snapping and darting at him between his swings with the claymore. One jumped, and its teeth were an inch from sinking into Duncan’s arm. But Duncan was lightning-quick and blocked it with the flat of his sword.
In quick succession the two wolves gave up the fight and withdrew to find easier prey. When Moira turned to look where the other wolves had been waiting, their dark shapes were already slipping through the trees like seals in the water.
