“Aye.”
Erica narrowed her eyes, not impressed. “Ha! A witch is hardly the mother of a beast. I suppose his father was ensorcelled by the lady in question. Such is always the case in stories.”
“Nay.” Mattie leaned into the coach, beckoning the ladies to lean in as he spoke. “He has no father. Nor has he ever had one as far as any can tell. It is said his father is one of the wolves who roams the fens and howls when the moon is full. I have heard it told the witch fell in love with his song and bid him come to her in the dark of the night. Our fearless leader is what sprang of that union.”
“Gracious!”
Trudy fell back against the seat, going so pale that, for a moment, Erica wondered whether she might actually faint.
“What nonsense are ye spouting there?” Tomas asked, pulling Mattie bodily from the coach and giving him a rap upside the head. “Be ye scaring the ladies when we must needs mount. ’Tis time to leave!”
“But—” Mattie blustered as Tomas shoved him out of the way and secured the door of the coach.
“Pay no mind to his stories. The man is so caught up in his fantasies, he cannae tell what is real and what springs from his own imagination,” Tomas advised, giving the door a sharp tap to assure it was closed securely.
Erica couldn’t help but laugh. It was true Tomas was known for his storytelling abilities, and when one chose to think about it, the idea of a being who was both wolf and man seemed fairly farfetched. Still, there was something that still bothered her about the tale.
“But surely there would have been proof of sorcery afore they burned his mother alive? That would imply a truth to the tale, would it not?” Erica asked urgently while, beside her, Trudy moaned piteously.
“See!” Mattie shouted, though his triumph was short-lived. He doubled over a moment later as Tomas’s elbow jabbed him square in the stomach.
“Silence, ye fool!”
Guiltily, Erica’s head shot up. Her parents were staring at the coach, consternation clearly written on their faces. For a moment, she thought they had heard everything, though she guessed such would be impossible from that distance. She raised a hand to wave awkwardly.
“Sit up, Trudy,” she said crossly, before they drew any more attention.
As it turned out, they already had. It wasn’t her parents that Tomas had been worried about. He was practically contorting himself, trying to get her attention on something over to his left, eyes sliding that way again and again, his face turning purple with suppressed warnings. Erica followed his gaze and blanched.
Finn himself stood a short distance from the coach, holding the bridle of his own horse. It was clear he had heard at least part of their conversation. His face was set and still, lips thinned to a narrow line. He stared at the group, his gaze resting upon Erica long enough to where she wished the earth would simply open and swallow her whole. Then, without a word, he mounted and rode to the head of the line. He rode as if he were carved of wood, his chin set, his back ramrod straight. He’d clearly heard every word they’d said. He snapped an order to the driver, and they were off.
The coach lurched into motion, the two guards scrambling away from the conveyance and hurrying to their own horses. Erica waved at her parents again, though her heart was not in it. Here she was, leaving her home and everything she had ever known and loved, and all she could think about was the tragedy she had glimpsed in the depths of Finn’s eyes and her part in putting that particular pain there.
The long road stretched ahead of her, and Erica could no longer fight the leaden weight of her eyelids. Ignoring Trudy’s inane chatter, Erica leaned back against the hideously uncomfortable coach panels and fell into a deep slumber after a few miles.
She dreamed. He must have cast a spell over her because the fantastic images her mind was creating seemed to blend with reality. The horses stopped. The silver-haired warrior thrust himself into the coach, telling Gertrude to get out and go into the woods to pick some flowers. The coach could hardly handle his size, he was so big. She wanted so badly to tell him to get out, but she felt her body responding to his presence, his hulking proximity. What did he want? She demanded to know. He said nothing, just sat there next to her, devouring her with his light blue eyes, pressing her back against the wooden coach panels, and immediately, Erica was aroused. Her womanly parts contracted and intensified, exquisitely tender and eager for the type of stimulation he wanted to give her. He grinned a wolfish grin; he knew he had her eating out of the palm of his hand. She wanted to scream when the feeling between her legs grew stronger. He felt her grow hot and bent his head down there. His teeth were sharp and would tear her open, but it was so good…
The coach lurched into a rut. “Are ye alright, m’lady?” Gertrude wanted to know. “Ye were moaning and writhing as if ye were in pain…”
Erica’s mouth was dry, but the petticoats underneath her were wet.
“It’s naught, Trudy! A dream—I mean, a nightmare—’tis all.”
