behind the messages.’
‘It isn’t you,’ Teague said.
‘Who is to gain from your death? I am. Who can move freely to leave those messages? I can. Who can get close enough to kill you? I can.’
‘Enough,’ he growled.
‘Why are you so sure?’ Rhain pressed.
‘You are my brother.’
‘You are mad.’ Rhain chuckled. ‘Or perhaps you feel my more reasonable influence and you realise it would be foolish for me to threaten my own home.’
‘Or maybe I realise you talk too much to hold any secrets.’
Rhain reached for the wine. ‘Then why have you so quickly concluded this woman is the enemy? Because she is silent?’
Teague peered into the depths of his cup. The colour of the wine looked black in the low light and he could not see the bottom.
‘Why was she so near my keep?’ He took a draught of wine. ‘Her coming here, albeit by my hand, is too convenient. If she is not the enemy, then maybe she’s a trap.’
Rhain rubbed his hands against his knees. ‘She is no trap. She almost died falling from that tree. She needs our trust.’
Teague had expected his brother’s open nature to surface. ‘And you call me mad?’
‘Well, it’s your nature to mistrust. It’s my nature to trust. You are still stubborn, while I am as flexible as water. Why should now be any different?’
‘Perhaps because our home is being attacked by an unknown enemy?’ Teague said.
‘And you think that injured woman in your bed is the enemy?’
‘Yes, I do. It’s better to approach this situation with caution, rather than to be knifed in the back.’
Rhain arched one golden eyebrow. ‘That situation lying in your bed was brought into this home by you. And she can hardly keep awake, let alone wield a knife.’ He stood and stretched. ‘No, I am curious about her. I believe once she is well, I will simply ask her for answers.’
* * *
It was late at night, the keep was quiet and Teague found himself returning to his chambers. The woman was not alone. Greta slept in a chair in the corner, her great chin resting on her chest.
Compelled, he crouched by the woman’s bedside so his face was closer to hers. He could not get her out of his mind: her climbing the tree, her hair swinging with the movements of her legs and arms.
Then, in that moment when the branch broke...his powerlessness; her demanding that he catch her. He knew she was his enemy, he knew he could not help her, but still he had held out his arms. Though hatred was etched across her every feature, she fell towards him.
Before he could stop himself, Teague placed his hand upon her head and brushed his fingers across her hair. Her eyelids fluttered, but she did not wake. He was...grateful. Somehow, this caress quieted him. Made him less restless...less alone. The feeling was as foreign to him as the other feelings she had inadvertently inspired in him.
Hope. She’d given him hope. With his arms outstretched, she had leapt towards him as if she could make it.
Hope. A ridiculous emotion that served no purpose.
He stood and walked away. He must be tired. It was not in his nature to be open. He’d been alone most of his life, as he would continue to be. His people trusted him to protect them.
A woman could be as deadly as any man, or even more so. It was the reason he’d not lain with a woman since the threats began. In these times, hope had no place. Their very lives depended upon it.
* * *
Drifting on something soft, warm and comfortable, Anwen was half-asleep when the door creaked.
She opened her eyes. In the now-opened doorway was a small boy shaking mightily from the weight of a water bucket.
‘Oh!’ He dropped the bucket. ‘You’re awake!’
Her head throbbing relentlessly, she could not reply.
The boy straightened the bucket. ‘I have your washing water, my lady. But you’re awake! The house must be told.’ He fled, but she could not move her head as she stared at the empty doorway.
Her vision cleared as a man filled the door frame. He was the most beautiful man Anwen had ever seen.
He was golden. From his head to his feet, he had the look of pure gold in sunlight. His eyes, the colour of warm amber, were brilliant against a square jaw and aquiline nose.
Then he smiled. She knew that smile would make many a maiden faint, but not her. Not under these circumstances.
‘Where...where am I?’ She forced the words out.
‘You don’t know?’ Grabbing a stool, he stepped closer. ‘Do you remember anything?’
Pain, her head full of knives. ‘No.’ Blackness hovered, threatening to take her again, but she couldn’t let it. ‘No.’
The man placed a cloth to her face. Welcoming the cool moisture, she closed her eyes. Images flashed through her mind: someone taking care of her, a deep voice, a gentle, callused touch. Was it this man?
‘Who are you?’ she asked.
‘My name is Rhain. Be easy.’ He grabbed a cup of something and cradled her head so she could drink.
Struggling to swallow the diluted wine, she tried to concentrate on his words. ‘My head feels...tight.’
‘You’ve hurt it. The tightness is the dressing there.’ Rhain sat down, put out a hand and stilled hers. ‘No, do not touch it. Your wound is still too fresh.’
‘But how did I—?’ She stopped. There had been someone. Under a tree. Someone...
The door swung open and in walked a god or a demon—no, it was a man, but he was no ordinary man. Where Rhain was golden, this man was dark. His hair, his eyes, his sun-darkened skin all reminded her of the night. But it was more than his colouring, it was the man himself. He was dark. Wariness overcame her, but she would not take her eyes off him.
He was familiar, like someone she’d seen in the darkness, but it could not be him. She remembered the person who had soothed her when the blackness overcame her, when the pain worsened. This man did not soothe, he cut.
‘She wakes?’ he asked, his eyes never leaving hers.
Rhain’s eyes narrowed as he took in the dark man’s mood. ‘Is this necessary?’
‘More than ever.’
Anwen’s eyes burned as she strained to keep them open. The closer he got to her, the more she wanted to protect herself against the great waves of tightly controlled anger emanating from him. Power and authority were etched in every curve
