Highlander the Dark Dragon by Donna Fletcher Page A

in disappointment when a knock sounded at the door and his hands fell away.
    Food and drink were arranged on a small table without a word from the servants and when Heather heard the click of the door, she hoped she would feel his soothing touch on her shoulders again.
    “Your stomach begs for food, eat,” he ordered.
    He was right; she was hungry. She reluctantly moved away from the fire, regretting the distance from its warmth with only a few steps. She quickly took some bread and cheese and hurried back to the chair, draping the blanket over her legs and settling once again by the fire’s warmth.
    She jumped when lightning struck just outside the window, turning the room bright followed by a crack of thunder that rumbled like the roar of a mighty giant. The rain began to slash angrily against the windows, and she was relieved to be tucked away safe and warm from the harsh downpour.
    Rhys drew a chair up beside her and she saw that he had removed his leather armor. He did not appear as ominous without it, though one look in his dark eyes had her thinking otherwise.
    “You disobeyed me,” he said, handing her a goblet of wine.
    She took it with a questioning look. “When?”
    “During battle, when I ordered you to remain behind me against the boulder,” he reminded.
    His voice was not harsh or demanding, but more curious and amiable. Or was she hearing what she wanted to hear? She took another sip of wine, enjoying the warmth of it spreading through her body, easing aches that had crept up on her.
    “The injured needed tending,” she said as if it explained it all.
    “That is no excuse for disobeying me.”
    “Your men—”
    “Never disobey me again.”
    She stared at him, thinking she had heard concern in his harsh command and for some unexplainable reason she felt the need to reach out and rest her hand to his cheek. “I meant no disrespect,” she whispered her glance falling on his lips and recalling how his kiss had tasted. The memory sent a tingle through her, stirring her senses and she suddenly got the urge to kiss him.
    Her thought troubled her, for there had been only one man she had ever wanted to kiss. The urge grew stronger and her lips drifted closer to his. He did not stir, but his eyes lit with a touch of passion, flaring hers and made her wonder what it was about this man that seemed to draw her to him.
    Just as she was about to rest her lips on his, a knock sounded at the door.
    “Go away,” Rhys shouted.
    “It cannot wait,” came the reply.
    Rhys stormed over to the door and swung it open.
    Pitt spoke before the Dragon could breathe fire. “Two of our sentinels have been found dead.”
    Rhys turned to Heather. “Do not leave the keep and God help you if do not obey me on this.” The door closed abruptly behind him.
    Heather stared at the door that trembled in the Dragon’s wake. He was angry and why not? His troop had been attacked without the slightest warning, a shocking revelation for warriors known for their exceptional skills of seeing and hearing everything, and now two of his sentinels had been killed. How could that be? How could anyone slip past such highly trained warriors? They could not unless their skills equaled or surpassed the ghost warriors.
    With heavy thoughts and slow steps, Heather snatched up some meat and bread off the table before returning to the chair by the fire. She wondered if the McLauds or McDolans were somehow involved. Though the question begged, why would they be? Her marriage had yet to be announced. And the two clans certainly had no such skills as those she saw today. So who then was skilled enough to best the Dragon? And why would anyone want to?
    She was just finishing her wine when a knock sounded at the door and she bid the person enter.
    Nessa stepped in. “The Dragon ordered a bath prepared for you. It is being readied now.”
    Of course he would , Heather thought. It would see that she remained in the keep, and also see that she was