Page 11 of A Wolf's Bargain

Cora

“Oi! Lassie! Time to wake up now!”

The odor of old ale and a smack against her cheek jarred Cora from the deep sleep she’d been floating in. She jerked up, flailing an arm out in surprise. She struck something—a person if the surprised shout was anything to go by.

“Sweet Mother Mary, Lady, control yourself!”

A familiar face filled her vision, though it took her a moment to place it. Thad? Thane? Thom? No—Thom had been the other one. How did she know this man? He wasn’t a member of their staff—how did she know him?

Cora’s stomach dropped the moment her memory returned. Everything from the day before came back in a rush. The attack on the road. Her father’s study. Bran. Her stupid, stupid plan.

Cillian Fane.

An offer.

A wolf.

Then nothing.

Her stomach roiled without warning. A moment later, she heaved. There was nothing in her stomach to expel, but that didn’t stop her body from trying.

“Here now, Lass. You’ll be alright. There’s a girl.”

A large hand patted her shoulder. When the spasms passed, Cora lifted her head to find the guard from the night before—the one who’d led her to Fane. He looked older in daylight, with gray peppering his dark hair and beard. The lines at the corners of his eyes crinkled as he gave her an awkward smile.

“Where—where am I? Who are you?”

The man straightened and gave her a quick bow. “Name’s Dúngal. I’m one of the lucthonn under Fane. He sent me to fetch you.”

Sharp teeth and bright blue eyes flashed in her mind’s eye. It was a warm morning, but Cora couldn’t stop the shiver that ran through her body at the memory of what she’d seen. “Fetch me? Fetch me for what? Tell me where I am!”

Dúngal scratched the back of his neck and shrugged. “You’re in the lucthonn camp. Don’t you remember coming here last evening? I brought you in myself, Lady. Surely, you remember.”

Of course, she remembered. Till the day she died and the good Lord took her soul away, she’d remember what she’d seen. That didn’t mean she believed it had been real. “I—yes. Yes, of course. My apologies, Master Dúngal. I must have bumped my head last night. I can’t even remember how I got here.”

Dúngal shuffled and scratched at his neck again, averting his eyes. “I couldn’t speak to that, Lady. Look, Fane sent me to fetch you. Best we get on our way before he thinks I’ve gone and lost you instead.”

The last person in the world Cora wanted to see was Cillian Fane. Even if everything she’d seen last night had been some sort of trick, the man had to know some sort of evil magic to make it appear so real. And she’d—oh God, she’d offered him her hand in marriage. She’d practically begged him!

Her bravado from the night before had fled, leaving in its place a certainty of the danger that awaited. If Cillian Fane was looking for her now, it couldn’t be for anything good. Still, angering him further by hiding in a tent wouldn’t make things better. Cora smoothed her skirts and her hair and faced Dúngal with a solemn smile.

“I don’t suppose there’s any way you’d take me to my horse? I could slip away with no one the wiser.”

Dúngal’s grin made him appear years younger, and his surprised laughter filled the small tent. “Not for all your father’s gold, Lady. Fane would have my bollocks, and I’m quite attached to them right where they are!”

Well, there went any chance of a quiet escape. Still too confused by the events of the previous night to formulate a proper plan, Cora followed quietly... for now. Perhaps Fane meant to let her go himself? After all, he hadn’t sounded convinced by her arguments. If she pretended she hadn’t seen the man turn into a giant wolf creature the night before, perhaps he’d allow her to leave with her life. She sent up a quick prayer promising the Almighty that if she emerged alive, she’d never doubt such stories again.

Outside, men milled around the camp like ants in the grass. Each one had a task of some sort, and no one sat idle. Some sharpened weapons, while others carried firewood or tended to horses. A few even sat chatting around buckets as they scrubbed piles of dirty clothing. Cora watched, fascinated, as they went about their work. Most stopped to stare at her as she passed, their expressions curious rather than aggressive or predatory in the way she might have expected. Dúngal greeted a few as they walked by, but they never stopped. All too soon, Cora found herself in front of Fane’s tent again.

She must have hesitated a moment too long, because Dúngal cleared his throat and tilted his head toward the tent. “Off you go, Lady. He’ll be waiting for you.”

Cora stared at the entrance, half-sure that it had all been a dream. If it had actually happened... if Fane and his men could really become—

“Master Dúngal?”

“Aye, Lady?”

“I’ve not gone mad, am I?”