Page 10 of Desire's Ransom
Another man grumbled, “Not likely.”
“I won’t let them hurt ye,” Temair said.
“So ye say,” came a woman’s dubious voice.
Bran chose that unfortunate moment to lunge forward with a snap of his jaws, casting doubt on her promise.
“Nay, Bran!”
Someone fired an arrow. Temair gasped as it landed an inch in front of Bran’s paws. Of course, that was all it took for both hounds to erupt in panicked barks.
She knew it was hopeless, but she had to try to control the hounds before they got injured…or worse. She shot to her feet.
“Bran! Flann! Come!”
They ignored her.
She whistled, the loud whistle she used to retrieve them when they roved too far from the tower.
That didn’t work. Their instincts to protect her were too strong. They continued to snap and snarl at the archers.
“Please,” Temair pleaded. “If ye’ll put down your bows, they’ll stop.”
A man replied with a smirk. “No doubt they’re gnawin’ on the bones o’ the last man who believed that.”
Temair felt her normally tough shell begin to crack. She’d already lost her sister. Now this band of archers wanted to kill her hounds. A knot of despair clogged her throat, and she felt her eyes fill with tears. What was she to do?
Suddenly, an older woman with silvery hair emerged from the trees. She wore aléineof soft green and carried a bow over her shoulder.
“What’s all the clamor?” the woman asked.
“Wolfhounds,” a man replied.
Another remarked, “The kind rich nobles own.”
Temair furrowed her brow as she realized this must be one of the bands of woodkerns that were said to plague the forest. She’d never seen woodkerns before, but everyone knew of their thievery. Mostly misfits, byblows, disinherited nobles, and battle-scarred soldiers, they dwelled in the woods, preying on passersby.
If they indeed meant to rob her, they were out of luck. She hadn’t a single coin on her person.
Temair lifted her chin and tried to keep up a brave face as the woman cocked her head and studied her from head to toe.
“Put away your bows,” the woman finally said in a soft and trembling voice. Then her lips curved into a curious smile. “This lass isthe one.”
“The one?” one of the men asked.
“Nay,” declared another. “Impossible.”
“This tiny mouse?” a woman asked.
“It can’t be,” said a man.
The silver-haired woman was looking strangely at her. “’Tis.”
“Ye’re sure?” someone said.
“The sight has never failed me,” the woman replied. Then she narrowed twinkling eyes at Temair. “Ye’ve been visitin’ my dreams, lass.”
Temair didn’t know what the woman was talking about. But to her relief, one by one, the archers complied. The hounds calmed, and as Temair had promised, she grabbed their collars to rein them in.
