Free Teresa Medeiros - [FairyTale 02] by The Bride, the Beast Page A

company.

Chapter Seven

    A WOMAN ’ SSCREAM ripped through the deserted streets of Ballybliss. When the villagers came spilling out of their cottages in their nightdresses and nightshirts, they found Kitty Wilder standing in the moonlight at the mouth of the village, gripping her chest as if the arrow still quivering in the trunk of the ancient oak had pierced her heart.
    Three young lads tripped over their own feet in their rush to comfort her, but her sisters reached her first. As Glynnis and Nessa gathered the trembling young girl into their arms, clucking like mother hens, a dour-faced Ailbert reached up and pried the arrow from the rough bark. A hushed murmur traveled through the crowd. There was no need for the blacksmith to tell them that the ivory paper rippling from the arrow’s shaft was not a flag of surrender.
    For the past twenty-four hours, Castle Weyrcraig had yielded nothing but ominous silence. While many had expressed their hope that the curse had been brokenand the Dragon was off to torment some other unfortunate village, none had dared give voice to their secret fear that they’d somehow compounded their past transgressions with a darker and even more damning sin. A warm spring sun had burned off all traces of last night’s storm, making the madness that had seized them during their march to the castle seem more nightmare than reality.
    But the consequences of that madness could no longer be denied—Gwendolyn Wilder was gone and her poor, mad father would spend the rest of his days waiting to hear a familiar footstep that would never come.
    Clutching the paper in his fist, Ailbert led a grim parade through the narrow streets of the village, accompanied by Kitty Wilder’s sobs. He marched right up to the stoop of the only cottage in Ballybliss maintained by the English Crown and began to pound on the door.
    After several minutes, the door flew open, bathing them in a golden halo of lamplight. “G-g-good heavens, man, what is it? “ stammered Reverend Throckmorton, his nightcap on backward and his wire-rimmed spectacles hanging askew from one ear. “The second coming? “
    Ailbert did not speak. He simply thrust the piece of paper beneath the man’s nose.
    The reverend shooed it away. “And what’s this? Another message from that beastly Dragon of yours? “ He shook his head. “I strive to be a patient man, you know, but I’ve just returned from a grueling journey and I’ve no time for such pagan nonsense. Why don’tyou go wake that dear, sweet Wilder girl and let me get a decent night’s sleep.”
    He was about to close the door in their faces when Ailbert wedged his foot between door and jamb. “ We’d be much obliged if ye’d read this note for us. So obliged we wouldn’t even think o’ breakin’ that lamp ye’re holdin’ in yer hand there and burnin’ yer cottage to the ground.”
    The reverend gasped in outrage, then took the paper from Ailbert’s hands. While the villagers crowded closer to hear his words, he adjusted his spectacles, tutting beneath his breath, “Bagpipe-playing ghosts. Dragons burning up your fields with their breath. Pointy-eared bogies stealing your babies and leaving their own. Is it any wonder you were such easy prey for the Papists?”
    “We didn’t come here for a sermon, old man,” Ross snarled, hanging over his father’s shoulder.
    With an injured sniff, Throckmorton began to read. “ ‘Good folk of Ballybliss’ “—the reverend started to interrupt himself, then obviously thought better of it— “ ‘although you’ve taxed my patience before, I’ve decided to give you a full fortnight to retrieve the thousand pounds I requested.’ “
    The pronouncement was greeted with fresh gasps and groans. Even the reverend looked taken aback. “A thousand pounds? Wasn’t that the reward the Crown paid for the life of that traitor MacCullough?”
    “That was naught but vicious gossip,” Ailbertmuttered. “No one in this village has ever seen