Part 20 (1/2)

”Meredythe, once of Wales, you have been tried and convicted of witchcraft, your guilt proven to the satisfaction of all here a.s.sembled. Not twice, but three times the old woman Edyth was proven to be a witch and you her evil acolyte. Confess now. Repent your sins and receive the grace of G.o.d to save your immortal soul.”

She shook her head. No words could get past the gag.

”Burn her,” screamed a woman in the crowd. ”Burn her now.”

The rest of the crowd took up the chant. ”Burn her. Burn the witch.”

The minister looked to the squire. He in turn looked at the third man on the scaffold, the man wearing a black hood.

”So be it,” the squire said. ”By writ of law.”

All three men descended from the scaffold. Once on the ground, the executioner grabbed a burning torch and shoved it in and out among the kindling mounded around the bottom of the pyre. The dry wood caught fire quickly.

As smoke entered her lungs, Meredythe's eyes widened in panic. The flames that were rapidly consuming the dry wood mesmerized her as they crawled closer and closer. Smoke billowed and wrapped itself around her. Her eyes began watering in earnest and she tried to cough through her gag. The heat was becoming unbearable. Her skin began to blister. Only the ropes binding her to the pole kept her from collapsing into a shuddering heap.

The two men pulled their horses to a halt and stared at the smoke billowing skyward from the village.

”What's happening?”

Rhys frowned. ”It's market day, Bleddyn. Perhaps they're celebrating something...a wedding?”

Before Rhys could say more, the roar of a crowd drifted to them. Frowning, he turned his attention back to the village. ”I don't like this.” He urged his horse down the hill. Bleddyn followed close behind.

The few streets of the small village were empty as they galloped toward the church. Once he reached the edge of the meadow, Rhys cursed and forced his mount through the mob, laying his whip freely on heads and shoulders. Bleddyn's more powerful stallion followed, his great, snapping teeth clearing his way.

”Hold!” the minister demanded as he stepped fearlessly before the horses.

”You ignorant fools,” Rhys bellowed as he guided his horse around the black-garbed scarecrow of a man and pulled his mount to a sliding stop before the now-roaring bonfire. Sliding from his mount, he threw his arms into the air and barked out a single word. ”Tanau!”

Flames blazed from his fingertips, rolled down his arms and engulfed him. Striding forward, he climbed the burning pyre until he reached Meredythe's side. After a quick slash of his hand, her arms fell free from their bindings. Gathering her into his arms, he shouted another command. ”Difannu!” As the fire roared toward the sky, the old man and the girl disappeared.

Wisps of burnt ash and still-burning embers floated down amongst the crowd. More than one person stood gaping as the pyre disintegrated. Slowly, every eye turned to Bleddyn. What had happened was beyond their comprehension. Accusing an old woman and young girl of witchcraft was one thing. To see it so blatantly displayed was another. Who were these men? What were they?

Bleddyn sat absolutely still on his restive stallion, glaring at the crowd. The squire stepped forward and opened his mouth to speak. One swift glance from Bleddyn and he stumbled back, the acrid odor of urine seeping through the crowd as his bladder failed.

The cleric was not so easily cowed. Holding his cross before him as a s.h.i.+eld, he strode forward. ”Warlock! Devil's sp.a.w.n. Get you gone from here.”

Bleddyn lifted his foot from his stirrup, planted it in the middle of the cleric's chest and shoved him down into the mud.

”Do not goad me, fool,” he snarled, ”or you will be dead before the sun sets.”

Frightened murmurs began to eddy around the outskirts of the crowd. Women clutched children to their b.r.e.a.s.t.s and began to weep. Surely the devil himself was among them.

Grabbing the reins of Rhys' horse, Bleddyn wheeled his mount and galloped back the way he had come. None of the village's frightened inhabitants noticed the tears trickling down his cheeks. Once again, he had failed her. Again he must wait.

The next morning, after a fretful night that had most of the men nervously guarding their homes, Meredythe's would-be executioners discovered every ox belonging to the village was dead, its throat torn out. In the nights that followed, the sheep died, as did the cows and many of the pigs. The squire's prize breeding rams were found lying in their own entrails. None of the village's inhabitants ever saw anything, no matter how diligent they were. There were no clues...except one set of wolf prints that disappeared into the forest. Wolf prints in a place that hadn't seen a live wolf in a hundred years. By midwinter, the village was abandoned.

The wind bl.u.s.tered and whistled among Chicago's tall buildings. Fists clenched at his sides, Slade stared out at the swirling snow. How was he supposed to find the girl in a snowstorm? Cursing impotently, he wrenched the drapes closed. After taking a couple of deep breaths, he reached for the phone and growled his request. If he couldn't hunt, he might as well eat.

Meredythe sighed and stared at the computer screen. Every site she'd searched had been a dead end. What's more, every time she tried to ask Bleddyn questions, something-Methuselah, Shadow or Bleddyn himself-distracted her. And she never even realized she'd been sidetracked until hours later. The last five days had revealed nothing. ”d.a.m.n! Why can't I find anything? I'm a better reporter than this.”

Slapping her palm on the desk, she jerked her eyes away from the screen. Her gaze drifted around the room, finally reaching the fire burning merrily in the grate. She shuddered. Last night's dream had been a nightmare. Burning at the stake. The dream had been so vivid, she'd been able to smell her flesh burning.

”Forget it, Meredythe,” she muttered out loud. ”It was just a dream. Get your mind back on your work.”

Pus.h.i.+ng away from the computer, she rose, stretched her arms above her head, rolled her shoulders then wandered to the huge gla.s.s wall. Movement in the wolf enclosure caught her eye and she smiled. Crossing her arms over her chest, she c.o.c.ked a hip and leaned against the gla.s.s. Bleddyn was there, with his wolves, playing. He'd get up and run and the four younger wolves would tackle him. Then he'd wrestle with them. At least she thought they were wrestling. All those snapping teeth. She straightened. Did he just bite one of them back? Meredythe blinked. She had to be imagining things.

Most of the snow from the snowstorm that had stranded her here at Winterbourne had melted. Some remained in shaded places, but for the most part, it was gone. She frowned. The snow was gone and the road was open. Why was she still here?

Stretched out on his back, Methuselah lolled on the bed, his forepaws curled over his chest. Meredythe's thoughts had him gyrating to his feet. He jumped to the floor, trotted across the room and b.u.t.ted his head against her s.h.i.+n.

”Meerrooww?” Pick me up, Meredythe.

He rubbed against her legs.

”Thuse, did you have a nice nap?” she asked as she lifted him and cradled him in her arms. ”Dreaming about catching more mice?”

His deep purr embraced her.

A memory surfaced and Meredythe giggled when Bleddyn's appalled expression appeared in her mind's eye. She didn't think any man could be so horrorstruck by a dead rodent. But the look on his face when Thuse had laid that mouse so proudly at his feet had been priceless.

She cuddled the cat closer as his rumbling purr filled the room. Meredythe closed her eyes and rubbed her cheek against his soft fur. When she opened them, the question of why she remained in Winterbourne had disappeared from her mind.

The cat squirmed and she let him drop to the floor. Turning away from the window, she meandered back across the room and shuffled through the papers she had strewn across the sofa in Bleddyn's bedroom. A single sheet fluttered to the floor.

Methuselah meowed from where he now perched on the edge of the bed. Pick it up, Meredythe.

She reached for the paper and glanced at it. Werewolves.

She frowned. Where were those notes she'd taken?

Returning to the computer, she shuffled through a pile of CDs and popped one in.

She pursed her lips as she read the words on the screen.

”The word werewolf is a combination of the old Saxon words 'wer', man, and 'wolf'- man wolf. 'Wer' is related to the Latin 'vir', the root word of virile.”

A darkly masculine face tugged at her consciousness and a smile tickled her lips. Virile, huh?

She shook her head and her mind swatted the picture away as she continued to concentrate on the computer screen.

”'Lycanthrope' and 'lycanthropy' come from the Greek, 'lykos', wolf, and 'anthropos', human being-wolfman. Lycanthropy is also used in medical terminology to refer to the delusion that one has changed or can change into a wolf.”

She sat up straighter. ”A delusion?”

Her fingers flew across the keys.