Or perhaps all were just relieved that the threat of their getting it was ended. Because even the hint that an animal might have the madness was enough to instill panic. People bitten by animals it was even suggested might have it had killed themselves before knowing for sure if that were true. But then she’d heard stories where people who had been bitten by just stray dogs who didn’t even have the ailment were beaten to death, or otherwise killed by those around them, even loved ones, rather than risk getting the ailment.
They called it the madness, or the raging madness, but Claray often thought the title suited the people around the victim of that illness as much as the one who had been bitten. She had no desire to see that madness break out among this large group of armed warriors. Especially when she suspected the wolf howling as it chased after them wasn’t suffering the madness, but might just be looking for her.
A warm hand covering hers drew Claray’s startled gaze around to see that Conall had dropped back and was taking her reins again to draw her to a halt. His uncle and cousin too had fallen back to take up protective positions next to Lady MacKay and Kenna while Hamish, Roderick and the two MacKay soldiers had moved up to help surround them. Their party had now come to a halt, and a glance back showed that the warriors were all following suit as they warily watched the woods on the right of their traveling party. Several had drawn their weapons, their swords or battle-axes at the ready.
Sighing, Claray turned back to Conall.
“Husband, I think—” she began worriedly, only to be shushed as he watched the woods and listened.
A moment later another long, mournful howl sounded. This one was closer still, and appeared to be coming from the woods almost directly beside them, though at some distance into the woods. Claray’s mount whinnied loudly and turned his head, trying to turn his body toward the sound, and that’s when she knew for sure that the wolf howling was no threat.
“Husband,” she said more firmly, but he ignored her and turned to bark an order at the men. Much to her alarm, Roderick and the two older MacKay soldiers were suddenly away, leading a dozen other men toward the woods, their weapons already raised.
Panic coursing through her, Claray didn’t bother to try to explain to Conall again, but tried to pull her reins from him to regain control of her mount instead. When he tightened his grip and scowled at her distractedly, she barked, “Stubborn Bastard!”
It was only when Conall turned a shocked, furious face her way that she realized he thought she was talking to him. She didn’t have time though to explain and soothe him; her mount was responding as expected and rearing on the spot, tugging the reins from Conall’s startled hands. Claray didn’t bother to try to reach them—she wouldn’t have been able to anyway—so left them hanging and leaned along the horse’s back, ordering, “Go.”
The other men’s horses were crowded around them, leaving little room to maneuver, but Stubborn Bastard managed to push his way through. The path he chose nearly sent Payton toppling from his horse when he bit the man’s mount to make him move and the animal reared.
Claray looked back as they finally broke free of the group and charged for the woods. She was relieved to see that her husband’s cousin had maintained his seat. She also saw that Conall was staring after her, looking equal parts horrified and furious, and was shouting her name as he tried to maneuver his own horse around the others and give chase.
Ignoring that, she simply turned forward and scanned the woods ahead, then glanced toward the men she was now racing. They’d got a head start and their horses were strong and well-trained warhorses. But Stubborn Bastard was the finest horse Claray had ever encountered. He was stronger, and faster, and was also only carrying one slim woman while the other horses bore men twice her size, weighted down with broad swords and other weapons. The stallion quickly caught up with—and then outstripped—the warriors, flying past them so swiftly she barely heard the men’s alarmed shouts.
Claray considered having Stubborn Bastard stop and turn to block their path so that she could explain and reason with the warriors. But the fear that they might just ride around her without even slowing made her give up that idea almost the moment she had it. Instead, she urged Stubborn Bastard on, hoping to reach the wolf far enough ahead of them to get the excited greeting part over with and calm the beast before the men caught up.
Claray really thought she could do it. But she hadn’t expected the wolf to be as close as he ended up being and cursed under her breath when he ran into her path some ten feet ahead and simply sat down to stare at her expectantly. It wasn’t the first time he’d done it, and Claray couldn’t do anything but what he expected.
She shouted, “Stubborn Bastard!” but this wasn’t the first time for her mount either. It was one of the wolf’s favorite games. The horse was already reacting to his presence, and slowing. When he was a mere three or four feet in front of the beautiful gray wolf, the stallion started to rear to avoid running him down.
Already lying flat along the stallion’s back, Claray grabbed the saddle pommel, and let her legs swing back to trail down the horse’s back as he went upright, then dropped lightly to the ground behind him while he was still on his hind feet, his front legs slashing in the air. Once she was off, he crashed back to all fours with a whinny and shake of the head, and then followed when she hurried the few feet to the seated wolf.
The thunder of the other riders loud in her ears, Claray didn’t hesitate, but threw herself protectively to her knees in front of the wolf, her arms instinctively going around him, lest any of the men thought to attack the beautiful creature. Of course, the wolf thought this a fine game and promptly started licking the side of her face, her head and shoulder and anything he could reach, making happy little whining sounds of greeting as he did. At which point, Stubborn Bastard decided he wasn’t to be left out and started to nibble and lick at the back of her head as well.
“I think she kens the wolf.”
Conall stopped gaping at his wife at that comment from Roderick and cast the other man a disgusted glance. “Ye think?”
Much to his amazement, his sarcasm made the usually solemn man laugh.
Shaking his head, Conall turned back to watch his wife being mauled by a great beast of a wolf—he’d never seen one so big—and her stallion, who both seemed determined to give her a bath with their tongues. He didn’t move or speak for a moment though. He was still trying to regain his composure. The last couple of minutes had been most stressful to him.
First Claray had called him a stubborn bastard—something he still didn’t understand since he didn’t think he’d done anything to deserve it. And then her horse had reared, and just as he was about to pull her off the mount to save her from a tumble, the steed was off charging away with her.
Conall was pretty sure his heart had stopped at that point. It had certainly skipped a beat at the very least. He’d known she didn’t have the reins and couldn’t possibly reach them to regain control of her horse, and his mind had filled with all sorts of horrible endings to this escapade as he’d raced after her: Claray tossed from her mount and landing in a broken heap in the grass or, worse yet, tossed off into a tree that broke her back. Or, if she managed to keep her seat, then Claray and her horse both attacked by the wolf they’d heard howling, an animal he’d been sure was suffering the madness since wolves were night hunters by nature and simply did not run around howling first thing in the morning.