Fires Of Solstice Part 20

"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.

An hour later, she leaned back and stared at the screen.

"Werewolves," she murmured to herself. "That's it." All those people who had been murdered with a wolf or wolf-dog involved. Somebody who thought he was a werewolf was responsible for all of the murders.

She shuddered and looked at the cat. "My G.o.d, Thuse. The serial killer is some guy who thinks he's a werewolf!"

Methuselah curled his paws under his chest and smiled a cat smile.

Once he reached the back porch, Bleddyn shucked off his muddy sweater, dropped his boots and sauntered into the kitchen. If Meredythe weren't here, he'd strip down to his skin. As it was, he'd be sure to have mud dropping from his jeans all the way to the bathroom.

He rolled his shoulders to get rid of the kinks then plodded from the kitchen to the hallway. He was cold, tired and he wanted a shower. Stopping by the open door of the den, he looked in. Keri was sleeping in front of the fire, but Meredythe was nowhere to be seen. That meant she was working on the computer-in his bedroom.

"You want more than a shower," he muttered to himself as he climbed the stairs. "You want Meredythe."

When he reached the top of the steps, he paused, his werewolf-enhanced hearing immediately noting the tapping sounds coming from behind the closed door. He groaned. She was there, only a few feet away from his bed. How was he going to make it to the bathroom?

He paused before the door and leaned his forehead against it as erotic fantasies became vivid pictures. To have Meredythe wrapped in his arms, their bodies straining against each other...

Blood flooded his c.o.c.k.

Beads of sweat burst onto his forehead and rolled into his eyes. His hands trembled. Would it really matter if he waited until the moon was full? Could he make love to her now? Would it matter?

Taking a deep breath, he grasped the doork.n.o.b, pushed the door open and stepped into the room. Meredythe's head snapped up. A rosy blush covered her cheeks as her breath quickened. Her excited scent wrapped itself around him. His body tightened.

"Meredythe..."

Her voice was eager. "Werewolves."

Bleddyn felt as if he'd been dunked in cold water. "What?"

His c.o.c.k went limp.

She erupted out of her chair and leaped toward him.

"Werewolves, Bleddyn. There are people who think they're werewolves! They can be anywhere, maybe even right here in Winterbourne. Can you believe it? That's the answer. I just know it is."

Throwing her arms around his waist, she plastered her body against his and hugged him exuberantly.

Bleddyn fisted his hands.

"Here? Are you sure?"

"Well, probably not here in Winterbourne," she answered into his chest as she squeezed him again. "That doesn't matter. What matters is that there are people who want to be werewolves, people who think they are werewolves. Can you believe it?"

She pulled her cheek from his chest and looked up... and seemed to lose herself in the soft mist of his gaze.

Her arms were still wrapped around his waist. Bleddyn s.h.i.+fted, aligning her body with his, bringing the pressure of her hips where he most wanted it.

"And why is this important?" he murmured against her hair.

Her fingers swirled against his back. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s were crushed against his bare chest. And her pelvis was flat against his. Desire returned.

"Meredythe?" He fought to keep his arms at his sides.

Her smile was soft. "Hmm?"

"Werewolves?"

The hard pressure at the juncture of her thighs brought Meredythe back to herself. "Oh!" She dropped her arms and stepped back. What was she doing? He was practically naked.

"I'm sorry. I was... You came in and..."

He brushed her cheek with his knuckles. "Don't apologize, Meredythe. You can hug me any time you want."

Heat surged up her neck to her cheeks. Struggling to regain her composure, she blurted, "There are people who think they're werewolves."

His lips twitched. "I know."

That comment diverted her attention from his naked chest. "You do? Why didn't you tell me?"

His smile was amused. "I didn't know you were interested. You told me you were here to interview me about my wolves. You never mentioned werewolves."

Now she flushed for another reason. She hadn't told him about the murders. "Yes, well, I am interested."

He stepped back and crossed his arms over his chest. "Why?"

She gnawed on her lower lip. Her heart told her he wasn't guilty. He wasn't the murderer. He couldn't be. He was too...gentle. But he did have wolves. "Oh. I-ah- just sort of came across the information."

Leaning back against the edge of the open door, he c.o.c.ked his head to one side and struggled to concentrate. His groin ached. If he had kissed her, she wouldn't have denied him. He could smell her arousal all the way across the room. "Do you expect me to believe a reporter of your caliber just 'comes across' information?"

She lifted her chin and their gazes locked.

She put the computer between them. "I was getting bored and followed a new thread."

He smiled. "Bored? Did you miss me?"

Her chin rose. "How could I miss you when you were just outside? And why would I miss you to begin with?"

Grinning broadly, he answered, "My scintillating conversation?"

She laughed outright. Hands on her hips, she said, "I don't think I've ever met a man like you, Bleddyn Glyndwr."

A dark fire leaped in his eyes. "No, you haven't."

Mesmerized by the pa.s.sion in his eyes, Meredythe s.h.i.+vered. If she didn't get out of here...