nothing but snow-covered bushes and trees. The sky was dark, other than the twinkling stars. Ella took a moment to admire them. They were beautiful, like jewels in the sky, pure and white.
Ella made several attempts to reopen the gate but her efforts were only a waste of time. The temperature was dropping faster than a heavy rainfall. She had no choice but to seek shelter and return again in the morning. Ella wandered through the woods, uncertain where she was or where she was going. Heading south, or what she thought was south, she followed her instincts which drew her like a magnet in that direction. She could feel it in her very soul, the very fibers of her being though she had no idea why or for what purpose. All she knew was someone had called her here and she was powerless to resist.
~ Chapter 6 ~
Galen sat back in his chair, rubbing his tired eyes. Picking up a tankard of whiskey, he brought it to his lips and finished it off. Glancing over the letters on his desk, he double checked the list of supplies. If this altercation with McGregor resulted in war, his clansmen needed to be well prepared in his absence. Once satisfied with the numbers, he composed a letter to Laird Neville Campbell asking for his assistance in this matter. Once finished, he sealed the missive with wax and set it aside for the messenger to deliver in the morning.
The hour was becoming late, and the flames of the fire were beginning to die, indicating that he had been working at least an hour. His eyelids grew heavy and the words seemed to dance across the pages. With a wide yawn, he stacked his paperwork back in a drawer and blew out the burning candle sitting on the desk’s top. Just as Galen was about to stand up and head to bed, he felt a nudge against his elbow. Looking over his shoulder, he saw that adorning eyes peered up at him.
“Where did ye come from? Tired of chasing rabbits, I suppose,” he said, in a tired voice as he patted the dog on its head.
The matted, brown-haired mutt looked up at Galen, panting and excitedly wagging its tail. Galen did not think any man was as loyal as this dog. No matter how many times he yelled at it, tossed it outside, or ignored it, the damn thing kept coming back; happy as ever and eager to play. There was no devotion truer than the devotion of a dog.
Without effort, the dog had chosen him as his master. It was during a hunting trip six years ago that he found the mutt lost in the woods. Mistaking him for a wolf, Galen shot him with an arrow. Lucky for the dog, the strong wind affected Galen’s aim and the tip of the arrow only clipped the dog in his shoulder. Since then, the dog followed him everywhere, and Galen found it appropriate to call him Wolf. Though at times he was annoying as hell, Wolf turned out to be a loyal guard dog, staying wary of strangers and attacking when he felt Galen was in danger.
Wolf rested his front paws on the arm of the chair as Galen scratched behind his ears. Though Galen enjoyed the pleasant company of Wolf, he would have preferred the company of a woman instead. Not to take to his bed, though he wouldn’t turn down the idea if offered, but a woman to have a simple conversation with, about something other than clan or political affairs.
“Alright, ye blasted dog, you’ve had enough. Go lie down,” he said, giving the dog a slight shove.
But Wolf did not budge. Instead, he paced back and forth between Galen and the window. With his nose pressed up against the glass, he whined and whimpered. If the dog needed to go outside, he could have easily gone down the stairs and out the back door, but something was clearly wrong. Trying to get Galen’s attention, Wolf bit his plaid and pulled him right out of the chair.
“What the bloody hell is the matter wit’ ye?”
Wolf ran back to the window. Galen glanced out the window, but saw nothing but his own dim reflection and the marigold-colored flames from the fireplace. Pushing the window open, a rush of
Learning to Kill: Stories