Highland Wolf (Highland Brides, #10)(45)

Claray just nodded. She could hardly argue the fact when she’d just admitted she didn’t recall.

“And that being the case, if your husband is doing things intended to make you enjoy it, then I assure you he wants you to enjoy. Because it is much easier not to make that effort to please you. So, if he wants you to enjoy it, then it behooves you to obey and enjoy it, does it not? Surely your soul is not in danger if you are simply obeying him as you vowed before man and God to do.”

Claray frowned over that. She understood what Lady MacKay was saying, but it was not as if Conall had actually ordered her to enjoy his bedding her. Now, if he were to do that, it would surely salve her conscience, because God would understand that she had to obey her husband. But he hadn’t ordered it. She opened her mouth to say as much, only to pause as she heard a wolf’s howl from somewhere behind and to the right of them.

“Was that a wolf?” Kenna asked, glancing around with surprise.

“Aye. It sounded like it,” Lady MacKay murmured, looking around as well. When a second howl sounded a moment later, seeming closer, she frowned and added, “I have never heard one howl during the day. They are supposed to hunt only at night.”

“Perhaps it has the madness,” Kenna said nervously when the howl came again, sounding closer still.

Claray frowned at the words, knowing the kind of panic they could instill. The madness was an ailment that drove dogs, foxes, wolves and several other animals to a behavior so rabid and violent they would attack without provocation, and they could pass on that madness to anything and anyone they bit.

It was a most unpleasant ailment to suffer, one of the worst that she knew of. It often started mildly enough in people who had caught it, with some general malaise, an achy head and no desire to eat. But that was followed by a strange sensitivity to sight, sound, smell and even touch. She’d heard tales where the person who had been bitten couldn’t bear the feel of their own hair brushing against their skin, or the wind on their cheek. Where even a small candle made their eyes burn and sunlight was blinding to them. Where the slightest sound was like a drumming in their head, loud and unbearable. It was around that point that victims also became seemingly terrified of liquids, and if forced to drink would retch violently, and even vomit until their throat ruptured and they spewed blood. And then the madness would set in. They would be calm one moment, their mind and thoughts seemingly fine, and then would suddenly erupt in a mad fury, becoming wildly agitated and uncontrollable, scratching and biting those around them until they suddenly calmed again. She’d heard that oftentimes toward the end they seemed to be sunk deep in terror, screaming endlessly and carrying on as if suffering hell’s torments. It was supposed to be monstrous to see and worse to suffer, and so when they finally fell into a deep sleep and died, all were relieved that their suffering had ended.

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.”