"Nay!"
Catheryn’s
terrified scream failed to stop the advancing horror.
Battle-clad
warriors, astride Satan’s own destriers raced through
the fog toward her.
Mail,
as black as the starless sky, covered each battle
hardened warrior from helmed head to leather-booted
feet.
Paralyzed
and unprotected, Lady Catheryn could only tremble
at the coming onslaught of impending doom.
Unrelenting,
the mighty war horses with their deadly mounts charged
ever closer. Iron-clad hooves pounded in perfect unison
with the heavy thudding of her heart. Swords, pikes
and axes raised, the men rushed nearer.
The
leader of this demonic army ensnared her gaze. Dark,
glowing eyes held no sign of mercy. There would be
no quarter given if captured by this unforgiving force.
The
cloying smell of death permeated the air, broken only
by the acrid scent of smoke and destruction. The vile
stench seared her nostrils. She shuddered with revulsion.
Would
death claim its hapless victim this night?
Fighting
to calm a racing heart, Catheryn forced her trembling
limbs to still. She would not cower before her enemies,
nor would she kneel in the cold mud and beg for mercy.
With a hushed voice, she prayed, "Lord, give
me strength."
The
leader of this pack of death-hungry wolves stopped
before her as the remaining warriors raced past. A
thunderbolt lit the sky. Raindrops rolled down the
mailed arm reaching for her. These tears from heaven
shimmered over an emerald and gold ring on the hand
that grasped her shoulder with a bruising hold.
Lifting
her hands before her face in a feeble attempt to ward
off the brutal end to her life, Catheryn begged, "Dear
God, have mercy on my soul."
The
quiet darkness of death engulfed her. Gasping for
air to fill her burning lungs, Catheryn struggled
violently against the suffocating caress. Refusing
to meet her gruesome fate like a coward, she took
a deep, steadying breath and stared into the glowing
eyes of Satan’s messenger.
A
draft of air blew across her naked body, creating goose
flesh on her sweat-soaked skin. Catheryn blinked away
the last traces of her dream and sighed with relief
at the familiar sight of her own chamber.
Laughing
weakly at the crumpled bed curtain entwined in her
fingers, she remembered what had caused such a nightmare.
She
retrieved the yarrow-filled dream bag from beneath
her pillow and whispered the words of the sachet’s
promise. "Thou pretty herb of Venus’ tree, thy
true name is Yarrow. Now who my brave, true love must
be, pray tell thou me tomorrow."
A
cold chill not caused by the night’s breeze sent a shiver
down her spine. She’d asked for a dream of true love
and had instead received a vision of terror and death.
How could she dare to hope for the future?
CLICK
HERE FOR CHAPTER ONE
|
