Since the death of her parents, dreams and the cruel whims of her guardian, Baron Pike are all that are left to Lady Catheryn of Brezden. Only her belief in the power of dreams gives her hope for the future. Since his wife and son's deaths at the order of Baron Pike, Count Gerard of Reveur knows that dreams are nothing more than a childish fancy and believes only in the power of revenge. Together, Catheryn and Gerard discover the truth in dreams and the power of love....
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’s 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?
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Don’t be afraid of the dark, embrace it!
The Dark Castle Lords