by Victoria Zak
Now the warrior sat alone in his bedchamber more dazed than confused. The message had been firm. Marry Effie or let her go, yet letting her go could very well be the death of him. He needed her and his dragon craved her. Sitting up, Conall ran his hands through his hair and exhaled in frustration. Mayhap after a warm bath and with food in his belly he would be able to make the right decision.
~~~~~
After procrastinating long enough, to the point his skin began to wrinkle, Conall dried himself off, donned his kilt, tunic, and laced his boots. He grabbed his jerkin before he left his bedchamber. Not being able to commit one way or the other about his situation with Effie, frustration began to sour his mood. The more he thought about breaking her heart, the more he cursed himself for a bastard.
Quickly Conall descended the stairs leading into the great hall, slipping on his jerkin. Winter was upon them and it had been a bitter one. Being a storm dragon, Conall’s powers came in handy. He’d cloaked Black Stone on the Hill and its surrounding village by redirecting the worst of the weather away from them, yet the cold still bit back frigidly. James, Laird of Angus and Dragonkine commander, was quite thankful for his best friend’s special abilities, for his wife, Abigale, was with child and working in the village as the clan’s surgeon.
As he entered the great hall, empty trenchers were scattered about the tables indicating morning meal had been missed. Indeed he’d pondered away into the morn. It was time he found Effie and put an end to this torture. The sooner that task was over, he could move on and concentrate on business. James had informed him that there was trouble brewing.
Clan Lockhart, a strong supporter of Robert the Bruce and allies of Clan Douglas, had been missing cattle and their border was being breached by another neighboring clan. Conall and a few men were to leave on the morrow to investigate these allegations before a clan feud broke out. Holy hell! Why can’t there be peace for just one day? Conall rubbed the tension from the back of his neck.
Chatter from the kitchen brought Conall’s attention back to Effie. She had to be in there with Alice and Abigale, he thought. The three women were inseparable. Ever since Abigale had arrived at Black Stone on the Hill, the lassies had become close, forming a sisterly bond. Effie had told him numerous times that she’d finally got the sister she always wanted, and that Alice reminded her of her ma.
Sweat began to glisten on his palms and his heart raced as he thought about how he was going to make it to that kitchen. As soon as she saw him, she would know what was going on. Effie could read him like a book. Not to mention, Alice and Abigale would have a few sharp words flying from their tongues, scolding him for the bastard he was.
Conall began to pace, then finally he cursed himself for a coward and started to approach the kitchen. As he crossed the threshold Abigale greeted him. “Good morn, Conall.”
“Good morn, ladies.” He bowed his head and placed his hand on his chest.
“I be thinking someone is trying to tickle our fancy, my Lady. Someone was late for morning meal.” Alice smiled and winked at Abigale as she chopped carrots for stew.
“Aye, I do believe ye’re right. Do ye suppose we have extra food for our belated guest?” Abigale bantered back.
“Nay, Lennox and Mahboon cleaned up after the men left, but I’m sure an oatcake or two are left.” Alice shot Conall a stern glance. “Though probably stale by now.”
Conall grinned in amusement as he leaned his shoulder against the wall. His tension eased as he realized he wouldn’t be confronting Effie, at least not yet. He folded his arms across his chest. Abigale and Alice were relentless with their teasing. It was frowned upon to miss morning meal. It was an act of rudeness, as Alice would say.
Alice placed her knife down and walked towards a counter where a steaming trencher of porridge sat. She grabbed the provisions and walked toward Conall. “Here.” Alice sat the bowl down on a small table used for chopping in the center of the kitchen. “Grab a chair and dinnae be late again,” she scolded.
“Aye, please accept my most humble apology.” Conall grabbed a chair and brought it over to the table. He sat down to eat. “Hmmm, Alice. ’Tis good,” he said with a mouth full.
Alice shook her head and began chopping again at a steady pace.
“James and Rory are on top of the battlements teaching Niven archery. Will ye be joining them?” Abigale asked.
Niven? Archery? Now that was a dangerous combination. The lad, God bless his soul, had a nervous tick. Seeing his ma murdered right in front of his own eyes had left the lad a wee bit on the jumpy side.
“Nay,” Conall wiped his mouth, “I was wondering where Effie may be.”
“Oh she’s down in the bailey fetching the lock and key the smith made for Alice,” Abigale said.
Alice pointed her knife at Conall. “Aye, that should keep the wee bugger oot of me oatcakes.”
Niven was also well known for sneaking into the kitchen and stealing Alice’s special oatcakes. The only reason Alice didn’t bend the lad over her knee and swat his behind was because Laird James loved him like a son. Niven admired James and the young lad couldn’t have had a better role model.
Conall stopped in mid-chew. “Effie went to see the smith? Alone?”
“Aye,” Abigale confirmed.
’Twas not good, not good at all. He began to panic. The lasses swooned over the smith, for he was known for his good looks, charm, and well, a quite impressively endowed body part. That was the rumor floating around the village. Not that Conall was jealous. For Christ sake he was a dragon, but when it came to Effie, he didn’t trust the blacksmith and his sly antics.
Conall shot up, causing the chair to slide and smash against the stone wall. “Excuse me. I must go.”
Alice and Abigale exchanged confused looks as they watched Conall race to the back door.
Walking out of the door leading to the bailey, he pulled his cloak up around his neck as he passed Alice’s herb garden, now brown and dead, touched by the bite of winter, and made his way to the smithy.
Conall didn’t have to go far, nor have to make a special trip into the village. The blacksmith was one hell of a craftsman when it came to hammering out armor; he could forge the finest weapons and the strongest swords. No one came close to his perfection. It was why he lived and worked close to the castle; he was the castle blacksmith.
Conall rounded the corner and his heart dropped, plummeting in his gut. Effie was entering the blacksmith’s shop.
Chapter 2
Effie Douglas, at least that was who she had been for the past five years, walked toward the bailey swinging her wicker basket back and forth aimlessly, stopping every so often to search the merchant carts. Yet imported figs and grapes weren’t what she sought out, nor would she find the magical answer lying in a cart. She knew exactly what she wanted; she yearned for something more to her life. As of late, Effie wanted more than just a man to run off with into the woods, have her fun, then keep it a secret. She wanted marriage.
“A secret,” she huffed. She was worth more than a secret.
She had left her clan and her older brother’s brutal manipulations five years ago, it had taken that long to build herself up again. Tavish Maxwell was the devil reincarnated. His verbal indignity was just as bad as his physical abuse. Calling her a worthless whore, he beat her into submission, and Effie had no choice but to submit. Tavish made her do unspeakable things only for his gain and fortune. Whoring her out while he made coin and treasures was right down there with the slimiest of slime. Fortunately for him, he had walked in on an unsavory situation which had left Effie forever regretting that unforgettable day and leaving her to abide by his every word.
Effie often thought about the what ifs: What if Tavish hadn’t been spying on her that dreadful day? What if he hadn’t seen her making love to the young man she had thought to marry? What if she only had the courage to stand up for herself and tell her father? Nay, the look of disappointment on her father’s face would ruin her. Effie mad
e sure no one would find out about that day; she did what she had to do to keep her reputation clean in her father’s eyes, even if it tarnished her from the inside out.
Effie came to an abrupt stop as she realized she was right back to her old ways, keeping secrets. It was like her relationship with Conall wasn’t really happening. She couldn’t talk about it, nor show him any kind of public affection. No one knew that she had someone who thought her to be special.
If Conall Hamilton thought for one moment that he was going to have his way and not make an honest woman out of her, he’d better think again. She had been courted long enough.
Effie stood, wrapped up in her cloak as a cool breeze blew past her. Her long, curly red hair wafting into the wind, she declared right then and there that Conall was either going to do the honorable thing and ask her hand in marriage or she was moving on. No more secret getaways to their favorite spot. No more secret teasing looks back and forth when people were present. And most of all no more love-making. If he wanted her, he was going to make her his wife.
Although her vow was most definitely going to be a hard one to keep. His storm-gray eyes raged with intensity every time he looked at her, reeling her in and capturing her. His body alone would be enough to tempt her beyond her self-control. Tall and lean, muscles hugged his body to perfection. A body built for sin, she thought. One sight of that dimple of his and she would melt. Just the thought of him sent a wave of heat crashing over her.
Indeed it was going to be tough, for Conall was her savior. He’d saved her from self-destructing when she arrived at Black Stone. She had been a mess, never trusting anyone, most certainly men. She kept to herself, shutting everyone out. Being used by her brother in the most evil of ways, it was a miracle that Conall had gotten through to her, but he had. Effie hung her head and her heart broke with the thought of losing her friend...her protector...her lover.
Though her secrets were her own to keep; she had never told him that she was a Maxwell, nor did she tell him about the abuse. She was ashamed and frankly she’d lived that hell once, there was no need to relive it. Furthermore, Conall would never want to marry a whore. Conall was a true honorable man, respected by all. A reputation like his should not be tarnished by her repulsive past.
Aye, the past was in the past. Knowing she would never have to return home to Caerlaverock Castle brought her relief. Her secrets were safe. Black Stone was her home; she felt at peace. Whether he was going to ask for her hand in marriage or not, she had to make him see that she was far more valuable as a wife than a secret.
The reverberating sound of steel on steel reminded Effie she needed to retrieve the lock and key from the blacksmith. Making her way to the smith’s shop, the metallic smell of burning iron filled her senses. A chestnut ox stood outside the shop, wooly from his winter coat and blocking the entrance to the smithy.
“Shoo!” Effie demanded and waved her hands motioning the ox to move. The ox looked up at her, chewing its cud slowly as if it was in deep thought about her suggested gesture. Still the bovine stood firm. Resorting to a harsher means, she slapped the stubborn ox on his hindquarters and as a result she won the stand-off. “Stubborn animal,” Effie huffed.
She knocked and waited for an answer. Her patience wore thin when the blacksmith didn’t respond. “For the love of saints.” Effie rolled her eyes and knocked again. He’s probably too tuned in to his work. It’s just like a craftsman to tune out the world when working, she thought.
Opening the door, she peeked in and saw the smith standing over a huge anvil hammering away as his sweat-soaked tunic clung to his muscled chest. Being that he was immersed in his work, the man didn’t notice Effie as she stood in the doorway.
“Excuse me!” Effie yelled out over the clang of metal. Her body jumped with every hammer strike.
The smithy stopped, stood up straight, and turned toward Effie. “Och, lass, me morn just became brighter.” He winked.
Effie smiled. “’Tis a good morn indeed, Rodrick.”
Rodrick Carmichael laid his hammer against the anvil and eyed the beautiful redhead up and down with the devil twinkling in his eyes. “And what brings ye here?”
“I’m here for Alice’s lock and key. Is it ready?”
“Aye.” Rodrick wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his arm. “Come in, I won’t bite.” A sly grin crept across his tanned masculine face. “Unless ye want me to.”
Daring to step over the threshold, Effie stepped inside the shop. “Now, Rodrick Carmichael, mind yer manners. That be no way to talk to a lady,” Effie scolded. She was used to dealing with overbearing Highlanders full of themselves, and this man was no different. He had enough virile spirit to make even the ox envious.
Once inside, Rodrick busied himself in search for Alice’s lock. This gave Effie some time to look around the shop. A huge stone hearth took up most of the space, for the shop was small. One wooden workbench stood in the center of the room with various files and chisels scattered about. A selection of different sized sledges and tongs neatly lined one side of the wall. A true craftsman’s workshop, she thought.
A cot lay in a darkened corner with a small nightstand. As she viewed the cot, she wondered how life would be married to a blacksmith. Rodrick was the best at his craft; in fact he provided the finest weapons and was bragged about throughout Scotland. This was why James had moved Rodrick closer to the castle and paid him generously.
Not to mention he was easy on the eyes. Long black hair hung over his shoulders and his body was massive. A lass could drown if she stared too long in the deep blue depths of his eyes, she mused. But it wasn’t just his ability to forge a magnificent sword or even his stunning features that made the people of Scotland talk. His reputation with the lasses was enough to heed caution. It would take an act of God to stop that man’s wandering peepers. Plus he wasn’t Conall.
Effie huffed as her heart fluttered to her stomach. Who was she kidding? No mortal man would ever come close to Conall.
“Aye, here ye go, lass.” Rodrick handed her the lock and key.
“Thank ye verra much. Alice will be pleased, I assure ye.” Effie began to make her way to the door when Rodrick stopped her. “Ye dinnae have to leave so quickly.”
Effie turned to face the smith. “And why would ye want me to stay?”
Rodrick crossed his arms in front of his chest. “I would like to get to know ye better.” Quickly he stumbled through his words. “Nay, not in that way... but I want to know ye...Effie.”
Enlightened, yet cautious, Effie walked towards the wooden table that sat in the middle of his shop, keeping her focus on the man. “There’s no’ much to know.” She fumbled with a file on the worktable. “I’m just Effie.”
“Och, lass. Ye be much more than ye think.” Rodrick smiled.
Suddenly the hammers and tongs began to rattle on the wall and the tools on the bench arose to a chatter as they danced across the wood. A loud clinking echoed out as the fire poker came crashing down on the floor. The ground shook with might.
Panic pricked her spine as she felt herself lose balance. Before she hit the ground, she was pulled into a wall of hardened muscle as the blacksmith and Effie were thrown to the ground. Rodrick lay on top of her and covered her body with his, protecting her from falling debris.
Even though the shaking had only lasted a brief moment, to Effie it seemed like forever. Coughing through the dust, breathing became difficult, adding to the fact she had a hulking Highlander pressing against her body. She felt every pebble from the ground dig deeper into her back. “Rodrick,” Effie puffed out, “I cannae breathe.”
Rodrick’s massive arms encaged her head as he leaned on his elbows, supporting his weight. “Are ye hurt?”
Effie swallowed hard past the dust in her throat. “Nay, I’m fine but ye’re squishing me.”
The blacksmith paused, looking down at Effie as if he was thinking about kissing her. His thumbs brushed against her cheeks as he studied her face.
> Effie grew impatient with the man. “Rodrick Carmichael, get off of me!” She struggled beneath his weight.
“Effie, me and ye could be good together,” he purred and kissed her cheek.
“Get off!” Effie pressed her palms into his chest, trying to shove him. What was wrong with this man? They could have been hurt. “For the love of saints!”
The shop door flew open breaking off its hinges and Conall rushed in. Hit with surprise stares, Conall grabbed the smith by his tunic with both hands and threw him off Effie. Then he offered his hand to help the redhead up.
She ignored his hand after giving him a glare of disgust.
Conall stalked Rodrick until they both were chest to chest. “The lady said to get off of her. Are yer ears working well today?”
“Ye broke me door.” The smith motioned to where the said door used to be. “Ye will fix it!”
Effie dusted the dirt from her dress and informed the men, “I have had about enough of this...this barbaric nonsense!” She grabbed her basket and stormed out of the shop, leaving the men to their swinish bantering.
Once outside the chill nipped at her skin as she welcomed the fresh air. The earth had shook and all they could think about was fighting. Absurd, Effie thought as she pulled her cloak around her shoulders and strode towards the castle. Worried about Abigale and her babe, she quickened her pace. The ground shakes were recurring often enough to cause worry. Even though the laird had reassured everyone not to, it still made the hairs bristle on the back of her neck.
A rough hand grabbed Effie’s arm and spun her around. “Where are ye going?” Conall demanded.
“’Tis no concern of yers. Now release me arm.”
“I’ll let go if ye stop running from me.”
“And what makes ye think I’m running from ye? I do have better things to do than to be concerned aboot ye.” Effie was beyond frustrated with him and the way the blacksmith had treated her. She had to take her anger out on someone and Conall just happened to be the one standing in front of her. Being in the wrong place at the wrong time, to best describe it.
