by Victoria Zak
The last purple hue in the sky disappeared beyond the horizon as dusk quickly turned into night. The chattering of night creatures filled the air, while a raging fire flickered and crackled in the center of camp. James sat propped up against a weeping willow tree where he’d spent most of the night watching Abigale. It wasn’t long after the second sip of whiskey that her eyelids grew heavy with sleep. Deeply nestled inside the furs, she looked like an angel. Long dark eyelashes rested on her flawless cheeks, her mouth was slightly open, and James could hear her soft breaths. She mesmerized him, enticed him.
Furthermore, he found it quite enjoyable watch her. The vision of Abigale talking to Fergus back at the stables brought a smile to his face. The way her face lit up, the soft touches she gave Fergus, even the way she bit her bottom lip when she was deep in thought captivated him. He cursed silently. Was he really becoming jealous of a horse?
Abigale sighed, bringing his attention back to the beauty sleeping right before him. Soft curves called to him as she nuzzled deeper into the furs. His body ached as he fought the urge to slide under the covers and press his body against hers. His hands twitched with the thought of running them over her breasts, down her stomach, and… Before he knew it, he licked his lips. How sweet she would taste.
He scrubbed his hands down his face like he was trying to erase her from his thoughts. No such luck. With his bastard-of-a-dragon stirring inside, the beast purred in agreement. God’s teeth, he should have claimed her when he had the chance. However, he knew claiming her would be his undoing.
A rant from Rory grabbed his attention. With a last look at Abigale, James made his way to where his men were sitting around the fire. He hadn’t joined his fellow Dragonkine yet. To be honest, he didn’t want to hear about the wenches they had been with or their recent tavern brawls. Nay, James had other things on his mind.
“I dinnae understand –”
“Understand what?” James interrupted Rory as he approached.
“My laird, I’m afraid Rory has had a wee drop too much mead and is loose with his tongue.” Conall eyed Rory as if telling him to shut up.
“I have nay.” Rory became defensive. “Ye know ‘tis true. Humans have their rightful king. Why can’t we have our king?” Rory drained the last of his mead.
Magnus, an elder Dragonkine, spoke up, answering Rory’s question. “Aye lad, at one time we did have our own king who ruled along with King MacAlpin. Dragonkine flourished in our own kingdom.” Magnus had a faraway look on his face, as if he remembered that time very well. “Aye, many glorious years of peace.”
Rory gazed at Magnus. “Until we became a threat.”
“’Tis true, King MacAlpin slaughtered our people along with our king, King Drest,” Conall said.
“Aye, it was supposed to be a peaceful meeting between kings and our royal seven. Ale, food, and women aplenty were offered as the kings made peace. So we thought. Before King Drest and our royals knew what was happening, the floors to the great hall had opened up sending our people deep underground. Bodies impaled upon sharp spikes, they couldn't move, and the trap doors on the floor were sealed shut. Covered with earth, our king and royals were buried alive.” Magnus paused, clearing his throat. “Only a few Dragonkine survived that day." Magnus stared into the flickering flames as if he saw the past.
“I dinnae call surrendering surviving,” Rory bit back.
After the dreadful massacre, King MacAlpin had showed no mercy to the Kine. The king’s orders were to slay every Dragonkine in the realm: man, woman, or child, it did not matter. As the last remaining seven Kine warriors stood with cold steel pressed against their necks and arms and legs bound with chains, King MacAlpin changed his mind. Mayhap the last seven would come in handy, as he looked onward to battling future enemies. A massive, powerful dragon on his or any future human king’s side, would be of great value.
So, an agreement had been made. There would only be seven Dragonkine warriors left to roam the Earth; all warriors would be ruled by Scottish kings and become Guardians of Scotland. When called upon, they were to fight for the greater good. When one Kine died, another—chosen by the dragon elders—would take its place. Rory had a point; surrendering meant not surviving.
With no more freedom to sustain, a species will either die or become accustomed to their new surroundings. Being immortal left them with only one option, adapt. As time would tell, some Dragonkine had a hard time with this. Most warriors’ dragons were bloodthirsty with the desire for revenge, so being on the battlefield killing humans satisfied their carnal need, good or bad. Morals didn't count as long as there was blood shed. Living eternally came with another burden for some, falling in love with a human woman. If a woman could overcome the idea that she loved a dragon, she would become immortal as long as her mate was alive. Because most women rejected a Kine’s dragon side, most warriors protected their hearts and vowed to never fall in love.
As James thought further about the history of the ancients, the downfall of their kingdom, he knew what the feud between the kings was about, a woman. “King MacAlpin’s son fell in love with King Drest’s daughter. If they were to have married, the next male heir would have become the Dragonkine king and king of Scotland. One king to rule both realms.”
“Nay my friend, ye have it all wrong.” Rory stalked over to James to make his point clear. “It was about King MacAlpin's greed. He wanted to rule Dragonkine and humans. We became a threat. MacAlpin killed our people in order to be king of both realms.” Rory seethed with hatred.
“’Tis enough, Rory,” James warned. He could feel the tension rising and nothing good ever came from sparring dragons.
“Nay, think about it. There are seven of our Kine left, and we have no clue where three of the seven are. James, ‘tis not natural for Dragonkine to live in a human world. We need our women to calm our dragons. If we had our own king, ye would no’ have had to marry her.” Rory pointed in Abigale’s direction.
James could feel his anger as it started to rage inside, for he knew Rory had a point. But the past was the past. The King of Scotland held his loyalty. “Abigale is of no concern to ye,” James bit back.
Conall stood, prepared to break up a nasty fight. “Indeed, it is the past.” He peered sternly at Rory.
Both James and Rory stood eye-to-eye, nostrils flared as they waited for one of them to make a move.
“Enough.” Magnus’s deep demanding voice rang out. “’Twas long ago. We have mended those old wounds and our king is the King of Scotland.”
“But old wounds have left deep scars, Magnus, ye can no’ deny it,” Rory declared as he held James’s stare.
Magnus stretched as he stood, breaking up the standoff between the warriors. “Lads, I’ll take first watch.” He walked toward his pallet. Indeed, old wounds left deep scars.
Abigale tossed and turned, eventually awaking to a throbbing pain throughout her backside; her skin burned and muscles ached. The few sips of whiskey had helped some, but no matter which way she turned, she could not ease the pain. As she lay on her side, she remembered seeing a clump of low-growing purple flowers, self-heal. She had just read about its ability to help heal wounds and soothe bruises. She needed to find that plant.
Rhythmic, thunderous snoring belted through the night as four massive Highlanders with their mouths open and bodies limp surrounded the campsite. Their boisterous snores could have awakened the dead. Perfect timing to search for that plant, she thought. No one would know she was gone. Abigale sat up and stretched her stiff legs before she made an effort to stand.
Thankful she had feeling back in her legs, she walked gingerly toward the woodland’s edge away from camp. Not remembering exactly where she had seen the flowers, she went deeper. The forest came alive as the fullness of the moon shined down over the trees, casting eerie shadows throughout the glen. Frogs croaked and small, nocturnal animals rustled in the undergrowth. As she passed an old tree, an owl hooted, causing her to jump. She shook her head and laughed. Abi
gale, ye big chicken, ‘tis only an owl, for heaven’s sake. But still the darkness gave her chills.
She continued her search through every blade of grass, every clump of flowers, but came up empty-handed. If it wasn’t for the constant throbbing, she would have given up. It had to be around here somewhere; she had seen it. Hope of finding her precious flower started to fade and so did her energy.
Walking toward the loch, she noticed, from the corner of her eye, a purple flower. The moon lit the flower as if it was glowing. A smile crossed her lips as she stopped and picked a few petals from the plant.
Sleep always eluded James. Plagued with recurring nightmares, he preferred not to sleep. As of late, the dreams had become all too real. Death was coming for him; he felt it deep in his bones. Rolling over on his back, frustrated, he cursed. Even the Bogeyman had demons nipping at his heels.
James pushed aside his thoughts and decided a dip in the nearby loch would calm his nerves. He looked over at the clump of furs where Abigale slept. She looked to be deeply snuggled and resting comfortably. He couldn’t see her beautiful auburn head, for she must have hidden in the furs to drown out the snores. Aye, a quick dip in the cold loch would clear his head.
As he approached the loch, he came across a small figure leaning against a boulder. He pulled out his dirk and crouched down. As he drew closer, the clouds in the dark sky shifted just enough to shed light upon the figure.
“Abigale?” His forehead creased in confusion. “What are ye doing out here, lass?”
“James? I thought ye were sleeping.” She stood, trying not to show how much pain she was in.
“Answer my question.” He crossed his massive arms in front of his chest.
“I couldn’t sleep, so I decided to take a walk.”
He didn’t believe her. No way would a lass be out here in the dark just to take a stroll. It was too dangerous. The glen was known for its abundance of wild boar, and when approached, the beasts could be quite nasty. Aye, she was hiding something from him; she was a horrible liar. “What’s that in yer hand?” He reached for the purple petals, but she hid them behind her back.
“Nothing. ‘Tis my business.”
“Abigale, I’m in no mood for games.” James stepped forward, then grabbed the flower from behind her.
“Give it back!” She yanked the flower from his hands. “Ye have no right coming out here telling me what to do. Ye told me to keep my distance, now ye keep yers," she demanded.
He noticed she was uneasy on her feet when she tried to take a step away from him. She had swayed, lost her balance, and grabbed ahold of the boulder to steady herself.
Went for a walk, my arse, James thought. The lass was in too much pain.
Hunched over, Abigale supported her weight with both hands on the boulder. Indeed, she was in a great deal of pain. “What ails ye?” He brushed her hair away from her face so he could see her.
She looked up at him and her eyes stole his breath. “Nothing. I’ll be fine.”
Even in pain, the lass couldn’t be more beautiful, yet he was beginning to find out that she was as stubborn as he was. “Lass, ye dinnae look fine. Now, let me help.” Looking down, he noticed a trail of blood running down her leg. “Ye’re bleeding.” Concerned, James grabbed her skirts and frantically started to push them up her thigh. He needed to know where the blood was coming from.
“Enough… enough.” She swatted at his hands. “I'll let ye help if ye let go of my skirt.” Abigale surrendered.
“Fine.” In one fast motion, James grabbed her under dress and ripped a strip off. “I’ll be right back. Dinnae move. I’m going to the loch for some water.”
“Dinnae move.” Abigale repeated his words silently. Where did he think she was going to go? If she could, she would run away and hide, for this was going to be the most humiliating night of her life. There was no way she was going to accept his help. First of all, she was madder than a wet hen, and second, she was not going to let him rub self-heal on her arse. She would make do somehow, as soon as she got rid of him.
Clearing moss from a spot on the boulder, Abigale began to crush the petals into a paste. It was not ideal, but at this point, she could care less. She needed relief.
James quickly returned from the loch and began to lift Abigale’s skirts.
“Wait I –”
“Lass, I’m just going to wipe the blood off and see where it’s coming from.”
Clearly, he wasn’t going to take no for an answer, so there was no need to hold on to the last bit of dignity she had left. They locked eyes, and she could see his true concern. Slowly, she gathered her skirts and turned around, exposing her arse.
James grabbed her hips, moved her toward the moonlight, and bent down behind her. She heard a sigh, but James did not say a word.
Finally, Abigale looked over her shoulder. “How bad is it?”
“Well lass, ye have a bad case of saddle sores. One of the blisters has opened and that’s where the blood is coming from.”
Ever so gently, James began to dab away at the blood. Abigale hissed when he swiped the wet fabric over the injured skin. She felt a cool breeze against her skin and it wasn’t from the night air. Did he just blow on my bottom?
It wasn’t long before the pain started to dull. Abigale leaned her head back and stared into the starry night sky. Could this night get any worse? She was mortified standing there naked from the waist down. Surely, he must be repulsed by the look of her bottom. She wished she could pray this night away.
James stood and helped straighten Abigale’s skirts. She didn’t want to look at him; how could she? Her whole world had been turned upside down and now her future lay in the hands of a man who did not want her. Maybe it was exhaustion taking over or perhaps emotions were getting the best of her. Whatever it might be, tears started to streak down her face.
James placed a finger under her chin, lifting her head back until their eyes met.
“Och, lass, don’t cry.” James wiped a tear from her cheek. “Ye have the finest arse I’ve ever seen.”
Abigale laughed through her tears and swatted at his chest playfully. “Dinnae make me laugh. I’m mad at ye.”
Gently, James picked her up and cradled her in his arms. “I guess I deserve that much.”
As they made their way back to camp, Abigale laid her head on his shoulder and lost herself in sleep.
6
Only the very brave and the very foolish enter the dragon’s lair.
“My lady, ye best get up.”
Abigale awoke to a plump older woman with light brown hair streaked with gray, creating a commotion. The woman removed the furs from a small window, letting in the sunlight. With much irritation, Abigale quickly pulled the covers over her head to block the cursed light.
A few moments later, Abigale emerged from under the furs, struggling to open her eyes. She stretched her stiff, sleep-deprived body. Where was she? Panicked, she sat up and looked around the room for a sign as to where she was. Tapestries hung from the gray, stone walls. One showed a gruesome battle scene. Wait… Abigale rubbed the sleep from her eyes. Is that a dragon fighting? Shaking that thought away, she noticed a fire burning in the hearth that filled one side of the room and the smell of lavender lingered in the air. A bath, she sighed.
As she scooted to the edge of the bed, visions of days past clouded her memory. Looking down at her hand, she traced the golden wedding band with her thumb. The wedding was not a dream, but a reality. A dull tingle on her backside reminded her of the long trip and…oh no. Humiliation washed over her. James had tended to her wounds.
Abigale shot out of bed and ran over to the mirror that stood in the corner of the room. Quickly, she lifted her nightgown, turned around, and looked over her shoulder. Amazed by what she saw, she rubbed her hand across the healing skin. She felt no pain, just a dull ache. How could she have healed so fast? How long had she been asleep?
“Oh, my lady, forgive me. Ye’re in pain from yer travels, aye?” A
bigale dropped her gown and turned to face the woman.
“Come lass, I have a bath waiting for ye.” The woman gently led Abigale toward the bath and patted her arm, reassuring her. “The warmth will help ease the pain.”
Without a doubt, this woman was in charge of the castle, for she had a firm but caring way about her. Thank God, because if Abigale had to deal with another Griselda she would go daft. “Where am I?”
“Black Stone on the Hill, my lady.”
Black Stone? Why couldn’t she remember how she got there? She remembered James picking her up and carrying her back to the campsite, but nothing after. Who brought her to the bedchamber? Who undressed her? . Had she been that exhausted and slept through everything?
Steam rose from the inviting bath water. Heaven awaits.
“And how long have I been asleep?”
“Two days, lass.”
“Two days?” How could this be?
The woman began to pull off her nightgown. Abigale stepped back and pushed the woman’s hands away.
“A wee bit shy, are we?” The woman turned her back to give Abigale some privacy.
Abigale pulled her nightgown over her head. Then she dipped a toe in the water. It felt heavenly as she lowered herself into the tub. She relaxed and allowed her body to absorb the heat.
The woman held out a bar of soap and pointed at Abigale’s hair. “May I?”
Abigale wasn’t fond of this type of treatment; no one paid her much attention back at the abbey except for Abbess Margaret. Before she left the abbey, the wretch punished her severely, using Abigale’s hair as her weapon of choice. She could still feel the pain of her hair being ripped from her head.
Late one night, she had awoken to the dreadful woman coiling Abigale’s hair around her hand. “Ye think ye’re pretty, don’t ye, bastard?" She’d been yanked out of bed by her hair, dragged down to the church, and forced to pray to be forgiven for all the sins she had been accused of committing.
