“These Viking shifters will protect us with their lives,” Nicole continued. “As it is with the Scots, family, and honor mean everything to them. I for one think that’s awesome so we’re gonna get our butts out there and not only thank them but hang a little.”
Tongue in cheek, Erin merely nodded. “As usual, it’s your way or the highway.” Before Nicole could bite back, she continued, voice a little softer. “And I’m all about keeping that kid in your belly safe which means keeping his mom from stressing out too much over her friends.”
“Damn straight.” Nicole put her hand on her stomach and used her unborn child for all she or he was worth. “Best to keep Mom happy.”
Though he sensed it was the last thing she wanted to ask, Erin said, “You want me to lose some of these weapons, Mom?”
“Heck, no. You’re hanging with Vikings now.” Nicole snorted. “And they respect a woman who can fight.”
“As if we Scots dinnae,” Niall mumbled as he pulled Nicole back against him, put a hand over her stomach and kissed the top of her head.
“Oh, I know you like a fighter,” Nicole murmured, nestling her backside against Niall in invitation.
“For Christ sake you two,” Erin muttered and got busy making sure she knew where all her weapons were. Rònan bit back an impulsive growl when he smelled a flicker of arousal that wasn’t Nicole’s. No, it was hot and sweet and belonged to...
“Alright, alright,” Nicole said and reluctantly pulled away from Niall. “Let’s go.”
They had plunked down in Scandinavia during winter, so before Erin made it out the door, Rònan managed to swing a fur cloak around her shoulders. She might not have said it aloud, but he heard her mild ‘thanks’ whisper through his mind. Interestingly enough, it cheered him up considerably.
Rònan was surprised by how much Erin’s contempt had affected him. He didn’t like it. At all. In general, he was happier than most, so it made no sense.
Not really.
In truth, what lad liked being rejected by a lass? Especially when he was used to women adoring him.
“I cannae quite imagine how she’s meant for either of us,” Darach said softly as Erin, Nicole and Niall walked ahead. “She doesnae seem fond of men in general.”
“Nay,” Rònan agreed. “She doesnae.”
He and Darach were close but not as close as he was with Logan or especially Niall. He always sort of figured it was because Darach’s element was air. And air, after all, fueled fire. Some might say that was a good thing, but in their case, it had always seemed more like a battle of wills. Both were to become lairds of their clan. Rònan had stepped up and done what was expected of him, but his cousin avoided it. And, despite their connection, he didn’t respect Darach’s avoidance.
Whether or not you liked it, you did what was expected of you. For your kin. Your clan.
He had.
And Darach should.
Yet Rònan thought there might sometimes be more than that between them. Though a wizard, his Ma was the all-powerful dragon-shifter of the MacLomains and MacLoeod’s and Darach’s Da, the most powerful wizard. Grant and Torra were remarkable and the ultimate leaders of the MacLomain clan. Were Rònan and Darach wary of each other because of that? Because they somehow felt they should measure up to their parents and in doing so become the strongest? And if so, could they be equally strong like their parents or would there forever be a nugget of competition between them? A need to be on top.
While Rònan was dominant by nature, he knew Darach repressed just as much dominance. The problem? Like his element, air, it shifted and remained unseen. A power that he masked and only used on rare occasion. But it was there. That Darach kept it hidden made Rònan wary. He preferred a lad’s strength to be out in the open and easy to evaluate.
“We should stay close to Erin tonight,” Darach continued. “It seems these Vikings find her,” his eyes shot to Rònan, “just as alluring as we do.”
“You mean the Vikings who are dragons.” Rònan tried not to bristle at the careful yet prodding tone of Darach’s voice.
“Aye,” Darach said bluntly. “The dragons.”
“As you said, she doesnae seem fond of men in general,” Rònan said. “More than that, dragons. So though I agree we should stay close...enough, I wouldnae worry overmuch.”
He made sure he kept his voice casual when he said ‘enough.’ Let his cousin think that perhaps Rònan remained open to another lass’s advances. That’s what Darach expected of him. And, all things considered, he should remain open to another lass’s advances...shouldn’t he? A frown settled on his face as they plodded through the snow to the great building at the heart of the Viking ring fortress. His thoughts baffled him. Earlier today, he was determined to find and keep Jackie safe.
Now all he could focus on was Erin.
When they entered the main building, it was to find the room half full. Multiple fires crackled along the center of its long length and flames burned in bowls hanging from the ceiling. Drums and flutes played. People ate and chatted at random tables. It was a healthy, happy community that flourished.
A community willing to welcome those sought by true evil.
A community willing to protect them.
When King Naðr Véurr waved them over, they headed that way. Though past his sixtieth winter, he had very little silver in his hair and remained as strong as ever. Having been king of this Viking clan for over forty winters, Rònan wasn’t surprised in the least by his continued virility. Not only was he a powerful and honorable man but a strong and noble dragon.
The only one of them who stopped short when the King encouraged them forward was Erin. Though the others continued, Rònan remained by her side, careful not to touch her. “Come, lass,” he murmured. “He willnae hurt you.”
“That’s him, isn’t it?” she whispered. “The dragon I tried to kill.”
How could she possibly know that? “Aye, ‘tis the Viking King.” He kept his voice firm because he knew she would respond to that tone best. “He ensured you slept afterward and holds no ill will toward you.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s wise and must know ‘twas nothing personal.”
“Oh, it was personal,” she assured. “All the more reason for him to make sure I’m dead.”
When Nicole glanced back, wondering if she was needed, Rònan shook his head. Thankfully, she listened and continued toward the head table.
“He kens your need to protect,” Rònan said. Because why else would she have thrown the blade at the king when he was in dragon form?
“Kens,” she murmured as her eyes shot to his. “So he understands that I tried to kill him and still welcomes me? Seriously?”
“Aye, lass,” he murmured, surprised when Queen Megan headed their way. Though older, she was as lovely as ever. While Rònan sensed Erin was tempted to take a step back, something about the way Megan approached worked. Maybe it was the fact she kept her eyes locked with Erin’s or maybe it was because she had just as many weapons strapped to her body. A woman that armed would likely appeal to his lass.
His lass?
Bloody hell, Erin was as far from being his as any lass could be.
Yet he wasn’t immune to the interest radiating off of Tait and Bjorn, who sat alongside the Viking King. That—to his dragon way of thinking—made him a smidge more territorial than usual.
With a wide, warm smile, Megan took Erin’s hands and squeezed. “Welcome. It’s so good to have you here.”
Instead of saying hello or thank you, Erin’s eyes narrowed. “You sound like a New Englander.”
“Do I really? Still?” Megan’s smile broadened. “Awesome. Because though I’ve been here over twenty-five years, I originally traveled back from Maine in 2014.”
Erin started to talk but snapped her mouth shut, a dumbfounded look on her face.
“So Nicole didn’t tell you that part, eh?” Megan chuckled, wrapped elbows with Erin and led her forward.
After that, Rònan d
idn’t hear much, and he knew it was because the Viking King didn’t want him to. Rònan’s powers might be strong, but here, in Naðr Véurr’s realm and era, nothing could touch the King’s strength.
So he sat beside Nicole and Niall at the head table, truly surprised that the King and Megan plunked Erin down between them. Why would they do that? Maybe to show the Vikings that she was no enemy in spite of her earlier actions? Still, it was too much. A grand showing by anyone’s standards. In all honesty, if they were to get technical, shouldn’t he be there? A dragon shifter? A blood relative?
Instead, Tait sat down beside him.
He’d known the lad since he was in his mother’s belly and had seen him several times over the years. Even so, Rònan found it suspicious that they had arrived during a time frame that put Tait so close to Erin’s age. He didn’t like it one bit. But hell if he would show it.
“Uncle Rònan.” Tait held up a horn and nodded at Rònan’s mug. “Might we toast to once more being reunited? And so close in age at that.”
Careful to show none of his wariness, Rònan tapped his mug against Tait’s horn and grinned. “Aye lad, and strapping ye’ve become.”
Then they drank, eying one another.
Rònan felt Tait’s sidelong look like a punch to the gut. No harm would come to Erin here. No, she would be well protected.
And well desired.
Viking men were direct. When they saw something, they wanted they went for it. While he’d like to say the same held true for Scotsmen, he knew there was a marked difference. Most of his countrymen did a mental dance of wooing and catering to the lasses. Vikings skipped all the in betweens and staked their claim. Though some might call them Neanderthals and barbaric, Rònan knew their methods worked. Hence, the three twenty-first century women who had arrived here over twenty-five winters prior and became such an intricate part of their lives.
A respected part of their lives.
That was another thing about Vikings, especially those who were dragons. They might seem brutal, but they were smooth in a way that melted women’s hearts. He eyed the happy crowd, the tight community.
They were also fiercely family oriented.
Once they chose a woman to be theirs, she was as loved by the community as she was by the man she ended up with. Though it was the same with his Scottish clan, he could admit that somehow Vikings went about it faster and easier.
And right now Erin was with Vikings, not Scotsmen.
Not Highlanders in their element.
He took another long drag from his mug and wished she could see that his kinsmen, his MacLeod’s, would welcome her just as warmly. Yet the minute he thought about it, he cringed. Hadn’t a few of his clansmen disrespected Nicole when they’d had too much to drink? Implied that he could lay with her easily because she was drunk? Yes. And had he defended her? Had he punished them for their comments? No. Because he was too drunk to see how insensitive and demeaning they were.
Instead, Niall had defended her.
Not Rònan, the chieftain, but Niall.
Waking up the next morning hadn’t been good at all. Not only was he hungover, but his sister Seònaid had been there not to flick him on the forehead as he expected and deserved but to damn him much more effectively. She kept a cool, calm voice and told him what an arse he was. How he should never have treated a lass with such disrespect and how he was a pitiful excuse for a chieftain. He knew it wasn’t right, but he already had a reputation for getting too drunk. What he had not been known for was allowing a lass to be disrespected, under his reign or otherwise.
He got lucky, though. Nicole never judged him because she was busy fighting her own demons. Rònan, however, had not been so easy on himself. Though he wore his trusty smile and continued to make jokes, he inwardly loathed his behavior.
Maybe that was another reason he itched to fight Darach.
At least his cousin was smart enough to run from responsibility rather than become what Rònan had.
“Might you dance with me, warrior?”
Torn from his ever darkening thoughts, Rònan hoped for a split second it might be Erin. But no. It was a buxom blond leaning over the table in front of him with a come-hither look on her face.
“Go, Uncle,” Tait said. “Enjoy your time here.”
Enjoy his time? There was only one way to do that. He cursed his line of thinking when his eyes went to Erin. She was deep in conversation with the King and Megan.
“Please. I insist.” Tait nudged his arm and winked. “You do not want to offend your hosts, do you?”
The blond curled her fingers and licked her lips. For the first time ever, he had absolutely no desire for a bonnie lass. And she was, indeed, bonnie. But she wasn’t nearly...Erin. Hell and damnation. He needed to stop thinking like this.
“Again, I insist,” Tait said.
“Aye,” Rònan murmured and joined the lass for a dance. It was for the best. And to do otherwise could have caused trouble. Yet as he brought her close, his arms felt empty. He held her, she was there, she was more than desirable, but it felt like he touched nothing. Growling, frustrated with his inability to enjoy her, he pulled her even closer and tried harder.
But he didn’t feel a thing.
Not until he saw Tait dancing with Erin.
Not until he saw the way her eyes closed in pleasure when he pulled her close.
Then Rònan felt something to be sure.
Pure rage.
Chapter Five
ERIN WAS STILL TRYING to decide if she should pull a knife on these Vikings when Tait asked her to dance.
“No.” Her eyes skirted between the Viking King and his wife. “I’m busy talking.”
“Please.” Tait held out his hand. “I insist.”
“Insist elsewhere.” He might be hot, but she was in the midst of strangers. And no matter what Nicole said, that meant she was in the midst of enemies.
“You won’t offend us if you go dance,” Megan said. “It might not be such a bad idea considering all you’re dealing with.”
“All I’m dealing with?” Her gaze landed on Megan. “No offense, you’ve been kind considering I tried to kill your man, but your story’s not mine. In fact, I have no story.” She tried to yank her Claddagh ring off, but it wouldn’t budge. “Especially none of the crap that’s supposed to be attached to this thing.”
Tait leaned against the table and eyed the ring. “I can find a way to burn that off if you like.”
The disgruntled look the king shot him made Tait shrug but not run.
“Keep it on,” Megan said, not demanding but firm as her eyes met Erin’s. “Otherwise, you’ll have to deal with more crap than you’re ready for.”
Erin didn’t smile, but she did arch her brows. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Megan assured.
It was still hard to believe she was talking to a woman from her era that had lived here so long but Megan made it easy. She was different. Soft yet strong. She told Erin exactly how things were. And it all matched up with what Nicole said. A modern day woman hooked up with an ancient Viking. That sort of thing happened. It existed.
Love existed.
That’s what brought them together.
“Please. Dance with Tait.” Megan touched her shoulder, and oddly enough Erin wasn’t tempted to flinch. She always felt the urge to flinch when people touched her. “He’s the easiest of these Viking men to get along with. He inherited his good disposition from his parents.”
Her eyes again went to Tait. He did seem pretty upbeat and easy going. So though Erin sighed she complied, unwilling to upset her hosts. But for whatever reason when she was in Tait’s arms, her traitorous eyes sought out Rònan. Naturally, he was still with the blond. What was with men and big breasted blonds? Seriously, there was something to be said for a small breasted brunette.
And how Rònan’s hands might feel touching her breasts.
The minute she thought it an odd sensation washed over her. As Tait pull her closer, she
couldn’t help but close her eyes and relish a pleasure she didn’t understand. Not because of Tait but because of...
“Ye bloody bastard!”
Erin staggered back as Rònan ripped Tait away.
All hell broke loose as everyone roared in support of the men rolling on the floor. Punching, kicking, they were fighting for all they were worth.
“No more!” the Viking King roared.
Yet the men kept punching and if she wasn’t mistaken, steam rolled off their bodies.
Though the King’s next words were softer, they were also far more effective. “Do not make me say it again.”
Tait froze. Rònan did as well.
The Viking King never left his perch behind the head table as the men shook in anger and eyed one another.
The King’s gaze went to Erin. “Dance with Rònan.”
Dance with Rònan? She shook her head. “No.”
His eyes narrowed. “Now, woman.”
Erin bristled but knew better than to test him too much. “Fine.”
There was no way around it. Dancing with Rònan was a bad idea.
Evidently, he didn’t think so because she barely had time to blink before he pulled her against him. While his arm might have come around her back and she might’ve let him pull her close, she was still fuming mad.
“What was that?” she growled as her eyes met his. “Who do you think you are?”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. “I dinnae know what that was.”
“You don’t know?” She kept frowning. “You just attacked a man for no good reason.”
She was startled by the flicker of emotion that crossed his face. Better yet, how confused he seemed by his own actions. “I dinnae act like that,” he murmured.
“I would hope not,” she said. “It’s damn unattractive.”
“Aye, ‘tis,” he admitted. “And I apologize.”
Her brows lifted in surprise. She hadn’t expected that. Not at all. She figured he would get cocky because he got what he wanted.
“Why did you do it?” she asked again, growing less frustrated and more curious. “There has to be a reason for your actions.”
The MacLomain Series: Later Years - a Scottish Time Travel Romance Boxed Set Page 59
