Dragon's Moon

by Lucy Monroe

  Eirik considered the Balmoral’s words and frowned. The sneaky Sinclair alpha wolf had known all along Ciara was his mate. “She could not do better than a dragon for her protector.”

  “Even the most powerful Chrechte would make a poor mate for a man’s daughter, if he was not also a good man.”

  It was an unlooked-for compliment and Eirik gave it the silent recognition it deserved. “You will send a messenger to inform Talorc of the mating?”

  “Aye, that and the wedding.”

  Eirik didn’t ask, “What wedding?” He was no idiot. But he did warn his mate’s uncle, “She’ll balk.”

  “I’ve a way with reluctant brides.” Lachlan grinned.

  Thinking of what he had heard of the other man’s own nuptials and that of his second-in-command, Eirik had to agree. The Balmoral knew how to handle a reluctant bride.

  The laird proved himself as adept with a recalcitrant female as Eirik suspected a couple of hours later, when they found the women chatting in the solar after brief visits with the Éan that lived near or at the castle itself.

  The Balmoral had announced the wedding was to take place before Ciara and Eirik could leave to find the elder, Boisin.

  “What wedding?” Ciara asked, proving she was willing to play dumber than she was.

  “The wedding between you and Eirik, lass.”

  “But, Laird Lachlan—”

  “’Tis Uncle Lachlan and well you know it.”

  “Uncle Lachlan,” she said, drawing the name out with more sarcasm than a warrior would dare use on the commanding laird. “There is not going to be any wedding.”

  “Of course there is, lass. The priest is here now to perform the rite.”

  And indeed the human man had just entered the solar at a near run. He stopped in front of the Balmoral. “I was told there was an urgent matter for your family that needed my attention.”

  “Aye.” The laird indicated Ciara and Eirik with a sweep of his arm. “These two are to be wed.”

  “Now?” To his credit, the priest did not sound all that shocked by the demand of his laird, but obviously needing clarification.

  There was no give in the Balmoral’s expression. “Aye, now.”

  “No, not now,” Ciara inserted.

  Her uncle turned to face her. “You would shame your parents, my own sister and brother by marriage by refusing to follow your mating with a proper wedding?”

  Instead of answering him, Ciara spun to face Eirik. “You tattletale. Our mating is not a piece of gossip for two warriors to chew on.”

  “Would you rather he believed I took your innocence without the benefit of our Chrechte vows?”

  Ciara’s mouth opened and closed and opened again. “You did not have to tell him anything.”

  “I can respect your obstinacy; ’tis almost charming. But do not play the role of fool. Your uncle was aware of what had transpired between us from the moment we arrived in the keep.”

  “And whose fault is that?” she demanded with a glare.

  “I am not sure, Ciara. I thought we shared equal blame. Are you claiming we do not?”

  “You are saying the Éan prince forced his attentions on you?” the Balmoral asked with dangerous quiet.

  All color drained from Ciara’s face as she gasped. “That is not what I said at all.”

  “So, it was mutual?” the Balmoral pressed.

  Blood surged back into Ciara’s cheeks and she turned her scowl on her uncle. “Yes,” she ground out.

  “Then the wedding will commence.”

  “No, wait. I…we can’t get married without my father’s approval.”

  “He gave approval to the mating when he sent you on this journey with Eirik alone.”

  “We are not alone.” Ciara’s gazed flitted to where Mairi now sat in a chair beside Caitriona and Lais once again stood sentinel behind her. “The eagle shifter and seer accompany us.”

  She spoke freely in front of the priest, but then the man knew all the secrets of his flock. ’Twas to be expected.

  Lachlan did not look impressed with her argument, however. “But if your father objected to Eirik as your mate, he would have come as well.”

  “Or sent Niall,” Ciara said with dawning understanding and unwittingly echoing her uncle’s earlier words. She frowned. “My father expected this.”

  “Aye, lass.”

  “But I don’t want to get married.”

  Chapter 20

  Love is often the fruit of marriage.

  —MOLIÈRE

  “I didn’t, either, but it turned out well,” Caitriona said with a smile.

  “For that matter, I had no intention of marrying Lachlan, but the man has a way with him.” Emily’s smile belied the spicy stories Eirik had heard about the couple’s volatile courtship and beginning of their marriage.

  Ciara’s breath came out in panicked little gasps. “It’s not the same.”

  “I am sending a messenger to your father.” The Balmoral crossed his arms over his massive chest and looked as movable as a rock. “He can carry news of your mating and wedding or your mating alone. ’Tis your choice.”

  The horror that came over Ciara’s countenance would have been amusing if Eirik could not see the genuine fear and pain underneath it as well. She was terrified at the prospect of marriage. To him.

  He did not like it. He did not understand it. And he would not allow it.

  He moved to stand in front of her so she could see naught but him. Cupping her nape beneath her brown tresses, he squeezed with reassurance and met her troubled emerald gaze. “You have already spoken the vows that matter most. There is naught to fear in adding the priest’s blessing to our union.”

  “I did not want a mate,” she whispered, moisture glazing her eyes.

  Aye, she’d made that clear enough. “But you have one.”

  “Yes.”

  “I would be your husband as well.”

  “’Tis the way of things,” she agreed with little enthusiasm.

  He leaned down so their foreheads touched. “Aye.”

  “It does not feel right that Abigail and Talorc are not here to witness it.” There was too much true sadness in Ciara’s words for Eirik to believe she was merely trying to put off the ceremony.

  “We will ask my grandmother to come to the Sinclair holding to officiate in the public rite of a Chrechte mating upon our return.”

  “You promise?”

  “I do.”

  “All right.”

  He lifted his head and kissed the top of hers. “It will be.”

  She shrugged and it bothered him.

  “You are not agreeing simply to avoid your father challenging me.” As effective as the Balmoral’s methods, Eirik wanted unfettered agreement from the woman who would promise before God and man to share her life with his. “I would not kill him.”

  Her gaze rose to meet his, her green depths dark with certainty. “I know.”

  “Good.”

  “I will not shame him.”

  Eirik liked that reason even less than her agreeing to the wedding out of fear. “There is no shame in being my mate.”

  “Do we have to discuss this now?” she asked, jerking her head toward the others in the room as if he had forgotten they were there. “If we are going to stand for the priest’s blessing, it is best we get it done.”

  Eirik had an irrational impulse to call the whole thing off but stifled it. Whatever her reasons, Ciara had agreed to bind her life to his. It was a place of starting.

  She would come to understand how well they were matched in time. He would allow no other outcome.

  Ciara’s hands were cold as she placed them in Eirik’s before the priest spoke his blessing on their marriage. The words in Latin flew over her head without registering as she fought her inner demons over this wedding.

  She’d agreed, not out of fear of the challenge or her shame, as Eirik thought. Of course he was right, what kind of shame could there be in mating such a strong
and loyal Chrechte? She was proud, if terrified, to claim him for her own.

  But she wouldn’t have…if she’d had the choice. Only she didn’t. She’d known that the night before. Her instinct to fight the additional bonds between them that this wedding would create had driven her initial denial, but she was no fool.

  Not really. And now that the Chrechte vows had been spoken, there was no going back.

  She was mated. If Ciara lost Eirik, she might well lose her mind as her mother had, but the option of living without him was no longer open to Ciara, either.

  She could only hope becoming pregnant proved difficult as it did for so many Chrechte. She needed time to conquer one terror before taking on another. And she was far from conquering the dread being mated birthed inside her.

  But love was an emotion that would not be denied, no matter how hard she tried. She loved her adopted family every bit as much as the one of her birth. And she loved her mate with everything in her soul.

  It was not merely Ciara’s wolf that demanded overt connection to him. Her human heart craved it as well.

  And always would.

  She only hoped that in time, he would learn to love her as well. She suspected that if he did not, the dread inside her would only grow.

  Eirik spoke his vows in a strong voice that rang throughout the hall. Ciara said hers with equal conviction. If she was to do this thing, she would do it with the whole of her considerable will.

  Emily wanted to host a gathering at the latemeal to celebrate the nuptials, but neither Ciara nor Eirik were willing to put off speaking to the elder, Boisin.

  Despite two nights without dreams or visions, Ciara’s sense of urgency had continued to grow in regard to finding the Faolchú Chridhe. And as her mate, Eirik appeared to share it.

  So, after hugs of congratulation and many hearty pats on Eirik’s back, their little party of four borrowed horses from the Balmoral and rode out.

  Boisin lived in a thatch-roofed cottage nearly an hour’s ride from Balmoral Castle. A white-haired old man sat on a bench outside whittling. He ignored, or did not hear, the approach of their horses, his focus entirely on the small wooden figure in his hand.

  When Ciara and her companions drew near, Eirik raised his fist to indicate they should stop. Then he swung down from his horse before turning to help Ciara do the same.

  The old man stood with the help of a walking stick. “Welcome, clansmen of the Sinclair. You can take the horses around back for a bucket of water and grazing.”

  “Thank you, elder,” Eirik said and then nodded his head toward Lais, who grabbed the reins for two of the horses and led them away.

  The others proved their good training by staying where they’d been left.

  “You are Boisin?” Eirik asked.

  “Aye, and who might you be?” Though the way the elder looked at them, she felt he already knew the answer.

  “I am Eirik and this is my mate, Ciara.” Eirik laid a proprietary hand on her waist, but Ciara found she did not mind. “Our companions are the healer, Lais, and the seer, Mairi.”

  Boisin gave Mairi a long look filled with what seemed like joyful relief, but how could that be? “So, that is your name, child. Called after the Virgin Mother then.”

  “Mairi was my grandmother’s name as well,” the seer said in a quiet voice.

  Boisin nodded and then met Eirik’s gaze. “You’ve come to hear stories, I’m guessing.”

  “Aye. We came in hopes you would have time to share a conversation and a cup of refreshment with us.” Eirik handed the old man a skin of wine. “We would be honored if you would share your stories as well.”

  “I’ve a little time, I suppose. My great-granddaughter’s birthday is a week off yet; her little figures can wait a bit.”

  Ciara looked down to the whittling the man had set aside and was surprised to see a set of three exquisitely carved fairies, though the third was not done. No bigger than three inches tall, they were the perfect size for a small fist to hold in play.

  “We thank you,” Eirik replied.

  Boisin cocked his head to one side, giving Eirik a long look before saying, “You’re welcome, but we’ll be sharing more than stories, Éan prince. You’ve come for answers and I have them.”

  Lais came back for the other two horses, giving Mairi a searching look, as if checking for any change in her well-being in the few minutes they had been apart.

  She rolled her eyes. “I am fine.”

  “Aye, she is safe here, with me,” Boisin said, his tone as if he was speaking of family, not a total stranger.

  And then, leaning heavily on his cane, Boisin led the way into the cottage.

  Inside, they found more furniture than most crofters could boast of. A table and four chairs took up one side of the single-room dwelling. A bed and chest took up the other.

  The wall by the table had actual cabinets with doors, rather than the open shelves most would have made do with. But the most amazing element to the furniture was the intricate pictures carved into nearly every surface. Chrechte symbols, wolves, and conriocht were the most predominant art. The cabinet doors depicted a wolf curled into the body of a dragon though, the dragon’s tail curved over her as if in protection.

  Chills went up and down Ciara’s arms at the sight. It was her and Eirik, she knew it was. Though she could not imagine how that could be.

  “Your furniture is lovely,” Mairi said into the silence that had fallen over the group inside the cottage.

  “I’ve spent my life carving and working with wood.” Boisin grunted. “Most of the furniture you saw at the castle was made by me, or mine.”

  “You put your visions into your work,” Eirik said, his gaze fixed on the cabinet that had so entranced Ciara.

  “Sometimes, I do at that. Important visions anyway.”

  “You are a seer?” Mairi asked with awe.

  “Aye, lass. With a few more years’ experience than you, but no greater a gift.” He shuffled to one of the chairs and sat down. “Join me. I’ve no mind to get a crick in my neck talking to you all.”

  Eirik and Ciara sat, but Mairi went to the cabinet and opened it without saying anything. She stood for a moment inspecting the contents before pulling five intricately carved goblets out. She brought them to the table.

  Boisin gave her an approving nod, and then poured wine into each goblet before placing it in front of one of them, leaving Lais’s near Mairi’s.

  Ciara’s goblet had a wolf carved into one side and a woman holding a stone on the other. The carved lines that radiated out from the stone made it seem like the stone glowed near as bright at the sun.

  She looked over to Eirik’s goblet and saw that it had a dragon carved all the way around it, but a raven was etched into its base. Mairi’s goblet also had a wolf, but the other side had a woman surrounded by the small animals of the forest.

  She met Ciara’s eyes, her own filled with wonder. Then Mairi cast her glance toward Boisin. “How did you know?”

  “About your affinity with the small creatures of the earth? I saw it, just as you saw me in dream after dream. I’ve been calling you to come and learn, lass, for years now.” He sighed. “But you could not come before this. It has all happened as it must.”

  “What do you mean?” Ciara asked, feeling like she was in the presence of true wisdom.

  “The little one’s journey ends here for now. I’ve much to teach her and not many years left to do it in.”

  “She said she had to join the quest,” Lais said from the doorway. “The Faolchú Chridhe has not been found yet.”

  Boisin took a sip of his wine and gave it an approving nod. “The quest brought her here, where she needs to be. ’Tis all.”

  “But—”

  “You’d best decide if you want a mate, or not, young eagle.” Boisin narrowed his eyes at Lais, his expression turning crafty. “I’ve got a grandson who would find this little girl lovely indeed.”

  “Want is not the problem,” Mairi
said softly when Lais looked ready for an apoplectic attack.

  Boisin shook his head. “Ah, the boy does not feel worthy.”

  “I am no boy.” Lais had finally found his voice.

  Boisin did not appear impressed. “Son, when you’ve lived the years I have, you can call boy those you like.”

  Lais opened his mouth to argue, but Mairi shoved a goblet of wine into his hands. “You must be thirsty after seeing to the horses. Take a drink.”

  Looking bewildered, the eagle obeyed, but as he lowered the goblet, his eyes focused on the carving.

  Lais’s goblet had a wolf with an eagle perched on its back. The other side had the Chrechte symbol for love and mating entwined as it often was in the markings used to signify a mating.

  He studied the carving for several seconds in silence and then frowned at Boisin. “What does this mean?”

  “It means that if you are man enough, your future can be brighter than you think you deserve.”

  Lais shook his head, but did not reply. He moved to his usual spot…sentinel behind Mairi. Ciara noted that for the first time since she’d met the other woman, the young seer looked unworried by anything.

  Boisin pointed a gnarled finger toward Ciara. “I’ve waited long enough for your arrival as well, child. I was beginning to think I would die before you answered the call of the stone.”

  “I am sorry.” Heat stole into her cheeks as shame at her own cowardice engulfed her.

  “You learned to fear your gifts before you learned to use them.” The understanding in the old man’s still bright gaze soothed the pain in Ciara’s heart. “’Tis understandable, but ’tis also reason for rejoicing that you are here now.”

  “You know of my dreams.”

  “I have a story to tell you, child. Will you listen?”

  “Yes.” How could she do anything else?

  Boisin cleared his throat, took a sip of wine, and then cleared his throat again. When he began to speak, it was in a voice that could mesmerize an entire clan.

  “In the days before our people settled into homes of wood and farming, the Chrechte wandered the earth. We hunted for our food and gathered what the earth provided. Some years were bountiful, some lean, but always we waged war for the right to hunt in bigger territories. Much as the clans fight for bigger borders on their holdings today. In those days, there were three races of the Chrechte. The Faol, a fierce people who shared their natures with the wolves.”