Smolder (Clan of Dragons Book 3)

by Nancy Lee Badger

  “Aye, I be looking for Vika. She rode into the village this day.”

  “I know the lass, but I have not laid eyes on her this day. Perhaps she be in the tavern? What be your name?”

  When he stepped closer, he rubbed a bit of cloth along the weapon’s sharp edge. He did not wield it like a warrior. “I be Fiona. Did you make that?”

  His eyes widened with pleasure, at her name or the question, she wasn’t sure.

  “Glad to meet you, Fiona. I be Gow Smith, the village blacksmith, and I make weapons. I be delivering this to the warrior, Sinna. He said to meet him here. Would you like me to show you the way to the tavern? Vika’s brother was on his way there, but moments ago.”

  “I…I wish to know where Orin be.”

  He chuckled. “We thought someone was outside. Spying on us, were you?”

  “I have yet to meet Orin. The lad has red hair, aye?”

  “Aye, and freckles, though he be growing into a man. I feel, though, he be too young for you.”

  “Me? Never fear, I have no plans on him. I want to experience the celebrations. I will find Vika, I be sure. She be quite large, with a babe.”

  Gow’s cheeks reddened, as if she’s spoken something off-color. “Aye, I hear she be expecting a bairn. Someone as innocent as you should not talk of such things.”

  Me? Innocent? If he only knew.

  “I do not see what me apparent youth has anything to do with speaking thusly. Birthing a babe be as natural as making one.”

  Gow’s eyes flashed with something akin to arousal, and she realized she ought to keep her thoughts to herself. Perhaps humans were not so open about sex, as she was.

  He dropped the sword to the dirt, and walked closer. Fiona gazed up at him, but could not move. She was uncertain what he planned to do, until he gripped her upper arms, pulled her into his chest, and smashed his lips on hers. The sensation was raw and unappetizing, and when she felt the hard ridge of his arousal pressing into her belly, she went still. He must have taken her silence as a sign to continue, and lowered his hands until he’d filled them with her breasts.

  “Stop! Let go of me,” she demanded. She pushed on his chest as hard as she could, to no avail. The man was solid muscle.

  Thwack!

  “What the Hell?” Gow said. He released his grip on her breasts and raised a hand to the back of his head. When he stepped aside, another man stood close, brandishing…a stick?

  “Gow, I do not believe this lass wishes you to grope her. Come away and let us conclude our business, unless you be wanting me to notify the Council of Elders?”

  “Sinna? You hit me with your crutch? The lass and I were getting to know each other. I assumed she was a camp follower, and wanted to stake me claim early.”

  The man, Sinna, glared at Gow, then at her. His brown hair was clipped short, and he held himself similar to the warriors guarding the village gate.

  “I do not understand his words, but I did not ask him to touch me in any way. I be looking for Vika.” Fiona stepped aside, and walked closer to the other man. As soon as she felt safe, she would hide. Human males were too hard to read. She must have said or done something to attract the blacksmith, but until she understood, keeping out of sight was a better plan.

  “Vika be in the tavern. I saw Orin, her brother, heading there. Be you all right?” the man called Sinna whispered.

  She nodded, then glared at Gow. “I do not know why you felt the need to touch me, sir, but please refrain your impulses in the future.” She turned on her heel, and headed for the tavern’s back entrance. She could feel the eyes of both men burning into her back.

  ***

  The back of Dougal’s neck burned, and he turned to find several human females watching him pass by, as they set up tables on the tavern’s wide front porch. The memory of the older healer’s premonition made his chest ache. He could deal with blood and dead men, but what did the white doe have to do with any of it? If she was in danger, why did he care?

  Evan tapped him on the shoulder, and handed him the sword. “Try to keep your weapon, brother.”

  Dougal grumbled, while his brother laughed, as he walked back inside the tavern. Marching away from the tavern, Dougal cursed the humans crowding him. He would rather spend his days running through the meadows, and northern forests, alongside Cliona in their deer forms. They were primarily dragons, but dragons were too big, and couldn’t run. They had wings and could fly, but keeping their existence secret meant they kept close to home in the Black Cuillin Hills. In order to travel far and wide, shifting into deer worked best. Wynn loved his wolf form, but Dougal enjoyed having antlers.

  Cliona had made friends, she had told him that fateful night. The night he neglected to warn her about hunters. The rain made staying in their cave the better option, so he did not feel the need to mention them.

  He awoke early the next morning to find she’d left the safety of the cave. While he and Wynn searched for her, they ended up witnessing a hunter’s arrow pierce her hide. He’d roared in anger, while the killer disappeared into the thick morning fog.

  “If only you’d warned me.”

  Cliona’s voice, again.

  Great. She be haunting me. “This be not the time, love. I must keep me family safe. You be quite a distraction.”

  “Me? A distraction? I did not know you loved me so, brother.”

  Dougal looked up from his feet to find Wynn and Kera walking toward him, hand in hand. “Never you mind. This village be filling with humans, and an older female spoke to me of her vision.”

  Wynn and Kera exchanged knowing looks.

  “What? Do you know more?”

  Wynn released Kera, whispered in her ear, and sent her toward the tavern. “Kera be weary from our run. She will seek out the others, and find our bedchamber. Tell me what the seer said.”

  He told him everything, which only drew a curious stare from his brother.

  “I agree. ‘Tis odd she would know about the doe you searched for all winter.”

  Dougal wished to head to the blacksmith shop. Instead, he headed inside the tavern. “I think I caught her scent, but it would mean her death if she wandered so close to the village.”

  “Unless she shifted into another form,” Wynn added.

  “True. I sensed she could be an otherworldly, like us.”

  “If she be here, you shall find her, Dougal. Whether she be here alone, and for the taking, be another question.” Wynn clapped a hand on his brother’s shoulder, and followed after his mate.

  Kera had paused at a table of wares on the porch. The tall lass towered over the vendor, and she twirled a lock of her dark-gold hair as she studied the wares. Wynn looped an arm around her waist, and jiggled a small leather pouch in her face. They had made sure to bring gold coins in order to pay for their lodgings and food. When Kera lifted a green ribbon, Wynn laughed and threw a coin at the vendor.

  Kera was a warrior, who spent her adult life as part of a pack of wolves, yet she desired something pretty. Cliona had dragged home a bit of red ribbon, the day before her murder. He’d kept it with his treasure hoard ever since, and recently tied it to his sword’s leather sheath, as if to remember that avenging her death still haunted him the way she haunted him.

  “I only wish you to find happiness again,” Cliona’s voice whispered.

  Dougal straightened, wrapping his fingers around the sword’s hilt, and walked to the tavern. It was time to make a plan with his brothers, so that everyone would know what to do if…when the pirates attacked.

  ***

  It wasn’t as horrible as a pirate attack, but Vika was worried. Her good friend, Mistress MacFingan, had collapsed. Dougal had carried her inside, and her harried husband had been quick to show him the door. Dougal was an ornery dragon, and had admitted killing humans, but she could not fathom him harming an old female human. She was about to suggest she and Evan go find him when Orin walked into the tavern. She stood to accept his embrace, then returned to her seat.
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br />   “Where be the others?” Orin asked.

  Unna arrived with a tray of tankards. “Ale or cider?” she asked.

  “Ale, please,” Orin said.

  She placed it on the table in front of him, then glanced at Vika.

  “Cider for me, please.”

  When Unna turned to talk with a man at the next table, Orin said, “Your brother-by-law and his lass have taken to their room. I know what they’ll be doing.”

  Vika’s cheeks heated. She suspected Kera and Wynn were already naked and in each other’s arms. Evan loved her, but kept his distance. She’d grown too large and round for his liking, she assumed, though he glanced warily at her at times, as if fearful.

  Unna returned to her side. “You have the room at the top of the stairs, on your right. The couple Orin speaks of took the one to the left. The third room be at the end of the hall, Orin.” Unna flicked her long brown lashes at Orin, but her brother was busy downing the ale.

  “Thank you, Unna. Evan’s other brother will be sharing a room with Orin. Two beds in that one, aye?”

  Unna stiffened, as if the news was displeasing. As she nodded, the tavern door opened, and Dougal strolled in. He was as handsome as Evan and Wynn, since they used the same human form when they shifted, but Dougal’s wavy black hair and deep blue eyes made him look like a murderous pirate.

  Dougal joined them, towering over the group. When Vika glanced at Unna, the server’s cheeks were pink, and she had tugged the bodice of her serving gown lower, until the tops of her dark nipples were showing. Orin chuckled when he saw what had grabbed Unna’s attention, and took another tankard from her tray. Unna swallowed, and managed to smile.

  “Unna, may I present Dougal? He be Evan’s oldest brother,” Vika said, suppressing a smile.

  “I see the resemblance,” she whispered, shaking her head. Louder, she said, “would you like a tankard of ale or cider?”

  “Do you have whisky?”

  Unna nodded, and headed toward the counter. Black MacFingan was back at his post.

  Now was probably a good time for Vika to seek out her friend. “Dougal, sit here. I will check on Mistress MacFingan, and then you will tell me why she fainted in your arms.”

  He sputtered, but Orin pulled him down to sit beside him. As she passed the counter, Unna tapped her shoulder.

  “What do you need, Unna?”

  “Be Dougal…I mean, has he a wife?”

  Vika smiled. Dougal suffered from a badly broken heart. He’d lost his mate and unborn babe, yet here was a young lass with stars in her eyes. If she could take Dougal’s mind off his past romance, why not?

  “Nay, he has no one. Beware, though, he can be ornery.” Vika noticed several young lasses eyeing Dougal. “You might have to fight for him.”

  Unna’s face brightened and she smoothed her long brown braid, tossing it over her shoulder. Like a warrior intent on thwarting the enemy, she picked up the dram of whisky and headed for Dougal.

  “Oh, to be a fly on that table,” Vika muttered.

  CHAPTER 6

  Fiona nearly flew through the tavern’s rear entrance, slid to a stop at the foot of the stairs, and looked around. When she spied Vika heading to a door on the opposite side of the room, she lowered her head, and quickened her pace. If she could talk to the lass, and find out more about the villagers, perhaps she could discover what had happened to Cliona.

  The sound of laughter drew her attention to the main part of the tavern, where Orin sat with two human males. She listened in. One he called Evan, and the other was the black-headed stranger, who was nearly Evan’s twin. Evan slapped the stranger on the shoulder, and called him Dougal.

  Cliona’s Dougal? The black and red dragon?

  Whereas Evan wore what Orin had called a plaide, one as purple as a Highland thistle, the black-haired shifter wore deep red wool around his muscular torso. One length went up and over one shoulder, and he wore a white shirt beneath it.

  I prefer him naked.

  Heat lashed her cheeks. She turned her attention to the variety of colors filling the tavern, but she wanted to talk to Orin alone. She wanted to question Orin about Cliona, but the two large men sitting with him made her turn on her heels.

  Hurrying back outside, she hid in the building’s shadow, and walked around to the front. She waited until Orin walked outside, and headed to the center of the square. Seeing things as Cliona had described them was eerie, as if her friend was hovering in the mist. The sun had set beyond the trees, and she wanted to speak to Orin before crowds gathered, to do whatever humans did at a celebration.

  Orin strode to the far side of the square, talked to several men, and lifted a large tangle of brush and split logs. His muscles strained beneath his belted plaide, and Fiona sensed he was a strong ally in a fight. As she grew closer to him, the other men stared in her direction. She didn’t mean to attract their notice, so she ignored their glares and kept her attention on the lad. He tossed the wooden pile to the ground, in the center of the square. When he turned, as if to gather more brush, she tapped him on the shoulder.

  “Why be you moving this brush from one side of the square to the other?” she asked.

  Orin’s cheeks reddened, as if embarrassed she’d talked to him.

  “Who’s your little friend, MacKinnon?” one man called.

  “Aye, she’s a bit too long in the tooth for a bairn. Send her to me bedchamber,” another man suggested.

  Neither man sounded pleasant, so she ignored them. Instead, stepping a little closer to Orin, she waited for his answer.

  “So we can light the bonfire for the celebration.”

  “What be a bonfire?” she asked.

  Orin’s eyes widened, and he gripped her arm. When he pulled her from the square, over to the haphazard pile of logs, branches, and cut brush, she wanted to kick him. She was growing tired of men touching her.

  “Be you daft? You don’t know what fire be?”

  She shook her head, and immediately knew her mistake. The older female, who had shared a bowl of broth, had cooked it by heating it over a flame. Fire. A bonfire must be another term for the orange flames that could decimate a forest in minutes.

  “Be you a dragon? Nay, you would definitely understand fire. What be you?” Orin whispered.

  “I be Fiona, and I need to ask you about someone, Orin.”

  Orin released her, and crossed his arms over his chest. “Since you know me name, I shall listen.”

  She glanced over her shoulder at the other men, but they had returned to their chores. She took a deep breath and stepped closer to the lad. “I be in search of a young…female. She looks like me.”

  Orin scratched his head. “Your twin, do you mean?”

  Fiona knew several deer that birthed two fawns at one time. “Aye, but her hair be a bit darker. I tracked…I mean, someone told me she headed to this village. It has been months since I have seen her. I grow worried.”

  “There be many lasses here with brown hair, and more arriving every minute. What be her name?”

  “Cliona. Cliona Black.”

  “I have heard that name before.” Orin rubbed his chin and looked to the sky, as if thinking, and added, “but many lasses be named thusly, because their parents assumed they would grow into shapely lasses.”

  “Aye, Cliona said her name means shapely in Gaelic.”

  “She told you this, not your parents?”

  “Umm…our parents died when we were babes.” It was the quickest lie Fiona could come up with.

  “I know of no one here called Cliona, but I do not live in the village. Perhaps during the dancing tonight, you might spot her.”

  Nodding, she thanked him, and was at a loss as to what to do next. Suddenly hungry, she covertly dug into her bodice, only to discover the coin was gone. Had she dropped it while hiding from the men in the blacksmith shop? Or when the blacksmith had accosted her?

  She was back to having no coin with which to purchase food, and she had no safe place to
sleep. She glanced at Orin over her shoulder, as he watched her leave. He was still rubbing his chin, as if he’d realized she had lied. The lad had a curious mind, but was too kind to call her on it. She did not fear him. Would he help her if she needed more than information?

  Walking by a vendor’s booth, the scent of something delicious made her steps falter, and her stomach rumble.

  “Aye, ye smelled me fresh-baked crusty bread, did ye now?” a wrinkled human asked.

  Fiona wasn’t sure if the vendor was male or female under all that hair and old garments, but she smiled back. “Aye, ‘tis a delicious smell, but I’ve no coin. Excuse me.” She started to walk away, but Orin appeared at her side.

  “I’ll pay. Take what you want,” he said to Fiona.

  “Orin, ‘tis she yours?” the vendor asked.

  Orin’s cheeks turned bright red, and his hands flew outward. “Nay! She be…a friend. Here.” He handed the vendor a coin, and he, or she, slid a large loaf in a cloth sack.

  Fiona’s mouth watered, and she accepted the sack with a smile. She pressed a hand against her stomach, hoping to quiet the growls, until she found a safe place to eat. Orin asked the vendor more questions about the festivities, and Fiona used their inattention to walk away. She ought to thank Orin, but would he demand payment she’d rather not pay?

  She was salivating like a beast, and hurried around a corner, because she recalled seeing a bench beneath a small rowan tree, near the back of the tavern.

  Smack!

  Fiona’s head spun, and she landed on her backside in the dirt. “Hell’s fire!”

  “Gods above!” cursed a wall of solid muscle.

  Fiona’s loose hair had fallen over her face, and she dropped her sack in order to brush it aside. Before she could even manage that, a large hand grasped her upper arm, and pulled her to her feet. The pain radiating across her rear wasn’t as upsetting as being manhandled by a another human male.

  “Leave off, you brute. You ran into me, and I need no man’s help to get back to me quest!”