“Me pardon, Lord Kinnon, but would you know of a lass called Cliona? She looks a bit like me, and might have traveled here before the winter snows.”
When he shook his head, her hopes were dashed. She had a feeling the answer was among the younger folk in the village, and possibly, Vika. As long as Fiona could talk to her, out of the sight of Dougal, she might learn more without a chance the oaf might kiss her again.
When the image of his flaming eyes as they stared into her soul surfaced, Fiona shivered, grabbed her empty tray, and exited the tent. Without waiting for Unna, she walked straight into the tavern, with hopes of finding Vika alone.
The owner, who Unna called Black MacFingan, wiped the counter with a linen cloth. He would know Vika and possibly, her whereabouts.
“Excuse me, Unna hired me to help you this night. I be Fiona.”
He smiled and dipped his head, and showed no sign he wanted to taste her wares. “I be glad for your help. We be full up, with more planning to sleep this night in the dining room. Did you get them elders fed?”
“Aye, and I was looking for someone. I’ve a message, you see, and was told she might be here. Vika be her name.”
“Little Vika? Aye, but with a bairn on the way, she be not so little,” he said, and chuckled. “She be with me wife, who took ill. Through that door, but take care to keep your voice down, should me dear wife be sleeping.”
Fiona stifled a laugh. How could anyone sleep with all the noise in the tavern, and the square? She returned the tray to the kitchen, and a cook filled it with wedges of shortbread. “You need to take these treats outside.”
“I shall in a few minutes. I’ve a message to run, and Black MacFingan said to deliver it in haste.”
The cook nodded, grumbled something, and started to stir a pot of something hot and savory, smelling of carrots and herbs.
Fiona left the kitchen, and pushed past several patrons on her way to the door, to which her employer had pointed. She noticed the back of a man who leaned on the counter, and something about him slowed her steps. His black hair caught the light of overhead candles and fell in waves below his neckline. His plaide was a deep red, with crisscrossing black lines, the same as the man she’d noticed earlier, sitting with Orin.
Him!
When she’d met him outside later, and he had removed his white shirt, Fiona fled. Now, she stood frozen in place. One long length of wool still went up and over his broad shoulder, but left his back partially uncovered. His shoulders moved as he talked spiritedly with others, while the black winged dragon on his back seemed to draw her closer. Before she knew what she was doing, or why, she reached out and stroked the beast’s dark image.
Bam!
Fiona flew backward and slammed against a table filled with broad-shouldered men. She narrowly missed several meat pies, but knocked over two tankards before righting herself and jumping to her feet. When one of the men grabbed her arm and pulled her into his chest, she suppressed a curse, then lashed out and hit him in the chin with her closed fist.
Crack!
He fell backwards and hit the floor. Unfortunately, he still had a firm grip on her arm, causing her to land on top of him.
“You addle-brained bitch! I shall teach you to accost a warrior!” When his other hand came up and grabbed her braid, the intense pain made her gasp.
The other men laughed and kidded, and thought the entire situation was a lark, but Fiona knew better. She might have injured him a little, but she could feel his hardening arousal beneath her. The man would rise up, take her somewhere, and force himself on her. She read it in his eyes.
The scrape of a long blade sliding out of its sheath quieted the room. “I suggest you let the lass go, before I slice your head from your body. Or worse.”
Dougal!
CHAPTER 8
Gods above! The lass had touched his markings. Wynn had told him about the night Kera touched his markings, and how she’d ended up on her back on their cave’s floor. He prayed the strange lass, who looked like Cliona, was uninjured. As he waited for the crowd to back away, he glanced down at her.
Her eyes widened and flitted from his sword to his face. He knew he was the cause of her accidently slamming into a patron.
“Please, sir, ‘twas an accident.” As she pleaded, she struggled to her knees. She raised her palms, as if she thought he’d strike her.
Dougal leaned down, cupped her elbow, and helped her to her feet. Once she was steady, she struggled to straighten her cap and her apron. Her dress had shifted in the struggle, and the tops of her breasts were bared. Neither the man on the floor, nor his table companions, seemed to notice, but Dougal couldn’t wrench his gaze from her pale flesh.
She quickly pulled at her bodice, hiding the view, while her skin turned a delicious shade of pink. Dougal raised his eyes to meet hers. A sudden yearning, visible in her expression, mirrored his thoughts. He wanted her in a primal way, and it frightened him.
“Be you injured, lass?” he asked. He kept his voice low, but loud enough to get her attention over the noise of the crowded building.
She shook her head, and rested a delicate hand on the wool crisscrossing his chest. “I apologize. I don’t know what came over me. I saw the mark on your back, and I was compelled to touch it.” Her whispered words went unnoticed by anyone but him.
Did she know his dragon ears could hear and understand? She lowered her gaze, as if she did not wish to upset him anymore than she had. He wasn’t angry at her. He hated himself for hurting her, and he detested the villager for daring to place his hands on her, and pull her to the floor. The urge to kill the man must have flashed in his eyes, because she darted past him and the other patrons, knocked on the door of the tavern keeper’s rooms, and disappeared.
He slipped his sword back into its sheath, then bent and grabbed the villager by the throat. Others at his table raised their voices, but he hushed them with a look. A server walked by and Dougal slipped her several coins with his free hand.
“Bring these men more food and drink. If they touch you inappropriately, let me know.”
***
Whether inappropriate or not, Fiona closed the door and hurried into a small room. Bending at the waist, she placed her trembling hands on her knees. She took in several deep breaths and willed her heart to slow. Its rapid pace made her head swim. She had things she needed to accomplish, no matter how the dragon-shifter made her feel. With her back to the door, she faced a few chairs, a small table, and wooden rows along one wall filled with many things that smelled of leather and trees.
It was her fault she’d touched him. How was she to know his marking contained the power to shield him from another otherworldly? He’d come to her aid, and might have killed a man for her.
When his blue eyes had darkened, her cheeks had burned. He must have noticed her dress had shifted, since he looked like he wanted to reach out and touch the tops of her breasts. Strands of his thick black hair had curled around his neck. When she’d rested her hand on the scratchy wool of his plaide, she wished to touch his hair and see if it was as silky as it looked. Instead, she concentrated on the woven threads of his black and red garment.
When she recalled that she was touching Dougal, a dragon-shifter, she’d run the moment his back was turned. It made sense, in that moment. She missed her four hooves and her ability to jump and run like the wind. He could have opened his mouth and turned her to smoldering ash, swallowed her whole, or kissed her until she swooned.
Where did that thought come from?
Right before she found the courage to dart past him and the other patrons, she would swear that his eyes had turned to flames. That was the only description she could muster, but she hadn’t felt afraid.
She was aroused, which surprised her. He was a handsome human male, and a dragon, but she was a doe. All she wanted was to find her friend and return to their herd in the northern forests, away from humans, away from men, away from dragons.
Fiona clamped her eyes tight, and wonder
ed what he meant when he said to the villager, “Or, worse.” If the man beneath her did not heed the dragon’s warning, the entire tavern might burst into flames.
Walking closer, she pulled one of the objects from a shelf and ran a finger down the hard, brown edge. She sniffed it. Cow leather, or deer hide? Opening it, she found squares of what she thought were very thinly shaved tree bark, covered with black markings.
“Would you like to borrow that book? I be sure Mistress MacFingan wouldn’t mind.”
The book fell from her grasp and landed on Fiona’s left foot. “Ouch!”
“Forgive me. I didn’t mean to startle you. Have you come to visit?”
Feeling foolish, Fiona swallowed and recalled her mission. “Aye, I wanted to ask you about someone you might know. Black MacFingan said it would be fine, as long as I didn’t wake his mate. I mean…his wife.”
“Too late, lass,” a female called through another door.
“The mistress be awake, so please come meet her.”
Fiona shook her head. Asking about Cliona in private was her objective, but Vika had already walked back into what appeared to be a bedchamber. Fiona had never slept on a bed before, but the older female looked quite comfortable. She sat up with pillows tucked behind her, and a soft woolen blanket pulled up to her chest.
“Aye, I was wondering when the little deer would arrive.”
It sounded to Fiona that she had emphasized the word dear. Or, had she meant deer? She doubted anyone could tell she was an otherworldly. Was this healer something else?
Vika looked from her friend to Fiona, as she handed Fiona a small pottery cup.
“What be this?”
“Warmed spiced cider. Drink it down.” Vika turned to the older female. “Mistress, do you know the lass?”
“Nay, but I foretold her arrival.”
Vika looked confused, but not surprised. “Did you share this with anyone?”
“Dougal was with me, I collapsed in his arms. Such arms! That man should not remain unwed. We must find him a bride, before the celebrations ends.”
Fiona could only stare at the older healer. How could she mention a premonition, and that she had shared it with the one man she wanted to avoid? She didn’t wish to listen to someone harp about his fine properties, or lack of mate.
“Me lady, I be Fiona, a server, helping Unna, and have come to ask Vika a question.”
“Aye, Vika knows your missing friend, at least knows the tale, but sit and talk with us a bit. Vika, you ought to get off your feet. Your bairn be coming soon enough.”
Vika smiled as she sat slowly onto a chair beside the bed. She adjusted her voluminous gown over her rounded belly, and waited for Fiona to sit on the bed, beside the healer. “Please, Fiona, talk to us. We can help with whatever troubles you. Only then might Mistress MacFingan share her vision. She be never wrong.”
This was not working the way she’d planned. Anyone, including Dougal, might come barreling into the bedchamber, and Vika seemed more concerned for the healer’s welfare. Still, this opportunity might not come again, and she wanted very much to find Cliona.
Fiona drank all the cider in one gulp, gathering courage. “Very well. I come from the north country, and though winter had delayed me travel, I have searched for a dear friend these many months. Last I heard, she planned to visit this village to partake of its festival. As the celebration of Beltane be the first festival since the winter snows began to melt, I hoped to find her right here.”
“Your deductions make sense. The winter was harsh and the passages be barely clear of snow and ice. Do you suppose she lived here all winter?”
Fiona had no idea. The tracks had led to the Black Cuillin Hills, and circled toward the village, but they were old, as if Cliona traveled to the fairy pools often. When she discovered that dragons lived nearby, her worries grew.
She had lost the scent along the muddy meadow. Too many scents filled the air. New grass, heather, and even a wild boar. Her doe’s nose was good, but not good enough to discern Cliona’s scent anywhere close. She worried about sharing her quest with too many people. However, if Vika knew her friend’s whereabouts, Fiona could find her and bring her home.
Wherever home be.
Grady would never accept her back into their herd, not after she shunned his sexual advances. He had fought back by announcing that a white deer was an abomination and would cast a deadly shroud upon the herd. She’d left as soon as the snows had turned passable.
I be tired of running.
“I be in search of a friend of mine, from me, umm, village. She looks like me, with long brown hair, light brown eyes, and a pretty smile. She be called Cliona.”
Vika raised both eyebrows, and a frown flitted across her face. She lifted a hand to her chest, as if finding it hard to breathe. Her cheeks flushed, and her other hand suddenly gripped her swollen stomach.
“Vika!” the healer cried, “be you in pain?”
Vika nodded furiously.
Fiona jumped to her feet, and dropped the empty mug. It shattered on the wooden floor. She took a deep breath, wanting to help. She was knowledgeable about birthing deer in the forest, but not a human babe. She worried that her question had brought on Vika’s spasms.
“What can I do?” she asked, wringing her hands. Their conversation was postponed, but she couldn’t leave her.
“Find Evan,” the healer asked.
Vika groaned. “Please do as she says, Fiona? ‘Tis too early for the babe’s appearance, but I want me husband.”
“I shall fetch him. What does he look like?”
“Exactly like Dougal, but with hair like molten copper.”
Vika’s description made her gasp. Another huge dragon that walked in human form? He must be the Evan Orin was talking with, earlier. “I will do me best to find him, and bring him to you.”
“I believe I heard Dougal’s voice, earlier. He will know where Evan be. Possibly with Orin, me brother. Hurry!”
Fiona straightened her server’s attire, as well as her cap, and made her way into the tavern. The dining hall had emptied, somewhat, but Dougal leaned against the counter and glared at her. Had he been waiting for her all this time? When he marched in her direction, with one hand on the pommel of his sheathed sword, she swallowed.
He was magnificent, with his long hair in an unruly tumble over his shoulders, and his dark blue eyes glaring at her. His wide shoulders moved in a fluid motion, as if bone, flesh, and muscles worked in harmony. Even his knees were muscular, and she wished he was still naked. He was the most beautiful creature she had ever beheld. As he walked closer, he didn’t say a word, but glowered at her.
“I need to find your brother, Evan.” Before she could explain, he cupped her chin, and pressed his lips to hers. His hand circled her waist, and he drew her body close. Surrounded by his heat, and the scents of human musk and smoldering cinders, Fiona melted beneath his kiss. When he lifted his mouth mere inches away, she sighed, while he sniffed her.
“You taste delicious, lass, like apples and spice. I wish to explore every inch of your lovely form, but why be you looking for Evan? I can give you anything you desire, if you only ask.”
What she desired was to find her friend Cliona, after she gave Evan the good news, but her bones were as shifting as the sands, and she took a moment to formulate a sentence.
“Sir, I need to find Evan. I have news. He might wish to tell you that your niece or nephew will soon enter the world, but we should leave that up to him, aye?”
Dougal released her, and stepped back. “What? When? Who said?”
“Vika has asked me to bring her husband to her. She be in great pain. Can you point me in his direction?”
“I feared the babe would come too soon. If not for this silly celebration, Vika would be safe in her cave, in her own bed, not surrounded by strangers.” He turned away.
In her cave?
As he exited the tavern, she followed, quickening her stride to keep up with his long
legs and determined pace. She could only assume he could fly faster, but she doubted he’d reveal himself to the villagers by sprouting wings. They rounded the fire pit, and circled the crowd. Most of the humans sounded gay and happy, or in their cups.
Cliona had warned her about humans and their spirits. Ale flowed freely in the tavern, but whisky was the true demon. She couldn’t imagine Dougal inebriated, but why had he kissed her so blatantly? What else might he do, if she did not keep her distance?
A shiver ran along her spine, as she hurried after him. He paused at a vendor’s cart, and the man pointed down the lane. He took off, nearly at a run, and Fiona gasped. She settled a hand on her middle and followed until he entered the blacksmith shop.
She stopped just outside the door, bent over at the waist, and tried to breathe. When two brown leather boots appeared, she straightened. The human in front of her was Dougal’s twin except for the coppery hair and amber eyes. When they flashed like molten flames, she swallowed. Another dragon.
“Leòmach damh!”
***
“Did she just call me a conceited stag? Be that not something she ought to direct toward you, brother?” Evan chuckled, while Dougal fumed.
Dougal was in no mood for joviality, not when the future of their clan was in jeopardy. He slapped the back of Evan’s head.
“Evan, this be Fiona. She claims she be kin to a lass named Cliona.”
Evan’s eyes widened and he looked at the lass, from the cap on her head to her long brown braid. He squinted at her dirty apron, then slid his gaze over her breasts, and down to the tips of her footwear. Recognition shown on his face, followed by a frown.
“I shall explain later, brother. Vika needs you, she says. Now!”
“The babe?” Evan cried, grasping Dougal’s arm.
“Speak to the lass. She carried the message. ‘Twas me job to find you. Orin might wish to know. Do you know where he has gone?”
Evan blinked, still staring at the lass.
“Evan! Orin be where?” Dougal asked, his voice rising.
“Inside, talking to Gow. He needs weapons. Pirates, remember?”
Smolder (Clan of Dragons Book 3) Page 7
