Conor didn’t like the sound of that at all but he still couldn’t see what had the horse. “What is it?”
Padraigan’s features were filled with anxiety. “Uafásach.”
His brow furrowed. “Terror? What terror?”
“Please,” Padraigan urged. “You are a great warrior, my lord. You have killed many fiacla nathair. Hurry!”
Snake teeth, Conor translated to himself. It sounded too weird, too bizarre to adequately comprehend. But he was urged on simply by the woman’s words and the pony’s screaming. He could no longer stand by idle. He glanced at Destry before he charged on, seeing fear and trust in her eyes, and it fed him like nothing else he had ever known. As Padraigan ran towards the barn with the torch held high, he charged after her.
He could see the pony in the darkness, lying on its side as something chomped on its leg. Conor was a man trained the art of Medieval warfare; he’d trained seven years’ worth of students in the same thing and considered himself an expert. He knew tactics, weapons and psychology. But nothing prepared him for the sight of the night creature when his gaze finally beheld it; Padraigan rushed forward with the torch and the thing screamed, releasing the pony and recoiling back in fear of the fire. Conor could see that it was some kind of enormous lizard with great jagged teeth – he couldn’t have described it any other way. But it was horrifying, like something out of a bad horror movie, and for a moment he was actually stunned into inaction. As Padraigan thrust the torch at it, Conor just stood there with his jaw slack, drinking in something he could have never imagined in his wildest dreams.
But he was spurred into action by Padraigan’s howl when the beast suddenly reared back and spit at her. Something horrible smelling and steamy hit the ground, scorching all it touched.
“I will distract it, my lord!” Padraigan called to him, her voice tense. “Kill it!”
Conor could feel his heart pounding in his chest, both terrified and strangely excited. This was something new, horrifying and weirdly brilliant. He was in the middle of something he couldn’t quite comprehend, like a dream, but in spite of that he knew what he had to do. He needed to call upon his classical weapons training and carve into a beast he’d never even heard of much less seen. He had no idea what it was but he knew he had to kill it. He couldn’t chance that the thing would go after Destry or the children; he was the only defense they had and he was going to kill it before it killed them.
He took a deep breath and cleared his mind, thinking logically on how to approach the hissing creature as Padraigan bravely thrust the torch at it, using the fire to distract it. But as Conor got a good grip on the enormous broadsword and circled off to the left of the animal, moving out of its line of sight, he could hear Padraigan uttering faint, mysterious words.
“A gheobhaidh tú ar ais leis an dorchadas,” she hissed. “Chréatúr de, fiacla olc dubh an bháis, ar ais chuig an dorchadais ó$$$it a tháinig tú.”
She’s casting a spell, Conor thought as he moved with stealth to the left, translating Padraigan’s words as he went, to the darkness you will return, creature of evil, black teeth of death, return to the darkness from where you came. It all seemed surreal as he got a good look at the animal, something scaly and prehistoric–looking. He couldn’t even be clinical as he studied it; this thing went beyond what his scientific mind was capable of analyzing. He tightened his grip on the sword, watching the thing spit some kind of secretion that sizzled and burned at the foliage beneath its feet. It was horrible and terrifying. And he could waste no more time.
He charged forward, holding the blade aloft in both hands as he aimed for the torso were the front legs joined with the chest. He fell upon the cold and scaly beast, ramming the sword into its body as hard as he could.
The creature screamed, sounding very much like a human cry, and fell over onto its left side. Conor withdrew the sword and plunged it in again and again. As the beast went through its death throes, a claw caught Conor on the right shoulder blade and he fell back, rolling away from the creature that was thrashing about violently. Somehow, he ended up about twenty feet away, watching the beast die. He didn’t even remember how he got there. He just stood there and watched the animal as its thrashing grew less and less until finally, the beast gave one huge shudder and suddenly lay still.
The air was abruptly quiet, the only sounds those of distant night birds or an occasional forest creature. It was so oddly and instantly still that Conor felt as if he couldn’t breathe. It was as if the silence had sucked the air right out of his lungs. When he finally resumed breathing, it sounded as if he was gasping. He just couldn’t believe what had happened, what he had done, but the proof was dead and bleeding in front of him.
Padraigan leaned over the beast, jabbing it with her torch to make sure it was dead. As Conor stood there, stunned, she turned to the pony, who was still on the ground with a mauled rear leg. The pony nickered softly in pain and Padraigan called to Conor.
“My lord,” she said, her voice quivering from the stress and fear she had so recently endured. “The pony is injured. You must ease him into the next world.”
Conor was still staring at the dead beast but he managed to get his legs moving and made his way over to the little white pony. By this time, Destry and the boys had spilled out from the cottage, timidly making their way towards Conor and the dead creature. Destry had Slane by the hand but Mattock broke loose and ran to his pony. When he saw the state of the animal’s leg, the tears began to flow.
“Deneb,” he fell to his knees, stroking the soft white fur. “‘Twill be all right, boy.”
Conor stood over the pony, seeing the mangled leg and knowing that it was unsalvageable. His heart went out to the boy as Destry walked up beside him. Her soft, warm hand touched his wrist.
“Are you all right?” she whispered.
He nodded, still staring at the boy. “I’m fine.”
“What in the hell was that?”
Conor tore his focus away from the pony and looked down at her. He suddenly very much wanted to feel her in his arms, her reassuring warmth and softness, so he put his big arms around her and held her tightly. Suddenly, he felt shaken and frightened, now that it was all over, looking to Destry as his source of strength. He really needed to hold her, just for a moment. He’d never been so scared in his entire life.
Destry could feel him shaking and she let go of Slane’s hand, putting her arms around Conor and hugging him tightly. He really seemed shook up and she found herself in the role of giving comfort.
“It’s all right,” she murmured to him, her hands caressing his broad back. “It’s all over now. Everything is all right.”
He just stood there and trembled. Destry unwound her arms from his waist and pulled back to look him in the face, her hands going to his cheeks. She looked him in the eye.
“Do you hear me?” she whispered, smiling encouragingly. “It’s all over and you did fine. We’re all fine.”
He just looked at her, his pale face even paler. He couldn’t even speak. Clucking with sympathy, she threw her arms around his neck and kissed his cheeks, whispering words of comfort. As Conor wrapped her up in his enormous arms again, they heard soft sobs off to the left and turned to see Mattock weeping quietly over his pony. The boy was broken up and Conor wasn’t so shaken that he didn’t know what needed to be done. Taking a deep breath, he steadied himself and scrambled to bring his wits about him.
“Take the boys inside,” he told Destry. “I need to… take care of the pony.”
Destry looked up at him with her bright blue eyes. “What are you going to do?”
He just looked at her and she got the hint. “Just… take them inside,” he said softly.
Destry let go of Conor and went to Mattock, timidly putting her hands on the boy’s shoulders. The lad began to weep harder when he realized that they were trying to separate him from his beloved pony.
“Conor,” Destry looked up at him, desperate. “I don’t speak his language. T
ell him to come with me.”
Conor leaned over, putting his enormous hand on the boy’s auburn head. “Mattock,” he said in Gaelic. “Go with… with your mother. Go inside now.”
Mattock shook his head, weeping pitifully. Destry felt so sorry for the boy; she hugged him gently, trying to pull him away from the pony.
“How can I tell him that everything will be okay?” she asked Conor.
Conor helped her pull the boy up. “Beidh gach rud ceart go leor.”
Destry put her arms around the child, her head against his. “Beidh gach rud ceart go leor,” she repeated softly. “Everything will be all right, Mattock. Come inside.”
She managed to pull him away from the bleeding animal. Conor took hold of Devlin and Slane, directing them to follow. He stood there and watched as Destry escorted the boys back inside the mud hut, his gaze lingering on the gently glowing open door even after they had disappeared through it. It had been an extremely eventful night in a day that had been full of such monumental events and he still wasn’t quite sure how he felt about it. But he was glad for one thing; Destry was with him. All of the craziness and bizarre happenings aside, he could handle anything that was thrown at him as long as she was with him.
He sighed faintly, turning back to the dead creature several feet away with the sword still stuck in its belly. Conor went to retrieve the sword, feeling a little squeamish about what he needed to do with the pony. He went to the little horse, gazing down into its big brown eyes as Padraigan began to throw wood all around the dead beast. As Conor reluctantly took care of the horse, Padraigan made a neat bonfire around the lizardy beast and lit it with the torch in her hand.
With the inky darkness surrounding them, Conor went to stand next to Padraigan as she murmuring spells into the night that would cast the creature’s soul deep into the underworld. As an anthropologist, he found it extremely interesting and curious, but as a man who had just killed some kind of mythical beast, he was willing to believe that that science wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Maybe a little magic was something to put some faith in.
CHAPTER NINE
By the time Conor and Padraigan entered the hut, the fire was burning low in the hearth and everything was still and quiet. Poking his head into the smaller room that contained the small bed, he found Destry and the boys asleep.
“Eat something, my lord,” Padraigan whispered, indicating he sit at the table.
Conor was exhausted but he realized he was also very hungry. With everything that had happened, it didn’t even occur to him until now. So he pulled up one of those little stools and sat heavily, watching Padraigan bring bread, cheese and a big steaming bowl of something to the table. She had dished it out from a big iron pot that sat tucked back in the hearth and he smelled it suspiciously, trying to figure out what it was.
Padraigan watched him anxiously. “Is it not to your satisfaction, my lord?”
He half–shrugged, half–nodded. “What is it?”
“Fowl,” she told him. “It is cooked with grains and greens.”
Conor figured he had nothing to lose by trying it. He tore apart a big hunk of the rustic bread, very brown, and dipped it into the stew. He didn’t plan on it being delicious. It was basically a thick chicken and barley stew with peas and something white, which he thought might be turnips. He couldn’t really tell. But it was hearty and tasty, and very salty, and he ended up eating about a half–gallon of the stuff. Padraigan also produced boiled eggs, smaller and denser than modern eggs, and he ate a dozen of those as well. Along with the loaf of dark bread and half–pound of cheese, Conor had polished off a significant meal. He washed it all down with a very tart wine that gave him a pretty decent buzz .
Exhausted, full, he sat at the table and burped as Padraigan cleared away the remainders of his meal.
“Go and sleep tonight, my lord,” she told him, pointing to the room where Destry and the boys were. “We will speak again in the morning.”
Conor didn’t argue; his mind was muddled and he couldn’t think any longer. He just wanted to sleep for a while and forget all of this madness. Maybe it would all be gone when he woke up in the morning; but as he rose from the stool and stood in the doorway of the smaller bed chamber, he sincerely wished that he wasn’t dreaming. He didn’t want to wake up and find Destry a figment of his imagination.
It was dark in the room but he could see the layout of the group; Destry was on the bed with the mattress of leaves and branches, sleeping on her left side and turned away from him. Mattock was curled up at her feet while Slane and Devlin were sleeping on her left. She was lying so that her right arm was around both boys, protectively. Conor stood there a moment, watching the tender scene, feeling warmth and contentment in his veins. What was it Destry had said to him? I know my children. Apparently, she did. It was obvious in everything about her. He knew his children, too. And he also knew his wife.
He was dressed in jeans and the heavy shirt and jacket. He quietly pulled the jacket off, laying it on the ground near the bed, and pulled off the shirt as well. It landed on top of the jacket. Lowering himself to the floor, he removed his shoes, his socks, and finally his belt. They all ended up with the jacket and shirt. Quietly, he lay down beside Destry in a moment he would remember for the rest of his life.
She had taken off the jacket and sweater she had been wearing earlier, clad only in her jeans and a light weight, long sleeved shirt. The moment he lay down next to her, she took her arm off the boys and turned around to face him. Conor wrapped his enormous arms around her and pulled her close against his naked chest. He could feel her face against his skin, her breath hot on his chest, and his physical reaction was almost instantaneous. He wanted to bury himself in her softness and never let go. He pulled her closer.
“Are you sure you’re okay after all of that?” Destry whispered.
“I’m fine,” he murmured.
She pulled her face out of his chest and gazed up at him in the muted light. “I saw that scratch on your back,” she whispered. “I should probably take a look at it.”
He looked into her sleepy face, wanting very much to kiss her. He was buzzed from the wine, that was true, but his feelings for her had nothing to do with alcohol. He was in love with her; he’d always been in love with her. It was something that grew stronger by the minute.
“It’s nothing,” he assured her. “I can’t even feel it. You can look at it in the morning if it’ll make you happy.”
“You don’t know for sure that it’s nothing,” she countered. “What the hell was that thing, anyway?”
He shook his head. “I have no idea,” he said. “Padraigan called it a snake with teeth. It looked like something prehistoric to me.”
Destry’s bright blue eyes were fixed on him. There was fear in her expression. “Is that even possible?” she wanted to know. “A dinosaur?”
He shrugged. “Legends abound from this time in history,” he murmured, his hands caressing her back, feeling the texture of her hair. “There were all sorts of legends of creatures. It’s possible that there was some basis for that, creatures that somehow survived millions of years only to be made extinct by Dark Age Man.”
She pursed her lips wryly. “You saw the proof with your own eyes,” she hissed. “You killed the damn thing. What if there are more of them?”
He sighed faintly. “Then I’ll be killing a lot of lizards, I suppose,” he winked at her when she frowned. “Right now, I don’t want to think about it. I just want to sleep.”
She let him pull her back against him, cuddled up against his enormous chest. But her eyes were open, staring into the darkness as she felt his warmth wrap all around her.
“Do we even know what time period this is?” she asked softly. “Did you ask the sorceress?”
She felt him sigh. “I asked her a few questions and was able to determine that Gofraid is the king of Dublin right now.”
“When did he reign?”
“He ruled from 934 A.D. to 941
A.D., so we’re somewhere in that time span, I would guess.”
She lifted her head again, looking at him with shock. “Then we’re really here. We actually went back in time somehow.”
He focused his dark blue eyes on her. “After what I’ve seen today, I would agree with that statement.”
“Are you scared?”
He shrugged. “I think I’m curious more than anything. But that big snake with teeth… that thing scared me.”
“Me, too.”
Hearing that somehow brought it all home for Destry. Whatever had happened to them was as real as it gets. Somehow, someway, a door in time opened up and they stepped through it. It was fantastic to the point of being insane but she knew it was the truth. There was no other explanation. Frightened and exhausted herself, she closed her eyes and fell back against him.
Conor knew she was upset. He wrapped his enormous arms around her, his lips against her forehead, kissing her gently to bring her some comfort. To his surprise, she lifted her mouth to him and he latched onto her hungrily. As her arms went around his neck, he rolled her onto her back and kissed her deeply.
She responded to him strongly. With every second that passed, his kiss became more heated and he licked at her lips, his tongue tasting her sweetness when she opened her mouth and invited him in. Her fingers where in his hair, still spiked stiff, matching him suckle for suckle as his right hand moved down her torso and found a full breast. She had such a delicious little body that he just couldn’t help himself.
Rather than flinch from his touch, she lifted up her shirt and unhooked her bra at the front. Conor’s hand came into contact with the heated flesh of her naked breast and he groaned softly in excitement, feeling the nipple harden in his palm. He was trying to stay quiet; God help him, he was desperately trying. There was a four year old and an eight year old just a few feet away and he didn’t want to wake them. But he couldn’t stop himself from exploring Destry, something that was becoming less like exploration and more like reacquainting. Even as he fondled her soft breasts, it was as if he already knew their texture and softness. He already knew her body. He had to taste her.
Warriors Of Legend Page 11
