Tall, Dark, and Medieval

by Barbara Devlin

“Aye,” the blonde said and sniffed back a tear.

  “There’s enough coin in this bag for ye and yer daughter to start over. But ye have to promise me ye’ll never step foot in this place, nor any place like this again.”

  “Aye, sir, ye have me word.”

  “Good.” James slid the bag toward the lass and nodded his head for her to leave.

  “Thank ye.” She picked up the bag and scampered off.

  James leaned back into the chair and grabbed the second tankard. It amused him how his life had changed in such a short time. A hardened man, taking out his fury on the battlefield, running away from an unsavory past; he’d chased away people who cared for him. He’d thought that was the only way to keep the ones he loved safe. Hell, he even pushed his brother, Archie, away.

  But everything changed when he met the auburn-haired lass at the loch. Inwardly James smiled. Abigale came into his life and turned it upside down. She showed him forgiveness and how it felt to be thoroughly loved. Now with a babe on the way, he would bet his prized hunting dogs that he would experience a whole new level of love.

  He needed to be done with this journey and back home. He’d kill Conall if he made him miss the birth of his first born.

  The door to the alehouse blew open sending a bone-chilling breeze throughout the room. He regretted sending Conall to Caerlaverock. Yet who would have thought Conall would be under attack once he arrived. Sir Herbert Maxwell was loyal to King Robert and an ally to the Douglas. It made no sense. Hopefully Rory would return soon with some news that could help him piece together this cluster of a puzzle.

  It burned his arse that someone had betrayed him. It was bad enough that his cousin Marcus had betrayed the clan and Dragonkine, forcing James to remove his dragon and exile him from Scotland. And now Scotland could very well be in danger if the ancient king returned. James scowled off into the distance. If he would have just let Marcus go, blood would not have been shed and the ground would be stilled.

  Pulling his cloak around him tighter, he had a decision to make. Not only would his judgment affect him, but the life of his fellow Dragonkine warriors were at stake here as well. Sending a few hundred of his best human men to battle lay heavy on his heart since this battle wasn’t a war on his clansmen. Nay, this was Kine business.

  On the other hand, the decision to shift in public lay heavier. The hair on the back of his neck stood as he thought about it. One of their own, his best friend, was held in Caerlaverock castle and by the way the wind had picked up outside, Conall was arse deep in trouble.

  With his extraordinarily hypersensitive senses due to the powerful beast inside, James felt Conall’s distress. James’s skin itched to shift and his dragon stirred relentlessly, wanting to break free and wreak havoc on clan Maxwell. Add to that the fact that Abigale was back at Black Stone on the Hill ready to give birth at any moment, he was all but ready to call forth his dragon and set fire and brimstone to Caerlaverock. But as he was a brilliant commander and chief, master of warfare, he would wait for the precise time to strike.

  Rory stepped into James’s view downing a dram of whiskey, bringing his attention to the matter at hand. “Did ye find anything oot?”

  “Aye.” Rory turned the chair around and straddled it.

  James motioned to another bar wench for more mead. By the look on Rory’s face it was going to be a long night. “Oot with it.”

  Rory scrubbed his chin and nodded to a lass at a nearby table. “According to Ina...” Glancing over at the lass, Rory winked and smiled, “Clan Douglas attacked the north tower of Caerlaverock a fortnight ago.”

  Bewildered, James’s brow furrowed and pinched together. “I gave no such orders.”

  Interrupting their conversation, a bar wench strode over to the table and poured their mead.

  “Excuse me, mistress,” Rory called out to the wench, stopping her as she was leaving. “Would ye happen to have any provisions available back in the kitchen? Mayhap some bread?”

  “Aye. There be some stew left over from the evening meal. Would ye like for me to bring ye a bowl?”

  “Aye, two.” He looked at James who was growing more aggravated by the minute. “Would ye like a bowl?”

  James waved the wench off and glared at Rory. “Our brother-in-arms is in danger and all ye can think aboot is yer stomach?”

  “I can no’ think clearly when me belly is growlin’.”

  James rolled his eyes. “Rory, is that all the information ye received?”

  “Nay, during the attack Sir Herbert was murdered by the commander of the attack. The murderer has since been captured and awaits his punishment.”

  “Conall,” James whispered.

  “Aye, but there’s more,” Rory said. “There’s to be a public viewing of his punishment. A trial by combat.”

  “At Caerlaverock?”

  “Aye, in the courtyard.” Rory grabbed his tankard and drank.

  For a moment they fell silent as the wench returned with two bowls of stew.

  Rory flashed her his irresistible smile, making the lass go weak at the knees.

  Wasting no time, Rory spooned the stew rapidly into his mouth. Talking with his mouth full and in between bites he asked, “So, what are we going to do?”

  James leaned forward with his elbows resting on the table. “If we have already been accused of this attack then I say we attack and get Conall the hell oot of there.”

  “And what is our strategy?”

  James’s features darkened and a wave of heat flooded the room. “We shift.”

  Rory dropped his spoon into his bowl and stew splattered over the table. His at first surprised expression slipped into an approving grin.

  Both men picked up their mead, wrapping their revealed talons around the tankards, ready for battle.

  HIGHLAND STORM

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Marcus stood by the ice cave entrance observing the land below him. Deep in the valley ridge on the north side of the mountain the land was covered in blankets of white powder. Fog rolled in casting a gloomy feel to the surroundings. Pulling the fur around his body, not because he was cold but because he still yearned for and mourned his dragon, the broken Highlander stared into a cloud of nothingness.

  Having once been an ice dragon, he took comfort in the icy cave and he swore he could feel the snow healing him. Perhaps he was even gaining strength. Marcus exhaled into the cold in frustration and watched his breath disappear into the still cave air. How did he manage to make it this high up on the mountain top? His horse wouldn’t have been able to tolerate the steep incline, nor the ruthless sting of the frigidness. Hell, he was even surprised he wasn’t freezing, being only human.

  The rumbling of his stomach echoed around the empty cave, reminding him that he soon needed to find food if he was going to survive. Water would be no issue. Stalactites of ice hung from the ceiling and dripped constantly as they melted into a puddle clean enough to drink from.

  Marcus turned away from the gloomy view and walked to the rear of the cave. How was he going to get off this mountain? He was wasting time and needed to form his plan. King Drest stirred; he had felt it just before he had fallen off his horse.

  The sound of fluttering wings brought his attention back to the cave’s opening. Off in the distance black wings sliced through the fog and were flying toward the opening of the cave. At first Marcus thought it was a raven, but quickly that thought vanished as more of the object came into view. As the winged entity swooped into the cave its wings disappeared and its body transformed into a human. Because of the creature’s momentum during flight, the black armor-clad form landed with its feet running as it stepped into the cave. Marcus took a step back as the creeper came to a halt. Shortly after the creeper landed, three other Death Dragons flew in, quickly shifting into their human forms.

  The man in charge approached Marcus. “I see you’re healing.” He looked Marcus up and down, which made Marcus tremor. It didn’t matter who you were or what you were cap
able of doing, when death stared you in the eye, you shook.

  Marcus eyed the creeper suspiciously. “Are ye the reason I’m here?”

  The armored knight nodded his head yes.

  “Why? Why am I here and not dead?”

  “Marcus, you cannot die. Our king needs you. Needs us to fulfill his wishes. We brought you here to heal.”

  Marcus didn’t quite understand. If he was to fulfill the king’s wishes then why didn’t the creepers help him kill James when they had the chance? “There’s something I can’t quite understand. If I... I mean us. If we are to awaken our king, why didn’t yer men help me kill James? We had him in our grasp.”

  The black knight was hard to read with his helm shut, his eyes were the only thing that showed. “First of all I need to make a few things understood about our relationship. You are the one to awaken the king, we cannot interfere with that. Meaning we cannot kill a dragon and shed its blood on holy ground. Only you can do that, Marcus. It’s your destiny.”

  Knowing this tidbit of information seemed to clear up some questions Marcus had. He drew deeper into the fur waiting to hear more.

  “We are here to make sure you succeed. We can heal you, help plan the course of action, but not under any circumstances are we to kill a dragon. Now, if a human gets in the way... that’s another story.”

  There was the slightest twinkle in the creeper’s eye when he said the last sentence. Marcus could almost hear the deviousness of his tone. Now that he was human, he should tread softly around these beasts.

  “But I do no’ have a dragon anymore. How can I fulfill my destiny when my dragon has been taken away from me?”

  The three creepers that had been silently standing by parted and a woman came into view.

  Marcus blinked, trying to focus on the woman. She was cloaked in fur from head to toe. As she looked up from the ground, he met her eyes. They were wide with fear and red from crying. She wasn’t here of her own will, that he knew for a fact.

  The leader walked over to the woman and shoved her toward Marcus and she stumbled to the ground.

  “I’ve brought you a gift,” the creeper said.

  The last thing on Marcus’s mind was sex. He didn’t need or want a woman when food or perhaps even some ale would do him better. His cock was just fine and furthermore he was too weak to perform. He was broken, a wounded shell of a man. His sister was dead and so was his dragon. His only focus was on healing and planning a way to awaken King Drest and seek out vengeance on James for destroying his life.

  The more he thought about it the more he could feel his pain take over. “I dinnae understand why ye would think I need a woman,” he barked out.

  The creeper barbarically yanked the woman to her feet with one hard pull. A scared whimper escaped her lips. He continued his assault on her by ripping the fur cloak from her body leaving her naked and exposed.

  Marcus’s brows creased in confusion. Hadn’t he just said he didn’t want this woman? He saw she was beautiful, as he drew his eyes across her creamy white skin that prickled from the cold. Her hair was long and the color of honey. Brown eyes met his and something moved him. This was no ordinary lass. As he walked up closer and moved her hair away from her breasts and arms, her body tensed. As if he was in some kind of trance, he reached out and rubbed her arms up and down causing her to tremble beneath his touch. Clear iridescent Celtic swirls came into view as he caressed her skin. Exploring more of her enticing body, Marcus ran his cold hands under her breasts, cupping them. As he thumbed over her peaked nipples, the Celtic design appeared on her chest, stopping right before the tops of her breasts. The lass was exquisite.

  Tears streamed from her eyes and chilled her cheeks. Her body shivered as Marcus fondled her skin, tracing her markings.

  “Marcus, I can feel your dragon. He’s still there but he needs our help. She will help you restore your dragon. She is your female Kine.” The creeper pushed Marcus closer to the lass and his fur dropped to the ground.

  It was as if Marcus had fallen under a trance. His body was trying to stop it, yet a piece of him somewhere deep inside pushed him forward. His dragon?

  As soon as their naked bodies connected it was like magic pulsing over his skin; he tingled and quivered. The blood pumping through his veins might be cold, but he was on fire. The more his body touched hers, the more his ability to hold back crumbled. Marcus aggressively pulled the female even closer and nuzzled his face into her neck. The female wrapped her arms around him as she clung to his warmth.

  He laid her down on her fur cloak and wrapped his fur around them. As tight as he could without breaking her, he pulled her next to him, skin on skin. Again he found the spot right below her ear and nuzzled. Marcus’s body absorbed her magic like a spell had been placed on him; some erotic pleasurable spell that had bewitched him the moment their bodies connected.

  The female wriggled to break free. Marcus could feel how frightened the lass was, yet he could care less. Letting loose a deep feral growl, he warned the female to be still. He was far from done with her.

  HIGHLAND STORM

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  After Conall’s night with Effie, he felt his body heal and his dragon felt stronger. As he sat up from his deep sleep, he realized he was back in the dungeon. He knew by the mere smell of it.

  Rubbing his hands down his face to shake the fog, he wondered how long he had been asleep, although his body and senses told him that it hadn’t been long. That sweet honey scent still lingered on his skin and the taste of her burned him to the core. His cock hardened as he reminisced; her hands wrapped round his length, sweet torturous kisses still pricked his skin, and his dragon still purred from her soothing touch. Leaning his head back, he closed his eyes and called forth an image of his red-headed lass. Christ, she was beautiful.

  But there was something missing. As Dragonkine mated, Conall could feel his mate near or far and could read her feelings but not her thoughts. Before he drifted off to sleep, he felt Effie’s every emotion. She was a wreck, sorrow shadowed her. Knowing that she mourned for her father, he had expected to feel some kind of grief, yet this was different. She was keeping something from him and it felt wrong. She felt distant. If only they’d had more time together, he would have made her confess.

  It was just like Effie to hide away, keeping her burdens to herself. Conall opened his eyes as he thought about what she could possibly be hiding from him. Knowing her and how adamant she was about him healing last night, he knew she was up to something.

  Now back in this hellhole he couldn’t feel her. The magic coating the cell was strong and was thick in his blood. His dragon once again was trapped and fought to surface. Needing to stretch his legs and form a plan, he stood but was halted. An iron chain was wrapped around his foot and was attached to the stone wall behind him. He grabbed the chain and pulled with all his strength. The damn thing wouldn’t budge. God’s wounds, he wished he had his full power.

  Irritation laced with panic pulsed in his veins as he heard the dungeon door creak open. Heavy footsteps marched down the corridor and stopped outside of his cell. He looked around for Caden; he was nowhere in sight. The dark shadowy corners were perfect places to hide.

  Tavish and four guards met Conall’s stormy glare as he tried to lunge at the bastard.

  Tavish ordered the guard to open the gate then sent in two more guards to pin the prisoner against the wall. Caden stepped out of the shadows and the other two guards threw him to the ground with swords drawn, pressed against his neck. “Cowards,” Caden bit out as a boot connected with his ribs.

  Conall, now restrained with his back pressed into the stone wall and blades pointed at his throat, settled down. Obviously with the amount of magic in the room, two human guards had no trouble in taking the upper hand over a dragon.

  His chest heaved in fury and his hands shook to choke the life out of Tavish. He had laid his hands on Effie and if by chance the eejits holding him back let their guard down, it would be th
e last time Tavish would ever lay a finger on her. There was a special place in hell for folk like Tavish, and Conall would make damn sure that he would receive the warmest welcome as he walked through the fiery gates.

  “I see me sister has been to see ye.” Tavish strolled overconfidently in front of Conall.

  With a blade pressed into his neck, Conall stilled.

  “Did the whore tell ye aboot her good news? Oh, what kind of question is that? Of course she did,” Tavish mocked Conall.

  “Nay,” Conall lied. He didn’t know what kind of games he was playing and furthermore, he refused to play along.

  “Och, I’m baffled. I would think she would want ye of all people to know that she is to wed Sir Henry.” Tavish nodded to one of the guards and on cue he punched Conall in the ribs. Conall stood and took the blow, giving Tavish no satisfaction in return.

  Knowing that Tavish could very well be bluffing, Conall stood firm and showed the arse no emotion. Yet, inside he shook with rage. Was this the reason why he had felt distance between himself and Effie?

  Tavish nodded again and another meaty fist pummeled his ribs, giving him matching aches on both sides of his ribcage. He exhaled from the force of the blow and his knees threatened to buckle. He was powerless.

  It was quickly noted when a growl escaped Caden as Conall met his cellmate’s glowing green eyes. Nay, it couldn’t be. My vision must be deceiving me.

  Tavish balled his hand and punched Conall’s face, bringing the warrior’s attention back to him. “It almost slipped me mind. In celebration of the marriage, yer crime for murdering me father will be paid. See, after the wedding ye and Sir Henry will fight to the death or until ye submit. A trial by combat as we like to call it.”

  It became difficult to breathe, his ribs pounded and the magic was thick in his lungs. Never in his life had he been so weak. Not even after losing his first wife. The magic was killing him. “Nay, I won’t submit to a human,” he seethed and spat blood. The only human he would submit to was Effie and that was only because she was his mate; his twin soul.