Julian knew he was a blessed man indeed. Gone were the days of inner atrophy, the black tempers, and worse, fear of losing his sanity. Gone were the vile nightmares. Even when they threatened, her warm body was there to reach for in the deepest of nights, the best healing for his tormented soul. He returned to sleep, blissfully curled around the softness of this wild Highland lass. His lass.
The pain of his brother Christian's death would always linger, just out of mind, always in his heart. But with Tamlyn’s love, he had come to terms with it.
Loch breezes lifted, sweeping up the steep incline. Swirling about her with ghostly, playful hands, it tugged defiant wisps of her honey-colored hair from the simple braid hanging down her back. Whilst the heavy mass had nary a curl, ’twas imbued with a will all its own. Never content to remain nearly confined as a proper lady wife. But then, Julian found he had little taste for such a paragon of virtue. No, life was just too good with this fiery, golden-haired pagan. ’Twas naught he wouldst wish to change about his lady.
Julian had discovered that small measure of peace his soul had desperately cried out for here in these mist shrouded lands of Celts, Picts and Gaels―and now English―and he wouldst never ask for more, counting himself a favored man indeed. Someday the legend of the Black Dragon would fade into fable, told and retold by his children to their wee bairns, and in turn, they to theirs. For the present, it would serve as a shield to protect all that was his, for none would dare the temerity to reive cattle or sheep from the Great Black Dragon of Challon and Glenrogha. In the dark and troubled days ahead, his Tamlyn would count blessings in that her lord husband was of Norman blood and, surprisingly, still had some small measure of sway with Edward of England.
Aye, his blood was Norman. But he wouldst stand between Longshanks and all who lived in this sheltered glen. His soul now forevermore belonged to these purple hills and the woman he loved more than life itself. This would never change, he knew.
He inhaled the sea-kissed wind, the familiar lavender and heather off Tamlyn's skin, the special heat that was his Tamlyn. His hands took hold of her upper arms from behind and gently drew her back against his body, encircling her with the protection of his embrace, and brushing his nose alongside her face.
"At what do you stare, lady wife?"
"Kinmarch and beyond."
"Fashing your mind over the laird of Clan Shane?"
"Oh, aye. I wish he had remained here, instead of following Moray.”
"Your lord father is a warrior-strong, well-able to take care of himself, a smart man he. Very smart. Did he not adjudge me worthy to be your lord husband before either of us knew the other?"
"For such a smart man, he could have told me. It wouldst have saved me a muckle lot of troubles."
"Oh, and just what would that have changed? I cannot envision you doing one thing different, or fought me any less. Your Pict blood is strong. Proof of that strength is in you breeding me a lady daughter, first daughter of the Challons." He kissed her temple, as he flexed his arms, squeezing her tighter. "But not the last one, eh?"
"Have you forgotten I gave you a son, as well?"
"Aye, you did bear me Christian, which still proves my point. The bairn has golden hair, like his mother. Another first for the Dragons of Challon. The Gold Dragon."
"Poor wee bairn, you cursed him with that name to bear."
"Well, I had to do something. You gave me a daughter and a son with honey-colored hair. They represent our union―a pagan and a Christian. Mayhap our next daughter will have my black hair and your eyes."
"I plan to breed you a whole herd of daughters, My Lord Husband. They shall avenge me, giving you worries enough to plague the rest of your days. I shall see they learn the ways of a warrior. They shall fight with claymore and crossbow.”
The threat made Julian laugh aloud. Rocking her slightly from side-to-side, he swayed with her. "Your lady sisters likely plot the same fate for my poor, unsuspecting brothers. And Lord help, Damian. I am not sure which is the biggest threat to him—Aithinne or her three idiot brothers. Since Edward has decreed he shall live forever, he shall be driven mad trying to find nobles for matches. The daughters of The Shane vexed his efforts for nearly a decade―think what turmoil a legion of Highland she-dragons shall wreak."
Off in the distance a murder of ravens was startled. Taking to wing, their screams broke the peace of the glen.
Tamlyn's smile lessened, as those Greymalkin eyes nervously, almost fearfully, followed their path across the far glen, seeing what his could not.
Kissing her temple once again, the humbling emotion of love awed him. This woman meant so much to him. Meant everything. Following her sight line, Julian tried to perpend what kept her staring so fixedly at the skies.
"Tamlyn, mo ghraidh, at what do those fey eyes look upon? Why do the ravens disturb you so?"
A slight tremble shuddered through her body, as the breeze took on a strange coolness. "Julian, mo beatha, I scry the comin' storm."
“My life―I love when you call me that.” Julian leaned his head to the side of hers, studying the sky. “Only, there is no storm. The sky is so clear and blue, a blue the likes we rarely are treated to for long in these queer, moody Highlands."
Tamlyn’s head shook slightly in denial. "The storm comes. No’ this day. No’ the next. Nor the one after. No’ even within a moon's passing. But soon, the storm comes. And nothing shall stop it.”
The rising chill penetrated his bones, as he comprehended Tamlyn’s fear. An augury, words of the Craft. She kenned what lay ahead of them.
His arms hugged this woman, his love, the mother of his children, as if his body could cocoon her against all the evils of the world.
“We shall face it, Tamlyn. Together, we can face anything.”
“Aye, Julian. We shall.”
♦◊♦
Ghradh a tha siorruidh. Lasair shoilleir a 'tighinn a-rithist agus a-rithist...
(True love be eternal. Its bright flame comes again and again...)
— Scottish Love Drawing Incantation
♦◊♦
Aye, the Storm would come. It would sweep the length and breadth of this pagan land.
Far off in the distance, well beyond the sight of any human, a rider made his way toward Glen Shane. The man was tired. His mount more so. But his mission was urgent. He dare not tarry.
He carried two messages of import. Young Andrew de Moray had raised his standard at Avoch Castle on the Black Isle.
And in the South, a giant of a man―a commoner―had lifted his head in defiance.
Ravenhawke
Book 2 of the Dragons of Challon
Damian St. Giles and Aithinne Ogilvie’s story
(originally published under the title In Her Bed)
One Snowy Knight
Book 3 of the Dragons of Challon
Noel de Servian and Skene Ogilvie’s story
Redemption
Book 4 of the Dragons of Challon
Redam Maignart and Gillian Ogilvie’s story
Dragons of Challon novellas
The Selkie’s Daughter ~ Gambit, Check & Mate
Arrow to the Heart ~ Marriage Made in Hell
Other books by Deborah Macgillivray
Sisters of Colford Hall
Book 1 —The Invasion of Falgannon Isle
Book 2 — Riding the Thunder
Book 3 — A Wolf in Wolf’s Clothing
Book 4 — Some Things Never Change
Novellas and Short Stories
Bad To The Bone ~ A Cat In Jackboots
Bad Cat ~ Getting It In The End ~ Double, Double, Toil & Trouble
Chicken What Du Hell? ~ Blue Christmas Cat
All I Want For Christmas is a Hula Hoop…and A Mother
Detour To Love ~ Devil In Spurs ~ Very Special Man
Shoes, Shades and Faerydust
A Restless Knight (Dragons of Challon Book 1) Page 42
