Highland Storm (Guardians of Scotland Book 2)

by Victoria Zak

  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 capable 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.

  Chapter 14

  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 wi
th 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 the 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.

  As he thought about his red-haired lass with another man, madness clouded his vision, shaking his soul. Not only was he about to unleash on these guards, his heart ached in his chest as if it was being squeezed.

  Tavish’s facial features turned sinister and his eyes darkened. “Ye have no choice. Either Henry will behead ye or ye submit and return to the dungeon where eventually yer dragon will die.” Tavish unsheathed his dirk and stood face to face with Conall. “Ye see ye’ll be too weak to fight and by the time the wedding is over, the magic will have killed yer dragon. It’s that simple. Ye will die one way or another.” In one fluid motion Tavish drove the dirk hard into Conall’s stomach and twisted the blade.

  Conall cried out as gut-wrenching pain ripped through him. His head flopped forward.

  With the blade still impaled, Tavish grabbed a fist full of Conall’s hair and shoved his head back so they were eye to eye. “Just ask yer friend over there. He can tell ye how it feels.” Tavish removed his dirk and let go of Conall’s head. As he quit the cell chamber, he motioned for the guards to release their hold on the prisoners.

  One by one the guards followed their master out of the dungeon as Caden scurried back to the shadows. Conall lay on the ground in a pool of blood. His last thoughts before the darkness closed in on him were of Effie, and he now understood why she needed to heal him. He needed to fight this magic so he could shift and destroy Tavish. Killing Sir Henry would be a bonus.

  Chapter 15

  After the day’s events, Effie stood in front of the long silver-accented mirror and reflected as she combed through her red hair like she was in some kind of daze. The sheer nightdress she wore hung loosely off her shoulders and left nothing hidden for the imagination. From the outside she looked radiant, just like a newly wedded woman should look, but inside she was numb. Her heart ached and she felt hollow.

  A kiss on the back of her neck brought her attention to the man standing behind her. His strong arm snaked around her waist, pulling her against his chest in a loving embrace. Moving her hair over to one side, he exposed more of her slender neck and continued to trail kisses just below her ear. “You are exquisite,” Sir Henry whispered. “I knew you’d make me a beautiful wife.”

  Effie faked a smile and carried on brushing her hair. She was quickly running out of excuses to delay the consummation of their marriage. Her first delaying tactic was that she’d persisted to know more about Sir Henry and his home in England. As he told her about his brother, Sir Thomas of Lancaster, whom he would succeed, and how wealthy his family was, Effie tried to pay attention and look interested, but he bored her, although the ramblings were welcome, for it gave her time to think of another round of questioning.

  When Sir Henry advanced on Effie, unlacing the front of her wedding dress as if he was tearing through a package, that was when she gave the excuse that she needed to bathe and calm her nerves, which wasn’t completely dishonest. Like a feeding frenzy of fish, her stomach flopped, causing her to become nauseous every time he touched her. Aye, a bath would help and waste more time.

  Once she was dressed, her next excuse was her unruly hair. Now as she stood excuseless, time had run out. Alas she knew sooner or later she would have to bed this man, a man she did not love, nor fully know.

  The reflection in the mirror reflected the lie she was living. It made her sick. No longer able to look at herself, she closed her eyes and leaned back into Henry’s embrace. Strong hands crept up underneath her breasts and cupped them, squeezing a little too hard for her liking.

  No matter how deep she reached down into her mind, imagining it was Conall kissing her neck, stroking her breasts, and feeling his arousal pushing into the small of her back, her senses would not lie to her. This was not the man she yearned for, but she’d tamped down those feelings, holding firm on her decision. She prayed that Conall would find a way to save them both before it was too late.

  As she sought a place of solitude, a place to escape, she recalled visiting the chapel before the ceremony started and before the local folk arrived. She’d entered the nave and never in her life had she felt so small compared to the enormous stone pillars that flanked the room. Tiny footsteps echoed through the empty space, making her feel even more alone. She swallowed hard as she felt the guilt cloud around her like a cocoon; she was condemned.

  Only a handful of times had Effie passed through the church. After countless unanswered prayers, she eventually thought it of no use. God had forgotten about her.

  As she reached the altar she lit a candle. Kneeling before the cross, she began to pray. “Dear God, please forgive me for what I’m about to do, for I do it out of love. I know it’s too late for me, but please keep Conall safe.”

  Hanging on by a thread of hope for Conall’s sake, she pushed aside her frustration and begged God for mercy. The least she could be granted was forgiveness and understanding for the sacrifice she was about to m
ake.

  That thought alone must have hit her hard because suddenly she felt the bile rise up her throat. Her hands clamped around her stomach as she pushed away from Henry. Not being in her own chamber she searched Sir Henry’s bedchamber frantically for the wash basin. She held her hand over her mouth, hoping she would find it in time.

  With only his tunic on and his manhood throbbing, Henry rushed over to the nightstand and retrieved the wash bowl. Quickly he dumped the water and raced over to Effie, but before he could release it, she vomited into the bowl. As violent as a raging storm, Effie’s insides swirled and she lost the contents of her stomach not once but twice.

  After the last lurch, Effie peered up from the bowl to find Henry’s head turned to the side with his eyes clamped shut. His skin was sweaty, pale and he made a heaving motion as if he too was going to release. Effie found the situation too laughable to be embarrassed. Here stood a noble knight who had seen bloodshed and death, now he was ready to pass out over a little vomit.

  Effie took the bowl from Henry’s grasp and placed it outside the door of the chamber. Grabbing a cloth, she dampened it with the water pitcher and washed her face. As she turned to face Henry, he stood like a stone statue, pale and gray.

  She peered up at him and held back a chuckle. “Henry, I’m sorry. It must be something I ate.”

  “Aye.” Sweat beaded his forehead. “Should I go and fetch the healer?”

  “Nay, I just need to rest.”

  Henry staggered across the room and grabbed his trews. With his erection long gone and his libido wounded, he slipped on his clothes and ran his hands through his hair. He walked to the door ready to quit the room, then he turned to face Effie. Disappointment written all over his face he said, “Get some rest.” He left the chamber.

  Effie felt sorry for the poor man, in many more ways than one. She would never return his love. Aye, if her plan didn’t work, she would be forever be a noble knight’s wife. Conall had to get her out of this mess and fast. He was her dragon and no man takes a dragon’s mate and lives to tell the tale.