by V B Gilbert
“This has been the most adventurous Samhain I’ve ever had.” Picking at my bread, I shove a chunk in my mouth, swallowing it down with some chamomile and honey tea. “I think when we get on the road, I should double with someone. I need to look through that book and see if I can get an idea of what Ciaran is doing. We know he’s going to get to Firehaven before us. I’ll feel safer if we at least know what to look out for.”
The men agree with me. We pack up, only taking the time for Murphy and Egan to magically wash and dry our clothes. This time, I ride with Egan, sitting sideways, one leg hooked around the saddle horn, so my hands are free to turn pages.
By the time the two low, stone buildings that make up Firehaven come into view, I am no closer to understanding Ciaran’s actions than before.
20
Firehaven is really only two buildings, and the lava pools beyond them. One building is magically enhanced to keep food fresh. Master Riordan and I restocked it over the summer, locking it up tight. I’m not worried about if Ciaran managed to get in. The council put so many wards and spells on the building’s lock and key, that if he did manage to get in . . . well, he’d have earned it.
Leading the men to the right, we round the second building to the attached stable in back. Despite the many things that we need to attend to, the horses take precedence. Egan rubs the horses down, while Murphy and Cathmor carry supplies in through the back door. I follow with the eggs.
In the kitchen, I lay the carrier on the wooden table and chase after Cathmor. “I need my bag, please. I’m going to change and deal with the eggs. I can’t wait any longer.”
Passing it over, Cathmor pauses long enough to state, “Don’t go without one of us. I’m serious, Daisy. We don’t know where Ciaran is or what he has planned, until he’s dealt with, we stay together.”
Nodding, I dig through my pack, pulling out trousers, vest, apron, and gloves all made of thick leather. Rushing to a room, I yell over my shoulder, “I’m leaving as soon as I’m dressed. Whoever’s coming with me be ready.”
There are three barks of laughter and a mumbled, ‘undressing would work better’ that reaches my ears from the first floor. I roll my eyes. Men can make any sentence dirty.
I don my leather pants, canvas shirt with a vest over it, and a leather apron. Stuffing the gloves in my apron pockets, I jog down the stairs and return to the kitchen. “Who’s coming with me?” I raise a hand when all three men open their mouths to reply. “No jokes. Just follow.” They snap their mouths closed, but can’t hide the mirth in their eyes.
Picking up the carrier and a water jug, I find myself being followed by all three men. “I suggest you leave the cloaks behind. You won’t need them at the lava pool.” Opening the door, I glance left and right for any trouble, waiting for the men.
Once they join me, I cross the street then take the path behind the food storage. The path is somewhat overgrown, but what little grass manages to grow doesn’t survive long. I leave the water jug on the ground where the grass peters out. The closer we get to the lava pools, the more barren the land, until we are walking on black sand. We are all covered in sweat, not from exertion but from the heat of the molten lava we’re approaching.
After several minutes, I can feel the metal carrier softening and stop to set it down. “It’s best if I go alone from here. It’s only a couple of yards. You’ll be able to see me.” I point to the right. “See how the black is bubbling and sparking? That’s all I need. Just one spot to lower the eggs.”
Squatting, I unlatch the carrier, don my gloves, then gently lift and place an egg in each of my pockets. With a little wave I leave the men, slowly feeling the ground for any softened spots that I do my best to avoid. My boots have leather soles, but despite the charms that have been placed on them, the heat is intense.
Thankful for the reinforced knees of my trousers, I kneel and slowly drop each egg into the lava as close to the surface as I can stand. Too close and I burn myself, too high and the impact shatters the eggs.
I wipe an arm across my forehead, eyes stinging from the sweat dripping into my eyes. Once the last egg is in, I take a deep breath of the hot, dry air and give a little cough. Breathing is difficult with this searing heat. Easing my way back to the men, I pass them, then break out into a jog and beeline for my water jug.
Shaking my gloves off, I rip off my apron then unbutton my vest, until I’m left in a sleeveless canvas shirt. My body is shaking, the tremors causing the cap to slip in my hand.
“I’ve got it. Hold on, Mo Chroí.” Egan leaves the jug in my hand but deftly spins the top off.
My stomach clenches, and I take small sips, knowing I dehydrated rapidly. After three sips, I look up to see three concerned men standing before me.
“I’m dehydrated. If we can move closer to Firehaven, I’ll cool down. Murphy maybe you could douse me when there’s more moisture in the air to draw from?”
“Of course!” His reply is almost drowned out by my small screech as Cathmor sweeps me off my feet.
Cathmor throws out orders as he jogs with me towards the path. “Egan grab her clothes, keep up Murphy . . . let’s get her cooled down soon. She’s burning up.”
I continue to sip at the water, occasionally wiping my face with the water that spills out as Cathmor picks up his pace. He slows to a stop just inside the treeline. Placing his back to a tree, he lowers us both down until I’m sitting on his lap. Murphy immediately swirls two fingers in his palm making a big ball of water. Then he does a wiggle and a flick, and a mist begins to fall over both me and Cathmor.
“What happened back there, Sage?” Egan squats in front of me, forearms on his thighs and his hands dangling between his legs. “Is it normal to dehydrate that fast?”
“No.” I pause to take another sip of water. “Usually Master Riordan and I take turns, so no one is in the direct heat for too long. But there was only me. I only have to do that one more time, and it’s a lot quicker.”
Cathmor tips his head over my shoulder, “What’s the next step?”
“In three days, we’ll check the pools. The eggs should break apart by then, and the wyrms should be swimming in the lava. We just have to watch them for five weeks as their legs and scales begin to form.” Between the mist and the water, I am feeling steadier. “At that point, we draw them out and walk them to the hot springs. They’ll continue to grow at a rapid rate from there. Then we return to Lámhach at the Vernal Equinox.”
“Well, that certainly gives us time to read Ciaran’s book and hunt him down.” Murphy gradually lets the water ball dissipate and pulls me into a hug. “Do you think you can eat? Maybe something light?”
“Yes. Light sounds wonderful and maybe a bath, I sweated out so much. I am ready to be out of these leather pants.” All eyes zero in on my legs, and if I wasn’t already flushed from the heat, my face would be turning red — again. These men get me so flustered.
21
While the men collect food from the storage building I continue to drink from my water jug. I love this house. It’s where I spend three months out of the year and little by little, Master Riordan and I have filled it with books and games that we enjoy.
The outside may be stone, but the inside has a wood interior. The furniture is overstuffed, and I’ve spent many a winter making rag rugs for the floor and painted pictures for the walls. It has three bedrooms, an indoor bathroom, and one big room downstairs that combines the kitchen and living room.
I’m halfway through my water when the men return. Murphy and Cathmor with their light hair and eyes make Egan with his raven hair and deep-amber eyes appear small. But all of them are over six feet tall and make me feel tiny at a little bit over five feet.
None of them let me help, which is a good thing considering how weak I still feel. Instead, I sit with my back against the armrest of the couch and stretch my legs out. In this position, I can see them making tea, cutting up vegetables, and Egan is heating up some sort of meat.
Cathmor se
rves up the food and brings two plates with him as he saunters into the living area of the great room. “Sit up, Daisy.” He nudges me with a hip, forcing me forward. Settling behind me, he reaches around and hands me a large salad, liberally topped with beef strips.
I balance my plate on my lap, so Egan can hand me a mug of tea. The aroma of chamomile, rose hips, and honey wafts on the steam. Egan takes an armchair across from the couch before saying, “The tea should keep you hydrated. I made a large kettle full, so there will be more after you bathe.”
“Thank you, guys, this looks like a wonderful meal.” I smile at each of the men, then pose a question to Murphy as he sits in the last available chair.
“Murphy, how are you feeling? Has Cathmor checked on your wound this afternoon?”
“I have a bit of a residual headache, but the healing spell Cath wove did its job. A bit of a scab, and I’ll have a scar, but no worries.” He gives me a wink, “Next time I’ll listen to you when we’re in trouble.”
“Maybe not always, but while we’re here, where I’m used to the dangers that could befall us, definitely.” I smile down at my meal, pleased that he’s taking me seriously.
The rest of the meal is full of stories about dragons and the types that I’ve seen, both up close like the blacks, or from afar like the reds and once a silver dragon glinting in the distance.
The meal makes me drowsy, but I still need to bathe. “I’m going to head upstairs. I’d like to wash the sweat and dirt of the day away. And the slime! Ugh, I think it sunk into my pores in places, because I swear I can still smell it.”
Cathmor gathers my dishes, and Murphy is quickly at my side to help me rise from where I’ve sunk into the comfort of the couch. Once I’m steady on my feet, he releases his hold then takes his own dishes to the kitchen.
Hesitantly, Egan approaches me as I’m slowly rounding the couch. “Mo Chroí, I’d like to help you if you will allow it? I’d like to tend to your bruises and check to make sure that your ribs aren’t broken.”
So much has happened in such a short amount of time, and I’ve not really allowed myself to think about it all. I do have aches and pains that are shouting at me now that I’m not feeling the pressure to get the eggs into the lava pool.
“Do you have healing powers like Cathmor?” Gripping tight to the stair rail, I take a timid step forward.
Egan rushes to place an arm around my waist to support me as I climb to the second floor. “Not as such. It’s minor, but I have an arnica salve that will be helpful for the bruises and the pain.”
Nodding, I keep my focus on each step, doing my best not to jar my body.
“Egan,” Cathmor’s raised voice follows us. “Now’s the time.”
Tipping my head, I spare a glance to the dark-haired man beside me. “The time for what?”
“It’s nothing . . . really, let’s get upstairs shall we?”
The snickers from the kitchen tell me it is indeed ‘something,’ but I don’t have the energy to pursue it. Luckily, I took the first room to the right and eagerly turn in to get a towel and fresh clothes.
“I’ll get the salve and some bandages as well, in case we need to bind your ribs. When you’re done with your bath, I’ll be waiting here for you. If that’s alright?” Egan’s cheeks look a little pink. I wasn’t sure that his tanned skin could blush, but it appears he can.
Smiling at him reassuringly, I place a hand lightly on his forearm, “That’s fine, Egan. Thank you.”
Once in the bathroom, I turn on the water. It, too, has been magically enhanced, and the water that feeds the hot springs comes spraying out from a bar above my head. I’m thankful for the cedar planking in here. Not only do I have a hot shower, but the steam build up adds to the soothing feeling.
Not sure how long I can stand on my own, I sit cross-legged under the spray to bathe. My hair takes the longest because raising my arms above my shoulders has me gritting my teeth in pain. When I rinse off there is a diluted stream of troll slime, ash, and dirt swirling down the hole in the corner.
I know Egan needs to have access to my wounds, so I slip on a pair of green-cotton leggings and a matching cotton tunic with ties at the side. I leave off my undershirt to allow easy access for Egan to see my ribs.
Padding across the hall in my favorite green-and-blue-striped socks, I spot Egan placing a mug of tea and a water glass beside my bed. He turns when I drop my filthy clothes on the floor outside my door.
“Feel better?” Egan steps to the side to allow me to sit on the bed.
“Much, being clean has helped a bit all on its own.”
There’s a moment of awkward silence before Egan turns a wooden bowl in his hand. With a slight cough, he speaks. “I need . . . it would be best . . .” Taking a big breath, he starts again, “It’s best if you take off your clothes. You can use a towel to cover your . . .” He stumbles over his words before rushing to his room.
Before I can call him back, he returns with a clean towel. Handing it to me, he backs out of the room and pulls the door closed. From the hall he calls, “Just let me know when you’re ready.”
My entire body heats as a blush travels from my head down my torso as I undress. Laying facedown on the bed, I do my best to cover my bottom with the towel. “I’m ready, Egan.”
The door slowly swings open, and I turn my head away, still embarrassed to be naked in front of my bondmate. I’m not sure why. I’ve done midnight rituals all my life, skyclad, as my mother would say.
“Oh, Mo Chroí.” Egan’s voice breaks as he runs a soft hand down my back.
“Is it very bad?”
“Well . . . at least you look good in purple?” I think this is his way to lessen the severity of the bruising on my back, and I give a little laugh.
“It looks worse than it feels. I don’t feel great, but I honestly don’t think my ribs are broken. I’m breathing okay, and there are no sharp pains.”
“I didn’t think so.” Egan’s hand retreats, and when it returns the piney-sage aroma of the arnica reaches my nose. “I’ll be gentle, but you’re bruised from your shoulders to your ankles. Try to relax.”
Folding my arms under my head, I try to ease the tension that’s still present in my back and close my eyes. Egan starts at my legs, making tiny circles with his fingers as he spreads the warm salve on the small scratches and larger bruises, decorating my skin. Each pass of his hand is soothing, and my muscles slowly unclench and ease as the pain lessens. He must be using a healing touch, because I’ve never had this result with arnica before.
He gives one last pass across my shoulder blades before asking me to turn over in a raspy voice. In my tranquil state, I turn over, my body bare to Egan’s gaze. His eyes blaze orange for a moment, and his heated gaze slowly peruses my breasts, my stomach, skipping over the towel to my thighs. His eyes stall at the towel on the way back before sweeping up to my face. “Tis a shame such beauty was harmed. Though, the bruising is not as encompassing as it is on your back. The arnica should be able to ease all of this.”
Gathering himself, he adjusts his pants, and I smile inside that I have this effect on such a good man. My body tingles thinking about it, and he hasn’t even begun to administer the salve on my front yet.
Egan again starts at my legs, making quick work, only slowing down at my thighs. He then lifts the towel to expose my hips, adding a layer of salve on each, gripping tightly for just a minute before shaking his head and focusing on my ribs,
His circles are larger as he treats each purple splotch before laying a hand flat on each spot, heat radiating out. In a quiet voice, he affirms what I already suspected, “Your ribs feel fine. You got very lucky, Mo Chroí.”
He runs his hands along the side of my breasts before applying salve to my shoulder then down each arm. When he reaches my left hand, he holds it in his momentarily before bringing it to his lips and placing a soft kiss on my knuckles. “Your hands are so dainty, yet tremendously strong.”
My heart stutters at
the raw emotion in his voice. It’s awe and desire and something more.
Raising his head he stares into my eyes, then lowers his head to mine. I’m expecting a soft kiss, such as he laid on my hand. But this kiss is firm and hard and demanding.
Licking at the seam of my mouth, he coaxes my lips open and sweeps his tongue across mine. He alternates between devouring my mouth and sucking my lip into the warmth of his.
My senses are reeling, and I grip his shoulders, feeling as though I’m falling even though I’m reclined on my bed. I meet each thrust of his tongue with one of mine, gasping when his calloused hand encircles my breast, pinching at my nipple.
“Sage.” My name on his lips is low and raspy. Abruptly, he stands and holds his hands up. With a quick wave there’s a flash of flame across his hands that he smothers by clapping his hands together. “Just cleaning my hands, Mo Chroí.”
Kicking off his boots, he climbs into bed beside me and rolls me to my side, thrusting a leg between mine before continuing the onslaught on my mouth. He has one arm wedged under my neck, and the other is touching me . . . everywhere. He rubs light circles on my back, then drags his hand down my hip and thigh before reversing and sliding up my side to caress my breast.
My own hands are exploring Egan over his clothes, and as our desire rises, I become desperate in my movements. I shove his shirt up, and he shucks it off as I work at the ties of his trousers.
Cradling my head in both of his hands, Egan asks between drugging kisses, “Sage, are you sure? I don’t . . . I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Yes, Egan, yes, please.”
Egan pushes his pants off and kicks them to the floor. Rolling us, he settles me, so I’m astride him. His manhood long and thick before me, a bead of precum glistening on the engorged head.
“You should take control.” His pants match mine as I stare down at the gorgeous man that lays beneath me. “At your pace, Mo Chroí.”