Báirseach- the Midding Gate

by V B Gilbert

  Nodding breathlessly, I stroke him and rise up on my knees. I’m wet and ready for him as I position myself above him. Easing him into my core, I slowly edge down, Egan’s hands gripping tightly on my hips. Placing my hands on his forearms, I slide down until he’s fully seated inside me.

  I close my eyes and try to steady my breathing. “You’re so big, Egan. I was scared for a moment you wouldn’t fit.”

  I feel him jerk inside me as he gives a bark of laughter. “You’re mine, Sage, the Goddess gave us to each other, we will always fit together.”

  Nodding, I lean forward and place my hands on his chest, flicking his nipples and enjoying the small jerks his hips give in response. Then I rock forward and back, rising and falling over him at a steady pace.

  Egan’s moans match mine as his hands roam over my stomach, up to my breasts. As my rhythm quickens, he starts thrusting up with his hips, and I feel a tightening low in my stomach, my climax building. I can only hold on as my body buzzes, and every touch Egan places on my sensitive skin only brings me closer to the edge.

  Suddenly, Egan sits up, holding my body securely with his hands along my back as he takes my breast in his mouth.

  “Egan!” I scream as my climax washes over me, and with two more thrusts Egan joins me with a roar.

  My body drops onto Egan’s sweat-coated one, chest heaving and feeling warm all over. “That was—”

  Anything I was about to say is lost when Murphy bursts through the door, water spraying out of both palms. “Fire! Goddess! You set the room on fire!”

  22

  Wide-eyed I stare at the flames licking up the walls, scorching the ceiling and inching their way to the curtains. Goddess, did Egan lose that much control?

  The man in question shields my body with a sheet and sits me on the edge of the bed. He then raises his hands above his head and whispers a chant before lowering his arms and spinning.

  The flames lower and gutter out by the time he’s back to his original position. Panting from the exertion, Egan bows his head, hands on his hips.

  The room is now wet and smoky. Wrapping the sheet more securely around my torso, I flip the latch and push the window up. A cool breeze floats into the room, and I plop onto the end of the bed before inspecting my sodden room.

  The line of the fire is evident on the walls. Two feet off the floor, just at the level of the bed, is a black, charred line that runs the perimeter of the room. The fire didn’t start at one spot. It looks like it flashed out from the bed and started a ring of fire on the walls.

  “Egan? What happened?” I turn my attention from the walls to the men in the center of my room who are suspiciously quiet.

  Murphy and Egan are staring at me. No. Not at me, at my arm. Looking down, I’m shocked to see my flame tattoo has spread, and now, the mark runs from the top of my wrist around and up my arm to my elbow.

  “What?” Laying my right hand along the flames on my left arm, I can feel the warmth radiating off of them.

  “I think we completed our binding, Mo Chroí.” Egan sits beside me and runs a finger up my arm. I blink. The flames — flicker — where our skin meets. “Sage, will you try something for me?”

  Speechless, I raise my eyes to his and nod.

  “Think of a flame and snap your fingers.” Egan demonstrates, and a small flame dances across the tips of his fingers.

  My heart begins to pound as I lift my hand up and concentrate. Half of my thoughts are that this isn’t going to work. But deep down, where I’ve buried all my dreams of being normal, a spark of hope flares to light.

  Giving Egan’s hand one last look, I focus my concentration on an image of a flame and snap my fingers. There’s a quick spark, like flint striking chert, but no flame.

  “It’s all about intent and will. Try again, Mo Chroí.” I digest Egan’s words.

  Repeating to myself ‘intent and will,’ I reach deep for that spark of hope, and I snap my fingers again.

  A flame!

  I made a flame! Me. A Mundane. I did it.

  “I did it,” I shakily murmur. Hypnotized by the flame, still flickering on my fingertips, I only become aware of my tears when a large hand gently wipes them from my cheek.

  “You did it, Love. You have magic.” Murphy pulls me into an embrace as I awkwardly hold my flame-filled hand out to the side.

  Smiling through my tears, I whisper against Murphy’s chest. “I’m normal. I’m a Witch.”

  “You’ve always been a Witch, Love. Even when you struggled as a child, you did everything perfectly.”

  Tucking my fingers into my palm, the flame recedes. “I was a powerless Witch, Murphy. I was so sure, if I just tried harder the magic would come.”

  “But is it the power that makes us a Witch or a Warlock? You know some are stronger than others. Remember Ross? I think the only thing he can do is move things, small things, from place to place.” Running his hand through my tangled hair, he murmurs, “Powers or no, you’re perfect for me. For us.”

  After Egan has me conjure and dissipate a flame several more times, he tells me the fire in the room was my doing. Apprehensive, I inspect the damage again. At the moment of our final bonding, when the magic flared to life, it literally flared out from my body and set the room ablaze.

  Cathmor arrives in a stampede of steps and rushes up to my doorway yelling, “I smell something burni—” Startled, he skids into the room, “What happened in here?”

  With a small laugh, I shake my head. “I’ll let Egan explain. Murphy, do you have some clothes I can wear until we can get this cleaned up?”

  Murphy stands with me and leads me out of the room with a hand at my back. “My clothes will all be too big, Love, but we’ll see what we can do.”

  Crossing the hall, I enter the room that Murphy and Egan have claimed. Murphy walks to his bags and pulls out neatly folded trousers, shirts, then tunics. From the very bottom he tosses me a pair of brais, then places a white shirt and blue tunic on the bed.

  “I’ll wait outside the door, come out when you’re ready.”

  “No, trousers?” I stare longingly at the neat pile he’s placed on the desk.

  “Not until we can fix the waist, they’ll just fall off.” he closes the door with a quiet snick.

  I drop the sheet and pull the shirt on first. It stops at my knees, and I deftly do all the lacings at the throat. Even fully closed, the collar still droops low. The brais are huge, but I pull the laces tight, wrapping them around my waist to secure them. Last I shrug into the tunic.

  “Murphy, do you have any twine?”

  “Can I come in?”

  “Yes, I’m dressed.”

  Murphy stops at the open doorway and stares at my legs. “I’ve not seen your bare legs since we were babes playing in Rosemary’s gardens.” Raising his eyes, he scans up my body and laughs when he sees how I’m swimming in his tunic.

  Spreading my arms wide, I show him how the sleeves surpass my hands. “Can you help me fold the sleeves back please?”

  Stepping to another bag, Murphy pulls out a ball of twine then advances on me. Tucking his hands into the unbound sides of the tunic, he reaches behind my back, grabs the end of the twine, then brings both hands forward. He maneuvers it around my waist, looping it two times.

  “Hold the ends, Love.” Once I have the twine in my hands, he pulls a knife from its sheath by his waist and swiftly makes a cut.

  My clothes may look funny, the front of the tunic belted around my waist and the back hanging freely like a shortened cloak, but it is no longer in danger of falling off. Murphy rolls my sleeves, and no matter how unconventional I look, I am glad to be clothed again.

  A knock on the wall heralds the approach of Cathmor.

  The gruff man gives a bark of laughter when he spots me. “You remind me of a child playing in her elder’s clothes.” Entering fully, he takes my hand and urges me to spin. “Though I’ll not complain about the bare legs. Show me this flame you have.”

  Eager to sh
ow off my magic — my magic — I concentrate then snap my fingers. Just like last time, a flame sparks to life above my fingertips. Cathmor holds my arm at my wrist and inspects.

  “Congratulations, Witch Sage.”

  Beaming, I tuck my fingertips into the palm of my hand, and the flames dissipate. “Thank you. Where’s Egan?”

  “He’s drying out your clothes and bedding. I thought we should gather downstairs and go through the Elemental book.” He glances between me and Murphy. “You two know him best. Is there any reason to believe he might be bespelled?”

  Furrowing my brow, I think about the Ciaran who first asked me out and the man of the last week. Folding my arms across my chest, I play with my rolled sleeves. “He was different when I came back last spring. It wasn’t anything alarming. He just started mentioning that he wanted a dragon. He became increasingly insistent. And, well . . .” I look at Murphy, “then he cast the spell on the Midding Gate. He seemed desperate.”

  “Aye, and desperate men oft turn into dangerous men.” Murphy offers this bit of wisdom then places a hand on my back and urges me out of the room. “Let’s go read. Best we be prepared.”

  23

  The next three days are spent reading the book, cleaning my room — which still smells of smoke — and practicing my fire magic. The book has yet to yield any information about where Ciaran could be hiding out, so the men take the precaution of setting wards around the house, the storage, and the path to the lava pools.

  Egan and I find that not only can I call small flames into being, I can also manipulate already burning fires on a small scale. I not only can feel his emotions, but I can sense where he is. If I’m upstairs I can tell which room he is in. If he’s outside, I know which direction he is in.

  On the third day, I pack a basket with strips of meat and change into my restored leathers. Murphy grabs the water jug, and Cathmor makes sure his vines are in his pocket. They are worried, and rightfully so, that I might become dehydrated again and are trying to take precautions. Egan also has a plan to practice with the others on controlling the lava, to see if together, they might be able to make the environment safer for me.

  For myself, I’ve been praying to the Goddess that the eggs hatched. No matter what Ciaran has planned, or the new magic I have, my job still remains to take care of the dragons. Leading the way to the pools, I tease the men as we go.

  “I thought I was being courted. Doesn’t that involve flowers or gifts or something?”

  “We’re bonded and mated, Mo Chroí. But I shall do my best to court you still.” Egan’s declaration is a whisper in my ear and brings a small tilt to my lips.

  “I gave you the clothes off my back to wear. Is that not a sign of my courtship?” Murphy’s voice rings out from somewhere behind me, and my lips curl higher.

  “They weren’t off your back, Murph. Pretty sure they were neatly folded extra clothes from your bag.”

  “Still counts,” he retorts.

  “And you, Cathmor?” But the man remains silent.

  I’m about to turn and demand an answer when I feel a light weight on my head. Reaching up, I place a hand on my hair to find something leafy tickling my palm. Plucking it off, I find a daisy garland hanging from my fingers.

  With a huge smile, I spin and run back to the large man. Bouncing up on my toes, I throw my hands around his neck, my basket and the garland banging into his back. Cathmor’s mouth tips up on the left side, and he wraps his arms around my back.

  “Daisies for my Daisy. Is that what you want?”

  “I was just teasing you all, Cathmor, but they’re lovely. Thank you.”

  Cathmor adjusts his grip and then palms the back of my neck. Tipping his head down to mine, he gives me a soft kiss. “Just for now. I’ll expect a better kiss once we get back to the house.”

  As he lets me slide back down his body, I purse my lips. “Perhaps.” Giving him a wink, I back away. “I’ll think about it.” Turning to the side, I carefully hang my garland on a tree branch.

  When the men look at me with inquisitive eyes, I explain. “I don’t want it to wilt. I’ll grab it on the way back.”

  At the lava pools, I leave the basket by the grass, hold the raw meat in one hand and gingerly make my way to the lava pool. I don’t get as close as last time and stare intently at the soft swells of lava. All I need is a glimpse of white. Something to assure me that the wyrms hatched and are swimming in the molten earth.

  I’ve almost given up when I spot a small head, then another poke out of the lava. Relieved, I toss the meat at the edge as the wyrms swim closer. The two have just grasped the meat when a third head pops up. They all hatched.

  Each wyrm is about the size of my hand. Maybe just a little smaller. They already have the distinct shape of a dragon head and spinal bumps along their backs. No sign of scales yet, but it’s early days. They still have four weeks to grow their legs and the stumps that will eventually become their wings. Once those show up, I’ll know it’s time to move to the hot springs.

  I finish feeding the wyrms and return to the grass for some water. The men are sitting and conversing. Apparently, they were unsuccessful at manipulating the lava. I sip at the water, Murphy drawing water sparingly from the jug to form a light mist.

  “We can’t get a firm grasp on the lava. It’s earth and fire and something else. It slips like oil from water. The magic is almost repelled.” Egan gestures with his hands as he speaks, almost poking Murphy in the eye.

  “Watch the fingers, fireboy.” Murphy swats the offending hand away then adds, “There’s not enough water in the air for me to help add to the magic, either.”

  Taking one last drink, I stand up and motion for the men to rise as well, “Let’s head back. I need a shower, and I really want to collect my flowers.”

  The men surround me, Cathmor taking my apron for me, and tying it to his belt. Murphy moves to hold my hand but grimaces when he feels the residue from the meat lingering on my palm.

  “Uncap the water again, Love, I’ll rinse your hands.”

  Once the men are satisfied they are ready, we head back, stopping only for Cathmor to resituate the garland on my head.

  The trip back is spent discussing the book and anticipating Ciaran’s moves. I also go through the list of ‘friends’ he had. It’s only now, I realize that we only socialized with his peers from the school or the members of the council. His parents have passed and he’s an only child. In fact, Lennon is the only family he has left.

  “Do you suspect Lennon, then?” Murphy asks as we are all standing at the side door taking our boots off.

  Padding to the kitchen, I drop the basket on the counter, and turn on the water to scrub my hands. “You worked with him, Murphy. Did you know of any friends he might have?”

  Shaking his head, he stands by the stairs, one foot on the first tread. “No. But then we didn’t run in the same circles, either. Lennon seems like a sound suspect, though. I’m going to shower. I’ll be quick, then you can get in, Love.” With a wiggle of his eyebrows, he poses a question. “Unless you’d like to join me?”

  Egan’s and Cathmor’s gazes make my blush deepen. “No. I’ll wait for my turn. Thank you, though.”

  Murphy runs up the stairs and soon the thrum of the shower fills the air.

  Egan remains in the kitchen, shooing me out with a soft kiss on my forehead. “I’m going to start dinner.”

  “Come sit with me, Daisy.” Cathmor beckons me from his spot on the couch, and I plop myself beside him.

  Carefully, I remove my daisies and lay them on the table beside me. Before I can turn back to Cathmor, he grips my waist and hauls me onto his lap.

  “I believe you were thinking of giving me a kiss.” He strokes some stray hair away from my face and then cups my cheek.

  Gazing into his green eyes, I nod. “Still thinking about it.”

  “What can I do to help you decide in my favor?”

  “Hmmm. Would you take my turn at cooking tomorrow?”
I tuck my arm under his and snuggle into his chest,

  “I thought you didn’t like my cooking?”

  “Well, it’s not bad, but there is such a thing as seasonings, Cathmor. Even a little pepper would help.” I start making circles along his chest and stomach. “So, no cooking. Will you wash the dishes tonight? It’s my turn.”

  “Aye. I could do that. It’s just a couple of flicks of the wrist.” He does a half-hearted flick to demonstrate.

  “I suppose that deserves a small kiss then.” I tip my head back and place a small one on Cathmor’s jaw.

  “Oh, Daisy. That will not do at all.”

  Cathmor tips me back, so my head lays on the armrest before claiming my mouth. There’s no other word for it. He nips and sucks at my lips before thrusting his tongue into my mouth and tangling with mine.

  His lips wander across my cheek to a spot below my ear, causing goosebumps to appear along my arms. I tangle my fingers in his hair and feel his fingers loosening the laces on my top. Cathmor slips a large hand under the fabric stroking my collarbone and rests his palm on the swell of my breast. His pinky wanders out and tweaks my nipple.

  I take a shuddering breath and cover his hand with mine. “Cathmor.”

  “Daisy?” He rests his forehead against mine with his eyes closed.

  “I think that deserves two days of dishwashing duty.”

  The rumble of his laughter reverberates through my body as Cathmor straightens us. Reluctantly, he sets me back on the couch beside him, giving me one last light kiss. He adjusts himself through his trousers and giving me a hooded look demands, “I’ll need the shower next, Daisy. I need a cold one.”

  24

  The next two weeks are busy. Cathmor spends time with Onyx, flying around the area searching for any sign of Ciaran and his uncle or any companion. But he comes back with no news each time. The mountain range is vast, and there are many cave systems and areas that are too small for the dragon to get close to.