by Ann Gimpel
Lachlan shook his head. The dragon was willful and headstrong, yet he had a pure heart and a generous soul. “If we canna get this problem with Rhukon, the Morrigan, and the red wyvern—Connor—well in hand, ’twill be nowhere for your kin to return to.”
“Ye could join us at Fire Mountain. Gwydion told us other dragon shifters went there with their dragons.”
Lachlan’s eyes widened. That option hadn’t even occurred to him, though he’d certainly heard what Gwydion had said. While he’d traveled outside the British Isles, so far as he was concerned the Scottish Highlands were his home. Despite their current level of contamination with modernity, he had no desire to leave. Because he didn’t want to hurt Kheladin’s feelings, he said, “Aye, ’tis a possibility. At the verra least, we could plan a visit. Do ye know how to get there?”
A long silence. Lachlan gave the dragon space. When Kheladin finally spoke, he sounded embarrassed. “Not exactly. ’Tis something I should have learned from another dragon, but there are naught left to ask.”
“I’ll speak with the Celts,” Lachlan reassured him. “Mayhap they would be willing to help us get there.”
“Ye willna forget?” Kheladin’s fretful tone didn’t sound at all like him.
“Nay. I promise. If there is a way for us to visit Fire Mountain, I shall do everything in my power to find it.”
Lachlan inhaled through his mouth, tasting the air. It held a metallic undercurrent that stung his nose and dried his throat. Without fully understanding the why of things, he thought about what Gwydion and Arawn had said. The conversation was brief, but they’d hit a few salient points. Water was fast disappearing from many places on Earth; species were dying every day. Manmade chemicals were well on their way to poisoning the oceans and the air. Brighid, Danu, and Ceridwen, most powerful of the Celtic goddesses, were so furious, they’d washed their hands of humans.
Lachlan shook his head. How could things have gone to hell in so little time? Humans had been around for thousands of years. According to Gwydion, it had taken less than a hundred to wreak the current disaster.
’Twas Rhukon’s prodding. And the Morrigan thrives on chaos. Lachlan ground his teeth together. He could just see the two of them chortling with delight over the disaster they’d created.
According to Arawn, humans had welcomed one convenience after another into their lives, apparently not paying one whit of attention that all their labor-saving amenities were destroying their home. Lachlan felt infuriated and incredulous by turns. Had men turned into such stupid fools they would sully the very ether that sustained them? His hands were fisted so tightly they ached. He stretched out his fingers to get circulation back into them and thought about the rest of what the Celts had told him.
With Rhukon and Connor by her side, the Morrigan had been in her element during the various wars riddling Europe, Asia, the States, and the Middle East. Flitting from battle to battle in her crow form, she’d positively glowed as blood dripped from her beak and feathers.
Long ago, Arawn and she had an alliance. It was a logical coalition since she chose who was to die in battle, and he was god of the dead. Lachlan had asked Arawn about it, but the god had waved him to silence and said, “The partnership has eroded beyond hope of repair.”
Lachlan took stock. The world was in serious trouble. In a large part, it was a result of Rhukon, Connor, and the Morrigan; no one had opposed their efforts to sow chaos. He asked the Celts why the gods hadn’t stepped in. Gwydion raised a bushy brow and reminded him, “We doona trouble ourselves with mortal concerns.”
“Even if the world is at stake?” Lachlan had asked, finding it hard to believe they’d turn a cold eye in the face of such a major a disaster.
“Even if,” Arawn concurred. “We can always retreat to the Dreaming.”
Probably egged on by the Morrigan—or maybe because he was feeling invincible—Rhukon finally made a significant error. In dragon form, he’d rained fire on a gathering of the Celtic Gods. They’d fought back, driving both black wyvern and red from their midst. They’d barred the Morrigan years before, when her bloodthirsty ways had disgusted even Andraste, goddess of victory.
Aye, ’twas only then, when Rhukon was hard pressed, that he withdrew power from the magic keeping Kheladin and me ensorcelled.
Lachlan’s brows knit together. He’d give a lot to know which god or goddess was behind making certain Maggie got to Scotland. Mayhap not a god. Perhaps ’twas that witchy ancestry of hers. Magic-wielding humans all had agendas, and their magic had a mind of its own. Sometimes everything meshed; more frequently the witches, druids, and human magicians were at cross purposes.
He rolled first one shoulder and then the other. The car was deucedly uncomfortable, and it was becoming unpleasantly warm from sun reflecting off its glass. He craned his head and looked out all the windows. The parking area appeared empty. He spoke a word to sever his spell. He’d wanted to make certain no one saw Maggie’s car appear where nothing had been seconds before. Manipulating the door handle, he got out and stretched to his full height. Even if the air stung his lungs, it was still better than being folded like a child’s doll in a metal box.
A few trees grew next to the building Maggie had disappeared into. He walked over to them and laid his hand on a large ash’s trunk. The tree sang into his mind, grateful for the touch of one with earth magic. Lachlan let his thoughts drift to Maggie. Heat flared in his loins, mingled with tenderness and a savage protectiveness. He’d never met a lass such as her. Women from his own time were more…submissive to men’s suggestions.
The way Maggie gazed right at him—and broke in whenever she wanted to say something—made him proud of her mettle. The lass must be made of steel to survive a dream visitation from Rhukon. Doubtless, the black wyvern had planned to enter her dream and shanghai her. What happened? How did she fight him?
“Hey!” Maggie’s voice trilled from behind him. “I thought you were going to wait in the car. I nearly had a heart attack when I got there, and you weren’t in it.”
Lachlan spun and opened his arms. She shook her head. “Not here. It’s best if we leave before anyone sees you.”
He cocked a brow. “Really? But I am dressed as ye wanted.”
“That’s not it. I just don’t want anyone asking questions. The Scots think I’m odd enough as it is.”
He snorted. “Aye, and I can see how they might.” He followed her back to her vehicle and got in. “Can we park this somewhere near where ye found me yesterday?”
“Sure.” She started the noisy thing that made the car go and spun its wheel. The metal monster obligingly headed out of the parking area.
“How did ye defeat Rhukon in your dream?”
“Huh?” She glanced at him.
“Your dream. How did ye get away from Rhukon once he hit you?”
“I don’t know. He turned into a black dragon. After that things just disintegrated. I fought him, did my damnedest to hurt him before he morphed into a dragon—and then I woke up.”
“Hmph.” Lachlan thought about what she’d just said. “It sounds as if something moved his attention away from you.”
She bit her lip. “Do you know what he planned to do with me?”
“Not entirely, but he will want to keep you and me away from one another.”
“Why? You never explained anything about that part.”
“Nay, I did not. And I willna now. Bear with me, lass. I will take you to a place where we may speak freely. I control its magic, now that I have rid it of Rhukon’s taint and built stronger wards with the help of the Celts.”
She pulled up near the side of the roadway. “Okay. I’m game. We have to be on the road to Glasgow, but not until midnight.”
“But it takes days to get to Glasgow—without magic,” he protested.
Maggie smiled with full, sensual lips. “We don’t need magic.” Her expression intensified the classic bone structure in her face, bringing her cheekbones into stark relief. Her beau
ty took his breath away. “We have a gasoline-powered engine. Shouldn’t take us more than three-and-a-half hours. There won’t be any traffic in the middle of the night.”
Lachlan nodded slowly. “Doona mind me. I can see where this contraption,” he tapped the car’s door, “wouldna take all that long to transport us sixty leagues.”
A musical laugh filled his ears. “Wait until you see airplanes.” Apparently responding to something she saw in his face, she elaborated. “They’re long, silvery metal tubes that fly through the air at six hundred miles an hour—carrying several hundred people. That’s how Grannie’s getting here. If it were a shorter distance—without an ocean to cross—she’d probably have just channeled coven magic.”
Trying to picture what Maggie just described felt impossible; his mind balked at the visual. He got out of the car and waited for her. “Come stand by my side, lass.”
“Sure. Which way are we going?” She moved next to him, all vibrant warmth and soft curves. She carried a leather bag over one shoulder and had a sweater tied around her waist. Lachlan wanted to pull her into his arms but resisted the temptation. Once he laid hands on her, he’d never be able to let go. Besides, there’d be time to hold her and explore her lush woman’s parts in Kheladin’s cave.
He glanced around. People were everywhere. Casting a spell was risky where someone might see them disappear. He looked toward the clumps of gorse and thistle that hid the entrance to his cave. A grove of beech and ash grew thick off to one side. Lachlan pointed at them. “Over there.”
Maggie took his arm. He leaned toward her and breathed in the mingled scents of hair and skin. His groin stirred immediately, but his cock was cramped inside the stiff fabric of the breeks. It had taken forever for him to soften once he’d donned the strange trousers. He had no wish to repeat the experience, but his cock swelled anyway.
Lachlan drew Maggie close. Together, they strode into the circle of trees. Once within the protective ring of boughs, Lachlan realized it was the sacred band of beeches alternating with ash that he’d planted in front of his castle. Moving from one tree to the next, he laid a hand on each of their trunks. They trilled and cooed their pleasure.
“You act like you know these trees.” Maggie pitched her voice low.
“Aye, I planted them. They sat just within my courtyard.” He melted deeper into the grove and beckoned to her. “What this means is we will be safe from prying eyes. The trees shall see to it. I will draw magic to move us from this place. Ye must come into my arms. ’Twill feel strange—not my embrace but my magic. Doona fear. The world will dissolve and reform, but the whole of it will happen verra quickly.” He opened his arms.
She came into them and joy sluiced through him, mixed with intense sexual heat. “Hurry.” Her voice was thick. Lachlan wasn’t certain if she were afraid or as anxious as he to get to more private surroundings.
He thanked the trees for remembering him and asked for their protection. That done, he cast the spell to transport them from the grove to Kheladin’s cave. He tightened his arms around Maggie. She was trembling. He gazed down at her, ready to mouth calming words until he saw the determined set of her jaw and the fire in her dark blue eyes.
Lachlan smiled and kissed her forehead. He’d found a modern warrior, akin to the Valkyries of old. He snorted, amused by the comparison.
“What?” She stared at him boldly.
“Ye’re beautiful. Take a deep breath, and doona fight the casting.”
The bottom dropped out of Maggie’s stomach, rather like a carnival ride; the day darkened. Moments later, a very different scene rose before her. Being encased in Lachlan’s magic felt soothing, not nearly as frightening as she’d feared. Her feet touched something solid. “Is it safe to move?”
“Aye, lass. Welcome to Kheladin’s cave. ’Twas our prison for many a long year.” A warm, blue globe materialized next to his head.
Maggie flicked at it, not surprised to find its surface cool. “Grannie makes light like this. I need to learn.
“Did you excavate the cave or was it natural?”
“Kheladin and I built it after we first bonded. There was already a natural cavern here, but we enlarged it. He needed a place for his hoard and as a retreat when life in the castle felt too busy and overwhelming.”
“I’ll bet neither of you imagined how busy or overwhelming life could get.” She walked briskly away from him, looking at things as she went. He followed her so she’d have access to his light. “Oh my God,” she exclaimed and hunkered next to a pile of gold coins. She picked one up and examined it. “There must be a small fortune in here.” Straightening, she held the doubloon next to his mage light. “Fifteen eighty-three, with a likeness of the King of Spain.”
“Why did ye never develop your magic?” He closed a hand over the one holding the gold coin and held her gaze with his.
“Magic killed both my parents. They were fighting a rival coven and ended up as collateral damage. I had a much older brother—never knew him very well—who lost his life in the same fight. I was only a little girl, but I developed an antipathy for something that could rob me of my family in the blink of an eye.” Maggie stopped to breathe. Even now, decades later, talking about it still hurt. “When my periods started, and the women wanted to indoctrinate me, I fought them.”
Lachlan nodded. “I am hoping ye can lay your qualms aside. Ye will need every shred of power ye can lay hands on afore this is over.” He let go of her. “Go ahead, lass. Look about. Ye needn’t be shy.” He bent, tugged his pants legs up, and proceeded to unlace first one boot, and then the other while she gawked at the underground cavern.
Maggie half-turned toward him. “Why are you taking off your boots?”
He winked at her. “I wish to feel sand beneath my toes. It reestablishes my connection to Dana and the Earth. Go.” He made shooing motions with both hands. “Wander about.”
Maggie fought a sense of unreality as she gazed at the space where Lachlan had slept the last three hundred plus years away. It was warmish underground, and she heard water running in the distance. The cave was large, maybe a hundred feet by a hundred-fifty. When she looked up, she couldn’t see its roof; the air above her simply darkened, retreating into infinity. Maggie continued her transit of the cave. In addition to gold, jewels littered its floor and were placed in alcoves. Many were huge, fist-sized gems in a rainbow of colors.
“Ye asked about how we are bound.” Lachlan’s voice rumbled, echoing slightly off the cave’s walls.
“Yes, I’d like to know that.” Maggie walked to his side and laid a hand on his arm.
“I never married. At first, I was too busy doing what young men do.” He grinned rakishly. “And then I focused all my energy on honing my mage skills so a dragon would accept me as a bond mate. From my earliest rememberings, though, I dreamed of a lass such as you.”
Maggie cocked her head. “Why didn’t you look for me, er her?”
“I dinna believe she was real. I simply thought ’twas my guilt over not taking a wife and doing my part to produce bairns so Clan Moncrieffe wouldna die out.”
“Dreams are subject to many alternate interpretations.” She started to tell him a little about her training but decided it wasn’t important.
“Aye, true enough.” He inhaled sharply. “This next may be difficult for ye to ken, but Gwydion drew magic and looked within me. He believes the dream was a call to action, that ye are my soul mate, and we have been bound through many lives. If that weren’t enough, Arawn not only concurred, but said if I hadna been so stubborn in my pursuit of the arcane arts, I would have heeded my dreams, sought ye out, and wedded you.”
Maggie tried to quiet her racing mind. Though it wasn’t much more than sixty degrees beneath ground, she felt as if a fever raged through her. “How would finding me three hundred years ago have made any difference?”
“We form powerful magic between us, once we have mated, that is” He shut his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, the
y gleamed fiercely. “Enough to right many of the wrongs in this world.”
Could that possibly be true? I wonder who the hell I was in 1683. “I feel like I tumbled down the rabbit hole into Wonderland.” She swallowed hard.
“Lass?” Lachlan sounded confused, as well he would, since Lewis Carroll had lived and died while he slumbered. Though he wasn’t touching her, she felt an electric heat from his presence. The air between them was thick with it and with his heady scent. Exotic and intoxicating, it pushed the danger they faced away from center stage.
“It doesn’t matter.” She wound her arms around him and tilted her head back. Maybe this respite would be all she’d ever have with him. She’d be a fool to let it slip through her fingers. Her nipples hardened against his chest. Her throat was dry; desire so sharp it had form and substance balled in her belly.
He gazed down at her, green eyes on fire with something she didn’t have a name for. Lust blazed in their depths; behind the sexual heat, a ferocious strength glowed, brighter than diamonds. Am I seeing his dragon nature? The thought thrilled her. She ran her tongue over dry lips. “Aren’t you going to kiss me?”
Lachlan laughed. The sound was rich and warm. “Aye, lass. Kissing and far more, I hope.” He ran his hands down her arms, touching her as if she might break. She tightened her grip on his shoulders and moved her hands down his back. With an inchoate moan, he crushed her against him and lowered his mouth over hers.
Chapter Nine
Lachlan tasted her witch’s blood in the kiss, and he felt magic running through her veins like quicksilver. Such power, he marveled. How could she turn her back on it? His tongue tangled with hers, and the scent of her intensified, rising around them. She smelled of wildflowers and mead. Of honey and springtime. Her nipples pressed against his chest, hard as marbles. She reached higher and twisted her hands in his hair. The combined rasp of their breathing was loud in his ears, louder than the pounding of his blood, more urgent than the fire thrumming a tattoo in his loins.