CHAPTER 4
Dougal had to accept that running after a ghost was futile. Instead, he hurried around the bend, and caught up to Vika and Evan. They had, indeed, stopped close to the village gates. The sound of humans milling about accompanied the scent of cooking meat, though he could not shake the vision from his mind.
Had he actually seen Cliona’s ghost? Her scent remained, yet it was mingled with the scent he had searched for, for many months. The white doe must be near, but Cliona was dead. He and Wynn saw her die. They had buried her in the meadow, beneath a cairn of black rocks so no animals would disturb her tomb.
Evan had shifted into a human male. As he helped Vika to sit on a felled tree trunk, Dougal joined them.
“What took you so long, brother? Did a pirate waylay you?” Evan’s voice was light and jovial, but the underlying concern was etched on his human forehead. Unsure what to share, he remembered Wynn’s words about his human form. He had insisted he looked fine with black hair, but he needed to work on keeping his eyes from appearing like flames. Concentrating on the sky, he willed his eyes to be as blue. He dropped the satchel between them.
Evan will tell me if I got it wrong.
Evan dug out their plaides and they worked to make the necessary folds. Both lay on the cloth, and wrapped the wool around their waists. They belted the fabric in place, and tossed the extra length over a shoulder.
“Goodness, how handsome you two be,” Vika exclaimed. Her cheeks were rosy with either glee at seeing their naked human bodies, or from riding through the chilly forest on horseback.
“I thank you, dear sister.” Dougal grabbed the sheathed sword and Evan helped him hitch it to his belt. The steel blade was heavy, and its dragon-head pommel glittered from the sun that peeked through the tree tops.
“Dougal, I be glad you consider me part of your family. You, Wynn, and Kera be as close to me as Orin.”
“What about me?” Evan asked, as he nuzzled her neck.
Her arms encircled his neck, and she kissed his cheek. “To me, you be everything.”
Dougal could barely catch her whispered words, and a pang of jealousy spread through his chest. He’d heard similar words from Cliona, yet she was careless with her life.
“I suggest you two lovebirds refrain from your passionate embraces, until we be safely settled inside the village walls. I feel something be amiss.”
“I hope Orin be well,” Vika said, pulling away from Evan. “He should be at the tavern. Let us make haste.”
Evan sighed, and followed his mate toward the gate. Dougal grabbed their satchels after hiding the saddle and blankets. The guards were speaking to Vika when he approached, and they were allowed to pass. He nodded to the warriors, but kept his fist on the pommel of the sword. They said nothing, and he was glad they did not wish to disarm him.
The tavern came into view and they passed by several covered vendor booths, while young lasses tied yellow flowers and twigs over the doors and windows.
“Why do they do this?”
“Decorations using hawthorn branches, rowan branches, marsh marigolds, and other flowers be considered good luck. They be also a way to appease spirits and fairies.”
“Humans be odd.”
Vika giggled. “Dougal, have you no romance in your heart? Mayhaps you shall meet your future bride this week.”
“Perish the thought,” he said, and grumbled.
Vika only laughed.
They entered the tavern, and Vika searched for her brother, while Dougal inhaled the scent of food. His stomach rumbled, which made his brother chuckle.
“Aye, humans cook the oddest foods, yet I’ve never tasted anything so fine. Ale and mulled cider will wash it down, but I want a chance to try whisky,” Evan said.
“What be whisky?”
“The water of life, or so I’ve been told. Orin mentioned it, though he prefers ale. I wonder where the lad be? Vika needs to know he be safe.”
Squeals of delight grabbed the dragons’ attention, and they turned to find Vika engulfed in the embrace of an older female.
“I suspect she be the tavern owner’s mate? The healer you mentioned?”
Evan sighed, again. “Aye. She be a good friend to Vika. Kera knows her, as well. Wynn’s mate worked for the healer, years ago. I hope she and Wynn arrive soon. Did you hide their clothing with the saddle?”
“Aye.”
Dougal looked around the room. Human males filled the tables, and the air was thick with the scent of meat and unwashed bodies. He wished to walk back outside, but Evan grabbed his arm, and pulled him toward the women.
“Evan Brown, ‘tis good to see you and me little friend, Vika, although she be a bit larger than she was last fall.”
“Mistress MacFingan, may I present me brother, Dougal? Dougal, she be the village healer.”
The healer looked him up and down, and smiled. “Aye, the family resemblance be remarkable. ‘Tis welcome, you be. The festivities shall begin tonight. Do you have a lady?”
Dougal bit his inner cheek before gaining control over his temper. “Nay. I not be looking for a mate, I mean, a wife.”
The healer tsked, then led Vika to a table. She shooed the men aside, and sat her down. “I shall bring you some cider. Unna be setting up your rooms. Three, you need?”
“So, you have spoken to Orin?” Vika’s shoulders relaxed.
“Aye, he be off to speak to Gow. Something about a new bow?”
“The pirates stole all his weapons. He had made use of me small bow this winter, but he needs his own. And arrows. He wishes to bring down another boar.”
“I seem to recall you killed a nasty boar last fall. They be scary creatures, but good eating,” Mistress MacFingan added.
Vika’s cheeks reddened, and Dougal understood. To take down a huge wild boar was no easy feat, especially for a female on foot with only a bow and arrow, but she had. She’d proved to be a mighty hunter. Evan hunted for them both, now, but Orin needed weaponry. The dragons had shared their pirate’s gold with him.
“Who be Gow?” Dougal asked.
“Gow Smith be our village blacksmith. ‘Tis he who made Evan’s sword, the one you be carrying,” the older lass said.
Dougal’s fist covered the pommel.
“I recognize his work. He be a master of steel, but his business be hurting. Seems he supplied Toal MacMorgan with weaponry, but Toal has…disappeared.” The healer hesitated, as if she did not believe the man was truly gone.
Just as well, since Dougal wanted him dead. He suspected he was the hunter who had killed Cliona. Kera wanted him dead, as well. She had witnessed him kill her former lover, a wolf-shifter named Jarlath. Dougal wanted nothing more than to sink his fangs into the man’s belly while Kera ripped off his head with her teeth.
A serving wench arrived with a tray of tankards, and he grabbed the nearest and swallowed the spiced liquid in one gulp. The scent of apples and cinnamon soothed his belly, but meat was in order. However, he wished to meet this Gow and find Orin. “Delicious. Please point me toward the blacksmith’s shop.”
The healer latched onto his forearm, and pulled him outside, as if to show him the way. Once on the porch, she hesitated. Why was she holding back pertinent information? “What troubles you, lass?”
She smiled up at him. “No one has called me that for ages.”
The tips of Dougal’s human ears burned, and he clasped his hands behind him. Did the female think he was flirting with her?
“I beg your pardon, if I have offended you. I have lived alone, far too long.” It was the truth.
“Och, I be flattered. Me husband has too much on his mind to pay me heed, lately. ‘Tis a pleasure to find a brawny warrior with a tongue so sweet, but you should find a young lass and enjoy the festivities.”
He sighed, and relaxed his shoulders. Everyone wanted him mated, as if any other female besides Cliona could make him feel the way she made him feel. “I be here to watch over me family, and the village. There be talk of
pirates, and we all need to be vigilant.”
She gazed at the toes of her slippers peeking out from her heavy skirts. When she raised her eyes to meet his, he saw them turn to flame. He did not move, wondering if she was experiencing the visions, which sometimes plagued Orin.
“Blood shall run like a river, men shall breathe their last, and the white doe will surrender her heart.”
Dougal pulled his sword from it leather sheath, and stepped away from the female. Her words were too reminiscent of his feelings of danger on the horizon. Blood and dying men were a given, but she spoke of the white doe!
“Mistress! Awaken and explain your words!” he demanded.
She wavered, closed her eyes, and sank to her knees. He dropped his sword to catch her, before her face hit the hard planks beneath their feet. He lifted her, pressing her into his chest, then barreled through the door.
Vika stood, but before she could say anything, a huge man with a head of graying black hair, jumped over the wooden counter and headed toward him. Rage filled his face, and he waved a cleaver in his raised hand.
“She had a vision, then fainted,” Dougal said. “Evan! Grab the sword!”
The man lowered his weapon, and motioned for Dougal to follow him through a side door. They entered what appeared to be a sitting room, then through another door. In the bedroom, Dougal laid the healer on the bed, then backed away.
“What did she tell you, stranger?”
“She said, ‘Blood shall run like a river, men shall breathe their last,’ and I believe her,” Dougal told him. He left out the part about the doe. “I told her I was here to keep me family safe, and that pirates might be headed this way. I be Dougal, brother to Evan, who be married to Vika MacKinnon.”
The man nodded. Everyone in the village seemed to know Vika. “I be Black MacFingan. Me wife be…special. Some claim she be a witch, but ‘tis only premonitions. She be a good healer, so they overlook the mystical part of her. Can you?”
He nodded, and the man’s shoulders relaxed.
“She will come around soon enough. Go back to your family.”
“I wanted to visit the blacksmith, to find young Orin. Can you point me in the correct direction?”
The man headed to the porch and Dougal followed. Vika tried to get his attention, but he ignored her. He was on a mission. If pirates entered the village, he wanted to know where the weapons were kept. As a dragon, he could rid the world of men who attacked villages and young females, but Evan had told him it was best to keep their existence a secret, lest they be hunted.
The tavern-keeper pointed to the north. As Dougal headed toward the north end of the village, he glanced at the town square. In the last hour, small carts and larger tents had sprouted around the square. Food and garments, weapons and musical instruments were piled here, and there.
He was still ravenous, but his hunger kept him alert. He sniffed the air, searching for pirates, but he caught the scent of flowers and other feminine smells. Every lass he spied wore a crown of spring flowers and vines, and some had decorated their delicate crowns with sprigs of heather. How was he to smell trouble, with these strong scents clogging his less-accurate human nose?
Another scent wafted by on a light breeze. It smelled like…her! The white doe! She could not be near the village, while hunters were about. It would mean her death. He’d sensed them as he galloped through the woods, as a horse. They probably hunted for food for the celebration of Beltane.
If the doe showed her white fur, they would not hesitate to bring her down. Could it be her blood that Mistress MacFingan saw running like a river? The thought made him sick, but there was little he could do.
He continued walking until he reached the blacksmith shop. Sparks flew from a central chimney, and he heard voices. One belonged to Orin. Vika would be happy to see her younger brother was well, and safely ensconced inside the village walls.
Too bad the walls be not taller.
CHAPTER 5
Nearing a tall wall of hewn trees, Fiona relaxed. She had made her escape, and was nearly giddy from the experience. She was now a thief, the only cloud messing up her day. She shifted into her human form, and shuddered from the euphoria and brilliant light that accompanied her transformation.
Once on two feet again, she slipped on the stockings and leather foot coverings, praying they were stitched from cowhide, and not doeskin. She lifted the garment over her head, and it slid down over her breasts and hips until it reached her ankles. The front had crisscrossing laces, and she tightened them until the garment fit around her new body. She wasn’t sure what to do once she’d tightened the laces, but she would look for other females with similar garb, and fix it later. She prayed the lass, whose garments she’d taken, did not recognize them. She could say she found them, since the lass only saw a deer steal them away.
Biting her lower lip, she headed back to the gate. She knew enough of their language to get by. Would they demand something before allowing her to enter? She had no coin, and nothing else of value. Throwing back her shoulders, she walked toward the open gate.
“What have we here?” said the taller of the three men. He blocked her way, and Fiona stopped. She tried not to glare at him. Instead, she gave him a smile, remembering how a simple smile had calmed the red dragon.
“I wish to enjoy the celebrations. ‘Tis there a problem?” she asked sweetly.
“Nay, but I do not recognize you. Do you know her, lads?”
The others shook their heads.
Fiona thought for a minute, then brightened. “I be Fiona of the…Fiona Forest, and be kin to Vika and Orin. May I pass? I believe they be waiting for me at the tavern.”
“Aye, we know Vika. Her husband be a warrior, and we welcomed them earlier. You may pass, but...” He leaned down and whispered in her ear, “save me a dance.”
Fiona’s cheeks felt on fire, and her palms grew damp. A human male wished to dance with her? She had no idea how to dance, but she could learn by watching, she supposed, so she nodded.
As she walked through the gate, she looked back over her shoulder. The tall warrior’s hair was plain brown, unlike the naked stranger’s silky black locks. This warrior’s muscles made him appear twice as wide as her female form, yet he wasn’t nearly as tall as…Fiona swallowed.
He winked at her, at the same moment she realized she’d compared him to the naked man she’d met in the forest.
There be no comparison.
If she had to leave the village quickly, she wanted to know the layout. She passed an open-sided building with a slanted roof. Horses of every shape and color filled it, yet she did not see the two stallions from the trail. The villagers had created the fence around their town with logs, sharpened to points at the tops. It seemed to wind around the entire village.
She decided to circumvent the village by walking along the inside of the wall, to gain her bearings. Even though it was a good sort of battlement, it would never keep out dragons, or a pack of wolves. Could a band of pirates climb over? She did not think so.
Many tents were set near the fence, and many more were being raised. These must be the outlanders, come to town for the festivities. The aroma of something delicious bubbling in a black pot, hanging over flames, made her stomach rumble.
The female stirring the pot must have heard her hunger sounds, and offered her a bowl of the contents. Fiona thanked her, and downed the savory liquid filled with vegetables. Broth, she called it, and she finished it with gusto.
Mayhaps I have no need of coin, she thought. Numerous carts had set up near the center of town, where she felt several human male eyes following her. Their perusal made her uncomfortable, and she hoped the men did not ask her to dance. She had no idea what dancing entailed. Was it similar to sex? She didn’t know how humans procreated, either.
Determined to keep out of sight, until she could watch others and learn, she walked silently behind several buildings. Something shiny grabbed her attention, and she bent to retrieve a small coi
n. Pleased, she slipped it into her bodice.
The scent of smoldering wood, and the hiss of steam from inside the building made her curious, and she peeked through the window. A large brown-haired man with massive shoulders drew a long sword from a barrel of water, and the hissing stopped. As he laid the steel down, he talked to someone who stood with his back to the window. The big man wore a covering that looked like animal hide. Deer hide!
He hit the sword he’d pulled from the water with a black-headed tool. With each swing, the clang of metal on metal made her jump, while the man he spoke to never flinched.
She could only see the other man’s back, and he wore a garment of woven wool, in crisscrossing colors, such as what the young lad at the fairy pool wore before he jumped into the water. Orin, the lad from the fairy pool, had called it a plaide. It sat low on his waist with a portion crossing up and over one shoulder. In fact, this lad’s hair was as red as Vika’s brother’s. His arms were crossed over his chest, and they were not nearly as large as the man’s wielding the weapon.
“Could that be Orin?”
She must have spoken aloud, because both men turned toward the window. She dropped below the sill, and ran toward the next building. The door of the first building creaked open, but she hid from sight. When she peeked, the men were looking in the opposite direction. The tall red-haired lad was, indeed, Orin.
She wanted to speak with his sister, but Vika was not in the sooty shop, so Fiona moved on. She circled the village until she knew her way around. The tavern beckoned, and when she got nearer the back entrance, she glanced at a huge barn. The neighs of horses and the moo of a cow drew her closer. She wanted to find the horses she’d spied earlier, but had a feeling they were long gone. Or, had never arrived as simple beasts. Had they shifted into other forms? Human forms? If so, she would find them with Vika.
“Why would she be out here?”
“Be you in search of someone, lass?”
Startled, Fiona yelped, and backed up against the barn wall. A man stood close, holding a weapon. It was the brown-haired male from the building, the one who worked with metal. Was Orin nearby? He was looking at her with concern, having asked her a simple question.
Smolder (Clan of Dragons Book 3) Page 4