Evan was making less and less sense. “Evan, Vika be in the tavern owner’s lodging. I suggest you find her. Fiona and I will search out Orin and send him along.”
Evan disappeared as swiftly as a bolt from a crossbow, and Dougal turned to enter the blacksmith shop. “Come with me. You and I have unfinished business.”
“Nay! I cannot go inside.”
He smelled her fear, which was odd. Having witnessed how she’d slammed a fist into a warrior’s face, after she accidently touched his dragon markings, her fear was surprising. “What do you fear, lass?”
She looked up at him, and stepped a little closer. The door to the blacksmith shop was open a crack, and she whispered as if worried someone other than he would hear. “The smithy accosted me, earlier. He touched me inappropriately, and if it wasn’t for a man named Sinna, he might have…”
Rage was a powerful emotion, making his talons erupt from his fingertips, and his breath smolder in his throat with the need to burn something. The lass must have noticed the change in him, but instead of running away, she wrapped an arm around his waist, and rested her head against his chest.
“Be calm, sir. He did not hurt me. Males have a way of thinking they have the right to use me, but you be different, aye? You shall keep me safe?” She gazed up at him.
Dougal looked down into brown eyes similar to his beloved Cliona’s eyes. Tiny freckles dotted her nose, but he couldn’t recall if Cliona sported freckles. His mate’s face had been barely a shimmer in his memory, until he had laid eyes on this lass.
“So beautiful.” His words tumbled out.
The lass raised her hand to wave aside a small tendril of smoke he’d inadvertently let escape.
She could be Cliona’s twin. Tears made her eyes glisten, and the silly white cap barely held her wispy brown hair in place. He sensed she was an otherworldly, but he knew of no other female dragons. He suddenly was filled with hope.
“Sir, if you wish your secret to stay a secret from the villagers, calm yourself.”
Shocked back to his senses, he retracted his talons, and set her away. Cliona had been the last female of their kind, at least on Skye. He and his brothers had thought about traveling to the mainland, but the risk was too great. Where would they hide? Where would they live while searching for mates? Vika was their current hope that humans could carry a dragon’s offspring. Kera was carrying a babe as well, but she was a wolf-shifter. Vika was only human. She might die. The babe might die.
“Dougal? What be wrong? Your fierce countenance has changed. Be you in pain?” Fiona patted her hand against the middle of his chest. She was worried about him, and it took a moment to realize it had been sometime that anyone cared about him in this manner. As the oldest of their clan, at nearly two hundred and thirty-nine years, he had spent his life taking care of everyone else. Even Orin and Vika, yet he had failed his mate and their offspring.
“I be worried about the bairn, ‘tis all. I must find Vika’s brother. Come with me, and I will keep you safe. I pray we keep our secrets between ourselves, aye?” Without waiting for her response, he slipped from her hold and entered the shop. Orin stood near a selection of bows and swords displayed on pegs on the wall.
“Orin, Vika needs you.”
The lad turned toward Dougal, and understanding filled his young face. He bolted from the shop without another word.
“Well, will he be purchasing me wares, or not?” the smithy asked, scratching his belly. When he noticed Fiona standing behind Dougal, a slight sneer tilted his mouth. “I see you have set your sights on larger prey, lass. I do not blame you. He most likely sports a huge--”
Dougal’s fingers were around Gow’s throat before the smithy could spout another filthy word. The man gasped and struggled, and Dougal wondered why he attacked the man. He knew Gow had touched Fiona, but what was she to him? Was she more than a new acquaintance who reminded him of his dead mate? Hadn’t he been the lusty dragon of their clan? Why would he take offense now?
“Do not kill him, please. Humans be vengeful, and his death would only make things unpleasant for you and your family,” she whispered.
Dougal released Gow, and stepped away. The blacksmith toppled to the floor onto his rear end, sputtering and wheezing, and glared at him. When Dougal was assured the man’s breathing had returned to normal, he backed away.
“Blacksmith, I suggest you keep your filthy mouth closed in our presence, aye?”
After Gow nodded, Dougal led Fiona out into the night. The scent of smoldering coals was instantly replaced with the aroma of baked bread, bonfire flames, and Fiona’s incredibly luscious scent. Why did she remind him of heather and spring rain?
The bonfire’s flames shot into the night’s dark sky, sparking cinders and plumes of smoke. Villagers danced with unsteady steps, while circling the pit’s edges, and vendors hawked their wares. Dougal slipped behind a large tent, hoping to circumvent the crowd and arrive at the tavern’s rear entrance without any further distraction.
Passing a vendor’s cart loaded down with Scottish shortbread and stewed apples, Fiona stopped following him to ask something of the vendor. Their conversation ended, and she ran by him, leaving the fire, voices, and food carts behind. She seemed to head toward the large barn behind the tavern.
“Nay, we must join me family inside. Why be you going to the barn?”
“I want some shortbread. I had a coin, and lost it, ‘Tis the last place I had it.”
If she was an otherworldly like him, where did she get a coin? Dragons stole pirate treasure, but he assumed she was poor. The dress she wore was threadbare and faded, though the butterflies decorating the fabric seemed alive.
“Gods above!”
She had stolen the clothes she wore. He’d seen a young lass chase a white doe, who ran away with the dress, stockings, and footwear.
A white doe?
It always came back to the strange white doe. Fiona either was the doe or knew where the doe was hiding. The former tantalized him the most, and he could only stare at her back as she ran toward the barn. She would answer him without any further delay, and his quest would end. Then she would reveal why she looked like his beloved Cliona.
A pain-filled cry shot from a window high above the tavern’s open rear door, making Dougal turn his thoughts to Vika and her babe. Torn between the concern for his clan’s future, and the desire to question the pretty lass, Dougal ground his teeth. He loosened his clenched jaw, and ran a shaky hand through his unruly hair.
Life in the mountains was not so complicated. In the Black Cuillin Hills, there was no need to worry about hair, clothing, coins, and the like. The urge to fly over the meadows and mountains, and fill his belly, was yanked away by the lass’s sweet voice.
“I shall be fine, as soon as I find me coin, and buy some shortbread. Be off. Your family needs you,” she called, leaving him in the dark.
CHAPTER 9
The dark wrapped around Toal MacMorgan, as he leaned against the side of the barn, watching the two people yelling at each other. Why they didn’t notice him was a gift, and he smiled when the dark-haired brute disappeared inside the tavern. Toal dare not show his face inside.
No one wanted him around any longer, thanks to Vika MacKinnon and others. Kera had thwarted his advances, and he’d nearly died by her lover’s hand. Even the pirates, stuck in the bay all winter with a damaged ship, would like to slit his throat.
It was stupid to be here, in Morbhan. He had planned to be off the Isle of Skye months ago, but an early winter storm had battered the small cottage he’d commandeered from an old farmer. Luckily, the man had showed him his dirt cellar where he kept food and water, before succumbing to a fever.
Good riddance.
With only one person in need of it, the food had lasted longer. Besides, there was nothing he could have done for the man. Still, the food was gone, and without his coins, that had disappeared beneath the burned out shell of his former home, he had to return to the village.
“Might I be of assistance, dear lass?” he asked. He kept his voice as soft and seductive as he could make it.
“Me thanks, sir. I dropped a coin somewhere here.”
“Here? Why ever were you near the stables? You ought to be dancing with the other young people.”
“I would like to dance, but I be famished.” She kicked aside some leaves, and sighed. “I do not see it anywhere. Someone may have found it. ‘Twas silly to have dropped it in me bodice, but I had no pockets, at the time.”
His eyes drifted to the scooped bodice of her simple gown, beneath her server’s apron. She was shapely, with a pretty mouth. Unfortunately, she would never service him. He had no coin with which to pay her, but he was beyond taking a stranger by force. Too many people wandered by, and they stood within earshot of the tavern. Disgusting thoughts filled his head. She was pretty, but he’d learned his lesson after tangling with Kera, and her beastly mate.
Pity.
“I be sorry I can offer no help to you, lass. Would you do me the honor of sharing your name?”
“I be Fiona,” she answered, keeping her head down, searching.
“Do you work in the tavern?”
The question made her head come up and swivel toward the raucous laughter from the building.
“Aye. I must get back to me duties, or Unna shall have me head.”
Drat! Unna knew him, and might alert the elders.
“Well, if you find a spare crust of bread or a half-eaten meat pie, think of me. I’ve no coin, either, pretty one. You may call me Mac.”
Her cheeks reddened at his words.
Females be so easily swayed.
The problem was that he had no home where he could take her, even if she wished to allow his attention. No soft bed on which to plow her, not even a carriage or cart.
“I could probably find some food, and maybe some cider? Will I find you here?”
He nodded, and bowed. As he did, he spotted something shiny under a leaf. “Look, lass. Be this your lost property?”
She picked up the coin, giving him another lovely view down her bodice.
“Aye, ‘tis me coin. Me thanks!” She turned and flitted away.
Watching her brown braid swaying back and forth, his body awakened. When she returned, he would eat his fill, or slake his lust.
I should not harbor such thoughts.
Time would tell if he would continue his success at keeping his cock in his trews, so he simply watched her beautifully rounded arse, as she ran. She paused at the doorway, and spoke to a red-haired lad.
Orin MacKinnon?
Damnation. Vika’s brother would surely recognize him. He dropped the torch, and slithered back into the shadows. The lass hurried into the tavern, while the lad paced back and forth just outside. Another man stepped out from the lighted doorway, with a familiar lass on his arm.
Kera.
She was here? She was as beautiful as when he had nearly bedded her months ago, before the golden-haired brute at her side had burned down his manor home. Since the man beside her was the same man who breathed fire like a dragon, Toal wasn’t optimistic about getting her back into his life. “He must be Wynn, the one who stole her away from me.”
Why were they here? Orin and Vika lived on a farm to the south, near the coast. Pirates had troubled them, last he knew, yet here was Orin. If he recalled correctly, Orin had mentioned Vika was with child. That was many, many months ago.
When Kera’s lover settled his palm on her abdomen, and kissed her on the mouth, Toal cringed, realizing she was also with child. Another scream tore through the night, and the happy couple glanced toward the tavern’s second story. Their worried expressions were understandable. Vika was birthing her babe.
Everyone looked upset, fearful, even. Giving birth could cause a lass’s death. Orin would be devastated, but why was Kera here? Was she friends with Vika? He’d last seen her the night he’d abducted her while she and Orin carried supplies toward the mountains. If they lived together, it wasn’t at the MacKinnon farm. He had scouted out their farm, hoping to gather money or weapons, but either the older warrior, Sinna, was living there, or the pirates were stealing everything of value. Why had those two abandoned the farm? Where did Vika and Kera live with their beastly mates?
Curious. I do like a good mystery.
***
“Mystery solved. There you be. Where did you go?” Unna asked. She was placing tankards in front of dozens of men. She no longer laughed and smiled at the men, and did not act too welcoming of their quick hands, though many looked deep in their cups, or weary from dancing.
“Forgive me. I had messages to deliver for Mistress MacFingan and ended up all the way at the blacksmith shop. I can help, now.” Fiona gasped as another howl came from the top of the stairs, a cry of great pain. “Vika.”
“Her cries be grating on me nerves,” Unna said. As she hurried into the kitchen, Fiona followed.
“We cannot blame the poor lass. ‘Tis her child that be hurting her. I be glad they got Vika settled upstairs. I saw Orin pacing out back,” Fiona said.
“Aye, and her brute of a husband barreled up those stairs. Someone said she’s too early along to be birthing, which means she and some lad had a wee bit too much fun about nine months ago.”
Fiona wasn’t sure what Unna meant. Evan, the dragon with the coppery hair, seemed concerned for his mate. She assumed he was the bairn’s father.
Orin walked up to Unna and glared at the young lass. “Do not be telling false tales about me sister. Evan be the babe’s da. Vika swore they fell in love before the wedding, but they live together and be a family. There was no one else before him, no matter how many times Toal the toad tried to bed her.”
“A toad?” Fiona asked.
“Toal MacMorgan. He lorded himself over the villagers, but he and his minions once tried to hurt Vika. He hurt Kera when she was barely a young lass, and abducted her only a few months ago. Kera be Wynn’s wife,” Orin explained.
“Who be Wynn?” Fiona asked.
“Evan and Dougal’s brother. He nearly killed Toal after the bastard almost got Vika and Kera killed by pirates.” Orin raced up the stairs.
Muffled voices, followed by another cry of pain, made Fiona shiver.
“Do not worry, lass. The babe will come when it wants to come. Vika be a strong hunter and farmer, in love with her babe’s da,” Mistress MacFingan said.
“Mistress! You should be in bed!” Unna dropped her tray on the counter, and grabbed the healer’s forearm. Black MacFingan came around the counter, and grabbed her other arm.
“You two be too protective. I be fine. Help me up the stairs so I can check on little Vika, then go about your business.”
The tavern keeper glanced over at Fiona. “Watch the coin box.”
Fiona nodded as the trio trod up the stairs, while she tried to comprehend what a coin box was, and where it might be located. Making herself useful, she walked behind the counter and gathered empty tankards. A cook brought out a large pot of rabbit stew, and Fiona’s stomach rumbled.
“Aye, ‘tis hungry you be, lass. No wonder, surrounded by these drunkards. Have a bowl of me stew. ‘Tis the finest mixture of rabbit, onions, and me own spices.” The cook cackled, took the dirty tankards from her, and returned to the kitchen, leaving Fiona to stare at the pot.
“Rabbit, did she say? ‘Tis good, but venison stew be me favorite,” said a huge man who walked up to the counter. He brushed a strand of long, gold hair away from his face, and stared at her with green eyes that sparkled beneath the torchlight. Naked and bootless but for a green plaide crisscrossed with white stripes, he wore a dirk sheathed at his hip. He was tall and muscular, and held
himself like a warrior.
He also looked like Dougal and Evan.
She shoved the tray closer to him, and he grabbed two filled bowls. When he dropped several coins on the counter, then headed for the stairs, all Fiona could do was stare at his back. The same design adorned his shirtless flesh. Come to think of it, Evan’s back sported the markings, as well. She’d seen it as he walked swiftly away from the blacksmith shop, but she was so enthralled to be in Dougal’s presence, she had dismissed it.
She palmed the coins, but wasn’t sure where to put them. The tavern keeper appeared, and she handed them to him.
“Why did you not put them in the box?”
“What box? Where?”
He chuckled, and showed her the box. It was filled to the brim with all manner of coins.
“It appears that you do a fine business here, me lord.”
“The celebration of Beltane fills all the rooms and the dining hall. Tomorrow shall arrive soon enough. Best catch some rest while you can.”
“I have no place to sleep,” she whispered, casting her gaze at her dusty footwear.
“You may sleep in our chamber. I shall be here through the night, since many outlanders will drift in to sleep on the tavern’s benches, after they enjoy the festivities. I suspect me wife will stay with Vika until the babe be born. Take this.” He filled a bag with coins, emptying half the coin box, then leaned down and whispered, “Hide it beneath the bed. You will find me wife’s trunk. Wrap it inside her nightclothes.”
He winked, and handed it to her. She wrapped it in her apron, and quickly made her way to the tavern keeper’s rooms. Placing the bag in the appropriate place was easy. Weariness was upon her and a nap wouldn’t hurt, so she removed her cap and footwear, and settled on the bed. She kept the rest of her clothes on, because she could not shake the feeling someone had watched her leave the counter and enter the tavern keeper’s rooms.
***
When Fiona disappeared behind a door near the counter, Dougal scratched his head. Earlier, when she had headed for the barn, Dougal’s first instinct was to follow her. However, his family needed him, so he headed for the tavern’s stairway. Vika and her offspring were his main concern, but he would question the sprite soon enough. The night was young, and the celebration of Beltane would last several days. At the door to Evan and Vika’s bedchamber, he paused. Things were quiet, so he knocked.
Smolder (Clan of Dragons Book 3) Page 8