“Unna, ‘twas nothing like that. ‘Tis the name Mistress MacFingan called him.”
“Did he show you where he keeps the money?”
She nodded, but offered nothing. Mac seemed to be listening. She prayed he would finish his free meal, and leave.
“How be the celebration?” Fiona would like to experience a Beltane festival, but she would rather not come in contact with dragons. She suspected Dougal knew her secret, but did he suspect she knew his? Would he take advantage of her, or steal her away to question her further?
“Well, I need a pot of stew and some bread. The elders invited several warriors into their tent. Some kind of meeting, I suppose,” Unna said, and disappeared into the kitchen.
Fiona leaned on the counter and wondered where she would sleep tonight. Her nap had refreshed her. Maybe she should shift and run through the woods until she could find a safe nook. When a shadow loomed over her, she glanced up.
“Can I get you anything else, Mac?” She was surprised how quiet her words came out. When he smiled, reached out with a hand and brushed a loose lock of her hair behind her ear, she shivered. He slipped on his gloves.
“Where do you plan to sleep tonight, lass?”
Shocked at his query, she squared her shoulders before answering, “I have no plans to sleep. Morning shall come soon enough. I suggest you find your bed.”
He glared at her, and she was glad the counter stood between them. She smiled, since he was a customer, and she would not bring shame on her employer.
Unna burst through the kitchen door with a large pot, and stopped abruptly. She came to her senses and plopped the pot on the counter. “What be you doing here!”
The stranger growled at Unna, raised his hood, and strode from the building as if his trews were aflame. Fiona was surprised at the venom in Unna’s voice, and the hate in the man’s brown eyes toward the server.
Unna ran after him, but he must have disappeared into the night. When she marched back to the counter where Fiona stood, she cursed beneath her breath.
“How dare he show his face inside the village walls? I must inform the elders and warriors. I suggest you stay behind the counter and keep a knife near.”
With no other explanation, Unna grabbed the pot and hurried out into the night. Fiona was confused. Unna hated Mac, and felt he was a danger to the villagers. Was she so naive that she could not distinguish between nice humans and dangerous ones? Was Dougal in the latter group? His kisses were wicked, yet she hadn’t pushed him away. Mac did not make her wish he kissed her, though he acted willing. Maybe Unna would explain as soon as she returned.
Unna suggested she carry a weapon. She searched behind the counter where Blackie kept the coin box, but found nothing. She stepped into the kitchen, and picked up a tankard. Her thirst had grown and since she couldn’t bring herself to partake of soup made with slaughtered animals of the forest, she would find something else.
The only barrel she could find in the kitchen was half-full of ale. “Better than nothing.”
She dipped the tankard, then swallowed some of the bitter brew. Where did her employer keep the cider? Apples were one of her favorite foods.
Her trip to the village to find Cliona was not going as planned. No one seemed to know her friend, nor had they seen anyone who looked like Fiona. The blacksmith treated her inappropriately, Mac was someone Unna hated, and Dougal was…what? A dragon who wanted her? A dragon-shifting human who kissed her until her human toes curled?
Even when he kissed her, he seemed filled with rage. The dragon nearly bit off the blacksmith’s head. Maybe she should carry a weapon, as Unna suggested.
She swallowed another tankard of ale, and felt a little dizzy. It wasn’t an unpleasant feeling. In fact, the strains of laughter and music coming from the square made her want to spin and spin, as she danced around the flames.
Nay, a weapon, first.
A carving knife would work. Several unattended pots simmered on the stove. The cooks must have found their beds, so she searched alone. Walking near a side door, she stopped beside a large wooden table where she had watched a cook carve a rabbit for stew. Several knives were scattered on the butchering slab, and she noticed one that didn’t look too heavy. She walked closer, but before she could pick it up, the back door slammed open.
***
Slamming his tail against a tree trunk, Dougal wanted nothing more than to sink his talons into a pirate, and destroy the bastard. Instead, his dragon eyes watched the pirate who planned to kill Wynn. If the brigand dared to raise his weapon, he would tear his head from his body.
When the man caught up to several other pirates, they headed north mumbling something about killing Toal MacMorgan. Dougal knew they would only find the charred remains of Toal’s manor. Wynn had burned it nearly to the ground, and Toal had fled to parts unknown. Their hike would keep them busy until dawn, so he flew until he caught up with Wynn’s scent.
The white wolf hid beneath thick brambles, but crawled out when Dougal landed softly nearby.
“Be she safe?” he asked.
Wynn nodded.
“The pirates have headed north, and one veered off towards the south, and said he’d meet up with the other one in the village. I feel the threat be over for this night, as the walls be high and the gate closed, but tomorrow be another story. Let us return to our hidden clothes, and head into the village. We must see if your mate was successful in coaxing the guards to be extra vigilant.” Dougal leapt into the sky, leaving his howling brother behind.
Thick clouds hid the moon, and using the cover of darkness, he swooped over the village, settling on the tavern’s roof. The fire in the town’s square had burned down, and many of the villagers were elsewhere.
“Probably in their beds, where I should be.” He was to share a room in the tavern with Orin, but something compelled him to watch and wait. A familiar scent drifted up, and he noticed a man enter the kitchen door. He wasn’t dressed like a cook, and certainly wasn’t a female server. When he recognized Gow, the blacksmith, enter the front door of the tavern, panic made his breath catch.
Gow had touched Fiona, she’d sworn, and the man had verbally abused her in his presence. He’d almost strangled the brute, but Fiona had brought him to his senses. Murdering a villager would not make Vika happy. He was here to see to their safety, and he could do that without killing.
Unless a pirate stumbled inside the village walls.
When the flowery fragrance he’d come to associate with Fiona drifted his way, he knew she was in the tavern. With a stranger heading in the back door, and Gow going in the front door, she might need protecting. He’d figure out later why he felt the need to be her champion.
Leaping into the night sky, he met up with Wynn outside the wall, where they had stashed their clothes and weapons. They shifted, their bones and sinew cracking, surrounding their bodies with brilliant light. When the euphoria ended, and they stood side by side as human males, Dougal set to clothing his nakedness in his plaide. “Wynn, go find Kera. I have something to check on inside the tavern.”
“Do you truly feel the danger from pirates has passed, this night?”
“Aye.”
“Good, then I shall take me mate to bed.” Wynn’s eyebrows wiggled, and he jumped over the fence.
Dougal grumbled, knowing he would soon share a bedchamber with a red-headed lad. To find comfort in the arms of a willing female was only a dream. When the image of Fiona morphed into the face of Cliona as she fell to the ground, dead, he closed his eyes. Tears pricked the corners, and he wished things had not gone so black.
CHAPTER 11
Black dots filled Fiona’s vision, until she remembered to breathe. Mac stood in the doorway, and his sudden appearance had taken her by surprise.
“I left before thanking you for the food and drink. I would apologize, but your friend was in quite a snit. I fear she planned to set the authorities after me. I wanted you to know how much I appreciated your kindness. Might I e
scort you around the village beneath the moonlight?”
Fiona’s mouth dropped open, and she quickly shut it. Mac appeared calm and caring. However, Unna’s warnings screamed inside her head, and she backed up against the table. Her fingers blindly searched across the top for the knife she’d planned to grab, before he’d slammed open the kitchen’s back door.
Mac smiled at her, but she wasn’t very good at reading humans. His expression reminded her of the dragon, right before he embraced her, kissing her senseless. The thought of Mac doing the same was not pleasing. He was handsome, for a human, though a bit older, and had his own secrets. To appease him in another way might work, at least until Unna returned from the elders’ tent.
“I wondered why you left so abruptly, but I have come to know Unna. She be harsh and brazen, and I do not take her opinions to heart. I appreciate the invitation, but I cannot leave me post. Would you like some stew?” she pointed to the bubbling pots.
Mac stared at the pot, and his stomach rumbled. “Aye, a bowl would do me good, but let us sit outside, together.”
Growing concerned, and afraid he wouldn’t leave her be, she wasn’t sure what to say. She honestly could not leave the tavern, not after her employer asked her to watch the place. When someone pounded on the counter in the dining hall, she relaxed. With others in the building, she had an actual excuse.
Without answering him, she reached up to a shelf, grabbed a bowl, and ladled stew into it. She handed the bowl and a spoon to Mac, and quickly headed toward the dining hall, grabbing the knife as she passed the butchering table.
“Wait! Do not dismiss me as if I be a common laborer! I be a lord, and I want you.”
Fiona hesitated at the door. When she turned back toward him, he had already set down the bowl, and was nearly upon her. His expression looked hopeful, as if he expected her to swoon at his feet. He stopped the moment he felt the knife pressing into his stomach.
Fiona stared into his widened eyes. “I do not believe you heard me. I cannot go anywhere with you. I have customers that need tending to, so I suggest you eat your stew, then leave.”
Mac glared down at her, but ventured no closer. Fiona slipped through the door, and stood behind the counter, shaking. Mac had the good sense not to follow her into the main tavern. Unfortunately, that meant she was alone with Gow, the blacksmith.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost, lass. I hope ‘twas not me, giving you the shakes. All I want be ale.” He wiped his sweaty face with a cloth, and leaned on the counter.
Fiona gazed at his face, looking for animosity, but all she saw was a sweaty brow, and streaks of cinder residue on his neck and knuckles. His weary expression and slumping shoulders did not frighten her.
She found a clean tankard, and dipped it into the ale barrel. Wiping off the excess foam, she passed it over the counter to Gow. When he grabbed her wrist, she froze.
***
“Remove your hand from her wrist, or I shall remove your arm.” Dougal had walked through the front door, and stopped. Instead of pulling his sword from its sheath, he crossed his arms over his chest. Fiona’s gaze latched onto his face, and he willed his eyes not to erupt into flames. No sense scaring her away, not when all he wanted was to kiss her berry-red lips until the morning sun rose in the east.
Gow let her go, and glanced over his shoulder at him, and gulped. “Sir, I be too weary to argue with you. Come, have a drink. The lass was shaking in her boots when I came in. Something else scared her, and I only meant to calm her.”
Dougal straightened and asked Fiona with his eyes if the blacksmith spoke the truth. When she nodded, he walked around to the back of the counter. She flew into his chest, and wrapped her arms around his waist. He held her close, cupping the back of her head. She trembled against him.
“Did she tell you what frightened her?” Dougal asked Gow.
“Nay. I walked in the same moment she raced out of the kitchen.”
Dougal set her aside. “Fiona? Be there someone in the kitchen?” He recalled seeing a hooded figure enter the tavern’s rear door, and a familiar odor tangled in his nose. The freshness of Fiona’s fragrance, mixed with the smell of…
“Toal MacMorgan!”
Gow cursed at the same time Unna walked into the tavern.
Unna dropped her empty tray. “Toal? I told that bastard to leave. I hope he not be lurking about, still.”
The men stared at Unna.
“MacMorgan was here?” Gow asked. When Unna nodded, he turned his attention back to Fiona. “Be the truth, lass?”
Fiona shook her head. “The only man here called himself Mac. I met him out by the stables.”
“And he was in here, having a meal like he owned the place. I told him to get his arse out of here, and he left,” Unna added.
“He came back.” Fiona whispered, and stared down, at her feet.
Dougal met Unna and Gow’s eyes. The expressions on their faces made him feel that they must know Toal, and were aware of his less than stellar history with females.
“Lass, did he hurt you?” Dougal wanted to kill Toal, but his concern for Fiona roared to the surface. Seeing to her, and keeping her safe, was paramount, but when she settled her head on his chest, he softened. He could not leave her. “Toal hurt both Vika and Kera. I will not allow him to touch you.”
Gow made a slight chuckling sound, but Dougal silenced him with a glaring look. Unna broke the silence by stacking dirty tankards and bowls on a tray. She carried them into the kitchen, poking her head back out. “He’s gone.”
Gow swallowed the last of his ale. “The hour be late. I shall leave you two to…talk. G’night.” Gow sighed, shrugging his shoulders, and disappearing out the tavern’s front door.
“What do you and I have to talk about?” Fiona whispered.
He didn’t want to let her out of his arms, since she was warm and smelled wonderful. Her touch drove him wild, and his groin tightened. The pain was tolerable, especially with the possibility of great pleasure staring him in the face. The chance to thrust his swollen flesh inside her, to make love to her, in the manner Wynn and Evan had described, made a growl originate deep in his chest. His cock rose, hardening in the blink of an eye, as his hands gripped her waist. He wanted her more than he’d wanted any other creature. However, he had too many questions needing answers.
He led her over to a table, picked her up, sitting her on the edge. When she was nearly at his eye level, his attention settled on her lips. Her mouth was beautiful, and the urge to devour her made him lean forward and capture hers. They were as soft and warm as he remembered, and he felt the smile tilt his lips at the corners.
Devouring her was too graphic a description. His mouth captured hers, and his tongue delved deep inside. At his intrusion, she did not shy away. Instead, she opened her mouth wider, and sampled him as deeply as he tasted her. Their flavors mingled. When his tongue explored her mouth, and tasted ale upon her breath, he chuckled.
Pulling away, she glared at him with doe-like eyes.
“Did you sample your master’s wares, lass?”
“Humans get thirsty, as do deer, horses, wolves, dragons…” The rest of her statement drifted off into a soft whisper.
Was she admitting she was the doe he sought? Did she realize his quest, which began well before the winter snows, was to find the white deer? Was she the shifter he’d sensed, ever since he first caught her scent?
He leaned into her, between her slightly spread legs. She took in a quick breath, but her mouth returned to his lips. She wanted him, and the thought turned him to stone. As he pressed his mouth firmly to hers, she wrapped her delicate human arms around his neck. She leaned into him, which brought her breasts against his chest. Her clothing could not keep him from luxuriating in the heat that pulsed from her. He sensed every tremble, and heard every sigh. Her reaction to him was all he’d hoped for.
Dougal kissed her neck, and nibbled her ear lobe. “I wish I knew everything about you, lass. I know how lovely you
smell, how sweet you taste, and how you soften while in me embrace. However, how do you know Cliona?”
When she didn’t answer, he claimed her mouth again. Although she was the exact image of Cliona, she tasted and smelled different. Better, somehow.
Dougal stepped away, breaking his connection with Fiona. She cupped her hands around the edge of the table to keep from falling off, and her expression turned pensive, as if wondering what she’d done wrong.
“If you will not answer me questions, we be done. May I see you to your bedchamber?”
Fiona’s doe eyes widened, and she jumped off the table. Landing on her feet, she swept past him without answering. Again.
He followed her, concern making his heart rate speed up, until blood pounded in his ears.
“Lass, you should not walk about alone, not when Toal be free. The man be a menace. He hurts women.”
She swung around, slamming an open hand against his chest. The heat from her skin stirred his inner dragon. His muscles tightened, and he could taste the bitter cinders that smoldered in his throat. He needed an outlet, and wanted to burn something.
A flight over the mountains would soothe his inner beast, but her touch called to him, urging him to ease the burn by making her his, the way humans did.
“Have you ever made love to a man?”
Her eyes flashed, and she stepped backward. The heat from her hand vanished, and her scent was now tinged with fear.
“You have no need to fear me, Fiona. You have not answered any questions, and me thoughts drifted. You taste so good, and I do not look forward to sleeping with Orin.”
She giggled.
With her pretty smile, she was as different from Cliona as night and day. Cliona was a strong, fearsome dragon who rarely laughed, and fought like a warrior. She had a deep, dark, sensuous laugh, nothing like Fiona’s breathless joy. Cliona often turned into an enraged dragon in the blink of an eye.
However, Fiona’s softness and easy smile made him hope for something different, which was a surprising revelation for a dragon scarred by bitterness, and consumed with the need for revenge.
Smolder (Clan of Dragons Book 3) Page 10