His ears turned toward the cart. A noise, coming from the opposite direction that Orin and Vika headed, made him go perfectly still. His nostrils flared, seeking another clue. The scent was familiar.
Human!
The stench of unwashed flesh filled his snout. He lowered his head, and pretended to graze on a nearby bush. Patience was not one of his virtues, but he could be injured in this form. He healed in his dragon form. Even then, certain injuries lingered, such as the lightning strike on his hip.
He must wait and see what the stranger planned to do. The last time they’d met, when he was in his human form, the man had struck him from behind.
He still remembered the pain in his head and ribs. As a dragon, he could kill him with a swift bite, or a deadly thrash of his tail. It would certainly surprise the man, but he first needed to know his intentions. What was he doing here? Was he alone? Was he planning to attack Vika or Orin?
As Evan pretended to chew the bush’s stubby branches, he flicked his ears toward the approaching man. When the stranger slipped his dirk from his waist, Evan readied his body to shift into a dragon. He would not die by this cur’s dirk, nor could he allow him to kill the pony.
Alert, and watchful, Evan followed the stranger’s movements. He pulled aside the branches that covered the cart and cut the rope that held down the canvas. When he accidently cut the rope tying Evan to the cart, Evan grew still. The stinking human began to remove the carcasses, causing Evan’s eyes to widen in surprise.
A thief?
He could deal with a thief, as long as he kept his horse-shifter shape away from the thief’s weapon. He raised his head, bared his teeth, and attacked.
“Bloody Hell!”
The man yanked his arm from Evan’s mouth, and the scent of fresh blood was as pleasing to Evan as the thief’s scream. When the foul-smelling human transferred the dirk to his other hand, and swung it at him, Evan turned, kicked the thief in the gut with his back hooves, and another scream filled the air. As the human rolled away from the cart, his dirk went flying.
Evan placed himself between the thief, and where the pony stood off to the side. The man jumped to his feet. Evan pawed the ground, while the thief ran back to the cart. When he grabbed hold of the whip, Evan trotted away.
The man was not having any of that. The crack of the whip, as it landed on Evan’s old injury, nearly brought him to his knees. Evan screamed, struggled to turn, and faced the man. He would rather be whipped in the face, then on the wound from the lightening strike. His thigh burned and trembled, and the scent of fresh blood tainted the air. He concentrated on keeping the whip at a distance, yet the pain made his vision blur.
The man drew back his arm again, and Evan tensed. Before the whip found its mark, Dougal pounced. As the thief screamed, and blood spurted on the ground, Dougal leapt into the sky with the man wrapped tightly in his talons. Evan released his breath in a loud relieved snort.
His rump ached, but he and the pony were otherwise unscathed. The man had cut the canvas covering’s tie, and the scent of blood was thick.
Evan plucked the cut branches from the ground with his teeth, and covered the cart the best he could. He wasn’t able to do a perfect job, but it should keep other predators from making their unwelcome presence known. When Vika and Orin returned and found the blood splatter on the ground, what would they think?
He chewed through several branches and covered the pool of blood, hoping to lessen the scent. His thigh burned, and he was growing weaker, since he was bleeding profusely. As he shivered in the bitter cold, the clouds dropped even lower. He smelled snow in the air. His fur was too thin to keep him warm. He suddenly wished to be back at Vika’s farm, and inside her cozy barn.
“What has happened here?”
Evan turned his head toward Orin’s voice. The lad dropped his crossbow, and glared at him. He must have noticed that Evan was no longer tied where Orin had left him. He hung his head. What would the lad say when about the cut rope and the blood?
Orin marched over to the cart and removed the branches. Evan noticed the two pine martins looped over Orin’s shoulders, and the two deer carcasses he dragged behind him. Orin dropped the small animals to the ground, and stared at the cart, then at him.
“What be going on? Spark! Did you chew through this rope?”
Evan couldn’t answer him, of course. Instead, he whinnied and tossed his head sideways. He pawed the ground where he’d placed the branches over the thief’s blood. Orin wasn’t watching, because he had gone back to the loose covering. Orin cursed and grumbled.
At him, he assumed. He had no way to explain all that had occurred.
“When me sister returns, you shall be in trouble. I be not sure why you would make such mischief. We be trying to save your life!” After throwing the carcasses onto the cart, Orin pulled out the feedbag. He walked to the pony, and fed him, ignoring Evan.
Serves me right.
Evan wasn’t hungry. He was in pain, but had no way to tell the angry lad. His concern for Vika took his mind off his throbbing flesh. Moisture pooled at his hoof, which reminded him that he was bleeding.
He worried about Vika. She was merely a female human, and out there alone. Raising his head, he sniffed, but the scent of fresh blood from his wounds and the dead deer were too strong to scent Vika, or any other danger.
He was worried about the lass. Why had Orin returned alone? They had gone off together. Had Orin seen Dougal with his prize? Nay, he seemed mad at Evan, and his attention was keen on getting their cart ready to travel. Did that mean Vika had killed her boar?
Nay, Orin would have to help her pull it back to the cart. Vika was strong, but he doubted even two humans could drag its two-hundred pound carcass without his help.
“Spark, you don’t get fed until you prove useful. Come.” Orin grabbed his untied rope, and led him away from the cart. Evan prayed they would soon meet up with Vika, because something deep inside him sensed her terror.
***
Vika pinched her nose. The beast stank. Gore and tissue covered its tusks, as if it had recently attacked another being. She prayed that being wasn’t her brother. She hadn’t seen Orin for over an hour, but she suspected he’d had to return to the cart with his catch. If he was on his way back, she’d feel safer. Until her brother returned, there was nothing she could do but kill the boar herself. Even calling out to Orin might enrage the boar, and give away her hiding spot.
Wolves were its main predators, but their numbers had dwindled. From dark to rusty-brown, the boars hid easily in the scrub and heavily treed forests. However, the smell was easy to track.
At the moment, the beast’s acrid odor intensified, and it was snuffling along the ground, as if following her trail. She wished she had found a sturdy tree to climb, but in this place, near the rocky slopes of the Cuillin Hills, trees grew no higher than Spark. The best cover she could hope for were gorse bushes and other brambles. Getting a good shot would require the boar to pass by her. Shooting it through its eye would require her to stand and make her shot fly.
The problem? Such a move would make her visible to the beast. He might charge. Orin was to help her by causing a distraction, but they had somehow become separated.
“Vika! Where be you?”
As she feared, the mostly-hidden beast turned toward Orin’s voice, and she prayed Orin could hear it charging in his direction. Making full use of the diversion, Vika sprang to her feet with her arrow already fitted in the bow, and fired.
The arrow struck the boar, just behind its ear, and it collapsed on the forest floor. The small trees parted, and Orin broke onto the trail.
“Bloody Hell!”
“Orin! Watch your language,” Vika warned, then joined him beside her kill. The danger had passed, and her brother was uninjured. Her racing heart slowed. “The beast be ready to gut and take to the cart.”
“I shall make quick work of it.”
Vika shivered in the chilly air, and noticed the late hour. �
�I sense the weather be changing, and our time be nearly at its end. I propose this be our last addition to our cart.”
“Aye, ‘tis a great addition, through no help from Spark. The stupid horse tried to empty the cart!”
“Nay, ‘tis not possible,”
“I saw it! The rope was chewed or…”
“Or, what?” Her brother made no sense. Why would a horse chew through a rope unless it was trying to get to the meat? “Horses don’t eat meat.”
Orin scratched his head, and glanced from Spark, who stood several feet away, to her. “Now that I think about it, the end of Spark’s rope looked too clean, as if it had been cut. There was also blood on the ground, far from the cart, with a few branches spread over it.”
“How odd. Be Old Gray fine?”
“Aye. I fed the old boy, and hurried back here with Spark, so we could find the boar.”
When Spark walked closer, and she could see his side, she gasped. “Spark was injured? How?”
Orin gasped. “I never saw this. Looks like he was whipped.” He ran his hands over the big horse’s head and neck, his withers, and rump.
Vika hurried to Spark’s side, and cried out in anguish. “He be hurt bad. Aye, it looks like a lashing, and on top of his previous injury. How could you not notice such a thing?”
“I was angry, and in a rush. You were me only concern.”
She smiled at her brother. It was fine to have him looking out for her, but she needed more. She needed a man in her life. When an image of Evan Brown filled her head, she shivered.
“If you be cold, tie your cloak shut.” Orin turned his attention back to the horse. “Someone else did this. They might have used the whip attached to the cart.”
“Let us return to the cart and the pony, in case the stranger returns.”
Gutting the boar took some time, then they tied a rope around its rear legs. They tied the other end of the rope to Spark and let him drag the carcass slowly back to where they had left their precious cargo. The cart was still covered, and the pony lifted his head before returning to graze on the dried grass and purple tufts of heather.
Vika walked to the cart and inspected the small whip. “Aye, ‘tis coated with blood.”
“Someone was trying to take our cart, or just the meat. Spark must have put up enough of a fight to get him attacked. At least he ran off his attacker.” Vika caressed the animal’s soft coppery fur, taking care to keep her distance from the new wound. “We be too far from a stream to clean his wound properly. I suggest we use the last of the water in our skins, and hurry to the village. I’ve had enough of killing.”
“You cannot ride into town dressed in breeches.”
Vika chewed her bottom lip, and wondered how to get a change of clothes without wasting time to head toward the coast, to the farm. “If I ride Spark to our farm, I can meet up with you later, before you enter the village.”
“Can the beast make it with such a wound?”
Vika ran her fingers over the animal’s back, then around the bloody wound. Spark’s muscles twitched, but he didn’t shy away. “The bleeding has stopped, and I don’t think the muscles and tendons be harmed. It might hurt. Do you think I can ride him?”
“Ask him. He’s smarter than the average horse, I swear.” Orin handed her his water skin.
Vika doused the wound, cleaning it. The lash mark was not very deep, but she worried about infection. “When I get you to the village, our healer shall give me an ointment. May I ride you?”
She didn’t expect an answer, but Spark nodded his head, and blew warm air in her face. He was so handsome, for a horse. What was odd was the feeling she got when she gazed into his big amber eyes.
Companionship.
However, her heart and body dreamed of companionship of a different kind, but she would take this as a sign of hope, and joy. Saving Spark was the first step to a new life.
A life that does not include the likes of Toal MacMorgan.
As Orin headed toward the village to the southwest, Vika cleared her mind, and concentrated on who might have tried to steal their catch. Was he a simple woodsman, who found their cart by accident, and needed food? Did he have a hungry family to feed? Or, was he somehow conspiring with Toal, and meant to steal her kills, so Toal might win the wager?
“If Toal sent the man that whipped you, I will kill him!”
Spark pulled against the reins, as if agreeing with her sentiment.
Toal was shifty enough to think up such a devious action, and she was lucky Spark had frightened him away, though she would not wish Spark injured for his trouble. She made a mental note to talk to Mistress MacFingan, to make sure she cared for the wound in the best manner.
She and Spark trotted away, and were soon far from Orin and the pony cart. She was anxious to return home and bathe away the stench of the boar’s blood. As soon as she caught up with Orin, they would announce their kills to the elders, sell some of the meat, including the huge boar, then return home. Spark would live out his life with them, safe from Toal’s cruelty. If they could find the man who had whipped Spark, and tried unsuccessfully to steal their meat, they might prove Toal had sent him.
“I would love to see Toal brought before the Council of Elders in shame.”
Spark whinnied and tried to toss his head. She loosened the reins, and continued their trek toward home. She had no time to build a fire, so her bath would be chilly, but she wanted to change her clothing. A simple dress would be more acceptable when she met with the Council of Elders.
When she and Spark rode into the farmyard, she stopped briefly at the barn. She tossed food to the sheep, watered Spark, and headed inside. The cottage was still locked up tight, and the cool air was stale, and unwelcoming. She tossed her clothes in a wash bin, and dipped a cloth in a bucket of water that she’d left sitting beside the cold hearth.
As she washed the grime from her face and limbs, she thought of Evan Brown’s earlier kiss. She had cried with fright at the sight of a dragon. When Evan had scared the beast away, she had fallen into his arms. She had kissed several men in her village, but none of them ever stirred her heart, or body. Toal, on the other hand, had forced his kisses on her. The man was a brute, and a horrid excuse for a man. Winning the wager was the only way to keep him out of her life.
Either that, or I shall kill him.
After stepping into a dark green wool skirt, she tied the laces of her soft deerskin vest over her best white linen shirt. She slipped on clean half-calf boots, and slid her sgian dubh into one boot. The dagger was small, but it gave her another layer of confidence for the trials and tribulations of the night ahead. She filled a water skin and set it by the door.
Grabbing a brush, she stroked her hair until all the leaves and twigs tumbled free. Twisting it into a simple braid, to guard against the wind between her farm and the village, her shoulders ached. Her back muscles were straining with every move, as well.
Glancing at her bed, the urge to lay down and drift off was hard to deny. However, the bed was empty, and too lonely. Another image of Evan’s coppery hair, wide shoulders, and bronzed skin rose. How would his muscles feel beneath her fingers? As soft as Toal’s, or as hard as the Cuillin Hill’s jagged rocks? Would he be as cold as a winter stream, or as warm as glowing coals?
“If only Evan was here to keep me company.”
“Be you talking about me, lass?”
Vika screamed, and her boar’s hair brush flew across the room.
Evan raised his hands, and took a step back. “Easy, lass. I did not mean to frighten you. I was passing by, and saw your horse outside.”
“You surprised me, ‘tis all.” She bent and picked up the brush without taking her eyes off Evan. Where had he come from? He continued to appear in the oddest locations, but did he mean her harm? What was he wearing? A horse blanket?
“I be unafraid. I be simply wondering if you be following me, or were you the man who injured me horse, and tried to steal our meat?”
“Someone hurt that precious animal? ‘Twas not me, I swear. I have a great affinity for any beast.” He strode farther into the room, circling her while his eyes traveled from the meager cooking area, to her bed. When his gaze landed on the wall of weapons, his eyebrows rose.
“Aye, you be quite the hunter. I heard your brother compliment you on your skill. Can you kill…anything?”
Whatever did that statement mean? “I have killed a great antlered stag in years past, and today I killed a huge tusked boar.”
He smiled, and the dark cavern of her closed-up cottage brightened, as if the sun had suddenly squeezed through her heavily thatched roof and shone on his face.
When he stopped beside her small bed, no more than a pile of furs and worn wool blankets atop a simple pallet, to keep everything off the cold floor, she chewed her bottom lip. What was he thinking? Would he force himself on her the way Toal tried more than once?
“Why be you frowning, lass? Have I overstepped me bounds? I only wished to get to know you better. I have few friends, and me brothers be not the type of company I seek.”
“What type of company be you looking for?” she whispered. Her heart beat so fast, she slapped a hand on her chest. Her legs trembled as his eyes narrowed and he walked closer.
“If you will be me friend, me journey has not been for naught.” His gaze never left her face, as he lifted her shaking hand, and pressed a kiss to her knuckles.
The gentle pressure made her squirm. The skin was tender from having gutted several animals. They no longer bled, but the tiny scratches ached.
“You be injured,” he said.
“Please ignore them. ‘Tis minor and I be a fast healer. ‘Tis me horse that causes me to worry.”
“Aye, his wound looks painful, but he should heal.”
“I plan to visit Mistress MacFingan, our village healer. She has a soothing herbal salve. I really should go.”
“Not yet.” He lowered her hand, then set his hands on her hips, and pulled her closer.
“Evan?”
Spark (Clan of Dragons Book 1) Page 8