The Magic of Highland Dragons (4 page)

Dirc shrugged, the very picture of innocence. “I’m here tonight to fill my belly, nay more.”

“It’s roast venison again”, Bren said with a frown. “For the fourth damn time this week.”

Dirc gave him an admonishing look. “Ye’re the laird of this castle. Why do ye no’ ask for something different if ye doona want venison?”

Bren scowled at him as if he should know better than to ask such pointless questions. “Ye ken I dinna have time for such trifling things as planning the meals. That is why I have a bloody staff.”

“Of course no’, my laird.” He pulled out his knife and helped himself to some of the venison, along with a heap of roasted turnips. “Perhaps if ye took a wife, she could see that your meals are to yer liking”, he said, far too casually. “Women love to see to such trifling things, or so I’m told. It’s in their blood, ye ken.” Dirc glanced up warily, quite certain of the reaction he would be getting. And so the low, menacing growl didn’t surprise or frighten him.

“I dinna want just any wife! Or a wife for the sake of having one. I’ve
told
ye that, Dirc. In fact, I am perfectly happy with my life just the way it is. Let my brothers marry and produce heirs, I willna do it. Stop speaking to me of such things, or I will have ye chopped up and feed ye to the dogs for their supper! Dinna think I will no’!”

He spoke in a tone of aggravation and tightly leashed fury, but Dirc had no trouble at all hearing the pain and emptiness just below the surface. They had been through this before, many times. And so he went on, needing everything to be poised at the forefront, ready to fall hard and fast to the destiny he knew was awaiting the Mac Coinnach chief.

“But ye are the oldest, the strongest! Aye, the most powerful of yer line, perhaps even the most powerful ever!”

Bren shoved one hand through his thick and wavy hair, a gesture Dirc knew well.

“Aye, I am powerful. And as ye have also said before, I am dangerous. Too dangerous, Dirc.”

“Which is why ye need to find yer rightful mate. She will be able to temper…”

“Shut it Dirc!” Bren glared irritably at the old sorcerer. “I ken ye believe in all that soul mate rubbish, but I dinna, no’ anymore. I looked for her”, he said in a harsh whisper, leaning closer so that no one else would hear. “I looked for a damn long time. She doesna exist, or she would have been here by now.” He turned his attention back to his food, stabbing a piece of meat on his trencher with far more force than was necessary.

Dirc looked down at his plate, feigning remorse for his words, breaking off a piece of bread and chewing it thoughtfully. No point in angering the laird any further. Things would sort themselves out soon enough. With his help. He smothered a giddy grin behind his hand, hiding the involuntary twitch of his lips with a slight cough. Oh, to be done with all this! It was so close, after years, years! of planning and waiting. Dropping his hand, he heaved a rather dramatic sigh.

“Aye, my laird, perhaps ye’re right. I had hoped that for the sake of our people she would be found. Perhaps it really ‘tis yer destiny to be alone all yer days, a warrior, a protector of our clan, but never a husband or father. Though I wouldna wish it on ye, had I a choice.”

Bren’s gaze softened just a little. His eyes held a flicker of deep regret before he carefully masked it behind his customary indomitable expression. “I too had hoped for more, old friend. But some things are never meant to be. We will just have to find another way. One of my brothers, perhaps. Eian, I think, would be much quicker to produce an heir, if he hasna already.”

“If ye dinna mind my saying so, my laird”, Dirc began in an attempt to lighten the mood before he slipped away, “ye seem a bit ill-tempered today. Might I suggest ye take a lesson for yer brother and indulge in a good tupping this evening after dinner? Ye may well find it improves yer mood. A virile man such as yerself should no’ go so long without.”

Bren gave him an incredulous look. But then he laughed easily, his anger forgotten for the moment. “Is that yer curative advice to me, sorcerer?”

“Aye. Will ye do as I recommend, then? For the good of us all?”

“Nay. Never what ye recommend.”

“Och, ye’re only being stubborn. It’s good advice.”

They ate for a few moments in companionable silence, until Bren’s younger brothers arrived for the meal. As usual, they were late and they were starving and soon had old Berta scolding them up and down for their lack of manners. Bren had a feeling that without Berta, they would in short time all be living like wild beasts. Men needed the civilizing influence of women, of that he was certain. Men might make a place safe to live in, provide sustenance, but only women could make it a home, with children and laughter, and yes, even flowers. He thought of the beautiful flowers his mother had always arranged on the tables, and how he missed those little touches of softness in his life, of beauty and joy, when the rest was so filled with hardness and far too often, spilt blood. The scars on his body were testament to the life he had led thus far. He felt his heart begin to squeeze too tight in his chest, and so quickly looked around for something to divert him from the unwelcome direction of his thoughts.

Dirc was taking advantage of the distraction Drust and Eian had provided to slip a small loaf of bread into his pocket, to bring to Faith for her dinner. He took most of his meals here at the hall, and so kept very little food in his cottage. He excused himself from the table, and with his back turned, he could only feel Bren narrow his eyes in renewed suspicion. Dirc smiled to himself and began humming softly as he left the hall at a near run.

“The old man is up to something”, Bren said while his brothers all had their mouths too full and could actually hear him above the din in the hall. At least half the men that lived within the castle walls were seated at the long tables, eating and drinking heartily and talking loudly. It was no wonder most of the women chose to eat after the men finished, in relative peace.

“Up to what?” asked Drust, when he had swallowed his food, and just before he stuffed his mouth full again.

“I dinna ken
what
, I just ken it’s
something
. Perhaps between the two of ye, ye can find out what it is. It’s always safer to ken what Dirc is plotting ahead of time.”

Eian grinned at him. “Ah, sure. Spying on errant sorcerers is one of my many specialties.” Bren raised an eyebrow at his youngest brother, the corner of his mouth curling up just a little. Eian was the most lighthearted of the three of them, quick with a smile and a jest. Constantly occupied by women and wine and all the finer pursuits in life, all while still managing to live up to his responsibilities as brother of the laird and chief. Bren sometimes wondered what it was like to be so cheerful all of the time, so carefree. With every day that passed, he felt the chances of knowing happiness in his own life grow a little dimmer.

He remembered a time when he was very young, and his father had held him on his knee in the evenings and told him the stories of the clan. He would tell him that one day he would be chief, and that he must rule wisely and justly. He must protect both his people and the sacred rites that bound them all together. His father had told him that one day he would find his own great love, a woman made only for him, who would be always at his side and bear him sons and daughters. He had warned Bren then, even then when he was just a child, that he mustn’t wed before he was sure he had found the right woman, or he would be unhappy for all of his life, and his destiny would remain forever unfulfilled. That was the way of the Mac Coinnach men of their line. When a young Bren had asked how he would know her, his father had taken out the book of family lore, and showed his the passage where it said
“…and her heart shall beat beneath the twin dragons, as though it is his own heart they devour…”

“When I met your mam”, his father had told him, “it was just after a hard and bloody battle, and she had been wounded when her family’s home was attacked. It was a cold, wet day, and someone had wrapped her in the Mac Coinnach banner to bring her to the castle to be tended. I kenned as soon as I saw her that she was to be my wife.”

For many years Bren hadn’t left the castle without the Mac Coinnach standard, just in case. Though he could not imagine under what circumstances it would come to be wrapped around the woman he would love. But he wanted her that much… and far more.

Chapter 3
҈

Dirc put the loaf of bread on the table nearest the fire and handed Faith a steaming bowl of porridge. As he did so he regarded her with something akin to growing wonderment and respect. For all his long life, he had never come across such a woman who could be whisked away unawares to another time and place with no real explanation, and seemingly take it all in stride. He had no doubt she was frightened, and perhaps still even a bit in shock, but she had a deep strength to carry her through it all, very much like her mother.
And her grandmother, too.
He shook off the memories, better left where they lie, for now. “Sorry lass, I’m no’ the best cook.”

A peculiar smile lit up her face as she took the earthenware bowl into her hands and then laughed. “It’s pottery. Not in pieces. A whole porridge bowl!” She met Dirc’s slightly puzzled frown with a smile of bemusement. “It’s just that I usually see them in pieces, and I always wonder what each bowl might have been used for when it was whole. I’m a… well, I’m… I was a kind of a historian, before. It was my… job. In my… time.”

“Ah, I see. Ye like the past, learning the old ways. That’s wise.”

She set the bowl on the table to cool a little before it burned her fingers, letting the warm mealy scent of boiled grain waft up to her nose. It smelled so good, or maybe she was just really hungry. After all, she hadn’t eaten since lunch the day before. “Are you going to tell me now why I’m here? I’ve been very, very patient, but all of this…” She made a helpless gesture with her hands. “I don’t understand what’s happened. I don’t know why I’m here.”

The older man sat down on a stool across the table from her, and as she regarded him, she could have sworn his eyes had changed for an instant, in a most unusual way, as if he was a much different being than the one she saw before her. The hairs on the back of her neck rose, but she managed to keep her face from registering anything but the hope that he was about to fill her in on her unexplained situation. Then, as she looked at him, searching his face for clues, another slice of understanding dawned.

“
You
brought me here, didn’t you?” She suddenly knew that he did, was sure of it. She put down her wooden spoon on the table with a dull thud. Her eyes challenged him to deny the truth. “It was you… I know it was you!
That’s
how you knew to expect me.”

“I had something to do with it, aye.” He sighed, drawing his hands over his face. She couldn’t know everything, not yet. He was messing with things enough as it was, and he just couldn’t risk it. With a bit of good fortune, she would find out soon enough all that she needed to know, but for the time being he needed to tread very carefully. “See here, lass, I ken ye have questions, but I simply need a bit more time to answer them. Can ye understand that? Can ye give me the time I need?”

She was already tired of waiting. “You take me from my home and my life there, bring me here without my permission, and
you
need more time to get around to telling me
why
?” Faith was beginning to feel just a little bit desperate. She needed at least some sort of purpose, some reason for her life to have been turned upside down. Some explanation for what she considered to be the absolute madness she had stumbled into.

Dirc didn’t answer, but only tapped his fingers rhythmically on the table in thought. The timing of everything was crucial. He would have to depart on the morrow for Ingarry to leave the message which would be delivered to Loghan… eight days hence should be enough time, shouldn’t it? Admittedly, for all his meddling over the years, he’d never tried to exact a plan in which so many different things could go wrong. He found it most disagreeable. It was making his head pound, even now.

“Dirc! Whoever you are!” Faith was nearly shouting at him now. Her face looked like it might crumple into tears at any moment.

“Ah hell, lass. Dinna get all upset. Everything is fine… will be fine. Come, ye’re tired and need to sleep. Everything will seem better on the morrow.” He led her from the table to one of the doors. Behind it was a tiny room, barely large enough to hold a cot. “There now, lie down. Rest.”

She sank down onto the bed, but only because she really was too tired and mentally drained to argue further right then. He paused at the doorway and turned back to her.

“When ye wake in the morning I willna be here, as I have an errand that will take most of the day. I’ll leave ye some food, and ye may make use of my home as ye please. I’ll be back before sunset.” He waited for her to nod her understanding before he went on. “Listen to me now and take heed. Dinna leave the dooryard of this cottage until I return, it’s far too dangerous. I wouldna have ye hurt while I’m away. Do I have yer oath lass?”