The Magic of Highland Dragons (5 page)

“Yes, all right.”

All out of fight for the moment, Faith lay back on the bed. She was tired, exhausted really. And tomorrow, when she was rested and feeling stronger, maybe she could go through his books and jars and figure some things out for herself. There must be plenty of clues. She was asleep within minutes.

***

“Dirc has a lass in his cottage.”

Bren looked up at his brother in surprise. He had only just sat down to break his fast after an early morning round of training with some of his men. He had gone in the loch afterwards to clean up, and his hair still hung in damp waves around his face. “Dirc? Old Dirc has a lass in his cottage? What lass?”

His brother Drust sat on the edge of the table, snagging an apple from the bowl there and taking a big bite. “I dinna ken”, he said around his mouthful of apple. “She’s bonny though.
Verra
bonny.”

“Ye saw this lass?” For Drust to say a lass was bonny, or even to bother with further comment about anything at all, was unusual. His brother kept most things completely to himself, often to the point of aggravating anyone trying to communicate with him.

“Aye.” He paused to take another bite of the apple. “She was in the door yard this morning, just standing there, looking about like she wasna sure what to do.”

Bren ran his fingers through his hair, pushing it back, only to have it fall back over his face in loose unruly curls. “Why on earth would Dirc be hiding a lass in his cottage? It doesna make sense… unless…”

“Unless what?”

Bren stood and began pacing slowly back and forth behind his chair. “Unless… Ye ken he’s been after me for years now to take a bride. Do ye suppose this could be another of his plots to marry me off?” He stopped and turned back to look at Drust, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against the edge of the table. “This is verra suspect. I’ll have to get to the bottom of it, sooner rather than later, before the old man can make too much trouble. Remember what happened the last time he tried to meddle with such things as fate? It was a mess the likes of which I’d rather not see again.”

Drust looked at his older brother and sighed. Sometimes he worried about Bren. He was such a hard man; powerful, indomitable. And he was a good man, deserving of happiness in his life. So much rested on his broad shoulders, yet he carried the burden with an ease that belied its real weight, and his age: only twenty-seven years. He had been chief since he was little more than a child. A wife
would
be good for him, perhaps temper his steel with a bit of softness, bring him the joy of bairns of his own… and of course there was the matter of an heir, which was a subject Drust knew far better than to bring up.

Bren would not wed, and so there would be no heir. At least not yet. His brother believed wholeheartedly in the family prophecy that every laird of Creagmor had but one true mate; his perfect other half, the one meant to join with him to carry on the family line. Bren denied it of course, told everyone else it was nonsense. But Drust knew better; he knew his brother perhaps better than he knew himself. And so, though Bren took what he needed from the many willing lasses of the village, he made it clear to one and all that he would not be tied to any one woman in particular. Not that Drust himself wanted to be tied to one woman either, but then, he was not Laird, so he could do as he pleased in that matter. And for now, it pleased him to be alone.

Aye, Drust agreed that Dirc was up to something; that much was obvious. He also had a strong feeling it had to do with Bren’s future. He only hoped that his suspicion was right, and that the old sorcerer could pull it off without Bren finding out and interfering. He would help, in any way he could. He gestured to the door with his chin.

“Go then, and see her for yerself. Dirc left word in the village that he went to Ingarry this morning, and he willna be back yet.” Drust expected Bren to refuse, as he rarely involved himself with such things, especially things that Dirc had a hand in, and so he was astonished when his brother let out a breath from between his clenched teeth and nodded.

“Aye Drust, I think I will.”

He watched as Bren turned and walked away, his features set in a determined line. When he came to the door, he carelessly waved his hand, and it opened. Drust’s eyes widened in surprise, then immediately narrowed in concern. Bren never used magic so heedlessly, and certainly not to merely open a door. His brother must be very seriously distracted. And when Bren was distracted, things were apt to go to hell in one way or another.

Just outside the keep, Bren came across Eian. Nearly ran into him in fact.

“Bren, Dirc has a lass…”

“I ken it”, Bren cut him off. “Drust said as much.” Not pausing, he started in the direction of Dirc’s cottage.

Eian shot him a look and went into the keep. “What the hell’s wrong with Bren?

Drust shrugged. “I dinna ken. Needs a woman, I suspect.”

“Ah.” Eian nodded in complete understanding. If a man didn’t take care of his more carnal needs often enough, it could surely put him in a bad temper. He worked hard to keep his own fulfilled, and as a result he felt his own temper was fairly even most of the time. “I’ve told him as much; from what I can tell, he doesna indulge nearly often enough. It’s not good for a man to fight his baser nature like that. He’ll crack eventually, wait and see.”

***

Bren paused at the edge of the small dooryard to carefully shield himself from the sorcerer’s mind, in case he hadn’t really gone to Ingarry as he claimed. He would never hear the end of it if Dirc knew he was sneaking around his home like a lad to catch a glimpse of a bonny lass. In truth this was not something he would normally do, were he completely himself. But for the last couple of days he had been strangely restless, prowling around, unable to concentrate on anything for very long. Everything around him seemed more… intense, until he was about ready to jump out of his own skin. Now he found himself compelled, aye
compelled
, to come and see this lass of Dirc’s for himself. Granted Drust had said she was bonny, a complement his brother rarely doled out, and that alone was enough to intrigue any man, but it did not explain the odd sense of urgency he felt. He had to see her for himself, and he just couldn’t understand why it mattered so damn much. He wondered briefly if Dirc had tried to spell him again, but quickly dismissed that theory. He could always feel Dirc’s spells, and this was not one of them.

He moved lightly, soundlessly through the trees, circling the little clearing around Dirc’s humble cottage where he insisted upon living, even when he could have had a fine room in the castle, and a still room besides for all his herbs and concoctions. And then he saw her. Right there.

She was stretched out on the ground in the grassy shade of a rowan tree, propped on one elbow, a book open before her. The first thing he noticed was the look of near rapture on her face as she carefully turned each page. Then he noticed the soft curve of her hip and the long lines of her body. She pushed her hair back over her shoulder. Unbound except for a small twist on each side, it was long and thick and the color of sunshine. Bren couldn’t help it; he stared. Drust had been wrong when he said the lass was bonny. She was beautiful, exquisite. He could not take his eyes off of her. He wanted her at once, in a most visceral way. Some kind of strange feeling flooded through him, tightening his chest, and his manhood. He didn’t know what it was, but the feeling put him on edge so much that he gritted his teeth. He had felt something shift inside of him, and suddenly he was the hunter and she was the prey. He wanted the lass in his bed.

She sighed and stretched, and still he watched her, mesmerized… until suddenly she looked up, alert, eyes scanning the trees. She had sensed him there, felt his eyes on her. He must have let his cover slip for a moment. He scowled. It was not like him to make mistakes like that, however slight. Annoyed at himself, he broke the strange connection he had felt with her and moved away through the trees, as silently as he had come. But he was not done with this lass. Something about her just wasn’t… usual.

Faith had felt someone watching her, felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise in warning. She might have sensed it earlier, if she hadn’t been so engrossed in the book she found in the cottage. She couldn’t read the words, but the pictures of plants and animals were breathtaking. All hand drawn, all perfectly detailed. She scanned the edge of the woods again. She couldn’t see anyone, but the feeling had been so intense, so jarring, that she got up and went into the cottage, latching the door tightly behind her. Even safe within the four sturdy walls, she could not settle down. There had been something or someone out there, she knew it. Someone… unsettling. Dangerous.

She did not go out again. Instead she put the book carefully back on the shelf and searched the cottage from floor to ceiling. She found nothing that could tell her any more than she already knew. In fact there was not much more than the jars and books and a single trunk full of clothing and one extra wool blanket. There wasn’t even any food beyond the lunch of bread and meat he had left her. He must go to the keep for all of his meals, she supposed.

When Dirc finally returned late that afternoon, she was sitting by the fire, lost in thought. She told him what had happened, how she had felt someone watching her and how the intensity of the feeling had sent her running inside. Now, telling Dirc, she felt a bit silly. Maybe she had just let her imagination run away from her, after all. It was probably no more than a deer or a hawk, if anything at all. But Dirc listened intently to her story, and oddly, she thought she saw a look of deep satisfaction in his eyes. She must be reading him wrong, again, he had said he wanted her to be safe, not stalked. Or… maybe nothing here was as it seemed, after all, she didn’t know Dirc at all, really. She would have to have her guard up at all times until she discovered the truth. He wanted her here, he had brought her here. There must be a reason, but she still had no idea what that reason could be.

***

Bren motioned to a guardsman, who hurried to his side, eager to do the laird’s bidding. The Laird of Creagmor, Chief of the Mac Coinnach Clan was both feared and respected by all of his men. He wasn’t cruel, but he was powerful, and he was just. No one crossed him and did not suffer for it in the end. Even so, countless men willingly gave him their complete loyalty. He was the kind of man that drew others to his side without even trying. He possessed an aura of magnetism and a natural strength of character that made him a natural-born leader.

“Find Dirc McInnes as soon as he returns from Ingarry and bring him to me in my study. Tell him there is something we must discuss. I’m quite certain he’ll be expecting my summons.”

Bren went to the study to wait, and to think, pouring a tumbler of ale and sipping at it impatiently, then pacing between the fireplace and the tall windows of the east wall as he pondered. He couldn’t figure out for the life of him why such a small matter of his lust for a beautiful woman had his emotions running so high. Contrary to the outward impression most people had of him as a hard, cold warrior and mighty chief of his clan, Bren was a man who felt things very deeply, and at times struggled to control his hot blooded and passionate nature. But this… unease… he felt was different somehow. After all, Dirc had done many such ridiculous things in the past and it had hardly been more than a mild annoyance. This felt as if… as if his life was about to change somehow, as it hadn’t changed since his father’s death, when at seventeen years of age, he had taken the mantle of chief. He had avenged his father’s death, taking the life of the power-hungry laird who had killed him as well as claiming all of his holdings. It was an overwhelming and bloody victory that secured for him the loyalty of the Mac Coinnach clan far more than his blood right to the title of Chief.

Finally there was a firm knock at the door, and Dirc slipped into the room without waiting for a response from within. Bren motioned for him to sit, and watched with a keen eye as he crossed the room to one of the elaborately carved wooden chairs. The man had to be at least ninety, no one knew for sure, but he looked barely fifty years of age. He had been sorcerer to his family for three generations, and now that his own father was gone nearly a decade now, and then his mother, killed not four years later, Dirc was the next closest thing he had to family, besides his brothers, of course. He watched over Bren and Drust and Eian, healed their wounds, warned them of danger, helped them to cast and keep wards and spells when necessary. And in all the years Bren had known him, Dirc had never kept a woman of any kind, not even a house maid, let alone a beautiful young lass. Aye, the old man was up to something. And friend or no, it was his place as laird to know what. There was, after all, much at stake. He decided it was best to come straight to the point. The old man could be frustratingly wily.

“Who is she?”

Dirc looked right at him, his dark eyes looking so much older than the rest of his face that it was a bit disconcerting at times. But he did not bother to pretend innocence. He knew exactly who Bren was asking about.

“She is the daughter of an old friend, my laird. Her mother is dead. I came across her recently, in the forest outside of Creagmor, at the edge of the glen. She was on her way here to find me. She had journeyed far, and I took her in right away, for her own safety, of course. I had no’ yet heard the news of her mother’s death.” He turned his gaze to the window, his eyes far away now. “I had sworn an oath, many years ago, to watch over the girl. I have nay choice but to honor that oath now, nor would I wish it differently”, he said with a stubborn note in his voice.