chapter 22
Among all the kinds of serpents, there is none comparable to the Dragon.
—EDWARD TOPSELL
Ciara felt no surprise her father had been a member of the Fearghall. He certainly had ascribed to the first Fearghall’s belief that men were more valuable than women.
Yet, she felt compelled to say, “I am sorry.”
“Their pride is not your sin.” The kelle sighed. “No more than my son’s sins are my own. Though I am responsible for calling the conriocht spirit to him.”
“Did you know of the flaws in his character before you used the stone to bless him with the conriocht?”
The kelle shook her head, grief shining in her eyes. “I knew we did not need more protectors, but he was my son. His belief in his supremacy came after he learned to shift into the conriocht.”
“I am sorry,” Ciara said again.
But peace stole over the kelle’s features. “It was a long time ago. What happened when I walked the earth no longer has the power to hurt. Even Fearghall has seen the truth of love and embraced it.”
Ciara couldn’t help wondering how many centuries that had taken. “Where did you hide the Faolchú Chridhe?”
“Somewhere my son and those who took on his name would never have considered looking.” The kelle’s sadness had returned and was palpable. “He was too fond of war, respected the power to kill above all others. He had no respect for the power to heal, though his own mate was a gifted raven who had no need of the sacred stone to heal the most grievous injury.”
“His mate was raven?” Ciara asked in shock.
“Yes, he killed her the same night he took my life.”
“I…” To say she was sorry was simply not enough. Not in the face of such treachery.
“His refusal to believe in the power of love over might led to his downfall and eventually the fall of the Faol.”
“MacAlpin was his descendant.”
“Aye, along with a great many good Chrechte.”
Ciara looked around the cavern, taking notice of the carvings and their significance. The story of a mighty warrior and his protection of the Faol was told in picture along one part of the stone wall. “Fearghall was not all bad.”
“No, he was not.” The kelle smiled softly. “Thank you for understanding that. It is yet more proof of your good heart.”
Ciara did not comment on that. “Where would he and those who came after not think to look?”
“Deep in the earth. He was convinced his wife stole the Faolchú Chridhe and she had an abhorrence for dark, small places. As many of the Éan do to this day. It is not a natural thing for them to go deep in the earth when they crave the sky, particularly not to a place that requires a long journey through a tight, dark tunnel.”
“Was it in the sacred caves of the Donegal or the MacLeod?” Ciara asked, not recalling ever hearing of a cavern that required such a journey to reach.
The kelle’s brows drew together in confusion. “I do not know these names. Are they warriors of your pack?”
“No. They are the names associated with territories.”
“Like hunting grounds? You name them now, rather than warring over the right to them?”
“There is still plenty of fighting.”
The kelle gave a twisted smile. “I suppose there is.” She frowned in thought and then said, “The caves were ones the kelle used only for healing.”
“And Fearghall had no interest in healing.”
“No. He killed my sister priestesses in his fury at the loss of the stone, never to realize they were the only ones who might have led him to it or who could truly draw on its power.”
“Where are these caves?” Ciara asked, a sense of time running short assailing her.
“Do you know the most sacred caves used by the Faol, the Éan and the Paindeal?”
“The Paindeal left the Highlands centuries past.”
The kelle winced. “Because of Fearghall?”
“Yes. You did not know?”
“I know only what I have learned when called into dreams of the Chrechte since my death. It has not happened often and never before have I been able to converse so freely as I am doing with you.”
“Others claim my connection to the stone is very strong.”
“As strong as my own.” The priestess nodded as if to herself and then smiled reassuringly. “It will lead you to itself.”
“I hope so. The seer Boisin says if I do not find it, the Faol will all die from the Black Death.”
“It is coming.” A different kind of grief shone in the kelle’s eyes. “You must learn to connect to the Faolchú Chridhe and save our people.”
“I want to.” And it was the first time Ciara had ever genuinely felt that.
“Then you will. The caves…perhaps only the Éan and the Faol use them now?”
“There is a sacred place I know of that is like that. It has been used as long as anyone can remember. Hot springs bubble up into a large pool in the cavern used for the mating ceremony.”
“That sounds like the caves of which I speak.” The kelle sounded both pleased by Ciara’s intelligence and relieved. “Two days’ journey south and half a day going west from that place will take you to the healing caves.”
“Walking, or running as the wolf?” Ciara asked before trying to determine where the directions the kelle had given indicated.
“Running as a wolf. Walking takes so long,” the kelle said with a puzzled frown. “The wolf can run from dawn to dusk.”
Ciara did some quick thinking. That would be on MacLeod land, but not the sacred caves Talorc had spoken of. “Are there landmarks nearby?”
And would they still be there so many hundreds of years later?
“The healing caves are in a dell with a small river running through it. We called it Kyle Kirksonas.”
Hopefully Mairi would know where the narrow river of the healing place of worship was and what dell it ran through. Perhaps it was still called Kyle Kirksonas by the MacLeod. Place names did not change so quickly in the Highlands.
The kelle’s face twisted in thought. “The entrance to the caves is in the steepest brae, a hillside entirely of stone. It looks like part of the brae, but it is not.”
The stone wall that was not. “How will we find it then?” Ciara asked.
“There is a place on the wall carved with our Chrechte symbol for healing. It is this high and about this large,” the kelle said, making a circle with her hands about as large as a baby’s face and near her eye level. “You must press the center with one of the small children from the Faolchú Chridhe.”
“You mean the stones like the one you wear in your circlet?” Ciara asked.
The kelle touched the tiny emerald dangling in the center of her forehead and smiled. “Yes. One of the children, though the key to our healing caves is bigger.”
It was a good thing there were “children,” as the kelle called them, in the handle of Ciara’s dirk and hilt of her brother’s sword. Hopefully one of them was of the right size to be the key.
An insistent noise buzzed at Ciara’s consciousness and the kelle looked as if she heard it, too. “It is time for you to leave this place and return to your world.”
“You will go back to wherever you were?”
“My spirit is always with God.” The kelle smiled, this one filled with a beautiful peace. “But when I am called to a dream, the form I had upon death is the one that comes.”
“It was an honor to meet you, kelle.”
“And you as well, princess of the Faol. Never doubt, we will meet again.”
Ciara went limp in Eirik’s arms and he grabbed her, allowing the sword to fall to the ground.
The Balmoral picked it up and put it back in the sheath on Eirik’s back. “Is she well?”
“I do not know.” And the possibility that she was not caused feelings inside Eirik that he was far from accustomed to experiencing.
Like terror.
Her breathing had grown increasingly shallow while she was in her vision, her color leaching from her skin until Ciara looked near death. If it were not for the faint but steady beat of her heart, he would be lost. As it was, he wanted to rip someone’s head off, preferably any Faol who still followed Fearghall, since the one responsible for the loss of the Faolchú Chridhe to the wolves was far beyond Eirik’s reach.
“She’ll be fine. The lass just needs a bit of rest,” Boisin assured them.
“You have seen this before?” Eirik demanded.
“Oh, aye…the more powerful and prolonged the vision, the more it will take out of you. But a little sleep and some food and she’ll be back to rights again.”
Eirik swept his wife into his arms. “Where is the healing chamber?”
He would leave the mating chamber for Lais and Mairi. Eirik wasn’t about to attempt consummating their own marriage, until Ciara was fully recovered.
“There is no chamber for healing in these caves,” the Balmoral stated. “Without a healer like Lais in our clan, or the sacred stone to draw upon, we are reliant on our Chrechte natures and the healing arts.”
Eirik felt sorry for the Faol in that moment. The Éan may have lived in the forest, hunted and in hiding, but they still had the old Chrechte ways.
“So, there is only this cave and your mating chamber?”
“No, there is a cave that branches off to the left there.” The Balmoral pointed with his hand. “Many Chrechte have spent the night in there when needing peace and solitude.”
It was not a healing chamber, but it sounded better than taking Ciara back to the castle. Eirik remembered to say, “Thank you,” before carrying her down the dimly lit tunnel.
Lais led Mairi into the chamber of mating that the Balmoral had directed him to. Like the sacred caves on Sinclair land, it had a pool fed from an underground hot springs. Though the stone bath was smaller than the one in the other caves, it looked perfect for a mating.
Mairi’s gaze flitted from place to place in the cave. “There are torches in the walls. Should we light them, do you think?”
“Aye.” He wanted to be able to see her lovely body.
“Oh. Are you sure?” she asked, seeming to have had the same thought, but a different reaction to it.
“Very.”
She nearly wrung the pleats from her skirt, she was yanking on it so hard. “You have an odd propensity for seeing me without clothing.”
“There is nothing strange about it, sweet one.” He took his flint and struck it on the wall of the cave to spark each torch.
Tinder dry, they caught fast. There were four torches in all. Enough to cast the small cavern in a soft yellow glow, but not so many all the shadows were dispelled.
He turned back to Mairi to find her staring with some trepidation at a pile of furs a few feet from the pool casting steam into the air.
“Sweet one, you have naught to fear in our mating bed.”
She shook her head. “I know…I just…do you think others have lain there before?”
“I am sure many Chrechte have consummated their mating vows in that very spot. ’Tis a blessed place.” Lais drew closer, scenting the air. “But none have lain on the furs there now.”
The Balmoral had told him as much as well.
Mairi let out a breath. “You are certain?”
“Aye. The laird said they are a gift from the pack to each newly mated pair.”
“But we are not Balmoral.”
“He did not seem to care.”
“So, they’re replaced after…” She cleared her throat. “After each mating?”
“That is what the Balmoral said.”
“That is kind, I think, and particularly to us as we are not part of their pack.”
“He accepted our vows as Chrechte alpha.”
“Still.”
“It is good of them,” Lais conceded, putting his hands on her shoulders and pulling her back against his body. “You are mine now, Mairi. Only mine.”
She turned in his arms, so her face was tilted up toward his, her blue eyes filled with emotion. “And you are mine.”
“Aye. From the moment Eirik laid you on the ground at my feet.”
Her bow-shaped lips curved. “You make it sound like he gifted me to you.”
“Fate did and Eirik was its messenger mayhap.”
“You are my gift, Lais. Do you not realize that?”
He opened his mouth to speak, to say he knew not what, but his throat was too tight for words. So, he kissed her. She melted against him, her arms circling his neck, her small hands locking in the hair at his nape.
He undressed her with care, though he knew that after the healing session he had insisted on that morning before leaving the beach hut, she felt no more pain from her beating.
She let him remove her clothing, seemingly oblivious to it even happening. Though she moaned with clear awareness when he cupped her naked breast. ’Twas just the right size to fill his large hand and he kneaded it gently, enjoying both the feel of her silky skin and the tiny noises escaping her mouth against his lips.
He cupped her bottom with his other hand, running his fingertips along where one luscious curve met the back of her thigh. She arched into him, opening her mouth on instinct for him to deepen the kiss.
So innocently sensual, his virginal mate had him ready to explode without ever getting his kilt off.
And that would not do. Her first time must be special; it must show her the care his eagle had for the mate of his heart.
He lifted her and carried her to the furs, laying her down with care.
She smiled up at him. “I believe we have been here before.”
Giving the pale beauty of her body a long perusal, he had to disagree. “This is no healing session, little one.”
“You think not? But each caress you give me heals my heart a little bit more.”
“Then we heal each other.” For he had never known such a sense of peace and belonging as he felt when she was in his arms.
“Yes, let us heal each other.”
He stripped with hands made clumsy by their urgency, her eyes hot on him with love and desire every second it took. He finally kicked off his boots and joined her on the furs.
She didn’t wait for him to renew the kiss but placed her mouth against his. He lowered his body over hers, his aroused and leaking sex trapped between them.
“Heal me,” she whispered against his lips.
His heart contracted and then swelled as it overflowed with love for this courageous human woman. He kneed her legs apart and moved his hand down to fondle her most intimate flesh. Pleasure surged through him when he realized that she was already wet and slick with need.
Nevertheless, he was not going to rush this.
He took his time stretching tissues that had never known any sort of invasion. He could feel the proof of her virginity, but it would not have mattered if he couldn’t. This woman was his in every way and would accept him into her body with the kind of love he had never even let himself dream about.
They moved together, his hands on her body, her small ones exploring his until the time came. And they joined.
There was some pain, but he concentrated his Chrechte gift with more ease than he would ever experience with another and healed her inner flesh even as his body claimed hers.
Soon she was begging him to hurry, to go deeper…and he gave her all that she asked for.
Including his heart.
Chrechte power surged through the cavern when they came and he knew that despite the odds, he had just planted his seed deep in her womb.
Eirik woke with the change in Ciara’s heartbeat that indicated she was aware of her surroundings once again. She had slept away the evening and most of the night. With instincts honed by years of living and hunting in the forest, he could sense that dawn was not far off.
They had shared their dreams again, his raven taking her flying in the only landscape they would ever be able to share the sky together. Then Eirik had lulled her into a deep sleep within her somnolence that would renew her strength more completely than normal rest would have.
“Hmmm…I suppose I should be used to waking in the arms of a dragon, but I’m not. It is magical.”
And do you like it? This magic? he asked via their mating link, sure he knew the answer.
She rubbed her head along his thick dragon arm she’d used for a pillow. “I do.”
Good.
“I think I know where the Faolchú Chridhe is.”
After all the vision had taken out of her, he would not be happy if it were otherwise. Where?
“On MacLeod land, I think.” Then Ciara told him about her vision, repeating her dialogue with the kelle word for word from the sounds of it.
And Eirik could barely breathe for the shock of his mate conversing with one of the ancient ones. Anya-Gra has never spoken to an ancestor.
“Perhaps the Éan have never needed the kind of guidance the Faol do now.”
According to Boisin’s dreams, both our races need you to find the stone. He brushed along her hip with his tail before curving it around her and tucking Ciara closer to his massive dragon’s body.
“You are right. I do not understand why, but I’m not about to question it. Not after everything.”
No. She had seen too much in her own visions to question Boisin’s. We return to the mainland immediately after breaking our fast.
“All right, but can you shift?”
Of course. He did so, allowing his dragon form to shrink back into his man. “You are not yet used to speaking with the mate-link.”
“It’s not that.” The cavern was dark, but he could hear a smile in her voice.
“What then?”
She pulled him into the warmth of the furs, sliding her naked body against his. He’d undressed her, believing she would rest better without all the layers of clothing she usually wore.
She pressed a soft kiss to his lips and then spoke with their mouths only a hairsbreadth apart. “I want my wedding night.”
“’Tis almost morning.”
“Then you had best get on it, hadn’t you?”
Joy unlike anything he’d ever known or expected bubbled from deep inside him as the kiss went incendiary.
This woman was his and she wanted him. Not just the power of his dragon, not only the prince of his people, or the gifts of his raven…but him. Eirik Taran Gealach Gra.
And he wanted her, her beauty, her passion, her kind heart she tried so hard to hide. All that made Ciara of the Sinclair who she was. He did not understand the profundity of his emotion any better than she did the prophecy, but like his faolán, he would accept.
Gladly.
And he would give her a wedding night never to be forgotten.
Ciara wasn’t really surprised to find Niall and two of her father’s most trusted warriors waiting with the horses, instead of the eagle shifter they had left there, when she and Eirik landed on the mainland later that morning.
Niall waited for Eirik to transform from his dragon before stepping forward. “The Sinclair has ordered these two Chrechte warriors to accompany you on the remainder of your quest.”
He indicated Everett and his younger brother, whose grandmother had been a white wolf. Both men were unmated, but they had controlled the shift from the first glimpse of their wolves.
She cast an anxious glance at Eirik, worried he would take offense at her father’s edict.
But her mate merely nodded. “They are welcome. The Balmoral sent one of his wolves and one of the Éan to accompany us as well.”
She hadn’t known that. “Who?” she demanded.
“Artair and Vegar, one of the strongest and most deadly among Éan guardian warriors.”
“Is Vegar a man or woman?” The name was unfamiliar to her.
Eirik smiled. “While all Éan females are trained for warfare, few become guardian warriors as my sister did. Vegar is a man.”
“I see. Why didn’t you mention before we left Balmoral Island that two more warriors would be joining us on our journey to the healing caves of our ancestors?”
He frowned as if her question made no sense to him. “Those caves are on MacLeod lands. Of course we will increase our fighting force when venturing among the enemy.”
“We aren’t going to wage war.” Though Ciara wouldn’t mind taking her dirk to Mairi’s father.
“Your safety is paramount.”
Because she was a seer and the keeper of the stone. Ciara shrugged. “You are not going to let anything happen to me.”
Eirik was a dragon, for goodness’ sake.
“I am but one man and the search will be made easier for the number of eyes on the task.”
She was sure he was right about that, but the larger their party, the harder to hide their presence on MacLeod lands. “You are more than a mere man.”
“As are the warriors under MacLeod’s authority.”
“We have learned he is alpha over the largest pack in the Highlands,” Niall said grimly.
“But that’s not possible. Their clan isn’t that large.”
Niall’s frown was fiercer than usual. “And it is almost entirely Chrechte.”
An atavistic thrill of dread went through Ciara. “How can that be?”
“It is not an answer you want,” Niall assured her. “Accept only that MacLeod’s greatest sin was not beating his daughter.”
Then the man’s sins must be heinous indeed, for that one was terrible enough.
Everett and his brother both looked a little green and she realized they must have been privy to the MacLeod soldier’s interrogation, or at least the results.
“How many Chrechte did he send after Mairi?” Ciara asked her father’s second-in-command.
“Six.”
“How many live?”
Niall’s countenance grew even dourer. “Four.”
“Will they submit to our laird?”
“They will, and gladly.” It was Everett’s turn to speak.
That, more than anything, spoke to the evil that MacLeod perpetrated. Faol were loyal to their pack. “So, it is war?” she asked, fearing she knew the answer.
Niall’s jaw ticked. “After the Faolchú Chridhe is found.”