chapter 4
Teach not thy lip such scorn, for it was made for kissing, lady, not for such contempt.
—SHAKESPEARE
Eirik smiled, his white teeth glinting in the moonlight.
That smile made Ciara’s thighs clench in a way she did not understand, her belly feel hollow. She lifted her hands to press against his as they held her face.
Just that small touch went through her with the power of a lightning bolt. And finally she understood how the broken tree could continue to live after its brush with lightning. It craved that touch again, so it had to go on.
His thumbs brushed her cheeks. “You are beautiful.”
“Thank you,” she whispered, not knowing what else to say.
“You are going to taste so good.”
“I am?” He was going to taste her? Is that how kissing between men and women worked?
Remembering some of the kisses she’d witnessed between the laird and Abigail, Ciara thought maybe it was.
“Aye,” he said in a tone that made her inside swirl with molten lava as he lowered his head, and then his mouth covered hers.
Lips gentle but masterful tasted of mead and something else that could only be her dragon. More potent than usquebagh, whiskey only the warriors were supposed to drink, the kiss inundated Ciara’s every sense.
She could only taste Eirik. No other scent reached her sensitive nose. His drowned out even the pungent aromas of the garden. The air around her was filled with his warmth, despite the chill of night. Her skin craved more contact than the kiss and yet that was enough to make her more light-headed than her lack of sleep or eating could do. She could only hear his harsh breaths, his strong dragon’s heartbeat that had increased in tempo with every second of the kiss.
Wanting more of the nectar of his lips, Ciara’s wolf whined for her to open her mouth. Her instincts driving her, she did and the dragon took immediate advantage. Sliding his tongue inside, he gave her what she craved while challenging her to do the same.
She was helpless to deny him, tasting, being tasted, kissing so deeply the intimacy of it overwhelmed her.
Never had she been so physically connected to another person. His arousal pushed at her, demanding acknowledgment her body was helpless to deny.
Her nipples hardened almost painfully, her own scent revealing changes in her no human man would detect. But Eirik’s growl against her lips told her that he knew…and liked it.
Moving his hands from her face to her hips, he pulled her flush to him so she felt the rigidity that proved his own need. He wanted her. She wanted him. It was incredible, this desire between them.
He was amazing. So big…so strong. Even stronger than a wolf. That should have frightened her; she’d seen what the dragon could do, but all she felt was riotous desire. Her hands slid down his smooth but rigidly muscled chest.
He’d worn a shirt to latemeal, but discarded it when he and the other warriors were dancing. His skin was so hot, but she found she craved that heat. She explored each dip and ripple of muscle, her hands unable to stay still once they started.
He devoured her mouth, the predator in him demanding a submission her lips were only too happy to give.
The kiss went on and on until she felt as if she would fall if he did not hold her up. The pleasure was beyond anything she had known. Never in all her life had she felt so close to her wolf, so intimately connected with another and so very alive.
It was the last thought that had her tearing from his arms and gasping for air to calm the heat of her body.
No. She could not do this. She could not risk these feelings.
“What is wrong?” He looked around, his body tense for confrontation. “There is no one near. I would know.”
If only it were that simple. She would much rather fear another rather than herself. “I cannot do this.”
“This?”
“You know.”
“It was just a kiss.”
“That…” She swung her hand wildly as if pointing to what they had just done. “That was not just anything.”
“I’m glad you think so.” Sounding far too satisfied, he came toward her.
But this time she showed her intelligence and backed up. When he did not stop, she put her hand up, warding him off. “No. Please.”
“What is the matter, Ciara?”
“I do not want a mate.”
“I wasn’t offering to claim you.”
That stopped her short. “Sex constitutes a claiming.”
“We weren’t having sex, we were kissing.” And his scent told her he wanted to continue doing so. “Besides, the Éan do not recognize that stricture.”
“Talorc is laird of this clan.”
“He is not lord over my people though.”
Ciara felt like she was drowning, her fear at what his words implied was so great. “Do you plan to murder Talorc as you did my brother?”
She could not believe she had phrased her concern that way. It had not been her intention to make such an accusation again. Not after her talk with Lais. Certainly, Eirik was not happy about it. All arousal in the air disappeared as fury so great it was more than a scent, she could actually taste it on the air, replaced it.
Eirik’s scowl condemned her in a way no one had ever done, not even him when he accused her of not protecting the Éan children. But he did not answer her question.
“Please.” Ciara tugged at her pleats, the heart that was supposed to be stone feeling ripped open in her chest. “He is the right laird for this clan. You cannot take that from him. You cannot take him from us.”
“Talorc is my friend.” Eirik’s voice dripped with disgust.
“Friends have killed friends before.”
“I only answer because of your very obvious fear, but know this, I will not tolerate you seeding doubts among the clan along these lines.” The ice in his tone chilled her.
But not enough that she would not press for answers. “So, tell me you don’t want to be clan leader.”
“I do not.”
After several seconds of silence, she realized he wasn’t going to add anything to that simple statement. But truthfully, he did not need to. His sincerity was as apparent as his desire had been earlier.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“Make no mistake, woman, my loyalty is to Talorc, not the little femwolf he calls daughter but has not the decency to even call him by name. I do not need your thanks.”
With that he left.
She’d meant to push him away. She could admit that to herself. Her worry had been real, but the way she’d phrased it had been inflammatory and the dragon had caught fire and burned her.
’Twas for the best. Truly.
Only, why was there pain when she was working so hard to save herself from it?
A minute later she was joined by another of the Éan and she knew that despite Eirik’s disgust of her, he had been unwilling to leave a woman alone and unprotected outside at night.
Ciara sighed. “Hello, Lais.”
“Eirik sent me to stay with you until you returned to the keep.”
Just as she’d thought, but why did the knowledge make her heart, that stupid organ that was supposed to be hardened to stone, twinge? “I’ve spent many an evening out here by myself.”
“Does your laird know that?”
Probably not, so she forbore answering.
A shadow in the sky had Ciara turning her head. The dragon flew away from the keep, his dark scales barely discernable in the darkness. Her hand lifted involuntarily in a silent entreaty she was powerless to prevent.
“He is amazing, is he not?” Lais asked.
Amazing? Yes. Awesome. Incredible. And very, very frightening, but she was no longer sure that was merely because the huge creature could cast fire and end a man’s life in the span of a heartbeat.
“He is very angry with me.”
Lais snorted. “Oh, aye.”
“It’s probably for the best.” She hadn’t meant to say that aloud.
What was the matter with her? In a sennight, she had lost the control she’d fought so hard for these past seven years. She did not want these desperate feelings Eirik elicited in her. She would prefer not to feel at all, because emotions of that depth were dangerous…very, very dangerous.
They frightened her as even his enraged beast could not do.
“You think so?” Lais asked with apparent interest.
She shrugged.
“You remind me of the laird when you do that.”
“We are not related by blood.”
“I know.”
But he called her daughter and she was too selfish and frightened to name him father. Eirik’s parting shot had pierced the armor around her heart and Ciara wanted to scream at him because of it. She gave as much as she could; she really did, but she would not risk ever feeling the kind of pain that had so nearly destroyed her seven years ago.
Barr had suggested she leave her clan for a reason. Ciara had stopped eating the day she found her mother’s dead body. She’d stopped sleeping, too…and barely spoke.
Abigail and Laird Talorc had coaxed Ciara back into life, such as it was. She owed them so much, but she could not give them unfettered love. She had none left inside her dead heart.
Ciara did not wish to think what it would mean to her sanity if her heart was not as dead as she had believed.
These thoughts got her nowhere. Instead of focusing on her own shortcomings or the unequal relationship she had with her adopted family, Ciara needed to turn her attention onto something else.
“So, the dragon prince is your friend.” Right. Discussing Eirik was such a great improvement over thinking about him.
Did she have no control at all over what came out of her mouth?
“He accepted me when others questioned my motives, helped to heal me when I thought naught could so.”
“With the Éan’s sacred stone?” Had her brother been right? Did the Éan still have possession of their sacred stone?
Lais jerked as if startled. “What do you know of the Clach Gealach Gra?”
So it was called the moon’s heart stone. As fitting as the wolves naming theirs the wolf’s heart. And his words had certainly not been a denial of its existence.
“I know only that each of the Chrechte peoples once had them.” She looked up into the sky, searching for a glimpse of her dragon. The dragon. Not hers. Never could Eirik be hers. “The old stories say that the stones can be used to connect with God and his creation in the coming-of-age ceremony to bring gifts beyond the great one bestowed in our ability to share nature with an animal.”
“I had thought all Faol ignorant of the sacred stones.”
Which meant Barr and Laird Talorc had never heard the old stories telling of the wolves’ sacred stone, or if they had, the stories had been dismissed as legend. Much as those of the Éan once were.
“What else do the ancient stories of the Faol say?” Lais asked, his curiosity almost urgent.
“That when a member of the family of the stone—the royal family—touches it, the sacred stone can do other miraculous things like healing.”
“I thought what happened to me a miracle.”
“I’m sure it was, but not a miracle that could not happen for another of the Chrechte given the right circumstances.” At least that was what Galen had told her.
“The wolves have no such stone.”
“You are so sure of this.”
“The Faol would not have given up such a treasure if they had it.”
“Our ancient coming-of-age ceremonies were violent, filled with a sexual aspect the modern clansmen would not find so easy to stomach, I think. Perhaps we gave up the stone when we gave up our ceremonies.”
“Perhaps. Or mayhap MacAlpin stole the stone like he stole the throne of Scotland from his relatives.”
It was as plausible a supposition as any Galen had put forth, Ciara supposed. “Some Faol believe it was stolen by the Éan and that they hid it but have forgotten over the centuries where.”
“Faol like Wirp and Luag, you mean.”
Feeling chastised though Lais had not actually said anything against her, Ciara nodded. “Aye, men like that.”
“More like there never was a sacred stone for the wolves. What need would such powerful shifters have for extra gifts?”
The Faolchú Chridhe existed, but she wasn’t going to tell Lais so. Then she would have to explain how she knew and she was not ready yet to share that secret. When she did, she was determined to do so with the man who called her daughter.
’Twould only be right.
Eirik spun and kicked out, connecting solidly with the Sinclair’s thigh.
The Chrechte laird stumbled but did not go down. “You’ll teach that move to our soldiers.”
“Naturally.”
They spent each morning in mock combat with one another before training the Sinclair soldiers (human, Faol and Éan) together. Eirik had discovered the predator’s approach to fighting different than that of the raven. Both were effective, but together were devastating to their foe.
As even the most elite soldiers realized when they faced either their laird or the Éan prince in mock battle.
“Ciara has changed since you arrived.” The Sinclair’s fist connected with Eirik’s left shoulder.
Eirik went with it, lifting his right arm to block the next blow, but his movements were near as disjointed as his thoughts. He did his best to hide the temporary effect the laird’s words had on him with a practiced sequence of moves that ended with Eirik’s arm around the laird’s throat. “Having new members is bound to shake the clan up a little.”
“Aye.” Talorc broke Eirik’s hold with a sneaky move of his own. “But new blood, new ways, they can be good for our people.”
They fought in silence broken only by the sound of flesh hitting flesh for several minutes before finally breaking apart and facing one another in preparation for the next bout.
“Wouldn’t you agree?” the Sinclair asked.
And Eirik had to think quickly to remember the laird’s last words. “Yes.”
“Ciara’s change is particularly welcome.” Talorc gave Eirik a look he could not quite read.
“Good.” But Eirik did not think the laird would be as happy with the events of the night before.
The kiss that should not have happened, the sexual desire that had flared hotter than dragon’s fire between Eirik and Ciara.
The two warriors moved closer, circling each other. Eirik was watching for any opportunity as he knew Talorc was as well.
Finally, the Sinclair swept his foot out with a wolf’s speed to try to trip Eirik. “When Ciara came to live with us, she barely ate, spoke only occasionally and never, ever smiled.”
Eirik was no wolf though. He was not even purely raven. He was dragon. Jumping over the swiftly moving foot, he used the momentum to gain a short distance from the other warrior. Enough space to land a solid kick.
He kicked out with his right leg, while leaping forward to land an openhanded blow against Talorc’s head. “She seems fine now.”
The Sinclair avoided the kick and moved so that the blow was glancing, while bringing his own arm up toward Eirik’s chin. “She has nightmares and barely sleeps. She’s stopped eating again.”
The blow landed, knocking Eirik’s head back as the older man’s words sunk in. “And you claim she is doing better since my arrival?”
“Yes. The dreams and lack of sleeping started before you came; Abigail and I feared Ciara would become a ghost among us again, but she has not.” The laird stopped fighting in order to meet Eirik’s eyes. “Since her family’s deaths, Ciara has held her emotions so close, there are times she seems not to feel anything at all.”
“And yet you treat her as your daughter.”
“The first day she came into my keep and I looked in her eyes I saw pain unlike anything I had seen before. She hid it after that, but I never forgot it was there. She does not have to call me father for me to know I am hers. One day, she will realize this as well.”
Eirik felt regret for his words the night before, but the woman he knew was not lacking emotion at all. She was filled with anger. Toward him.
Perhaps it was time to tell Talorc the truth of Ciara’s brother’s death.
Ciara had lost her peaceful sanctuary on top of the towers, so she sought her next favorite place of solace—the forest. And solace she did need. She’d done her best to stay out of Eirik’s way, but her emotions were in more turmoil than they’d ever been. Busy seeing his people settled in, he seemed just as intent on avoiding her.
That did not stop him from giving her looks that made her thighs clench, her toes curl and her heart pound uncomfortably in her chest whenever he did see her though. He alternated between those heated looks and scowls that let her know he was still angry with her for questioning his intentions toward Laird Talorc.
Knowing the dragon was so disgusted with her did no good at tamping down her own feelings, either. Ciara had never been as aware of her own femininity. Her wolf wanted out to howl, to hunt…to mate.
Thankfully, Eirik was not another wolf to recognize the signs, or take advantage of them. It was all she could do to keep her reactions hidden from her adopted family.
It did not help that Ciara was still wavering in her decision to tell Laird Talorc of her dreams.
She berated herself for her indecision. She knew she could trust her laird, but to give the dreams to him was to let go of the last bit of her life she had shared with her brother.
With her mind in such turmoil, Ciara had no choice but to let the beast take over some nights. Unbeknownst to anyone else, she had taken to running in the forest after the others living in the keep were safely asleep.
Ciara had learned that in her wolf form, she could jump from her window to the castle wall, though it did not look possible. Then she would jump the nine feet from the top of the wall to the grass below. While the towers were more than three times that high, the castle wall was tall enough to keep marauders out, but not a determined femwolf in.
She was sleeping no better and disturbing dreams were plaguing her more than ever before. Worse than the nightmares of her brother’s or mother’s deaths, were the heated dreams replaying the kiss between her and Eirik.
Some did not end with her pulling away, either.
Those scared her the most.
The only sleep she got was in her wolf form, snuggled up at the base of her favorite tree. It was old, so tall she could not see the top if she looked straight up from the base. So big around, a whole family could live inside its trunk if it were hollow.
A tree that had grown since the beginning of time, or at least since the beginning of the Chrechte in the Highlands—she felt a connection to God and the Chrechte that had lived before her here. It was a special place. Perhaps even a sacred one.
So, she should not have been surprised to find someone else had found sanctuary at its base. A human woman curled against the bark, her body shivering in the cool summer night.
Moved by pity and concern, Ciara padded over in her wolf form and nudged the human female.
The woman flinched and whimpered, but did not scream. She sat up, looking wildly around before letting her gaze settle fully on Ciara.
Pale hair hung down around a face pinched with worry and blue eyes filled with tears. “Please tell me you’re the one. The dreams led me here, but if you’re not the one, you’re probably going to eat me. I don’t want to be eaten. I don’t think that would be much of an improvement over my father’s fists.”
Ciara was so shocked by the implication that a Highland man beat his daughter, she barked.
The other woman started, but seemed to try to force herself to relax. She put a trembling hand out as if to shake Ciara’s hand, or maybe let the wolf scent her. “My name is Mairi. Please tell me you are a shifter and not a wild wolf.”
Ciara’s wolf took over, sniffing Mairi’s hand. She smelled of herbs, dried blood and fragile human skin, but nothing to give concern.
“My father is a wolf,” Mairi continued to prattle. “His first mate was a non-shifting Chrechte like me. My mother. Please be the wolf I dreamed about. Father took a Chrechte for his second wife. He and my brother don’t think much of me, and neither does his new wife for that matter. I don’t have a wolf. They call me weak. Defective. Useless.”
The human woman’s voice broke on the last words and Ciara had to suppress the urge to growl. The anger growing inside her was not directed at Mairi and Ciara would not have the other woman frightened because of it.
Mairi clearly knew about their people and her scent said her story was true. But Ciara knew from her own experience, deceit could be masked.
Still she nudged the woman to stand. Mairi did, wincing as she gained her feet and Ciara’s determination to stay in her wolf’s skin faltered.
The scent of dried blood was strong, but so was that of desperation and fear. This human needed help.