Dragon's Moon (33 page)

“We are true mates.”
She heard the words in his rich, deep timbre in her head, the only sound around them the still rushing wind.

“I cannot deny it.”

Though she wanted to, her fear spiking at the knowledge that Ciara was more lost than her mother had ever been. Because in all her descriptions of the mating rite, her mother had never mentioned anything so profound or magical happening.

The dragon crooned to her, the raven's soft caw joining to comfort her.

She stared up into Eirik's eyes. “Our Chrechte spirits have joined.”

“Never to be sundered.” Only as he spoke the vow in Chrechte did she realize she'd said the words of confirmation.

And suddenly, the pleasure between them began to increase again, spiraling upward as he started to move, thrusting in her with controlled power.

He claimed her then, in an act as old as time.

When they both reached completion for the second time, she felt a searing heat in her palm. She pulled her hand from his and saw that the small prick had already closed.

She grabbed his hand and looked, only to find a thin scar instead of an open wound on his palm.

He smiled, his entire being suffused with male satisfaction. “Our mating has been blessed.”

“Yes.” She could only hope that meant it would not be cut short.

“You will sleep now.”

So lethargic she couldn't imagine doing anything else, she just sighed some kind of agreement. Let him worry about getting them situated; her body was already relaxing into sleep.

She woke in the arms of her dragon, another night's rest unhindered by dreams of the sacred stone.

C
iara gave her adopted aunt, Emily, news of the family, messages and gifts from Abigail while Eirik and the Balmoral went off to discuss the Éan who had made the island their home. After much cajoling by the boy, they'd
agreed to take Feth, Lachlan and Emily's son. Named for an ancient Chrechte king, but a mere seven years, he was far from having his alpha father's stature. Though Feth was near to a match in Lachlan's bearing already.

The men planned to check in on those Éan living nearby as well, so Ciara did not expect their return anytime soon. She understood Eirik's need to check on his people, but she struggled with the urge to move forward in their quest. It was an itch under the skin that she was doing her best to ignore.

Lais had left to call on the Éan healer who had trained him, taking Mairi along under the guise of wanting the other healer to examine her. But Ciara wasn't fooled and she doubted his prince had been, either. The eagle didn't want the non-shifting Chrechte out of his sight, and that was that.

Emily put aside the letter from her sister to read later and took Ciara's hands in her own. “How are you holding up under all this?”

The Balmoral had not shown near the surprise at news of the
Faolchú Chridhe
as Ciara's father had. Emily had been surprisingly accepting as well when Ciara had told them her story. Though her aunt had evinced concern for Ciara's part in the recovery of the stone, she had agreed that the
Faolchú Chridhe
must be found.

Ciara shrugged. “I do not know. I hid my secrets for so long and now they are laid bare.”

Just as she was sure her mating the night before was no longer undisclosed. Not after the sulfuric glare the Balmoral laird had given Eirik upon their arrival at the keep.

Ciara had bathed in a stream in the forest, but she had been unable to wash away Eirik's scent completely. And her wolf had refused to let her even try.

Not that it would have done any good. Eirik had given her an incendiary kiss before she'd gotten dressed, rubbing his body against hers in a way that was wholly pleasurable. Afterward, both were marked unmistakably with the other's scent.

Stubborn dragon.

He was probably telling her adopted uncle that they had mated in the way of the Chrechte right this very minute. Short of tying him up and gagging him, Ciara was certain she could not have stopped the prince who considered her his from doing so. But the temptation to do exactly that had been strong not fifteen minutes past.

“It is difficult to hide anything among the Chrechte.” Emily squeezed Ciara's hands and released them. “I've had to learn there isn't room for normal boundaries, or embarrassment about things they can't help knowing.”

“Like what you've been doing when Lachlan takes you for an unexpected stroll in the forest in the middle of the day?” Ciara asked, remembering a story Abigail had told her.

Emily blushed, but there was no scent of true embarrassment coming off of her. “Exactly like that.”

Ciara looked over to where Emily's daughter embroidered cloth with her cousin and Talorc's sister, Caitriona, under the larger than normal window of the solar. The femwolf appeared to be focused on the girls and their project, but Ciara knew her other aunt heard every word she and Emily shared. Moreover, she was no doubt listening with keen interest.

The young girls, on the other hand, would not develop stronger Chrechte senses until their first shift. And from what Niall had said, Lachlan and Emily's daughter would never do so. He and his twin, Barr, had the ability to sense whether a babe in the womb was wolf, human or of the Éan, or so they claimed. And Niall had declared the nine-year-old Abigail Caitriona to be wholly human.

No one would know it from the way the children's father doted on them equally. Laird Lachlan adored his human daughter as much as his Chrechte son and made sure everyone knew it.

“It does not take a wolf's enhanced senses to know something has transpired between you and the Éan prince,” Emily said in a gently inquiring tone.

Ciara did not know how to reply. She was still coming to terms with her mating and was definitely not ready to talk
about it. Caitriona gave her a look of commiseration, as if she knew exactly what Ciara was thinking and feeling.

Perhaps she did. Ciara hadn't been actively masking her emotions since the men's departure.

“How are the boys?” Emily asked, as if she'd never made the leading comment about Ciara and Eirik.

Ciara forced a grin. It wasn't that hard. Thoughts of the twins always made her happy. “As full of trouble as their father.”

Tsking, Emily shook her head, her long, golden brown curls swaying against her back. “Did you know I came to the Highlands to protect my sister from the horror of being married to Talorc?”

Caitriona chuckled, proving she had indeed been listening. “If she doesn't, she's deaf. The warriors of my former clan still gossip like grandmothers about the day you likened him to a goat.”

“I eventually conceded he wasn't that bad,” Emily offered in her own defense, but the laughter in her voice said the memory amused more than concerned her.

Ciara had heard bits and pieces of the story. Like Caitriona had said, how could she not? “Funny how you came north to become my father's wife but ended up the lady of the Balmoral.”

Caitriona took in a sharp breath and Emily looked at Ciara with the sappy expression she usually reserved for her children. “You called Talorc your father.”

She shrugged. “He is.”

Caitriona laughed with her head thrown back. “You may not share his blood, but you are so like him, no one could doubt you are his daughter.”

The words made Ciara warm inside and she didn't hesitate when Emily indicated they should join Caitriona and the girls in the chairs under the window.

“It's a good thing Talorc refused to marry me,” Emily said as she adjusted her plaid. “We would have killed each other, I'm thinking. And my sister would never have known the happiness she does now.”

Ciara could do nothing but agree. She had met few couples as perfectly suited as her mother and father. Though to hear Abigail tell it, their first year was rockier than the cliffs of Balmoral Island.

Emily handed Ciara a handkerchief to embroider before taking up her own project.

Ciara accepted it gratefully, happy to have something to do with her hands as the need to be in search of the stone made her jittery. “You had another sister, didn't you?”

Any topic was better than dwelling on what the elder Talorc who had sent them to talk might have to say. Laird Lachlan had known exactly who Talorc had meant. Boisin was an old man with a big family, who knew all the old stories and shared them with any Chrechte who would listen.

He was purported to be a master storyteller, so most of the Chrechte, old and young alike, spent time at his cottage in the course of a year.

“We did.” Emily frowned, her memories of the other woman clearly not fond. “She wasn't kind to Abigail. Jolenta was our mother's favorite once Abigail lost her hearing from the fever.”

Ciara's adopted mother never spoke of her family in England and the femwolf thought she knew why. Abigail refused to speak ill of others, but clearly there was little good to say about the family she had left behind.

“Tell Ciara what became of the vain little dunce,” Caitriona suggested with a not-well-concealed smirk.

Emily gave her heart-sister a reproving look. “She married a minor baron. Sybil wrote of the nuptials when they happened. I suppose she thought we'd be jealous.”

“Jealous, of being married to an Englishman?” Ciara asked with stunned disbelief.

Both Caitriona and Emily laughed, and Emily said, “I was once English. It is not quite the blight so many in the Highlands believe it to be.”

“That is not what I wanted you to tell our dear niece about the vain little Jolenta, and you well know it.”

Emily sighed but gave her dear friend another chastising
glance before speaking. “We heard word that Jolenta had been engaged to a lord of much higher standing, but he withdrew from the arrangement.”

“She was caught playing the games at court with another gentleman entirely.” Caitriona shrugged, looking quite a bit like Talorc herself. “I don't understand these court games and am only glad my brother never sent me to live among the entourage of the Scotland queen.”

Ciara could only agree. The last seven years had been difficult enough; to have spent them in the company of people who considered truth naïve and deception an art was unthinkable.

“S
he fought the mating then?” Lachlan asked Eirik, amusement clear in his tone.

The older man had not been amused when they began their discussion, but after Eirik told Lachlan that he and Ciara had spoken their mating vows despite her earlier protests, the powerful laird relaxed.

“Aye. She did not want a mate.” Eirik was fairly certain she still didn't.

“Talorc has said as much.”

Eirik was not surprised to find out that the two lairds had discussed Ciara. Both cared for her, one as father, the other as uncle. And the two men were much better friends than appearances might imply.

“Nevertheless, she spoke her vows with conviction.” He had no intention of sharing the amazing Chrechte magic that had attended their mating though. “We are well matched.”

“Talorc must agree or he would not have allowed her to accompany you on this quest without coming himself, or at the least sending Niall along.”

Eirik considered the Balmoral's words and frowned. The sneaky Sinclair alpha wolf had known all along Ciara was his mate. “She could not do better than a dragon for her protector.”

“Even the most powerful Chrechte would make a poor mate for a man's daughter, if he was not also a good man.”

It was an unlooked-for compliment and Eirik gave it the silent recognition it deserved. “You will send a messenger to inform Talorc of the mating?”

“Aye, that and the wedding.”

Eirik didn't ask, “What wedding?” He was no idiot. But he did warn his mate's uncle, “She'll balk.”

“I've a way with reluctant brides.” Lachlan grinned.

Thinking of what he had heard of the other man's own nuptials and that of his second-in-command, Eirik had to agree. The Balmoral knew how to handle a reluctant bride.

The laird proved himself as adept with a recalcitrant female as Eirik suspected a couple of hours later, when they found the women chatting in the solar after brief visits with the Éan that lived near or at the castle itself.

The Balmoral had announced the wedding was to take place before Ciara and Eirik could leave to find the elder, Boisin.

“What wedding?” Ciara asked, proving she was willing to play dumber than she was.

“The wedding between you and Eirik, lass.”

“But, Laird Lachlan—”

“'Tis Uncle Lachlan and well you know it.”

“Uncle Lachlan,”
she said, drawing the name out with more sarcasm than a warrior would dare use on the commanding laird. “There is not going to be any wedding.”

“Of course there is, lass. The priest is here now to perform the rite.”

And indeed the human man had just entered the solar at a near run. He stopped in front of the Balmoral. “I was told there was an urgent matter for your family that needed my attention.”

“Aye.” The laird indicated Ciara and Eirik with a sweep of his arm. “These two are to be wed.”

“Now?” To his credit, the priest did not sound all that shocked by the demand of his laird, but obviously needing clarification.

There was no give in the Balmoral's expression. “Aye, now.”

“No, not now,” Ciara inserted.

Her uncle turned to face her. “You would shame your parents, my own sister and brother by marriage by refusing to follow your mating with a proper wedding?”

Instead of answering him, Ciara spun to face Eirik. “You tattletale. Our mating is not a piece of gossip for two warriors to chew on.”

“Would you rather he believed I took your innocence without the benefit of our Chrechte vows?”

Ciara's mouth opened and closed and opened again. “You did not have to tell him anything.”