Southern Fried Dragon (15 page)

“
Aye. The beast knows a drenching rain hurries our way. The storm’s fury shall swallow us, with or without the luck my sister tossed our way,” Kirk said.

“Skye and her potions have their place as long as she keeps her talents hidden.”

“I have warned the wee wench many a time. I do not like how she flaunts her witchery. Some might believe her power comes from dark magic. Even she, a child, tests the leniency of our people.”

“She’s a young woman, nay a child
, and she is no witch. She grows herbs for healing. Ye do not approve of her use of potions to comfort our sick and wounded? The very people she has saved since the death of our older, wiser,
male
healer?” Cameron paused, staring at Kirk’s face. “God’s teeth, ‘tis worse. Yer sister’s powers scare ye.”

“Nay.
Naught scares me, cousin. I worry she will be discovered dabbling in what must stay hidden. Any who appear to practice witchery could die, truth or not.”

“She is a smart lass
and you worry too much.” Cameron chuckled and shook his head.

“That, she is.” Kirk sighed. He pulled his plaid around his shoulders, barring the chill from slipping inside his leather jerkin.
Pleated to cover his thighs and waist, at the beginning of their journey he had wrapped the excess up and over one shoulder and fastened the faded wool with a tarnished silver
penannular clasp
.

He’d pricked his
thumb then cursed the brilliant green offset stone adorning his father’s brooch. After stabbing its pin through the heavy weave of the coarse wool, his apparel converted easily into a hood at the flick of his leather-wrapped wrists. Drops of blood disappeared in the dark wool of his family plaid.

“T
hunder clouds approach, cousin. The rain to follow may slow us more than the treasure we protect. I do not care for a night spent in sodden clothes. Say the word and I will see to setting up camp.”

“We may die on this trip, yet
ye think of comfort.” Kirk pulled at the reins of his agitated mount then scratched his day’s growth of beard.

“Your warriors would never let anything deter them from a good fight, but wet, hungry men
cannot fight their best for ye or yer gold.”

“The treasure belongs to our clan.” Kirk turned away, grumbling.

“Until ye turn it over to the Keiths.”

“And then I will have nothing to give my men, but my gratitude and
my personal sacrifice. Each man volunteered to attend me on this journey, yet some…” Kirk paused and inhaled a deep breath of chilled, damp air, then lowered his voice.

“Some predict a less than victorious outcome.
My men might die. What kind of leader am I?” 

His cousin
shook his head.

“The men love
ye. Even Balfour, our grumpy ale master, would give his life to save yours. Such devotion comes neither from filling a man’s stomach nor covering his palm with coin.” With a wink, Cameron turned his big, grey stallion around and galloped toward the treasure carts stationed at the rear of their group.

Sturdy Highland
workhorses struggled to haul the wheel-less sledges over the rocky ground, open moors, and heather-strewn meadows. As they entered a forest split by a worn path of dirt and pinecones, tall evergreens rose up and blanketed them in shadow.

Kirk grinned a
s he shook his head. Cameron would protect the carts with his life. If their cargo did not reach Castle Ruadh, no wedding would take place.

My wedding
.

He
chuckled at the irony then sat tall and straight in the saddle.

I am most certainly
not in want of a bride.

Ever since Cora’s death, h
e lived his life alone and away from the grip of love’s bite. An ache under his left cheek forced his smile to abate. He felt every pinch of the scar that zigzagged up his face, from his lip to just below his left eye. Phantom pain reared up at the sudden memory of a blade as it nearly sliced his face in half.

He frowned and remembered the bastard who had given him the deep wound during a midnight attack.
The enemy raiders, aided by a traitor in the Gunn clans’ midst, swept through their sleeping village like hungry wolves. The village healer had died in the attack, and the traitor discovered.

Kirk and his council banished the
conspirator from their lands. He had no love for a man who would betray his own people. Such a deed left Kirk with a hollow feeling; a feeling raw, bleeding, and as lasting as the scar that remained.

Kirk’s
path of self-appointed solitude seemed clear before the contract offer materialized. Clan Keith’s messenger arrived from Wick a month past. The message chilled his blood especially when he sensed the outcome had been preordained. Their king demanded peace and Laird Keith gave Kirk a way to comply. Many of his kinsmen had also reminded him of his need for an heir. Even so, he could not shake the notion that he marched toward his doom.

Will
I die quick by the hands of brigands after our gold? Or, slow, locked in marital strife hidden under the guise of matrimony.             

H
e pulled at the lower edge of his leather jerkin. It offered little protection from the coming rain, so he yanked his wool plaid up and over his head. The clink of metal rings and the slap of leather reins against another’s mount brought his mind back to the present.

H
is foster son, Reid MacRob, rode to his side perched on a smaller Highland pony. Sporting pale skin dotted with freckles, the washed-out color was in stark contrast to the boy’s flame-red hair. The gangly lad hailed from an outlying village and had arrived when seven years of age.

“A storm comes.
Say the word, my chief, and a soft pallet and warm fire will appear. Yer tent will keep the rain at bay. I shall see to it personally. Not a drop shall muddy yer boots.”

“Aye, a soft bed and a hardy meal
would do me good, though the rain might keep the fires spitting and smoking all night.” Kirk’s complaint did not wipe the smile from the proud young man’s face.

“Cook packed cheese and crusty loaves of yeasty bannock, and I strung skins of wine to my saddle.
Poor fare, but plentiful.”

“Such
a repast will suffice tonight. Restlessness has eaten at me all day.” His fingers opened and closed as he fought to relax. Kirk smiled at the lad.  “A time for rest approaches.”

“I am at yer service and only strive to make ye comfortable on this journey.
”

Kirk
faced the journey’s end with dread. The future of his village and possibly his entire clan rested on his wide shoulders and healthy body. An heir would mean peace between two clans whose feud had lasted too long and killed too many.

“A
re ye anxious to see yer betrothed? Lady Fia of Clan Keith is a beauty, I am told.”

“Aye, that she is.” Thumping his fist against his thigh
, he cursed the Keiths. A deep breath did not cleanse away the thought of buying peace with the flesh of his children. Still, he agreed a marriage between two warring clans would bring lasting harmony to both sides. If only he could conjure a simpler solution.

“Are ye looking
forward to yer wedding night?” A soft chuckle slipped from the young lads lips.

“When you are older, young Reid, you shall realize beauty in itself does
not make an acceptable bride.”

“
Cameron says a bonny face makes the bedding a pleasant tussle.”

Kirk could not help the smile that tugged at his mouth.

Reid grimaced. “I do not care to tussle with a wench. Not until I prove myself as a clan warrior who fights beside ye and Cameron and Balfour. Only then shall I have my pick of the best in the valley.” Reid’s toothy grin heralded the truth behind his words.

Despite the pinch of his scar, Kirk laughed aloud. He
found little reason to laugh ever since he had agreed to his fate. A future he would never have chosen of his own free will awaited behind the walls of Castle Ruadh. As a more polite response broached his lips, an arrow whistled past his ear. 

“Attack!”

Nancy Lee Badger
loves chocolate-chip shortbread, wool plaids wrapped around the trim waist of a Scottish Highlander, the clang of broadswords, and the sound of bagpipes in the air. After growing up in Huntington, New York, and raising two handsome sons in New Hampshire, Nancy moved to North Carolina where she writes full-time.

Nancy is a member of Romance Writers of America, Heart of Carolina Romance Writers, Fantasy-Futuristic &Paranormal Romance Writers, and the Celtic Heart Romance Writers.

Nancy’s favorite thing is to grab her husband, gas up the Jeep, and travel. Reserch for the next book is right around the next bend in the road.

Contact her at:

W
ebsite:

http://www.nancyleebadger.com

Blog:

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The following are other books

Published by

Nancy Lee Badger

Please check out the book blurbs.

You may find a book

You will love as much

As the

SOUTHERN FRIED DRAGON

Book #2 in the Highland Games

Through Time series

Ebook:
http://amzn.to/PAYBbX

Print:
http://amzn.to/Su5a1G

BOOK BLURB

When his clan convicts Cameron Robeson of treason in 1598 Scotland, the last thing he thought his cousin the Laird would do was banish him to the future. With a certain woman on his mind, he plans revenge while surrounded by the sights and sounds of the modern day New England Highland Games. His plans go awry when a comely redheaded lass wearing the Mackenzie plaid lands at his feet.

Iona Mackenzie is worried about her friend, Haven, and searches for answers among the tents at the games. Whom can she trust to help? Her father? The handsome blacksmith? Or, the tall, golden-haired Highlander? Romance takes a back seat because saving her friend is her priority, no matter how great Cameron can kiss.

When a magical amulet and an angry sorcerer send this unlikely couple back through time, more than one heart will be broken. Danger, intrigue, and threats surround them, and feelings between Iona and Cameron grow hot and steamy. They fight the sorcerer and search for Iona’s friend, the woman he vowed to steal from his cousin. Will the strong-willed Highlander and the present day witch stop fighting long enough to listen to their hearts?

With a letter in her hand and a Highlander at her back, what could go wrong?

Buy Link-Ebook:
http://amzn.to/Knot6H

Buy Link- PRINT: 
http://amzn.to/XcWmTX

BOOK BLURB

Haven MacKay has no idea how fleeting time can be. Dressed in Scottish period costume, she volunteers at a historical village at the present day New England Highland Games. Dabbling with herbs while on a break, she gets more than she bargains for when her love spell goes awry. Haven’s search for true love fills her with a yearning for someone honest and open.

After several failed attempts aided by a creepy old crone’s potions and a violent storm, she meets a mysterious, sword-wielding warrior before he fades into the mist. She is not a woman destined to give up easily. When attacked by a hooded stranger, she tries her spell again and is accidently cast back in time. Unaware of her new surroundings, Haven stumbles into her mystery man—kilt and all—when he nearly fells her with an arrow.