Dragon Maid (7 page)

Britta stared at the extended hand. What was she supposed to do? Kiss it? She wasn’t a man. Lachlan grinned. “’Tis a modern custom. Ye take her hand, squeeze, but not too hard, and give it a shake.”

“Aye.” She grasped Maggie’s hand. “I am Britta Kilkerran. My dragon is Tarika, though she would probably say I am her human. Och, but ye’re warm.”

“Not as warm as you, dragon shifter. Funny, Lachlan said the same thing about Kheladin. Let me rustle through Lachlan’s chest. Maybe I can come up with something for your bottom half.”

Britta held up a hand. “’Tisn’t important. We must help Jonathan.”

Lachlan quirked a brow. “The witch Kheladin asked after?” At Britta’s nod, a knowing look stole over his face. “And why would the Iron Maid have even a sliver of interest in any man?”

“Iron Maid?” Maggie looked confused.

Britta snorted. “Och aye, and was that what ye called me behind my back all these years?”

Lachlan had the grace to look sheepish. “Sorry, lass. It just slipped out.”

“Like the garments, ’tisn’t important. I had clothes. Jonathan bought them for me, and a meal too. We were just returning when Rhukon appeared out of nowhere, followed by the Morrigan.”

Lachlan gasped. Maggie bit her lower lip and drew closer to him. “That sorry piece of dung,” he said and spat onto the dirt floor of the cave. “I knew we hadna seen the end of her—or Rhukon. But I hadna expected them quite so soon. I left Rhukon asleep back in the fifteen hundreds.”

“The Morrigan woke him.” Kheladin was apparently following their conversation as well as his internal one with Tarika. “I was just getting ready to tell you when Tarika rattled my wards.”

“So, ye’d just arrived here?” Britta asked.

“Aye. Not five minutes afore you,” Lachlan said.

“We were having supper when Kheladin said we had to come,” Maggie added.

“Ye missed supper. I ruined one set of clothes and left several more stewing in a broken bottle of decent whiskey.” Britta shrugged. “Yet we all still live. ’Tis far more important than creature comforts.”

“We must break our bond.”
Tarika spoke into her mind.

“What?”
Anxiety gripped her, narrowing her throat.

“To be like Lachlan and Kheladin. They used a different magic, and a much more powerful one. We canna do the same until we are free of our current binding.”

Britta started breathing again. Not being linked to Tarika was unthinkable. The dragon was so much a part of her, sometimes she forgot the days when she’d been a maid, and dragonless.

“Forgive me. I was eavesdropping.” Lachlan half-bowed.

“At least have the decency to look ashamed.” Maggie rolled her eyes.

“As I was saying,” Lachlan broke in smoothly. “A bit of history is in order. Rhukon shanghaied us back to a hundred years afore Kheladin and I had bonded. Once we separated, the bond broke—”

“Because it hadna yet happened,” Britta murmured.

“Aye. In the meantime, Kheladin did a bit of digging and came up with a much older version of the binding.”

“The original one.” Kheladin sounded smug.

“Mayhap we can take care of that once we’ve done what we can to help Jonathan,” Britta said. “His courage is what freed us. The Morrigan took the bait and went after him.”

“Och aye.” Lachlan drew his brows together. “It doesna bode well.”

Britta’s heart felt like a lead weight in her chest. She’d known, but hearing it spoken aloud was like a death knell.

Maggie took her hand. “Maybe it’s not as hopeless as you fear.” Her voice and touch were comforting, almost hypnotic.

“Doona be using your magic on me, witch.” Britta tried to pull her hand back, but Maggie held fast.

“I haven’t used a shred. I’m a doctor, a psychiatrist. I’ve spent hours upon hours soothing troubled souls.”

Truth pinged, bright and clean, off her magic. Britta sucked in a breath.
One less thing to worry about.
The last thing she needed was to alienate Lachlan’s mate. “Sorry. I dinna mean to be so sharp.”

“I understand completely.” Maggie caught her gaze. “Truly I do.”

“Someone comes.” Kheladin sounded grim.

“Aye,” Lachlan concurred. “I feel a disturbance in your wards.”

Britta sent her own magic hurtling upward. She wasn’t linked to Kheladin’s warding, but if Rhukon or the Morrigan lurked without, she’d recognize their foul energy. Delicately, she picked her way through Kheladin’s shielding without disturbing its integrity. A stab of joy, so bright it stole her composure, lanced through her. “Witches!”

Mauvreen sidled close. “I do believe you’re right, dragon shifter. And one of them feels a whole lot like Johnny.”

Jonathan’s face felt numb, but at least his ears were working again. He’d filled Caty’s witches in on everything while one of them patched him up, clucked, and told him he was damned lucky he hadn’t lost an eye. The Morrigan had dug her beak in and cut him from orbital socket to jawline, exposing his cheekbone. “If this doesna hold,” the witch cautioned, “ye’ll need stitches.”

“I’ll take magic any day. We’ve wasted enough time on me.”

“Where would you have us go?” Caty asked.

“I’m going back to Kheladin’s cave to raise the alarm so he and Lachlan can make certain Britta and Tarika made it to safety.” Jonathan bowed formally. “Thank you for heeding my call and for helping me.” The air shimmered as he summoned magic.

“Not so fast.” Caty made a grab for his arm. “If you’re off to talk to a dragon, we’re coming with you.” Her normally taciturn face split into a crooked grin. “We wouldn’t miss this opportunity for the world.”

Jonathan chuckled. “My coven felt the same way. Open your minds; I’ll send you an image of where I’m headed.”

He led the group to the entrance of Kheladin’s cave. They hovered outside the most elaborate warding system he’d ever seen. When he’d come through earlier with his coven, the wards had already been down. Now they formed layer upon layer, wrapped about and pinned to psychic strong points in the ether.
Wow! To have the power to create something this complex, maintain it, and still have energy to play host and chat amiably defies credibility.
What sort of strength did Lachlan possess to bond with such a formidable creature?

His thoughts strayed to Britta, to how her mouth had felt beneath his, and his cock sprang to life.
Damn it! Not now.
He buried his libido. It wasn’t difficult; he’d had lots of practice. To divert himself, Jonathan focused on the dragon. Kheladin must have sensed the disturbance in his wards. Why hadn’t he let them in? Time was critical. It had been at least an hour since the Morrigan had vanished, plenty of opportunity for her to go after Britta and Tarika.

Stop! I can’t think like that. The dragon was smart. She’d have ferried herself and Britta safely away.

What if they went somewhere I can’t follow? Like Fire Mountain? Or hundreds of years back in time?

“Are ye coming?” Someone jostled his arm. He glanced over and saw it was the witch who’d healed him.

“Huh?”

“The wards are dropping. Hurry.”

Jonathan squeezed his eyes shut. He’d been so lost in thought, he hadn’t been paying attention.
Need to be more on top of things.
“Thanks. I’m right behind you.”

Kheladin’s cave rose around him. Jonathan tumbled out onto its sandy floor, sprang to his feet, and hurtled toward the dragon’s bulk. “Kheladin,” he shouted, “you’ve got to make certain Tarika and Britta are safe. The Morrigan—”

Britta—a half-naked Britta—stepped away from a woman with long, blonde hair and raced toward him. “Thank the goddess ye’re unharmed.” She stopped a foot in front of him and dropped her gaze. Color rose from her open neckline and turned her face a lovely rose shade.

“I could say the same thing.” He closed the distance between them and gathered her into his arms. At first she stiffened, but then she wound her arms around him and hugged him back.

“Ye were a damned fool,” she whispered. “A brave one, but a fool nonetheless. Ye might have been killed.”

He tightened his hold on her, loving the way her body fit against his. “I could say the same,” he countered. “Not about the fool part but about your life being at risk.”

“Nay. I am immortal. It comes with the bond to Tarika.” She tilted her head back and smiled. “I have a somewhat greater margin for error.”

Immortal!
Her lips were tantalizing inches from his. It took all his self-control not to crush his mouth atop hers. “I’d like to hear more about—”

“I dinna think I’d live long enough to see Britta in a man’s arms.” A tawny-haired man with arresting green eyes draped an arm around each of them. “I’m Lachlan, Laird of Clan Moncrieffe. I’d shake your hand, witch, but it appears the two of yours are busy.” The blonde, who’d been standing next to Britta, strode to them and placed a hand on Lachlan’s shoulder.

Jonathan’s eyes widened. “You’re Kheladin’s bond partner.” His gaze shifted to Maggie. “This must be your wife, er mate.”

“Aye. He told you about us, then?” Lachlan grinned; the expression softened the exacting planes of his face.

“He certainly did. Not just me. All the witches in our coven. I, uh, feel like I should bow or something.”

Lachlan cocked his head to one side. “’Twas a time when commoners all bowed to me, but ye are far from that. Power fairly blazes from you. I sense far more than witch blood. What manner of beings were your parents?”

“Aye,” Britta cut in. “I would like to know as well.”

“I’m not certain.” Three sets of eyes, golden, green, and blue, stared at him. Jonathan swallowed hard. He’d never shared his story with anyone. It was so fantastic, he didn’t believe it himself. “I was raised by my father. He and Mauvreen were quite close.”

“That would be the witch side,” Lachlan cut in. “Who was your mother?”

Heat rose to Jonathan’s face. Britta nestled against his body. “Whatever ’tis canna be so bad as all that.”

“Not bad so much as farfetched. My da was…odd. Touched by the fae. He spun fanciful tales, got lost in prophecies, and never quite found a place for himself in the real world. If it weren’t for our coven, we’d probably have been reduced to taking public handouts.”

“Where is he now?” Lachlan asked.

“I don’t know. He left the coven and Ireland once I was done with school. I got a job with a software design company and relocated to Inverness not long after he disappeared.”

Mauvreen had approached without him realizing it. “Your daddy was a dreamer,” she said. “He lived in his visions, but he could foretell the future and sometimes even change it a bit if he caught something in time. The blood of the Old Ones flowed in him. He never could stand modern life. All those radio waves from wireless routers and phones made his head ache. He just sort of faded away, maybe to where the Celts go when they need to find respite.”

“Aye, the
Dreaming
.” Britta straightened, and turned so she faced Mauvreen. “Do ye know who his mother was?”

The witch nodded curtly. “I do, but it’s Johnny’s call what to say. Even after thirty-five years—”

“Thirty-seven,” he muttered.

Mauvreen shrugged. “Little enough difference. You’re a man now. You were shamed by your father’s oddities as a youth, and you never truly believed the story of your conception and birth, yet they’re true.”

“How could you possibly know?” Jonathan asked. He’d always sidestepped Mauvreen when she wanted to talk about his origins. Maybe he should have been more aggressive about picking her brain.

“I was there when she brought you to him once you’d been weaned.” A soft smile wreathed her face. “I’d never seen Angus quite so happy. He always wanted a son, but selecting a woman, and maintaining a marriage, felt beyond him.”

“If ye doona tell me, I’ll pluck it from your mind,” Britta said, her voice sharp.

Mauvreen bristled. Jonathan felt her sheathe herself in power. “Try it, dragon shifter. Some secrets are sacred. Either he will tell you, or not.” She turned her whiskey-colored gaze on him. “Your call, Jonathan James Shea.”

He squared his shoulders. Maybe the time had come after all. He glanced from Britta to Lachlan to the blonde, Lachlan’s mate. Though she hadn’t said anything, she watched him intently. He opened his mouth, shut it again, and took a shaky breath. “This isn’t going to get any easier. I may as well just spit it out. Arianrhod. My mother was Arianrhod. According to my da, she lay with him in one of his visions. He never truly believed he’d bedded a goddess until she showed up three years later with a toddler in tow.”

Britta inhaled noisily. Lachlan cleared his throat. Jonathan felt like an idiot. They didn’t believe him, and he didn’t blame them. Who could possibly accept such a tale? “Maybe we could talk about something else,” he mumbled. “Like crafting a battle strategy so the Morrigan doesn’t catch us unaware again.”

“Aye, we need to do that, too, but this willna take but a moment.” Lachlan closed on him from one side; Britta twisted in his arms. Each placed a hand on his head.

Jonathan girded himself for blasts of power, but the dragon shifters were gentle. Power crept into him, tentative, exploring. It felt respectful. A look flowed from Britta to Lachlan. They removed their hands. She smiled broadly, stepped away, and faced him. “Aye, ’tis true.”

“See.” Mauvreen hooked an arm through his. “Told you.”

Confusion swept through him, tying his stomach into knots. “All right. Fine. But this doesn’t change a thing.”

Mauvreen looked down her nose, and he understood. Knowing for sure what and who he was changed everything.

•●•

No wonder I feel so attracted to him. He’s one of the gods, or he could be if he let himself believe in his power.
Britta trained her forthright gaze on him. Jonathan looked as if he’d gone through a war. Resignation replaced disbelief on his handsome face. She saw it in the furrows in his forehead and the lines around his eyes.

“’Twill get better once ye have a wee bit of time to get used to it. Not that ye dinna know afore, but ye paid it no heed.” She gripped his hand. “No wonder ye stood up to the Morrigan.” A thought surfaced. Britta glanced at Lachlan. “Do ye suppose the battle crow knows who he is?”