Dragon's Moon (14 page)

The sound of people on the stairs had Eirik tearing his gaze from the domestic scene to watch their descent. Mairi moved gingerly, leaning heavily on Lais's arm, but looking better than the night before.

Ciara, on the other hand, wore a haunted expression, dark bruises marring the skin below her eyes. Eirik's dragon growled at the sight. She had not slept.

Tonight she would, if he had to wrap her in his arms and guard her dreams with his own. As prince of his people, Eirik could speak to any Éan in his mind, but as dragon gifted by the
Clach Gealach Gra
, he could soothe the minds of others.

He had started to do just that the night before with Ciara but had thought better of revealing his ability. Now, he knew the next opportunity he had, he would use it.

Lais reached the bottom of the stairs with Mairi, looking like a man who had found his mate and did not know what to do about it.

The twins ran to Ciara and threw arms around her in exuberant hugs. “We missed you,” Drost confided. “Mama said you were tired.”

“She said you was sleeping,” Brian added.

Eirik frowned. “You do not look like you slept.”

“You should have come play with us,” Drost said.

Ciara shook her head but smiled. “I should have.”

Mairi sent a worried glance, riddled with guilt toward Ciara. “I should not have taken your bed.”

“Yes, you should have. My dreams disturbed me, not my pallet on the floor.”

“You got to sleep on the floor?” Drost asked with an askance look at his mother. “We never get to.”

“I want to sleep on the floor,” Brian announced before climbing back into Niall's lap and crossing his arms just like Talorc when he wanted to make a point.

“Your mother prefers you sleep in a bed.” Talorc's tone said that no matter how he might want to indulge his sons, they would have to get their mother's approval first.

“Well, if you really want to sleep on the floor, then I'll make you a pallet on the floor of our bedchamber tonight,” Abigail offered with a sweet smile directed at her husband.

The Sinclair's frown was immediate. “Why
our
floor?”

“Because it will be an adventure.”

And he wouldn't be so quick to lay blame for the boys sleeping in a bed on their mother if them sleeping on the floor meant Talorc would have to spend it
sleeping
as well. Abigail was a clever and a sneaky woman.

Eirik liked her.

Ciara smiled on the scene, a wistful expression in her eyes Eirik did not understand.

Unsure what drove him to do it, Eirik rose and went to her. He took her arm and led her to the chair he'd been sitting in by the large fireplace. “Sit,
faolán
.”

“Why'd he call Ciara little wolf, Niall?” Drost asked the big warrior. “She's not little; she's bigger'n me.”

Niall looked up at Eirik, his expression a challenge. “I don't know. Eirik, why don't you tell us why you called our laird's daughter by the endearment?”

Ciara was so exhausted, Eirik could tell she wasn't really listening to what was being said around her. Hell, she hadn't even balked at taking his chair. In his experience, she was not the biddable wolf Talorc claimed.

“What's an endearment?” Brian asked.

“Like when your father calls you cub, or his little man,” Abigail answered when no one else did.

Talorc and Niall were too busy glaring at Eirik.

“Oh.” Drost swung his legs, kicking Niall, but the man didn't so much as blink. “But she's not a cub.”

“No, she is not.”

“Well?” Talorc prompted, his hostile gaze fixed firmly on Eirik. “Is there a reason
you
discovered my daughter in the forest last night?”

“I've been following her, watching her from the air when she runs at night.”

“Last night was not an isolated incident?” the Sinclair demanded, his attention on Ciara now.

She didn't answer.

“Ciara?”

She looked up, her eyes bloodshot, her face pale. “Yes?”

“You need to go back to bed.” Talorc's tone was firm, but caring, whatever he had meant to say gone in the face of his adopted daughter's clear exhaustion.

“I do?” She looked around her, no doubt noticing the looks of concern being directed her way. “But I just got up.”

“Abigail, can you make her a tea to help her sleep?” the Sinclair asked his wife.

“I've tried…they don't seem to work.”

“I can help her sleep.”

That had Niall and Talorc's hostile regard back on him, only ratcheted up a notch.

“No.” Talorc's tone left no room for argument.

“I can calm her mind and my dragon can protect her dreams.”

“Do you have to be in the room to do this?” Talorc demanded, clearly understanding the distinction Eirik had been making.

“Once I calm her mind, she will sleep, but I cannot protect her dreams without touching her.”

“So, she would only waken again, like she does with my teas,” Abigail said worriedly.

Eirik nodded.

The Sinclair opened his mouth to speak, but what he would have said was lost as Ciara pitched forward. She would have landed against the hard floor, but both Eirik and Abigail grabbed her.

Ciara sat up, shaking her head. “I don't know what's wrong with me.”

“Not enough sleep,” Talorc said. “For too many nights.”

Abigail sighed. “Not enough food.”

“Too many dreams,” Mairi added.

And everyone stared at her.

“I have them, too, but I can't tell you about it until Ciara is rested enough to join in the conversation. I won't betray her secrets by revealing my own.”

“You may hold her in our bed,” Talorc said, his words grudging. “The door will remain open and we will be checking on you.”

Eirik should have been offended, but it took all he could do to stifle his urge to laugh.

No matter how appealing he found the pretty little wolf,
he preferred his bed partners to be conscious. Besides, she needed rest, not sexual exertions.

“We will sleep in the forest, because I need to be in my dragon form to protect her dreams. I do not believe Abigail would appreciate me breaking the bed she finally convinced you to build for her. You can send a chaperone, but it must be one of the Éan or the few trusted Faol that already know of my other form.”

The laird agreed, sending Niall and Guaire to accompany Eirik and Ciara into the forest.

She was so out of her head with lack of sleep that Ciara did not even ask where they were going or why she'd been put on a horse with the giant blond warrior.

Eirik's dragon roared at this but settled some as he reminded himself the other Chrechte was happily mated…to Guaire. His dragon was still unhappy and Eirik only hoped the ride went quickly, or the beast would have its way and he would end up snatching Ciara right off of Niall's horse.

Healing is a matter of time, but it is sometimes also a matter of opportunity.

—H
IPPOCRATES

L
ais lifted Mairi into his arms, ignoring her squeak of surprise and turned to face his laird. “I will do another session of healing on her.”

Talorc nodded. “Abigail will accompany you.”

“If you wish, but my power to heal is stronger when there are no distractions.”

“I believe your patient will be distraction enough,” Talorc said wryly.

Mairi gasped at this and squirmed, but Lais carefully kept her close. “Exactly,” he agreed with his laird. “Adding further distractions to the mix will hamper my ability to heal my patient, but I will bow to your will.”

The laird shook his head. “You are almost as arrogant as your prince.”

“I believe that is the pot calling the kettle,” Abigail said with a small laugh.

Since Lais agreed, he did his best to hide his amusement. He liked his head just where it was. Attached to his shoulders.

“You will not take advantage of her innocence,” the Faol declared. “She is under my protection.”

Lais did not blame the laird for doubting his honor. After what Lais had done to his own people, he did not expect the trust of other Chrechte.

'Twas why Eirik's friendship was so important to Lais. The prince had never once questioned Lais's motives or actions.

But the insult to his integrity still wounded. “She is my patient. She is safe under my care.”

“Of course she is safe with you,” Abigail soothed and then glared at Talorc. “My husband did not mean to imply otherwise.”

The laird didn't look in the least repentant. “He wants her.”

Abigail blushed and gave Mairi a pitying look.

Mairi made a high-pitched sound of protest, but she didn't try to get out of his arms again. Her wounds must be paining her. And that was all that mattered right now.

“I will treat her as if she were another ward of the Sinclair,” Lais said.

“Good.” The wolf alpha's eyes promised retribution if Lais did not do as he'd promised. “Because for now, that is exactly what she is.”

“But I…my father…he won't…” Mairi's sweet feminine voice rambled out in confusion.

Talorc ignored her, his face softening near miraculously as he looked at his wife. “'Tis time to take the boys digging in your herb garden, I think.”

“The last time you did that, they dug up my thyme and our dinners suffered,” Abigail said with asperity, but an amused twinkle in her eye.

“Then you had best come supervise us.”

“I suppose I had better at that.” The Sinclair's lady's lips twitched with humor.

“By your leave,” Lais said to the laird, indicating the stairs with his chin.

Talorc's attention came back to Lais and Mairi. “Do what you can for her. She is no warrior to suffer such pain.”

Lais should not have been surprised that the Sinclair laird had noticed Mairi's discomfort, or that the wolf cared about it, but part of him was. And it shamed Lais to realize he had his own judgments based on past experience to overcome.

“I will.”

Talorc nodded and then led his family from the great hall.

Lais carried Mairi up to his bedchamber.

He'd been taken aback when the laird had offered him a room in the keep beside Eirik's. But Talorc had said that with Lais's Chrechte gift of healing, he would be an invaluable member of the clan and best kept close to the laird's family.

Healing Mairi in Lais's nest would help him focus and draw on the strength of his Chrechte gift. His weapons nearby, the furs Lais had brought with him from his home in the forest were arranged in a way that made his eagle feel comfortable and safe, despite them being on the floor.

He kept a bowl of fragrant herbs used for healing in the high window, the scent soothing and a reminder at the same time. Anya-Gra had taught him that while his ability to heal others was a great gift, he did not have to use it alone. One of her daughters had spent the last seven years training Lais in the use of herbs, tinctures and other treatments in healing ailments for both Chrechte and human.

The only furniture in the room, a long narrow table against the wall opposite the bed, held jars, pots and pouches filled with his tools as a healer from this training. In the center rested a small wooden box. Decorated with a carved dragon on the top, it had a raven, an eagle and a hawk decorating three sides and nothing on the back. Inside, rested the small amber stone Anya-Gra had given Lais the day after he had gone to live among the Éan.

A memento to the fact he'd been given a second chance, the dark yellow crystal helped him remember that day of healing in the cavern seven years past. Anya-Gra had also worked with Lais in using it to focus and enhance his healing gift.

Kicking the door shut, he bumped the bar with his
shoulder so it fell in place, ensuring no one could barge in and interrupt them. To break his focus at a crucial moment in her healing could have very detrimental effects on Mairi's recovery.

“This isn't Ciara's room,” the sweet blonde said as he laid her on his furs, her blue gaze filled with confusion.

He settled a smaller, rolled-up fur under her head. “It is mine.”

“But 'tis not seemly.” She tried to get up but barely lifted her head before settling back with a pained expression. “I cannot be in the room of an unmarried soldier.”

Though he trained with the warriors, he was not one of them. “I am healer, not a soldier.”

He poured water from the ewer kept in his room into the large wooden bowl he used for all manner of things. It had been carved thin and polished to a high finish by one of the skilled woodworkers among the humans that had made their lives with the Éan in the forest.

“Pffft.” Her mouth pursed adorably and the urge to kiss her was almost stronger than his will. “That is hardly an important distinction.”

It was to Lais. He would never again attempt to hurt another Chrechte unless in defense of others. “You heard the laird. Your virtue is safe.”