Spark (Clan of Dragons Book 1) Page 2

  That fruit would be a bairn. Evan’s offspring. The thought of mating with anyone made Evan’s head swim, and he flapped his wings with renewed gusto, and shot even farther ahead of his brethren. Something surged through him. Something akin to hope pierced his chest, right through to his dragon heart. He had a feeling luck was on his side, and an adventure would give Dougal hope that he might find another mate. With his brothers at his back, how could he lose?

  Evan landed soundlessly in a clump of trees beside a small stream, within sight of an open-sided hovel, filled with horses.

  “Horses? I forgot about these large creatures.” Wynn whispered. He had landed nearby, and ambled through the brush, silent for such a large dragon. He had tucked his white wings high on his back, and leaned slightly away from the village, making the rest of his green body nearly imperceptible among the green boughs of pine trees.

  Evan had already wrapped his brown wings close, and tried to look like tree bark. A low thud announced the arrival of Dougal, and they waited until he joined them, his ruby-red body wrapped in his black wings, mimicking shadows.

  “Look. Horses of every color. I have seen the humans travel on their backs, and the beasties don’t seem to mind it. They look well fed. See that female? She be giving them something to eat. Look how they nuzzle her. They seem rather content,” Wynn said.

  Evan squinted, trying to see what the female was doing. Her long red hair reminded him of a fiery sunset, covering her face as she leaned over with a round metal bucket. She dumped its contents into a trough. The view of her rounded backside, beneath her simple brown gown, was appealing. Evan’s loins ached with a sudden need to nuzzle her, too. The animals crowded around, and shoved each other aside to get to the fodder. The female laughed, and petted the glossy neck of the animal closest to her. Evan wanted those fingers on him.

  Startled by such a thought, he gasped. “Flames of Hell!”

  “What? Evan, do you see a problem with your plan?” Wynn asked.

  Evan took a deep breath, and shook his head. “I will shift into a creature similar to the one grazing in the far paddock, but I hope you will recognize me. I would not wish to be devoured by either one of you.”

  As Dougal grumbled, then smirked, Evan moved behind the bulky bodies of his brothers. Out of sight of the village stable, and the human lass, he shifted. The air around him snapped as if a branch had broken and tumbled to the ground. His bones jerked, and he sucked in a deep breath to keep from roaring with pleasure. The transformation did not hurt, and was a nearly silent process. The euphoria that always accompanied the change wrapped around him. When the last sparkle drifted away, he glanced down at the front legs of a copper-colored horse.

  “Evan! You look fine and dandy, but your scar still covers your thigh…or, be it your withers?” Wynn laughed.

  Evan used his new rear hooves to kick him in his shin.

  “Ouch! Cut that out. I was not disparaging you. Being disfigured, I believe a female human might love you even more. Besides, the mark of our species be on your back. It runs along your spine.”

  Evan turned his long neck, but only spied some dark discoloration along the ridge of his much smaller back.

  When Wynn laughed at his obvious distress, Evan turned and nipped the thin flesh of his white wing. Before Wynn could roar in pain and anger, Dougal pounced and tumbled them both to the forest floor. “Keep making noise, and we shall have the entire village hunting us in a thrice.”

  Evan pulled his long, thin legs beneath him, and stood. He shook, throwing leaves and twigs from his coat. Stomping a front hoof, he bowed his long neck, admitting he had acted brashly. Wynn rolled away, got to his feet, and retracted his talons. His expression was that of a very upset dragon, but neither had a right to discount their older brother’s warning.

  Dougal stepped closer to Wynn and whispered. “Since Evan can no longer speak to us, I will say this.” Dougal turned to Evan. “We will watch from a hidden vantage point to ensure your safety and learn from your actions. Be safe, brother.”

  Evan understood his words, but could not respond. He threw his head up, and nudged both dragons with his new nose. They inhaled his new scent, another way to mark him as their brother. Evan turned and trotted toward the woman. With her back to the forest, she did not react when he joined the other creatures.

  As she stepped closer, and dumped more feed into his end of the trough, he appraised her thoroughly. Her arms were bare, her skin golden, and she wore a scoop-necked shirt beneath her apron. Its deep green color reminded him of a meadow near the western shores of Skye, far from the mountains. Her dark red hair lay loose around her head, flowing over her shoulders in naturally twisting curls. She absentmindedly tossed the thick strands over her shoulders to trail down her back. Muscles flexed in her shoulders and forearms.

  She be a strong female who works hard caring for large beasts.

  Perfect.

  When she straightened, placed her hands on her waist, and arched her back, two ample breasts jutted forward. They were barely bound by her shirt and apron, and pointed directly at him. When he leaned forward, and his muzzle sniffed the shadow of her cleavage, she giggled.

  Evan raised his gaze to her pretty face. Sun-kissed skin, high cheekbones, and emerald-green eyes stared back. She smiled at him, and her berry-red lips parted. The tiny tip of her tongue swept over her upper lip, and Evan’s four knees locked. Awestruck by her beauty, and the simple pleasure in knowing he’d made her smile, he lifted his head and nuzzled her neck. She smelled of horses, smoke, and something else. Flowers? Meadow grass? Whatever the scent, it pleased his new nose.

  Her hand came up and smoothed the fur along his jaw line. When she scratched him behind his left ear, his left hip shook.

  Heaven!

  Evan took a deeper breath, and smelled sunshine and rainwater, as if she’d taken a recent bath in the creek he’d seen meandering through the forest. A softer scent escaped the red wisps of her hair, and he wondered if she had recently washed her hair with crushed lavender buds.

  “You be a fine looking animal, sir. I do not believe we have met.”

  Evan was speechless. He could not say his name, nor could he return the favor by scratching behind her ears. He snorted in frustration, and a spark tainted the air.

  “Where did that come from?” she said, waving her hand in the air. “Hmm, I think I will name you Spark.”

  He nodded his head, sending his long neck up and down. She was a beauty, with a pert nose, and sparkling eyes, though her head barely reached his shoulders. When her lips opened slightly, his chest tightened. If this female was unattached to another male, he would mate with her, and see if another generation was even possible. He knew he would enjoy trying.

  CHAPTER 2

  “Aye, Spark suits you.” Vika MacKinnon stroked the strange horse’s coppery coat. It reminded her of copper trinkets she’d seen at a festival, years ago. She could never afford such items, yet here stood a fine-looking beast with the same shimmering color. Running her fingers through his dark brown mane, she relished the feel as the strands ran through her fingers like silk. “Aye, very handsome, indeed.”

  His ears stood straight up, as if listening to her speak.

  Such a silly thought.

  “He be a beast, not a handsome man.” When his head bounced up and down, as if nodding, she laughed. She kissed the velvety soft tip of his nose, then ran her hands over his side. Running down his belly, she leaned over to gauge the animal’s sex.

  “Well, lookit here. You be quite impressive between your legs, as well.”

  The stallion’s throat rumbled, and she turned her head to make sure he wasn’t planning to nip her backside. Surprisingly, his head lolled as if her touch and her words had pushed him into a pleasure-filled stupor. She smiled and returned to her ministrations. His tail was as brown as his mane, and nearly as long as his muscular legs. A mark on his left rump made her pause.

  “What be this? A scar? Have you seen battle?�
� The injury looked fairly well healed. She knew of several warriors that had died in a clan war, many months earlier. Could this stallion have belonged to one of them? He was much larger than the other island ponies eating contentedly beside him, and his coat was finer. The breadth of his back and his long, muscular legs looked rugged enough to carry a warrior and his weapons.

  “I pray you be in need of a master. I would love to add you to me small farm. Walking back and forth to the village gets more dangerous each day.” She did not wish to dwell on Toal MacMorgan and his unwanted advances, which were growing more and more frequent. He was a conceited lord, who pretended he had more wealth than most villagers.

  She slid her hand carefully around the horse’s wound. “That man believe he be better than everyone else in our village,” and his unsolicited attention made her nervous. She was always looking over her shoulder, especially when she walked to or from home.

  The ability to ride instead of walk, between her coastal farm and her employer’s stables, could save her from another distasteful encounter.

  “If you knew what Toal tried to do to me yesterday, you would be as nervous as me. The man has wandering hands, and no understanding of the word nay.”

  The horse snorted and seemed to nod.

  “Do you really understand me?”

  He shook his head, and she laughed. Why she felt the need to unburden herself on a dumb beast was a mystery, but talking about her problems to someone made her stomach unclench a little. She could not share her troubles with her brother, Orin. He was only six and ten summers old, barely entering manhood, and had no time to worry about an older sister nearing two and twenty summers.

  “I wish you and I could talk to each other.” She stroked the stallion’s glossy rump, and slid her hand down to his muscular hock. The animal raised his leg, and she smiled. He had a feathery white fetlock. “Aye, you be a handsome lad.”

  “Going daft, dear Vika? I feel your need for a man in your bed has deepened. Caring for a horse be one thing, but companionship of another sort might prove more pleasurable, and I know I would enjoy you touching me in such a manner.”

  Vika straightened, and her shoulders stiffened. How could she lose herself in thought, and neglect to hear the one man in the village of Morbhan that she never wished to see? Toal stood so close, his objectionable odor brought tears to her eyes. Trapped between him and the horse, she chose to flatten her breasts against the horse’s soft coppery belly. He smelled so much nicer.

  “I be working, me lord. I suggest you search for pleasure in the tavern. Unna be quite talented with her mouth, I hear.”

  “The only mouth I want on me, be yours,” he whispered, stepping into her back, and shoving her against the horse. The beast turned his head, as if watching them. When Toal’s left hand snaked up her side, heading toward her breast, the stallion nudged his arm.

  Vika did not react when Toal growled his displeasure, and shoved the horse’s nose aside. When Toal grabbed a fistful of her hair with his right hand and bit her shoulder, she yelped.

  Shoving her sideways, he laughed as she tripped over her dress’ hem, landing in a heap behind the stallion. She crawled backwards through the muck, until her skirts tangled around her legs. Toal walked toward her, until he stood above her, a haughty sneer on his ugly face.

  “A lovely position, lass, but I do not wish to rut with you in an open barnyard. Shall we remove ourselves to me manor?” He tucked his thumbs into his belt, and threw back his shoulders with pride. Then he sniffed the air.

  “After you bathe, of course.”

  His words disgusted her, but she suddenly wanted to laugh. His so-called manor was no more than a two-story stone crofter’s cottage, taken by him and his minions, upon the death of old Clark MacKinnon. She took a breath, and pondered his own need to take a bath.

  “You be a filthy-minded beast. I do not rut, and shall never allow you to bed me here, there, and especially not in your hovel. Leave me be!” She grabbed a piece of fresh horse droppings, and flung it at him, hitting him squarely in the nose.

  “Bitch!”

  He raised his hand, and Vika covered her head with her arms and waited for the blow that never came. The next thing she knew. Toal sailed over her head. As the coppery stallion’s hooves landed back on the muddy ground, Toal fell head over heels into the nearby creek.

  “Murderous beast!”

  She scrambled to her feet, and raced to where Toal had landed. “Be you hurt?”

  “That damned beast nearly killed me!” He gathered his feet beneath him, and pushed up into a standing position. Water drained down his face and chest, and the feather that he always wore in his cap was gone.

  “Aye, but he be just a beast, and you stood behind him. Any fool knows not to do that. ‘Tis not his fault he protected his blind side.”

  Toal stood on shaking feet, brushing mud and leaves from his drenched plaide. “Our discussion be not over, but I be late for a meeting in the great hall. I shall have the council of elders reprimand the beast’s owner for its unbridled behavior.”

  “I don’t know if he has an owner. I’ve never seen him before. Me thinks he belonged to a warrior, possibly one that did not survive the last battle. This one be scarred, and the warriors generally stable their horses on the other side of the village.”

  “Then I shall have him destroyed!”

  Toal marched away before she could sputter words in defense of the animal. The thought of killing the horse for its natural reaction to danger was unthinkable.

  Orin strolled by, slapping the trough with a stick. All the horses shied away and headed for the paddock, except for the coppery stallion. Such fearlessness, as he stood his ground, made her sure he was a warhorse without a master, and deserved to live. With her.

  “Orin, I must speak before the council on an issue of vital importance.”

  Orin chuckled, and threw his stick into the creek. “Why would a lass such as you have need of the Council of Elders?”

  “I must strive to save the life of this beast.” She stroked the velvety nose of the stallion.

  “What? You mean, the animal with the swift kick?”

  “You saw?”

  “Aye, I grabbed this stick and was on me way to pound the shite out of Lord MacMorgan, when I saw the horse take him down. Splendid!”

  “Please do not say shite. And, aye, Spark did me a good deed. Toal wants him put down for doing what a warhorse does.”

  “He be a warrior’s mount?”

  “I believe so. See this scar on his rump?”

  Orin walked closer, murmuring words of comfort to the beast. He had grown up around the stables and paddocks, and seemed to understand animals like no other. He gently stroked the scar on the horse’s rump, then returned while running his fingers over his back. “Did you notice this mark?”

  Vika walked closer and followed Orin’s gaze. A swirling dark mark covered Spark’s back, from his mane to his tail.

  “I be shorter than you, and I didn’t notice this. Do warriors mark their mounts?”

  Orin shrugged. “Looks like a winged beast.”

  “I cannot allow him to die, so I shall go and claim him for us.”

  “Aye! We could use a big fellow like him. Hurry, before Toal brings the executioner back with him!”

  She gathered her muddy skirts, and ran. She should have warned Orin to keep his distance from the stallion, but something told her Spark was no danger to women and lads.

  Hurrying through the village, she passed the square where women pulled buckets of fresh water from the town’s well. She waved at a young, dark-haired lass, and grabbed a full bucket from her. Twisting, Vika poured the cold water over her backside to rinse away the mud and horse droppings. Doing so, before entering the elders’ chambers, was a good idea.

  The women working the well giggled, and Vika smiled at their curious expressions, but she did not have time to explain. She did not slow, until she arrived at Black MacFingan’s Tavern.


  Smoothing her dress, she ran fingers through her wayward curls, and took a deep breath. Whispering a Celtic prayer, she pushed open the door, and walked into the tavern’s dining room. All eyes locked on her. Several men, in from the fields, sat with tankards of what smelled like ale in front of them. Smoke from the peat bricks in the hearth drifted overhead, and the serving lass, Unna, sneered at her.

  Ignoring the men’s curious stares, she strode to the back of the building, to the Council of Elders’ chamber, and entered through the meeting room’s door. As she slipped inside, she dipped her head to an armed warrior named Sinna standing guard beside the door. The door creaked as it shut behind her, and her nose filled with the odor of tallow candles and smoldering peat.

  “This be a private meeting, lass. Can you wait?”

  She bowed to Elder Notal Kinnon, but did not move. His smile was reassuring. “Not if you be discussing the copper-colored stallion’s fate.”

  Toal, still dripping wet, glared at her, then turned back to the head of their clan’s council of elders. “I have given testimony, and await your decision.”

  Elder Kinnon glanced from Toal, to her. “What do you have to add?”

  “Since I be not privy to what untruths the lord has shared with you, let me say that the stallion be tame, recently injured, and allowed me near him. The only time he reacted with a pair of hooves to Lord MacMorgan’s backside, was when I found meself on me back in the dirt, at the man’s feet.”

  Voices rose, Toal sputtered, and marched toward her. When he raised his hand to slap her, the guard beside the door stepped between them, and grabbed his arm. Toal shook loose, but did not move away.

  “Calm yourself, Lord MacMorgan,” the elder ordered, “or I shall put you in chains.”

  “You cannot believe this slut…”

  The warrior cuffed Toal’s cheek, sending him crashing into the wall.

  “How dare you touch me! What be your name?” Toal struggled to his feet, and rested his hand on the dirk in his belt.