Spark (Clan of Dragons Book 1) Page 3

  “I be Sinna, Lord MacMorgan. No one may attack another in the Council of Elder’s meeting room,” the guard stated.

  Clenching his lips together, Toal muttered a Gaelic curse at the man, then turned away from both the guard and Vika.

  Elder Kinnon spread his hands in the air. “If no one else saw what happened between you and the stallion in question, I be unsure how to resolve this.”

  “Me brother witnessed his transgression.”

  “Ha! Her brother be a young lad and would lie for her. I suggest a wager, and the winner shall acquire the beast.” Toal smirked at her. “We shall hunt, you and me. The hunter who brings in the most meat shall decide the beast’s fate.”

  Elder Kinnon dipped his forehead toward her. “Be this acceptable to you, lass?”

  Vika thrust her shoulders back, and spoke in a loud, clear voice. “Aye. I be a good hunter. I say we hunt for three days, and that you allow me to take both the horse in question, a pony, and a cart. Me brother, Orin, shall drive the cart, and protect me from…beasts.” She glared at Toal.

  The old man nodded, as if understanding her concerns. A lass, alone in the forest, was never a prudent idea. “Be this acceptable to you, Lord MacMorgan?”

  Toal glared at her, then nodded.

  Vika knew Toal assumed he could win. Little did he know that she and Orin were worthy opponents. Besides. Saving Spark was the best reason to prevail.

  CHAPTER 3

  Evan’s eyelids drooped, and nearly closed. He enjoyed the feel of the lad’s hand as he brushed the fur along his shoulder, yet he already missed the gentle hands of the female human. He had not understood the conversation between her and the foul-smelling human male, but he sensed he meant to harm her, or worse. Kicking him in the arse was a knee-jerk reaction, yet it seemed to have brought trouble to these two humans. He hadn’t aimed to send the man flying into the creek, but things worked out for the best. The man was in dire need of a bath.

  The young lad treated him gently, and spoke softly to him. He had grabbed some type of tool with boar’s bristles embedded in one side, and rubbed Evan’s coat in a circular motion. When he slid it down to Evan’s elbow, he jumped. How could he let the boy know that tickled? The best he could do was shove away the hand holding the brush.

  So, he did, with his nose.

  “Hey there, you feisty cur, I be making you less a mongrel, and more a handsome warrior’s mount in order to impress the mares. You must give me this. ‘Twill keep me mind off me sister. I fear Toal the Toad will corner her one too many times.”

  Evan was slowly gaining some insight into their language. The secret was in the tone of their voices. This lad was concerned for the female, but Evan felt it was concern similar to what he had for his brothers.

  Speaking of his brothers…

  He turned his long neck toward the forest, and glanced at the spot where he had transformed into a horse. Were his brothers watching over him? Had they laughed when he’d kicked the smelly human? Were they watching a young lad brush his coat? When he brushed a particularly ticklish spot, he nipped the lad’s shoulder. Not deep enough to taste anything, but his leather jerkin.

  “Hey! What was that for?” The lad pulled his shoulder free, and rubbed the moistened leather. “Listen, Spark, as that be what me sister has named you. I be Orin MacKinnon.” He pointed his thumb at his broad chest. “I be destined to be a fearsome warrior very soon. I worry about Vika, so let me calm me worries.”

  He resumed brushing Evan, heading along his back. Happier now that he wasn’t being tickled, Evan raised one hoof, and rested his back leg.

  “This mark be odd, and reminds me of a mythological winged dragon. Vika says there be no such thing as dragons, but I be more open-minded than she. I have seen oddities all me life, from a sea monster off the shore to a ghostly white stag.”

  Evan wasn’t sure if the words sea monster were the same as shark, but he understood the words white stag. He immediately thought of Dougal. Was he thinking of his recently murdered mate, Cliona? A nearby treetop quivered in a stagnant sky. Without a breeze, the branches should not be moving. He whinnied loudly, and raised his head. The lad…Orin, he called himself…set a hand on his markings. Evan suspected he only meant to calm the horse, but a spark blew him back, until he tumbled over a bucket. He landed flat on his back.

  “I didn’t mean to upset you, Spark.” He dusted off his backside, shook out his hand, and stood. His shoulders slouched, and he wiped away a tear.

  Evan’s guilt rose as swift as a falcon, shocking him into rearing up on his hind legs. The lad cried out in fear, and a female screamed. When her scent filled his nose, he dropped to all fours, and shook his head and shoulders. Dust and hay flew about his hooves.

  “Orin, what be happening?”

  “Vika, you don’t understand. I talked to him about things, and touched the mark on his back. There was a spark, I fell back, and tripped. He didn’t harm me.”

  “Fine. He may be a bit sensitive, there, so take care. We’ve more to worry over. The council’s perception can be easily clouded. Toal has colored what happened between us.”

  “Will Spark die?”

  She released a deep sigh, as she shook her head, and Evan eavesdropped. He recognized the words Toal and die, and concern for his future rose.

  “We be off on a hunt. Starting tomorrow morning, we have three days to gather as much meat as we can. At the end of those three days, our catch shall be judged by the elders. If we bring back more than Lord MacMorgan, Spark wins a reprieve from the sword.”

  “We?”

  “Aye. You shall drive a pony cart, and I shall hunt from the back of Spark. ‘Twas part of the plan. He be safer with us.”

  “If what you say be true, I agree. Can I ride him, too?”

  “We shall see how he tolerates me first. While on our journey, we must keep our eyes open and our weapons at the ready. Toal and his accomplices might try to foil us, just for spite.”

  Orin spit into the muddy ground, then scratched the middle of his chest. “Aye, the toad be dangerous. I pledge to keep you safe.”

  “Thank you, but take care Toal does not hear you call him the toad.”

  Evan knew something was afoot. Something dangerous, yet it involved a frog? The human language was odd, but since they were all together, wherever she traveled, he would carry her. If dragons prayed to a deity, this female could be the answer to his clan’s prayers. Scotland had many superstitions, and a handful of religions. Who was he to question the humans?

  “Have you finished brushing the beasts, Orin?”

  “Spark was the last. Shall we leave him here, or take him home?”

  “Hitch up Black MacFingan’s pony and cart. I spoke to his wife, Mistress MacFingan, on me way, back from the council meeting. She does not like Lord MacMorgan and wishes us to beat him at his own game. I fear for Spark’s safety, so I shall ride him home. ‘Tis the only way to see if he can tolerate a woman on his back. Tomorrow, we shall leave our cottage before the sun has risen. Quickly. Let us hurry home. ‘Tis important we gather supplies.”

  “Do you think da’s saddle will fit this stallion? He be quite wide in the belly.”

  Evan snorted, and pawed the mud.

  “I meant no offense, Spark, but you be large, as horses go.” Orin grabbed a halter off a post, and slipped it over Evan’s head.

  Evan allowed it, because he was curious as to what they planned to do next. Their words were growing on him, and he thought he understood every third or fourth. Home was very clear. He was suddenly homesick.

  “Help me mount him?” Vika asked.

  Evan understood that sentence in its entirety. She wished to mount him? As Evan tried to comprehend her meaning, Orin led him closer to a barrel, beside a crate. Vika climbed onto the crate, and then on top of the barrel. She lifted her skirts, and swung her left leg over his back.

  “Astride, Vika? In a gown?”

  “I shall wear me hunting breeches tomorrow, but until
I can, I mean to return home by heading through the forest. I shall keep off the main road, Orin. I have much to do before the morning. No one but the guard at the gate shall see me.”

  Orin kicked a clump of dirt into the nearby creek. “Fine. I shall get the pony and cart, but you take care. I have heard the howl of wolves, recently.”

  At the mention of wolves, Evan jumped sideways, and her fingers tangled in his mane. He winced, then calmed. Wolves were a nuisance, and he was too vulnerable in his present shape. He could never outrun them on such spindly legs.

  Legs he had not yet tested.

  Heat pulsed where Vika rested on his back, and he swung his ears toward her. She was saying something he could not understand, but the softness of her voice soothed him.

  “Easy, Spark. I shall fit you with a proper bit and bridle when we reach our farm. We need to hurry, aye?”

  Evan tugged on the halter, then allowed her to direct him toward the forest. They passed through the village gate, where the guard napped by a stack of straw. A deer trail broke off from the main road. Branches clawed at his sides, and he slowed his pace. When she kicked his sides with the heels of her boots, he bolted forward.

  “Aye, that’s it, me handsome brute. Faster!”

  A loud howl off to the left made him pick up speed. Soon, he was flying over downed trees, and sailing over narrow streams. The air filled his nostrils with the scent of damp moss and fresh rainwater. The howling of wolves had ended, and he hoped his brothers had intervened, coming to their aid. Did they follow him now?

  When his mounted rider directed him onto another trail to the right, they broke from the thick vegetation beside a pretty meadow. A half-dozen black-faced sheep grazed behind the fence, near a small cottage.

  Evan’s stomach growled. When the salty tang of the sea filled his flaring nostrils, and the crash of waves rumbled nearby, he was surprised. He rarely flew toward the southern edge of the Cuillin Hills, because too many ships traveled along the southern coast of Skye.

  He enjoyed flying over the lower tip of the island, and found much to eat beneath the waves. He wasn’t prone to swimming, though he could fly low above the waves to catch fish, but had to keep out of sight of any seafaring vessels. This coastline was much too shallow, and very close to the Scottish mainland.

  Also, the blue gray waves were filled with hungry sharks.

  Vika pulled on his halter, and he supposed she wished him to stop. She swung her leg over, and slithered down his side. He missed the warmth where she had ridden on his markings, but now the injury on his hip throbbed. He raised the leg, rested on his hoof, and trembled.

  “Oh, dear! I have made your injury pain you. ‘Twas not right to make you gallop through the woods. Let me find you a warm blanket, and let you rest. Tomorrow, we ride again, but we shall walk. No galloping. I promise.” She rubbed him behind his left ear, then kissed him on the nose.

  Her breath was warm and sweet, and her hair was a windblown tangle of curls. The rush of air against her cheeks had brought a rosy color to her delicate skin, and her green eyes looked watery from the cool breeze. She was lovely, for a human. Hope grew that this was the one for him. The lass that could save their clan.

  She led him into a small building adjacent to her cottage. Fresh hay and a bucket of water awaited him. She loosely tied his halter to a post, then began rubbing him down. Evan closed his eyes, and gave in to the pleasure of the brush. When she tossed a heavy wool blanket over his back, he sighed.

  “You sound weary, lad. Please rest. I shall need you at your best, these next few days. If we do not succeed, Toal shall have you destroyed.”

  Evan tossed his head, and prayed she realized he understood her concern. The language was no longer a barrier, but he could not speak. If he stayed in this shape, how could he make her agree to mate with him? He had tonight and the next few days to come up with a plan, and it had better be a good one.

  ***

  Vika tossed a few bricks of dried peat on the dwindling coals in her cottage’s cooking hearth, and undressed. She washed with cold water, not wishing to wait for a pot to heat. There were too many things to do before morning. She set to baking bannock, gathering dried oatmeal, salt, and animal fat. When all mixed, she set the dough to warm beside the hearth, then tapped a jug of fermenting cider. She filled half a dozen skins, and set them by the door.

  She’d picked apples all last month, and gathered the basket she’d placed in the cold room, beneath the floor. She added bunches of carrots and several onions to a satchel that would carry enough food to feed Orin and the horses while they hunted. Either she or Orin would catch rabbits or pine martins for their suppers on the trail.

  “The stew pot!” She added the pot, chain, and tripod, carved wooden bowls, and soupspoons to the pile by the door. Cooking stew over a fire was easy, and the onions and carrots would add to the broth quite nicely.

  For tonight’s dinner, she set another pot on the fire, and filled it with water. As the water heated, she cut a potato and three carrots into chunks, and sliced an onion. After she threw everything into the pot, she set the bannock to bake over the fire. Grabbing a small bottle of honey from a high shelf, she shoved it into the satchel. Clothing came next.

  “Me breeches will do nicely.”

  Orin would not be pleased, as he felt women ought to dress in skirts, but if she was to hunt either on horseback, or by scrambling through the trees and prickly bushes, a gown was out of the question.

  She opened a trunk at the foot of her bed and pulled out two pair of breeches sewn from soft and supple deerskin. Two long-sleeved woven shirts, and a vest of deer hide, would keep her warm. The weather was an unknown factor, so she would take the sealskin cloak hanging from a peg by the door. Facing away from the door, she pondered her next course of action.

  “Weapons!” She headed to where they kept their various hunting armaments on the far wall of the small one room cottage. She glanced up at Orin’s crossbow, da’s longbow, her hunting bow, stone-tipped arrows, dagger, a dirk, a quiver, and a large round targe. She hoped she wouldn’t need the heavy leather shield, but Toal was crafty. She and Orin would win this wager, and Spark would stay with them, but she would hang the shield on the cart, just in case.

  “I shall gather them in the morning.” She completed her cooking, setting the crusty, fragrant bannock aside, to cool. Grabbing several empty skins, she headed for the creek that ran along the farm. Fresh water was scarce in the forest. Several streams fed into the creek on its way to the ocean, but usually tasted of moss. If she and Orin were to succeed in their quest, all of them needed clean, fresh water.

  “Well, maybe not Spark and the pony.” She giggled, finished filling the skins, and returned to the cottage. She settled them just inside the door, beside the others.

  “Time to pull out da’s saddle.”

  She missed her parents. Orin wasn’t old enough to remember their ma. Vika was the only mother he knew, but he was no longer a bairn. Soon, he would go off to discover his future. What would happen to her? Toal MacMorgan was a problem. He never mentioned marriage. He wanted her, but in a less than respectable way. Unfortunately, the few men she ever considered husband material had left to fight another clan. Along with her da, none had returned to the village alive. How long could she wait? Another winter was on the horizon, yet she never felt the urge to plan any farther ahead than tomorrow.

  “Tomorrow shall come fast enough. I had best feed Spark.” Vika entered the barn. The afternoon sun was nearly set, and the dimness of the small building took her eyes a moment to adjust. The rattle of the approaching pony cart was evident, but as she stared at the empty barn, she suddenly couldn’t move.

  CHAPTER 4

  “Vika? Where be you, lass?” Orin called out. He jumped from the cart, and unhooked Old Gray. The borrowed Highland pony was getting on in years, but was strong as an ox. When they filled the cart with meat, they would have no problem carting the load back to town. He led the pony to the barn, th
en stopped. Vika stood with her back to him.

  “Vika? What be you doing?”

  “Sp…Spark! He’s gone!”

  Orin tied Old Gray to a post, then walked past her, and glanced into each empty stall. The back door, leading into their pasture, was open a crack. “Maybe he wished to graze? Did you forget to feed him?”

  “I came out here to do just that. I was busy cooking your food.” She marched toward the door, and pushed it open with both hands.

  “Do not snap at me, although ‘tis no mystery why you have yet to marry,” he mumbled. His sister was a strong, obstinate lass. She claimed to believe in true love, as if such a notion was a reason to wed. Maybe she was waiting until he left home? Flew the nest, so to speak? Should he look for a stableman position in some far off village? As he thought about their future, he followed her into the pasture. Spark stood sniffing one of their sheep.

  “There you be, lad. How you untied yourself be a mystery. Come with me, and I shall feed you,” Vika said.

  Spark lifted his head toward Vika, and his ears swiveled forward, as if he understood her. The blanket she must have given him was askew, and his expression made him look like someone had caught him acting naughty. Had he planned to bite the sheep?

  When Vika grabbed the rope lead to his halter, he hung his head, as if in shame. The beastie followed her, with slow steps, and Orin laughed at the pair. Spark was a handsome piece of horseflesh, but there was something a bit odd about him.

  Orin knew his sister would do her best to save Spark’s life. Toal was a toad for suggesting Spark be put to death. He prayed they were successful on the morrow. He hated to see his sister cry. She cried all the time, ever since their da died in battle.

  “We must bolt the door to the paddock. I shall straighten his blanket and tie his lead rope to the post with a better knot.”

  “Aye, Vika, he be a crafty beast. He looks hungry. Me, too.”