Tall, Dark, and Medieval Page 2

  Bloodied and bruised, Conall stood in the middle of the dark, stale tavern with his body giving up the fight when a man from a shadowed corner came to his rescue. The wild man was about to knock Conall on his arse with his meaty fist cocked back and ready to pound the warrior in the face. In a blink of an eye, the shadow man stood behind the bastard, grabbing his fist before it had a chance to connect. Bones shattered in the rogue’s hand as he screamed out in pain. The rest of the thieves scattered with one look at Conall’s rescuer.

  The shadow man looked Conall up and down and then shook his head in disgust. “I know who you are, lad. Come with me and you will find what you seek.”

  Conall wiped the blood from his lips. “Ye know nothing, auld man,” he bit back. He turned to the tavern’s bar wench. “Ale.”

  The shadow man smiled and took the seat next to Conall. “Lad, you seek the Holy Land, this I know.” He motioned for the wench to fill his cup. “For what reasons, they are for you to keep. I’m only offering you our protection.”

  Conall laughed. Mortal men offering him, Dragonkine, protection. This was ludicrous. He housed a dragon deep inside of him for God’s sake. He was far more dangerous and capable of taking care of his own affairs. “Och, if ye know who I be then ye would know that I dinnae need yer protection.”

  “Aye, spoken like a true Highlander.” The man took a long pull of his freshly poured ale.

  The man who came from the shadows was beginning to irritate him. “Who are ye?”

  “Hugues de Payens.” He took another long swallow of ale. “I and my brethren,” he motioned over to a dark corner of the room, “offer you our protection in reaching the Holy Land. We are the Knights Templar.”

  It was like a cold hand reaching up and slapping him right up-side the head. He had heard about the Templars and how they helped folks on their crusade to the Holy Land. They were brave knight warriors, a wealthy military religious order.

  Although he was impressed by the mere appearance of the man, something was unsettling. How did Hugues know who he was?

  As if the man had read his thoughts, he began to explain his situation. “It’s been written in the scrolls that a Dragonkine warrior would cross our path and become the ninth Templar. Conall, my friend, this is your next journey in life. Join us.”

  Skeptical, Conall sat silent for a while. True, he needed to fulfill his quest, yet could he trust these men? Without a doubt, with their help, his journey wouldn’t be as daunting, compared to making it alone. His wife and son needed to be laid to rest and for that reason alone he would join the Templars.

  Conall rubbed the tension from his neck, then rotated his head side to side, popping his neck. “Aye, I’ll join yer order, but as soon as me quest is complete, I’m on me own. Understood?”

  The Templar cocked a snide smile and rubbed his hands over his white-robed thighs. “Aye.”

  Conall focused on his wife’s eyes. There was no denying it, he had laid her to rest alongside their son. He’d scattered their remains and seen the ash swirl and mix with the sand below his feet.

  Ann had changed him from the first time they met. Conall had been alone and angry for too long. She’d brought light to his darkness when his world had fallen apart.

  Stranded in a human world without his Kine, Conall had lost so much in his life that he was positive he had been damned. His kingdom had been destroyed. King MacAlpin, king of the Scots, had slaughtered his people, wiping out their Dragonkine society.

  Even though the king of Scots had left behind seven warriors, the remaining seven had parted ways, broken and angry. The pain and loss was unbearable for the warriors to withstand, which had led Conall down his path of destruction. He battled with rage and he didn’t care what side he fought on as long as he was killing, taking his aggravations out on the enemy, humans.

  But Ann had changed everything. He clung to her as if she was his lifeline. Aye, there had been a time when life had been good. Alas, it had been no more than a blink of an eye.

  When he lost Ann and their son, Conall had nothing else to live for. He knew he didn’t want to slip back into the dark past. He had to move on. Wanting to honor his late wife, for he knew Ann would be proud of him, he indeed joined the Templars and fought for the greater good.

  But all good things come to an end. That he knew. When the Templars became a threat, the nine men had to lay low, separate. Conall had made it out of France just in time before the men he fought side by side with were imprisoned for an array of alleged crimes ranging from devil worship to homosexuality. These allegations burned Conall’s soul. These men were honest and courageous and he loathed the fact that he couldn’t rescue them. One lone man who had to keep his dragon guarded, against the whole country of France; the odds were not in his favor. He’d had to flee to Scotland to avoid the same fate as his brethren.

  Ann interrupted his inner musings. “Conall, ye have been forgiven a long time ago. Ye need to find love again and become whole. Yer dragon needs peace, my love.”

  Conall wished it was that easy to forgive himself but he couldn’t. No matter how many times he’d tried to overcome the unbearable pain of losing his wife and son and the men who’d showed him a better life, he would never allow himself happiness, nor put another loved one in harm’s way as long as he lived. Which, for an immortal, would be a very long time.

  His beautiful wife took his head in her hands and looked sternly into his storm-gray eyes. “Do ye think it’s fair to the red-headed lass you’ve been courting? Ye must do the right thing and make an honest woman of her.”

  He hadn’t quite thought about it like that. Keeping his and Effie’s passion-filled jaunts a secret was the only way he knew to keep her safe and protect her from his enemies. Not once had he thought of how Effie might think about his motives.

  “I must go. Please heed my words and do the honorable thing, marry that lass.”

  When Conall looked back up to his wife, her ghostly frame was beginning to fade. Desperately, he tried to hold onto her, but his hands passed right through her disappearing body. “Tell Thomas that his da loves him verra much.” A tear slid from his eye as he saw Ann smile right before she crumbled into smoldering ash and vanished into the air like smoke.

  Now the warrior sat alone in his bedchamber more dazed than confused. The message had been firm. Marry Effie or let her go, yet letting her go could very well be the death of him. He needed her and his dragon craved her. Sitting up, Conall ran his hands through his hair and exhaled in frustration. Mayhap after a warm bath and with food in his belly he would be able to make the right decision.

  ~~~~~

  After procrastinating long enough, to the point his skin began to wrinkle, Conall dried himself off, donned his kilt, tunic, and laced his boots. He grabbed his jerkin before he left his bedchamber. Not being able to commit one way or the other about his situation with Effie, frustration began to sour his mood. The more he thought about breaking her heart, the more he cursed himself for a bastard.

  Quickly Conall descended the stairs leading into the great hall, slipping on his jerkin. Winter was upon them and it had been a bitter one. Being a storm dragon, Conall’s powers came in handy. He’d cloaked Black Stone on the Hill and its surrounding village by redirecting the worst of the weather away from them, yet the cold still bit back frigidly. James, Laird of Angus and Dragonkine commander, was quite thankful for his best friend’s special abilities, for his wife, Abigale, was with child and working in the village as the clan’s surgeon.

  As he entered the great hall, empty trenchers were scattered about the tables indicating morning meal had been missed. Indeed he’d pondered away into the morn. It was time he found Effie and put an end to this torture. The sooner that task was over, he could move on and concentrate on business. James had informed him that there was trouble brewing.

  Clan Lockhart, a strong supporter of Robert the Bruce and allies of Clan Douglas, had been missing cattle and their border was being breached by another neighb
oring clan. Conall and a few men were to leave on the morrow to investigate these allegations before a clan feud broke out. Holy hell! Why can’t there be peace for just one day? Conall rubbed the tension from the back of his neck.

  Chatter from the kitchen brought Conall’s attention back to Effie. She had to be in there with Alice and Abigale, he thought. The three women were inseparable. Ever since Abigale had arrived at Black Stone on the Hill, the lassies had become close, forming a sisterly bond. Effie had told him numerous times that she’d finally got the sister she always wanted, and that Alice reminded her of her ma.

  Sweat began to glisten on his palms and his heart raced as he thought about how he was going to make it to that kitchen. As soon as she saw him, she would know what was going on. Effie could read him like a book. Not to mention, Alice and Abigale would have a few sharp words flying from their tongues, scolding him for the bastard he was.

  Conall began to pace, then finally he cursed himself for a coward and started to approach the kitchen. As he crossed the threshold Abigale greeted him. “Good morn, Conall.”

  “Good morn, ladies.” He bowed his head and placed his hand on his chest.

  “I be thinking someone is trying to tickle our fancy, my Lady. Someone was late for morning meal.” Alice smiled and winked at Abigale as she chopped carrots for stew.

  “Aye, I do believe ye’re right. Do ye suppose we have extra food for our belated guest?” Abigale bantered back.

  “Nay, Lennox and Mahboon cleaned up after the men left, but I’m sure an oatcake or two are left.” Alice shot Conall a stern glance. “Though probably stale by now.”

  Conall grinned in amusement as he leaned his shoulder against the wall. His tension eased as he realized he wouldn’t be confronting Effie, at least not yet. He folded his arms across his chest. Abigale and Alice were relentless with their teasing. It was frowned upon to miss morning meal. It was an act of rudeness, as Alice would say.

  Alice placed her knife down and walked towards a counter where a steaming trencher of porridge sat. She grabbed the provisions and walked toward Conall. “Here.” Alice sat the bowl down on a small table used for chopping in the center of the kitchen. “Grab a chair and dinnae be late again,” she scolded.

  “Aye, please accept my most humble apology.” Conall grabbed a chair and brought it over to the table. He sat down to eat. “Hmmm, Alice. ’Tis good,” he said with a mouth full.

  Alice shook her head and began chopping again at a steady pace.

  “James and Rory are on top of the battlements teaching Niven archery. Will ye be joining them?” Abigale asked.

  Niven? Archery? Now that was a dangerous combination. The lad, God bless his soul, had a nervous tick. Seeing his ma murdered right in front of his own eyes had left the lad a wee bit on the jumpy side.

  “Nay,” Conall wiped his mouth, “I was wondering where Effie may be.”

  “Oh she’s down in the bailey fetching the lock and key the smith made for Alice,” Abigale said.

  Alice pointed her knife at Conall. “Aye, that should keep the wee bugger oot of me oatcakes.”

  Niven was also well known for sneaking into the kitchen and stealing Alice’s special oatcakes. The only reason Alice didn’t bend the lad over her knee and swat his behind was because Laird James loved him like a son. Niven admired James and the young lad couldn’t have had a better role model.

  Conall stopped in mid-chew. “Effie went to see the smith? Alone?”

  “Aye,” Abigale confirmed.

  ’Twas not good, not good at all. He began to panic. The lasses swooned over the smith, for he was known for his good looks, charm, and well, a quite impressively endowed body part. That was the rumor floating around the village. Not that Conall was jealous. For Christ sake he was a dragon, but when it came to Effie, he didn’t trust the blacksmith and his sly antics.

  Conall shot up, causing the chair to slide and smash against the stone wall. “Excuse me. I must go.”

  Alice and Abigale exchanged confused looks as they watched Conall race to the back door.

  Walking out of the door leading to the bailey, he pulled his cloak up around his neck as he passed Alice’s herb garden, now brown and dead, touched by the bite of winter, and made his way to the smithy.

  Conall didn’t have to go far, nor have to make a special trip into the village. The blacksmith was one hell of a craftsman when it came to hammering out armor; he could forge the finest weapons and the strongest swords. No one came close to his perfection. It was why he lived and worked close to the castle; he was the castle blacksmith.

  Conall rounded the corner and his heart dropped, plummeting in his gut. Effie was entering the blacksmith’s shop.

  HIGHLAND STORM

  CHAPTER TWO

  Effie Douglas, at least that was who she had been for the past five years, walked toward the bailey swinging her wicker basket back and forth aimlessly, stopping every so often to search the merchant carts. Yet imported figs and grapes weren’t what she sought out, nor would she find the magical answer lying in a cart. She knew exactly what she wanted; she yearned for something more to her life. As of late, Effie wanted more than just a man to run off with into the woods, have her fun, then keep it a secret. She wanted marriage.

  “A secret,” she huffed. She was worth more than a secret.

  She had left her clan and her older brother’s brutal manipulations five years ago, it had taken that long to build herself up again. Tavish Maxwell was the devil reincarnated. His verbal indignity was just as bad as his physical abuse. Calling her a worthless whore, he beat her into submission, and Effie had no choice but to submit. Tavish made her do unspeakable things only for his gain and fortune. Whoring her out while he made coin and treasures was right down there with the slimiest of slime. Fortunately for him, he had walked in on an unsavory situation which had left Effie forever regretting that unforgettable day and leaving her to abide by his every word.

  Effie often thought about the what ifs: What if Tavish hadn’t been spying on her that dreadful day? What if he hadn’t seen her making love to the young man she had thought to marry? What if she only had the courage to stand up for herself and tell her father? Nay, the look of disappointment on her father’s face would ruin her. Effie made sure no one would find out about that day; she did what she had to do to keep her reputation clean in her father’s eyes, even if it tarnished her from the inside out.

  Effie came to an abrupt stop as she realized she was right back to her old ways, keeping secrets. It was like her relationship with Conall wasn’t really happening. She couldn’t talk about it, nor show him any kind of public affection. No one knew that she had someone who thought her to be special.

  If Conall Hamilton thought for one moment that he was going to have his way and not make an honest woman out of her, he’d better think again. She had been courted long enough.

  Effie stood, wrapped up in her cloak as a cool breeze blew past her. Her long, curly red hair wafting into the wind, she declared right then and there that Conall was either going to do the honorable thing and ask her hand in marriage or she was moving on. No more secret getaways to their favorite spot. No more secret teasing looks back and forth when people were present. And most of all no more love-making. If he wanted her, he was going to make her his wife.

  Although her vow was most definitely going to be a hard one to keep. His storm-gray eyes raged with intensity every time he looked at her, reeling her in and capturing her. His body alone would be enough to tempt her beyond her self-control. Tall and lean, muscles hugged his body to perfection. A body built for sin, she thought. One sight of that dimple of his and she would melt. Just the thought of him sent a wave of heat crashing over her.

  Indeed it was going to be tough, for Conall was her savior. He’d saved her from self-destructing when she arrived at Black Stone. She had been a mess, never trusting anyone, most certainly men. She kept to herself, shutting everyone out. Being used by her brother in the most evil of ways,
it was a miracle that Conall had gotten through to her, but he had. Effie hung her head and her heart broke with the thought of losing her friend...her protector...her lover.

  Though her secrets were her own to keep; she had never told him that she was a Maxwell, nor did she tell him about the abuse. She was ashamed and frankly she’d lived that hell once, there was no need to relive it. Furthermore, Conall would never want to marry a whore. Conall was a true honorable man, respected by all. A reputation like his should not be tarnished by her repulsive past.

  Aye, the past was in the past. Knowing she would never have to return home to Caerlaverock Castle brought her relief. Her secrets were safe. Black Stone was her home; she felt at peace. Whether he was going to ask for her hand in marriage or not, she had to make him see that she was far more valuable as a wife than a secret.

  The reverberating sound of steel on steel reminded Effie she needed to retrieve the lock and key from the blacksmith. Making her way to the smith’s shop, the metallic smell of burning iron filled her senses. A chestnut ox stood outside the shop, wooly from his winter coat and blocking the entrance to the smithy.

  “Shoo!” Effie demanded and waved her hands motioning the ox to move. The ox looked up at her, chewing its cud slowly as if it was in deep thought about her suggested gesture. Still the bovine stood firm. Resorting to a harsher means, she slapped the stubborn ox on his hindquarters and as a result she won the stand-off. “Stubborn animal,” Effie huffed.

  She knocked and waited for an answer. Her patience wore thin when the blacksmith didn’t respond. “For the love of saints.” Effie rolled her eyes and knocked again. He’s probably too tuned in to his work. It’s just like a craftsman to tune out the world when working, she thought.

  Opening the door, she peeked in and saw the smith standing over a huge anvil hammering away as his sweat-soaked tunic clung to his muscled chest. Being that he was immersed in his work, the man didn’t notice Effie as she stood in the doorway.