Plight of the Highlander (The MacLomain Series: Next Generation Book 5) Page 21

  She had asked this of him.

  He could do this.

  They would survive.

  Three days later, he stood on that very battlement and again stared down upon the MacLomains. He had spent ample time amongst his warriors getting ready for Keir Hamilton’s unleashing of the beast.

  That’s what everyone called her.

  A beast.

  Yet Colin was quick to chastise and remind all that though beast Torra MacLomain might be, she was theirs. Under the control of their laird, they should find strength and courage because of the dragon. But he understood that they were ignorant and he couldn’t much blame them. They did not know Torra personally and were genuinely terrified of the dragon.

  If that wasn’t enough, his men watched as more and more allied clans joined the MacLomains. Aye, they might have a dragon in their corner, but it could be no easy thing to watch the vast numbers accrue beyond.

  So it became Colin’s sole mission to not only rally them as they prepared for war but to pacify and remind them that they trained beneath the best warriors.

  And now because of such, they were the best warriors.

  Colin spoke to them often of Grant and how though imprisoned by the MacLomains, they could be sure that once free, he would again be by their side. Always sure to make eye contact with the Hamilton warriors, he would say, “Grant would die for ye all. Fight well so that he might once more lead ye, aye?”

  This would always get a loud round of swords banging on shields and, “Down with the MacLomains! Long live Grant!”

  Colin did well not to flinch. Little did they know that the MacLomains longed to free them. But he had given his word that he would say nothing to his warriors and so did not.

  He hadn’t seen Torra since they arrived and continued to fear for her. His only consolation was what Naðr had said and that he’d heard no cries from her chamber.

  Yet still there was a certain misery in such silence. His imagination had run wild over the past three days and he’d barely slept. What was Keir doing to her? While glad it didn’t sound torturous, Colin knew all too well that the Hamilton’s silent administrations could be far worse.

  Taking yet another deep breath, he paced along the battlement and eyed the sky.

  It was nearly dusk on the eve of the full moon.

  He slid his hand around his waistline, for the hundredth time making sure the scrap of black leather was there. Torra had assured him this was where Keir would come. And no doubt he would since he asked Colin to wait up here now.

  “‘Tis going to be a fine eve,” Keir declared.

  Colin turned to his chieftain…his master and did well not to sigh in relief.

  The moment had at last arrived.

  “They make little headway despite their efforts,” Keir said.

  Oh, but they did.

  Playing the part, jaw clenched, Colin growled, “And they willnae, my Laird.” He pointed his sword at one area. “They put too many men there.” He swung his sword in the opposite direction. “And not enough there.”

  Keir Hamilton stood beside him, hands clasped behind his back as he looked over everything with a practiced eye. “Or they but follow Grant’s advice. He would try to mislead them.”

  He had no idea how much Grant’s advice would affect him adversely.

  Colin kept emotion absent. “Aye, ‘tis verra possible.”

  Keir’s black eyes shot to him, expression sour. “Grant tried to do right by me then was taken once more.”

  Colin nodded and kept a grin well hidden.

  “We’ve plenty of provisions to last the winter.” Keir grinned and nodded down at the warriors camped at his door. “But we will strike long before that.”

  They would indeed.

  As Torra promised him he would, Colin sensed Keir was about to unwrap the leather encasing the pentacle around his neck. So he walked away from him and slowly wrapped the black leather around the hilt of his blade. “Aye, and ‘twill be mighty, m’laird.”

  A heavy rumble of laughter echoed behind him. “Aye, lad, ‘twill.”

  “‘Tis planned and ready at your command.” Colin continued to wrap the supple leather until secured. Gaze to the raging ocean, he whispered a prayer to the gods. “Give the order and see it done.”

  He could all but feel Keir’s pleased nod behind him.

  “Ye have done well by me,” the Hamilton said.

  Colin gripped his blade, ready. “And always will.”

  The sun sunk below the horizon. Fog burned in heavy, curling drifts over the sea.

  It was time.

  With a quick murmur, he closed his eyes and said, “Style hac draco virtutem in hostium potestate præfinito ligare. With this that harnesses dragon’s power, bind enemy’s control in this final hour.”

  Not hesitating long, Colin at last made his move. With a sharp turn, he flung his sword hard…

  Straight at Keir Hamilton.

  Chapter Fourteen

  By the time Torra was dragged into the Hamilton courtyard, she was a bedraggled mess.

  Nothing but pure fury and the love for both Colin MacLeod and her clan kept her whole. The past three days had felt far longer than the ten winters she’d endured mute to the Maclomains. Every minute that Keir had leered at her and physically abused her, she had remained silent.

  For two reasons.

  She would not have Colin hear her cries of pain.

  And she would not give Keir, the evil monster who called himself a Scotsman, the satisfaction.

  The kings had not said a word since she arrived in this hell, but she didn’t think they would. Yet some small part of her hoped…especially during the frigid nights when she was left alone with nothing but her fear.

  But Keir had not banked on one thing.

  Fear was a longtime ally.

  So after his endless hours of raping not her body but her mind, he would set to seeing what he could get out of prodding and abusing her skin, muscles, whatever he could find. If nothing else was true about the madman, it was that he fed not on lust but a warped sense of delight in watching others go through pain. Yet he never did what she feared most.

  Keir never lay with her.

  Why, she’d never know. But she was not complaining. In all honesty, it was the sole reason she had survived the past few days. It was one thing to endure all she had, another entirely if the swine had his way with her.

  So now she was being dragged into the courtyard.

  Her gaze rose to the battlement above as she was chained to a stake in the center of the courtyard. Though she couldn’t see him, she knew Colin was there. And while she knew she had suffered greatly at the hands of Keir, so too had he.

  Torra fell to her knees then sat the best she could. Few if any peddlers could be seen. Here and there a bairn poked their dirty faces out from behind a barrel or cart. No women were about. Nay, there were naught but warriors and even they would not look her in the eye.

  But it didn’t much matter.

  The sun was setting and the full moon was rising.

  A storm was rolling in fast and would be upon them in little time.

  Torra curled into herself and clenched her fists. Too long had it been since the dragon within had last freed itself. Now, because of what was about to happen on the battlements above, it would happen once more.

  Nervous but ready, she lowered her head and closed her eyes.

  Now was not the time for fear but for courage.

  Though she had been brought out into the snow and cold with nothing but bare scraps covering her body, Torra was not chilled in the least. Nay, her dragon blood kept her warm and warmer yet as the sun sunk beneath the castle walls and the moon crawled higher into the sky.

  For so long she’d been frightened of the dragon but now she was finally ready to fully embrace the beast. Torra inhaled deeply and as she had done far too many times in the past few days, crawled within herself.

  Yet this time it was different.

 
Keir Hamilton’s face would not be inches from hers.

  Torra opened her eyes, tilted back her head, and relished the light snow that started to spit. She didn’t miss the way warriors cast her uncomfortable glances as she stood, an easy grin forming on her face.

  The time was nearly here.

  She could feel it in her blood, in the very air around her. Torra had once more been down half a soul for three days and been incredibly weakened. Now she was feeling something so profound she could not put words to it.

  While with Colin and her family in the past, reconnecting with her soul had felt good but what was coming, what was so near, was something far different. Unable to identify it, she could only look up at the battlement and wait…

  Want.

  But even as the sun’s last rays vanished from the courtyard and the full moon slipped its nearly cloud covered eyes over the castle walls, Torra didn’t know exactly what she wanted.

  Until she did.

  Suddenly everything became too bright. Pained, she sunk to her knees and covered her eyes. Yet while there was pain, a familiar, freeing strength slowly but surely filled her and she released a long gust of air. The area under her nail beds started to tingle and the skin around her mouth and eyes began to chill.

  Knowing full well Keir was on the battlements and there were naught who could hear but nearby warriors, Torra said with the strongest voice she was capable, “Soon I will be a dragon. Fight with me not against.”

  Her tired but still fully human eyes went to the nearest men. What she saw was a surprising blend of both sympathy and misunderstanding. They truly had no idea what to make of her. For all they knew they were fighting with her alongside Keir Hamilton. Yet even as she once more made to speak, a crippling pain overtook.

  Time had run out.

  The dull grays and whites of her snowcapped surroundings started to shimmer with silver.

  “Are you ready then?” Naðr Véurr said.

  “Not much choice,” Erc added

  Torra tried to respond but could not.

  The king’s voices faded as her vision hazed even muted colors with white. Yet then things contorted once more. While the falling snow was pristine, the muted colors suddenly became sharp and unimaginably beautiful.

  Head lowered, she sniffed.

  The air smelled of sweat and fear.

  Still caught between her human form and the dragon, Torra again pulled herself to her feet. She did the best she could down half a soul and thrust her shoulders back as she looked around. “Do ye not know Grant and Colin?”

  Nobody said a word.

  They but stared, afraid to speak.

  Struggling for breath and nearly lost to all, she cried, “Follow me. Follow them. Ye cannae go wrong.”

  Though she knew her words were vague, she couldn’t continue and buckled over.

  The dragon was coming.

  Bloody hell was it hot. Torra scooped up handfuls of snow and cupped her cheeks. It sizzled off her skin and poured down her neck. Desperate for more, she tried to scoop again but her hands went numb.

  Torra inhaled sharply.

  It was happening now high on the battlement.

  Keir had nearly removed the black leather from the pentacle.

  A loud swooshing sound filled her eardrums and for a long moment she rushed down a tunnel then…thwap.

  The two halves of her soul were reconnected.

  Her muscles clenched and her neck strengthened. Much like a bird sizing up its prey, she jerked her head sideways and looked up. All fell away but one singular emotion.

  Pure rage.

  Power blew through her and Torra swallowed. Simple as that. She swallowed. But somehow the feeling of her throat muscles working made the rest of her body respond. While she had shifted into a dragon before, this time felt far different.

  Far more powerful.

  Fiery heat didn’t cover her body in an instant but worked slowly, even methodically through her bloodstream. For the first time ever it took its time, as though the dragon was as determined to understand her as much as she was the dragon. Warmth curled under her skin then flared. Her jaw felt as if it caught on fire. Inch by inch, she felt the lengthening of her nose and stretching of her face. When she tried to blink, she felt the pull in her elongating brow. When she held up her hand, she saw the claws sprouting where once there were nails.

  She smiled as her body began to fluctuate around her.

  Freedom was coming.

  Bones stretched and warped and she screamed in not pain but pleasure. The world became not a small place but amazingly huge, full of scent and life. The clouds billowed, proud to share their moisture, the sea not far off became a calling, one made of energy and movement. The trees vibrated and shimmered.

  Torra clenched her jaw and ran her tongue over her lips, eager to taste the air itself. Nose to the wind, she inhaled deeply. Nature, life…everything smelled wonderful.

  Until it did not.

  Her nose twitched, caught by a scent on the wind. Colin MacLeod finally whipped his blade into Keir’s gut above. And the Hamilton’s black magic as he fought smelled like rotting corpses.

  Torra was eager to tell Colin all would be well but when she stepped forward, she stumbled. Caught off guard by the weight of her own body, she braced her claws on the stone beneath. She stumbled a few steps to her left, aware of the cries around her.

  Though she had done this before, she’d launched out of a window. And though she’d landed before, it seemed it would take practice to reacquaint herself with the dragon.

  “I’m just a lass,” she tried to say to the terrified men in the courtyard, but her tongue no longer worked.

  It was interesting how much more aware of her surroundings she was during this shift and suspected it was because of the last few days and her time spent learning to control it.

  Voices started to penetrate but they were small and distant. The world around her however? Crisp and bright. But uncomfortable. Torra peered down. There was something stuck to her claw. A broken manacle. With one sharp thrust it was gone. Inhaling once more, she enjoyed the sweet tang of…smoke. The ground felt different, more textured. Curling her toes, she felt the pebbles grind into the delicate areas between her claws. She blew out a large gush of air, pleased with the sharp sensation.

  “You know you are a dragon now?” Naðr said.

  “I always was,” she muttered into her mind.

  To stomp out his masculine words she lifted a foot then slammed it down.

  The ground shook.

  “Ye couldnae whisper a word of reassurance in my ear over the past three days but now ye feel the need to share?” Torra seethed at the Viking. “Dinnae bother.”

  “She makes a good point,” King Erc said.

  “It is time,” Naðr said so calmly she wanted to chew him alive. Yet she knew Naðr would not have said it if it were not true.

  At last acclimated to her body, Torra launched into the air. One swift pump of her wings and she was eye level with Keir and Colin. Time almost seemed to freeze as the enraged and stunned eyes of the Hamilon swung from Colin to the dragon. The sword protruding from his gut held him locked within a gilded cage of binding light.

  But Torra knew the magic would not hold.

  Colin’s lips curled up with unmistakable pride as he watched her rise up over the castle. Torra crawled inside his mind, careful to keep the essence of her power from hurting him. Now not only could they speak with one another but saw what the other saw. She’d not told him they would be doing this so that Keir might not learn of it.

  “I willnae hurt ye, my love,” she whispered, testing her dragon mind against his.

  There was no fear but amazement in his response. “‘Tis good to see ye well, my lass. What will ye have me do then?”

  “Get away from Keir. He will destroy all once freed. Ye above all others.” Torra kept worry for him buried deep inside. “Go down and rally your men away from the gates. Tell them ye’ve a grand p
lan.”

  Torra flapped her wings and rose high enough that she could view activity on both sides. Though confused that Keir was obviously harmed, his warriors did what they were trained to do. Barrels of oil were being readied to dump over the walls with fire-lit arrows soon to follow. She was pleased to see the MacLomains had not yet advanced. Her brother had listened well.

  “The sword is off the coast,” Naðr said. “You will see it clearly enough.”

  Because of the swords connection to her Viking ancestors and their natural inclination toward the sea, the blade was simply shifted from the plane between Heaven and Hell to the icy waters beyond the castle. Thankfully, due to its magic, Keir was none-the-wiser.

  Caught in incomparable pleasure, Torra swooped out over the Atlantic. The icy wind whipped her face and body as she coasted along the choppy turbulence.

  “‘Tis so bloody beautiful,” Colin murmured.

  “Aye,” she whispered and scanned the water for the Viking sword. It wasn’t long before she detected a glint beneath the water. Eager for a new experience, she swooped once more, pressed her wings to her side and shot down into the ocean.

  “‘Tis not quite the same experience I gave ye with a rope swing aye?” Colin said.

  “‘Tis a wee bit different,” she conceded and pushed a warm smile into his mind.

  The soothing water rippled around her as she swished back and forth as a fish might swim. Her lithe body moved swiftly down, down, down until she grasped the sword with a claw. Then she worked her way back up. A small ripple of panic went through her when she realized she had no idea how to launch into the air from the water.

  “Just swim hard and fast,” Naðr said. “The motion will propel your body up enough so that your wings will take hold.”

  Not overthinking, she did exactly as instructed and crested the water, launching just enough so that she could flap her wings once. The tip of one wing splashed in the water and she nearly lost her balance. But then she flapped hard again and soon gained altitude.

  “Well done,” Naðr said.

  The wind shear was growing stronger and stronger, but Torra managed, determined to save Colin and her clan. The bulk of the MacLomains and their allies had amassed just beyond the first drawbridge. All knelt with shields up as arrows rained down.