The Draig's Choice Read online

  The instant shirtless Conall wrapped Peter in a massive bear hug, the crowd roared with approval and cups banged against the table. Evan turned away from the sight to explain, “Peter is forgiven and again seen as Conall’s right hand. All is well.”

  “Sure is,” Sarah readily agreed, but she wasn’t talking about Peter. Shirtless Conall strode back to their table and stopped to brace his hands on the wood to lean over and stare at her. “When Neville is finished, we have much to discuss.”

  Before she could contemplate a reply, Neville yanked him back to the bench for a study of the dragon. Peter sat at her side and nudged her. “Put your eyes back in your head.”

  “No way. Not every day a girl gets this kind of floor show,” she whispered to Peter. “Oh, and welcome back. We may need to talk. I think I’m missing quite a bit.” Lifting the cup again to her lips, she downed another gulp. “The good news is that I don’t care that much about it anymore. Then the rest of my day sucked. How was yours?”

  “Elspeth is settled in a good place. Sorry about your afternoon and yes, you are missing details you need to know. May I advise you to stop kissing Conall in front of an audience?” When she gaped in shock at his knowing that, he laughed. “Heard it from the men at the gates and then a friend in the stable. I may have arrived just in time.”

  “Time for what?” Sarah asked as her gaze flew back to Conall who stretched his arm, making the muscles dance under the blue serpent that wound from his shoulder to his wrist. Her distraction ended any concerns over Peter’s reply.

  “Have a look, ‘tis finished.” Neville wiped a bit of blood away from Evan’s arm and rose from the table.

  Conall rose and practically hauled his brother from the bench. His voice boomed through the hall. “I give you my heir, Evan, my brother. Should you have need, a Draig will remain to lead you.”

  Cheers rang out and cups banged on the table. Women practically swooned at the two men standing, their dark hair falling to tanned-skinned shoulders.

  “Neville, your skill is still needed this night.” Conall addressed the gathering. “Amongst the Draig clan, we have many customs and one needs to be seen completed.” He turned to Sarah. “You risked your life and put yourself between an armed man and myself. Such deeds were nay required, as you had already earned the right of being called a savior to the clan, and to the laird. You saw deceit and made certain all kenned of it. Without you, an heir of Campbell blood may have taken the laird’s seat.”

  Feeling heat creeping over her face, Sarah implored, “Please don’t make more of it than there was.” After all, I violated my belief that conversations are meant to be private, not gossip.

  He grinned at her and then questioned his brother. “Do you agree with me?”

  “Aye, brother. She has earned the mark.” Evan winked at her. “Pour yourself a large cup, Sarah.”

  “Peter, what say you?” Conall asked the man at her side.

  “You have my approval. The mark has been earned.”

  “What?” Her question came out after she drained her cup, not quite comfortable with the shift of attention to her.

  Conall rounded the long table and stopped only an arm’s length away. “For generations beyond recollection, those who save the laird, or the heir, have been given the mark. I offer it to you as thanks and recognition for what you have done and to let all ken the Draig stands in your debt.”

  Sarah stared at Neville, who walked around the table to stand next to her. “You want to tattoo me as a thank you?” She almost blurted out the kissing had been enough, but kept her mouth shut.

  Peter spoke up from her side. “It’s no small thing to be offered the mark. It hasn’t been done on these lands in decades.”

  Conall waited while shouts of encouragement bounced off the walls and filled her muddled head. His eyes locked on hers and without really thinking about it, she agreed. What the hell? When in Rome. . . or maybe when spending a night drinking like tomorrow doesn’t matter.

  “Do I get a dragon, too?” The thought of having something so large didn’t sit well with her.

  “Nay, Sarah,” Conall crooned with his gaze on hers. “Yours is different but carries great meaning. All between us carries meaning. The only legend here is one none recall. Our tales dinna carry the why we offer the mark, only that we do. Do you believe me?” If he had said our kiss had nothing to do with legends, she would have listened. But then she realized he implied it as clear as day.

  A grin spread across her face at the thought that he had kissed only her. “I believe you.” Her heart thudded in her chest at the certainty he found her attractive enough to kiss. I think the big beautiful laird digs me.

  “Where do you want to mark me?” Her question laced with the strong drink and the hint and innuendo caught by many in the hall. Suggestions flew out and made her blush even if she had started it.

  Conall’s gaze swept her from the top of her head down to her waist. “You would have me decide?”

  “Yes,” she answered, curious as to where he would pick.

  A male voice slurred from the other side of the hall, “Continue what you have started and mark her arse.”

  Laughter reigned and the joyful and probably half-drunk man before her changed to one of regret before her eyes. To keep Conall from dwelling on what couldn’t be changed, she called out, “Fine idea. Mark me on both sides.” Her hand patted the non-scraped hip for effect.

  Conall shook his head in disbelief and told the drunk to leave her arse alone before looking back to her. “As I would have the clan view you receive your reward, your shoulder will serve. Provided such is agreeable to you.” She would have sworn he blushed as he spoke but couldn’t be certain in the candlelight.

  “Fine.” Sarah sat and let Peter loosen her gown enough to bare her shoulder and patted the fleshy part at the top of her arm. She wanted to be able to see the finished product. Neville pushed the fabric down to her elbow and she had to catch the bodice to keep from providing her own floor-show. “Hey, watch it.”

  “Hold still,” Neville mumbled as he ran a damp cloth over her skin, clearly unconcerned about any form of modesty. “Shortly, the skin will feel naught. ‘Tis a mixture to dull your senses.”

  Taking her cup that Even had filled, she teased, “I thought that was what this was for.” And clearly it works, or I doubt I would have agreed to a tattoo.

  At the first prick to her skin, her head whipped to see an odd piece of metal poking her and leaving a blue mark. “Hey, that hurts.”

  “Aye, it hurts and yet all called me a whiny lass,” Evan cheerfully replied. He leaned over the table. “Dinna watch. Trust me.”

  Sarah turned away from the top of her arm being punctured and sighed in delight at Conall sitting at her side, his powerful legs straddling the bench. “So, no one knows why you are marking me?”

  “Nay, we ken to mark those who save the laird or the heir and you have done both in your own way. The legend of why that symbol ‘tis used has been lost over the centuries. But I ken other legends. Would you hear them?” Conall offered as she winced at another prick.

  “I appreciate you trying to distract me from what this monster is doing to me.” Not surprisingly, Neville’s next prick hit as more of a hard jab.

  “Watch yourself, Neville. Sarah has saved us and is a cherished guest on my lands.” Conall’s warning was clear and yet Sarah only focused on being called cherished. Such a sweet talker.

  “Tell me a story,” she said before she took another gulp of the liquid that made her throat burn while warming her stomach. If he allowed his mind to mix her with legends, she wanted to hear them.

  “I will tell you of my mark, my dragon.” Sarah’s gaze followed his to the bare arm and the beast coiled around it. Her finger lifted to trace the head on his wrist and tingles shot up her hand. From the way he inhaled sharply, she wondered if he felt the same. Whatever primal connection they shared appeared immensely magnified by the alcohol.

  “Sorry,
” she mumbled, pulling back her hand.

  Just as quickly, Conall took the hand back and placed it between both of his without any explanation. Staring at her hand that she had never considered petite, it nearly vanished between his palms. Oh my, I like this.

  “The Draig Laird has always worn the mark of the two-headed beast. The tales state the first Draig, the one who conquered these lands, came from great ships that crossed the sea. The mark began on his head with one dragon head, the mouth opening around his jaw to then wind and wrap around his body and leg to have one foot appearing consumed by the other head.”

  Sarah’s mouth fell open at the imagery, but Neville interrupted, “You are a fool to listen to the old women. ‘Twould take weeks for one man to mark another such.”

  “Hush,” she chastised, not wanting the story interrupted.

  “‘Tis said he was marked for sacrifice by those who worshiped a dragon god. But my ancestor escaped, along with many fine men, and stole a ship to eventually land on our coast. While the tale of him conquering those who built the initial keep and the walls that guard it ‘tis nay kind, ‘tis what happened.” As he talked, his eyes stayed on hers and his thumb circled the skin on the back of her hand just like he had yesterday. A hush had fallen over the hall as everyone listened to the deep baritone of his voice.

  “Each generation has seen the laird bear his mark, though nay one so large. Even now, we honor many of his dictates, keeping customs in accordance with his decrees.”

  Sarah lifted her cup and swallowed while her eyes stayed on Conall’s. She could hear murmurs that contained her name and wondered how many people in the room whispered about her fixation on him and that he touched her. Then she decided she’d had enough to drink that she didn’t care.

  “What customs do you know date back generations?” In her family there were only family recipes; meatloaf hardly seemed a custom.

  Conall lifted one hand to lift his cup while the other placed her palm on his thigh, trapping it beneath his free hand. Her hand felt only hard muscle and the heated leather of his pants. Savoring the sensation, her gazed locked on his perfectly formed lips that graced the cup and the swallow that went down his throat.

  So what if he isn’t the world’s greatest kisser. First kisses are never perfect. I bet after a few we could totally figure each other out.

  Setting his cup aside, two serving women dashed to refill it, the loser snarling at the other. But if Conall noticed, he never so much as glanced away from her. If anything, his eyes only left hers to wander the exposed cleavage left from her bodice being held up only by her hand. Inhaling deeply, she watched his eyes widen at her wares being on display. Oh yeah, have you figured out. Big guy likes the girls.

  Sarah heard Peter clear his throat, and Conall once again found her eyes. Turning her head to the man behind Neville, she whispered, “Party pooper.”

  Peter laughed and Conall began to speak. “Much of how we live has been dictated from those early days. But mayhap the one that has never changed ‘tis how we marry. ‘Tis said the first Draig loved his wife so greatly that he wished for all of his clan to ken that she was his. In the morn he hung the proof of the bedding over the fireplace,” his free hand pointed to the massive fireplace in the hall, “for all to witness. He claimed her in word and then signed their marriage to paper. Such is our way. Though only the laird requires a contract.”

  Sarah felt her smile fade at the requirements for proof of a bedding. Virginity and she had parted ways in college. So much for a lasting relationship here. You were right, Mom, and I should have waited.

  “Does my tale trouble you?” Conall asked while squeezing her hand on his thigh.

  “No, please continue.” She said the right words and heard Peter chuckle behind her. Clearly, he understood.

  “‘Tis more to their tale. Legend claims a man pretending to be a priest stole the laird’s wife and attempted to kill her. He saved her and then she saved him from the same man. ‘Tis said she buried the laird’s dagger deep in the false priest’s chest to save the man she loved.”

  “That’s so sweet.” Sarah laughed at her comment, not quite sure when violence became a love story.

  “You will find no men of the cloth on Draig lands, no church for impostors to fill. We welcome those who preach at the traveling markets and will even offer them a warm chamber for a night, but nay more. All the other clans recognize our ways and honor them. Even the Bruce honors our customs as wise and honest.”

  Cheers filled the hall at the king’s mention, everyone thrilled to have been recognized. She heard Logan call out, “To witness such customs would please the Bruce beyond telling.” More shouts and cup banging resumed and Conall waited for the ruckus to dim.

  “What else?” Sarah asked knowing she could listen to Conall all night long. Not to mention, keep her hand glued to his thigh for days. This is so much better than feeling crappy about a rough afternoon.

  Conall sat back and drank deeply. When his cup hit the table, Sarah caught eyes that glittered with too much alcohol and laughed.

  “What?” he asked, confused at her outburst.

  “Tell me more,” she asked and winced at another sharp prick.

  Peering at her shoulder and the work in progress, Conall once again filled the air with stories. “My dagger is the one used to kill the false priest and the verra one that would have sacrificed my ancestor to a dragon-god.” He lifted a blade from a small scabbard at his waist, giving her a chance to take in the rippled abdomen. Washboard, yum. That she stared without even attempting to be subtle, made her wonder. Maybe he isn’t the only one who had a bit too much. So what? I’ve earned a good drunk given the whole ‘I’m stuck in the past’ hullabaloo.

  Letting her eyes wander those seated, she doubted anyone present would pass a sobriety test. Even Lena and her gaggle of gossips were emptying pitchers.

  “Every Draig Laird has held the dagger until such time as they gifted it to the woman he claimed. The wife need be more than merely a woman. My mother taught me that she must also be worthy to hold the weapon as hers. She must be adored and cherished above all.” Conall held out the dagger with one hand gingerly grasping the sharp blade.

  On the small pommel, sat the same dragon that curled around his arm. “More dragons.” Her reply made him chuckle.

  “Aye, our beast is everywhere.” Conall rose still holding her hand and Neville patted her arm. “The same creature marks my sword. The legends state the priests of the dragon-god came seeking revenge many, many years later. The weapon I bear in battle is a spoil of victory and gifted to an ancestor.”

  “‘Tis finished, Laird.” Neville interrupted, rose and turned to the gathering, “I need a cup.” More cheers filled the air and Neville walked to a far table to presumably join the party.

  Peering down at her arm, Sarah stared at the symbol she hadn’t expected to see. “It’s a ying yang.”

  “‘Tis meaning for you?” Conall asked as he leaned closer and ran an exploratory finger under the design done in blue.

  Shivers coursed down her arm, blocking any sensation of discomfort from being repeatedly poked. “Yes,” she breathed out in a sigh, so lost in the simple touch that she forgot the question. When she faltered, he removed his finger from her arm, leaving her gasping for breath.

  “Explain it to me,” Conall requested with his gaze locked on her arm.

  “From what I can remember, it’s the joining of two halves. The filled-in side merges against the side not colored in and the two together are whole and live in harmony.” Still holding her bodice in one hand, extraordinary images of creating one from two filled her thoughts, her gaze fixed to the bare chest in front of her.

  Conall’s lips twitched in a sly grin before he removed his dagger from the table and returned it to its holder at his waist. Following his movements, she licked her lips at the twisting motion that brought his rippled stomach to life.

  “A toast,” Conall lifted his cup. “To bringing two halv
es together in harmony.”

  Before Sarah could reach for her cup, Peter whispered from behind. “Pull up your dress before you spill out completely.” His hands tugged the fabric up from behind and she winced as it covered the newly decorated arm.

  When Peter tied the back strings, she didn’t miss Conall’s gaze on what she hid, nor the several comments about her hiding her bounty from the crowd, with Evan being the ringleader.

  A man called from the back of the hall, “You best be seeking your other half or your da would have your hide for gawking at the lass.” Laughter rang out and Conall stilled before joining the merriment.

  “Mind yourself, Donald. I ken what I am about,” Conall called back and more cheers filled the room.

  “What are we laughing about?” Sarah asked Peter, who had stepped to her side.

  “Seriously?” When she only stared at him, his face revealed a giant grin. “A much better future than I could ever plan. Even I couldn’t have pulled this off.” Since his levity made no sense, she raised her cup and indulged in another swallow.

  Evan stood across the table from her and filled his cup. “To my brother and his creating a far better heir than I could ever dream of being. The lot of you deserve better than I and you ken it.” People shouted praise and curses at Evan and he roared with each one, enjoying the teasing.

  “Hush, all of you, lest you take away my moment,” Conall demanded with good nature spilling from his voice as alcohol sloshed from his full cup over the table.

  “Are you having a moment?” Sarah asked with her gaze much more interested in a bare chested Conall than Peter.

  “Aye, Sarah,” his promise laced with undertones that defied her ability to follow him.

  A woman called from the corner, her gray hair pulled back, but Sarah’s gaze caught the older man at her side nodding. “Make your mother proud, lad.”

  Sarah swayed back on her feet and wondered when the floor had become tilted. “What are we talking about?” She frowned at missing what the crowd around her understood.