Read Online To Love a Highland Dragon by Ann Gimpel - Free Book Online
Authors: Ann Gimpel
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one another in a previous life.
No matter. ’Tisn’t fair to remain if I bring danger into her life. A fierce protectiveness stirred in his breast at the thought of anyone harming the lass. He’d pit himself against anything that harmed so much as an eyelash or frightened her or made her feel uneasy.
“That is all fine and well. We must leave while we can,” Kheladin insisted.
”I agree. I would use magic to transport us back to the cave. What think ye?”
The dragon was silent so long, Lachlan started to ask again, but Kheladin spoke before he got the words out. “We will know more outside these walls. The lass’s scent muddles things. ’Tis much like a potion.”
Lachlan trusted the dragon’s instincts; they were usually sharper than his own. He moved the books on his lap to the floor, got to his feet, and picked up his sword belt, buckling it securely into place. Nothing more to do but leave. Why was such a simple thing so difficult? He snatched up his cloak.
A note. He owed her at least that. Lachlan strode to the desk and pulled drawers open until he found parchment, though it felt pathetically thin, and a stick he ascertained would write, once he fiddled with removing its end piece. He considered what to say. He didn’t want to give her information that might compromise her safety. In the end, he merely adjured her to take care, told her she was a bonny lass, and said he hoped their paths would cross again.
He stared at the piece of paper, came close to crumpling it and starting again, but that damned alien power slammed into his ward. Not subtle this time or questing. It was as if whatever was out there was certain they’d found him and aimed to do something about it.
Lachlan prepared himself for battle, expecting Rhukon—or one of his minions—to break into Maggie’s home at any second. He gathered power, held it balanced between his hands. It sizzled, giving the air a burnt smell. Long moments passed.
“’Tis trying to lure me outside,” he told Kheladin. “’Tis a risk, but a lesser one, to conjure traveling magic.”
When the dragon didn’t answer, Lachlan began to chant. He warmed to his spell after a short time. Like everything else, his mage skills—at least the ones demanding more than the simplest magics—were rusty. The walls of Maggie’s living room wavered, solidified, and shimmered again. On his third try, Lachlan began to panic. He’d just pulled enough power to light a small town, surely alerting any enemy within a fifty league radius to his presence. If he couldn’t transport himself and the dragon to the cave, he’d have to fight goddess-only-knew-who right here. Without Kheladin’s help, since there wasn’t space to shift.
Sweat ran down his face and sides. It stung where it ran into his eyes. In desperation, he nearly dropped his warding to pour his full power into what should have been a neophyte’s spell, when he felt the tightening in his stomach that meant they were in the in-between place—the one that could open to any destination in this world or any other. He realized his eyes were screwed shut and pried them open onto blackness.
“Thank the mother goddess,” he breathed, shocked at how weak his magic had become.
“We are far from safe. Do not disperse your warding as ye were about to do.” Censure rang in the dragon’s words. “’Tis not all you,” Kheladin continued. “There is something amiss in this world. It fights against magic. Competes with it.”
“Bloody good there’s a reason.” Lachlan struggled to catch his breath. The darkness yielded to gray. Moments later, the walls of Kheladin’s cave materialized around him. He sank into the sand and poured handfuls through fingers that were trying to morph into claws. Lachlan didn’t fight the transformation; he welcomed it, unwinding his clothing so it wouldn’t end up in a heap of tatters. If wickedness followed them, they were better off in Kheladin’s form. He sank deep inside
No matter. ’Tisn’t fair to remain if I bring danger into her life. A fierce protectiveness stirred in his breast at the thought of anyone harming the lass. He’d pit himself against anything that harmed so much as an eyelash or frightened her or made her feel uneasy.
“That is all fine and well. We must leave while we can,” Kheladin insisted.
”I agree. I would use magic to transport us back to the cave. What think ye?”
The dragon was silent so long, Lachlan started to ask again, but Kheladin spoke before he got the words out. “We will know more outside these walls. The lass’s scent muddles things. ’Tis much like a potion.”
Lachlan trusted the dragon’s instincts; they were usually sharper than his own. He moved the books on his lap to the floor, got to his feet, and picked up his sword belt, buckling it securely into place. Nothing more to do but leave. Why was such a simple thing so difficult? He snatched up his cloak.
A note. He owed her at least that. Lachlan strode to the desk and pulled drawers open until he found parchment, though it felt pathetically thin, and a stick he ascertained would write, once he fiddled with removing its end piece. He considered what to say. He didn’t want to give her information that might compromise her safety. In the end, he merely adjured her to take care, told her she was a bonny lass, and said he hoped their paths would cross again.
He stared at the piece of paper, came close to crumpling it and starting again, but that damned alien power slammed into his ward. Not subtle this time or questing. It was as if whatever was out there was certain they’d found him and aimed to do something about it.
Lachlan prepared himself for battle, expecting Rhukon—or one of his minions—to break into Maggie’s home at any second. He gathered power, held it balanced between his hands. It sizzled, giving the air a burnt smell. Long moments passed.
“’Tis trying to lure me outside,” he told Kheladin. “’Tis a risk, but a lesser one, to conjure traveling magic.”
When the dragon didn’t answer, Lachlan began to chant. He warmed to his spell after a short time. Like everything else, his mage skills—at least the ones demanding more than the simplest magics—were rusty. The walls of Maggie’s living room wavered, solidified, and shimmered again. On his third try, Lachlan began to panic. He’d just pulled enough power to light a small town, surely alerting any enemy within a fifty league radius to his presence. If he couldn’t transport himself and the dragon to the cave, he’d have to fight goddess-only-knew-who right here. Without Kheladin’s help, since there wasn’t space to shift.
Sweat ran down his face and sides. It stung where it ran into his eyes. In desperation, he nearly dropped his warding to pour his full power into what should have been a neophyte’s spell, when he felt the tightening in his stomach that meant they were in the in-between place—the one that could open to any destination in this world or any other. He realized his eyes were screwed shut and pried them open onto blackness.
“Thank the mother goddess,” he breathed, shocked at how weak his magic had become.
“We are far from safe. Do not disperse your warding as ye were about to do.” Censure rang in the dragon’s words. “’Tis not all you,” Kheladin continued. “There is something amiss in this world. It fights against magic. Competes with it.”
“Bloody good there’s a reason.” Lachlan struggled to catch his breath. The darkness yielded to gray. Moments later, the walls of Kheladin’s cave materialized around him. He sank into the sand and poured handfuls through fingers that were trying to morph into claws. Lachlan didn’t fight the transformation; he welcomed it, unwinding his clothing so it wouldn’t end up in a heap of tatters. If wickedness followed them, they were better off in Kheladin’s form. He sank deep inside
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