Read Online To Love a Highland Dragon by Ann Gimpel - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Ann Gimpel
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are, but right now we need information. Let us see what Arawn knows.”
The air next to Arawn brightened. In moments, another man, as fair as Arawn was dark, took form. Deep blue robes fluttered around him. Blond braids hung halfway down his back. Ice-blue eyes flashed in his strong-boned, ageless face. “Gwydion,” he announced, bowing low. “At your service. Lachlan, if ye’re in there, come forth. Now.” The master enchanter brandished a richly-carved staff.
A whoosh of magic buffeted Lachlan. Not waiting for the invitation to be spelled out, he latched onto the offered power and forced a transformation. Kheladin subsided, muttering imprecations. Before his human form had fully settled, Lachlan strode to the two Celtic gods. He bowed so low his forehead brushed his knees before straightening. “Thanks be to Dana, goddess of the Earth, that some with power still live. I havena seen much of this world, yet it seems sadly changed.”
Arawn laughed, but the sound lacked mirth or warmth. “Never fear, even if ye canna recognize aught else, evil hasna gone away.”
“Tell me…” Lachlan stopped midstream. He wanted to know so many things, he couldn’t figure out where to begin.
Gwydion shot a meaningful glance his way. “The black wyvern— Ye know, the one responsible for your disappearance.”
“Aye, I havena forgotten his treachery.” Lachlan’s lips drew back in a snarl.
Gwydion’s features twisted as if he’d bitten into something distasteful. “Not that we hunted him down, but he made such a nuisance of himself that we dealt him a grievous blow.”
“Aye,” Arawn broke in, “just a few hours ago. ’Tis likely why ye wakened.”
“I thought he said all the dragons were dead,” Kheladin sniped.
“My dragon asked—”
“We can hear him.” Gwydion’s jaw set in a hard line. “No need to translate. Arawn meant all the good dragons have passed to Fire Mountain. Kheladin is the last of them on this side of the time veil. Their bonded mages went with them. The black wyvern, and his crony, the red, joined forces with the Morrigan in all her forms and have been wreaking havoc this past century or two.”
“’Tis why the air and oceans are poisoned,” Arawn muttered. “This world is dying. Many of the Celtic gods have left.”
The Morrigan in all her forms… Fear, an unfamiliar emotion, rocked Lachlan to his bones. One of the oldest tales had predicted that when the Morrigan split into Badb, Macha, and Anann, destruction would follow in their wake. “Can aught be done?”
“We doona know.” Gwydion spoke softly.
“Yet, we were unwilling to simply flee like rats deserting a foundering ship,” Arawn cut in. “Some humans possess strong magic. We watched over them. Augmented their power. Made certain they wouldna fall to the Morrigan.”
“Aye, ’twasna right to toss them to Rhukon or the Morrigan.” Gwydion’s sharply arched brows drew together.
“What role has Connor, the red wyvern, played?”
Arawn glanced at Lachlan and shrugged. “So far, he’s been more of an annoyance. His magic isna verra strong, yet he does augment Rhukon’s efforts.”
Lachlan cocked his head to one side, listening for unsaid meaning beneath their words. The Celtic gods were notorious for only telling half the story. He groped for understanding. “I met a woman,” he began, seeking a link that seemed elusive. “A witch, albeit a weak one. She, that is, I—”
The Celts watched him intently. Arawn’s nostrils flared. “Ye must say whatever ’tis, lad. We canna put the words in your mouth.”
Lachlan drew a shaky breath. “’Twill sound as if I am fey, but I believe this woman and I are linked in some way. ’Tis as if I know her well, despite having just met. She was there when I emerged from this cave. We’d be together still, had she not—”
“Not what?” Gwydion pressed.
Lachlan shook his head. “I doona rightly know. Some magical thing played music. She spoke into it,
The air next to Arawn brightened. In moments, another man, as fair as Arawn was dark, took form. Deep blue robes fluttered around him. Blond braids hung halfway down his back. Ice-blue eyes flashed in his strong-boned, ageless face. “Gwydion,” he announced, bowing low. “At your service. Lachlan, if ye’re in there, come forth. Now.” The master enchanter brandished a richly-carved staff.
A whoosh of magic buffeted Lachlan. Not waiting for the invitation to be spelled out, he latched onto the offered power and forced a transformation. Kheladin subsided, muttering imprecations. Before his human form had fully settled, Lachlan strode to the two Celtic gods. He bowed so low his forehead brushed his knees before straightening. “Thanks be to Dana, goddess of the Earth, that some with power still live. I havena seen much of this world, yet it seems sadly changed.”
Arawn laughed, but the sound lacked mirth or warmth. “Never fear, even if ye canna recognize aught else, evil hasna gone away.”
“Tell me…” Lachlan stopped midstream. He wanted to know so many things, he couldn’t figure out where to begin.
Gwydion shot a meaningful glance his way. “The black wyvern— Ye know, the one responsible for your disappearance.”
“Aye, I havena forgotten his treachery.” Lachlan’s lips drew back in a snarl.
Gwydion’s features twisted as if he’d bitten into something distasteful. “Not that we hunted him down, but he made such a nuisance of himself that we dealt him a grievous blow.”
“Aye,” Arawn broke in, “just a few hours ago. ’Tis likely why ye wakened.”
“I thought he said all the dragons were dead,” Kheladin sniped.
“My dragon asked—”
“We can hear him.” Gwydion’s jaw set in a hard line. “No need to translate. Arawn meant all the good dragons have passed to Fire Mountain. Kheladin is the last of them on this side of the time veil. Their bonded mages went with them. The black wyvern, and his crony, the red, joined forces with the Morrigan in all her forms and have been wreaking havoc this past century or two.”
“’Tis why the air and oceans are poisoned,” Arawn muttered. “This world is dying. Many of the Celtic gods have left.”
The Morrigan in all her forms… Fear, an unfamiliar emotion, rocked Lachlan to his bones. One of the oldest tales had predicted that when the Morrigan split into Badb, Macha, and Anann, destruction would follow in their wake. “Can aught be done?”
“We doona know.” Gwydion spoke softly.
“Yet, we were unwilling to simply flee like rats deserting a foundering ship,” Arawn cut in. “Some humans possess strong magic. We watched over them. Augmented their power. Made certain they wouldna fall to the Morrigan.”
“Aye, ’twasna right to toss them to Rhukon or the Morrigan.” Gwydion’s sharply arched brows drew together.
“What role has Connor, the red wyvern, played?”
Arawn glanced at Lachlan and shrugged. “So far, he’s been more of an annoyance. His magic isna verra strong, yet he does augment Rhukon’s efforts.”
Lachlan cocked his head to one side, listening for unsaid meaning beneath their words. The Celtic gods were notorious for only telling half the story. He groped for understanding. “I met a woman,” he began, seeking a link that seemed elusive. “A witch, albeit a weak one. She, that is, I—”
The Celts watched him intently. Arawn’s nostrils flared. “Ye must say whatever ’tis, lad. We canna put the words in your mouth.”
Lachlan drew a shaky breath. “’Twill sound as if I am fey, but I believe this woman and I are linked in some way. ’Tis as if I know her well, despite having just met. She was there when I emerged from this cave. We’d be together still, had she not—”
“Not what?” Gwydion pressed.
Lachlan shook his head. “I doona rightly know. Some magical thing played music. She spoke into it,
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