Page 12 of Her Scot of Bygones (MacLeod Dragons #2)

–Lucas–

TRUTH BE TOLD, I was surprised when Hazel brought out a side of me I didn’t realize existed. Yet when I felt her worry about her sister, Willow, I discovered a calming, dependable side of myself that surfaced whenever Hazel needed it.

Even better, it coaxed Hazel to open up about herself as we headed down the cliff tunnel to the forest below. Things I hadn’t sensed in her mind, but I suspected her inner dragon wanted me to know anyway.

Or perhaps, wanted her to know I wasn’t like her father.

Or her mother.

“When he left, she didn’t take it very well,”

she went on after revealing her father had walked out on them when she was young.

“Neither did I, for that matter. Even though I was little, I loved him.”

While I wanted to stop and pull her into my arms to comfort her because of the emotion in her voice, I knew better. She wanted to discuss this on her own terms, so to speak, because these were things she rarely shared. Things she usually kept tucked away inside, but felt comfortable enough sharing with me, where she typically refrained with her sisters.

“Though I told my sisters otherwise, because what he did to us was horrible,”

she went on.

“I still loved my father dearly despite the heartache he put me and my mom through. I couldn’t say why, either, just that when he was there, he was good to us. Truly loved us and even though I wondered how I could be so certain of that, now, given he might be protecting us from this pact, I can’t help but wonder.”

I didn’t respond but waited for her to continue when she was ready.

“Mom never did say what they fought about before he left, and I don’t suppose it matters anymore.”

She sighed.

“What matters is that after going downhill for a while, she fought her addiction to painkillers, and a few other things, and together we made it through.”

The more Hazel shared, the more her thoughts opened up to me, and I realized just how difficult her younger years had been after her father left. How fast she needed to grow up to be strong enough to help her mother overcome her demons. I could see how it changed that young, curious, carefree little girl we’d seen in a memory and turned her into the overly cautious, protective woman she was today.

“’Tis admirable of you to be there for your mother like that, Hazel,”

I said, immensely proud of her because it had cost her. I knew she never once felt sorry for herself or her circumstances, but always put her mother first and then, as life went on, anyone she loved. She put other people’s needs before her own, and it humbled me. She humbled me like no other had.

“Where is your mother now?”

I wondered because I couldn’t sense it.

“Passed away,”

she said softly as we arrived at the woodland area.

“From a heart attack a few years ago.”

“I’m so sorry.”

I stopped, slipped my hand into hers in comfort, and met her eyes. “Truly.”

“Thank you.”

Her voice wobbled a little, and she blinked back tears before doing what came so naturally to her and focused on me rather than dwelling on her own woes.

“What about your parents? I hoped to meet them earlier.”

“Sadly, like Sloan’s, they passed when I was younger,”

I revealed, rarely talking about them because it hurt too much. Yet I had healed thanks to my aunt and uncle.

“Marek and Chara are the closest thing I have to parents now, and I couldnae be more grateful because they have been good to me. Loved me like I was their own.”

“I’m so sorry about your parents,”

she said, meaning it. She squeezed my hand and looked at me with her heart in her eyes.

“I’m really glad your aunt and uncle were there for you. They’re good people.”

“Aye,”

I agreed. Although never more tempted to pull her into my arms and simply hold and comfort her, I knew we needed to keep going. So I led her to a horse that had been left for us, helped her up, and swung up behind her.

“’Tis best we speak within the mind until we reach my lair,”

I murmured in her ear, trying to ignore how good she felt nestled between my legs. How sweet her hair smelled. The warmth of her soft skin so close to me.

“Okay,”

she whispered, her voice equally raspy at the very tangible, very sensual sensations coursing through us both.

“What should we talk about now?”

While I would much prefer talking about her and learning everything I could about her life, I felt our time would be better spent preparing her for what might lie ahead. It would mean using unique magic on her, but it would be well worth it if she ended up with the Sutherlands without me and had to defend herself.

“Do you trust me?”

I asked telepathically.

“Because I can teach you to defend yourself, but ‘twould mean letting me cast you into a slumber and merging minds in a way that would require you giving up control to me.”

I turned her chin until her eyes connected with mine, so she saw how serious I was.

“If at any time, you fear where you are, just tell me, and I will wake you. You have my word.”

“Are you going to teach me to shift?”

she wondered, her eyes drifting much like they had in the cave when we nearly kissed.

“Nay.”

I fought the urge to close my mouth over hers.

“I’m going to teach your human half how to fight with a weapon because ‘tis crucial in a time and place where shifting into a dragon is to be kept secret. ‘Tis crucial here in what you call the medieval period.”

“Of course I trust you,”

she murmured fast enough to make my heart soar. It meant a great deal, given our rocky start and the spell I had cast on her when I stole her away.

“Good.”

Although difficult because I wanted to kiss her more now than ever, I urged her to face forward again, and we started through the woodland, while I began chanting within my mind.

“Then rest, Hazel, and I will see you on the other side.”

Within moments, she slumped back against me and drifted off.

Seconds later, she jolted awake only to find herself standing with me in a sunlit forest.

“This is incredible,”

she murmured, awed as she turned slowly before facing me again.

“Am I in your mind?”

“In a way.”

I handed her a sword that suited her size and showed her the correct way to grip it, then stood behind her and demonstrated how to swing it, only to get the vivid impression I had done this with her before.

“I think you did,”

she whispered in amazement, spinning away in an expert maneuver I must have taught her because it was my move.

“I think I did too,”

I exclaimed, putting my blade up in a defensive maneuver when she came at me hard with a level of expertise that shocked us both, based on her round eyes and an ever-widening smile.

“I can do this, Lucas!”

she said, grinning as we circled and crossed blades at a speed that spoke to training.

She seemed amazed at her capabilities and with good reason, as she thrust and I dodged out of the way in the nick of time, once again feeling like we had done that exact thing before. I was as pleased with her progress now as I sensed I was when I first taught her.

While I had no intention of hurting her, I went on the offensive to see how well she could defend herself and was just as impressed. I thrust, and she twirled away. I swiped low, and she jumped.

“Verra good,”

I praised, not just impressed but relieved because now I knew she could defend herself. If that weren’t enough, she excelled at coming back at her opponent when they thought they were wearing her down.

So I went at her even harder, utilizing one of my more aggressive moves, implementing brute strength only for fire to race along her blade and transform it entirely, stopping us in our tracks. While it still suited her size, it was distinct, if not stunning, with purple gems encased in the handle and an engraving on the metal that made my blood run cold.

When it thrust us out of our training session, and Hazel snapped awake as we still rode through the ever-darkening forest, I knew my Viking blade was no longer at my back because it had transformed into the sword she now held.

“Sheath it,”

I ordered, more firm with her than I had ever been. I patted the sheath by her side.

“Now because ‘tis a Sutherland blade made with Sutherland magic. The sheath will mute whatever beacon it might put off whilst out in the woodland.”

Despite her confusion, she listened, shaking ever so slightly as she slid it into place.

“It’s—”

“Nay,”

I cut her off.

“Dinnae speak of it until we are safely in my lair and I know we cannae be overheard.”

“Okay.”

Another tremble went through her.

“It’s the Viking blade, isn’t it?”

“So it seems.”

I wrapped a protective arm around her waist lest trouble find us too soon.

“’Twill be alright, lass. I willnae let harm come to you.”

“I’m not so sure the blade means me harm.”

Her internal voice was tentative.

“I think if anything, it’s meant to protect me...and remind me.”

No doubt it did, but I wasn’t about to confirm that.

Not when Evan Sutherland had undoubtedly forged it.