Dragon's Moon - By Lucy Monroe Page 0,101

beating without giving her abuser exactly what he wants.”

“But you never gave in to your father,” Lais said with fierce pride. “You never told him what you had seen in your dreams and visions about the Faolchú Chridhe.”

“He would have only beaten me in certainty I had more to give him.”

“You are wise for your young years, little Mairi,” Boisin said and then continued his tale. “Fearghall accused the Éan of stealing the stone when it was discovered missing and declared war on them. They were in a generation without a dragon and their people were nearly decimated before the few remaining took to the forests in the north in hiding, making their homes high in the trees away from those who hunted them.”

“But what of the Paindeal?” Eirik asked.

“They fought the Faol under Fearghall, but every death was a great loss to their race as not even a true mated couple could be guaranteed to produce shifting offspring.”

“You mean their children didn’t all shift?”

“Nay. Their griffin fought the conriocht bravely, but it was finally decided they would return to the land of their origin.”

So the old stories were based in truth, Ciara thought. “They went back across the land bridge that fell into the sea.”

“More like they left in boats, but the Paindeal live in the lands of the Norsemen and further south amidst the countries the Romans conquered or sought to do.”

“They must be higher in number now,” Eirik mused.

“Aye. They live much longer lives and with no wolves hunting them, their numbers have grown.”

Eirik’s brow creased in a puzzled frown. “You know all this from dreams?”

“And visions. ’Tis a thing I will teach Mairi as your Anya-Gra will train your mate once you have recovered the Faolchú Chridhe.”

Ciara wasn’t sure she wanted the knowledge Boisin spoke of, but her time from hiding from her gifts was past. She would serve their people as Eirik had predicted and just as he promised, she would not do it alone.

For the first time since realizing she had a mate, Ciara felt gratitude instead of fear stir in her heart.

“So, if it needs to be returned to the sacred caves on Sinclair lands, it stands to reason it is not there,” Lais observed.

Boisin inclined his head. “I have long believed that to be the case.”

“Knowing where it isn’t doesn’t improve our chances of finding it by much,” Ciara said worriedly.

The weight of her people’s future now pressed down heavily on her shoulders.

Eirik squeezed her hand again, reminding her he had not let go, that the stubborn man never would let her go. “We will find the Faolchú Chridhe; we will save your race. Trust in our Chrechte strength. ’Tis not limited to the increased physical prowess from our animal natures.”

She took a deep breath and nodded, trusting in her mate, if nothing else.

“Perhaps we should begin our search in caves on the lands of the clan with the strongest contingent remaining of the Fearghall.” Lais caressed Mairi’s hair as if he didn’t realize he was doing it. “It stands to reason that would be the clan in most direct descent from the high kelle and her wicked son.”

“’Tis not such a good measure as you might think,” Boisin said. “When the Fearghall society was formed, so too were the Cahir.”

“The Cahir?” Eirik asked.

“Aye, warriors dedicated to rooting out the Fearghall among the packs and either convincing them the error of their ways or destroying them.”

“You are Cahir?” Mairi asked, sounding like she knew the answer.

“I was once. I passed that mantle to my son and he has trained his sons to follow.”

“But there are no Fearghall in the Balmoral clan,” Ciara said with confusion.

“Why do you think that is, lass?” Boisin shook his head. “The Balmoral clan has Cahir, but some packs did not train the next generation of Cahir and take their vow of protection in belief the cancer no longer existed among them, but without the Cahir, ’twould always return.”

“Like in my father’s clan,” Mairi said, looking up at the eagle with a sad frown.

“Aye, the MacLeod has a like spirit to Fearghall,” Boisin said. “Though he does not share such a direct bloodline as our Faol princess.”

“I am not a princess,” Ciara could not help muttering.

“Kelle then.”

“I am not kelle.”

“I will teach you to be a warrior,” Eirik promised. “And Anya-Gra will teach you to care for the spiritual welfare of our people. The stone has chosen you as high kelle. You have too much courage and honor

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