found among the Balmoral, the laird had decreed his people would be told the full truth of their new clan members.
To Ciara’s surprise, Eirik had agreed. She wondered again if he trusted the Balmoral more than her father, but realized it was not her father the dragon mistrusted. It was the rest of the clan. And since there had been members of the secret Faol society among them, only time would prove his people safe with the Sinclairs.
“Our laird assigned two of your warriors to share this guard and others the task of a flying watch over the island,” Artair said to Eirik when asked.
Eirik tensed. “Not all are soldiers.”
Ciara wanted to soothe him, though she could not understand the urge. He was hardly a child needing comfort, but he was a man who took the well-being of his people very much to heart.
“Oh, no,” Artair was quick to reply. “Some have been assigned crofter’s huts. Three have gone to work in the castle, in one capacity or another.”
“That is as the Balmoral said it would be.”
“Our laird can be trusted,” Gart said on a growl.
Ciara smiled at him. “Of course he can. Eirik did not mean to imply otherwise.”
The dragon shifter said nothing. Gart was turning a bit red and Artair wasn’t looking too happy, either.
She dug her elbow in Eirik’s side. “Did you?”
He shifted so he almost faced her, his big body blocking her view of the others. “Did I what?”
“Mean to say that their laird was untrustworthy.”
“I allowed my people to join his clan.”
“I know, but perhaps they are not aware how much you had to trust the Balmoral to have done so.”
“’Twas not their decision.”
“No, of course not.” She barely refrained from rolling her eyes. “The point is—”
“Not important,” Gart interrupted, sounding much happier.
She peeked around Eirik, but both the Balmoral guards looked at peace again. Really. Heaven save her from testy warriors.
She looked up at Eirik and lost her breath. His focus was entirely on her and the message in his eyes was hot enough to singe. “Um…you…I…the soldiers…”
“What about them, faolán?”
“I can’t see them around you.”
“Mayhap you should not be looking at other men.”
“I wasn’t looking,” she said in outrage. “That way, I mean.”
“But you wanted to see them.”
“Not like that.”
The tiny twitch in the muscle of his cheek finally gave him away.
“You are teasing me,” she accused.
“You smell good when you blush.”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake.” She must have the fragrance of a garden right now, because her face was so hot she would have gladly dunked her head in the bucket of water. “Will you shift your behemoth body so I can see Artair and Gart, please?”
He moved but ruined her pleasure at his cooperation by asking, “You find me too large?”
“I did not say that.” Too large? How could she when she found him perfect in most every way? And that was not a revelation she needed to make, to herself or him. Life as a seer was much more complicated than when she’d merely been a daughter who could avoid all entanglements behind the wall of her adopted family. “It would not be appropriate for me to comment one way or another.”
“You called me giant.”
“I’ve also called you dragon. You did not take offense at that.”
“I am a dragon.”
“And you are a very big man.”
“I think you like big.” His tone and the heat in his stare said more than the words, and they said enough.
“Stop. Please.” Ciara turned her attention to Artair and asked somewhat desperately, “Are your clan accepting of them, the Éan I mean?”
She expected they were, but discovering the Éan were known as bird shifters among the Balmoral might put a different light on it. She hoped not, though.
“Oh, aye,” Artair said with a decisive nod. “No one treats new clan members as anything but family since our lady came near ten years ago.”
“She’d not settle for it,” Gart agreed.
Ciara grinned at this mention of Abigail’s acknowledged strong-willed sister. “Aunt Emily did not find such a warm welcome among the Sinclairs, I fear.”
Artair returned her grin. “So I hear. Though she gave as good as she got, I reckon.”
“I think you are right.” Ciara laughed softly. “I’m not sure my father has ever gotten over being likened to a goat.”
“It’s not something a laird would be used to, is it?” Artair asked with another grin.
Eirik growled, similar but different to a wolf, and she stared at him askance only to turn her head quickly at an almost