Artair twisted his lips in a grimace. “Ignore him. We’ve been best mates since before we could walk. So, it stands to reason to him I should marry his sister. But I’m not joining my spirit with another until I feel the call of a true mate, am I?”
“The old stories claim that in the days of the ancients,” Ciara remembered aloud, “none mated unless they felt the connection of a true bond.”
“How are you going to know you feel it, until you are mated?” Gart asked with irritation.
Artair gave him a measured look. “I’ll know.”
“You’re so damn stubborn.”
“You’ve been saying so since your first words and it hasn’t changed yet. What makes you think it’s going to?”
Gart made a sound of exasperation and slammed his now-empty stew bowl down before storming from the hut.
Ciara got up to gather all the bowls before carrying them to the shelf. She would take them out later to wash with sand and water from the sea.
She patted the other Balmoral guard on his arm as she walked by him. “He’ll figure it out eventually.”
“You think so?” Artair shook his head. “I’m about despaired of it ever happening.”
“He’s a Chrechte. He can’t ignore the call forever.”
“He could. Some do.”
She couldn’t argue that, particularly when she was doing her best to ignore her feelings for Eirik. But she did not think Gart was like her. He wasn’t afraid, merely blinded by dreams he’d clearly cherished since childhood.
“He has to let go of his treasured hopes for his sister first.” She took the seat beside Artair on the small bench. He did not fill the space like Eirik did. “Perhaps you should encourage him to find his own mate.”
The Balmoral soldier gave her a look of pure horror. “Why would I do that?”
“Why did you sit beside him?” Eirik demanded.
She ignored Eirik and told Artair, “So that he will start thinking in the right direction.”
“I’ll think on it.”
Eirik stood up, his expression feral in the dusky light of the hut. “Your body is touching his,” the Éan prince gritted.
She scooted so the small spot where their hips had connected did not touch at all. “There. Are you satisfied? You’re being ridiculous. It wasn’t anything like when I was sitting beside you.”
“Come sit over here.” Eirik pointed to the other bench.
“I’m fine right here.”
A low rumble sounded and Ciara watched in fascination as Eirik’s hands became covered in crimson scales and tipped with lethal-looking claws. Though they remained in proportion to his body.
It was unlike anything she had ever heard of before.
“How did you do that?” she asked with wonder.
“I think, perhaps, I will join Gart outside,” Artair said from the doorway.
She hadn’t even realized the other man had gotten up. She stood as well and turned to the guard. “That is not necessary.”
“I think it is.” He gave a significant look toward Eirik.
And she looked back at her dragon. His hands were still amazingly transformed, but he had not moved from his spot. His expression was no longer so ferocious, either.
She turned back to Artair and smiled. “See? He is only feeling protective as he has taken on the role of my guard for this journey. You saw him with our meal, tasting it for me.”
Artair was looking at her as if she was spouting gibberish and she sighed. The soldier simply did not appreciate the wonder of Eirik’s gifts like she did.
“Lais and Mairi have arrived,” Eirik said into the tense quiet.
Ciara spun back to him, all of her suspicions about his abilities confirmed. “Lais told you that, didn’t he?”
Eirik didn’t reply but left the hut, his shoulders taut, his jaw set. At least his hands had gone back to normal. She did not think it was a gift he needed to go sharing with everyone under the sun.
Artair reached out as if to pat her shoulder but withdrew his hand before touching her. “The Éan prince will figure it out, too.”
She didn’t ask what. She was no fool and apparently neither was Artair. “Let’s hope not,” Ciara said fervently.
“You don’t want a mate?” Artair frowned. “Or is that you do not want an Éan for a mate?”
“I want no mate, whether he be human, Chrechte or a wild beast for that matter.”
“Our celi di says that God gifts us what we need, not what we want.”
“And sometimes he also takes away what we love most.”
“So you would reject the possibility of love to prevent ever losing it again?”