Highland Dragon by Genevieve Jack

Author:Genevieve Jack [Jack, Genevieve]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Carpe Luna Publishing

Chapter Eighteen

A buzz traveled through Xavier’s blood as if he’d swallowed strong whisky. Had he heard her correctly? She’d volunteered to come for him, curious after seeing his portrait? That would indicate an attraction. Could it be that the lass experienced the same heat in her blood when she looked at him as when he looked at her? His dragon stirred at the thought, and he inhaled deeply of her wisteria-and-linen scent.

With his nose close to her ear, he asked, “Da ye regret comin’ now that the task before ye is more than ye expected?”

“No,” she squeaked, turning her head so that her mouth was close to his.

He was suddenly and completely aware of her presence between his thighs. He shifted in the saddle, uncomfortable as his body responded to her nearness.

“I don’t regret coming. This is the most alive I’ve felt in some time.”

“Aye.” He tightened his hold on her waist, and she leaned into him as they rode.

It was late afternoon by the time they arrived at the MacEacherns’, and he helped her down from Tàirn. He’d changed his appearance as they’d approached the cottage, and now Xavier watched the corner of Avery’s mouth twitch as she took in his balding head, bulbous nose, and soft belly. He’d taken three inches off his height as well, adjusting his clothing with the illusion to appear as a common farmer.

He helped Avery cover her hair and smudged her cheeks with a bit of dirt but found it hard to believe the disguise would fool anyone. The woman would look like a queen in a grain sack.

“What’s wrong?” she whispered.

“Hmm? Nothin’ but that it takes effort to make ye look common.” He smudged more dirt on her other cheek. He caught her trying to hide a smile. “Try not to draw attention to yerself.”

She nodded, then shifted her gaze toward the water. Avery blinked at the overcast loch edged in fog. “What do you call this place?”

“This is Loch Seinn. Ned MacEachern is one of the few souls brave enough to live this close to the fairy hills. As I recall, he’s a wee bit odd. Makes his livin’ as a fisherman.”

“I can handle odd.”

A wide dirt path led up to the stone house with its thatched roof. Three goats met them at the door, noses sniffing curiously, and then bleated and pranced off to more important adventures. Behind the house, the water lapped against a rocky shore.

Xavier rapped on the front door and waited.

A few words of Gaelic filtered through the wood, and then a woman with pale skin and large brown eyes opened the door. “Can I help ye?”

“I hope so,” Xavier said in a voice that was not his own. “My wife and I heard the great-great-great-grandson of Neil MacEachern lived here. We have an important question for him, if he’s willing to speak with us, and some whisky for the both of you as a way of sayin’ thanks.” He extended the brown bottle he’d brought from the brownie’s cottage toward her.

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