Land of Ice and Snow [Cairngorm Dragons 3] (Siren Publishing Classic) (3 page)

“Sigourney, straighten your spine. Hold your head high. You out-rank them all. You are of the line of Hillesland, one of the most ancient and respected lines in our land. Remember your family pride, whatever is said in there. Show no emotion. You will survive this. The gods have sent this trial to you because you are strong enough to bear it. I will be with you.”

The doors opened, and they were beckoned inside. Sigourney remembered other occasions in this hall. Most of them had been happy and celebratory in nature. The present one was neither. Only the women were present. The rush lights in the wall-sconces made the atmosphere smoky. It was warm in the hall, with a large log fire blazing in the hearths placed at either end. The carved and painted dragons gazed down impassively on her from the ceiling. This was a solemn occasion and could well decide her future fate and happiness.

“Gudrin, we are here to ask, what is the problem with your daughter? She is past the age of mating and has chosen no man yet.”

“Perhaps she waits for the orange-and-gold one the legends tell of,” a toothless old crone cackled.

“Whatever she does, she is causing trouble. The young men take no mates because they live in the hope she will choose them. The older males sniff after her as she walks the streets. They are restless, and soon we shall have adultery.”

There was a collective gasp at that. Adultery was unheard of, and it was a grave charge to lay at anyone’s door. Sigourney shook her head but remained calm and said not a word.

“We have decided that she must choose one male to mate with today or be banished until she does.”

At that Sigourney looked slowly around at all the women gathered there. There wasn’t one who looked to have any sympathy. They had all chosen mates in the traditional way when the male had called and they had responded. No male had called to her in that way. Was she to have less than all these women? They had ever been envious of her position and beauty, and this was a way of getting even.

“No, I will not take just any male. I want what you all have, that communion of minds and bodies. Not some second-rate substitute.”

The woman, Helga, who had spoken before, and whose son had been always sniffing round Sigourney, looked sourly at her. It was as Sigourney suspected, a ploy to force her hand and get her to marry Helga’s son. A fine advance for that family to be so linked with hers. Now she knew who her real enemy was and would be able to deal with it.

“I choose banishment until I find my one, true mate.” She turned and gathered the thick woollen cloak about her and, followed by her mother, swept out of the hall with regal bearing.

“That didn’t go the way you planned, Helga. There’s more fire under all that ice than any of us suspected,” the old crone said and cackled in amusement.

The next day in dragon-form, sitting atop the icy mountain, Sigourney pondered her fate. Not many mates to be found out here. How long would it be before she could return to her family? She wouldn’t give in to despair. She wanted a mate but not just any mate. She’d seen the connection her parents had and desired that for herself. What must it be like to find the right man and know he lived for her alone as she did for him? Her mother had said the gods had sent this trial as a test. She would pass it and return in triumph.

The afternoon sun gilded the snowy peaks, and her keen eyes caught a movement. She peered into the sun and thought she saw wings.
I must be mad. It’s all the talk of the legendary one from over the seas that is making me see things.
She narrowed her eyes and peered into the sun again.
No I’m sure that was movement.
She opened her eyes wide and saw a vision. She beheld a creature of power, strength, and great beauty. He was glorying in his flight, soaring over the mountains and heading straight for her. He was huge, and his wings were the biggest she’d ever seen. Strong and powerful, the mighty downbeat pushed him ever faster toward her. He was magnificent. She knew he was a male but not how she knew.
Has he seen me? What is he? Why is he here? Is the legend true then?

* * * *

With the sun behind him, the golden-orange scales on his wings caught the sun’s rays and flashed like fire as he flew, relishing the long flight. He almost missed seeing her. He just happened to look down at the mountain, and he caught a flash of green fire and a quickly suppressed thought about the legend. He dropped down to where he thought he had seen the flash of green. With his mighty wings beating powerfully in the thin air, he hovered and gazed at her. Lightning struck, and he was lost in the deep emerald of her gaze. She was pure white with a soft golden tinge to the tips of her scales. Smaller than the dragons at home she might have been, but the intelligence and love that shone from those eyes pierced his heart.
This is it then. This is what they have all felt, and now I feel it.

“My mate,” he bellowed, a challenge to any other male who might be in the vicinity.

“Are you my mate? Is this what it feels like to find the one?”

“Yes, my little, white dove, you are my mate, and I will cede you to no other. The legend was true. You are here, and you wait for me alone. Why are you so sad, and why are you alone on top of this mountain, my dove?”

“I have been banished because I would not settle for just any mate.”

“No, you are not for just any man. You are mine now. Please take me to your Clan and we will sort this out now.”

“What’s a Clan?”

“Your family or group. In my land we call it a Clan. I am Feasgar of the Braemuir Clan. The Clan chieftain is my brother. We will go now.”

Obediently she lifted off and led him up the fjord to the settlement at Alesund. They both landed in dragon-form and then changed. The homes were of modest size and all sturdily built of logs. Smoke issued from the chimneys. The spaces between the logs were filled with moss to insulate the homes, Lachlann judged. It would be needed here. The air was crisp and cold even in the sun. The settlement itself was not large compared to the ones he was used to at home. A crowd gathered, and he noticed the beautiful clothes with their rich embroidery, contrasting with his Braemuir tartan plaid and his huge sword. He had on a leather jerkin lined with sheep’s wool. The sleeves were long and tight about his wrists. Leather strips had been sewn onto the jerkin in an intricate pattern. His clothes were different but not inferior. The people looked prosperous and well fed, even if the small town was more modest than the ones he was used to. The crowd gathered closer about them as she held his hand. He learned her name then.

“Sigourney, why have you returned from exile without permission? Who is this stranger?” A woman asked belligerently. From Sigourney’s mind link he learned the woman’s name was Helga, and there was no love lost between his mate and her. He learned the history of Sigourney’s banishment and what she thought were the reasons behind it. This didn’t predispose him to like Helga.

“I can’t see what it has to do with you, but I am Lachlann of the Braemuir, come from across the ocean to claim my mate.” Lachlann’s powerful voice stilled all protests, and he took Sigourney’s other hand in his, pulled her to him, and raised her hands to his lips.

“If any man challenges my right to this woman, let him come and fight me now.”

Needless to say, there were no challengers. Lachlann wasn’t as massive as Ness or Braemuir, but he stood a head taller than any of the young males present. Most of them would have been hard-pressed to lift the sword he brandished so easily.

Sigourney led him to her father’s house. The crowd followed out of curiosity. Isolated as they were Lachlann assumed they didn’t often have visitors and certainly not from across the ocean. Lachlann noted that Sigourney’s was a larger house than the rest, and he supposed that meant her family were of some consequence. Still the house was on a much less opulent scale than the Caisteal, so Sigourney was in for a surprise when she went home with him. A man and a woman came out of the house. The woman looked like an older version of Sigourney.

“Lachlann, may I present my mother, Gudrin and my father, Axl. Mother, Father, this is Lachlann of Braemuir from across the ocean.”

Lachlann shook hands with Axl and kissed Gudrin’s hand.

“I am delighted to make your acquaintance. I have come here seeking a mate. I believe that your daughter is my destined mate.”

Axl smiled as Gudrin took her daughter in her arms and kissed her cheek.

“Welcome to Alesund, Lachlann of Braemuir. Our daughter is dear to us, and I can see we have much to discuss.”

“He’s the one of the legend, Mother. His dragon is golden-orange, and he flew across the ocean to find me.”

“Very touching,” Helga spat out. “Then he will have to fulfil the rest of the legend.” Sigourney turned to look at her. “The lost golden marriage-torc has to be reclaimed from the old dragon under the mountain.”

A gasp of shock escaped from Sigourney’s mouth.

“How can you expect him to do that? No-one has ever returned from such a quest. Why do you want to send him? It will make no difference. I will never marry your son.”

“Hush, Sigourney. It
is
the legend,” Gudrin said.

“I challenge him to do it,” Helga screeched.

“Now he is obliged to accept or withdraw,” Axl stated.

“Then I accept.” Lachlann’s voice was loud and steady, his tone betraying none of the fear that Helga had obviously hoped to hear.

“Let’s go inside and eat a meal. I can tell you the rest of the legend then,” Axl suggested.

As they sat and ate, Axl recounted the rest of the legend.

“The saga tells us that the golden-orange dragon that comes to claim his mate from amongst us is a warrior from over the water. He wields a huge sword, and if he is challenged, he must regain the lost golden torc. This is a circlet of gold which was always worn by the brides of our community on their wedding day. It is of ancient Norse workmanship and said to have belonged to the very Harold Hardrada that went over the seas to conquer the lands that lie on the other side of the world. I have never seen it. In fact, it has been lost to us for many generations. Under the mountain, Galdhopiggen, there are caves, and there dwells an old one. He guards the torc and will not allow its removal. He will slay any who attempt to retrieve it.”

“Father, does he have to do this? You know full well why Helga got me banished. Now she wants to get Lachlann killed, so I will have to marry her revolting son.
I will not marry him.
Lachlann is my mate. I know that now. I know what it is to meet the one you are destined to love for the rest of your life, and now I could be satisfied with no other.”

“Do I have no say in this my little dove?” Lachlann’s voice was stern. “I won’t be judged a coward and unworthy of you. I accept this challenge and will go on the quest tomorrow. Now settle down and eat your meal. We have a lot of talking to do, you and I, and not many hours before I must leave.”

“Yes, Lachlann,” she said quietly. She caught a glimpse of the astonished faces of her parents as they heard their rebellious daughter acquiesce so easily. She’d been surprised herself. Normally she would have ranted and railed and argued, but there was that in his tone that said he brooked no argument and he would have his way. Consequently they sat and ate.

“Tell us about your land across the sea,” Sigourney pleaded.

“I come from Scotland. It’s a mountainous land but doesn’t have the amount of snow yours has. We do have snow in the winter, and we have beautiful glens and lochs. My sister is wedded to Ness, a water dragon, and they live on the biggest of our lochs, Loch Ness. My brother is Braemuir of Braemuir, our Clan chieftain. He has charge of the Clan lands and the welfare of the people, as does Ness for his lands.”

“Are you a water dragon?” Axl asked.

“No, my dragon name is Feasgar. Only Ness and his Clan are water dragons.”

“Why do you have to have a dragon name, too?” Sigourney asked.

“It’s the custom. My name means afternoon or evening in the old tongue of our ancestors. Don’t you have a dragon name?”

“No, there are so few of us left now. We keep our own names. The ability to shape-change is dying out,” Gudrin said sadly. “Some say it is because of the loss of the torc, but I can’t see how that would make any difference.”

“Well, I will do my best to get it back, and we shall then see if the legend lies about it or not. I am tired now, and I will need rest if I’m to tackle an old one tomorrow.”

Gudrin showed Lachlann to a guest chamber in their hall. All was golden wood varnished to a sheen. The bed was huge, and instead of blankets of woven wool as was the custom at home, there was a sort of stuffed quilted cover.

“It’s very warm. These quilts retain the heat very well even in the coldest winter.”

Lachlann found that difficult to believe but was too polite to contradict her. She left him, and he placed his bag on the chair. He seated himself on the bed. Gudrin was right about one thing. The quilt was soft. He thought over the events of the day. What a lot had happened to change his life forever in one short day. This morning he had no mate and not a very rosy future. Then he had found his mate in the old way. He knew now what his brother and sister had. He also realised that it was well nigh impossible to describe it to someone who hadn’t experienced it. The bond he had felt instantly with Sigourney he knew was for life. He had been happy then. That had been short-lived when that harridan had issued the challenge. Would he have to fight the old one tomorrow? He wasn’t afraid of any man, but who knew what tricks of magic an old one might possess, and he had no defence against that. Well, it was no use to worry. He’d get a good night’s sleep and face trouble on the morrow.