Children of the Moon 04 - Dragon's Moon

Talorc claimed.
    “What’s an endearment?” Brian asked.
    “Like when your father calls you cub, or his little man,” Abigail answered when no one else did.
    Talorc and Niall were too busy glaring at Eirik.
    “Oh.” Drost swung his legs, kicking Niall, but the man didn’t so much as blink. “But she’s not a cub.”
    “No, she is not.”
    “Well?” Talorc prompted, his hostile gaze fixed firmly on Eirik. “Is there a reason you discovered my daughter in the forest last night?”
    “I’ve been following her, watching her from the air when she runs at night.”
    “Last night was not an isolated incident?” the Sinclair demanded, his attention on Ciara now.
    She didn’t answer.
    “Ciara?”
    She looked up, her eyes bloodshot, her face pale. “Yes?”
    “You need to go back to bed.” Talorc’s tone was firm, but caring, whatever he had meant to say gone in the face of his adopted daughter’s clear exhaustion.
    “I do?” She looked around her, no doubt noticing the looks of concern being directed her way. “But I just got up.”
    “Abigail, can you make her a tea to help her sleep?” the Sinclair asked his wife.
    “I’ve tried…they don’t seem to work.”
    “I can help her sleep.”
    That had Niall and Talorc’s hostile regard back on him, only ratcheted up a notch.
    “No.” Talorc’s tone left no room for argument.
    “I can calm her mind and my dragon can protect her dreams.”
    “Do you have to be in the room to do this?” Talorc demanded, clearly understanding the distinction Eirik had been making.
    “Once I calm her mind, she will sleep, but I cannot protect her dreams without touching her.”
    “So, she would only waken again, like she does with my teas,” Abigail said worriedly.
    Eirik nodded.
    The Sinclair opened his mouth to speak, but what he would have said was lost as Ciara pitched forward. She would have landed against the hard floor, but both Eirik and Abigail grabbed her.
    Ciara sat up, shaking her head. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
    “Not enough sleep,” Talorc said. “For too many nights.”
    Abigail sighed. “Not enough food.”
    “Too many dreams,” Mairi added.
    And everyone stared at her.
    “I have them, too, but I can’t tell you about it until Ciara is rested enough to join in the conversation. I won’t betray her secrets by revealing my own.”
    “You may hold her in our bed,” Talorc said, his words grudging. “The door will remain open and we will be checking on you.”
    Eirik should have been offended, but it took all he could do to stifle his urge to laugh.
    No matter how appealing he found the pretty little wolf,he preferred his bed partners to be conscious. Besides, she needed rest, not sexual exertions.
    “We will sleep in the forest, because I need to be in my dragon form to protect her dreams. I do not believe Abigail would appreciate me breaking the bed she finally convinced you to build for her. You can send a chaperone, but it must be one of the Éan or the few trusted Faol that already know of my other form.”
    The laird agreed, sending Niall and Guaire to accompany Eirik and Ciara into the forest.
    She was so out of her head with lack of sleep that Ciara did not even ask where they were going or why she’d been put on a horse with the giant blond warrior.
    Eirik’s dragon roared at this but settled some as he reminded himself the other Chrechte was happily mated…to Guaire. His dragon was still unhappy and Eirik only hoped the ride went quickly, or the beast would have its way and he would end up snatching Ciara right off of Niall’s horse.

Chapter 8

Healing is a matter of time, but it is sometimes also a matter of opportunity.
    —H IPPOCRATES
    L ais lifted Mairi into his arms, ignoring her squeak of surprise and turned to face his laird. “I will do another session of healing on her.”
    Talorc nodded. “Abigail will accompany you.”
    “If you wish, but my power to heal is stronger when there are no distractions.”
    “I believe your patient will be distraction enough,” Talorc said wryly.
    Mairi gasped at this and squirmed, but Lais carefully kept her close. “Exactly,” he agreed with his laird. “Adding further distractions to the mix will hamper my ability to heal my patient, but I will bow to your will.”
    The laird shook his head. “You are almost as arrogant as your prince.”
    “I believe that is the pot calling the kettle,” Abigail said with a small laugh.
    Since Lais agreed, he