Chapter 20: Chapter 20: Dragon-Touched

 

For Aonair's sixteenth birthday, Rory decided his little brother needed to be introduced to the finer pleasures of life.

“Trust me. Tonight . . .” Rory's voice trailed off, his grin suggesting the delights to come. “She'll never see your face.”

“And she doesn't know about me?”

“She's the daughter of the new tinker. She didn't even know who I was.”

Aonair closed his eyes, breathing in the cool mountain air. The brothers had ridden to the top of Mt. Laoch. “Are you sure she'll be there?”

“Yes, I promised her a silver piece.”

“She's that type?” Aonair asked.

Rory slapped him on the back. “Look, ah . . . she already showed up last night for me.”

“What!” Aonair laughed so hard he lost his footing. If Rory hadn't steadied him, he'd have spent his sixteenth birthday plunging to his death. Rory had paid her! Add in a dark room . . . he actually had a chance. A girl, he was going to kiss a real flesh-and-blood girl. “So . . . what all did she let you do?”

Rory had procured for him, a simple shirt of linen, wool pants, a rope belt, and a cloak with a hood. No silk, no velvet. “Don't talk. Don't give her a chance to recognize your voice.” He'd chosen a moonless night. “I'll bring her to you.” They were to meet at his father's southernmost outrider barn. “Stay turned away until I close the door and douse the lamp. “Oh, I told her your name was Craig.”

Rory went to fetch her. For an hour Aonair waited in the dark. He paced. He ran his hands over his own face, feeling the scars on the right side of his head and the place where his burned-off ear should have been. This is never going to work. Dread boiled in the pit of his belly. I need to get out of here.

Soft voices . . .

They're coming.

Her voice was pleasant enough, “You haven't got a pig in there or something have you?”

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“He's just a little shy.”

The door creaked open. “Craig, I'd like you to meet Cara.” He shut the door and put out the light. The shadows vanished.

“Hello?” she sounded nervous.

“Ha . . . Hello. I'm a . . .”

“Yeah, your friend told me.” She pulled off his hood.

She’s reaching for my face!

Aonair grabbed for her hands, pinning them behind her back. Gently he lowered his head until his mouth found hers. Taking both her hands in one of his, his other was left to roam. His lips moved to her cheek, to her neck . . . As his free hand slid downward over her bottom, he lost his reason. When she struggled against him, he let her hands go. She ran them eagerly over his shoulders.

“Oh, you're a big one.”

He touched her face and breathed in the scent of her hair. He dared to place his left cheek against hers. Joy stole his breath. She ran her hands down his arms, until they were holding hands. As he kissed her neck and the tops of her breasts, she felt the band of gold around his right thumb.

She jumped backward, “You’re a Laoch.”

Quickly, she reached up with both hands to touch his head—and the puckered, terribly scarred skin. “You're the demon brother, the dragon-touched!”

“Please . . .” He reached for her, capturing her hands, but she kicked him.

“Let me go!”

When he released her, she ran for the door. As she opened it, letting in the faint light of the stars, she turned back to look at his hideous face and screamed.

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