other Burke refugees. When Gemma found out she had been imprisoned by Easal and held against her will to do his bidding, would she believe her? Would the O'Malley clan accept her or send her back to Burke lands? And what of the dragon? Would they believe her story?
"Have ye plans for the future with her?" asked Naelyn, nodding in the direction of the sleeping Orla between them in the boat. "Have ye sights on marriage Braeden?"
"Aye," he replied, matter-of-factly. "She will be me bride."
"She will?"
"Aye, she will."
"And just what if she has something else to say about it," she asked concealing a grin.
"I'm sure she will, knowing Orla. But, I'm also confident she will come around to my way of thinking soon enough. She always does. Besides, it makes perfect sense we should be married. I will be Laird one day ye know, and she will be my Lady." His eyes twinkled at the thought. He had clearly put as much thought as his adolescent brain could muster into the idea of making a good match, for himself and his clan.
Orla moaned and shifted her weight against the floor of the small dinghy. Rubbing her eyes, she sank back down against the wet bottom in near surrender. They were all completely soaked, and worn out and bloody and beaten, but thank the gods the sun was out. At least they wouldn't "catch their deaths." Stretching her long arms overhead, Orla moaned one last, long moan before propping herself up on one arm to survey their predicament.
The island was in sight and a current seemed to be carrying them along. Neither Braeden nor Naelyn was rowing, but they were making headway in the right direction. She could be thankful she needn't row for the moment. Her hands had bled through the make-shift bandages, and Naelyn's skirt bottom was practically gone, but it had done the trick.
It would be a long, long time before she would ever trust Braeden O'Malley again. Of all the situations he had gotten them into, this was the worst. She would face terrible consequences when she got back, the least of which would be answering to Lord Patrick O'Malley. It was her mother she feared the most and her mother's sister, Odetta, that scared her even more. She voluntarily left the safety of the clan, and they must be fearing her dead at this point. How could she tell them what they found, and why they left? How could she explain that they conjured up their very own dragon?
Orla took a long, deep breath and sat up all the way, balancing herself by clutching tightly to the make-shift seat in front of her. Staring at the top of her bandaged hands, she realized it had suddenly become dark for a moment, then light again, and then dark again. Either the sun was going behind the clouds or something was casting shadows on the trio as they rocked in the boat. She shuddered to think what would be large enough to leave that kind of shadow. Still drowsy from her exhaustion induced nap, she looked up to search Braeden's face.
"Braeden," she said softly.
"Aye," he replied, just as softly, never taking his eyes off the bottom of the dinghy.
"Do ye see that shadow?" she continued.
"Aye, I see it," Naelyn interjected from behind her.
"What do ye suppose...?" Orla began.
"Tis the dragon," Braeden responded calmly to the both of them. "It's been following us for several hours yet. Don't make any sudden moves now."
"If it's been following us Braeden, why on earth have we stopped rowing?" asked Orla, tears pooling in her eyes. "Why aren't we getting to the island as fast as we can?"
"Orla, if the dragon wanted us dead, don't ye suppose we'd be dead already? We can't outrun a flying dragon. Besides, there is nothing on that island that can save us from a dragon if it knows where we are."
"He's right," said Naelyn. "If this is the dragon you summoned, I don't think it means to kill you.
"Why do you suppose it's following us then?" asked Orla.
Braeden replied, "I guess we will find out soon enough."
F IFTEEN
O'Malley
"Have ye plans for the future with her?" asked Naelyn, nodding in the direction of the sleeping Orla between them in the boat. "Have ye sights on marriage Braeden?"
"Aye," he replied, matter-of-factly. "She will be me bride."
"She will?"
"Aye, she will."
"And just what if she has something else to say about it," she asked concealing a grin.
"I'm sure she will, knowing Orla. But, I'm also confident she will come around to my way of thinking soon enough. She always does. Besides, it makes perfect sense we should be married. I will be Laird one day ye know, and she will be my Lady." His eyes twinkled at the thought. He had clearly put as much thought as his adolescent brain could muster into the idea of making a good match, for himself and his clan.
Orla moaned and shifted her weight against the floor of the small dinghy. Rubbing her eyes, she sank back down against the wet bottom in near surrender. They were all completely soaked, and worn out and bloody and beaten, but thank the gods the sun was out. At least they wouldn't "catch their deaths." Stretching her long arms overhead, Orla moaned one last, long moan before propping herself up on one arm to survey their predicament.
The island was in sight and a current seemed to be carrying them along. Neither Braeden nor Naelyn was rowing, but they were making headway in the right direction. She could be thankful she needn't row for the moment. Her hands had bled through the make-shift bandages, and Naelyn's skirt bottom was practically gone, but it had done the trick.
It would be a long, long time before she would ever trust Braeden O'Malley again. Of all the situations he had gotten them into, this was the worst. She would face terrible consequences when she got back, the least of which would be answering to Lord Patrick O'Malley. It was her mother she feared the most and her mother's sister, Odetta, that scared her even more. She voluntarily left the safety of the clan, and they must be fearing her dead at this point. How could she tell them what they found, and why they left? How could she explain that they conjured up their very own dragon?
Orla took a long, deep breath and sat up all the way, balancing herself by clutching tightly to the make-shift seat in front of her. Staring at the top of her bandaged hands, she realized it had suddenly become dark for a moment, then light again, and then dark again. Either the sun was going behind the clouds or something was casting shadows on the trio as they rocked in the boat. She shuddered to think what would be large enough to leave that kind of shadow. Still drowsy from her exhaustion induced nap, she looked up to search Braeden's face.
"Braeden," she said softly.
"Aye," he replied, just as softly, never taking his eyes off the bottom of the dinghy.
"Do ye see that shadow?" she continued.
"Aye, I see it," Naelyn interjected from behind her.
"What do ye suppose...?" Orla began.
"Tis the dragon," Braeden responded calmly to the both of them. "It's been following us for several hours yet. Don't make any sudden moves now."
"If it's been following us Braeden, why on earth have we stopped rowing?" asked Orla, tears pooling in her eyes. "Why aren't we getting to the island as fast as we can?"
"Orla, if the dragon wanted us dead, don't ye suppose we'd be dead already? We can't outrun a flying dragon. Besides, there is nothing on that island that can save us from a dragon if it knows where we are."
"He's right," said Naelyn. "If this is the dragon you summoned, I don't think it means to kill you.
"Why do you suppose it's following us then?" asked Orla.
Braeden replied, "I guess we will find out soon enough."
F IFTEEN
O'Malley
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