Celtic Stars (Celtic Steel Book 4) Read Online Free

slow them down.  “Orla,” said Braeden, “I know yer foot hurts and I’m sorry, but we ‘ave to keep going.”  Orla shook her head in resistance and wiped her tears with the back of her right hand.  “Orla,” Braeden said again, “I can help you.”
    “I don’t need any help Braeden,” Orla said through clenched teeth.
    “Yer clearly in pain,” he remarked, “We ‘ave to keep moving.  I can carry ye.  Ye know that I can.”  Orla grew quiet.  The tears had stopped and instead been replaced with shivers, the night was unfolding, the temperature had dropped and it was starting to lightly mist. Before long, it would be raining out right, and they would be in trouble.  Indeed, if they didn’t reach their tree in time, they would be in grave danger.
    Braeden ripped the sleeve from his left arm and tied it carefully around Orla’s injured foot.  She watched but said nothing alarmed at the amount of sensitivity he displayed having never seen such tenderness before.  Braeden wasn’t exactly a hardened individual, he was more no-nonsense, practical, straightforward, and in many ways closed off.  His life experiences had left him that way, as had Orla’s.
    Lifting her chin with his right hand, Braeden looked directly into her eyes.  “Orla, I’m going to pick ye up.  There is nothing that ye can do about it.  We have to make it to the tree before it starts raining or else ye’ll catch yer death of cold.  I’m not going to argue with ye about this, ye might as well give up now.”
    Orla smiled and nodded her head.  It wasn’t often that she was left speechless.  But Braeden had made his intentions clear and she was in no mood to fight him.  He simply sighed and smiled back disbelievingly.  Just imagine what could happen if we worked together, he thought to himself.  Braeden jerked his head upright, indicating it was time to go.  Orla obligingly wrapped her arms around his neck and waited for him to lift her.  It was effortless.  She knew Braeden was strong, but she had no idea just how strong.  She caught a whiff of his scent at the back of his neck where his hair nuzzled her nose, and she knew immediately she was in deep trouble.
     

T HREE
O’Malley Keep
    Lord Patrick O’Malley and his Scottish cousin on his mother’s side, Flynn Montgomery, traversed a long and winding tunneled stairway below the great clan hall in O’Malley Castle side-by-side. They exchanged knowing looks and sighed in unison. Flynn adjusted the torch in his right hand before smoothing his long hair at the nape of his neck.
    “How is Darina?” Flynn ventured hesitantly.
    “She is resting now,” replied Patrick, remarkably without the stutter he had carried since adolescence.  “She very nearly exhausted herself and me in the process with her rantings about the games,” he added.
    “Patrick, have ye ever seen a dragon afore?” asked Flynn.
    “Nay, can’t say as I ‘ave.”
    “What do ye think caused it to – uh – um – appear then? Reckon someone beckoned it?” asked Flynn.
    “Beckoned it?” replied Patrick, before stopping mid-step and turning to face Flynn. “Jest what do ye know about dragons Flynn?”
    “Not much, I must admit,” he responded holding his hands out as if in surrender, “but me mam did speak of ‘em from time and again.”
    “And – what would yer mam know about dragons Flynn?” Patrick asked accusingly.
    “Well, she came from a long line of Dragonians. She wore a molten ring, just like ye do Patrick,” he added, pointing to the dragon crest symbol on a silver ring on Patrick’s right hand. “Yer ring, it grew hot and lit up just afore the dragon appeared, did it no’?” he inquired.
    “Aye, it did.” Patrick tipped his head to the side in contemplation, holding his hand out in front of him to get a better look at the ring. Shaking his head, he lowered his hand back to his side and leaned against the cavernous wall. “I was given the ring when me mam died. I