In response, Cathal stared at her. Then his back rippled, puzzling Sophia briefly. When she realized that the movement was his attempt at a shrug, she realized a more important fact as well. “You’re not capable of speech in this form, are you?”
The great head swung back and forth.
She had to laugh. “One of us, perchance, could have thought to broach that subject beforehand, could we not? Oh well…I’m more attentive to detail in my experiments, I promise you.”
Laughter rumbled through Cathal’s chest. Sophia supposed it was laughter, at any rate, and devoutly hoped so. Taking another step forward, she clasped her hands behind her back and studied him, beginning to walk a circle in order to get a better look.
Her mind had immediately jumped to warhorses, the largest animals she’d seen at all close to her, for comparison. In truth, Cathal’s dragon form was shaped more like an outsize dog or cat, closer to the ground and built to spring. Predatory, of course: she’d seen the results of that after his hunt, and the claws, large as they were, looked very sharp. So did the teeth. The tail, currently still behind him, was long and articulated; she could see it snapping around like a whip, but with far greater force than a man’s arm could provide.
Circling, she examined his wings, now folded at his sides. Without scales, they still had thicker skin than a bat’s and a sheen of their own where the sun caught them. The geometry was difficult, especially in her mind, but she thought that, extended, they’d fill half the clearing. “You are,” Sophia said thoughtfully, emboldened by Cathal’s silence, “a terriblyvastcreature. And yet…lack of ambition isn’t the only check on your kind, is it? I would wager there are beings as powerful, or greater.”
He nodded, a motion like the swaying of the great pines in the wind.
“But then, there would have to be, of course,” she said, wrinkling her nose at her own lack of thought and going on. “But worldly beings, or as worldly as you are.”
Now she was coming back around, by the other side of his face. Around his eyes and his mouth, the scales lightened in color, becoming a gold-green like spring leaves, and they were smaller. They still looked both shiny and hard, though.
On impulse, she held out a hand, near the base of his head but not yet touching him. “May I?”
Cathal swung his head around to look at her: startled, maybe? Thoughtful? She couldn’t tell. Then he nodded again.
Feeling slightly embarrassed, Sophia closed the distance between them and laid her palm on his neck. The scales were smooth beneath her fingers, and very warm—well, that stood to reason. “Does it… Do you feel that?”
Again he made an attempt at shrugging and finished by shaking his head:not really.
She smiled. “It’s no wonder that you don’t wound easily.” One shape, of course, lent its qualities to the other, and Cathal’s dragon form looked as if nothing but a mounted charge would have left any impression.
Stepping back, she folded her arms again. “It begins to feel awkward,” she said, “when you can’t speak. If we were to do this often, we would likely need to make a series of signs.” Then she felt ridiculous—of course they wouldn’t do this often. Why would they? Sophia fought the urge to look away. “If you don’t wish to change back, of course… That is to say, I could find my way back to the castle by myself, most likely, or wait out here, as you prefer. You could, ah, cough once for the former option or twice for the latter, or—”
The world blurred again. The transformation seemed faster the other way around, though that might have only been because Sophia wasn’t trying to watch this time. She saw a shimmer; then she saw Cathal, running a hand through his tawny hair and half smiling, as if surprised by the last few minutes.
“Truly,” she said, laughing, “if either of us is to look so astounded, I would claim the right far sooner than you.”
“You do.” Cathal crossed the distance between them and put a hand under her chin, tilting it up so that he could look into her eyes. “You did.”
The pose and the touch were both most improper. Sophia made no objection. Her whole body hummed with feeling, and even drawing breath to answer made her aware of Cathal’s scent—metal, leather, and wine, woodsmoke and man—and of the way her breasts rose and fell with the action. Cathal didn’t watch them, though. His eyes stayed fixed on hers.
“And?” she asked, breathless, struggling to find words. “Is there any wonder in that?”
“You weren’t afraid.”
“Oh.” She was slow to grasp the sense of it, and when she did, it made her laugh—and she laughed more as he looked startled again. Not all of the humor was pleasant. “My lord MacAlasdair, you’re a Christian, a man, and a lord of men. This place is yours, and more than remote. What danger would your malice hold for me in that form that it wouldn’t in this?” She touched the sleeve of his tunic.
The touch or the thought, or both, held him frozen for a moment, eyes narrowed. The hand on her chin tightened, not unpleasantly, and then quickly dropped back to Cathal’s side. “Truly?”
Sophia shrugged. “Fire might be less pleasant from a dragon than from a mob, I suppose. Claws or teeth might hurt more than the edge of a blade. I cannot say I’ve heard much comparison, and I doubt I’d have much time to make it.” Reluctantly, she stepped back, away from his touch. “And I think we should be returning.”
“Yes. Duties.” He shook his head, like a dog shaking off water, and bent down to the edge of the spot where he’d lain as a dragon. Turning back to her, he held out his cupped hands, with three green scales in the midst. “Here.”
“Truly?” It was her turn to ask, but Sophia was reaching for them as soon as she saw them. She thought of experiments, of the plans she’d made before reaching Loch Arach and the possibilities that they might open for Fergus.
She stopped, looking at Cathal and waiting for his answer.
“There are always a few after we transform. Usually we bury them.” He shrugged quickly. “I’ve owed you these for a while.”
Nineteen
After that, Cathal kept thinking about danger. He’d thought he understood it, both the rare instances when it applied to him and the more general principles of keeping the mortals in his charge safe. He knew his responsibilities; he’d done his best as a soldier and then as a lord to fulfill them.
