A Scot's Resolve (The MacLomain Series: End of an Era, #3)

by Purington, Sky

  “Aye, I would say so.” David chuckled as well. “If I werenae who I am, I would have joined him. But alas, a king does not behave like that with a ghost. ‘Twould have made me seem daft!”

  “Aye, lad, unfortunately, ye’re right,” Marek said aloud though he spoke telepathically to Cray and Madison. “I can tell by the look in your eyes and by your dragons’ emotional responses that you know this wee dragon well.”

  “Aye.” Ready to be honest, he told his brother everything, despite him having likely already figured out most of it anyway. “’Tis without doubt wee Ceann.”

  Marek glanced from Madison to Cray, surprised, alluding to what they had wondered since David shared his news. “And your mate has been in heat the whole time? ‘Tis telling that, aye?”

  “’Tis something,” he agreed, wishing he could see Ceann as well. Wondering why only the king could.

  “Like you said,” Madison reminded. “Kids are just more sensitive to things than adults sometimes.”

  “Verra true.” He looked at David. “So, the wee dragon was outside our tent this morn?”

  “Aye.” The king nodded. “He even went inside. ‘Twas then that I decided I best tell yer brother what I saw.”

  The idea that their son had been with them that morning struck a nerve for them both. Did Ceann know about everything that had happened in their previous life? Did he remember?

  “Is he here now?” Madison looked around the tent. “Is the dragon here?”

  “Nay.” David shook his head. “I havenae seen him since he went into yer tent, but then I havenae been outside watching either.”

  “Well, thank you for sharing, King David.” Madison squeezed his shoulders gently and stood. “We appreciate it more than you know.”

  “Does he have something to do with what’s coming?” David asked, a hint of sadness in his eyes. He looked between Madison and Cray. “Is Regent Murray in trouble now?”

  “Aye,” Cray replied, knowing it was best to be honest with the lad. Babying him would do him no favors. “But ‘twill not be as bad as before.”

  If history went as it should, that is.

  “And ye will be well protected indeed,” Ethyn added, joining them. He winked at David. “How else can it be with three dragons and a wizard watching over ye?”

  It was clear the lad had taken to his cousin, but then Ethyn's typical jovial nature tended to surface around bairns.

  “Aye, then.” Having come far from being the timid lad he had been when his da died, David looked at them all with pride. “Ye have my thanks as well as Scotland’s for yer undying devotion to king and country.”

  Devotion they intended to see through as they joined Archibald and Andrew later that day in wait at Roxburgh Bridge on the English-Scottish border. Though unseen as of yet, Edward Balliol was not all that far off.

  Not for the first time, Madison’s eyes met his with hope. Was their son about? Was he trying to make his way back to them? How else could it be? Though they had talked about it en route here, there was no way to know for sure.

  “Have you an eye on Ethyn and the man they call Ralph Golding?” he asked his brother.

  As history told it, Ralph would be the cause of Andrew’s downfall in this battle.

  “Aye,” Marek replied. “Though I dinnae think we’ve much to worry about with Ethyn. I’m convinced that wolf’s turned him too mad for anyone to want to possess him.”

  When Cray perked a brow in question, Marek sighed and shook his head. “He’s out in the woodland again looking for the bloody beast rather than seeing to history as he should.”

  “Bloody hell,” he cursed then shrugged. “But then, ‘tis better than having to fight him again.”

  “Aren’t you guys worried about his behavior?” Madison frowned at them. “More so, about Phelan’s?” Her eyes widened as she thought about it. As she reflected on Phelan being at the Stonehenge. The wolf was clearly part of all this and perhaps susceptible to the brotherhood. “What if wolves can be possessed, and she rips out Ethyn's throat before he hooks up with his Broun?”

  “Somehow, I dinnae think that will happen, lass.” Marek shook his head as they dismounted. “That beastie cares too much about Ethyn to let herself get possessed.”

  “Aye.” Worried about her, Cray cupped Madison’s shoulders after she got off the horse. “Best that you stay put.” He eyed the rising river and Archibald’s men who were starting to break apart the bridge. “There will be fighting and mayhem. ‘Tis best you remain out of harm’s way.”

  “I don’t think I’m supposed to have come all this way to stay out of it.” She gave him a look. “Granted, my battle skills are limited, but my magic’s obviously kicking in seeing how I chanted us out of clothing.”

  “Aye, but you dinnae ken how you did that,” he reminded, sighing.

  “We’re supposed to do this together, and you know it,” she persisted. “Just give me another dagger, and I’ll be okay.”

  “Aye, no doubt in the only way your dragon knows how,” he grumbled. “By shifting and making history indeed.”

  “Doubtful,” she began, truly having no idea if her dragon would or wouldn’t do that. She was getting pretty good at sensing what it was trying to tell her, though.

  Like right now as he sensed a strange feeling wash over her.

  “We’ve got to distract them,” she murmured, clearly convinced that was the only way to see this through. “We need to lure them away from possessing Ralph Golding or even the regent.” She shook her head. “And we don’t have much time, so we need to do it now.”

  He considered her. Trusted her. “What did you have in mind?”

  “I don’t quite know.” She narrowed her eyes, trying to chase the feeling. “All I know is we need to head into the woods away from people...somewhere I can shift without being seen.”

  “Och, nay,” he started to say, but she touched his forearm and looked into his eyes, stopping his denial.

  “Don’t you sense it?” she said. “This is the only way.”

  He kept his eyes with hers for a moment before he nodded once, knowing she was right. “Aye, then.”

  He helped her onto the horse then swung up behind her as history started to unravel. A warning bell chimed from a nearby town. Not to alert Murray unfortunately, but to warn Balliol that the regent lay in wait, ready to attack. He and Madison told Marek what they were doing then raced into the woodland, speaking telepathically all the while.

  “There is a bend and a sizable boulder ahead,” he said. “We should find plenty of privacy there.” He hesitated, trying to sense what came next. “How are we luring them, lass? What makes us more important than seeing history changed?”

  “I don’t know.”

  He knew she wondered why she wasn’t sensing more. Had she somehow been led astray? Their minds seemed to merge all the more as they raced into the forest. Her vision hazed red, and her skin heated.

  “This isn’t the time to be in heat,” she muttered under her breath, her thoughts swirling around his. She wasn’t aroused. Rather it felt like fire consumed her...then mayhap showed her something.

  “Let me down,” she managed. “I need to get off this horse.”

  “Aye, lass.” Having gotten to the location he had in mind, he stopped, swung down, and pulled her after him. His vision remained red as he looked into her fiery eyes, and his inner dragon responded to something too.

  For a moment, it was almost as if he saw through her eyes.

  She blinked once, twice before she saw Maeve standing nearby with her hand on her womb, looking at Madison like she had before. A flash later, she was gone, but she knew either Maeve herself or the vision had triggered something.

  “Did you see her?” she murmured. “Did you see Maeve?”

  “Aye.” He scanned the forest, troubled as he withdrew his Viking blade, and kept her close. “I sense something coming.”

  “Aye, ‘tis coming and coming fast,” Grant agreed, appearing alongside th
em. “’Twas in Ralph Golding now ‘tis coming for you.” He looked at Madison curiously. “You have their undivided attention, lass.” He shook his head. “And that is no small thing.”

  “I know, but why,” she whispered, desperate to understand. “Why are they so drawn...”

  Before she could finish her question, she doubled over in pain and sank to her knees, clutching her stomach.

  “Oh, no,” she whispered when Cray fell to his knees as well, trying to understand what was wrong with her. What she had just figured out. “We didn’t lure them.” Her vision grew blurry as she met his eyes. “He did.”

  All of a sudden, their surroundings twisted in fire then became the Machrie Stonehenge. For a moment in time, she and Cray were young dragons again, playing around the stone that was theirs. A rock that once resided in Ireland but now sat in Scotland. Fire sizzled around them again, and they were kneeling in the fog-steeped Irish Stonehenge facing the unicorn. Then everything shifted once more, and they were back at the Scottish Stonehenge.

  Only this time, they were not alone.

  He could hardly believe his eyes when a small golden ethereal dragon appeared beside them.

  “Ceann,” Madison whispered, as overcome with emotion as he was. Tears trickled down her cheeks. Looking at him with awe, they remained on their knees at eye level with their offspring. “It’s really you, isn’t it?”

  Ceann didn’t speak but cocked his head one way then the other before he attempted to nuzzle them. Sadly, as he soon realized, physical contact was impossible in his transparent state. Yet he tried again only to stop short, suddenly sensing something. Moments after he whimpered in warning, the Stonehenge twirled away, and they were once again in the forest alongside Grant.

  Fortunately, Ceann was still with them.

  Regrettably, so were several black-eyed monks who glared at their son with hatred.

  “They can’t risk him being reborn,” Madison said into his mind, evidently figuring things out. “If he is, it will disrupt everything a great deal. It will weaken the power they have over the Irish Stonehenge.”

  “Reborn.” He frowned and took up a defensive position in front of her and Ceann, not caring that his offspring was a spirit, so couldn’t technically be killed. “What is to happen to him if he isnae reborn?”

  “I think we both know,” she replied softly as the monks snarled.

  “Bloody hell, nay,” he growled in return, horrified as he understood.

  They meant to take his son’s spirit.

  Before he could figure out how to stop them, they engaged him. It didn’t take long to figure out that they fought with such skillful precision that beating them might be impossible. Until that is, he heard a very distinct growl.

  Madison had shifted, and her dragon reared up behind him.

  Meanwhile, an awe-struck and very loving wee Ceann tried harder than ever to rub up against his mother, but his form just kept sliding through her.

  “Bloody hell,” he muttered under his breath, swinging both his sword and ax to fend off the enemy. They were no average monks though and clearly a stronger lot than the one they had fought in the cave. Even worse, seen clearly in their intensified fighting, they were truly threatened by Ceann and meant to see what was left of his son destroyed.

  Roaring in rage, he went at them with everything he had, grateful when Ethyn suddenly jumped into the fray alongside his wolf. Phelan growled and tore at the monks’ robes, but it was clear she was no match for these monsters. Nor was Ethyn because of his fluctuating magic.

  Swords clashed as the monks chanted, and harnessed dark magic. In response, lightning flashed over his Viking sword and gave him extra strength as they came at him faster still. Madison’s dragon did the best she could, roaring fire at them while instinctually protecting Ceann.

  Yet the bastards were tricky, backed, as they now knew, by Celtic death himself. Their murky evil fog wrapped around the battling, edging closer to Ceann, filling both him and Madison with all-too-familiar dread.

  So it was no surprise when Madison took action and did what she could.

  She wrapped her wings around Ceann, becoming an immovable barrier between him and death itself. Pure terror filled Cray as the brotherhood’s sole focus became his mate and son. Despite how fiercely he, Ethyn, and Phelan went at them, their power was too strong, their intent unrelenting as they barraged Madison with darkness.

  Time seemed to stand still as his eyes met hers, and history, though reversed, repeated itself.

  Pain ravaged her features, and her body shook as she stood her ground. She was willing to die for their son, him and ultimately Scotland if that’s what it took.

  “Nay,” he roared, unwilling to lose her again.

  It would not end like this.

  They would not be consumed and used by the enemy.

  Enraged, he swung his sword at the blackness and roared with fury. Again and again, over and over, embracing not just his inner berserker but the deep love he felt for his family. For those this darkness meant to destroy. Yet the harder he fought, the further away they seemed, and the faster the darkness enveloped them. It twisted and turned, wrapping around them like a serpent.

  High.

  Higher.

  Almost there.

  Fresh terror filled him. This could not happen again. He would never survive it.

  Petrified he was losing them, that he was almost out of time, he roared in fury yet again only for the unexpected to happen. His vision blazed brighter red, and the world grew smaller. It took a moment to fully grasp what was going on. What wonders were at work. But bloody hell, wonders were indeed at hand, and at long last, it had happened.

  The curse that had been cast upon him had finally broken.

  His dragon had surfaced.

  He roared with joy, his dragon reveling in freedom only to keen in pain when he realized what had transpired during his shift. Nothing but a soupy black mass remained where Madison had just been.

  “Mate,” he roared into her mind, trying to find her. But her essence was too far away and dwindling quickly.

  Until within the darkness, he saw a tiny spark of light struggling to break free.

  Her Claddagh ring was calling to him.

  Lighting the way.

  Desperate to save her and Ceann, he did the only thing he could. He wrapped his wings around the darkness, determined to shelter them wherever they were.

  Unimaginable pain tore through him as he held on tight when it pushed back. When it tried to shake him off. But death didn’t know what it was dealing with. The lengths he would go for family.

  “Cray,” Madison called out to him as if from far, far away.

  “Madison,” he called back. “I’m here. I’m coming for ye!”

  He was too, no matter what it took.

  Which, as it turned out, was by the continued ever brightening golden light of her Claddagh ring. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he was dying. That she had already died. But it didn’t matter. He was closing the distance, and they would be together again.

  He would never give up.

  He would sacrifice anything.

  Everything.

  The moment he thought it, her Claddagh ring became brighter still. A beacon in the darkness he prayed would bring him to them. A light that shined brighter and brighter leading the way before it faded into the dim glow of a setting sun.

  The monks and darkness had vanished.

  Better yet, they had been driven away.

  His heart raced as he peered down through his wings.

  Would his kin be there? Or had the brotherhood got them somehow?

  Stark relief washed over him when he spied Madison’s dragon peering back then Ceann’s by the light of the Claddagh ring. They had made it. He hadn't lost them. He peered around at Machrie Stonehenge to make sure all was well before lowering his wings. Reveling in finally being together as dragons, he rubbed his neck against Madison’s affectionately.

  Sh
e, in turn, purred before she stilled and looked down.

  When Ceann looked back at them with sadness, his heart sank.

  “Something must be sacrificed,” Madison murmured, her grief obvious.

  “Aye, lass,” Grant said softly, appearing beside them more whole than he’d ever been.

  That’s when he realized that, like his cousins before him, he was in the land of the dead. And Grant, as he had before, had come to collect what it would take to close off this Stonehenge and keep Scotland safe.

  “I dinnae ken,” his dragon growled, not liking this. “Have we not lost enough already, Uncle? Who do ye mean to take from me?”

  “I think ye know.” Sadness saturated Grant’s eyes. “I think deep down ye’ve always known.”

  “Och, nay.” He shook his head and put his wings around his family. “Ye’ll not take them. Neither of them.”

  “Nay, lad,” Grant murmured, his kind eyes on Ceann. “Just the one.”

  “Nay.” He kept shaking his head, well aware Madison was just as defiant. “Ye’ll not take our offspring.”

  “’Tis all right, da,” came a soft wee voice he hadn’t heard beyond his memory in far too long. Ceann, in his ethereal state, stepped free of them and looked up, no longer a trembling frightened little dragon but quite brave.

  “’Twould not be right not to sacrifice alongside the beastie.” Ceann looked back and forth between them, referring to the unicorn. “Not when it allowed ma to go back to my siblings so they would not be alone.”

  He and Madison swelled with pride at what a courageous soul Ceann had become.

  “This isn’t fair,” Madison sobbed, heartbroken. “You never deserved this, Ceann. I’m so sorry.” She shook her head. “Please don’t go.”

  Though she asked it, they both knew if he could go somewhere forever safe from the brotherhood, he should. Which, if one thought about it, wasn’t a sacrifice but a mercy.

  That’s when they realized.

  Ceann leaving wasn’t what would be sacrificed.

  He could see it in Grant’s sad eyes.

  “What is it, Uncle?” His sense of alarm grew. “What are you not telling us?”

  “That the consequences of our actions at the Irish Stonehenge so long ago are worse than we thought,” Madison said softly. Her dragon trembled ever-so-slightly as she understood moments before him. “Far, far worse.”