Story Overview
Will a noble warrior find solace in the arms of the lass he's loved since the beginning? Or is his soul already damned and the fate of Scotland doomed? Find out in A Scot’s Retribution, the steamy edge-of-your-seat epic conclusion of the entire MacLomain Series.
A Scot’s Retribution
The MacLomain Series: End of an Era
Book Five
Sky Purington
COPYRIGHT © 2020
A Scot’s Retribution
Sky Purington
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Edited by Cathy McElhaney
Cover Art by Tara West
Published in the United States of America
Contents
Story Overview
Series Overview
Introduction
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Epilogue
Dear Reader
King David II
Edward Balliol
Coming Soon
Just Curious?
Exclusive Invitation
Stonehenges, Stone of Destiny, and Bull Rock
Previous Releases-Best Reading Order
Family Trees
About the Author
Series Overview
‘End of an Era’ can mean many things, but for the MacLomain Clan, it marked the beginning of the end of their way of life. Only four short years after King Robert the Bruce led Scotland to freedom in the First War of Scottish Independence, the Second War of Scottish Independence began between the Kingdom of Scotland and the Kingdom of England. Though Robert’s wee son, David II, was made king, Edward Balliol, with the discreet backing of Edward III of England, challenged him for the throne.
Sworn to protect the rightful king, five Scots and their lasses go to David’s aid defending him against Balliol, and his band of disenfranchised nobles called the ‘disinherited.’ Though the nobles are mere mortals, the secret brotherhood who control them, are anything but. Worse yet, fighting them will come at a cost to each noble Scot. One destined to change life as they know it.
Dedication
For every MacLomain and Broun character I’ve ‘met’ and come to love over the years. Thank you for sharing all your wonderful adventures with me. You’ll never be forgotten.
Introduction
So far, four couples have ignited the power of the Claddagh ring, sealing off all four Scottish Stonehenges in an ongoing battle against evil. As each tale unravels, the MacLomains and their kin learn more about why they were targeted and what it will take to stop the enemy. Now, despite the odds stacked against them, Marek and his Broun come together to keep wee King David safe and make sure history stays on track. And so the story goes...
Prologue
Scottish Highlands
1325
“IS THIS REALLY THE end?” a little girl whimpered from deep in the woodland.
Well aware he was dreaming and quite curious why, for the first time, another was here as well, Marek headed in the direction of her voice. The sun might be setting, but he could see clearly enough.
“I don’t want it to be the end,” she cried softly. “I don’t want it to be over.”
He stopped short when unexplainable fear and trepidation washed over him. He frowned in confusion. Why was he suddenly so scared? At seven years old, he shouldn't be scared of anything anymore, but he was. In fact, he felt downright terrified. Swallowing hard, he took a few steps back but stopped at her continued whimpers.
She sounded so sad.
Too sad to be left alone.
Surely his fear merely came from the presence of a stranger in his dream.
“Ye are a MacLeod dragon,” he reminded himself, standing his ground, determined not to flee no matter how much his fear grew. “We dinnae flee in the face of evil,” he took a step and narrowed his eyes in determination, “but stand our ground,” another step and he balled his fists, “and we definitely dinnae abandon damsels in distress.”
That in mind, he took another step, then another and another until thankfully, his fear fell away as quickly as it had come, and he spied her ahead. Curled up beside a rock on a bed of unusual-looking golden flowers, she cried softly. Though, as a rule, he didn't have much use for lasses, his heart went out to her.
What should he do next, though? How to cheer her up? He really had no idea. What would da do? He gave that some thought before his gaze settled on the flowers. Ma always smiled when da gave her flowers, didn’t she?
So he picked a flower, crouched beside the lass, touched her shoulder, and held it out to her. “Might this cheer ye up, lassie?”
She jolted and scrambled back against the rock, wide-eyed. Equally jolted, he leapt back as well. What was that sense of alarm he’d just felt? At first, he thought it had to do with how she looked, but now he wasn’t so sure. For her appearance was quite becoming, he supposed. Her hair shimmered white like sunlit clouds rolling over his castle, and her eyes were the gold of bright sunlight sparkling on the North Sea.
“What are ye?” he stuttered, shaken before he remembered he was dragon, and dragons weren’t afraid of anything. So he stood his ground and tried to be brave.
Though she seemed terrified at first, the more she stared at him, the more at ease she appeared
“I’m me,” she replied in a shaky whisper. “Who are you?”
“I’m me, too.” He narrowed his eyes, quite liking this game. But then, he saw things for what they were. “Do ye know ye’re part of my imagination?”
She cocked her head, giving that some thought. “I am?”
“Aye.” He stood up a little taller so that she might truly understand his grandeur. “’Tis no small thing being part of a mighty dragon’s imagination.”
“I would think not.” She wiped away her tears and looked him over curiously. “You don’t look like a dragon.”
As usual, when he dreamt, he wore nothing but a plaid around his waist. If that weren’t enough, though he’d mastered shifting into a dragon while awake, he was unable to when he dreamt. He peered down at himself, wishing he at least had the great height and muscles of his da and grandda, but alas, he was too young.
>
“’Tis hard to see my glory right now,” he explained, “but when I am awake, ‘tis quite something.” He puffed up. “I am mighty fierce.”
“I bet you are.” She offered a wobbly smile. “Though I think you’re quite fierce just as you are.”
“Ye do?”
She nodded.
He considered her for another moment before he came to a decision. One he hoped might cheer her up along with the flower she'd yet to take. “I have good news. An honor I wish to bestow upon ye.”
Her brows perked in interest. “What’s that?”
“Me.” He grinned, plunked down beside her, and handed her the flower. “I think ye shall be my first friend who’s a lass.” He gave that a bit more thought, really wanting her to smile, considering the flower hadn’t done it yet. “In fact, if all goes well, I may even allow ye to become my mate someday.”
“What’s a mate?”
“Well, ‘twill mean we’ll hold hands,” he revealed, quite knowledgeable. “And smile at each other a lot. And even laugh together.”
“Is that all then?” She gave that some thought and sniffed her flower. “It sounds much like being friends.”
“Aye.” He nodded. “Except we might make wee bairns too.”
“What’s a bairn?”
“Us,” he stated, patting his chest. “Me.” He gestured at her. “And ye.”
“Ah.” She nodded, seeming to understand. “And how do we do that?”
“Do what?”
“Make a bairn?”
“From what I can tell, by holding hands and smiling at each other a lot,” he explained, not much interested in this topic anymore. “Why were ye crying? What did ye not want to be over?”
“I don’t know,” she whispered, pulling her knees up to her chest.
“How do ye not know?”
“I just don’t.” She sniffled a little and wiped away a stray tear. “I never know.”
“So ye’ve done this before?” He tilted his head in question. “Ye’ve been in my dreams crying because ye dinnae want things to come to an end?”
“I don’t know if I’ve been in your dream, but I’ve been beside this rock before.” She frowned at it then looked at him. “Do you know what that means?”
“Nay.” He patted her shoulder. “Dinnae fret, though, lassie. ‘Tis surely nothing considering ye’re part of my imagination.”
She seemed uncertain. “Are you sure?”
“Quite sure.” He bumped his shoulder against hers, still searching for a smile. “My mind’s a good place to be, so worry naught. ‘Tis verra exciting. Ye will enjoy it.” He grinned. “Have ye a name, then?”
“Yes.” She nodded, then shook her head. “Only I can’t remember it now.”
“’Tis unfortunate,” he murmured. “Everyone should have a name.” He gave it some thought. “How about mo charaid. It means ‘my friend’ in my language.”
“It’s long for a name, don’t you think?”
He shrugged. “Mayhap just a piece of it then.” He got it right away. “How about Chara?”
She nodded, finally offering a small smile, only to suddenly fade away then vanish when the sun hit the horizon.
“Och, nay!” He stood and spun, looking everywhere, wanting her to come back. Nay, needing her to. Panicked, he called out, “Chara, where are ye, lass? Where did ye go?” He raced into the forest, searching desperately, missing her even though they had only just met. “Come, back, lass! Dinnae leave me!”
She would be caught.
Destroyed.
Cease to exist.
“Run,” he roared, not understanding his own words. Where they came from. Why he felt she was almost out of time. In perilous danger. “Run and dinnae look back!” Then, though it broke his heart. “For if I catch ye, all will be lost. Ye will be lost!”
Chapter One
MacLeod Territory
Scottish Highlands
1346
Twenty-One Years Later
“WAKE UP, FRIEND,” LEVIATHAN urged, dodging Marek’s fist when he woke up swinging.
“Bloody hell, ye know better than to wake me when...” Marek began before trailing off. He ran a hand over his face and shook his head. “’Tis bad enough dealing with me when I’m awake. Ye need not risk my wrath when I’m sleeping.”
Since Marek had realized he might very well be evil and part of the Irish Brotherhood intent on ending the MacLomain’s lineage before it began, he’d been on edge. Quick to lash out. Sometimes because he hated who he might have been in another life. Sometimes, and more daunting by far lately, because he was randomly possessed by something dark and sinister.
“I’ve risked far worse wraths than you waking in a foul mood.” The Viking gestured at the table and freshly roasted hare. “Eat. We leave soon.”
Determined to help Marek on his venture, Leviathan had come to his aid only days before. Though he appeared young enough, the Viking was referred to as an ‘Ancient’ and had been tasked with mentoring the latest generation of Marek’s Viking ancestors. Yet now it seemed something loomed in ancient Scandinavia that made Leviathan’s presence here in Scotland crucial. What that was, remained a mystery.
Marek braced his head in hands, battling another headache, glad to hear they would be putting some distance between him and his castle. Distance between himself and those he loved. Kin he might harm at any time. “Where are we going?”
“The future.” Leviathan doused the fire. “Twenty-first century New Hampshire.”
“Och, nay.” He shook his head, fearing for whatever Broun awaited him. Praying that somehow, by the grace of the gods, it was Chara. “Ye know I changed my mind about that. ‘Tis far too risky with me being possessed so easily.”
It was bad enough they’d come to this cottage so close to his castle when he shouldn't be near anyone, but Leviathan thought it best. Even though Marek couldn't get any closer to his home, his proximity allowed him to gain strength from his dragon kin. Not just that, but the Viking felt this place would keep Marek’s demons at bay at least for a short time.
In truth, it had in its own way, too.
Where some thought he’d come here over the years to carry on a secret liaison with Nessa MacLauchlin, he’d done no such thing. Rather, Nessa was here with someone else, and he, at a nearby cottage getting undisturbed sleep so he could be with Chara.
Despite his bizarre reaction after she’d left his dream the first time when she was only five, she had returned many times over without further issue. In fact, he remembered every dream. The things they had talked about. The promises he had made. One above all that he must see through no matter what.
A promise he had made the second time he met her.
“Ye sound like my ma who’s from the future.” He had sat down beside her because she was afraid to leave the rock she appeared beside. “Which is worth noting considering ye’re part of my imagination.” He’d frowned. “What do ye make of that?”
She’d shrugged. “Maybe part of your imagination is from the future?”
“Do ye think?” He’d given that some thought, liking the sound of it. Seeing all sorts of possibilities. “Do ye think that gives me the gift of foresight then? That I can see into the future because part of my mind is from there?”
She nodded and smiled, far less teary this visit. “That would mean you can find me wherever I am, right? If I’m from your mind’s future.”
“Aye.” He grinned, not having the heart to tell her she was part of his imagination, so he should be able to find her anyway. “I will always be able to find ye, Chara.” Then, because he wanted to keep her smiling. “And I will always keep ye safe. Ye have my word.”
“We have to go,” Leviathan repeated, ripping him from his memory. “It’s time.”
“I swore to Chara I would keep her safe,” he reminded. “If she’s one of the Brouns in the future, there’s a good chance I’m putting her in mortal danger. That I might be the one who ends her.” He frowned.
“Why do we need to go now, anyway? What’s happening?”
“The demi-goddess’s powers are waning,” Leviathan revealed, referring to the unknown goddess they recently learn was part of all this. “She will not be able to protect your woman much longer.” His knowing gaze landed on Marek. “You just dreamt of Chara, yes? You went back to the beginning? When you first met?”
“Aye,” he confirmed, not overly surprised the Viking knew. “Yer dragon sensed it, then?”
“Yes.” Leviathan gestured at the food. “Grab some meat. We must go.” He paused as if sensing something more. “Sooner rather than later.”
“I willnae put her life at risk with...” he began only for the Viking to shoot him a hard look and cut him off.
“You will. Now.” Leviathan’s dragon eyes flared, a daunting sight even by dragon standards. “If you do not, all will be lost. The MacLomains will cease to exist, as will the MacLeods and Hamiltons. Every last one of you will vanish, and along with you, all the good your kin has done for Scotland.”
While not frightened of Leviathan, Marek was wise enough to know he couldn’t take the Ancient down. As tall and well-muscled as Marek, it was clear in the Viking’s every move he was a force to be reckoned with.
Leviathan had been around for centuries and, like his fellow Ancients, ran more aggressive than most. A fighter to the bone, he would undoubtedly embrace ruthlessness over reasoning when it came to fighting fellow male dragons. According to Tiernan, who had traveled back in time to help their Viking ancestors during their last war, Ancients were an altogether different breed. First-generation dragons on this planet, their behavior leaned more toward those from dragonkind’s homeworld, Múspellsheimr. Dominant and primal. Often outright animalistic.
Marek got the impression that Leviathan had learned to temper his innate aggressions better than most. Likely because he’d been recruited by one of the most powerful dragons on Múspellsheimr to mentor the next generation of MacLomain Viking ancestor descendants. His mission, it seemed, was to prepare them for another great war.
A Scot's Retribution (The MacLomain Series: End of an Era Book 5) Page 1