by Mary Morgan
Joseph roared with laughter, and Alastair held his hands over his ears in protest.
“Ye drink without food in your belly, MacKay. Not a good blend. Come, I have bread and cheese.”
Alastair shuffled over to the table. His stomach growled when the aroma of the freshly baked bread hit his senses. Tearing off a piece, he shoved it into his mouth. Joseph placed another mug in front of him, and he drank its contents.
They both sat in silence eating their meal.
Afterwards, Joseph rose from his chair to retrieve his pipe. Lighting it, he inhaled deeply.
“If ye are going to smoke that bloody stick, I think I will take my leave,” grumbled Alastair. He stood and gathered his sack. As he made his way outside, he overheard Joseph mumble something about an ungrateful visitor.
Poking his head back inside, he said, “Thank ye, my friend. And ye can give my thanks to Allison for the bread, too.”
“She will be pleased to hear ye enjoyed it. And when can I expect a barrel of what ye are carrying?” Joseph asked as a trail of smoke swirled around his head.
“I will send Steiner with it before we leave at dawn.” He waved his farewell over his head as he headed toward the stream.
Following a path he knew well, he climbed over a boulder and proceeded to strip. Plunging head first into the cold stream cleared the last remnants of pain from his head. A raven flew past reminding him of the Morrigan and battles. His thoughts returned to what Joseph had told him about FitzGodebert.
Splashing water over his face, he gazed at the passing bird. “Perchance it is time to take ourselves away from the battles.”
Striding out of the water, Alastair sat on the boulder warming his body and pondering plans. Would the men agree to a new direction? A new land? The sea could take them anywhere.
He stretched and dressed quickly, anxious to plot out a new path.
****
Gruff voices surrounded Fiona in a language that was a mix of Gaelic and English. They spoke so fast her head swam trying to concentrate on what they were saying. Her body ached, and her eyes refused to open. And what was that stench?
Where are you, Rory? Was he arguing with someone? Because that’s what it sounded like.
Suddenly, a fight broke out, and she wrenched her eyes open to the horror in front of her. Good God! Men dressed in tattered medieval clothing, which had seen better days, were fighting with swords a few feet away, while others watched cheering them on with fists raised in the air.
Her nightmare had come to life right before her eyes.
She glanced around recognizing nothing. Gone were the trees and soft grasses. Now, it was dirt and the smell of un-bathed bodies. Survival instincts took over, and she scooted away from the group of mad men. They continued to fight over what she didn’t know or care to find out. Fleeing was her only thought, so she stood on shaky limbs and turned abruptly to run.
Instead, Fiona slammed into a giant. He stood with his arms crossed over his chest, glaring at her.
There was nowhere to run. She was trapped.
His gaze traveled over her body, and he grasped her arm, pulling her against his chest. Fiona gagged on reflex, since he reeked of all things foul. She tried to pull away, but his fingers dug into her arm, and she cried out in pain.
Immediately the fighting stopped and all heads turned toward her. Lust and hatred filled each of their faces and panic seized her body.
One of the men yelled out to the one holding her in an iron grip. This time she understood what he said. Her shoulders sagged with relief, since he stated no harm was to befall her. Until he ended with orders to prepare her for the trading.
Sold? They were going to sell her? Like hell they are! Fiona twisted with all her might and let out a blood-curdling scream. Her captor slapped her hard across the face.
The one who gave the orders stalked forward, pushing her out of the way and plunging his sword into her captor.
Fiona’s stomach lurched, and she vomited onto the ground. She watched in horror as the man cleaned his sword on the clothes of the dead man. He then grasped her chin in a firm hold, causing tears to form from the pain.
“If ye cause any more trouble, I will give ye to my men for their pleasures, and then I will slit your throat. Do ye understand?”
Fiona nodded as best she could.
The man barked orders, and someone came forth with a rope. Her captor roughly bound her hands tightly together. Afterwards, he firmly groped her breasts. “A mighty handful. Ye will fetch a good bargain and these will make up for the lack of hair.” He pulled on one of her curls before pushing her toward the man who’d brought him the rope.
She stumbled along as her new captor held the end of her leash. Maybe if I close my eyes this will all end. Wake up, Fiona! This can’t be real. Yet, when she opened her eyes, the dreadfulness of her situation still surrounded her.
They passed a cluster of small houses and for a moment, she wanted to yell out for help. Although, looking around, she noticed no one seemed to care. In fact, one of the women actually waved to the leader of the horrid gang. When they walked past a group of other men, they gave her that same look—one of lust. Someone whistled at her, then grabbed his crotch making lewd gestures. Fiona quickly looked away.
This is hell! Then an idea struck. Could I have a fever causing me to hallucinate? She tried to think of anything that could have contributed to this insane nightmare of illusions.
Her captor gave her a quick yank snapping her out of her thoughts. They were now moving along a hill overlooking the harbor. Various small vessels lined the dock, some offloading goods.
Hearing loud shouts, she turned toward the sound. Standing on a platform were men, women, and children. Some were huddled together, and Fiona wondered if they were families. A small child cried out when one of the men pulled her out of her mother’s arms. The man tugged the woman away, and the child wailed in protest.
Fiona’s mind raced. Slave trading right before her eyes, and she would be tossed in with the rest. She realized no candle or soothing words from her Nana could take away the horrors of what she was experiencing.
“If it was only that simple,” she muttered.
Her captor jerked her to a stop. He stood with his arms crossed across his chest. She watched as their leader made his way to the platform, waving his hand to one of the men in charge. After a brief exchange, he motioned to her captor to bring her along.
She stumbled forward looking around for any sign of escape. There were people in front and the water at her back. Her mind kept screaming at her to do something.
But what? And where could she go?
Her captor shoved her onto the platform.
An outburst of shouting erupted from the crowd. The leader came forward, shoving her coat back off her shoulders to expose her breasts fully to the crowd. Some cheered, while others shouted out bargains. One man came forward and pulled on her hair.
Her medieval nightmare was torturing her, and she felt dizzy. I. Will. Not. Faint.
At once, the crowd started to part.
Fiona thought her first captor was a giant. She was wrong.
The man striding forward in the middle of the mob was taller than everyone else. His fur-lined cloak whipped around him as he stormed down the hill. His long dark hair hung in waves past his shoulders, and she noticed he had braids on each side of his face.
The closer he came, the more Fiona began to tremble. His face bore a deep crescent scar from his left eyebrow down below his cheek. This giant was a demon, and some actually crossed themselves as he passed them.
When he reached the platform, he narrowed his eyes and glared at the two men by her side. They instantly stepped away.
As with everyone else, he was no different. He looked her up and down, though when he gazed into her eyes for a moment, Fiona saw confusion.
The demon spoke. “How much do ye want, Robert?”
“Ye cannot have her.” He spit onto the ground in front of the
man.
The monster’s voice remained deadly calm. “And why would that be?”
“Ye have nothing to offer.”
Fiona saw the shift of color in the demon’s green eyes. It was enough for the man called Robert to back away.
“I dinnae want any trouble.”
The giant leaned his head down. “Would ye take these?” He pulled out a small pouch and opened it. Pulling out several stones, he held them aloft. “Amber from the Northmen’s homeland.”
Robert’s eyes went wide, but then he crossed his arms. “I will take the lot and a barrel of your whisky.”
The man arched a brow. “How do ye ken I have whisky?”
“Do ye take me for a fool, MacKay?”
“Nae, Robert, but only foolish if ye do not take my offer of ten stones and one barrel.”
The moments stretched out between the two men, and Fiona’s heart pounded in her chest. She was being traded for amber stones and a damn barrel of whisky. And what had Robert called him?
“Done!” Robert spit into his hand and held it out.
Instead of shaking his hand, he dropped the ten stones onto his palm. He waved over his head and another man came forth. “Have Steiner bring me a barrel of my whisky.”
“The Kelly won’t be pleased.”
“Do not worry about him. I will send Steiner with another of my private stash.”
“Aye.”
Robert stepped aside. “I do not understand why ye would want this one.”
“I do not expect ye to,” replied her new captor.
Fiona’s eyes went wide when her demon took a hold of her rope and walked her away from the crowd.
As soon as they passed the hoard of people, he turned to face her. “What is your name, lass?”
Her tongue felt as if it were plastered to the roof of her mouth.
“Can ye not speak?” he asked.
“Fi…ona…Fiona O’Quinlan,” she stammered.
Chapter Ten
“There are times in life when the Fates have woven your life threads into knots. You may stay fixed on that path, or weave another.”
“O’Quinlan?” MacKay growled.
Fiona refused to show fear to her new captor. Until this horrid nightmare ceased and she woke, she would pretend it wasn’t real.
“Isn’t that what I said?”
Green eyes glared back at her. “So your brother sold ye. Why?”
She frowned in confusion. “I don’t have a brother.”
“Are ye not kin to the O’Quinlan of Navan?”
She swallowed. Memories of working on the dig in Navan came rushing back. Rory told her to take a walk, which led her wandering into an ancient grove of oaks. What did he tell her? Was it to rest? Her head throbbed trying to recall his words.
Instinctively, she reached up to rub her temples as best she could. “I have no one,” she muttered.
“Humph! Follow me.”
“Do I have a choice?”
The man kept on walking. “Aye. I can sell ye back.”
Would he do that? In truth, she would rather stay with this man than the other one. She felt safe, if you could call it that. And he wasn’t tugging her along like some sheep.
Gathering up the end of the rope, Fiona followed the man down the path, which curved along the water. Many smaller boats were docked at the edge, some with men, and others empty.
Where in God’s earth was she?
Tripping over a fallen log, Fiona fell flat on her face. “Ouch!”
At once, strong arms pulled her up. His face so close, she could see the dimple in his chin beneath the shadow of his beard. Yet, it was those lips that caught her attention—full and sensual. Lips that could devour a woman. A slight tremor ran down her spine.
Releasing her, he backed away.
“Thanks,” she mumbled. What is wrong with you, Fiona? Did you hit your head?
He drew forth his dirk. “Hold your arms out.”
Confused, Fiona complied. In one swift slice, he cut through her bonds. Rubbing at her wrists, she smiled up at him. “Thank you…again.”
He didn’t respond but turned and walked away.
She quickly followed, keeping her focus more on her footing and not on the man in front of her. They passed several more boats, and then the path narrowed. She halted when the man waved to his crew on a ship alone by the dock.
A Viking ship with a dragon at its bow.
“I’m so not in my Ireland.” She watched as he seemed to be giving orders. Then he turned to face her along with all the other men.
Her feet moved hesitantly forward. Where else could she go?
“Great Odin. What is it?” asked one of the men.
Fiona’s mouth gaped open.
MacKay snorted. “She claims her name is Fiona O’Quinlan.”
Now the man’s mouth fell open and quickly snapped shut. “What have they done to her?”
Her captor or savior shrugged. “Cannae say.”
“Look at her hair and clothes,” interjected another man. “Has she been cast out?”
Then a third man jumped down from the boat and circled around her. “’Tis clothing I have never seen. Perchance, she is one of them.”
Fiona backed away from the men. Good God, they were looking at her like some sort of specimen. She backed right into the arms of a fourth man.
“Whoa, little elf, can I be of service?”
She stumbled away from him, but received a huge smile.
“Do not try and use your charms on her. It is Alastair’s slave,” grumbled the first man.
Alastair pointed at Fiona. “She is not my slave, Gunnar.”
Gunnar crossed his arms over his chest. “Tell me, why did you buy her then?”
Placing his hands on his hips, he glared at all of them. “I will take her back to the O’Quinlan.”
Fiona flinched. What was he saying? Who was this other O’Quinlan?
Something snapped inside of her. “Like hell you will.”
All eyes turned toward her.
She was tired of being passed back and forth, and she was going to take control of this god-awful nightmare. “I’m not going anywhere until you explain where I am,” and pointing a finger at Alastair MacKay, added,” and who are you?”
The man who’d flirted with her coughed into his fist. “The elf has balls.”
“Silence!” roared Alastair. “Get ready to depart. I will not remain any longer.”
He watched as his men grumbled, some smirking, as they climbed up the ladder into the ship. Turning his gaze back to Fiona, he took several steps, standing directly in front of her.
Fiona willed herself to show no fear as he loomed dark and powerful, and she slowly lifted her head to meet his stare. In all of her life, she had never stood her ground. Until this moment.
“What is this place?” Her voice barely rose above a whisper.
“Dunnyneill. Trading post,” he replied.
Her mouth parted slightly. “And you? What are you?”
He leaned toward her. “Does it matter?”
“Yes.”
“I am called the Dubh Dragon, but ye can call me Alastair. Now, may we leave?”
No! Fiona’s mind screamed at her. He couldn’t be. Could he? She shook her head in confusion. “Impossible.”
Alastair blinked. Then he threw back his head and laughed. Afterwards, he spread his arms wide. “Och, little bird, I am indeed the Dubh Dragon.”
Fiona’s heart pounded hard against her chest. “So you claim to be the Black Dragon. And your name is Alastair.”
He slowly placed his hands on his hips, arching an eyebrow. “Aye. Have ye heard of another?”
“And your last…I mean your surname, it is MacKay?” Oh God, please don’t say it.
Alastair’s smile vanished. “Aye.”
Goosebumps broke out on Fiona’s body. “Impossible.”
“As ye have stated, but ’tis the truth,” growled Alastair.
Fiona’s
voice trembled when she spoke, “If you are Alastair MacKay of the Clan MacKay…”
“Aye.” His voice turning deadly.
“Then you are also one of the Dragon Knights.”
Chapter Eleven
“Show no fear,” said the Dragon. “For only those incapable of love will not understand my wisdom.”
Alastair’s fists were clenched by his sides. How did this mere wisp of a woman know his true name? Very few had heard of the Dragon Knights. What made her so special? She was nothing but a slave, possibly cast out by her own people. Or so he thought.
He would get the truth out of her. She was now his. Bought and paid for.
His anger simmered just below the surface, and he allowed his eyes to flash with the fire of the dragon. Hearing her gasp, he smiled. Good, little bird. Fear me. Without giving her time to react, he swept her up and dumped her over his left shoulder, and strode to the ship.
He heard her sharp intake of breath, and then she started to pound against his back. “Put…me down,” she demanded.
“Nae.”
She started to kick, and he clenched his jaw in frustration. The little bird had talons. He responded with a smack to her bottom, but instead of removing his hand, he kept it against her soft curves. “I will put ye down when we are on my ship.”
She went completely still, and then she screamed.
Alastair dumped her onto the ground. “For the love of Brigid, did ye have to yell into my ear?”
Fiona rubbed at her bottom and then stood. “You beast,” she spat out at him. Jumping onto a nearby boulder, she looked directly into his eyes. “Don’t you ever touch me like that again.”
Alastair yanked her to his chest by her arms, his face mere inches from hers. “And what are ye going to do?” He watched as her eyes widened in alarm. Blue eyes that reminded him of the sky on warm summer days. Then his gaze traveled down to her lips, red as berries.
Instantly, his beast roared to life. Claim one kiss, Alastair.
“I will slit your throat,” she whispered.
Releasing his hold, his beast laughed, mocking him. He stared at her for a few moments before turning away. Stalking over to the ship, he climbed up the ladder.