by Mary Morgan
“Let us be gone from this foul place,” he ordered Gunnar.
“But what about the woman?”
“I will let her choose. She can stay or come with us.” He stormed to the other side of the ship, bellowing out more orders.
Fiona glanced over her shoulder from where they came. She snapped her gaze back at the ship and felt the color fading from her face.
The ship lurched—moving away.
“He’s really going to leave me here?” She wiped a hand across her brow. “Better to be with the monster you can attempt to control.”
Waving and shouting at Gunnar, she ran into the water.
Gunnar smiled, meeting her halfway down the rope to help pull her onto the ship. “’Tis good to see you again.”
Fiona took a hold of his outstretched hand. “Your name is Gunnar, right?”
Giving her an even broader smile, he helped her onto the ship. “Aye.”
“Well, thank you, Gunnar. At least some of the men have manners.” She quickly scanned the area and found the beast. “It would seem your leader is lacking in them.”
“’Tis true. Some words of wisdom, Fiona…”
She turned to look at Gunnar. “Yes?”
“Do not anger the man, for he will surely toss you over the side and keep moving on.”
“Don’t you mean beast?” she corrected.
Gunnar’s tone became more somber. “Be it man, monster, or beast, they are all the same. Heed my words. If ye enrage the beast, he may not be so forgiving.”
Fiona bit her lip and nodded in understanding. Gunnar led her to a bench in the middle of the ship. Quickly thanking him, she huddled against one of the barrels.
****
Alastair stole a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure she was settled. What possessed him to buy the wee lass? From the moment he saw her on the trading dock, something primal called out to him to take her for his own. This bothered him greatly. He had bought a slave—one that tested his resolve. With large breasts and hips, and his beast roared to plunder her body.
As if hearing his thoughts, she half-turned and locked gazes with him.
She blushed and turned away.
And his beast roared with approval.
Sometime later, he glanced at the lass again. She continued to shiver against one of the barrels, and her face seem to grow paler by the hour. He understood her symptoms instantly. Fear of him and the sea. He could tolerate her fear of him, but he would not wish the other on anyone.
The sea held no fear for him. On the contrary, he hated it. There was no controlling the waters. That was his brother Stephen’s gift. What would his brothers think of him now? Traveling the shores and trading, only stepping on land every so often.
They would tease him ruthlessly.
He closed his eyes to block out the memories of a lifetime before. They were gone. In the past. When he walked out of the ring of stones the morning after the fateful battle leaving his sister dead, he left his old self behind.
A Dragon Knight no more.
Hearing a guttural groan, he opened his eyes to witness Fiona heaving the contents of her stomach over the ship as Gunnar stood at her side. Shaking his head, Alastair waved over Ivar.
Ivar took one glance at Fiona and understood his meaning. Retrieving a small pouch from a box, he brought it to Alastair. “She is a brave one to last this long. She will be grateful to know it will not be a long voyage.”
He took the pouch and nodded in agreement. It would appear his men had taken a liking to the little bird. Now Steiner was giving her ale. He covered the smirk on his face with his fist as her face contorted in revulsion, handing the ale skin back to Steiner.
Ale would not have been his first choice either.
Walking over to her, Alastair gestured for Gunnar to step aside. The man had put himself in charge as her protector the moment she came onboard. Moreover, for some reason that bothered him.
He held out the pouch. “Try chewing on these leaves. They will help the queasiness. If ye require any liquid, take wee sips of wine. I will fetch ye my wine skin.”
“Wine? I don’t understand.” Her hand fisted on her stomach.
“Helps to calm the nerves.”
She reached out hesitantly for the pouch. Peering inside, she sniffed its contents. “Mint?”
“Aye, and other herbs,” he clipped out.
The ship veered right, causing her to land right into his arms. Her scent enveloped him, stirring emotions, and thoughts he had buried long ago. All he could think of was flowers—wild and untamed. He wanted to bury his face in those curls. His fingers ached to touch, play, probe, and—not here, but on land.
“Sorry,” she uttered softly.
Muttering a curse, he leaned her back against the side of the ship. Giving her a brief nod, he walked briskly away. Grabbing his wrap from a large box, he brought it back to her along with his wine skin.
She took the offered items and looked quickly away from him.
Alastair squashed his lustful thoughts down. Thank the Gods they would reach land by nightfall. He wanted to be rid of her. They would have to stay with the MacGuinnes, and the thought made his gut churn. Making mental calculations, he figured it would be another couple of days to reach the O’Quinlan. They would require horses and clothing. Part of his problem with the lass was her trews.
Outlandish.
Disturbing.
He glimpsed sideways, noticing when she bent over to retrieve the wine skin.
Large hips meant for pleasuring him.
His cock swelled at the invitation she presented.
Enough! His trouble was he had gone too long without a woman. He should bed Noreen and be done with it. In truth, the idea did not appeal to his appetites. His beast craved a smaller buxom creature with big blue eyes and round hips.
Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to look away. Slamming his palm against the ship’s side, Alastair welcomed the pain as it reverberated up his arm.
No woman would control his beast.
Chapter Twelve
“When the Dragon calls you, listen with your heart, for your eyes will deceive you.”
Chewing on a piece of hard bread, Fiona kept her sight on the coastline. She had overheard Gunnar saying they would reach land soon. Would they think her strange if she shouted for joy when her feet touched solid ground?
She tried to sleep, but with the constant motion of the ship, the men speaking, and her stomach threatening to heave, Fiona only dozed in and out of restless naps. Then, her nightmares descended.
Huddling against one of the barrels, she turned her gaze toward Alastair standing all alone at the bow. His cloak flapped against a large muscular body. Leather pants molded to long, massive legs, but there was no denying what was underneath.
Fiona shivered. Why did he stir such emotions in her? He was her captor—despite the fact he’d undid her bonds, she should despise him with all her being.
Wake up, Fiona. Wake up.
She sighed. No matter how hard she tried to convince herself, this place and time were very real. There was no way her brain could wrap around the idea of traveling back into the past. Yet, it’s exactly what had happened.
Then she lifted her head and smiled. If there was a way back, then surely there was a way forward. Professors spoke of the science of time travel all the time. Of course, she always considered it fluff and preposterous. But not anymore.
Hope flared inside her for the first time. Then another thought occurred to her. How am I going to return home when I don’t know how I came back in the first place? Biting her lip in frustration, she reached for the wine skin and hesitated before tossing it back down. Wine was not what she craved. Water or a strong cup of tea, even coffee would suffice.
Closing her eyes, she rubbed at her temples, trying to ease the pain in her head. “God, please get us to land soon,” she muttered.
“Aye, we shall be there soon.”
Fiona slowly opened her e
yes, craning her neck to look up at the man looming over her. Alastair’s brow was furrowed as he kept his hands on his hips. Again, something skittered over her senses. She didn’t understand it, nor could she speak. He either made her angry or mute.
She just nodded her head in thanks.
He stood for a few more moments. Did he have more to say? Finally, when he turned to leave, she burst out, “Do you think I could get some water when we reach land?”
Fiona thought she saw humor spark his eyes when he turned back around. “Why did ye not say so earlier?”
She blinked at his response, and then waved a hand about. “Well, it’s not like you have running water to take a sip from, is it?”
He rubbed a hand over several days’ growth of beard, and Fiona noticed a slight smirk curving his mouth. “Nae, though I do have a small amount for drinking.”
Her mouth opened in shock, and then she snapped it shut. “It’s just I assumed…well, um, I don’t like to use that word assume.” She looked away from green eyes, which were now dancing with mirth. “Yes, please, I would like the water.”
“Gunnar,” bellowed Alastair. “Bring the lass some water.” He gave her a curt nod and then turned, walking back to one of the men.
“What the hell is the matter with you, Fiona? Can you not even speak correctly around the man?” she asked half-aloud.
She gave a weak smile when Gunnar brought her a huge cup filled with water. Cool and refreshing, she drank deeply. Handing it back to him, she sighed. “Thank you.” Noting the strange look on Gunnar’s face, she asked, “What’s wrong?”
Gunnar looked at the cup and then back at her. “You prefer this over ale or wine? ’Tis much like your beast.” He chuckled softly as he walked away.
Before she could comment on his remark, Alastair was directing them toward land. Casting her sight out to the approaching coast, she stood. There was only one other ship, smaller than the Viking one she traveled on. One of the men shouted something to Alastair, and he responded with a foul curse. Was this the way he greeted everyone?
For the next few moments, they flung insults back and forth until the man on the dock started laughing.
“Men,” snorted Fiona. “So now we’re going to see who has the bigger balls by cursing? Sheesh, it’s all the same no matter what century.”
She noticed Alastair wasted no time in jumping off the ship, landing in the water. “By the bloody hounds, MacGuinnes, ye need to build a longer ramp.”
“Get your arse up here and help me build it then.” Taking Alastair’s arm, he pulled him onto the dock.
“Back so soon, MacKay?”
“Not planned,” he replied, scraping off bits of seaweed from his boots.
The MacGuinnes arched a brow in question.
“I need several horses and a guide.”
The man stepped closer. “For what purpose?”
Alastair turned and pointed at her. “To take back this woman to the O’Quinlan, his kin.”
She saw the man suddenly open his mouth in shock, and then snapped it shut. He moved past Alastair and extended his hand out to her as Gunnar helped her down. “And does this O’Quinlan have a first name?”
“Fiona,” she responded.
Placing a kiss on her hand, he released her. “I am Thomas MacGuinnes, and ye are most welcome here, Fiona. Especially one who is kin to Niall.”
Flustered, she replied, “I don’t know any Niall O’Quinlan. All my relations are dead.”
He rubbed a hand across his beard as if in thought. Then his face contorted into a frown. Perhaps she should not have said anything. “Why is she dressed like this, MacKay?”
She snapped her gaze back to Alastair who had his arms crossed over his chest, showing no sign of anything. “’Tis clothing that was on her when I bought her.”
“Bought her?” roared Thomas.
“Aye.”
“Since when did ye start buying slaves? For if this is a new business, ye can remove yourselves from my land.”
Fiona could see movement in back of Alastair. One of Thomas’s men had slowly put his hand on his sword. Apparently, she was not the only one who took notice.
“If I were ye, I would tell your man to sheath his sword, lest I put my dirk in him.”
She could see the glint of steel hidden in Alastair’s hand. How could he have known? His back was to the man. Did he have super powers of hearing?
“He was rescuing me,” she blurted out.
All eyes turned toward her. What now, Fiona? She pulled her coat tighter around her. “If he had not done so, I would have been sold to some…some kind of…of monster.”
Alastair stared at her for what seemed an eternity. “Truly,” he drawled, and then glanced at Thomas.
She exhaled deeply.
He slipped his dirk back in its place. “I feared this one was taken, or worse, outcast.”
“Is this true, Fiona? Where do ye hail from?”
She realized she had to think of something quickly if she wanted to stay in good standing with this Thomas. Swallowing her fear, she lifted her chin up. “I was living with my grandmother near the coast of Turnley. When she passed, I was all alone and a ship with men arrived one day. Seeing there were no kin present, they took me with them.” Fiona waved a hand out at Alastair. “That’s when he came along.”
A long silence ensued, and Fiona worried they didn’t believe her story. Keeping her eyes steady, she waited.
“Then ’tis a miracle Alastair was there to rescue ye. He is correct, though. Ye should be under the protection of Niall.”
Bellowing orders to one of his men, Fiona watched as Thomas moved away from her. Great. Now he was overseeing plans to have her taken to this Niall person. This was definitely not in her plans.
She was so deep in thought she jumped when Alastair stepped forward.
“So ye and your grandmother were living all alone in Turnley? In McAlister territory? An O’Quinlan?” He’d bent low, hands clasped behind his back, so she would be the only one to hear his questions.
She trembled—he was too close. So close, she could feel his breath against her cheek. She blinked trying to focus on his questions and not his full lips mere inches from hers. Lifting her gaze to meet his, all she could think of was she had never seen a color so beautiful in all of her life.
“Yes,” she whispered.
His eyes flashed briefly, changing from emerald to peridot, and then back to emerald. Taking a step back, Fiona moved away from his intense stare. She tried to regain her composure, knowing in that moment, he didn’t believe her.
Let him prove otherwise!
****
When Fiona entered the hall, all conversation halted. Thinking something was wrong with her gown, she looked down. Yes, it was far too tight in the bust, and the hem dragged somewhat, but it was the only one given to her.
Someone cleared their throat, and she snapped her attention back to the hall.
Thomas stood and motioned for her to come forth. She gave a weak smile and ambled slowly for fear she would trip. Finally making it there without incident, she took her place next to, of all persons, Alastair.
And promptly received a menacing look from Noreen.
Siobhan had treated her kindly and had offered to do something with her hair. However, Noreen was nasty from the moment she stepped past the large doors. She even tugged at her curls wanting to know if her locks were cut as a form of punishment for some horrific deed. Pointing a finger at Siobhan, she told her to deal with the problem of making Fiona presentable.
Now Noreen’s attention shifted to Alastair. Attention in the form of lustful invitation.
Fiona wanted to gag.
Stealing a glance at Alastair, she saw he was paying no attention to Noreen’s outrageous flirting. In fact, he directed his conversation to the man on his right and Thomas.
“Are ye not hungry?” asked the man to her left.
“Huh?” Fiona saw that he was holding out a trencher of som
e type of meat partially covered in gravy. “I think I’ll pass.” Her stomach grumbled in protest.
“Ye need to eat. We leave before dawn,” interjected Alastair.
“It looks like she could do without a meal or two,” snickered Noreen.
Siobhan clucked her tongue at her sister.
Fiona curled her fingers into her palms. She wouldn’t give Noreen the satisfaction of her humiliation or anger. “Is there any fruit and cheese?”
“Aye.” Then Alastair proceeded to fill her trencher with apples, berries, cheese, and a big piece of bread.
She caught Noreen rolling her eyes. “Honestly? Ye are giving her bread? It is not what I would advise with one of her size.”
Fiona’s hand froze on the bread. She never considered herself overweight, maybe a few pounds here and there, but nothing major.
“Och, there’s nothing wrong with what I see,” stated Alastair. “Salmon, Fiona?”
If Noreen could shoot daggers out of her eyes, Fiona would no doubt be torn to shreds.
Angling her head at Alastair, she smiled. “Yes, please.”
Giving her his usual curt nod, he plopped a portion of the fish alongside her bread.
Eating in silence, she kept her focus on her food and the smug satisfaction that Alastair MacKay had come to her defense for the second time in two days.
Chapter Thirteen
“In a troubled world, anything is possible. In a perfect world, nothing is impossible.”
What had he gotten himself into?
Glancing up toward the hills, Alastair blew out an exasperated breath of frustration. The first glow of morning light just beginning, and he was already regretting his decision to take Fiona to the O’Quinlan. To travel for several days—over land—with a woman that stirred something in him was disturbing. The two were a dangerous combination. “By the hounds,” he groaned, rubbing the back of his neck trying to get rid of the tension.
He should just leave her here for Thomas to deal with. Aye, that is what he would do. The man could easily part with a few of his men. Hell, he could even let one of his daughters and a maid go along. Smiling inwardly, he turned back toward the keep. Mayhap Thomas was already about. The man always broke his fast before entering the lists.