by Mary Morgan
“Prophecy?” Alastair and Fiona asked in unison.
“I can answer that,” interrupted Kevan, standing and directing his gaze at Alastair.
“Do not look to me, druid,” growled Alastair. The warning screamed at him to leave, now. His sight followed the druid as he walked slowly over to a side table.
“Fiona’s destiny is linked to yours, Dragon Knight.”
Alastair’s tone held a threat of warning. “I told ye I am not that man.”
Kevan ignored him as he lifted an item covered with cloth off the table and walked over to Fiona. “She was chosen by the Guardian to take possession of this. Ye will be her escort.” Turning around he presented it to the occupants at the table.
Alastair’s body stiffened in shock. The druid did not have to remove the covering, for his Fae senses came alive the moment the druid placed it near him. “By all that’s holy, dinnae touch it!”
Again, the druid seemed not to hear him, keeping his focus on Fiona. “’Tis yours, Fiona. Ye must return it to the Great Glen in Scotland.”
Alastair held his breath as her fingers glided over the fabric. Carefully unfolding the cloth, she gasped. Her head snapped up and her eyes met his. “Yours?”
“Nae,” he roared, slamming his fist onto the table. He could not fathom how his axe came into their possession. Directing his fury at the druid, he realized what Kevan saw when he blanched in fear. His eyes blazed with that of the Fae, and he no longer cared what anyone thought.
“It is your path,” said Kevan, his voice stern.
“I want naught to do with it or the prophecy. Do ye hear me? We leave at dawn. It and Fiona can stay here.” Standing, he shoved his chair back, letting it crash onto the floor, and stormed out of the hall.
Desmond stood to block his path, but Alastair placed his hand upon his sword in warning. His fingers itched to fight as he glared at the man, daring him to make the first move. No one was going to tell him what to do. They were all fools. How easy it would be to take down the entire building with one thought.
Seeing the look in his eyes, Desmond backed away. Alastair snickered. “Coward.”
Immediately, the hiss of steel echoed throughout the room as every man drew his blade. Alastair moved swiftly, pinning Desmond against the wall.
“No,” screamed Fiona, pushing past Brian. She rushed to him and clutched his arm. “Stop this, Alastair! I don’t know what your problem is, but I will not have you kill a member of my family before I get a chance to know them.”
He glanced down at her hands. Such strength in hands so tiny, he thought.
She brought one of those hands to his cheek, and he shuddered. “Please, don’t do this,” she pleaded.
Memories of honor and being a Dragon Knight battled the dark beast within. The beast wanted them all to die and to claim the woman. His eyes flickered over her face. Moments passed as his breathing slowed. In the end, the beast relented.
“Let me go, Fiona,” he rasped.
“You first,” she whispered.
He gave her a smirk, releasing his grip on her brother’s throat, and lowered his sword. Fiona instantly complied as well.
Giving her a curt nod, he walked out with Gunnar following quietly.
Fiona whirled around to face Kevan. Pointing a finger at the item laying on the table, she asked, “What is that?”
“That Fiona,” interjected Rory, “is a relic.”
“Looks like an axe, though beautiful.”
“It belongs to Alastair.”
She rubbed her temples. “This is all so incredibly confusing. If it belongs to Alastair, then why is it here?”
“Because Alastair and his brothers were cursed by the Fae, and their relics taken. I told you some of their story, but you need to ask him for answers to any further questions.”
“And you, Rory? What exactly are you?”
He stepped closer. “’Tis a long story.”
“Then give me the short version, for I’m about to pass out from all this excitement.”
Chapter Seventeen
“When the Knight grows weary of the fight, he will learn to love again.”
“Why do I care?” Fiona grumbled, making her way along the path. She’d spent the past few hours arguing with Rory over his part in all of this. Even her brothers were furious at him and Kevan. Secrets upon secrets, causing her mind to swim trying to sort out reality versus myth.
“And now an axe crafted by the Fae for the Dragon Knights,” she mumbled.
Until she spoke with Alastair, she was not going anywhere. Hitching up her gown, she strode up the hill, after seeking out Gunnar in an attempt to find the infuriating man. Ahh…there is the beast.
“Are you really leaving?” she asked, trying to catch her breath. Shading her eyes from the sun, Fiona couldn’t tell if he was actually asleep or ignoring her as he sat against a tree. Probably ignoring, since he was tossing pebbles only moments ago.
Stepping closer, she nudged his leg with her foot. “I asked you a question, so don’t pretend you didn’t hear me.”
He let out a heavy sigh. “Leave me be, Fiona. Ye are home now. Be happy.”
Why did she bother with this brute? He obviously couldn’t care less about her or his relic. Yet, something about him intrigued her, and for reasons she did not comprehend, she wanted to help.
Foolish, she thought, but the truth.
Bunching up her gown, she plopped down next to him. “Hmmm…be happy? I am a woman transported from a modern world back to a medieval prison. I find it completely frightening and exhilarating at the same time. But happy? Not really.”
“Ask your friend, the Fae warrior, to return ye to your own time,” he drawled.
“I did.”
Alastair opened his eyes. “And?”
She chewed on her bottom lip before answering him. “He said until my destiny has been fulfilled, he couldn’t.”
“Bastard.”
“Yep. That’s what I told him.”
Fiona saw the edges of his mouth flicker in amusement. So, the beast is capable of smiling. What else is behind his mask of steel? Placing her hands on the ground behind her, she lifted her head up toward the sky. The late afternoon sun was a soothing balm on her frayed nerves. If she could, she would lie back and go to sleep on the ground.
“Alastair?”
“Aye?”
“Rory told me you are part Fae and have…powers? Is it true?” She glanced sideways and saw him wince.
“And ye dinnae believe your friend?”
She let out a snort. “Honestly, after everything I’ve been through, I trust you more than him. Nothing like finding out someone has been watching your every move for the past nineteen years.” Twisting a flower in her hand, she kept her eyes downcast.
“Four and twenty?” His voice low.
Well, well, he really had been listening. “Yes.” She laughed. “And you?”
“Five and twenty winters.”
She had thought him to be older. Plucking another flower, she pulled at its petals.
“He is correct, Fiona. My Fae blood bonds my powers with the land. Nevertheless, I am no longer a Knight of the Order. We were disbanded long ago. Cursed for eternity.”
Fiona tossed the flower aside and looked up into his face. What she saw stunned her. Pain marred his features. She rarely witnessed any emotion from him. He was always in control. “Tell me,” she urged softly.
Alastair waved his hand about. “What always happens when power and misunderstandings occur? Violence and bloodshed. This one resulted in the death of our sister. It cannot be undone, nor forgiven.”
“Even if your relic can be purified? I realize nothing can bring back your sister, but don’t you want it back?”
He turned fully toward her. “Understand this, Fiona. I have no desire to return to my home, and I certainly have no right to claim what is no longer mine.”
“Fine, so be it.” Standing, she shook out her gown of the flowers she had pluck
ed. Realizing there was nothing left for her to say, she bent and placed a kiss along his scar. “Thank you, Alastair, for rescuing me. You were my knight, my redeemer. I will always remember that.”
Before Fiona could draw another breath, Alastair stood and captured her face in his rough hands. His lips were so very close and for a moment, she thought he was going to kiss her. “I am none of those, none, do ye hear me?” His breath was hot against her mouth, and he smelled of honeyed mead and male, making her crave his touch.
Fiona eased up onto her toes and was rewarded with a slight shove backwards, as if his hands burned from touching her.
Taking a few steps away, he leaned against the tree. “Go home, Fiona.”
She drew in a shaky breath. “I will, Alastair.” As soon as I return your axe to the Great Glen, I will definitely be going home. Her decision now cemented after witnessing his pain. And the fact she needed to return home to her own time. Yet, she was confused. Her family was here. Perhaps her true home was in Navan.
Fiona’s legs trembled as she walked back down the hill—considering all the possibilities.
****
Alastair stared at his hands, unable to stop them from shaking. Fiona did not realize how close she came to being taken right there beneath the tree. The moment her lips touched his skin, the beast roared to life with such force it almost blinded him. Her lips begged to be kissed, and he was the one who wanted to feast on them.
Everything about Fiona tempted him. She was a riddle he could not sort. Quiet one moment—the next spouting curses, or mumbling to herself. She had no idea for every flower she plucked earlier, he had created more by using magic. He found himself charmed by her actions, stealing glances when she was not looking.
This enticement to Fiona O’Quinlan had to cease.
Walking in the opposite direction she had taken, Alastair made plans to leave. He could not spend another day, nor evening in this place. Glancing up at the sky, he realized there were only a few hours of daylight. Leaving now, they would be able to reach Dunnyneill by late tomorrow.
He halted abruptly. What about Alva? Rubbing a hand over several days’ growth of beard, he decided to speak to Niall. By chance, he could return the woman. His duty was finished. He had brought Fiona to her brothers, safely. Nothing more should be required of him.
Picking up his pace, he caught sight of Ivar with the horses. “Where is Gunnar?” he shouted.
“With Desmond hunting.”
“It is late in the day to be out hunting for food.”
Ivar patted one of the horses and smiled. “Some of the men have already returned. It would seem Gunnar and Desmond took to a battle of swords afterwards.”
Leave it to Gunnar to stir things up. “Bloody hell,” he hissed. “I wanted to depart.”
“Now?” asked a stunned Ivar.
“Aye, now!” he snapped. “Gather everything and prepare the horses. As soon as Gunnar returns, we are leaving.”
Grumbling, Ivar led the horses away.
Alastair went to search out Niall. A group of children were playing nearby and as soon as they saw him they stopped all movement. They did not say a word as he passed. Some actually stared, while others bowed their heads.
He knew what they thought. Scarred monster. Gritting his teeth, he looked the other way—quickly passing them and entering the house. Instantly, he heard shouting.
Alastair sighed—relieved he would soon be leaving. Slowing his pace, he paused outside the hall. He could distinctly make out the voices of Niall and Brian. However, Fiona’s captured his attention.
“By all that is holy, Fee, ye will not be traveling without one of your brothers!” exclaimed Niall.
“And apparently you have not been listening, Niall. I will have Kevan and a few of your most trusted men. I believe we can handle this. I’ve been on my own most of my life, making decisions and carving out a life without overprotective, overbearing, interfering brothers.”
“If this is the future for women, then we are all damned,” interjected Brian.
“Excuse me?” Fiona’s voice had risen an octave. “You are positively barbaric.”
“And ye are a stubborn lass,” hissed Brian.
Alastair leaned back against the wall, smiling. She definitely had courage to stand up to her brothers. But they were correct. If she were traveling anywhere, then she would require an escort.
“Now everyone, please. I will be accompanying Fiona on her journey, and I am positive we can enlist the aid of the Fae warrior,” said Kevan.
Alastair straightened. “God’s blood,” he uttered quietly. Why would she require the Fenian warrior? Unless…
“Yes,” said Niall slowly. “It would be wise if he were to make the journey with her. He would know where to take the relic.”
“As much as I am still at odds with Rory, a.k.a Fae warrior, I do agree with you. He could provide us with additional protection,” stated Fiona. “Hmmm, does he have special powers like Alastair?”
“Enough,” roared Alastair, storming into the room. “No one is traveling to Scotland.”
She placed her hands on hips and glared at him. “Really? Whom do you think is going to stop us? Surely not you.”
“’Tis not safe for ye,” growled Alastair. “Ye should listen to your brothers.”
“Exactly what we have been trying to tell her,” stated Niall.
She took a step toward Alastair, and he had to fight the urge not to take a step backwards. Her smile mocked him. “Let’s see…I have Kevan, a druid, exceptionally knowledgeable. Then there are a few of Niall’s men for brute strength. Hopefully, we can snag Rory. He can help us travel through Scotland. Do tell, Alastair, does he have certain powers? If so, I believe we’ll be just fine.” Turning her back on him, she crossed her arms over her chest, and started tapping her foot.
Alastair’s fury at all the previous events now boiled. Did she honestly believe he would let her travel with a druid and Fenian warrior? With his axe? His eyes glazed over as he could see she had convinced her brothers.
His voice took on a menacing tone when he spoke. “I doubt the MacGregor would want any part of this.”
“Now why would you think that, MacKay?” asked Rory, strolling into the room.
Alastair whipped around to face the warrior. “This is none of your business, Fae.” Instantly, he saw the flash of light in Rory’s eyes.
“I beg to differ. It is my business and responsibility to Fiona and her brothers. She has been entrusted with your relic and has decided to take it home. What she does afterwards is entirely up to her.”
The two men continued to stare at each other. Dragon Knight and Fae warrior. Although, the Dragon Knight wanted to wipe that smirk off the warrior’s face with his fist. There was only one way out of this mess.
“Are you ready to leave, Alastair?” asked Gunnar striding into the room.
Placing his hands on his hips, Alastair shook his head. “Nae. We will be leaving at dawn, and I shall be escorting Fiona to Scotland.”
All hell broke loose as everyone started shouting again, except Fiona. Giving him a secretive smile, she walked quietly out of the room.
Chapter Eighteen
“A Knight will find his true compass when he surrenders his free will.”
“Are you bloody serious?” hissed Gunnar, keeping his voice low over the din of the others.
“Completely,” replied Alastair returning his glare.
“Have you been drinking? For it surely seems as if your senses are clouded. What about the rest of the shipment? Or have you forgotten about that?”
“Nae.” Stepping away from Fiona’s brothers who were still arguing loudly amongst themselves, he pulled Gunnar to the side. “We shall travel to Glenroth, and from there ye can go on to Mull. I trust ye can handle the rest of the goods and Eric.”
Gunnar shifted his stance. “You want us to leave you in Scotland? Did you not vow never to return?”
For a brief moment, Alastair actu
ally considered relenting. What was he doing? In truth, it made no sense—none. He had no desire to return home, especially to the Great Glen. His gut clenched, and he cast his gaze to the Fenian warrior. Seeing the smug look on the Fae’s face, reminded Alastair why he was doing this. The axe was his—bound to him and no other.
Clamping a hand on Gunnar’s shoulder, he nodded. “Aye, ye shall leave me in Scotland. Go inform Ivar. We will depart before dawn.”
As Gunnar grumbled a curse, Alastair watched him leave the hall. Walking over to a table, he filled a mug with drink. Taking a hearty guzzle, he noticed Desmond had wandered over.
“I will be journeying with ye, MacKay.”
Alastair raised an eyebrow in amused contempt. “And your reason?”
“To protect Fiona.”
“’Tis far too late, don’t ye think?” Alastair refilled his mug, seeing Desmond’s fist tighten.
“We had no choice,” snapped Desmond.
Swallowing the mead, he looked at Desmond. “There is always a choice. In dealing with the Fenian warrior, ye paid a high price.”
Desmond took a few steps forward. “We would have done anything to protect her, including forfeiting our own lives. Ye of all men should understand.”
And there it was—the truth. Slicing into Alastair’s soul and tearing open the scar left when Margaret, his sister, died.
“We leave before dawn. Tell your sister to be prepared for the long journey.” Grabbing the jug, Alastair turned and walked away, leaving Desmond no time to protest.
What was done was done. The past lay buried just like his sister. Dead and gone. With each step he took, Alastair made a vow to himself. He would do all he could to protect Fiona. She would not suffer the same fate as his sister.
His beast howled.
****
The cold, damp air did nothing to soothe Fiona’s nerves. It might be summer in July, but the morning was brisk along with everyone’s mood. As she watched all the preparations, her mind whirled. She was leaving with her brother Desmond, Rory, Kevan, Alva, and him. And his mood was absolutely the worst. When she had greeted Alastair with a good morning, he actually snapped at her—asking what the bloody hell was good about it.