by Mary Morgan
No sooner had he exited the dungeon than two guards came forward and bound his hands together. By the Gods, he wished he could use his power to shake the ground. Yet, if he did, the stones would collapse on them, crushing Fiona deep within the dungeon.
When they arrived at Michael’s chamber, the guards shoved him inside, slamming the door shut. Michael stood facing the window. Alastair quickly scanned the area, noticing his axe on the table. If he moved fast…
“Tempting, is it not?” asked Michael, turning around.
“What do ye want, MacFhearguis?”
He cocked his head to the side as if listening to someone or something. “Your head. Nae, your blood.” He shrugged indifference. “I will be happy with your power. Can ye give that to me?”
“It is not something I can grant.”
Michael gazed past him. “If I bleed ye, will the power pass into me?”
The man is insane, thought Alastair.
“No answer? Hmmm…for one who used to boast of his looks, ye are now a wretched sight. Wine?” He proceeded to walk over to the table and pour some into two mugs. “Or is it mead ye prefer?”
“Neither,” he clipped out.
“Pity, ’tis fine wine, indeed.” Pointing the mug at him, he added, “Where did ye get the scar? I would verra much like to cheer the man responsible for altering your looks.”
Alastair fought the urge to rip the man’s tongue out of his head. “Unless ye care to visit him in hell, which I can arrange, ’tis best to hold onto those praises.”
He watched as his unwanted host drained the mug and refilled it again. Casually placing his hand over the axe, Michael lifted the weapon. “The Fae have crafted a stunning piece. I can almost imagine the power when I hold it in my hand. What does it feel like? This power?”
How could he reason with a man who was mad? And where was Patrick?
Slowly, Michael walked over to him. “Ye have not answered my questions, and they grow tired of your unwillingness to cooperate.”
“They?” questioned Alastair.
Michael ignored his question, twirling the axe, and Alastair feared that reasoning with the man would only provoke him. This was not the MacFhearguis he knew, for his mind was surely twisted.
Dropping the axe on the table, the laird walked back over to the window. “I take it by your silence that ye will not make known your power?”
Alastair shifted his stance, praying for some resolution out of the madness. “My powers cannot be given. ’Tis my heritage.” He nodded toward the axe. “Ye may possess the axe, but ye will not have the power to wield it.”
Michael whirled around, pointing a finger at him. “The dark one will bleed it out of ye. Guard!”
The guard entered, his hand resting on his sword.
“Take him to the lists and strip his shirt off. Bind him to the post. I shall be there shortly.”
Alastair turned at the door. “This is not the way, Michael.”
The guard shoved him outside, closing the door on the crazed one. Alastair had no choice but to be led out to the lists. It would be so easy to free himself. However, Fiona was trapped, and he would not leave her.
After they tied him to a post, Michael came out holding a whip. He gritted his teeth preparing for the onslaught. With each lash, he held silent. The burning pain sliced into him with each crack of the whip, feeling the flesh break on his back. He clenched his jaw and dug his fingers into his leather bonds. Beads of sweat trickled down into his eyes, but he refused to close them, and he kept his focus on the guard in front of him, defying him to turn away.
Strength. Courage. Honor.
Over and over, he repeated these words in his mind. A mantra in Gaelic, French, and English, until he could no longer feel the pain. Michael’s words were but a whisper on the wind, his mind freed from the prison of his body.
Time blurred.
“By all that’s holy,” roared Patrick. He yanked the lash from Michael, giving no regard for the repercussions. “Why are ye beating him? What is it that ye hope to gain?”
“Ye dare to question me? I am a God!” bellowed Michael. He took a swing at Patrick and stumbled, falling forward.
“Ye go too far,” hissed Patrick. He motioned for one of the men to come forward. “Take the laird to his chambers.”
The man hesitated, and Patrick partially unsheathed his sword. “Will there be a problem?”
“Nae,” he answered.
As the man reached for Michael, he shrugged out of his grasp. “If he does not give me what I want by sunrise, I will put a blade through his heart. And if ye interfere again, Patrick, I will do the same with ye.”
Patrick wiped a hand over his face and went over to Alastair. Quickly undoing his ties, he let him slump onto the ground. “Fetch me some water, now! And bring me the healer.”
Someone came running forth with a bucket and cup.
“Here, Alastair, drink,” he said, holding the cup up to his mouth.
Alastair slowly raised his head. “Bucket…on me.”
“Aye.” Patrick dumped the water over his head. “More water!”
The healer emerged and with the help of another man, managed to move him to a bench. As she cleaned his wounds, Alastair clenched his fists on his thighs. When she finished, she dabbed a healing salve over his back.
“’Tis all I can do for him,” she said to Patrick.
Alastair squeezed her hand. “Dinnae worry. They will heal in a few days.”
She frowned slightly and then nodded.
When she had departed, Patrick asked, “Can ye ride?”
“Aye. But I will not leave Fiona.”
Patrick lowered his voice. “Get some rest. I will come for ye and Fiona before dawn.”
When Alastair stood, he had to lean on Patrick. Closing his eyes briefly, he let the healing energy of the land seep into him. After a few moments, he opened them. “Ye ken he is mad.”
As they walked together, Alastair saw Patrick scowl. “He is not mad. Controlled.”
Alastair paused. “Controlled by whom?”
Patrick let out a long sigh. “’Tis a verra long story.” He peered over his shoulder as if making sure no one was lurking about. “One that started with Lachlan.”
“The name is familiar.”
“It should be. He was our druid counselor until last year. In truth, he wields the dark magic and we—your brothers, Alex and I—believed him dead. Michael grows more frenzied with each passing day. We all fear that Lachlan has escaped.”
“I have not heard of a druid possessing the dark magic. It has been thousands of years since one attempted to do so.” Alastair leaned his shoulder against the wall for a moment. “Where do ye believe he escaped from?”
“He was handed over to King William by your brothers.”
“Lugh’s balls,” he hissed. “By the Gods, Patrick, when we leave on the morrow, ye will tell me everything that has happened here.”
“If we make it out of here safely, I will.”
Alastair snorted and then winced from the effort. “I fear I have been away far too long.”
Chapter Thirty
“On the Knight’s quest to slay the beast, he forgot they shared the same heart.”
“How long has it been?” asked Fiona, cradling Alastair’s head on her lap.
“Whist. Get some rest,” he uttered softly.
Her shoulders slumped. “I can’t relax. Each time I hear something, I think it’s Patrick, or worse, one of the guards to haul you away again. I don’t understand any of this. This feud over power is insanity.”
Alastair rose up from her lap. “This feud has a history, one that I will explain once we are set free.”
She started to protest, her nerves so on edge when he captured her mouth silencing her words. Grabbing his tunic, she reveled in the warmth of his lips, letting the kiss melt away her tension.
“Can ye rest, now?” he teased.
She giggled. “I don’t think so, especially after
that kiss.”
He let out a groan and put his head back down on her lap.
“But I will try.”
As soon as she leaned her head against the wall and closed her eyes, she heard footsteps. Alastair moved quickly off her and stood.
Fiona almost cried out for joy when Patrick entered.
“We do not have much time,” his said quietly. “The guard will be returning soon.” He handed Fiona her cloak and Alastair his plaid.
They crept out silently with Alastair keeping a firm grip on her arm. The light from the torches cast shadows along his face, and she could see it had started to heal, though his eye still remained partially swollen. As they made their way along the corridors, she held her breath for fear they would be found.
Patrick held up his hand to halt their movements. Sweat prickled down her back as she leaned against the wall. Seconds ticked by—then minutes. When the threat of two guards had finally passed, he motioned them forward, and she let out a huge sigh. Apprehension filled her when she realized they were going in the opposite direction to when she was first led into the dungeon. Patrick’s route led them down a narrow passageway with only one torch.
Was this a trick?
Her mind started to panic with all kinds of scenarios. She was about to alert Alastair when they stopped in front of a stone wall. They were trapped!
Alastair released her hand, pushing her aside. “For your sake, MacFhearguis, I hope there is a way out from here.”
“Aye, though ye will have to climb.”
Fiona’s nerves snapped. “We are almost in total darkness. How can we see our way out? Have you led us to our deaths?”
Patrick moved toward her, and Alastair blocked his path by shoving him against the wall. “Best ye pray ye have not done so.”
“I have risked my life to free ye. We are in a part of the dungeon only myself and my brothers ken. It was the only way to get ye both out safely.”
Alastair released his hold and stepped back. “How far up?”
“’Tis a short climb. I will go first to open the door. It is locked from the inside and has not been opened since I was a lad.” He met Fiona’s glare, adding, “The light will help ye see your way up.” Removing his dirk, he handed it over to Alastair. “If ye do not trust me, kill me now.”
Taking the dirk, Alastair slipped it into his trews. “Get us out of here, MacFhearguis.”
Fiona shivered, and Alastair put an arm around her shoulder. “Dinnae fear, leannan,” his words were whispered against her ear.
All she could do was shake her head in agreement. Biting her lip to fight back the bile rising from her stomach, she quickly glanced over her shoulder.
“Fiona, keep your eyes forward and nowhere else until we are out of here. I will be behind ye all the way.”
She gulped and nodded again.
Hearing a heavy grating groan, the night sky spilled into the cavern. She could see a few stars twinkling, and the cool air felt invigorating as it brushed against her face.
Quickly, Alastair lifted her upward. “Use only the larger stones to climb.”
“What I wouldn’t give to have a pair of jeans,” she muttered, pushing her gown aside as best she could. Cautiously stepping up on the first stone, she felt around for another to grasp or clutch, slowly repeating each step.
“Can ye not move faster?” grumbled Patrick peering down at her.
“Um—no,” replied Fiona. “Have you ever attempted to climb wearing a gown?”
Alastair let out a curse.
Fiona started to giggle at the absurdity of their situation and her nerves. Her foot slipped, and Alastair instantly was there to prevent her from falling. Leaning her head against the cool stone, she took a deep breath in and out.
Patrick groaned. “We are doomed…doomed.”
“I just needed a moment. Two more steps and I will be able to reach your hand.”
“Nae,” hissed Alastair, lifting her up the rest of the way into Patrick’s arms.
Patrick pulled her out so quickly she rolled to the side. “Ouch.” Rubbing her hip, she stood looking about, as Alastair climbed the rest of the way out. They were surrounded by dense pines, which sloped upwards. God only knew what lay beyond them. Movement flickered within one of the trees, and she tripped falling back into Alastair’s arms. “Over there,” she pointed. “Someone is in the trees.”
“By the hounds,” hissed Patrick, walking away. “’Tis only the horses and your dog.”
She looked at Alastair, who was doing his best not to smile. “Don’t you dare,” she warned. “It could have been Michael, or one of the guards.”
He silenced her further protests with a deep kiss.
“Oh for the love of Danu, we must leave, now!” warned Patrick.
Alastair scooped her up into his arms and marched over to the horses. Positioning her atop one of them, he went over to his, yet, she noticed his hesitation.
“Ye have returned my axe?”
“Aye,” nodded Patrick. “’Tis yours.”
As Alastair mounted his horse, he frowned. “Ye have betrayed your laird. Your brother.”
“I am saving him,” stated Patrick. “I will lead ye out of the pass to the glen.”
No more words were exchanged as they made their way out of the trees, climbing up a steep incline. Pebbles flew downward as Fiona nudged her horse upward. Reaching out with her mind, she murmured soothing, encouraging words to her horse. When they could go no further, they dismounted, leading the horses the rest of the way. Fiona was tempted to look back, fearing they were being followed, but Alastair’s reassuring words came back to her. He was right behind her and that gave her comfort. And since she couldn’t keep her eyes on Alastair, she focused them on her horse.
Reaching the clearing, Patrick got on his horse. “We have put some distance between us and Leomhann. But I fear it will not be much longer before Michael is alerted.”
Fiona was already on her horse ready to flee as far as possible. She gave a small smile to Alastair, watching as he vaulted onto his horse.
He returned her smile and then turned to Patrick. “Then we have no time to waste. Let us put distance between us and your brother.”
****
Fiona’s mouth screamed for refreshment. However, fear of being found kept her pushing the need for any liquid to the farthest part of her mind. Having ridden for several hours before the first rays of dawn’s light danced across the sky, she gave a silent prayer of thanks for the new day and nudged her horse to a quicker pace to match the men’s.
By midday when the sun was high above them, she longed for a slower pace.
As if hearing her thoughts, Alastair rode up alongside her. “We need to break the horses, though only briefly.”
She let out a long sigh. “I welcome any break.”
Bringing her horse to a halt, she collapsed into Alastair’s arms. He didn’t even set her down, instead carrying her to a small log away from Patrick and the horses. “Bend over.”
She squinted up at him. “Huh?”
His smile turned wicked when he answered, “It is not what ye think. Let me work out the knots in your back.”
Feeling the heat on her cheeks, she complied, letting his fingers massage deeply into her shoulders and down her back. Moaning softly, Fiona was tempted to sprawl out on the ground for a full body massage. The man’s hands were working magic in relieving her stress. Releasing another sigh of pleasure, she sank deeper into relaxation.
“If ye continue to make those sounds, I might have to take ye behind a tree.” His breath blew warm against her neck.
She chuckled softly. “Sorry.”
Finally, he lifted his hands and walked to the horses. She watched as he murmured words to both animals, and then led them to a trickle of water gently flowing down a crevice on the hill. Remembering her thirst, she stood and stretched. “Remind me to ask for another one of those back rubs later.”
“Anytime, my lady.”
After kneeling, Fiona sluiced her skin with water and drank fully. Taking another hefty drink, she finally stood to her feet. Their brief rest came to an end too soon when she emerged from the trees, for Patrick was already mounted to ride.
“The mists will make it difficult to proceed much further into the night,” he said.
Alastair gave an impatient shrug. “Then your brother will not travel as well.”
They both quickly mounted their horses and restarted their journey. Not long after, the mists descended further down over the land, and Fiona feared they would not be able to travel much longer. The only sounds were of the horse’s hoofs crushing leaves and bits of twigs as they passed. Even nature’s animals had retreated and the birds took shelter among the trees.
The first misty tendrils brushed against her cheek and she shivered. How she longed to have the blazing sun beating down on her again. “Is this an omen of doom?” she uttered half-aloud.
“Nae,” replied Alastair. “’Tis only fine Highland mist.”
Urging Molly to a light canter, she huffed out in exasperation. “But it will hamper our travels.”
“It will protect us.”
Grimacing, Fiona realized it was useless arguing with the man. He was taking in great gulps of air as if it was a tonic. Even Merlin seemed to be enjoying the shift in temperature.
“Are we slowing down?” asked Patrick, trotting forth.
“No,” answered Fiona and Alastair in unison.
“Good. We do not have much farther before we reach the cave for the night. It is small, but will do.”
“And from there?” Alastair shifted in his horse.
“A day’s ride to Urquhart land.”
Fiona noticed the grim and set line of Alastair’s mouth. Did he want to visit his brothers? What were his plans for the axe once he arrived? Questions she had never bothered to ask, now burned in her.
“Lead the way, MacFhearguis.”
It wasn’t long before they had to stop and lead their horses through oak, pine, and rowan trees to find the cave. Fiona’s fingers tightened on the reins. Patrick was correct. From the outside, the cave looked even too small for her to enter.
Patrick led his horse off to the side and reached for his food sack. “I will take first watch.” He jerked his head toward the cave and added, “Best get some rest.”