Dragon Knight's Axe (11 page)

“Do keep your cloak wrapped tightly.” He waved a hand down her body. “These clothes are no better than the gown.”

She started to say something equally nasty about his own attire, but thought better of it. “I shall do my best,” she clipped out.

Giving her his standard curt nod, he waved her on ahead.

By the saints, Fiona wanted to smack him senseless each time he did that little bit with his head. It was one of the most irritating things about him.

Seeing Alva rushing out of the cottage with her gown clutched to her chest, Fiona could only imagine what ideas the woman had conjured when she saw only the gown, and no Fiona.

Suppressing a giggle, Fiona said, “Good morning.”

“Sakes, what are ye wearing?” demanded Alva.

“I’ve decided I will be wearing my own clothes until I can find something which will fit much better.”

Alva shuddered visibly. With a cluck of her tongue, she marched back into the cottage.

Fiona was torn between following her maid or staying outside. The men had already risen, collecting their wraps and tending to their horses. She spotted Gunnar and started to wave until she remembered Alastair’s words about staying away from his men.

Too late. Gunnar smiled a greeting and ambled on over to her. “Sleep well, Fiona?”

“Yes.” She lied.
How could anyone sleep on a smelly cot with furs infested with God knows what?

“Our journey will not be all day. Soon, you will be with your kin.” Gunnar held out a sack. “Go, sit and break your fast. Alastair will want us to depart soon.”

“Thanks.” Taking the sack, she peered inside. Bread and a chunk of cheese. Snapping her gaze back up, she smiled at him. “Gunnar, if I don’t get a chance later, I wanted to let you know I appreciate all you’ve done for me. It’s only been a few days, but it means a great deal to me.”

He gave her a bemused look as if he did not understand her meaning. “’Tis nothing,” he finally said, and walked away.

****

Stopping briefly to give a break to the horses, Alastair splashed water over his face. The day had turned unusually warm, and he feared his own men did not approve. They were men of the sea and cooler air. He could already hear Gunnar grumbling as he approached from behind.

“Ye might want to stay away from the ale and drink water,” said Alastair as he kept his gaze focused on the distance horizon.

“Odin’s blood! I will be glad when night approaches.”

Alastair smirked. “’Tis not until later. Summer light, remember?”

“You do not need to remind me.” Gunnar splashed water on his head and face. Shaking the droplets free, he eyed Alastair. “Are you aware we have passed into the Pale?”

“Aye,” Alastair replied frowning. “I fear this will be our last rest. I do not want to encounter any English.”

Ivar strode forward with an ale skin in hand and dipped it into the stream. Without looking up, he asked, “Why is Fiona wearing her cloak? It is hot.”

Alastair stole a quick glance at her. Her face was flushed, and she appeared agitated. He tore his gaze away from her. “She is wearing the cloak to cover her clothing, since she has chosen not to wear her gown.”

“Poor lass,” muttered Ivar. “I will take some water to her.”

Alastair closed his eyes to refrain from taking his hands and ripping out Ivar’s tongue. As soon as the man departed, he opened them, seeing the huge smile she gave to Ivar in thanks.
She never smiled at him like that.

What possessed him to think that? Did he truly long to coax a smile from those lips for just him?

Taking his palms to his eyes, he rubbed them vigorously. The heat was muddling his brain. Gunnar was correct. He, too, would be grateful for nightfall and the house of the O’Quinlan. Another day of traveling on land with the lass would cause him to falter completely.

He clamped a hand on Gunnar’s shoulder. “Let us be gone. ’Tis wise we reach Navan soon, for all our sakes.”

“Could not agree more, MacKay.”

Walking quickly to their horses, Alastair gave strict instructions for the men to be more alert. All talking would cease as well. He understood they were hot and tired, more so the women, but if they rode hard they would be in Navan within the next few hours.

The men all grunted their approval, although the lass just glared at him.

Alastair glared back.

And to make sure his orders were obeyed, he motioned for the women to ride behind him. Not waiting for a response, he waved for them to depart.

True to his word, he kept them at a steady pace until they arrived in Navan. Only once did they have to switch to another path when they encountered a group of English. Gradually slowing his speed, he gave the signal for Ivar and Thomas’s man, Matthew, to lead the way.

Ambling along, they took the side road away from the main village. Apparently, the O’Quinlan lived farther back along the river and trees. The closer they approached, the more Alastair’s skin prickled with unease. Instinctively, he placed his hand on his sword. Winding through a large thicket of pine and birch trees, he brought them to a halt. In front of them were various cottages spread out along the hill. Alastair instantly recognized the largest stone structure as most likely belonging to the O’Quinlan.

Giving a nudge to his horse, they all proceeded down the path. Curious folk stole glances—others stared openly as they passed.

“There’s the O’Quinlan,” said Gunnar.

“Aye, and he does not look pleased,” stated Alastair, seeing the man’s arms crossed across his chest looking wary.

Dismounting from his horse, Alastair walked over to Niall. No sooner did he get within hearing than Niall let out, “Greetings, MacKay. What brings ye to Navan?”

“O’Quinlan. I bring ye one of your kin, though she claims she has none. ’Tis best we speak inside.”

Before Niall could acknowledge him, he dropped his hands and stepped past Alastair.

Fiona, with help from Gunnar, dismounted from her horse, and brushed a lock from her eyes.

“Sweet Danu,” he whispered. “Can it truly be?” Niall took his fingers to her chin and tilted her head up to meet his eyes.

Fiona looked at Alastair. “O’Quinlan,” warned Alastair.

“
Fee
, ye have returned.” His tone one of shock.

Fiona eyes darted back to Niall. “My name is
not
Fee,” she protested.

“Nae, just
my
name for ye.”

“No, not true,” she mumbled, shaking her head in disbelief and scrunching her eyes closed.

He took her hands in his. “Your name is Fiona O’Quinlan, daughter of the great Hugh O’Quinlan and Aine. Ye are also
my sister
.”

Chapter Fifteen

“If the air smells of spices, then you are in the land of the Fae.”

Fiona’s knees buckled. Niall’s words slammed into her heart causing her world to tilt.
Impossible, unfathomable, and incomprehensible.

“I’ve lost my mind,” she said closing her eyes again hoping when she opened them, the past few days would have been one of her nightmares.

Niall steadied her. “Nae, Fee, ’tis truth.”

“Let me go,” she gritted out.

“Open your eyes and hear me. Do ye not have any memory?”

She shirked out of his embrace. “Go away. You are all just a
bad
dream.”

“Fiona O’Quinlan, I see your stubborn streak has not left ye.”

Peeking open one eye, she paused. Fiona couldn’t deny the similarities in their features. For one, his eyes mirrored hers. And where her curls came to her chin, this man’s fell past his shoulders. Then, there was the nickname he called her.
Fee.
As if he plucked it out of her dream.

Shaking her head slowly, she opened the other eye. “How is this possible? I’ve never met you, yet you appear to know me so well. You say you are my brother, but I don’t have any siblings.”

She glanced over Niall’s shoulder expecting Alastair to intervene. He had the most peculiar look on his face, and he kept staring at Niall. What would they both say if she told them she went to sleep in the twenty-first century and awoke in the past? Wait, what past?

She averted Alastair’s eyes when she asked Niall, “What is the year?”

He rubbed a hand over his face, and she had the eerie sensation her brother was hiding something. “Fiona, let us withdraw into my home. We can discuss this further.”

“She will not be going anywhere until ye explain how her
brother
left his kin abandoned in Turnley,” stated Alastair, moving to block Fiona from entering his home.

She looked up at his face, but his wrath was for Niall. Was he concerned for her?

Niall placed his hands on his hips and glowered at Alastair. “Ye are on my land, MacKay. Ye best remember that while ye make demands.” Turning back to Fiona, he added, “I will answer your questions. In truth, there is much to tell.”

He waved at one of his men, stepping away from her. Fiona watched for a moment, and then looked at Alastair. “You don’t believe him?”

Fury flashed in his eyes. “Can ye?”

She gave him a weak smile. “I thought you wanted to return me to my kin? Now, you’ve changed your mind?”

“I did not expect your kin to be
your brother
. The resemblance is there for any to see,” he hissed.

“Oh Alastair, I don’t know what to believe.”
I’m trapped in this time warp. What time warp? Niall never did tell me the year.
“What is the year?”

Alastair gawked at her. Before he could say anything Gunnar approached wanting to have a word with him. She watched as he rubbed a hand across his face as if agitated, and then walked away.

Throwing her hands up in exasperation, she wanted to scream at the both of them. “Will someone
please
tell me what year this is? It can’t be that difficult. I know you may think I’m daft—so if you could simply answer the question, I might be able to understand all of this.”

Breathing heavily, she looked around. All activity had ceased and now focused on her. The only sound came from the horses. A bird swooped past her, and she craved to take flight as well.

“The year is twelve hundred and six, Fiona,” replied a deep male voice. One she recognized well.

Fiona whirled around. Her mouth gaped open in shock. Pointing a finger at him, she blurted out, “
You
?
” Anger could not even describe her current emotion. There were too many others mixed in with it. Never in all of her life did she want to punch someone.
Anyone.

Her fists clenched and unclenched.

Taking rapid steps, Fiona marched over to the one person she never thought to see again. The one person she had trusted implicitly. The one person whose last words lulled her to sleep.

“Rory MacGregor,” she spat out, as if his name tasted foul. Not giving him time to respond, Fiona slapped him with all her might.

He barely moved from the assault. Instead, his eyes held concern. “I would expect nothing less from you,” he said softly.

“Who are you? And why am I here?” she demanded.

“Step away from him slowly, Fiona,” growled Alastair, his sword unsheathed.

Rory held up his hands as if surrendering. “I have no quarrels with you Dragon Knight. This is between Fiona and me.”

Alastair moved so fast Fiona blinked. The tip of his blade leveled at Rory’s throat. “Ye dare to call me that when ye ken I am no longer a knight. Have ye forgotten the curse?”

“I have not forgotten. Mayhap, you have forgotten the words of the curse.”

“Jumbled words,” spat Alastair.

Fiona stomped her foot. “Get out of my way, Alastair. I have unfinished business with this creature.”

Rory arched a brow in offense. “
Creature?
”

“If ye consider Fenian warriors creatures, Fiona, then it is what he is,” snarled Alastair.

Crossing her arms over her chest, she glared at Rory. “I don’t give a damn what you are. You can explain what a
Fenian warrior
is later. I want to know why one moment I was asleep in the twenty-first century, and the next, I wake up in medieval Ireland.” There she said it. The truth was out for Alastair to hear.

“All your answers will be explained. It does no good to stand out here for others to hear,” said Rory quietly. His gaze shifted slightly toward Alastair. “If you would remove your sword from my throat, MacKay, you may join us.”

“If we do not like your account, I will be taking Fiona with me when I leave,” replied Alastair, lowering his sword arm.

Rory only nodded in agreement.

Grasping Fiona’s elbow, Alastair ushered her onward to the entrance of Niall’s home. When they reached the door, he hesitated. His eyes roamed her face and she watched—confused. “I ken the MacGregor all too well. Be wary of his words, for there is always a purpose behind them.”

“Do you understand how confusing this is? This is not my time. Doesn’t it seem strange to you? It is the truth.” She glanced around to make sure no others were listening. “Alastair, my year is 2015.”

His expression never faltered at her words, and she wished she could have the ability to read minds. Did he think her insane?

Keeping his voice low, he said, “The warriors who are Fae can travel between the
veil
of time. Why ye were brought back is a question for the MacGregor to clarify, and one answer I would verra much like to hear.”

Fae warriors and time travel
. Fiona inhaled and exhaled deeply. Somehow, nothing mattered—not the current year, or the fact Rory MacGregor was not quite human. It was then she realized she actually trusted Alastair. Her mind whirled trying to tell her otherwise. Yet, in the end, her
soul
believed this Dragon Knight would do all in his power to make sure she remained safe.

Had he not already rescued her from the chains of slavery?

“I will be on guard,” she whispered.

“Good,” he said releasing his hold on her elbow.

Niall greeted her and escorted her into the main hall. “It is not a large keep, but I find it agrees with my family.”

She glanced sideways at him. “Are you married?”