Dragon Knight's Axe (16 page)

Fiona whipped her head to the side to look at Rory. “I’m totally confused.”

“Explain, MacGregor.” Desmond’s voice took on a chilly tone.

“I have been ordered back. I am not allowed to continue on this journey,” said Rory, placing his hands behind his back.

“By the Gods, why?” demanded Desmond.

“The Fae Gods and Goddesses are a jumble of contradictions,” snorted Alastair. “Just ask the druid who travels with us.”

“Tread carefully, Dragon Knight,” uttered Rory.

“I have nothing to fear from ye and your kind. Ye have done your worst.” Alastair stepped closer, and Fiona saw Rory’s eyes flash in anger.

“Enough!” snapped Desmond. “If he cannot travel with us, we will manage without him.” Grasping Fiona’s arm, he started to pull her away.

“Wait!” Yanking her arm free from her brother’s grasp, she walked over to Rory. Peering up into his eyes, she noticed concern in their depths. “Will I ever see you again?”

“Perhaps.”

Wrapping her arms around him, she felt him stiffen at her sudden embrace. “Thank you, for everything. For watching over me and for the many stories you shared these past few weeks. I wish you well, Rory MacGregor.”

Bending low so only she could hear, he whispered, “Safe journey, Fiona. The Fae will always be with you.”

She released her hold and stood back.

Rory started to make his way through the trees, but he turned suddenly to face Alastair. “This journey you take with Fiona is yours as well. Do not be foolish and think this does not include you. Take the path of the
Dragon Knight
, so you may join your brothers.”

Confusion marred Alastair’s face. “Brothers?”

Rory smiled fully. “Aye. Duncan and Stephen have walked the path of redemption. It would be wise if you joined them.”

“Bloody hell!” roared Alastair, lunging for the Fae warrior. But he was too late. In a flash, Rory MacGregor vanished through the veil.

Alastair stumbled and crashed into a pine tree. Cursing and shoving his fist into the air, he stood upright.

Fiona and Desmond remained standing in shocked silence as they watched Alastair storm away.

“Well, that was fascinating,” muttered Fiona.

“Aye, most definitely.”

****

By the time Alastair stumbled down the hill, he was visibly shaking. Part of it was his anger at the Fenian warrior. They were known to toss out scraps of information that made no sense. What could he have meant when he stated his brothers had walked the path of redemption? Duncan? Impossible. It was
his
sword that killed Margaret. And Stephen? But what about Angus? Why not his older brother?

None of it made sense.

He paused and slumped down on a fallen log. Rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands, he wanted to rip out the warrior’s throat. “Riddles, always speaking in bloody riddles.”

Duncan and Stephen could rot for all he cared. How could they betray their sister, Margaret? Instantly, he saw her face on that fateful night. She had reached out to defend him.
Him!
A warrior sworn to shield and protect.

Her cries would forever haunt him.

Clenching his jaw so hard he feared his teeth would break, he stood. If there was one thing Alastair realized, this path of redemption was one he would not venture upon. Now more than ever, he was determined to get rid of the last remaining link to his heritage as a Dragon Knight—forever.

He had to destroy his axe in the waters near Urquhart. Once his mission was completed, he would return his traveling companions to Ireland. And his life as he liked it could begin again.

Hearing footsteps behind him, he glanced back seeing the looks Fiona and her brother wore.
Wary. Good,
his beast thought.
Let them fear him on this journey.

“I will go gather my items,” smiled Fiona, as she passed by him.

“Make it quick. We have wasted far too much time already,” snapped Alastair continuing on his way to the horses.

She stopped in her tracks and looked over her shoulder at him. “Are you always hot and cold?”

He ignored her question, for he did not fully comprehend what she was asking. Mounting his horse, he whistled for Merlin. The dog wandered out from the trees. Turning around, Alastair noticed she continued to stare at him.

“Well? No pithy comeback?” she asked.

“I will await ye and the others on the path. If ye are not there shortly, I will continue onward…without ye.”

Fiona laughed. “That would be foolish, since I have your axe.”

Alastair arched a brow. “Nae, Fiona,
ye
are the foolish one to think I would take this journey, entrusting ye with
my axe
.” He patted the axe on the back of his horse, indicating its new place.

“Why you…how dare you! You could have just asked. I would have likely given you the damn thing.”

“There was no need to
ask
for what was already mine. Now go gather the rest of your belongings.” Alastair watched as those blue eyes blazed with anger. He could almost hear the words before they spouted from her mouth.

“You’re a bastard, Alastair MacKay,” she mumbled, turning around and marching away from him.

He listened to her continued rants as she left his sight. Shaking his head, Alastair seriously contemplated leaving the rest of them behind. He did not need any of them. It would be so easy to accomplish the task on his own and return to the ship.

Yet, it was not that simple.

Not when a certain lass gazed at him and saw not only the man, but also the beast within.

Giving a nudge to his horse, Alastair slowly rode through the trees.

Chapter Twenty-Two

“No need to give the damsel a sword. She will slay you with her tongue.”

“Does it always rain here?” asked Desmond, ducking past a heavy branch.

Alastair chuckled quietly to himself, reveling in the man’s discomfort after three days of foul weather. “Och, aye. Wait until we start to climb. The winds will take on a biting chill.”

Desmond swore as he continued to trudge onward.

In truth, Alastair sensed the storm would soon abate, but he would not give the man any comfort by revealing this information. Especially after the way he would growl, or step in front of him whenever he came near Fiona. She had approached him one evening, and Desmond flew to her side, hand on sword. Did he think he would ravish her in front of her brother and the druid? Was he not allowed to speak with the lass?

Although, he truly could not fault Desmond, for he would not have let his sister around the likes of a man such as him.

Glancing back he saw Fiona, her head held high, smiling at some stray bird or animal. Her curls had escaped from the hood of her cloak and framed her eyes, droplets of rain dripping down her cheeks. Alastair was almost tempted to ask why Desmond was so miserable, since his sister showed no distress at all.

She caught his eye and tilted her head as if in question.

Seeing Desmond and the druid deep in conversation, Alastair halted his horse, and waited for her to approach.

“Is something wrong?” she asked, taking her tongue and lapping at the moisture on her lips.

Alastair’s thoughts jumbled. His own tongue lost and forgotten. The sight of Fiona’s pink tongue blurred his senses. He ached to take a taste of her nectar.

“Alastair, are you ill?” She frowned moving closer. “Are you in pain? Should I call for Kevan?”

He continued to stare at her, mute to her questions.

Rolling her eyes, she shook her head in frustration. “Why do I even bother speaking to you?” She prodded her horse away from him.

Blinking several times, he finally answered, “Nae, ’tis nothing.”

Fiona halted her horse.

Seeing the confusion marring her features, he quickly added, “Are ye enjoying the rain?”

“Rain?”

Ye are an ass! Asking her about the rain?
“Ye were smiling, and I have heard no complaints about the fine weather we are having. Whereas, I fear your brother will go mad with another day such as this.” He noticed a smile forming on her lips.
Ye have redeemed yourself, Alastair
.

Laughing softly, she shook her head. “Yes, Desmond’s mood alters with that of the weather. I on the other hand love the rain, especially when traveling through beautiful scenery. The land comes alive when the water touches it, creating an intoxicating scent.” She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. “Can you not smell it?”

He only nodded, fascinated by her description. In all of his life, he had never heard another speak of the land as he did.

She looked past him, adding, “The mists cling to the hills like nothing I’ve ever seen before.”

Looking in the direction to where she pointed, he watched as the mists silently descended over the land.

“It makes me want to reach out and touch it,” she uttered softly.

Alastair turned back toward her, seeing her face transformed in wonder. Moving his horse closer, he gave no thought or care when he captured her chin in his hand. She trembled under his touch as he leisurely drew his thumb over her bottom lip. “So soft,” he rasped.

He saw the look of desire flare suddenly in her eyes. “
An toir thu dhomh pòg?
” whispered Alastair.

“Do ye have a death wish, MacKay?” growled Desmond.

Damn the bloody bastard. And damn him for not hearing Desmond’s approach.
Regaining his composure, he flicked his hand away as if it contained some vile thing within. “I was removing a gnat from your sister’s face.”

Fiona’s eyes went wide. “Bug? Eeww…” Swatting at her mouth, she glared at Alastair. “You could have warned me first.”

“I did not want ye to panic and frighten your horse.”

“As if…” She smirked.

“It would be wise if ye stay near me, Fiona,” interjected Desmond.

She shook her head and lowered her eyes. Alastair thought it was more to do with the blush staining her cheeks than agreeing with her brother.

As Desmond nudged his horse forward, he gave one last passing glare at Alastair in warning.

Fiona followed, but abruptly turned her horse around and did something which altered everything. Halting in front of him, she gave him the most dazzling smile he had ever seen. “Yes, I would have given you a kiss.”

Hearing Desmond call her name, Fiona tucked her hood more securely over her head and moved away.

“So the little bird understood my words,” he uttered quietly, stunned she would have agreed to a kiss. It would be best to remember that Fiona O’Quinlan was not any ordinary woman. She neither feared nor ran from him. On the contrary, she gave him back what he dished out.

Alastair found that particularly appealing.

****

“What do ye want, druid?” Alastair heard him approach before he came into view. Kevan had barely spoken on their journey, spending time in the early mornings and evenings alone.

Leaning against a tree, Alastair continued to work on his chess piece and would do so as long as there was light left. It helped to soothe the beast and keep his hands busy, though he would have preferred to have them wrapped around a lovely soft body. However, the body he had in mind was now being watched over like a lost lamb by her brother.

“I would like to thank ye for another fine meal of fish this evening,” stated Kevan.

“There are those who would disagree with ye.”

Kevan sighed. “Yes, well, Desmond does enjoy his meat.”

Alastair rubbed his thumb over the back of the wooden piece. “And he can
enjoy
it when he returns home. I will not kill an animal for his pleasure. Fiona has no problem with the meals that I fix.”

“Ah, yes. She is a kindred soul such as ye.”

Looking up slowly from his work, Alastair arched a brow in question. “Excuse me?”

“Just an observation.”

“I am not an object for ye to observe.” Alastair proceeded to concentrate on his piece. “Is there something else ye wanted?”

Before Kevan could respond Fiona’s scream sliced through the air.

“Stay here,” hissed Alastair, grabbing his sword and creeping quietly through the trees. Taking cover behind a huge pine, he peered out. He had to give Desmond credit, he had killed four of their attackers, but there were two left. One grasped Fiona by the throat, and the other man had Desmond on his knees as he held a blade to the back of his neck. Both of the men were taunting him and Fiona, and he feared death would come swiftly.

Alastair had to move fast.

They were too far from the trees to use his magic to save both of them. What he needed was a distraction, if only for a moment. Sensing someone nearby, he glanced over and saw Merlin limping toward him with blood oozing from his leg and head.

The dog bared his teeth watching the scene in front of them, but not a sound passed from his lips. Silently thanking the Gods, Alastair recognized what he needed to do. Using his gift of magic, Alastair took a deep cleansing breath in and out and gently reached out, touching Merlin’s head. Visualizing a mental picture of where he wanted the dog to go, he pushed the thought into the animal. Snapping his hand back, he watched as Merlin lumbered off.

“I told ye not to move,” snarled the man who held Fiona. “Do ye want to watch as I kill him?”

“Please, don’t,” she pleaded.

“What will ye give me?” he asked, leering at her breasts.

Her eyes went wide. “I don’t have anything.”

“I think ye do,” he stated and taking his tongue, licked the side of her face.

Immediately, Alastair’s beast roared. Taking his fist, he shoved it into the ground and a great burst of energy shook the land around them.

Merlin lunged out of the trees and went for the man near Desmond. Even in his weakened condition, the animal grabbed the man’s arm, clamping down. Desmond took advantage of the distraction and rolled to the side.

“Why ye devil dog!” Raising his sword arm to deliver a fatal blow, he took two steps and fell to the ground, blood gushing forth from his mouth.

Kevan emerged from the trees and removed the sickle embedded in the man’s back. Wiping the blood off on the man’s clothing, he walked slowly over to Desmond.