Dragon Knight's Axe (2 page)

“Land!” yelled Steiner. Half standing at the bow, he pointed to the west.

Cheers from the men erupted throughout the ship, and they shoved their fists into the air as a sign of victory over the storm. Another wave crashed over them, yet its intensity was not as severe.

“I give thanks, Goddess,” whispered Alastair, wiping blood out of his eyes.

Instantly, the torrential rain subsided to a light shower, and the wind settled to a breeze. He unclenched his jaw and kept his gaze on the land as the men proceeded to take up their oars.

Gunnar finished tying up the cargo and warily stepped over to Alastair. “Holy Odin,” he gasped, grasping Alastair’s shoulder. “Your eyes, man.”

He shook out of Gunnar’s grasp, daring him to hold his gaze. “Ye ken what I am. Say no more.” His tone more gruff than he intended as he started past him. Aye, Alastair knew they feared the Dragon Knight.

In truth, this was the first time his friend had witnessed his power. They had all heard the story of the mighty Dragon Knight, though none questioned him when he came on board, becoming their leader many moons ago. He was a man touched by the Gods, and they considered it fate that brought him to them. So Gunnar had told him.

Alastair now stood at the bow of the ship, his back toward the men. He did not need others gawking at him. Leaning his hip against the wood, he grasped the edge, peering out toward the land. It would take some moments for his eyes to return to their normal shade of green. A small side effect of using his powers.

The land called out to him. It hardly mattered that ships were hugging the coast and harbor; he only saw the hills beyond. How long had he been away this time? Weeks? Months? When he was at sea, he lost count. Confusion always swamped his senses, and when the darkness of the waters engulfed him, Alastair took solace in his wood carvings. It was his only link to the land—
land
that was in his blood.

Fae blood.

A seagull cawed in the distance, and he snapped out of his trance. Swooping down across the stern, its massive wings outstretched as if welcoming them home. His brother, Stephen, would understand the symbolism, but he narrowed his eyes at the bird. Welcome or not, it was a bird of the
sea
.

Alastair realized what he sought was edging closer by the moment. Green rolling hills and the scent of the land beneath his feet. To be able to sit against a tree, with no thought but that of the land and animals.

Meggie’s spirit called out to him.
Play, rest, restore. Fight the Sea God another day.

A break in the clouds opened, and slivers of light sprinkled over the coast. There was only a whisper of wind, and the rain no more. Alastair smiled. Yes, it was good to be back near land.

Turning around, he pointed to a place north of the main harbor. He did not want to dock at Dublin where there would be too many English or Normans. “Take us beyond the main port to Cuthbridge and go no further inland.”

With a nod, the men adjusted their oars to accommodate the waves and the new path. A low hum followed by chanting filled the vessel. It was their way of giving thanks to the Gods for their safe journey back home.

Alastair nodded silently at Gunnar, understanding he was grateful, too. He shifted back around to gaze at the far off coastline. If luck were on their side, there would be only Northmen at Cuthbridge. No one else cared about the small port. The wind pulled stronger there, and many feared being tossed against the rocks.

He gave a slight smirk. Danger flowed in his blood, and his men were skilled. With the winds light, they could easily slip past.

Soon, they were maneuvering the ship closer to their destination, easily sneaking past the giant beasts threatening to split them apart. Birds huddled within the crevices of the other vessels, oblivious to their passing.

Gunnar moved up to stand behind him. “All quiet in the back.”

“Good,” stated Alastair. They certainly did not want to attract any attention.

“One single ship at the harbor.”

“Do ye ken who it belongs to?” Alastair kept his sight ahead of the harbor looking for anything out of the ordinary. The English were known to lie low until goods were transported off the ship. Then they would come forth to take what they deemed as taxes for the king.

Gunnar let out a grunt. “It is the O’Quinlan’s.”

“Niall? What might he be doing this far north?”

“For the same reasons we are, I reckon.”

Alastair frowned. “We trade to avoid the English and Normans. Niall has no quarrels with them.”

Gunnar raised an eyebrow. “We all have
quarrels
with them.”

“Aye,” he muttered. “Well, I hope the O’Quinlan will not mind another when we come ashore with our goods.”

“If he does, I will remind him who you are.”

“And who would that be?”

Gunnar laughed and smacked Alastair on the back. “Why that would be the feared
Dubh Dragon
.”

Chapter Two

“Some say when a dragon is sleeping, she resembles the rolling hills of Scotland.”

The moment Alastair’s feet touched the ground, he let out a long held breath. With every step, the power flowed up throughout his body. This was always the way when he returned to land. He let just enough energy in to soothe and replenish what he had lost at sea.

Clenching his hands, he tried to fight the urge to draw forth more. It teased and danced along his skin, but he held firm. If he needed reminding, then all he had to do was conjure up the dreadful night of his sister’s death.

Alastair would never allow the land to control him again. He did not blame the Gods. He did not blame the Goddesses. He did not blame his brothers. He did not blame his Fae blood.

The blame fell to him.
Alone.
The sea was his punishment.

Taking a deep breath and releasing it, he secured the walls within his body, blocking out any more energy from the land. He had his fill. Stepping around Steiner, he lifted one of the barrels off the wagon and onto his shoulder.

“I believe we have earned this one,” he shouted at Gunnar.

A loud roar of approval came forth from his men as he maneuvered his way past them and up the walkway. Feasting was at the forefront of his mind, especially after what they had endured coming through the storm. He strode purposely in one direction.

To the house of the MacGuinnes.

They would conduct their business during the feasting. It was always the way with this man—hungry for profit and news from across the sea. There were many that avoided the English, and Thomas MacGuinnes was no exception.

“Greetings, Alastair,” said Noreen, giving him a broad smile. “Good to see you have returned. ’Tis many moons.” She planted her hands on either side of her hips and angled her head to the side.

“I did not ken it was so long,” teased Alastair.

Noreen snorted. “The length of which I would gladly see.”

“Tsk, tsk. What would your father say to such language?”

She stepped close to him, dropping her shawl a bit to show him a partial view of her breasts. “And what language are ye referring to?”

By the Gods, it was always this way with her. Even when they first met, she did not flinch from his face, horribly scarred, as did so many others when they saw him. Instead, she flirted outrageously. However, he realized the moment he laid his hands on her Thomas would slap the marriage chains around him. In truth, he pondered why he did not take Noreen as his wife. With her flaming red hair and a body ripe with curves, he understood she would be a tempting tigress to tame.

“Ye could teach me with your mouth to say the proper words,” she cooed, brushing a finger across his lips.

His body betrayed him, and he shifted, praying she would not see his erection.

Too late. Her smile became predatory. Pressing herself against him, she whispered into his ear, “I most definitely can take care of your
length
.”

Beads of sweat broke out along his forehead. He remained speechless, the barrel digging into his shoulder.

“Oh for the love of Mary, leave the man be,” shouted Siobhan.

Noreen chuckled low and moved away from him. Giving her sister a pout, she ambled down the road humming a tune.

“Honestly, Alastair,” said Siobhan, stepping toward him. “Why don’t ye just marry my sister and do us all a favor? I ken the way ye look at her.” She stood there gazing up at him waiting for his answer.

Could he truly be happy here in this land? With that woman? Swallowing, he was sorely tempted to seek out Thomas and include a marriage deal in the bargain.

He let out a long held breath. This was not the day. The past still reared its ugly head, and he could not stay permanently on the land—
ever
.

Giving Siobhan a weak smile, he replied, “Not today.”

She sighed. “Ye will find father in the stables tending to a foal.”

Relieved he could be on his way, Alastair proceeded up the path. As soon as he spotted one of Thomas’s men, he called out, “Take this barrel to the great hall, and put it next to the MacGuinnes’s chair.”

Wiping the sweat from his brow, he made his way toward the stables and Thomas’s shouts.

Stepping inside, he stopped short. Thomas was crouched on the ground, drenched in blood. Behind one of his mares, stood a newborn, its twin unable to stand.

“Sweet Danu! Bring me some more water,” demanded the MacGuinnes.

He kept stroking the babe and speaking low. “Now lass, I ken ye have spirit. One would have to, seeing how that beast of your brother took up much of your space. Would ye let him live and ye perish? Methinks not.”

A small lad rushed past Alastair, handing Thomas the pail of water.

Taking a cloth, he dipped it in the water and wiped away the blood from the foal’s eyes and mouth. She snorted, causing him to chuckle. “Aye, there is my girl.”

Instantly, the foal kicked out and stood. Shaking its head back and forth, it moved on unsteady legs to be near its mother.

Alastair remained still. The energy swirled around him from not only the land, but from witnessing the miracle of birth.

Gritting his teeth, he willed it back into the ground.

“By the saints, MacKay! ’Tis good to see ye.” Thomas proceeded to dump the rest of the water over his head, before giving out orders for the boy to fetch Peter.

“When Peter arrives, we can take our leave. Dinnae want to leave them alone.”

“Rough birth?”

Thomas wiped his face with the cloth and stood up. “Aye. In truth, I am amazed the wee lass survived.” He nodded toward her brother. “He was close to crushing her inside.”

Alastair nodded. “Your love of horses knows no bounds. I believe ye willed her to live.”

Thomas smacked him on the back. “And dinnae tell me ye would have not done the same.”

He cocked a brow, realizing the man was correct. His love of animals,
especially
horses, was one he never hid.

Peter came rushing toward them with the lad following closely behind. Giving them specific instructions, Thomas waved Alastair back toward the keep.

“I am keen to see what ye have brought, MacKay.”

He snorted. “Aye, and news on other trading burghs.”

“Ye be a sly one, MacKay, to know me so well.”

As they continued to talk, Thomas’s wife emerged.

“Greetings, Alastair. ’Tis many moons.”

“Greetings, Claire. One does forget the passing of days when at sea.”

She waved him off. “Well, ye are here now. It will be a great feasting this evening.”

He frowned. “My pardon, but a simple meal will be plenty for us.”

Thomas coughed loudly, holding back a laugh. “We have guests.”

Alastair shifted his stance and crossed his arms across his chest. “Aye, the O’Quinlan.”

“He has another with him.”

Claire squared her shoulders and glared at her husband. “Honestly, Thomas. At least they are not priests.” Smiling, she snapped her gaze back at Alastair. “’Tis only the O’Quinlan’s trusted counselor, Kevan.”

Alastair’s gut clenched.
Druids! Bloody hell!

“Now, I have much to attend to. They are filling the tub as we speak, so I would suggest,
husband
, ye clean the muck from the stables off ye.” Giving him a smile, she turned and walked back inside.

Thomas shook his head slowly. “Sorry, MacKay. I would not blame ye if ye took your meal elsewhere.”

Alastair shrugged. “Druids, priests…it does not matter. They are both vile. But what of the O’Quinlan?”

“He is much like yourself.”

Alastair raised a brow in question.

“Prefers the shadows. He passes through once every year after midsummer to trade for my special brand of mead. Niall has no fondness for the English. If it were any other, I would safely send ye away, but I
trust
the man.”

Alastair sneered. “I trust
no one
.”

“Nae, I do not believe the
Dubh Dragon
would.” Shaking his head slowly, Thomas walked past him.

****

After changing into a clean tunic, Alastair sought out Gunnar and informed him of their eating companions. He was a guest of the MacGuinnes and did not want any trouble with the men when they saw the druid.

He passed a serving girl with a tray of sweets, the aroma tantalizing his senses. He had only taken a few more steps when Noreen came around a corner and grabbed a hold of his arm.

“I do hope ye plan on sitting beside me at the table, Alastair.” She squeezed his arm slightly.

He tried to avoid looking at her. “’Tis best I sit with your father.”

“Then I shall have to sit on the other side.”

Gritting his teeth, he realized they were about to enter the hall…
together
.
Warning bells rang in his head.

Alastair halted. “I have business to conduct, Noreen. Ye might find it boring.”

She turned slightly, rubbing her breast along his arm. Tilting her head up at him, she smiled slowly. “Tsk, tsk, Alastair. I think ye are
afraid
of what I might offer ye at the meal.”