Dragon Knight's Axe (30 page)

Running her hands through her curls, she couldn’t thank Brigid enough for making her feel refreshed. It was exactly what she needed. Letting her feet dangle in the water, she closed her eyes. Sensing something hovering nearby, she slit one eye open. “Hello, there.” A hummingbird flitted just above her head. “Agreed. Magical.” Watching as it flew off, she closed her eye.

“How do you do that?” asked Brigid.

“I’m sorry, do what?”

“Talk to them?”

“Oh, that.” Smiling, Fiona looked over at Brigid as she was drying her hair. “They are usually the ones that greet me first. Often, they communicate with a picture or one word.”

“You do understand your gift is linked to the Fae,” commented Aileen, between bites of an apple.

Fiona blanched. “How do you know this?”

“According to Liam, gifts of that nature are only reserved for those who have Fae blood.”

“You keep mentioning this Liam…” Fiona stopped in mid-sentence recalling Liam’s last name. “This Liam wouldn’t by chance have a brother called Rory?”

Eyes widening, she replied, “Why, yes, he does.”

“Blasted MacGregor brothers. I worked with Rory at Trinity College. It wasn’t until I came to the past that I was told
what
he was.”

Brigid held up her hand. “Well, at least you didn’t have to be around Conn MacRoich.”

“Do you have any gifts, Brigid?”

“Only that I’m descended from the O’Neills of ancient Ireland and can sense Duncan’s thoughts and feelings. I believe I’ve been watched over by the Fae all my life—including Conn.”

Placing her chin on her knees, Fiona asked, “Do you ever get the sensation we’ve been manipulated to suit their plans?”

Aileen sobered. “I would hope not. My father was one of their greatest warriors and even he could not foresee future events.”

As Fiona rubbed her fingers over her cuff bracelet, thoughts of her brothers invaded her mind. Could she possibly have Fae blood? Surely, they would have shared this knowledge. However, with everything that happened to her they might have chosen not to tell her, for fear she would go screaming into the hills.

They all sat in silence, and then chatted about their former lives, until dark clouds threatened to spoil their lovely outing. Gathering their items, they started back to the castle. In a short time, Fiona had bonded with these two women. It would be so perfect staying on at Urquhart. Nonetheless, deep down, her heart would always ache as the days, months, and years passed.

A constant reminder of Alastair.

If she was ever going to heal, there was only one solution. Return to Ireland—her true family. Hopefully, her brothers would accept her along with the child she might be carrying.

Seeing the castle in the distance, Fiona’s stomach grumbled.

“Good to hear you’re hungry,” said Brigid over her shoulder.

“I guess I need more than bread, cheese, and fruit.”

“I believe Delia is making a cheese and turnip dish tonight along with a serving of venison.”

Fiona shivered at the mention of the deer meat.

Seeing her reaction, Aileen quickly added, “Don’t worry. There will be plenty of other dishes. Alastair told us of your eating preferences.”

“Thanks.”

As they drew nearer to the castle, they noticed the portcullis was open. Aileen shielded her eyes against the sun. “I believe we have visitors.”

“MacFhearguis?” asked Brigid.

“Don’t think so.”

“Well, we’d better hurry. Delia will require more help in the kitchen.”

“I hope it’s nobody important. We’re a mess,” grumbled Aileen, hitching up her gown and walking faster.

“Our hair is flowing, and we smell heavenly,” teased Brigid trying to catch up.

Fiona’s steps faltered when she walked through. Giving a shout of joy, she cared less what others thought of her appearance. This was a perfect ending to a marvelous afternoon. Running as fast as her feet and gown would allow, she nearly flung herself into the arms of her brother, Desmond.

He caught her with one arm and chuckled.

“How did you find me?”

“It was not difficult considering ye were with the MacKay.”

She brushed her hand over his arm, which was in a partial splint. Thank goodness they encountered the druids when they did. “Healing?”

He held the arm up, smirking. “Of course. It would not be the first time I have injured a limb. The druids used comfrey to help set the bones, and the wound is already knitting together. I shall not be wearing this much longer.”

“Thank the Goddess,” chuckled Kevan, stepping forward. “He fought the healer each day on when it could be removed.”

“Hello, Kevan.”

“It is good to see ye as well, Fiona.”

Hugging Desmond again, she sighed. The sooner she left Urquhart, the better. “I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you.”

“Fiona, there is not much that can keep an O’Quinlan down.” Releasing her, Desmond peered over her shoulder, his gaze meeting Duncan, yet his words were for her. “And where is Alastair?”

Duncan waved them toward the entrance. “There is much to discuss. Come join us. We can talk about
Alastair
over food and drink.”

Fiona squirmed when she noticed Desmond crossing his arms over his chest. She recognized that stance well. He wasn’t going anywhere without his question being answered. Looking directly at her, he asked, “What has the MacKay done to ye?”

Hearing Duncan utter a curse, she put up a hand in warning, and replied, “Duncan is correct, we should go inside. And to answer your question, Alastair is not here. He left days ago.” She held her breath on the last, praying that he would not ask anymore.

Uncrossing his arms, he tilted her head up, his voice low when he said, “Why would the MacKay leave ye here with these
strangers
? What are ye not telling me?”

She squared her shoulders, having no choice. “Fine. Have it your way. We were kidnapped by the MacFhearguis clan. Escaped with help, but in an attempt to flee, Alastair had to send me down a steep hill, all the while battling the laird. Short story: He killed the man, and I took a spill and hit my head—asleep for eight days. Alastair thought I was going to die, so he left.”

Seeing his eyes turn lethal, she quickly sidestepped him and made her way past the stunned looks of Brigid and Aileen. She grimaced when she heard his roar.

“I will kill him with my own hands!”

Chapter Thirty-Seven

“If I had watched Fiona die, I would have followed her to the land of forever and let the beast roam the land.”—Alastair MacKay, as told to the Guardian

Looking down at his bloody and blistered hands, Alastair smiled. His work was near completion, and the axe gleamed with the energy of the land. How fortunate he was to come upon an abandoned forge several days after his discussion with the Great Dragon. He did not require much in the way of tools, but what remained suited his needs and for several weeks, he whittled the oak to fit the blade.

Dunking his fists into the bucket of water, he washed the blood and grime from his weathered hands. Stretching his shoulders, he shook off the droplets. The wounds would heal overnight, only to reopen in the morning once he started his task. All that was left now would be to work on the carving.

Holding up the axe, he raised it so the last rays of light glinted off the amber, a jewel he found at the base of an old oak tree after spending the night against the gnarled ancient. Had the Fae left it there for him? Rubbing his thumb over the surface, he sucked in a breath, sensing the energy. As the light subsided, he knelt upon the ground. Scooping up a handful of soil, he spoke the old words as he sprinkled the axe with the dirt.

It had become a ritual every dusk—this slow progression back to the land to find and heal his soul. Standing, he placed a reverent kiss on the blade. He no sooner did so, when he received a nudge on his shoulders.

“Aye, I can smell ye, Gawain. No need to tell me ye are hungry.”

The horse snorted and pawed at leaf and twigs.

“What? Ye think I would forget?” Alastair ruffled his thick mane. “Let me wash in the stream first, and then I can forage something for us to eat.”

He did not waste much time in the water, and putting his clothes back on, he walked barefoot to a place he had made near the forge. Digging through his sack, he produced several apples and the last of an oatcake, which was as hard as stone.

“’Tis apples for our fare, my friend.” Slipping out his dirk, Alastair sliced them into pieces.

As they ate in silence, the first star in the sky blinked at him. As always, his thoughts returned to Fiona, and the time they sat under the stars and talked. Resting his arms on his knees, he looked upward. Was it possible Fiona was gazing at the stars, too? His body betrayed him when he remembered other things about her.

Her giggle when he would kiss her on the soft spot below her ear.

The way she watched him as he made love to her body.

How she would utter his name on a sigh.

Yet, mostly, how when she looked into his eyes, she could see his entire soul and never once drew back in fear.

By the Gods, he ached for her. To touch and hold her again in his arms, the desire so potent she invaded his dreams. Each waking moment was torture. “Soon, my love, I shall return. And by the Gods, ye had best be awake.”

Hearing someone approach, he rolled over and hid behind a tree, his dirk ready. As the footsteps neared, he could tell that whoever it was approached without fear. They were obviously not concealing their position. His nerves tingled with unknown energy, and he lowered his weapon.

Stepping out from the shadows, he called out, “What purpose do ye seek, druid?”

Laughter greeted him and for a moment, Alastair was tempted to reconsider his hospitality. Did not his brothers tell him of an evil druid? Could this be the man?

“I will not ask ye again,” he warned.

Pushing the branches aside, the druid walked over to Alastair. “I am on a journey to Urquhart. Only passing through.”

Alastair stiffened and raised his blade. “Your name?”

“Is this how ye greet druids?” he asked leaning on his staff.

“It depends on the name.”

The druid moved closer, and Alastair prepared for an attack.

“Ahh…you must be Alastair. I am Cathal.”

Stunned, Alastair lowered his dirk. “Ye would ken this
how
?”

“In these parts, anyone asking my name, especially understanding that I am a druid, is searching for Lachlan. Not only do ye have the look of a MacKay, but I sense your Fae blood.”

“Druids.” Yet, Alastair smiled and grasped the man’s shoulder. “Welcome to my home.”

“Ye are not staying at Urquhart?” Cathal asked walking alongside him.

Alastair rubbed a hand through his beard. “Nae. Though, I will be returning within a few days.”

“And your quest?”

Abruptly, Alastair turned away, preparing a small fire. Until he saw Fiona with his own eyes, his quest would not be over. It would be the last healing part, and he longed to finish and return. Watching as the flames snapped and grew, he turned his head and looked at the druid. “It is not over.”

Cathal smiled and promptly sat down on a log. “It is good to hear. Your brothers will be relieved to see ye after these many moons.”

Tossing another group of branches into the fire, Alastair let out a bark of laughter. “I did return, though it was not a happy reunion. I left the woman I love in their care, believing she was near death. We did not part on good terms, I fear.” He kicked away a fallen ember.

“Then it shall be a joyous reconciliation when ye do go back.”

“Ye do understand that we are talking about Duncan and Stephen, aye?”

Scratching his beard, Cathal nodded. “Their words can do more damage than their bite. I am confident that ye will make peace with them. They are after all your brothers.”

“Brothers with tempers to match my own,” he grumbled.

“The challenge is mastering the control.”

“Hmmm…that may take a lifetime.” Watching the flames, Alastair realized his manners. “I’m afraid I have no food or drink to offer ye.”

Cathal’s eyes widened in surprise. “How do ye fare? By living off the land?”

Alastair snorted. “Not animals. Greens by the stream, nuts, and apples. Most of my supplies were gone in the first week. I make do.”

Standing, Cathal smiled and walked over to his horse. Removing a satchel, he returned and started removing items.

Alastair held up his hand. “I will not take from ye.”

Cathal waved him off. “There is plenty here and only a few days’ ride to Urquhart. Furthermore, I have come from the Murray, who supplied me verra well. Now…aye, here is smoked salmon, bread, some type of meat pie, cheeses”—and pulling out a rather large wine skin, he held it aloft—“some of the finest elderberry wine I have ever sampled.”

Taking the wine skin, Alastair took a swig and closed his eyes. “By the Gods, ’tis worthy.” Letting the warmth of the wine fill him, he reached for the salmon and bread, tearing off a piece.

As they ate in silence, Alastair glanced down at the sack and spied some carrots. Pulling out a few, he went and fed Gawain. When he returned, Cathal had his eyes closed, and he thought the druid had fallen asleep. Taking another bite of salmon, he let his body relax. An owl hooted in the nearby tree and Alastair smiled.

“Have ye found your axe?”

Cathal’s questioned startled Alastair, and he hesitated in his answer. “Aye, though not the same.”

Frowning, Cathal leaned forward. “How so?”

Raising a brow, Alastair retrieved his axe and placed it across his knees as he sat down next to him. Cathal’s eyes snapped to the relic and back to his face with a shocked expression.

“
Did ye
?
” Cathal stammered.

Alastair nodded solemnly. “Tossed it into the loch and
she
pitched it back to me in pieces. So, aye, ’tis my own fault.”

He watched as Cathal held his hand over the axe. Snatching it quickly away, he shook his head in amazement. “The power of the Fae flows strong. Ye have healed with the strength of the land, and they have blessed your axe. It is much stronger.”