Dragon Knight's Axe (33 page)

“Aye,” replied Duncan. “She woke several weeks ago.”

“Where is she?” Alastair demanded, his eyes turning colors.

“With Desmond and Kevan. They left two days ago for home,” answered Stephen bracing himself for the blow.

Yet, it never came.

As Alastair turned and walked quietly toward the entrance, he yelled back over his shoulder. “See to my horse, Duncan. I will be in my chambers.”

“Sweet Danu. We were fortunate he did not take our heads,” grumbled Duncan.

Stephen’s anger snapped, and he punched Duncan squarely in the face.

Reeling, Duncan’s eyes blazed at him. “Ye bastard! What was that for?” he bellowed, wiping away blood from his nose.

Getting right into his face, his voice was heavy with sarcasm. “For acting like an ass when ye answered his questions.”

“What did ye expect me to say?”

Stephen took a step back. “The truth—from the
beginning
.”

Duncan sneered. “Ye were just as afraid.”

Stephen shook out his fist. “Aye. It would not be the first time we had to hold down Alastair when his temper flared.”

“I believe we have taken turns holding one of us down when the rage blinds us to any clear thought.”

Pointing to the direction of the entrance, Stephen added, “True, but our little brother destroyed a portion of the castle along with the stables when he threw a tantrum at age seven. His power is the most destructive, and he bloody well kens this. And so do you, Duncan!”

“How could I forget? It took most of the day for someone to find me buried under the rubble.” Duncan wiped away more blood, and looked up at the darkening sky. “Nonetheless, it was not Alastair that struck a blow to my face.”

Stephen shrugged. “Ye will heal quickly.”

Duncan gave a low growl.

“Wonderful. Everyone is returning,” complained Stephen.

Duncan clamped a tight hand on Stephen’s shoulder, and he winced slightly from the pain. “I suppose ye want me to explain that their home will not be coming down any time soon?”

“Ye are correct, brother.” Taking Gawain’s reins, Duncan stormed off toward the stables.

“Can I at least tell them it was Alastair who punched ye?” Stephen shouted.

He heard Duncan throw out a curse at him, and Stephen laughed. “Nae. Did not think so.”

Brigid ran forward, clasping Stephen’s arm. “Who punched who? Is Duncan all right? The castle is still standing, but I don’t see Alastair. Did he leave?”

Stephen groaned.
Women and their questions. Especially women from another century
.

“Oh my goodness, Stephen. Are you all right?” Aileen grasped his other arm.

He gritted his teeth.

Releasing her grip, Aileen stood back. “Well, by the look you’re giving us, I can tell you’re angry. Brigid, back away from my husband. He doesn’t like me to coddle, or ask any questions when he’s furious over something.”

Brigid snickered. “It appears all the MacKay men have that personality trait.”

Stephen shot her a furious look.

“Blast it, Stephen. We were worried. So what happened?” demanded Aileen.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he let out a long breath. “Alastair grasps the truth about Fiona. He took it calmly and is in his chambers. I got angry with Duncan and hit him.”

“He came back for her?” Aileen uttered quietly.

“Aye.”

“And he took it calmly?”

Stephen only nodded in agreement, understanding his wife’s thoughts, though wondered why she did not ask why
he
threw a punch at Duncan.

Aileen clasped her arms around herself. “Then he is mourning her loss, or…”

Reaching out for her fingers, he brushed a kiss along her knuckles. “
Or
, when the shock of her leaving truly settles, he will emerge forth angrier than the hounds of Cuchulainn.”

“What can we do?” asked Brigid.

“Naught. It is his journey and his alone.”

Chapter Forty

“As the Knight climbed the mountain, he discovered his path blocked by boulders, until the maiden held out her hand through the mists and led him home.”

When Alastair pushed open the giant oak door to his chamber, his heart froze. He had left in a fury, determined to never step foot inside this room again. A room still filled with her scent. Fiona might be gone from the place, but her spiritual essence lingered. Leaning against the door, his eyes sought out the bed, now devoid of her body, and the grief ripped through him.

With a sigh, he realized how foolish he had been to leave.

Pushing away from the door, he closed it silently. Dark shadows played across the walls, mocking him, and a sudden chill swept through him. The beast in Alastair wanted to bring down the walls, to destroy any memory of Fiona that remained.

But his love for her took a firm grasp and he staggered over to the window, bracing his hands on either side of the arch.

“Ye told me to return, Great Dragon—to mend the broken pieces. Was it all a lie?” His voice wavered with emotion.

He watched as the first drops of rain splattered against the outside stone, realizing the woman he loved was gone, forever. She was no longer his. The joy he experienced earlier turned to ash. “Never will I love again. Do ye hear me, Fiona?”

The ground shook under him, and he clenched his fists holding back the wave of power threatening to spill out. He seethed with anger. Frustrated with her—frustrated at himself.

The sound of thunder clapped near, followed by lightning. Then the clouds opened up, making Alastair long to be out in the elements. If he stayed any longer in the room, he would surely go mad with heartache, and all he wanted to feel was the land beneath his feet and the rain on his face.

Quickly leaving the room, he made his way down the corridor, passing only a few and giving them curt nods. He had no words for any and they sought none.

As the first blast of icy rain landed on him, he paused, welcoming its sting on his skin. Then proceeding to the stables, his gaze led him to Gawain. He had to give his brother credit for at least stripping his horse and brushing him down. Fresh hay and water were nearby and as he gently patted the animal, he went to where Duncan had placed his axe. Removing the weapon, he strode back out into the rain determined to find a secluded place.

Leveling his axe at one of the men, he shouted, “Open the gate.”

He did not have to ask again. Instantly, the gate lifted and he walked out, seeking the road along the loch. Keeping his eyes away from the water, Alastair focused on the worn path leading up the hill. With each step, he let the land seep into his body, controlling the beast that fought for release. Past the giant pines and rowan, he steadily climbed. When lightning flashed over him, so near it blinded him briefly, he turned and raised his axe shoving it outward.

The land rolled—a warning to Duncan to back away.

Breathing heavily, he continued his trek upward. Branches slapped at his face and body as if in welcome. Weaving his way deeper into the trees, the rain continued to lash out relentlessly, his focus on the group of oaks beyond the ridge. As he came closer, his steps slowed.

He came for one purpose—to seek assistance.

Standing outside the giants, Alastair knelt and placed his axe on the ground. “I ken it has been many moons since I have entered this place. Forgive me. I seek permission to cross the threshold.”

As he kept his head bent, Alastair feared they would deny him. Bracing his hands on his knees, he let his lungs take in the crisp, clean scent. When the first oak leaf touched his head, he smiled. Upon lifting his head, the leaves greeted him with a cluster that fell on the ground around him. “I thank ye,” he uttered softly and stood.

Walking into the clearing, the energy of the trees vibrated throughout his body. Closing his eyes, he held his arms up outward, and greeted each one. Then stripping his tunic, he proceeded to say the ancient words while wielding his axe—a ritual as old as time. One that had passed down through each generation of Dragon Knights. Alastair freed his mind of all thought and let the Fae enter for the first time in several years.

Hours passed before he realized the sun now shone through puffs of billowy clouds. A sense of urgency filled him and kneeling down he grabbed a fistful of dirt and brought it to his lips. Letting it slip through his fingers, he stood and ran out of the clearing.

By the time he reached Urquhart, his body hummed with renewed strength and something else he never dreamed possible.

Hope
.

Seeing Duncan with Finn, he ran forward. “Will ye have Tiernan prepare my horse?”

Finn looked at Duncan who gave his approval with a nod. When the lad took off, Duncan crossed his arms over his chest. “So, ye are leaving us again?”

Alastair clamped a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Nae. I am going after Fiona.”

Dropping his arms, Duncan smiled fully. “’Tis about time ye came to your senses. Ye do understand that she is with her brother—a brother who would like to rip out your heart.”

Alastair waved him off as he strode through the courtyard. “It will not be the first time.” In truth, he did not fear her brother, for he was more concerned with what Fiona would do to his heart. If she refused him…he sighed heavily, pushing aside the thought.

Stepping through the entrance, he heard Duncan shout out, “Ye might want to take a blade to that beard before ye greet your woman.”

Hastily climbing the stairs, he could not believe the sight that welcomed him when he entered his chamber. A fire blazed in the hearth and fresh food, wine, and water spread out on his table. He could not spare time for such comforts, but would take what he required with him. Changing into a fresh tunic, he shoved food into his bag just as Stephen walked in, holding out his
sgian dubh
.

“Would ye like me to do the honors?” Stephen’s smile was predatory.

Placing his hands on his hips, Alastair glared at his brother. “If ye promise not to slice me open?”

“Have I ever?”

Alastair waved him over, grabbing a basin and filling it with water. “Make it quick.”

After Stephen had removed Alastair’s beard, he stood back, looking at him. “If I may ask, how did ye come by the scar?”

Wiping his face, Alastair finished gathering his items and reached for his axe, hesitating to say anything to his brother. Memories of that night had haunted him for months afterwards, and he was stunned his brothers had not asked sooner. He cast him a sideways glance. “I was set upon by five men one night. They wanted to see if a Dragon Knight could bleed red. It took four to hold me down as one of them sliced open my face.”

Seeing Stephen’s troubled look, he continued, “Dinnae fear, Brother. They may have scarred my face, but they all went to the Underworld screaming my name.”

“Ye killed them?” Stephen’s voice was low.

Alastair gave a rueful laugh understanding his brother’s question. “Aye.”

Stephen nodded. “Good. Now get out of here.”

When Alastair stepped out of his chamber, he saw Aileen walking his way carrying a bundle of lavender wands. Taking her free hand, he kissed it gently. “Thank ye.”

“For what?” she asked with eyes that twinkled, reminding him of Meggie’s.

“My chamber.”

“It was nothing, really. Brigid and I realized you might be hungry.”

“Nevertheless, it is appreciated.” He moved to walk around her, yet she touched his arm to still his movement.

“Tread carefully, Alastair. She was extremely hurt and angry that you left.”

This time he embraced Aileen. “Och, she truly loves me.”

“Men,” she muttered, with a faint smile.

He laughed as he quickly released her, running down the corridor. Hastily making his way outside, he found Gawain ready for him. Strapping his axe in place, he mounted quickly. There were only a few hours left in the day, but he would ride well into the night. Praying the rain would not return, Alastair waved a final salute to Duncan and took off.

Stephen wandered over to Duncan keeping his gaze on Alastair when he spoke. “Ye helped him with your powers?”

“The land required water.” Duncan’s tone was brisk. “In truth, the women have been complaining about the late summer heat.”

“So, it had naught to do with the two days lead Desmond and Fiona have on him?”

“Are ye daft? Of course it did. I’m not an insensitive cur to our brother’s plight. I only
delayed
their journey.”

Stephen gave him an incredulous look. “Surely it is not for their benefit, but to assist Alastair in reaching them.”

Duncan pointed a warning finger at Stephen. “Dinnae breathe a word of this to anyone.”

Stephen coughed loudly into his hand. “Your secret is safe with me,
Brother
.”

****

As Fiona stretched, she peeked out of the cave. The morning dawned clear, though chilly, and she uttered a silent prayer—thankful for the absence of rain. Sun filtered through lingering clouds, but it was far better than the dark, stormy ones that had besieged them for the past few days. Hugging her cloak more tightly around her body, she waved to Desmond and Kevan coming up the path with the horses.

“Finally, the rain has ceased,” she said, reaching for her horse’s reins.

“Rain is as common here as the pine is to these lands,” replied Kevan as he stepped inside the cave.

She looked at him over her shoulder. “Do you believe we’ll have more today?”

Kevan emerged with his belongings and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “It is a sunny day for traveling. We should reach the druid’s camp by nightfall.”

“Have ye broken your fast, Fiona?” asked Desmond between mouthfuls of a sugared bun.

“Oh for the love of…please tell me you have not eaten all the buns Brigid made for our journey.”

“I saved ye one,” he replied, wiping the crumbs from his mouth.

Holding out her hand for the last remaining bun, she just shook her head at him. “Thank the Gods we’ll be at the camp soon. You eat as much as three men.”

Desmond grinned. “Nae, Fiona, Brian eats more.”

Sitting on a log, she held back the laughter by stuffing a piece into her mouth. Watching as the men finished loading their belongings onto the horses, her thoughts drifted once more to Alastair. Each morning it was the same as he weaved his way into her mind and heart.
What was he doing? Was he well?