Dragon Knight's Axe (7 page)

“You’ve been mumbling for the better part of an hour, which indicates to me you seriously need a break.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Nothing a little food, drink, and a good story won’t cure.” He stepped away, heading for the table.

“Story?” Fiona asked, tossing off her gloves and following him.

He pointed to a sandwich and a bottle of water. “Eat, and I’ll tell you a tale about the Dragon Knights.”

Fiona hastily wiped her hands and face with cleansing wipes and then proceeded to sit down, taking a bite of her vegetable sandwich. “I’m waiting,” she said between mouthfuls.

Rory laughed. “All right, Fiona. There did exist an order of Dragon Knights. Their order was established thousands of years ago in Ireland. You’ve heard about the five invasions of Ireland from mythology?”

She swallowed some water before answering. “Yes. Cessair, Partholon, Nemed, Fir Bolg, and the Tuatha de Danann.”

Rory smiled. “Correct. The Dragon Knights were assembled under the Tuatha de Danann. Only people chosen by the Fae married into these clans. When Christianity wiped out many of the dragons, the knights were charged with protecting the last remaining one. The knights fled from Ireland to Scotland.”

Fiona held up her hand to halt his words. “So, what you’re saying is these knights are part…human and
Fae
?”

“Quick thinker.”

“This is sounding more like a faerytale, Rory.”

“
Legend,
” he corrected.

“Well, if they went to Scotland, then how does it explain the tablet?”

“If you let me finish, I think I can answer that,” he drawled.

Fiona waved a hand outward. “Please, continue.”

“As I was saying, the knights went to Scotland and settled peacefully for many centuries in the Great Glen near Urquhart. Until one rival clan became enemies of the knights. They followed hundreds of years after the original family fled Ireland, believing they were the rightful ones to guard the dragon and its relics. It wasn’t until the thirteenth century that Margaret MacKay and Adam MacFhearguis attempted to heal the fighting by marrying each other. They had fallen intensely in love.” Rory sighed deeply. “However, it did not end well.”

Though the sun was hot, chills ran down Fiona’s arms and back. “What happened?”

“On the night they were fleeing to be handfasted, her brothers found her and Adam. A battle was fought, and Margaret flung herself in front of Adam to block her brother’s blade meant for her beloved. She died instantly, spilling blood on land sacred to the Fae.”

Fiona gasped. “
No
.”

Rory nodded solemnly. “They were cursed that night. The brothers scattered to various destinations across the lands.”

Fiona jumped up. “One of them was here!”

“Sadly, I have never found anything that mentions a Dragon Knight in Ireland in the thirteenth century.”

Fiona tapped her finger against her mouth in concentration, and then pointed it at him. “What if he wasn’t called that? Maybe he went by another name.”

“A possibility,” Rory said slowly.

She sat back down, taking a long swig of her water. “I’m going to solve this puzzle of the tablet all on my own. I’ll show them.”

Rory leaned forward, placing his arms on the table. “Why this fierce need to find the meaning, Fiona?”

She looked away.
How can I explain when I don’t understand myself? I’m drawn to this person without a name. A story with no beginning…no ending.

Slowly meeting his gaze, she replied, “Because someone believed that behind the monster was a man worth saving, and I intend to help in his redemption.”

Rory’s face betrayed no emotion. “Go take a walk, Fiona. It will help to clear your mind.”

Her hands clenched as she stood and walked away. Passing her backpack, she grabbed her jean jacket with the fur collar. “Maybe I’ll just take a nap, too,” she hissed.

Fiona walked with no set direction, so angry at herself for telling Rory what she felt in her heart. “I should never have said anything,” she said, stomping the ground.

The air suddenly had a chill to it, and Fiona put on her coat. She kicked a rock along her path, not bothering to see where it landed while still muttering to herself. With her focus on the ground, she nearly slammed into the large boulder in her path. Quickly maneuvering around it, she bent to retrieve a multi-colored rock.

Glancing around, she groaned. She had walked into the grove of oaks Rory specifically told her to stay away from. “Oh no.” She’d turned to retrace her steps, when the trees blurred. Instantly, she felt dizzy, and colors danced before her eyes. Fiona slumped to the ground. Closing her eyes, she tried taking deep cleansing breaths. Her limbs were weak, and she could barely move.

“Fiona?”

Blinking her eyes open, she managed to see Rory standing at the edge of the trees.

“I don’t feel so good, Rory.”

“You will be fine, Fiona. Take your nap. When you wake, go find your monster. Only
you
can redeem him.”

His words had a soothing effect on her. “Yes,” she mumbled. “Need to sleep…eyes so heavy.” Fiona rested her head on a soft patch of wildflowers, tucking her hand under her head. She didn’t even open her eyes when she asked, “Rory?”

“Yes, Fiona?”

“If I find the monster, he will kill me.”

Chapter Nine

“When you are lost, do not retrace your steps. You must continue on your journey to find your true place in time.”

Groaning, Alastair heaved himself into a sitting position from the furs by the hearth. Another long night of chess with much mead contributed to the pounding in his head.

Aye, I should have listened when someone mentioned drink only ale.

Rubbing his hand across his face, he tried to shake the cobwebs from his mind. What he needed was a good dunking in the stream. At least that would remove the stench. Slowly standing, he grabbed hold of the mantel.

Joseph entered the cottage, throwing open the door with a resounding crash. “’Tis good to see ye awake. The sun is high in the sky.”

Alastair placed his head against the cool stone. The thought of speaking would probably inflict more pain.

His host shoved a mug into his hand. “Drink this. ’Tis my own remedy.”

He didn’t even look at its contents. Instead, he drank it in one gulp—reveling in the cool liquid. Handing back the mug, he opened his eyes. “Your mead packs a mighty punch.” His voice sounded raw even to himself.

Joseph roared with laughter, and Alastair held his hands over his ears in protest.

“Ye drink without food in your belly, MacKay. Not a good blend. Come, I have bread and cheese.”

Alastair shuffled over to the table. His stomach growled when the aroma of the freshly baked bread hit his senses. Tearing off a piece, he shoved it into his mouth. Joseph placed another mug in front of him, and he drank its contents.

They both sat in silence eating their meal.

Afterwards, Joseph rose from his chair to retrieve his pipe. Lighting it, he inhaled deeply.

“If ye are going to smoke that bloody stick, I think I will take my leave,” grumbled Alastair. He stood and gathered his sack. As he made his way outside, he overheard Joseph mumble something about an ungrateful visitor.

Poking his head back inside, he said, “Thank ye, my friend. And ye can give my thanks to Allison for the bread, too.”

“She will be pleased to hear ye enjoyed it. And when can I expect a barrel of what ye are carrying?” Joseph asked as a trail of smoke swirled around his head.

“I will send Steiner with it before we leave at dawn.” He waved his farewell over his head as he headed toward the stream.

Following a path he knew well, he climbed over a boulder and proceeded to strip. Plunging head first into the cold stream cleared the last remnants of pain from his head. A raven flew past reminding him of the Morrigan and battles. His thoughts returned to what Joseph had told him about FitzGodebert.

Splashing water over his face, he gazed at the passing bird. “Perchance it is time to take ourselves away from the battles.”

Striding out of the water, Alastair sat on the boulder warming his body and pondering plans.
Would the men agree to a new direction? A new land? The sea could take them anywhere
.

He stretched and dressed quickly, anxious to plot out a new path.

****

Gruff voices surrounded Fiona in a language that was a mix of Gaelic and English. They spoke so fast her head swam trying to concentrate on what they were saying. Her body ached, and her eyes refused to open. And what was that stench?

Where are you, Rory?
Was he arguing with someone? Because that’s what it sounded like.

Suddenly, a fight broke out, and she wrenched her eyes open to the horror in front of her.
Good God!
Men dressed in tattered medieval clothing, which had seen better days, were fighting with swords a few feet away, while others watched cheering them on with fists raised in the air.

Her nightmare had come to life right before her eyes.

She glanced around recognizing nothing. Gone were the trees and soft grasses. Now, it was dirt and the smell of un-bathed bodies. Survival instincts took over, and she scooted away from the group of mad men. They continued to fight over what she didn’t know or care to find out. Fleeing was her only thought, so she stood on shaky limbs and turned abruptly to run.

Instead, Fiona slammed into a giant. He stood with his arms crossed over his chest, glaring at her.

There was nowhere to run. She was trapped.

His gaze traveled over her body, and he grasped her arm, pulling her against his chest. Fiona gagged on reflex, since he reeked of all things foul. She tried to pull away, but his fingers dug into her arm, and she cried out in pain.

Immediately the fighting stopped and all heads turned toward her. Lust and hatred filled each of their faces and panic seized her body.

One of the men yelled out to the one holding her in an iron grip. This time she understood what he said. Her shoulders sagged with relief, since he stated no harm was to befall her. Until he ended with orders to prepare her for the trading.

Sold? They were going to sell her? Like hell they are!
Fiona twisted with all her might and let out a blood-curdling scream. Her captor slapped her hard across the face.

The one who gave the orders stalked forward, pushing her out of the way and plunging his sword into her captor.

Fiona’s stomach lurched, and she vomited onto the ground. She watched in horror as the man cleaned his sword on the clothes of the dead man. He then grasped her chin in a firm hold, causing tears to form from the pain.

“If ye cause any more trouble, I will give ye to my men for their pleasures, and then I will slit your throat. Do ye understand?”

Fiona nodded as best she could.

The man barked orders, and someone came forth with a rope. Her captor roughly bound her hands tightly together. Afterwards, he firmly groped her breasts. “A mighty handful. Ye will fetch a good bargain and these will make up for the lack of hair.” He pulled on one of her curls before pushing her toward the man who’d brought him the rope.

She stumbled along as her new captor held the end of her leash.
Maybe if I close my eyes this will all end. Wake up, Fiona! This can’t be real.
Yet, when she opened her eyes, the dreadfulness of her situation still surrounded her.

They passed a cluster of small houses and for a moment, she wanted to yell out for help. Although, looking around, she noticed no one seemed to care. In fact, one of the women actually waved to the leader of the horrid gang. When they walked past a group of other men, they gave her that same look—one of lust. Someone whistled at her, then grabbed his crotch making lewd gestures. Fiona quickly looked away.

This is hell!
Then an idea struck
.
Could I have a fever causing me to hallucinate?
She tried to think of anything that could have contributed to this insane nightmare of illusions.

Her captor gave her a quick yank snapping her out of her thoughts. They were now moving along a hill overlooking the harbor. Various small vessels lined the dock, some offloading goods.

Hearing loud shouts, she turned toward the sound. Standing on a platform were men, women, and children. Some were huddled together, and Fiona wondered if they were families. A small child cried out when one of the men pulled her out of her mother’s arms. The man tugged the woman away, and the child wailed in protest.

Fiona’s mind raced. Slave trading right before her eyes, and she would be tossed in with the rest. She realized no candle or soothing words from her Nana could take away the horrors of what she was experiencing.

“If it was only that simple,” she muttered.

Her captor jerked her to a stop. He stood with his arms crossed across his chest. She watched as their leader made his way to the platform, waving his hand to one of the men in charge. After a brief exchange, he motioned to her captor to bring her along.

She stumbled forward looking around for any sign of escape. There were people in front and the water at her back. Her mind kept screaming at her to do something.

But what? And where could she go?

Her captor shoved her onto the platform.

An outburst of shouting erupted from the crowd. The leader came forward, shoving her coat back off her shoulders to expose her breasts fully to the crowd. Some cheered, while others shouted out bargains. One man came forward and pulled on her hair.

Her medieval nightmare was torturing her, and she felt dizzy.
I. Will. Not. Faint
.

At once, the crowd started to part.

Fiona thought her first captor was a giant. She was wrong.

The man striding forward in the middle of the mob was taller than everyone else. His fur-lined cloak whipped around him as he stormed down the hill. His long dark hair hung in waves past his shoulders, and she noticed he had braids on each side of his face.

The closer he came, the more Fiona began to tremble. His face bore a deep crescent scar from his left eyebrow down below his cheek. This giant was a demon, and some actually crossed themselves as he passed them.