Dragon Knight's Sword (12 page)

His fate, though, was still at a crossroad.

Standing, he loaded what little he had onto Brandubh. Breathing deeply the crisp morning air, he mounted his horse and moved silently onward.

Chapter 17

“It is said some souls are connected by an ancient calling, which echoes through time until they are one.”

Brigid awoke with a start not fully realizing where she was. Clutching her sheets, she kept blinking her eyes adjusting to the sense of half dreaming and being awake. The smell of food brought her more into the reality of being fully conscious, and her shoulders sagged.

She had spent another restless night of dreams with her Highlander and her temples throbbed. Each time she would awake, she could still feel his arms around her, his scent lingering on her lips. She was on fire from his touch. How could a dream feel so real?

The moment her journey brought her to Scotland, she had not had one good night’s sleep. Her eyes narrowed. This all started the moment she received the sword.

“Damn you!” she yelled, punching her pillow. Placing her head in her heads, she felt an ache she could not fully comprehend. Her Highlander had invaded her dreams every night, and exhaustion had frazzled her nerves. On some unconscious level, she felt as if she had known him all her life.

Moving slowly out of bed, she went and stood at the window, staring out among the sheep that dotted along the valley. She had made the decision last night to return the sword today. Tomorrow her plans would take her to Edinburgh for some sightseeing. Afterwards, she would head back home.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, her heart told her that this was her home.

Brigid loved the Highlands, but it was time go. Faery tales steeped in legend had made an impact on her. She was being foolish to expect anything more.

“If only...”—her breath fogging part of the window—“I may never find out who sent me the sword, but does it matter now?”

A smile spread across her face as she spotted a little lamb running and jumping to catch up with its mother. Yes, she would miss the Highlands, but who’s to say she couldn’t return one day.

Turning from the window, Brigid retrieved her suitcase and started packing.

****

Castle Aonach was located toward the northern part of the Great Glen. The road had sharp turns and at times narrowed to one lane. Brigid would hold her breath as Conn navigated the path a bit too fast. The view as always was spectacular, and though the morning was brisk, she rolled down the window to breathe in the scent of the air.

“You’re a true Highland lass now, wanting to take in the mists.”

She swiped at a loose curl. “I feel as if I can’t get enough. I’m trying to absorb as much as I can before I leave.”

A frown skittered across his features, and Brigid wondered what that was about.

“Conn, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, just what you would call...deep in thought?”

“Right.” Yet she thought there was more, but kept silent.

“Here it is, Castle Aonach.”

“Wow!” Brigid gasped, placing her hand to her chest.

It was beyond what she envisioned. Brigid expected a small dwelling, not this great expanse of stone structure. A turret stood in the middle as if welcoming all visitors. Then she understood its meaning—Castle Aonach meant
gathering place
. They went over the bridge and under an arched entrance into a large courtyard.

“When was this built, Conn?”

“I believe it was built in the year 1210 as a second home for the Mackays, a distant relative of the ones of Urquhart.”

“You’re kidding, right? 800 years ago? It looks so...
new
.”

“It would depend on what your meaning of
new
means,” he chuckled.

Brigid got out of the car and stood looking around, feeling a sense of warmth prickle her senses. Shaking it off, she took the sword out of the back seat and slung it carefully over her shoulder. It would have been nice if Conn had asked to help, but he never once mentioned to even look at the sword, much less help her carry it.

“So much for chivalry in Highland men,” she snorted, following Conn up to the entrance. When she finally made it to the door, her mouth dropped open as it was promptly closed.

“What’s wrong?”

Conn grasped her elbow to move her back down the path. “The butler said his mistress is not home. She is visiting friends on the Isle of Skye and will not be returning until the end of the month.”

She glared at him. “This can’t be happening!”

Continuing to move her along, he added, “He then suggested we call to make an appointment.”

Jerking free of his grasp, she waved her hands up in frustration and stormed off into the direction of the pine trees across from the entrance.

Conn just stared at her fading back. He stifled a retort and watched until she was out of sight.

He was leaning against the car for some time thinking it best to give her some distance, until a bird’s screech caught his attention. A falcon was hovering in the distance and understanding flooded him. She had gone in the direction of the stones.

“Bloody hell!” What a fool he was to let her go off in that direction, knowing she was not ready.

Conn cupped both hands over his mouth, speaking in Gaelic to the falcon. The bird swooped and flew off in Brigid’s direction, as Conn took off running through the trees.

****

Brigid was angry, tired, and frustrated. She did not plan on waiting until the end of the month for Mistress Mackay to return. She wanted answers now, and she wanted to return the sword.

There were two options. One, she could take the sword back to Seattle, or two, she could turn it over to the Scottish Trust.

Shoving a fist into the air, she yelled, “And I’m pissed off at whoever sent me this sword. Legends, my ass!” Picking up a stone, she tossed it hard across the path.

Walking faster and deeper into the trees, she tripped on a root branch and lost her footing, which did not help with the sword, its weight propelling her to the ground. One arm had managed to hold the strap, but her right hand and arm slammed onto the edge of a sharp boulder.

“Damn, damn, damn.” Slowly rolling over, she saw her hand was bleeding. Using her good arm, she tried to remove the sword, which was proving to be difficult, since it required both hands.

Looking up, she noticed she was in a stone ring. In all, there were five standing stones and one long, horizontal stone in the middle, which Brigid assumed was probably an altar. On each of the stones, carved from top to bottom, were Celtic symbols.

Brigid tried to stand, but started feeling dizzy. Staring across the stones, she wondered if Conn had followed her.

“Probably not, he’s probably in the car,” she gritted out. She wasn’t bleeding much, though still worried about getting any blood on the leather pouch.

“Blood or dirt? What shall it be?”

Wiping her palm on the grass, she thought she heard shouting in the distance. Her mind was spinning, and the pressure in her ears was getting worse. Lying down with the sword behind her, Brigid managed to position herself out from under the strap. Yet, in twisting to get it off, her bloody hand touched the sword handle, which had come out of the pouch. “Crap,” she mumbled.

Instantly pain slammed into her with full force. Pressure started to build in her ears, and the pain seared her thoughts, taking control of her body.

It seemed as if time had stood still.

Slowly, she lifted her head to a sound of someone calling her name. Her vision blurred, and she thought she noticed Conn standing at the edge of the trees.

Why didn’t he help her? And
why
was he yelling?

“Don’t move, Brigid!” Conn was standing on the opposite side of the stones, a look of terror etched across his face. Conn had to steady the portal immediately. A portal she opened when her blood came in contact with the sword.

If he didn’t, Brigid would die.

He quickly stripped off his jacket and shirt. Needing to feel the earth beneath him to call upon his powers, he removed his boots. Raising his arms out and upwards, Conn started chanting the ancient language of the fae, keeping his eyes on Brigid.

The pressure easing somewhat, Brigid managed to bring her head back up. However, the pain continued to rock her body, keeping her on the ground. Blinking her eyes to focus, she was shocked at the man before her.

Conn stood arms outstretched and emblazoned on his arms and torso were Celtic tattoos. They glowed, and Brigid could see the light and energy swirling around his body. She tried to understand what he was saying, but the words didn’t make sense.

His eyes caught hers and she reached out for him. “Help me, Conn,” she whispered, as a tear fell down her cheek. The pain was too much. What was
happening
? Looking back down at her hands, she started to tremble.

“Brigid!” Conn rasped out. Holding control of the portal took all of his strength, and he could only do so for a few moments more. Her life force started to fade from his sight, and he raised his arms higher. In his mind, he reached out for the goddess Danu, the mother of all, his prayer a silent plea for help. He felt her soft touch and then turned his direction back to Brigid.

“Damn it, Brigid,
look at me
!”

“Conn?” The pain eased somewhat, and glancing at Conn she saw that his face was one of pain, too.

“You only have mere minutes, lass. Can you hear me?”

Swallowing, she nodded.

“Take the sword to the Mackay.”

Shaking her head she sobbed out, “She’s gone.”

He tried to keep his voice calm. “Nae lass, not
that
Mackay. Find Duncan.”

“What?” she croaked out. “Duncan? Duncan Mackay?”

A quiet stillness settled within Brigid, and she knew she was dying. It was as if she was being absorbed into the ground. Her breathing became labored, and her thoughts muddled. Nothing mattered anymore. There was no point in fighting.

“Lass, look at me.”

Her head was heavy, but Brigid looked up into brilliant eyes that blazed. In that instant, she realized Conn was not human. Struggling for breath, she choked out, “Wh...
who
are you?” Why won’t you help
me
?” Brigid struggled to say the last.

Arms still extended, Conn feared the portal was closing too quickly. He had to prepare her for what was on the other side. “Brigid, I am a Fenian warrior of the fae, sworn to protect you, and if you want to live, you
must
take the sword to Duncan Mackay.” His arms shook trying to contain the power. “I told you before, I’m not a Viking god, but a Celt, lass. I can only stabilize the portal for a few more moments. I am not allowed to cross into the realm. It is only for you. The sword belongs to the Mackay of the past. You must return it to him!”

The world exploded in one bright flash of light and pain, leaving Brigid no time to laugh at Conn’s words.

Chapter 18

“Time is like a river, which with the ebb and flow of its currents, may venture off in many different directions.”

Duncan swayed on Brandubh as if he had been struck. Both rider and horse had come to a halt. Sucking in his breath, he reached for his sword, more on instinct.

Recognition flared instantly in him.

The sword of the Dragon Knights—
his sword
, was nearby. He had not felt its magic since that fateful night. Yet in this moment, it resonated within his very soul.

It called to him.

Brandubh whinnied and shifted uneasily, sensing the magic, too. Reaching out toward him, Duncan patted his mane. “Aye, ye felt it, too.”

Scrutinizing his surroundings, Duncan lifted his hand from the hilt of his sword. With a slow smile, he understood his destiny was about to change. For the first time in many a moon, Duncan raised his head and said a silent prayer to the goddess, placing his fate in her hands.

Calling forth his powers, he listened and waited until the breath of the wind touched his face, swirling around them both. “Let us follow the path of the wind, Brandubh, and pray it will lead us to the sword.”

Brandubh raked his hoof in leaves and mud several times, as if in agreement.

Then they rode off.

****

Castle Leomhann

“
Nae
!” Lachlan screamed, as he took hold of the stone wall, smashing his fist against it. Blood oozed from his knuckles and trickled down within the crevices. He did not feel the pain, just the power rush over him.

It could not be.

It was impossible.

All this time he did not think it could be done.

He tossed it aside many moons ago, but here in this dark corridor, he felt the shift of power and a crack of the worlds sliced open.

There wasn’t a moment to be lost. He had to move quickly and find the source.

Shoving himself away from the wall, he placed his fist in his mouth and licked away the blood and flesh. “Ye will not fulfill your quest, Duncan Mackay,” he hissed. “If I have to slay ye myself, then so be it.”

Slinking back down the dank corridor, Lachlan already started forming a plan, one that didn’t include the laird knowing the sword was closer than they thought. Lachlan had plans for the relics; such power to be harnessed with his own would put fear into any clan.

Nae, he would keep silent for now.

All he required was for the MacFhearguis to search out and find Duncan. Once he was killed, he would move on to the next Mackay. One by one they would all die. Then each of the relics would come into his possession. In the end, he would have the greatest treasure of all—the great dragon.

“Then I shall spit on the fae.” Laughter, evil and low spilled forth from him as he walked faster, grazing his hand against the walls, spilling more blood.

****

Glen Urquhart Forest

Holding the sickle tightly, for fear it would slip into the stream, Cathal tried to steady himself.

The first wave of power had washed over him. Then a second one had followed, causing him to lose his balance and fall to his knees. His body trembled with its raw intensity and his vision blurred.

His thumb nicked the bottom of the sickle and blood seeped forth. Seeing this, he took it as a sign from the fae, and taking in a deep breath, he set the sickle aside. Placing his hand with the injured thumb into the ground, he uttered softly, “I give my blood freely to the Great Mother, for it is in her power to give life. Oh Great Mother of us all, blessed Danu of the fae, let me see who comes forth, so that I may assist.”