Dragon Knight's Sword (16 page)

She blanched. “
Truth
? And whose truth are we talking about?”

Nodding, he stopped stirring and came over to where she stood.

Cathal loomed over her, placing both his hands on her shoulders as he spoke. “Brigid O’Neill, your people are also descended from the fae and were the original keepers of the relics. They were, nae, still
are
a mighty clan. It makes sense that the Guardian has entrusted the sword to a descendant of the first. I will share a truth with ye. Ye must ken Duncan did not intend to kill his sister. Blind fury and evil helped to wield the energy that night.”

“What do you mean blind fury and evil?” Brigid demanded.

Speaking more gently, he added, “It does not absolve any of them from what happened that night, nae, yet it was not entirely their fault. There was...” Cathal touched a finger to his mouth in thought. “...an evil present for some time and it weaved its spell over the brothers. The Guardian understands, so this is why they must
all
take this journey—
this
quest
. It is not only a fight to restore honor and the order, but a fight for their very souls.”

“How did it happen, Cathal?” Her question but a whisper.

“Ye must ask Duncan. I do not have the answer. I only ken all is not lost.”

Tears streamed down Brigid’s cheeks and spilled onto her shirt. She could no longer contain them. Her armor of fear had slipped. Cathal had given her the greatest gift, one of
hope
. There was hope for Duncan and his brothers, and her, too. The Guardian had entrusted the sword into her care, as she was part of his quest. He could retain his honor, and she could return home.

Yet, her heart sank. Did she truly
want
to return home?

“I’m so confused. I’m drawn to a man I don’t know. How do I
help
him?”

“Och, Brigid. Trust your heart. The answers ye seek are within.”

Reaching up with shaking hands, she fell into Cathal’s arms, crying against his shoulder.

Cathal’s heart sank, for he almost wished he could shed tears with her.

Chapter 24

“To turn your back on a dragon, ’tis very foolish. However, to face the dragon even more foolish and brave.”

Duncan spent a fitful night tossing and turning before the hearth. His thoughts and dreams were of a green-eyed lass, with a splash of sunspots across her nose and cheeks. Her dark red curls tickling his thighs as she placed kisses on his manhood. The dream so vivid that upon waking, he found himself cock sore from the hardness and on the verge of spilling right there on his wrap. Groaning, he threw his arm across his face, fearing the day would be far worse with them traveling together.

When he had returned to the cottage last evening after tending to Brandubh, he had noticed tears in her eyes. She then gave him a full smile, which showed a wee dimple on her cheek. It had nearly undone him, since he did not feel deserving of such warmth. It took all of his strength not to gather her back in his arms and devour the smile into his mouth.

The lass stirred a strange mix of emotions in him. His world had been dark too long. Now it was tossed on its arse, and he along with it. She had touched his soul, placing a warm thread of light within it. In just their brief encounter, the blackness he had cloaked around himself managed to thaw just a little.

Why he had this strong need to protect and claim her, he could not fathom.

Slowly, he eased himself up and went over to where she lay. She looked flushed, and her lips were in a pout begging to be tasted. He should walk straight out the door and soak his aching body in the icy waters of the nearby stream, yet, for reasons he could not fathom, his legs carried him toward her sleeping form. Kneeling, he brushed a stray curl from her forehead, bending to place a kiss upon her brow.

Instantly, her eyes fluttered open.

The trained warrior was frozen, unable to move. His mind screamed he needed to walk away, but her emerald eyes met his and reaching for his head, she pulled him down to her lips. He was the one to moan, drinking in her taste, and thrusting his tongue deep within her mouth as if he truly wanted to devour her. He tried to be gentle, but she demanded more with her tongue. Where one would tease, the other would take, and the sensual dance of the kiss became more intense.

Duncan moved to nip along her chin and slowly moved his palm over her breast. He was shocked to find some article of clothing under her shirt, hindering his touch. He raised his head in question.

“Don’t stop,
please
,” Brigid pleaded, and then did something so brazen by taking his hand and placing it back on her breast.

His mouth came crashing down on hers. Taking his hand, he slid it under her shirt, stroking the strange garment and caressing the tight nipple. He loved the sensual feel of the fabric. Tossing aside the furs, he yanked her shirt up and over her head so fast, she gasped. Placing both hands over her lush full breasts, he kneaded them gently, causing her to moan. His thumbs traced over the heart-shaped top of the fabric, and then he lowered his mouth over her taut nipples, biting through the fabric.

“Duncan,” she gasped and watched as he brought his head up, a wicked smile curving his lush mouth. His eyes reminded her of the ocean, and she lost herself in them.

“Does this please ye?” he rasped, as he bent his head to continue teasing her nipples with his mouth.

Duncan heard the whistling first, and his head snapped up. Brigid went completely still under him.

“By the gods,” he muttered. Placing his forehead on hers, he breathed in the smell of her desire and placed one last kiss upon her brow. Standing, he adjusted his plaid and stormed over to the door, nearly taking it off its hinges as he swung it wide, sending it crashing against the wall.

Brigid heard him yell something in Gaelic to Cathal. Grabbing her shirt, she hastily put it back on. Placing a trembling hand against her swollen lips, she could still taste Duncan—wool, peat, ale,
and man
. What a heady combination.

Cathal came striding in, still whistling a tune as he went over to his working table. “A blessed morn, Brigid,” he nodded without looking at her.

She was so embarrassed. If it had been a few minutes more, both their bodies would have been stripped of their clothing. Standing, she attempted to straighten the furs, until Cathal brought over a mug and shoved it into her hands.

“Come, ye do not need to fuss. Break your fast.”

Brigid sipped the ale and moved past Cathal to the table where bread, cheese, and berries were set out. She ate in silence, content to watch the flames in the hearth. Try as she might, she could not get the feel and taste of Duncan Mackay out of her mouth. Now, she was forced to make this journey with him, and the attraction she felt was making her life a swirling mix of emotions.

“I will leave ye to your thoughts, Brigid, and take this food to Duncan.” Cathal had placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, but she could only nod.

****

Duncan had stripped off all of his clothing and plunged headfirst into the stream. The frigid water shocking his body, but not his senses. His soul was still on fire...still burning from her touch. He tried not to think as he kept on swimming.

Finally emerging from the stream, he flung water everywhere. Placing his hands on his hips, he glanced out from where he had come. He never lost control over a woman,
ever
. What possessed him to lose control with this one?

Raking his hands through his damp hair, Duncan blew out a sharp breath. He picked up a small stone and hurled it into the water. She had touched the cold darkness of his soul and soothed it, which was
not
what he wanted. He did not have time for such, with this lass, or with any other. In truth, each time he tried to banish her from his mind her face came back, haunting him.

Bedding her was now definitely out of the question.

Duncan heard the footsteps and cursed himself for not bringing his sword. Grabbing his dirk, he swung to face Cathal.

“Hmmmm...expecting the enemy, Duncan?”

“Humph!” Dropping his dirk, Duncan reached for his plaid, drying himself. Cathal handed him his tunic, and he hastily threw it on.

“I have brought food to break your fast and more for the journey. Here, let me take your wrap, and I will warm it by the fire. Ye will be wanting to leave soon.”

Duncan nodded and took the food and drink, sitting down against a nearby tree, seeking solace in its strength.

“Who is she?” he asked between bites of the food.

With a sigh, Cathal stroked his beard and sat down on a boulder across from Duncan. “Brigid is part of the O’Neill clan, but not from the O’Neills we ken.”

A frown skittered across Duncan’s features. “And what clan would that be?”

Taking another deep breath, Cathal looked directly out across the water when he spoke. “The O’Neill clan...from the future.”

Duncan sputtered on some ale. “Ye ken this
how
?”

“Brigid is under the protection of the fae and she had a Fenian warrior as her protector. She told this to me.” Cathal turned his gaze back to Duncan.

“By the hounds of Cuchulainn!” Duncan roared. Standing quickly, his food spilled everywhere as thunder rumbled in the distance.

“Ye have a chance to make amends,” said Cathal.

Duncan started to speak, his eyes turning to crystal shards, but Cathal stayed his voice with his hand. “The fae have entrusted
ye
with Brigid, and they have entrusted
her
with the sword. Your quest is interwoven, and one cannot be completed without the other.”

Fists clenched, he backed away from Cathal. Watching the flow of stream weave along the banks, he knew the words Cathal spoke were true. As much as he did not want to believe, in his heart...spoke truth.

Again, Duncan did not hear Cathal’s approach. He never did with the old druid, but there he was standing next to him.

“Trust in the lass, Duncan. She has great power, chosen from her people to take this journey. The sword is hers until it is cleansed, and only then can she rightfully return it to ye.”

Duncan’s eyes narrowed. “What do ye mean, return it? It is mine.”

“Nae, Duncan. It is Brigid’s until the day she presents it back to ye. Trust me when I say, she will ken when the time is right. For the moment, she is scared and unsure. She will need your strength and help. Talk to her, Duncan. Let her tell ye where she is from.”

“
Talk
?” Duncan uttered incredulously.

Duncan snorted and proceeded to walk away from Cathal.

“I warn ye, Duncan, she is under the protection of the fae.”

Duncan swung back around. “Tell me this”—pointing a finger at Cathal—“who is her Fenian warrior?”

Cathal’s jaw clenched as he just shrugged his shoulders.

“Humph!”

Cathal watched as Duncan stomped furiously away from him. When he was out of sight, Cathal exhaled deeply. There would be a reckoning when Duncan found out that he had withheld certain information.

He whistled softly, and watched as Sorcha flew down from the tree branches, landing on the boulder next to him. “Watch over them, my lady. Be mine eyes and ears, for I can do no more.”

Blinking once, she flew off through the trees, shrieking.

Chapter 25

“If you listen carefully, the wind will sing you a melody of colors.”

After several hours on a horse, Brigid was feeling it well within her thighs. The sound of leaves and twigs snapping under Roan as they made their way along the path of pines, birch, and oak, and the occasional squawk of a bird, were the only sounds, giving her some time to think.

She had been grateful when Cathal had suggested she borrow his horse. The idea of being tucked so close against Duncan while riding on Brandubh frightened and excited her at the same time. Her feelings became a jumbled mess, and she could not think straight when she was in his arms.

Watching his muscular back sent shivers down her spine. His corded muscles moved with each movement as rider and animal moved through the glen. He had a ruggedness and vital power that drew her to him. Of course, he was also devastatingly handsome. Her body still burned from his kisses, and she placed her hand on her lips.

Shaking her head, she cast her vision to their surroundings. She caught glimpses of the loch down below as light filtered through a thick clump of trees. Brigid had never seen anything more beautiful. The loch was bluer than she remembered, and of course the trees were more prominent here than in her own time. Duncan had kept to the trail hugging the trees. She wished they could descend and travel along the water’s edge.

Grasping a pine bough and pushing it aside, she saw a stag up on the ridge to her right. He stood majestic in his stance, and nodded once as if in greeting before turning away through the trees.

She loved Scotland in her time, but here, it captivated her senses.

Brigid saw movement in the trees ahead, but noticed it was only Sorcha. Moving Roan closer to Duncan, she called out, “Hey, why is Sorcha following us?”

Duncan slowed Brandubh and twisted to face her, “It’s the way of Cathal. She will carry news back to him.”

How could she not remember all the tales her grandparents told her of the druids? “He must be very powerful,” she said half aloud, while rubbing a hand across her temple.

“Powerful? Aye, ye could say.” Duncan came closer, a slight frown on his face.

She just waved a hand in the air, “Sorry, Duncan. I’m just new to all this magical stuff. I am still
adjusting
.” Her eyes pierced him with her best showdown stare.

Duncan proceeded to dismount from Brandubh so effortlessly, walking over to her and Roan. Reaching up, he lifted her as if she was a feather. Slowly, he eased her down against him.

Placing her palms against his chest, she lifted her head to look up at him.

“I thought ye could use some time to rest.” Duncan reached behind her and pulled a sack off Roan, thrusting it into her arms.

“Rest? Food? Right,” she whispered.
I really want to kiss that dimple in the middle of your chin.
Finally realizing she had been holding her breath, she let out a gush.