Dragon Knight's Sword (15 page)

He was as still as stone next to her, yet the heat radiating from him was better than a small fire. She caught a glance at his profile within the shadows; strength and power oozed off him. Each time she gazed into eyes of sea blue, she almost swooned.

It was ridiculous to feel this way.
Hell! She didn’t even know him. What was she thinking? Behaving like some love-starved girl. She wanted to pinch herself from this dream that was turning into a nightmare, and she started to fidget.

“Do ye need some personal time?” Duncan’s voice was low and soft in the darkness.

“No,” she blew out, exasperated. She was wound so tight, and nowhere to go or even think. “How far will we have to travel tomorrow?” she asked.

“We’ll reach Cathal midmorning.”

“Hmmm, is he a good friend of yours?” She played with the edge of his plaid.

He muttered something unintelligible under his breath.

“Okay, will he know how to help me?”

Now, he snorted his response.

It was like prying teeth from an elephant, Brigid thought. “Why do you want to ask him about a
dragon
?”

“To cleanse the sword.”

Success! She finally got an answer. “Why do we need to cleanse the sword?”

Sweet mother Danu! Would the lass ever stop her infernal list of questions? He did not want words from her mouth. Nae, he wanted to bring forth sweet moans from those rosy lips.

“Well?”

“Bloody hell, woman!”

He had to end this now. He cupped her chin and rubbed his thumb over her bottom lip.
Big mistake, Duncan
. His mind now screaming at him.

“Hush,” he rasped out. His lips barely grazing hers.

The physical contact with her mouth sent shockwaves throughout his body. He released her suddenly and stood. “I’ll be back,” he uttered hoarsely.

Brigid couldn’t move, frozen by his touch. She drew forth her trembling hand to touch her mouth. His lips were like lightning on her body, and she quivered.

Who was this scarred warrior, and why did she have this connection?
And why did she let him kiss her
?

Hugging her part of the plaid more firmly around her, she settled back more into the tree, letting the music of the night soothe her spirits. Within moments, Brigid drifted off to oblivion.

****

Brigid was disoriented. Images flooded her mind like a jumble of mismatched puzzle pieces. Nothing fit. She kept trying to match each picture, but they wouldn’t hold together. Fear and trepidation slithered inside until she felt the fire. The heat soothed and coaxed the icy fear from her veins, and she snuggled deeper into its embrace.

“Be careful, lass. I may want to explore ye further.” Duncan’s burr brushed along her neck.

Brigid’s eyes flew open as the shock registered within her mind and body. Trying to scramble away from huge arms that had her in an embrace was a futile attempt.

“Whoa, lass.”

She swallowed. “Let me go.”

Suddenly the heat evaporated, as Duncan released his hold on her. He stood quickly, making his way toward Brandubh.

“I will give ye a few moments for your...
personal time
before we leave.”

“Thank you,” she grumbled more to herself. Stepping through the pines, she cringed. It was going to be a
very
long morning.

Chapter 23

“A dragon’s color changes as often as its emotions. The trick is seeing the shimmer before the change.”

Cathal sensed the rider approach while he was walking back to his cottage. Strangely, earlier in the morn, he felt the need to forage for mushrooms for his soup. Looking in his basket, he noticed there was plenty for a large batch. The goddess was telling him that he would be providing for company. He smiled, but when the rider emerged from the trees, he was stunned.

Duncan had returned, and with him was a beauty dressed in odd clothing. No dress or headpiece, but by the gods, she was wearing trews! There was a glow around her body, and instantly he understood she was from neither this land—nor this realm. The fae had sent this lovely creature to assist Duncan.

“Sweet Danu,” he whispered, laying down his basket of mushrooms and herbs. “Welcome back, Duncan.”

Duncan dismounted and reached for Brigid. Placing her gently on the ground, Cathal noticed neither of them looked at each other, the tension visible for all to see.

They were both breathing hard as Duncan stepped aside, presenting her to Cathal.

“Cathal, this is Brigid O’Neill.”

“From the great O’Neill’s? Across the sea from Dalriada?”

Duncan just shrugged his shoulders, then turned and removed the sword strapped to Brandubh.

“She had this with her.” Duncan held out the sword to Cathal, as if it were an offering.

“By the great Mother, can it be?” Cathal stepped closer and held his hand over it, closing his eyes.

“It hums with energy.” He opened his eyes looking at Brigid. “Though, it is not with the energy of the knight, it is yours.” He stepped toward her and held his hands out to her.

Brigid held up her hands, shaking her head. “No-o-o, I don’t know what you mean.” She started to back away from him, but slammed into Duncan.

Sensing her fear and wariness, he bowed his head. “Blessings of light, my child. I must apologize. Come, ye must be tired and hungry,” extending his hand out to let her pass.

Brigid scampered past the druid toward the cottage. “Energy, my ass,” she mumbled. “Wait till I see Conn, that is
if
I ever see the man again.” Then she started laughing.

“That one is daft.” Duncan nodded his head toward Brigid. “She laughs out loud to herself and talks in a strange tongue. Did ye not see her clothing?” He ran a hand through his dark locks in frustration. “Why would an
O’Neill
have the sword?”

Cathal smiled, “Och Duncan, she is a bonny lass, but she has been touched
and
sent by the fae. She is from a land not of this time, chosen by the Guardian, if I am not mistaken.” Placing a hand on Duncan’s shoulder, he added, “Remember, the O’Neills were the first to be blessed by the fae with gifts. Therefore, it makes sense that the relics have been placed with the descendants of the first family—the original owners. At least the sword has.”

Giving Duncan a shake, Cathal leaned down and gathered his basket. “Come, let us eat. Then ye can figure out how to tell the lass
she
needs to take the sword to the great dragon to have it cleansed.”

Walking away from Duncan, Cathal could almost hear his mouth drop open in shocked silence. He let out a burst of laughter that caused Sorcha to swoop out from her perch nestled in the trees. She circled above him as he made his way to the cottage. “I do not want to be around them when he tells her about the dragon, aye, Sorcha?”

Sorcha let out a caw and took off higher toward the upper branch of an oak.

****

Brigid approached the cottage, which was hidden in the dense cluster of the trees. When she opened the door, she paused in utter amazement. A mere small cottage was what she perceived from the outside, but when she looked beyond and stepped inside, it was transformed to a massive interior.

Cautiously entering, she surveyed her surroundings. The hearth was set toward the back of the wall, which was in reality part of the solid rock mountain. A long table and chairs were set in the middle and several large beautifully carved wooden chairs were placed on either side of the hearth. To the right set deeper within the rock, was another table with herbs laid out with some tucked inside the crevices. She realized this was a storeroom for the harvesting and drying of herbs.

Her eyes drew her to the opposite side of the room where she noticed an alcove, which appeared to be Cathal’s sleeping quarters, heavily laden with furs. Brigid longed to lie down between them and close her eyes. The aroma of food and warmth was overwhelming. So much had happened, and placing her palms over her eyes, she sighed. Without realizing, she swayed, and the room spun.

Duncan was there in two strides, tucking her against him. Holding her for a moment more, he raised a shaking hand and brushed a stray curl that had come loose from her braid and tucked it ever so gently behind her ear. “Are ye feeling better, lass?”

His words sounding hoarse and his breath warm on her face sent a fire down her spine. Leaning more into him, she felt more than just his concern, his arousal.

Brigid stepped back with flushed cheeks, seeing the invitation in the smoldering depths of his eyes. If Cathal were not standing in the doorway, she would have given herself over to this mighty Highlander. Words seemed to escape her, and she shook her head to let him know she was fine. Turning back from him, she went over and sat down by the hearth.

Cathal coughed when he entered. “What ye need is some food and rest, Brigid. I will just be adding some of these mushrooms to the stew of roots and herbs.”

Moving to the table of herbs, he poured some liquid into a cup. Coming back to her, he thrust the cup at her. “Drink this, lass. It will ease your spirits and the body, too.”

“What is it?” Brigid took the cup from Cathal and sniffed its contents.

“Wine mixed with herbs.”

Sipping the wine, she let the liquid permeate its heat within, feeling a sense of calm. Leaning back in the chair, she watched the flames dance. However, part of her vision was also on the tall, dark, and dangerous-looking Duncan. He had placed the sword along the wall, and was saying something to Cathal before he started for the door.

“You’re not leaving?” she asked, almost jumping out of the chair.

A slow smile tipped the corners of his mouth, as he shook his head no. “I’m tending to Brandubh, and then I’ll return.”

“Oh, okay.” Settling back in the comfort of the chair, Brigid smiled.

Cathal continued stirring the stew, adding mushrooms and more herbs. Placing the ladle down, he went and sat down directly across from Brigid. Leaning back against the chair, he drew in a long breath and closed his eyes.

Was the man going to sleep? I need answers
.

When he opened his eyes, he smiled.

“Ye have questions.”

“Yes. How do you know?” Brigid replied mystified.

“I am a druid.”

“I’ve never met a druid before, only a Fenian warrior.”

Cathal’s smile faded. “What is his name?”

“Conn, Conn MacRoich.”

“Do ye understand what he is?”

“I didn’t find out until moments before I blacked out and awoke here in this time. What is the year, Cathal?” she asked, hesitantly.

“The year is 1205. Why was he with ye?”

“Oh my...1205,” she whispered. Swallowing, Brigid continued, “Conn was sent by my friend, Archie McKibbon to be my guide in Scotland.” Then Brigid’s mouth dropped. Maybe Archie is not what he appeared to be, either. No, it couldn’t be, could it?

Stunned by her news, Cathal now understood why the fae did not want him involved. This was larger than even he could have envisioned. By sending Conn, their elite warrior, meant the situation was extreme. This was beyond his realm of reasoning.

“What is your year, Brigid?”

“It is 2013. It seems strange saying that.” She gave him a weak smile.

“Hmmmmm,” said Cathal, frowning.

“Do you think my friend could have been a Fenian warrior, too? He was my professor in college, but from Scotland.”
You’re rambling, Bree.

Glancing back toward her he answered, “I do not ken what professor or college is, but I have not heard of his name. Yet, Conn...yes, the name I am familiar with.”

“
You are
?” she gulped, afraid to know the answer.

“Aye, it appears your guide is the leader of the Fenian warriors, which is a branch of the Fianna and the right hand to the fae.”

Brigid’s eyes went wide. She had heard of the Fianna, and Fenian warriors—names she associated with the Irish Republican Army in their earlier days, not some kind of faery beings.

“Why would the leader of the Fenian warriors be interested in me? And what
are
the Fenian warriors?”

Cathal leaned forward piercing her with his eyes. “They are descended from the fae, the Shining Ones, and are the protectors between the realm of this world and theirs. They mingle and live among us, and some are known to travel between time itself. Ye ken of the fae, right?”

Brigid nodded. She had grown up listening to the tales of the great Shining Ones, the fae. They had arrived in Ireland as one of the great invasions and over time, those who were left created a world underground.

Her grandparents had always had great respect for the fae and spoke of the tales many times. It was not a myth or legend, but fact for them. It was a belief she held dearly. A stab of pain pierced her heart remembering her grandparents. They had always wanted to take her to Ireland and Scotland to show her the sacred places. They never made the journey.

Cathal had yet to answer her question, so again she asked, “Why Cathal, would a great Fenian warrior be interested in me?”

“I cannot say for sure, lass.”

“Oh, Cathal,” sighed Brigid. “Why
am
I here? Duncan has the sword now. Why can’t I just return home?”

Cathal chuckled and stood, going over to the pot of stew. “Would it be so simple, lass. Duncan must go on his quest, and ye must accompany him. Ye are still the keeper of the sword, and Duncan knows this well.”

Brigid gripped the cup she had been holding more tightly. She stood slowly and walked over to the table, placing the cup down for fear she would toss it against the wall.

Pounding her fist on her chest, she snapped back at Cathal, “I
still
don’t understand why I’m involved with a man who has killed his sister! What the bloody hell happened that night, and how did I become involve in an ancient curse?” She held up her hand, adding, “No, forget it. I just want to go home. I don’t want to be around him anymore.”

“Och, the battle of heart and mind, aye?” He tossed in more herbs.

She blushed, fully comprehending Cathal’s words. How could he see right through her? Was it so obvious? “It’s complicated.”

“The road to the truth is never a smooth one.”