Dragon Knight's Sword (2 page)

Their names tainted for all eternity. Men of honor—no more.

The Guardian
c
ontinued speaking in a language not spoken in a thousand years. Raising her staff above, she chanted the curse as the words resonated within their very souls.

“Across the sea their destiny awaits. A love will meet through time and space.

“To right a wrong within this place. Beneath the gate to test your fate.”

And with her final words, she slammed her staff into the ground, and their world went black.

Chapter 2

Present Day—Seattle, Washington

“If one observes a rainbow, they may see the road through time.”

Wicked beast
!

It mocked her from the depths of its cold dark place, and she was powerless to continue any further. To think it had won under its square dark shell made her teeth clench. There must be a way to coax it out of its blinking doom.

“Hellfire and damnation!” shouted Brigid Moira O’Neill, slamming her palm onto the antique oak writing desk, causing the mouse to flip and sail across the room. “Some days, I think we would be better off without them.”

Brigid sat, hands on either side of her temples, staring at her computer screen, which had frozen for the tenth time that morning. “Bloody technology,” she muttered.

The thought had occurred more than once if it was worth perusing estate sales for specific artifacts,
or
if she should just show up at the auction houses and take her chances. She grudgingly had to admit, since she started scanning the internet she was able to snag some unique items before they went public.

“Why can’t it be simple?” She swiped at a dark red curl which had come loose from her ponytail and continued to glare at the screen.

A dream come true. Or so she thought, until this morning when her computer fizzled out,
again
.

“What in the blazes have you done to the computer now, Brigid?” sighed Lisa. She bent to retrieve the mouse that landed near the door, and set it back near the computer.

“Should we just try rebooting, and give it a rest, say about thirty seconds?” The smirk in Lisa’s smile said it all. “Here, let me take a look.”

Brigid was just not capable of working out the kinks of high-tech gadgets. Hell, she still had problems with her cell phone. At least Lisa was here to sort out the techno beast. She was done doing battle with it.

Exasperated, she huffed off the chair, deciding what she needed was a cup of tea to calm her nerves. “It’s all yours,” she snorted.

Lisa shook her head shooing Brigid out of the room. “Go make us some tea, and make a call to Berkeley Auction House to find out what time the sale starts.”

“Heading there now,” she replied with a wave of her hand.

Debating whether to toss in a few shortbread cookies, she heard the bell go off in the shop. “Drats. No rest for the weary.”

Heading downstairs, she noticed it was Mike, the Fed Ex guy. “Gosh, must be my lucky day,” she snickered with a roll of her eyes.

Mike was always trying to get a date out of her. However, he was forty, twice married, and Brigid only twenty-five. Mike was nice, but she was not ready for
any
relationship. Her last one was a total disaster. When it ended, Brigid concluded there were no men in this century that would be of any interest to her—
ever
.

Mike was peering closely at a
sgian dubh
in the glass case, and Brigid approached quietly.

“Hi Mike, what do you have for us today?”

He jumped back so fast at her greeting he almost knocked over the full regalia of armor to the left of the case. “Christ, Brigid!”

Brigid stood there, hands on her hips. She was trying hard to keep from laughing, but Mike was so easily spooked sometimes.

“Humph!” He flipped out his scanner making notes, when Brigid noticed the long box lying on the ground near the door entrance.

Frowning, she wondered what the box held. She was curious, knowing they had not placed any orders. “Hey, I’ll clear these items off the table.”

“Let me help you,” said Mike

“I wonder what it could be. We don’t have anything outstanding,” she muttered as she continued moving items to the counter.

Mike placed his scanner on the counter. “Whatever it is, it’s traveled far,
and
it’s addressed to you, Ms. Brigid O’Neill, care of MacDonald and O’Neill Antiques. Sign here.”

Brigid looked at the box. It was over six feet long, and when she peered at the label, she only noticed one word—
Scotland
.

She whipped around, grabbed the scanner to hastily sign, and then literally shoved him out the front door—“Thanks, Mike”—closing it on his stunned face.

“Hmmm...let’s see what’s inside you.” She glanced at the handwriting on the box. There wasn’t a return address listed anywhere.

“Lisa, box from Scotland,” she yelled.

Lisa stumbled down the stairs, slamming the door behind her. “Sheesh, Brigid! What did you purchase now? Wait—did you say Scotland?”

“It’s been some time since we’ve had anything from the bonny shores of Scotland,” she said in a far off tone.

Her fascination with anything Scottish came from a desire deeply embedded within her Celtic blood. Perhaps it all started when she was a child, sitting on her grandfather’s knee listening to his bardic tales. Not only did he tell her stories of myths and legends, but of the great battles as well. Brigid would sit for hours enraptured by the stories, seeing the great men and women. Knights in shining armor, swords held high, rescuing damsels in distress. She wished every night she could be transported back in time within her dreams.

Already starting to open the box, Brigid was careful not to damage its contents. When she peeled back all the openings, there was another box enclosed, which was made of wood.

“It’s oak,” whispered Lisa, running her hands over the wood. They both were now carefully removing the cardboard that surrounded the wooden box. After what seemed an eternity of removing each of the sections, they stood back to determine their next move.

“What beautiful craftsmanship,” gushed Brigid.

On the sides were carvings of Celtic spirals, but that was not what drew her attention. It was the dragon on the front panel. It not only was intricately carved, but also looked as if it was burned into the wood. Celtic symbols and writing, which Brigid could only assume were Gaelic, covered the rest of the box.

She reached out hesitantly placing her hand along the dragon’s head, when a wave of dizziness blurred her vision. Her breathing became shallow as if all the air forced out of her lungs. The room blurred and colors swam before her eyes.

“
It is your beginning and your end
...”

“Whoa, Brigid, are you all right?” Lisa asked, placing an arm around her friend.

“Did you hear that?”

“Hear...what?”

Brigid looked up at Lisa, noticing her skeptical frown, “Nothing, just nothing.”

“Do you need to sit down? You look a bit queasy.”

“Yeah, I’m feeling light-headed. Must be the excitement, right?” Brigid rubbed her temples and the faintness passed. She stood there, eyes transfixed on the box. Great, now she was hearing voices.

“Hey, Bree, what’s lying near your feet?”

Brigid glanced down and bent to retrieve the envelope. It was yellowed and worn. On the back was a red wax seal. “I don’t recognize this crest. What do you make of it?”

“You’re asking me? I studied business, and
you’re
the history major.” She scooted past Brigid. “Do you think it’s a clan emblem?”

“Honestly, Lisa, I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s just a dragon on the seal, similar to the one on this box. See, look at them both.” Brigid glanced back at the dragon carving on the box, being careful not to touch it this time.

She was still a bit light-headed, and went over to grab one of the oak chairs. She kept looking at the envelope and back at the box. Normally she would have been giddy, jumping for joy and tearing apart the envelope,
and
the box to view what was inside. However, somewhere deep within her, her instincts were screaming as if her life would never be the same.

“Oh for Pete’s sake, Bree, open the damn envelope.” Lisa’s voice interrupted her thoughts.

Fingers trembling, Brigid broke the seal with one swift flip. Pulling out the sheet of paper, yellowed with age, she opened it and began reading.

“Across the sea your destiny awaits...To right a wrong within this place...Beneath the gate to test their fate...Return this sword to its rightful place.”—Clan Mor Mac Aoidh/Mackay

“Sword?” they both said in unison.

“What the hell does it mean?” Lisa was peering over Brigid’s shoulder reading the note, too. “Return the sword to...
where
?”

She shrugged, “Not a clue. I’m unsure of this clan’s crest. I know of the Clan Mackay, but the other? It might possibly be the first clan’s name.”

Brigid placed the note down and rose slowly. Her curiosity was piqued, and she wanted to know what was inside the box. The letter had said something about a sword, but she had to see it for herself. The possibility of a Highland sword in their possession made her senses spin. She held one hand against her heart, trying to stop the pounding from within and reached out with the other, ever so gently.

Lisa was watching her with just as much awe.

Her hand touched the wood, and a sense of familiarity tugged at her. She gradually traced the spiral symbols on the front, as she moved her hand along the side looking for a latch. A small smile curved her mouth when she touched the bronze latch and flipped it open. Carefully, Brigid lifted the lid, opening the box.

“Oooooh, my stars,” Brigid gasped. “You are a
beauty
.”

“I’ll second that,” sighed Lisa.

Using both hands, Brigid lifted it up only to stumble back a few feet from the weight of the sword, grateful for the support of the counter. Lisa rounded about to the other side to view it, though careful not to stand directly behind Brigid. For at that moment they both were speechless.

Not only was Brigid impressed by the hilt and the stone in the center, but the carving on the blade itself. Engraved on the blade, right below the hilt, a dragon gleamed brightly.

“This is a magnificent sword. Look at the engravings on the blade.”

Lisa stepped around the counter, holding out a cloth to help lay it down on the oak table.

“See the carvings on the hilt, Lisa? They are definitely of Celtic origins, and this stone is beautiful. It almost looks like an emerald, but it has striations running through it.” She kept running her hand over the hilt, exploring it with a reverent touch.

“Hey, Bree, it looks similar to Connemara marble,” said Lisa, grabbing a magnifying glass from the desk to get a closer look.

“Connemara marble is from Ireland, so what would a Scottish sword be doing with a piece of Irish marble in its hilt?” Brigid asked mystified.

Lisa just shrugged her shoulders, while continuing her exploration of the sword.

Brigid moved over to the box and noticed a leather bag inside. The bag was meant to contain the sword and had a leather handle to wrap around the shoulder. As she lifted the bag out, musty smells assaulted her senses—ones of leather, dirt, grass, and some other metallic smell. The bag itself, though worn, was richly designed. Whoever had sent this, realized how much it would mean to Brigid, and that was the only information she could fathom from all of this.

The note made positively no sense at all.

“I know of only one person who can help us, Lisa.” Brigid placed the leather pouch back in the box.

“Who?”

“I’ll have to pay a visit to an old friend at the university. Perhaps Professor McKibben can shed some light on our Scottish sword.” She paused in thought before adding, “I’ll go tomorrow morning. He doesn’t have any classes until the afternoon.” Brigid had kept in contact with her history professor, and considered him more like a grandfather and mentor.

“You’re not taking the sword to him, Bree, are you?” Lisa looked up from the sword with a look of a protective mother.

“Give me some credit, Lisa,” she scoffed. Flashing her a smile, she pulled out the digital camera from behind the counter. “I’ll take some pictures, but I think I will take the note with me.”

Brigid rubbed her hand along the hilt of the sword, and gripped it firmly, feeling a bit braver than earlier. “Who was the warrior that wielded you, mighty one?”

****

He stood next to the waterfall. Beads of water glistened from his dark locks.

Brigid watched as they trailed down his chiseled torso, traveling down to where his tartan was wrapped low on his waist. The wind whipped at the folds of his plaid, the power coiling within and around him, as mystical as the land he stood on.

“
Ancient warrior
,” she uttered softly.

When she looked up into his eyes, they smoldered with desire, and it startled her. A sensual shiver ran through her, wanting to be crushed within his embrace. The raw desire to be in this man’s arms, touching and tasting him, was so potent, she could feel her heart hammering inside her chest.

He tilted his head to the side, as if studying his prey.

Brigid didn’t know if she should run or step into his massive arms.

He took a step toward her, and her pulse quickened. The very air around her seemed electrified. He then took another...
and
another, until he stood merely inches in front of her.

Her breathing became labored, as he bent his head leaning close to her ear. She was engulfed in a sensual haze wanting his lips to touch her anywhere and put an end to her torture. His mouth was so close, she could feel a dark lock of his hair against her cheek, and she shuddered.

“Bring me back
my
sword,” he growled into her ear.

Brigid’s eyes flew open, clutching the sheets as the last fragments of her dream faded.

Chapter 3

“Do we bend history to our beliefs, or does history lead us there?”

The traffic was horrendous this morning on Hwy 5, and Brigid was relieved to be at the university. She parked in the visitor’s space and grabbed her backpack. Throwing the hood up over her head, she stepped out, noting the rain had turned from a light mist to a steady downpour.