Dragon Knight's Sword (31 page)

“Lady Brigid, dinnae be angry. The wolf is gone.”

All Brigid could do was hug her tightly. Then standing, she took her hand again saying, “Let’s go find Dougal and Finn, okay?” Nell shook her head in agreement.

A brisk breeze brushed passed them, its cold tendrils touching Brigid’s face, and she shivered.

Standing at the edge of the grove was a man dressed in a long robe, similar to the one Cathal wore. His hair was black with steaks of silver, and he had it tied back. The look he gave her was sinister. He stood still, hands clasped in front with his head tilted to one side as if studying her. Behind him was a large giant. She thought Duncan to be tall, but this one was much taller. He reminded her of some wild caveman. His hair was long and dirty and he had a deep scar that ran from his brow to chin, and he carried an axe.

Her instincts told her to run.
But where
? And where in the blazes was Dougal?

Her heart started to pound and she gripped Nell’s hand more firmly, pulling her close to her side. She nodded in greeting and made a move to walk away until the giant took several steps forward, blocking her path.

Then the other man spoke. “Greetings,
Lady
Brigid. It would please me immensely, if ye and the young lass would accompany us.”

Swallowing the fear creeping back into her throat, she narrowed her eyes. “I believe we are expected back at Castle Creag, and I am with several armed men.”

His smirk was more of a snarl. “If it is your one man, I am afraid to tell ye that he is dead.” Nodding to the giant in front of her, he continued, “He did fight bravely with my man, Thadeus.” Then the snarl became one filled with anger. “Ye and the lass
will
accompany us, now!”

Nell whispered, “Lady Brigid, what...”

“Shush, Nell. It’s going to be okay.” Brigid realized what Nell was about to say, and considered it best to keep silent about Finn. Nell’s eyes went round, but she nodded in agreement, and Brigid thanked the gods that for once, Nell kept quiet.

“Why did you kill Dougal?” Fear and anger knotted inside her.

“He was of no use. However, the young lad, Finn, is that his name?”

Nell gasped, and Brigid nodded in agreement.

“Good. Finn will deliver my message, a bit bloodied, but they will ken my meaning.”

“What do you mean, a bit bloodied? What did you
do
to Finn?” Her voice rising.

“
I
did nothing, Lady Brigid. Thadeus was the one who removed a finger from the boy.”

Brigid held her ground, bile forming in her mouth as she felt Nell quake with silent sobs. “We are not going anywhere with you—
you monster
!” Releasing Nell’s hand, she pushed her behind her.

“Enough!” His hand whipped the air, and Brigid reeled as if she’d been slapped.

Gasping, she half turned and yelled, “Run, Nell!”

Thadeus was too quick for either of them. He grabbed Nell, tucking her under his arm, as her screams tore through the grove.

“Stop! Please let her go!” Brigid stood motionless, hands clenched at her sides.

Pointing a gnarled finger at her, he rasped out, “Ye will come, and to insure that ye do, we will bring the lass.”

“Who the bloody hell are you, and what do you want?” demanded Brigid.

Without warning, he slapped her hard across the face, his sardonic laughter filling her ears. “I am the druid Lachlan, and what I
want,
is the heart of your Duncan Mackay and his Dragon Knight sword.”

Brigid stood unmoving, icy fear gripped her heart as the warm blood from her cut lip trickled down her chin.

Chapter 44

“When all is lost and the path is filled with darkness, call upon the dragon for her to light the way.”

Duncan’s gaze scanned the horizon. The wind snapped past him, whipping his plaid, and dusting him with leaves ripped from their limbs. It spoke to him of the coming storm, which he could see the dark ominous clouds gathering in the distance. He could hear the rumble of the beast.

Brandubh gave a loud snort and shook his ebony mane. Duncan patted the side of his great warhorse, soothing him with his touch.

“Aye, ye smell the fury of this one, my friend. It is a storm to herald in Samhain.” Brandubh bobbed his head as if in agreement. Duncan’s gut twisted, such was a storm like this on Samhain that Margaret had died. Could this be an omen? What if this was the battle Cathal had spoken of? He could not shake the fear that snaked within him as he envisioned Brigid caught in the conflict.

“Let us search out Cathal.” Nudging Brandubh onwards, he made his way across a small burn and through a thicket of pines. He spotted wisps of smoke and the light from a small fire. Slowing the pace of Brandubh, he brought him to halt a few paces from the small clearing. In the middle, resting against a tall praying stone, he spotted the druid roasting neeps over a small fire. Duncan had entered a sacred place.

“Ye may enter, Duncan.” Cathal spoke without looking up to greet him.

Duncan dismounted, tying Brandubh to one of the trees. Then pulling a carefully wrapped leather bottle out of the pack tied to the horse, he strolled over to Cathal.

“Thank ye.” He handed the bottle to Cathal.

The fire snapped, sending hot sparks up into the night sky. Cathal pulled out the long branch with the roasting neeps from the heat and laid it across his legs, gesturing for Duncan to join him on the ground.

Removing the cork, Cathal sniffed its contents. “Ahhhh, ye bring
uisge beatha
?”

Duncan smiled and nodded.

Closing his eyes, he took a sip. When he opened them, he cocked a brow. “The water of life, how kind of ye.”

He then handed the bottle back to Duncan and he took a drink, savoring the flavor of the fiery liquid. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he placed the whiskey on the ground between them. Silence ensued, as Duncan waited for Cathal to speak.

Cathal uttered a deep sigh. Reaching for the dirk lying next to him, he sliced a portion of the neep, handing it to Duncan. He bowed his head. “Blessings to the great Mother, who has given us our food this day.”

The two men ate in communal silence, sharing the whiskey every so often. No words were spoken, nor needed.

Some time had lapsed and Cathal tossed a few more branches, including the one used to roast their meal, into the fire. Duncan once again passed the bottle back to Cathal, but he held out his hand indicating no more.

“The battle is coming, Duncan.”

His words caught Duncan off guard and frowning he asked, “Do ye mean the storm?”

“Why are ye here, Duncan?”

Duncan blinked and shook his head in confusion at the change in conversation. “I need to know if there is a way to keep Conn from entering this realm and taking Brigid back. And before ye ask, aye...this is what she wants, too. She has agreed to handfast with me.”

Cathal’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Truly?”

He gave Cathal a broad smile. “Aye.”

Duncan watched as the druid made to stand, grasping his staff. The druid’s smile held a glint of sadness, and he waited patiently to hear his words.

Leaning against the prayer stone, he shook his head. “Ye cannot bend the will of the fae to yours, Duncan. Ye ken who Conn is and
what
he is.”

“
That
I understand,” growled Duncan. He stood abruptly, striding over to the edge of the trees, his hands fisted on his hips. Shaking his head in frustration, he looked back over his shoulder at Cathal. “I love her,” his voice but a whisper.

The pain etched across Duncan’s face was one Cathal had feared. He had found his heart and now he must let her go. Cathal’s own heart was sad, since he had no answers for the Dragon Knight.

Then the light of knowledge illuminated his thoughts. This was not only about love, but also Duncan’s honor—honor that had to be fought for. Hope surged within Cathal, and he nodded with the realization not all was lost.

Stepping toward him, Cathal clasped a firm hand on his arm. “The battle is coming, Duncan. Ye must fight the evil and restore the balance.”

“So the storm that is coming
is
the battle I must fight?”

Cathal only nodded in affirmative.

Duncan rubbed the back of his neck to ease the tension, recognizing exactly what he would do if Conn should come for Brigid.

“I will see this to the end, but hear me on this, druid, when Conn steps through the mists, he will have to come through
me
to get to Brigid.”

A wry smile formed on Cathal’s mouth. “Aye, it is something I would like to see. Come, ye shall stay the night, Duncan, and we will finish off that liquid amber.”

Chapter 45

“Is reality truth or myth? Are dreams meant to harm or save? Do you believe in dragons?”

Duncan awoke from a deep slumber with a pounding headache and the rumble of snores emanating from Cathal. The drink they had consumed the previous night was not the cause of his pain, but of the coming storm that kept itself at bay, slowly weaving its tail across the Highlands.

Standing slowly, he breathed deeply of the icy brittle air. Snow was accompanying the storm, he suspected, and it might even dust them on Samhain. Saying a quick blessing of thanks for this morning and the ancestors, including Margaret, he flexed his shoulders easing the tension. Something other than the storm was niggling at him, and his thoughts turned toward Brigid.

“Snow is coming, Duncan,” yawned Cathal.

Duncan grunted, glancing out toward the dark cloudy sky.

“Where’s Sorcha?”

Cathal was now standing. When he bent to retrieve his staff, he paused, a frown forming on his already wrinkled forehead. He gave a sharp whistle and waited.

“She’s been gone since last morn,” he answered.

Cathal closed his eyes and leaned on his staff. “She’s out of my vision, and it causes me to worry.”

Duncan’s eyes roamed the broad expanse of the pine trees. “I believe it is time we return.”

They had ridden swiftly after quickly breaking their fast. Duncan would have pushed off immediately, but deduced it was important for Cathal to break his fast for the hard ride back to the castle.

It was midday when they saw the stone fortress in the distance. A light drizzle had started, and the wind but a whisper of portent of what was to follow. The ride had cleared Duncan’s head, but casting a sideways glance at Cathal gave him pause to worry. He mulled over that he was possibly still worried about Sorcha. The druid had a long day and night ahead with the feast of Samhain without any rest. When the last rays of light drifted away, the darkness would herald in a new beginning. Then he would disappear until winter solstice.

Pulling up gently on Brandubh’s reins, he slowed their pace to a mere gallop. He spotted extra men stationed near the portcullis and ramparts, and an uneasiness settled over him.

“Something’s amiss, Duncan.”

“Aye, I sense it, too.”

Upon entering through the portcullis and through the second gate, Duncan dismounted. He immediately unsheathed his sword and took note that Finn had not come forth to tend to Brandubh. The niggling had turned to a prickling sensation of unease and when Cormac greeted them in the bailey, he had the look of a warrior ready to do battle.

Instantly, Duncan understood.

“Brigid?”

Cormac did not hesitate. “Taken with Nell, Dougal killed.”

The blow of his words struck him with such force that Duncan stumbled, taking a few steps backwards, his sword scraping the muddy ground. His vision blurred. The combination of the storm’s building power and his, was too much to contain. A guttural cry tore from his throat and thunder boomed so loud over them, the ground where they stood shook, causing panic in the men and animals. Even Duncan’s great warhorse whinnied, throwing his head back.

He kept his hands fisted at his sides glaring at Cormac.

“When?” he rasped out.

“Yesterday.”

Before Duncan had a chance to unleash his rage onto him, Cormac held up a cautionary hand, sword extended in the other. “I suspect your next question, and the answer lies with Finn. He is resting in one of the rooms off of my chambers.”

“
Resting
? Lugh’s balls! He will get himself down here, now!”

Duncan took a step forward, just as Cormac stepped in front of him blocking his path. A dangerous move, thought Duncan. He would not let him interfere. Dark fury flared in his eyes, but still Cormac refused to stand down.

“Nae, Duncan! Finn is injured. The bastards cut off one of his fingers.”

Duncan flinched.

Cormac’s voice softened. “He’s a brave, strong lad—walked back holding his bloody hand last evening, looking for ye. The lad would not rest, nor has he taken any sleeping draught for the pain. He says he has a message for ye from those who took Brigid and Nell.”

Duncan’s expression was tight with strain. “We must make ready, Cormac.”

Cormac nodded. “Yet ye must hear out the lad before we can move against this evil.” He spat on the ground. “The only thing Finn would say is that ye must come alone.”

Duncan arched an eyebrow in question, since he knew damn well Cormac would never sit back and let some vile creature dictate to him. And he was grateful. Thunder crashed again around them, and the sky opened up with a torrential downpour.

“Do not think to not include me in this.” Raising his sword up in an arc, Cormac plunged it into the ground. Then holding out his arm, he waited for Duncan to acknowledge him.

Duncan grasped his outheld arm. “I would want no other, though hear me on this”—his lips curling in disdain—“I will be the one to thrust my sword into their heart, until it beats no more.”

“Aye, that I will give ye. Now go see to Finn. Matilda is tending him.”

****

Duncan entered the chamber seeing Matilda sitting in a chair by the lad’s side. She was telling him a tale about the great Cuchulainn and his hound. The boy was listening with rapt attention holding his bandaged hand and nodding, taking in her every word. Duncan gave a small smile remembering it was one of his favorites as a young lad, too. Leaning against the door, he listened to Matilda’s calm voice, trying to answer the many questions the lad kept tossing out at her.