Dragon Knight's Sword (4 page)

“I believe I may have your answer. Let me look at the note again.”

Brigid reached for the note, handing it to him.

“Yes…” he muttered, reading its contents once again.

“Yes,
what
?”

“I can only explain its partial meaning. This letter is meant for you, and its meaning is very simple. You must return the sword to its home...its
rightful
place.”

“And where would that be?”

“Scotland. Where else?”

The look Brigid gave him was incredulous. “What? Are you
serious
, Archie? What makes you suspect, or believe it’s meant for me?” Brigid shook her head and went to stand by the window.

The rain was now coming down in torrents, and again an eerie tingling sensation started at the base of her neck. The memory of her dream came back to haunt her. Didn’t he tell her to bring back his sword? Goosebumps trickled down her arms. Yes, she always did believe in faery tales and legends, but this one? A small part truly believed. However, another part screamed...
nonsense
.

She laid her head against the cool pane of the window. “What became of this Clan Mackay, Archie?”

“First Brigid, to answer your previous question, the note
is
addressed to you, and it states what you must do. I understand it may sound preposterous, but again, we both believe in the legends.”

He went over and placed his hand on her shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze, he guided her over to the chair. “You could always go to Scotland and present it to the clan Mackay?”

She nodded slowly, trying to absorb his words.

“Second”—he stretched out both arms to relieve the tension of reading for the past few hours—“they say the brothers vanished, each to his own hell. The locals claim their spirits roam the glen even to this day.”

She watched as lightning flashed in the sky. “Knights, relics, fae, dragon—wait a minute...
dragon
? If the knights vanished, what happened to the dragon? Did it disappear, too?”

A gleam shone in his eyes, as Archie gave a chuckle. “Ah, Brigid, have you not heard of the Loch Ness monster? Well, some say she lives beneath Urquhart Castle and roams Loch Ness, waiting for the day of the knights’ return.”

Chills crept down her. “So-o-o, you’re telling me the Loch Ness monster is really a
dragon
?”

“Indeed it is.”

“Does all of Scotland believe it’s a dragon?”

He shrugged.

She just shook her head, tossing her curls about, as a bout of hysterical laughter threatened to spill out.
Oh, Bree, what are you going to do?

Closing the book, and placing his glasses down, Archie looked directly at her. “Well, lass, what
are
you going to do?”

“I don’t know. It’s
so
overwhelming, and I keep asking myself,
why me
?”

“Well, Brigid, sometimes the fae choose special ones to entrust great tasks.”

“
Stop
,” halting the rest of his words with her hand. “I may believe in legends, and perhaps a lone dragon, but I don’t know about the fae singling out humans for heroic missions.”

She stood, grabbing her coat and putting it on. When she picked up the note, Brigid almost believed anything could be possible. But now...she was just tired.

Archie stood watching as she gathered her items, wanting to say more.

“Let me sleep on it, Archie. There’s too much to comprehend.” She gave him a half smile and went to embrace him, feeling oddly sad.

“Then sleep well, bonny Brigid,” and then Archie looked into her face one last time. “Call if you need anything.”

Brigid smiled again. “I will.”

Stepping outside, she walked briskly to her truck. The rain had stopped, and the sun had broken through the clouds with sunbeams streaming through. Brigid tilted her head up and soaked in the last rays of light before they slipped away.

Chapter 4

October 1205—Castle Creag

“The difference between justice and righteousness is often times blurred.”

They were as one, rider and horse along the water’s edge, racing faster with each thunderous crash of the ocean’s waves. Spray covering both, the wind whipped a fury around them, as they continued to move with the elements. To look at them, one would not be able to distinguish between beast and man, for each melded into the other. Fear and madness drove them both, and neither cared if the gates of Hell opened and swallowed them within. The anguish they lived with was far greater than the fires and demons of Hades combined.

Oh, how the rider longed for release of his pain...faster and faster he urged his beast on. Sand and spittle flew into his face, but he did not care. Nothing mattered anymore to him. There was no light, no hope, and there certainly were no gods! His soul was damned for all eternity.

He would live in agony here until they dragged his wretched soul away.

Lightning splintered across the sky, and the rider shoved his fist in the air, daring it to touch down upon him. He continued to ride, pressing on toward oblivion.

He shook the water free from his face, noticing Cormac Murray standing along the turret wall, hands clasped behind his back and watching the fury of the storm unleash across the land.

It was always the same, Duncan contemplated. Cormac ever watchful for his return.

Yet in the year since he came stumbling across his threshold, haggard and with the blood of his sister still on his tunic, Cormac had been unable to do anything to help him.

He would not let him.

For almost a month, he could not speak. The death of Margaret by his hand left him scarred, bitter and hell bent on trying to destroy what little was left of his soul.

Oh, Cormac had tried, but after months of pleading with him, he made the decision to stand back, though only from a distance. Duncan remembered the day Cormac ordered his men to stay clear from him, and he threatened to cleave his friend in two. On several occasions when they were sparring, a rage would descend over him, forcing Cormac to pull back and stop.

The rage in him always ready to do battle.

Duncan slowed his pace as he neared Castle Creag, as both he and his horse were breathing heavily. For a few brief hours, he was alone in his grief and the world itself, separated from all. Now, as the stone fortress loomed in the distance, he almost turned away. He feared he was no longer human—devoid of all emotions. Those he encountered required civility on his part, one he was unable give.

There was only Cormac, and at times, it was near to impossible to be around his friend.

Duncan sighed, becoming aware they were moving closer, Brandubh’s steps matching the mood of Duncan. There was a screech from above the trees, and Duncan saw a falcon circling above one of the oaks.

“Hold, Brandubh,” commanded Duncan. He strained his head to the side watching the falcon riding the wind. Something or someone had caught its eye, and it descended with talons pulled forward, perching itself on the limb of a birch tree.

“Are ye friend or foe? If ye bring a message, show me now.” Tired and exhausted from his ride, Duncan ran his fingers through his hair and clicked the reins of Brandubh on toward the castle.

Duncan’s mood was still
foul
as he and Brandubh passed through the portcullis of Castle Creag. He dismounted and heaved a heavy sigh, for strolling toward him was Cormac.

“You’ve the look of the devil that’s been to Hell and back again. I thought perhaps we would train in the lists this morn, my friend.” Cormac motioned to the young lad watching Duncan. “Take Brandubh to the stables and have Tiernan tend to him.” The young lad held back, yet Duncan nodded to him, handing over the reins.

“Inform Tiernan I will be there shortly,” said Duncan giving a gentle pat to Brandubh.

“Aye, my lord, I will.” As the lad took the reins, he walked proudly through the bailey as if he had just been presented with a gift.

“I am in no mood to listen to your lectures, Cormac.” Duncan strode passed him and entered the castle walking into the great hall. He went straightway to the pitcher of ale and poured himself a mighty portion, draining the ale in one swallow.

“Och, ye wound me, Duncan.” Cormac pounded his fist against his chest. “No lectures from me, just sage wisdom.” He proceeded to pour himself some ale, and went to stand by the fire in the hearth, rolling the goblet between his hands.

Duncan stood across from him, raising an eyebrow in his direction, “
If
I wanted sage wisdom, I would seek out the druid.”

Cormac tossed back the ale and turned toward the table filling his goblet again. “I think it is time ye sought out the druid, Duncan. For ye dinnae ken what has become of yourself. It has been almost one year’s passing since Meggie’s death.”

Duncan threw his goblet into the hearth and lunged at Cormac, his hands against his throat, shoving him back onto the wall. “Do not
ever
speak her name in my presence again!” Duncan’s eyes burned not with fury, but with a pain of one tormented.

“It is time, Duncan,” choked out Cormac.

Duncan slowly released his hold on Cormac and turned toward the hearth placing his massive arms against the stone. The fire was blazing, but Duncan could not feel its heat. An aching sadness surrounded his heart, freezing it from all warmth.

“Aye, Cormac, ye do not have to tell me again. I will seek out the druid. What is done cannot be undone. But I swear to ye, I will fight to retrieve the relics and restore our family’s name.” Duncan fisted his hands against the stone and pounded against them. “It is madness it went this far, Cormac! Bloody MacFhearguis and the whole lot of them!” he spat out.

He moved away from Cormac and went to pour himself another drink, heaving himself down into one of the chairs.

Cormac sighed. Pouring himself another cupful of ale, he sat across from Duncan. “I ken this feud is ancient. Ye fight for the same cause—one on the side of righteousness, the other—
the
MacFhearguis
, to use the relics and their power for evil. Same cause, different purposes.”

“Do ye ken how long we have been protecting them?” Duncan said quietly. Until this moment, he had not spoken of that night or of the events which led to the violent tragedy.

“Aye, my friend...aye.”

Duncan looked up at his friend, nodding his head slowly. Taking another gulp of ale, he looked within the cup, as if the solution to all his problems would be illuminated from within.

Cormac waited in silence for Duncan to continue.

“Where do ye suppose the Old One lives these days?” Duncan asked.

“Ye ken he cannae be far from the loch. Several of my men have recently seen him at the north end. I will send for the healer. She may know.”

He got up and walked to the entrance of the hall, bellowing, “Someone fetch Finn and send him to me!” Cormac stood hands fisted at his hips and waited. “Blasted young’un, never around when I need him, but bloody sulking about when not needed.” Cormac shook his head, but his face betrayed a smile.

“Have ye checked the lists lately?” Duncan smirked, since he had observed the lad many a morn when he was there.

“Sweet Brigid! What do ye mean at the lists?” Cormac cupped his hands on either side of his mouth and roared, “Finn!”

They heard the pattering of feet across the stone floor, and a lad of nine winters ran into the hall colliding with Cormac, who all but yanked him up by his tunic and tucked him up against him.

“By all that’s holy, Finn, do not tell me you have been in the lists?” Cormac asked sternly.

Finn cocked his head to the side, and the expression on his young face was one of surprise, but only for an instant.

“Oh sir, I cannae go into the lists. I just watch from the slats on the outside.” Finn’s chin tilted up in a defiant air, which made it difficult for Cormac to keep a stern face on the lad.

“Humph! Well, I’ve been hearing otherwise, Finn.” Cormac released Finn and with arms crossed over his chest for emphasis, gave him a stern look. “I need ye to go fetch the healer. No stopping or dawdling. It is urgent, Finn.”

“Oh yes, my lord.” Finn’s chest swelled with eager anticipation to serve.

“Remember, no side journeys, right, lad?”

Finn nodded in agreement and with a tousled shake of his hair from Cormac, the lad was off and running.

“Do not think this changes anything,” said Duncan. Grabbing a ewer off the table, he strolled out of the hall.

“What the bloody hell does that mean?”

Duncan stopped and glared at Cormac over his shoulder. “I will not have ye or any druid tell me what to do.”

Cormac waited until Duncan was out of sight before he uttered, “Bloody bastard. If only it was so simple, my friend—
if only
.”

****

It was coming upon nightfall and yet, no sign of Finn. Duncan was beginning to worry the lad had fallen into trouble or worse, mischief, when the great doors opened to reveal a small, old woman covered in a green woolen cloak. She walked into the hall and stood before Cormac, blue eyes blazing with fury.

“Ye send a wee one to fetch me, Cormac Murray? When there is no one who requires my tending? Tsk, tsk, lad.”

Duncan saw Cormac flinch at her words, especially since she had done so within hearing of others in the hall. Seeing the fury simmering in his friend, he strode forth, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Och, Matilda, do not stir the beast from Cormac. His wrath can be far worse than mine, healer,” said Duncan, embracing her in a huge hug.

Matilda had been the healer for their clans for as long as Duncan could remember. She had helped in the birthing of his da, and with Duncan, his brothers and sister. No one person knew how old she was, but when she demanded respect, it was to be given.

“It has been many moons since I’ve set my eyes on ye, Duncan. Ye should have come to me sooner.” Matilda took her gnarled hands and reached up to touch Duncan’s face, tears streaming down hers. He took her hands and kissed them tenderly, closing his eyes to the pain that shone in hers.

Shaking his head, he whispered, “There is naught ye could have done. This is my pain and burden alone.” Duncan released her hands and brought a chair for her.