Dragon Knight's Sword (8 page)

“It’s good to see you, Conn. It has been many moons since you visited. Shame the good folk for keeping you too long away,” she chided.

Mischief gleaned in his eyes when he spoke, “Aye, it has, my wee Kate.”

Conn released her, and she walked over to link her arm with Brigid. “Now, let us get you inside. You must be famished. I’ll have the kettle on for a spot of tea and scones before supper.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Tooley,” responded Brigid, relieved to have found her voice.

“Whist, lass, call me Kate. We do not stand on high and mightiness here,” giving Conn a wink as she said the last.

“I think I’ll go find Hamish and let you two be.” Conn disappeared through the front door, but not before Kate yelled out, “Conn, she has the first room on the right. You can place her bag there.”

“Aye, wee Kate.”

“If I may ask, Mrs Too...,” Kate held up one finger as if to stop Brigid from saying the rest. “I mean Kate, how long have you known Conn?”

“Well, we’ve known Conn all his life. We ken his parents. He’s a fine young man, though stubborn at times, which comes from his Da.” Kate chuckled softly.

Seeing that Brigid’s brow was furrowed, Kate replied, “Do not worry, Archie would have sent none but the best to look after you.”

“Archie seems to have taken care of everything. I forget sometimes that Scotland is his home, too.”

“It still is, Brigid.”

They stepped inside the cottage and Brigid thought she stepped right into the play of Brigadoon. Never before had she seen so much display of tartan. The warmth of the dark wood blended with the furniture, making it feel so cozy. Turning toward a room to the right, she thought it to be the sitting room. Light spilled into the room from the window, casting a serene glow on the two tartan chairs placed in front of the glowing fireplace. Various portraits of men dressed in kilts, some of which looked rather old, adorned the walls. It was a room she could get lost in with a good book.

“Let me show you your room, lass.” Kate’s touch on her arm shook her out of her halo of peace.

“Yes, that would be nice.”

Following Kate up a large staircase that led to the top landing, where one could either choose to go left or right, they turned right down a long hall. Kate stopped at the first door and opened it. Again light flooded this room, too. The colors were warm and muted, a fire blazing in the fireplace. Conn had placed her suitcase at the end of the bed.

Brigid’s heart skipped a beat when she entered. “It’s beautiful, Kate.”

“Good. Now I’ll let you be. I’ll have tea waiting in the sitting room we were in, or would you rather I bring a tray up to your room? It’s been a long journey for you today.”

“No, Kate. I would love to come downstairs. Just let me freshen up a bit.”

“The loo is beyond this door.” Then Kate gave her hand a squeeze and left silently, closing the door behind her.

Removing the sword, Brigid laid it on the bed—her thoughts immediately returning to the present. She had absolutely no idea what she was going to do with it, though her heart told her this was the right path.

Someone had entrusted the sword into her care. She wondered who and why, a thought that was always nagging at the back of her mind, especially on the flight over. Since the moment she landed in Scotland, she felt a kindred spirit to the land and though it made no sense to an outsider such as Lisa, it did make sense to her.

The sword was now a part of her—hers to protect. The rest would fall into place, and the answers to her questions would unfold.

Chapter 11

Castle Leomhann—1206

Home of the MacFhearguis Clan

“Would that he could, the warrior could not remove the thorn from the beast.”

Michael MacFhearguis sat in his chair at the end of the long table, twirling the wine in his cup with one hand, the other placed around the waist of the bonny lass that was sitting on his thigh. She kept nudging herself back and forth, and if she did not quit moving, he would plunge his cock into her right there.

Laughter rang out at the other end of the great hall where several of his men were engaged in a story of yet another raid gone very well. Each one’s tale a bit more varied than the next. He had gained more cattle in this raid, which would see them through the long winter.

Without thinking, his hand went up to fondle the lass’s breast and she gasped, parting her legs. Tipping his cup into his mouth, he swallowed the last of the wine then placing it down on the table. Grabbing the other breast, he rasped into her ear, “You’ve best be careful, Caitlin, or I’ll lay ye across this table and take ye in front of everyone.”

Her eyes went wide as she turned toward him. “Och, Michael not here.”

Yet, the look in his eyes told her he was serious, and she scooted off his lap so fast, Michael burst out laughing. With a smack on her rump, she scampered out, a scowl upon her face. Turning around before she left the hall and fisting her hands on her hips, she stuck out her tongue at him and gave him a wink.

He arched a dark eyebrow at her envisioning all the things she could do with that tongue of hers,
and
he was fully prepared to have her start with his cock. Just the image made his balls tighten more. “Later, my bonny Caitlin,” he said to himself. Michael knew she would be awaiting him in his chambers.

“One of these days she’s gonna tie ye down permanently, Michael.” Patrick smacked his brother on the shoulder as he rounded to sit in a chair next to him, proceeding to pour himself some wine.

Ignoring his brother’s comment, Michael just grumbled low in his chest and watched Patrick pour some wine in his cup. There would be time to bed Caitlin. He needed to know if Patrick had any news regarding their brother Adam. He had been missing for nigh three months, and no one had seen or heard from him.

The past year was bad enough on them all, what with the death of Adam’s beloved Meggie. To find they were lovers planning on handfasting had stunned the entire clan. Therefore, it came as a shock when Adam came home that night covered not only in his blood, but of Meggie’s too.

The war cry had gone out to take vengeance on the Mackays, but Adam had pleaded with them not too. Michael thought he was daft and with fever, not realizing Adam was planning his own revenge. It was months before Adam could walk on his own, for his wound almost ended his life several times. They owed much to their own healer and of the druid Lachlan.

When Adam did regain his strength, he was still not himself. It was as if a changeling had come in the night and stole their younger brother away, replacing him with one who was restless, temperamental, and prone to pick fights with his men.

Then they received news the Mackays were missing, too. Michael thought it no great loss, for he thought they wielded too much power, and the two clans had fought for centuries over the glen. Their lands were now empty, and Michael took it as a sign from the gods that the evil had been banished. He had considered sending Adam to the north to stay with their uncle, but on the following day Adam had left, telling no one.

“Well?” Michael questioned. “Have ye found him?”

Patrick sighed, gazing into his cup, “Nae, Michael. It’s as if he vanished when he stepped outside these walls.”

“Damnation!” shouted Michael, as he slammed his cup onto the table, frightening the dog that lay nearby. “What news of Alex?” he asked.

“None, he is near Mackay land in the north.”

“No fears, brother,” said Michael. “Their land is barren of people, and the Mackays are scattered.” He waved his hand in the air. “Do not worry about Alex. Our brother can hold his own.”

Patrick held back his words, gripping his cup more tightly. It was awful Adam was missing, but Alex was on enemy land and regardless what Michael said, his gut told him the Mackays would one day come forth and the real battle begin.

Without warning, the hounds started to whine. Michael turned, noticing the druid Lachlan coming toward them. His men who were making merry with some of the lasses had fallen silent upon seeing the druid. Michael sensed his men feared the druid more than him, their laird.

Michael bowed his head in reference. “Greetings, Lachlan.”

“Greetings and blessings of light,” replied Lachlan, a smile curving his mouth.

Patrick stayed seated and had yet to acknowledge Lachlan, when Michael made a gesture toward Patrick in warning.

Patrick glared at Michael before turning toward Lachlan. Standing, he nodded his greeting in silence to the druid. Patrick honored the old ways, but for some unknown reason he could not fathom, he did not like the druid. He would never forget the day when Lachlan came to the castle telling them that not only was their father dead, but the great druid, Emer, had died with him.

Lachlan’s claim was one where Liam Mackay had killed them in battle and plunged his sword into their father’s heart. Then removed the sword and beheaded the druid, Emer. Lachlan was a young druid at the time and had witnessed it from the trees. Not knowing what to do, he waited in fear for Liam to leave, and then tried in vain to save their da, but had failed. He came to the MacFhearguis’s and sworn a fealty to serve the clan. His vow was to regain the relics and the power of the glen to the new laird, Michael.

Patrick’s warrior’s instinct told him it was false, and it stood as barrier between him and his brothers, with many a day spent in dissension. Adam and Alex both supported Michael in his decision to retain Lachlan as counsel, but Patrick would not. Alex only recently bent more to his side, but still kept silent, saying there needed to be proof of the druid’s wrongdoings. In the end, Alex would obey his brother, their laird, until that day of reckoning.

Patrick only acknowledged the druid’s presence for the sake of his laird—nothing more. Moving aside, he went over to the hearth and stood.

“Sit, Lachlan. Wine?” Michael asked.

“Certainly.”

A servant came forth bringing a cup for Lachlan.

Lachlan nodded his thanks to Michael and took a seat next to him, without giving Patrick any acknowledgement. Taking a sip of the wine, he placed his cup down and spread his palms down upon the table.

“I bring ye grave news, my laird, one which will surely be of concern to ye. Duncan Mackay has left upon his quest to seek out the sword.”

Michael’s lips thinned and he slammed his fist onto the massive table. “Nae!” he roared.

Patrick had sense to stay by the hearth and not breathe a word. For if Lachlan’s words were true then it would mean war again with the Mackays. His only concern was for Adam.
Where are ye, Adam?

Michael stood and looked at Patrick, anticipating his thoughts. “We need to find Adam, now!”

“I know, brother,” responded Patrick. He walked over and placed his hand on Michael’s shoulder. “I’ll ride out with some of the men before dawn’s light.”

Michael tensed, then placed his hand across Patrick and laid it on his shoulder. “I ride with ye.” He then faced Lachlan. “Where did ye hear this news, and do ye ken where the Mackay is traveling?”

Patrick blanched. He had never heard Michael ever question Lachlan.

Lachlan slowly looked up from his cup of wine. “A vision came to me by the great goddess, one ye should heed, my laird.”

Michael stilled himself shortly in thought, and then nodded to Lachlan in understanding. Making his way from the hall, he motioned for his men to follow.

Moving away from the hearth, Patrick went to follow Michael, but not before Lachlan stopped him with his words. “Travel quickly, lest your brother die at the hands of that beast Mackay.”

Patrick slowly turned, steeling his emotions as he spoke. “We shall see if the Mackay is indeed a beast.” He left, leaving Lachlan in his place.

“If ye are not careful, Patrick, ye may be the brother to perish. One can only pray to the gods for it to be so,” as an evil smile spread across the druid’s face.

Chapter 12

“If you lead the dragon to safety, will he choose the path filled with light or will he want to remain in the dark, therefore believing himself saved?”

They had traveled during the day, and night was approaching fast. Stopping only once to tend to their horses and their needs before journeying onward, they made sure their new traveling companion was never far from their sight.

Cormac slowed, watching the falcon.

As if sensing his thoughts, Duncan said, “Yes, she never ventures far, as if she is guiding us.” He slowed Brandubh, the horse snorting as if in agreement with Duncan.

“It cannot fool ye either,” Duncan muttered, as he laid a gloved hand on Brandubh’s mane. “It’s leading us to the druid, aye?” Brandubh gave another snort and Cormac laughed.

Duncan chuckled softly and then froze. Something or someone was in the trees ahead of them.

Cormac was the first to unsheathe his sword, as Duncan did as well, dismounting quickly from Brandubh. Giving a quick nod to Cormac and a wave of his hand to signal where he was going, Duncan moved as a warrior approaching his enemy. Sword arm raised, he was prepared to do battle with whatever was behind the trees.

A screech from the falcon sent both horses darting back and forth, hoofs stomping the ground in protest. The falcon dived and swooped at Duncan, talons outstretched as if to tear at him. If Duncan had not moved fast enough, he would have been doing battle with the falcon.

The falcon descended again. Cormac had Duncan’s back as Duncan was ready to lunge at what or who was coming forth. He did not want to kill the bird, but he feared it was a distraction with the real enemy in front of them.

“Sorcha, stop...
nae
!”

The air hummed with energy as an old man emerged from the trees, staff held high at the falcon. The falcon swooped at an angle over them before taking flight high over the treetops.

Words spilled forth from the man which neither Cormac nor Duncan could understand, each still in their warrior stance.

The energy instantly flowed around Duncan, as if he was suspended in time itself. Colors danced, lightning flashed across the sky as thunder rumbled in the distance. His sword arm vibrated with the power. A power connected with the man in front of him.