Dragon Knight's Sword (9 page)

Reality slammed into Duncan. This was no ordinary man. Slowly he lowered his sword arm, breathing heavily.

“Duncan?” Cormac hissed. “What are ye
doing
?” Cormac still held his sword raised, glancing not only at the skies but also at the man in front of them.

“I believe we have found him, Cormac.” Duncan knelt before the druid. The one man who could take back what had happened twelve moons ago. Relief spread through him realizing there might be a chance to make amends. A spark of something lit within, as if he was coming to the end of his journey in this life.

“Rise, Duncan Alexander Mackay. Ye do not kneel to me, my son. Ye are still a Knight of the Order, and I should pay respect to ye and yours.” The druid placed a firm hand upon Duncan’s shoulder.

When Duncan spoke, he kept his gaze upon the ground. “Do ye ken why I am here?” he asked.

“With magic ye and your brothers were cursed, and with magic ye wish to undo the curse.”

Duncan’s look of surprise shattered the pain on his face as he looked up at the druid.

“Who are ye?”

“I am known as Cathal.”

Cormac had been standing at a distance, but when he heard the druid mention his name, he stepped closer.

“The great druid, Cathal? Greatest warrior and counselor to King William?”

Cathal smiled at Cormac’s words, “Aye, son...I am. And to the Mackays.”

Duncan was now standing, for he could not believe that here before them was one of the greatest druids of all time—the same druid who had counseled his father in his early years.

“It is told ye were killed in battle,” uttered a shocked Duncan.

Laughter roared from Cathal. “Do the bards still weave that tale and that I slew giants, as well? As ye can see my son, I am very much alive. Now,
Sir
Duncan, ye and your friend must be weary and hungry. Come, we have much to talk about.” Still laughing and shaking his head, Cathal turned and went into the trees.

“Sweet Brigid,” murmured Cormac. “What just happened?”

Duncan gazed transfixed on the spot where Cathal disappeared into the trees. Slowly he turned to Cormac, “It would seem I have indeed encountered the one and only person who can help.
In truth
, I do not think he will like my plan.”

“What the bloody hell is
your
plan, Duncan?” Cormac moved in front of Duncan, piercing him with a glare.

“I cannot say for certain anymore.” Duncan stepped past Cormac and went to follow Cathal.

The small stone cottage belonging to Cathal did not do him justice, thought Duncan. This was a great druid. However, to look at him now, anyone would think him to be a simple woods dweller. His clothing consisted of an old brown robe, knotted at the waist with leather, and on the belt hung a pouch. The only glimmer of status on him was the torc around his neck. Duncan wore a torc as well, yet his was of silver, whereas Cathal’s glistened of gold.

They followed Cathal into the cottage, ducking low at its entrance. When they stepped inside, they noticed the roof extended much higher. Duncan and Cormac exchanged curious looks.

Seeing their puzzlement, Cathal chuckled, “Aye, it is deceiving from the outside for that purpose. An illusion ye could say.” He winked. Moving over to the hearth, he lifted the lid on a pot simmering over the flames and tossed in some herbs. Without turning, he motioned to them. “Sit, ye must be famished.”

Cormac, always in need of a meal, removed his sword and sat down at the table where bread and berries were set out. Cathal brought over steaming bowls of what appeared to be a hearty soup. Duncan slowly put down his sword, sitting down across from Cormac. He bent inhaling the rich, steamy aroma and immediately, his stomach gave a tremendous rumble.

“Aye, good to hear your body is hungry for some food.” Cathal placed his hand upon Duncan’s shoulder, and then moved to take his place at the head of the table.

“Let us give a blessing to the Great Mother for providing us with the hare, which will nourish us.” They each bowed their heads as Cathal finished the blessing.

Pouring some wine into a mug, Cathal passed it to Duncan and filled one for Cormac and himself.

Duncan frowned as he peered inside the mug.

“Ye may wonder where would I come upon wine? Let us just say, I still receive visitors who may need my help. I am not a druid without resources.”

Duncan took a swig of the wine and proceeded to eat his meal in silence. He wanted this over with. The pretense that all was right with the world was a thorn in his side, yet each bite of the soup seemed to calm his restless spirit. He tried to listen to the conversation Cormac was having with Cathal, but his thoughts kept drifting to the conflict within himself.

Why had he let Cormac ride with him
? The man was positively too cheerful
and
talkative. What jolted him out of his thoughts was Cormac’s palm slamming down upon the table in laughter.

“Did ye hear that, Duncan? Cathal beat King Henry in a game of chess in order to proceed with the release of our King William.” Cormac just shook his head in disbelief.

“Aye, the Treaty of Falaise,” spat Duncan, his tone hardened. “We had to pay the cost of the English army’s occupation of Scotland—a bloody tax!” He slammed his fist onto the table. “We should have taken them by force.”

Cathal slowly put down his spoon and drank a swill of wine. Placing both hands down on the table, he rose slowly. The look he cut him was enough for Duncan to know he was angry. “Ye cannot always rage a battle with sword extended, Duncan, for death will surely follow every time, as ye well ken.”

Duncan rose so fast the cups toppled over and his chair went crashing backwards. As a trained warrior, he reached for his sword at his waist, until he remembered he had removed it earlier. Fury etched across his face, since he knew the meaning of Cathal’s words. He had killed in a rage of anger resulting in the death of Meggie.

He did not need reminding.

“Duncan?” Cormac had moved quietly next to him ready to block his move if needed. His constant mood shifting kept Cormac on the defensive ever since they left on this journey.

Breathing heavy, Duncan looked at Cormac, and holding up his hand to stop him from saying anymore, he bent to retrieve his sword, then walked out of the cottage. A roll of thunder clapped in the distance.

Cormac’s brows drew together in an agonized expression. He reached for the pitcher of wine, poured a hefty amount into his cup, and drank deeply.

Cathal’s eyes were still on the door where Duncan had stormed through. Slowly shaking his head and running a hand down his beard, he went over to the fire standing with his back to Cormac. “Ye cannot go any further with him. His path is now one he must choose and make alone. He must remember the curse. From there his path will be set out before him.”

Stunned by Cathal’s words, he asked, “Can ye not help him?”

“Nae.” Turning back from the fire Cathal came and put his hand on Cormac’s shoulder. “This is his and his alone. I can only help him to remember the words of the Guardian, no more.”

“I dinnae believe it is what he seeks. I fear it is something else.”

“Aye, Cormac. If he chooses unwisely, then all is lost. Stay, rest by the fire. I shall seek him out. Your journey ends here.”

Cathal started for the door, as Cormac asked, “Do ye think it wise to go out there with no weapon?”

“Cormac, do not forget I am a
druid
and not without my own protection. But I thank ye for your concern.”

Yet, the moment the door closed, Cormac grabbed his sword. The least he could do was stand guard outside. Cathal might be a great druid; however, he still was a man, and Duncan had a powerful arm.

****

The sun was setting in the distance, its last rays of light glinting off the trees. Darkness came quickly this time of year, and Duncan felt himself shift into the vast darkness. He came close to thrusting his sword into Cathal, and it did not bode well with him. He did not need reminding of what he had done. His emotions were like a double-edged sword, and the battle was fierce at times—one he could not control.

Sorcha flew overhead, and he watched as she flew down, perching herself onto a branch not far from where he stood. Standing still, he kept his eyes transfixed on her.

Cathal approached Duncan with caution. “She is a beauty, my Sorcha.”

Duncan kept his focus on Sorcha as he lamented, “My apologies, Cathal. I let my rage get the best of me.”

Cathal nodded his head in acceptance of Duncan’s apology.

Moving closer to Sorcha, Duncan decided to ask the question that had been burning within him, since the onset. Stopping just below the tree where she sat poised watching him he asked, “Do ye ken why I have come to ye?”

“I would rather ye tell me.”

“I wish to forfeit my life in the rite of blood magic to restore my family’s honor and that of the Order. I give my life freely and with my oath I want unbound what has been bound.” Turning back from Sorcha, Duncan looked into the blazing eyes of Cathal and knew his answer.

“Follow me, Duncan,” said Cathal. Sorcha decided she would follow, too. Flying ahead of him, she let out a screech.

Fists clenched, Duncan hesitated, since his instincts told him Cathal would probably not grant his request. Taking a deep breath, he followed in Cathal’s wake.

Walking for almost an hour, they finally emerged into a clearing out from among the trees into a stone circle. In the middle was a singular stone slab. It was now dark, and the crescent moon shone her light just enough for Duncan to make out the shape of Cathal, who was near a pit opposite the slab. He was murmuring in a low voice, his back to Duncan and his hands outstretched over the pit. With a mighty roar and a clap of his hands, a fire had blazed forth from the pit. Bending down, Cathal picked up some dirt, tossing it into the fire. He then turned toward Duncan.

“Come and sit near the fire.”

“Will ye not help me?” Duncan had not moved to sit, still standing where he had entered the grove, his stance agitated and battle ready.

“Aye, Duncan, but”—he held up his hand to silence Duncan—“on my terms. Do ye remember the night the Guardian cursed ye?”

Instantly, the wind whipped a fury around them and thunder rumbled closer. Duncan’s eyes started to flash. “Ayyyee,” ground out Duncan.

“Good,” nodded Cathal as he moved closer to Duncan. “I ask ye once again, come, and sit.”

“Nae!” he roared.

“Then ye will remember only fury, and it will not help. Ye need to recall the words of the Guardian!” Cathal spoke more harshly than he intended.

The wind was now a howling banshee and lightning split the night sky. Duncan unsheathed his sword so fast, Cathal feared for a mere moment he would strike him down. The night sky opened and huge raindrops descended on them both. The fires hissed with each spattering of rain, but it still kept burning. Aware of Duncan’s power, Cathal had infused the fire with earth magic to keep it going.

“Arghhhhhh, take my blood, druid, but do not ask me to recall that night!” shouted Duncan, stepping closer to Cathal.

Lightning split across them and sliced into a tree near Cormac. He cursed under his breath, shifting slightly.

“
Control your emotions
! Ye are still a Knight of the Order! If ye want my assistance, ye will find the strength and balance.” He slashed his hand through the air. “This is not helping!”

Something flashed in his eyes and with a roar, Duncan collapsed to the ground on his knees. He was breathing hard and trying to control the blinding fury, which begged for release. Cathal was correct. He still was a Knight, that and his powers were all he had left. Deep within his soul, he pulled out that which he had retained—his honor. He shook, taking in deep gulps of air, letting it calm the demon back into its cage.

Moments passed before the rain became a soft mist, and the wind a gentle breeze around them. Cathal slowly stepped to where Duncan had knelt. Placing his hands on his head he whispered, “
Remember
.”

Through the tangled web of Duncan’s mind, the words started spilling forth from his lips...

“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.”

A slow smiled spread across Cathal’s face as he bent down to look into Duncan’s eyes.

“All is
not
lost, my son. The Guardian is sending ye help.”

With a look of utter confusion on his face, Duncan had only one thought.
Who
?

“Come—let us sit by the fire.”

Looking up from Duncan, he waved to Cormac, standing within the trees. “Ye might as well join us, too.”

Chapter 13

“For the dragon transformed her tears of sorrow into diamonds, and the brilliance reflected in them sparked joy into her heart.”

Somewhere in the distance, Brigid heard the sound of bagpipes, and slowly started to smile. Hamish had told her last night she would awake with the sound of the pipes. She let the melodic tune of old soothe her taut nerves and snuggled deeper into her pillows.

“Thanks, Hamish,” she whispered.

When he had finished, she tossed the covers off, and quickly dressed. The aroma of food could not keep her lying about.

Besides, Scotland beckoned.

****

Brigid only wanted a light breakfast, which was difficult to do considering the feast Kate prepared. Her eyes popped wide at the side table set up against the wall. She had never seen so much food at breakfast. If she ate like this every morning, she would soon be packing on more weight, and she already had trouble with the extra ten pounds she could never seem to get rid of.

The banquet was one fit for a king. There were bangers, rashers, eggs, several different kinds of breads, porridge, two cheeses, butter, jams, and a huge selection of fruit.

“Decisions, decisions,” she mumbled.

Prior to entering the room, toast and coffee had been on her mind before taking a walk. However, her stomach had other plans, rumbling very loud in protest at the sight in front of her.

Brigid held her plate against her, inhaling the aromas. “Scrumptious. Perhaps, I’ll just have one rasher, which puts American bacon to shame.”