Highland Burn: Guardians of Scotland Book 1

by Zak, Victoria

  “I must talk with the elders immediately. If the death dragons didnae kill Marcus, we might well have a bigger problem on our hands then we think.”

  Magnus mounted his restless horse. “In the meantime, I think ye’ve done enough damage to Marcus that he won’t be a threat for a while. But hear my words, lad, don’t take yer eyes far from him. Keep yer lass safe until I return.” With nothing more said, Magnus took off.

  James was left dumbfounded. Aye, some questions he sought were clear, but now a new puzzle piece had been found.

  Epilogue

  Abigale was cleaning up after seeing her last patient of the day. Her little, stone dwelling with a thatched roof was easily accessible, located in the clan’s village. Nicely placed along the east side, the bright morning sun gave it a welcoming feeling. At first, James wasn’t keen on the idea of his wife and the lady of the castle working, and furthermore, being away from the protection of Black Stone.

  “Idle hands are the Devil’s tools,” she’d told him.

  “Och, lass, yer hands dinnae need to stay idle.” He’d wriggled his brows. “Ye can do the Devil’s work on my body any time ye want.”

  She remembered that sly grin and smiled as she tucked the corner of the sheet under the mattress.

  But the point was made, even though he tried to distract her; clan Douglas needed a good surgeon, and she was the best.

  In time, James granted her a place to work, but there was no debating about the guards who would stay outside her hut and the ones patrolling the village.

  As Abigale finished putting clean sheets on one of the cots, her assistant pulled the curtain back that partitioned the room off. “My lady, I’ve cleaned the other two rooms and rinsed out the wash basins. Is there more ye would like me to do?”

  “Nay, Anna. I thank ye kindly for yer help today.” Abigale stood and placed her hands on her swollen belly. “I dinnae know what I'd do without ye.” She smiled.

  “How much longer until the wee one arrives?” Anna reached over and touched Abigale’s belly.

  Abigale didn’t mind the occasional belly rub. In fact, it reminded her of how much she loved the wee one already.

  “Soon, I hope. The babe must be a boy, for his kicks are strong.” Abigale laughed.

  Abigale walked past Anna and into an open area where she could look out a small window. Shelves filled with containers framed the window. Moving one of the jars, Abigale looked out the window and saw James. A smile spread across her face.

  “Shall I wait for ye?” Anna asked.

  “Nay, go home to yer family and I’ll see ye in the morn.”

  “Farewell this eve, my lady.” Anna picked up the basket of fruit Abigale had brought her and quit the room.

  Abigale couldn’t be happier; she was living her dream.

  A blessing indeed, James had allowed her to practice her skills and live out her passion. But most of all, she had her independence. Most women didn’t have that freedom. As she'd had her freedom taken from her back at the abbey, Abigale vowed she would assist any woman seeking their independence. Anna had come to her not so long ago, badly beaten. Her husband, a drunk, had beat her. After Abigale told James about Anna’s situation, Anna was under the protection of clan Douglas and as for the drunken husband…he was never heard of again.

  Oh, if Sister Kate could see me now, she thought. Abigale looked down at her belly. Aye, if she could see her now.

  James opened the door and the girls charged in before he could step over the threshold.

  Abigale showered them with hugs and kisses. “Oh, my loves, I’ve missed ye, too." Peering up from their embrace, Abigale locked eyes with her husband’s swirling amber depths and those fiery butterflies returned.

  James made his way to Abigale. He placed his hands on her belly and kissed her deeply. “I’ve missed ye two today.”

  “Aye, we’ve missed ye too, my love.”

  “Are ye ready for some fresh air, bel ange? I thought we would sit by the old rowan tree and let the girls play for a while. What say ye?”

  “I think ‘tis a beautiful idea.”

  “Good.” James motioned for them to step outside.

  It was a perfect day. No storms or even wind. Once outside, the girls raced to their favorite spot and started to pick wild flowers.

  Abigale and James walked beside his mare when Abigale noticed something strange. “James, how much is the lad at the stable feeding yer horse?”

  James looked at Abigale as if she had grown two heads. “Why do ye ask?”

  “She’s fat.”

  “Fat? Nay.”

  Abigale stopped and James followed. She walked in front of the horse, rubbing the mare’s nose. “Shh, lassie.” Continuing around to the horse's side, she ran her hand over its belly. “James, is there a possibility she could be pregnant?”

  Still looking confused, he joined Abigale and did his own examination of the mare’s swollen belly. “Fergus, ye sly dog.”

  Abigale faced James. “What do ye mean?”

  “Do ye remember the night when I brought ye back to bed from sleeping in the stall with Fergus?”

  “Aye.”

  “Well, let’s just say I rewarded him for good behavior.” James winked.

  Abigale slapped his chest. “Ye mean to tell me Shadow is now pregnant with Fergus’s baby?”

  “Looks like it, love.”

  Abigale’s laughter soon turned to tears.

  “What’s wrong? Did I—”

  “Oh nay, James, these are happy tears.” Standing on the tips of her toes, she hugged her husband. Now a part of her trusted friend would live on.

  They broke their embrace and made it over to the rowan tree. James spread out a plaid, then helped Abigale to sit. Next, he handed her a basket of fruit and bread and teased her with one of Alice’s famous oatcakes.

  James settled on the blanket, the ground below began to tremble. He paused for a moment and looked down at the earth.

  “What’s wrong, James.” Abigale was beginning to feel alarmed when he didn’t respond right away. “James?”

  As quickly as the earth shook, it stopped. James shrugged the rumble off.

  “’Tis nothing. We’re fine.”

  “James, I felt it, too. Ye can no’ tell me that was nothing.”

  He leaned his back against the tree joining Abigale on the blanket. He motioned for her to come sit with him. “Dinnae worry, it’s no’ good for the babe.”

  Abigale quickly forgot about the disturbance as she found herself wrapped up in his loving embrace, her back pressed up against his chest all the while James kissed her neck and rubbed her belly. How could she be so lucky to have a man who loved her so much? Truly, she felt like her life was complete.

  “I have something for ye,” James whispered in her ear. “Close yer eyes.”

  She did exactly what she was told. She could hear James rustling around in his satchel next to him.

  “Open yer eyes.”

  What she saw took her breath away. An elegant silver torc with dragon heads on each of the ends stared back at her. The dragon’s eyes were made out of amber. The torc shined in the sunlight. It was fit for a queen.

  “Oh James, this is—” she was at a loss for words; the piece was beyond any riches she had ever seen.

  “Here, let me see how it looks on ye.” James pushed Abigale’s hair over her shoulder and placed the torc around her neck.

  Touching the fine piece, she turned to face him. “It fits perfectly.” She placed her hand on his cheek and kissed him.

  “Abigale Bruce, I love ye. Hell, I loved ye from the moment I saw ye that morn at the loch. I’m honored to be yer husband and I’m most definitely honored that ye will be the mother of my children. I hope that ye can learn to love my dragon just as much as I love ye.”

  Tears were building up again. She was truly loved and she loved every bit of this man, even the dragon. “I love all of ye and I could no’ be any happier than ye’ve made me.” Tears s
lid down her cheeks.

  James took her face in his hands. “Happy tears?”

  “Aye, happy tears.” Abigale smiled.

  Preview of Book 2 - Highland Storm

  Chapter 1

  Cold sweat streamed down Conall Hamilton’s face and his heartbeat quickened as he sat up in bed, catching his breath. Ever since he’d dared to dream of a solitary life and settling down with a woman, haunting images of his past plagued his nights. Visions of his beautiful wife and son running into his arms should have been his last memory of his family, but Conall wasn’t granted that pleasure. Instead, his last memory was of Ann and wee Thomas brutally murdered outside their village by a band of rogue Vikings.

  Yet tonight’s dream had been different. There had been no charred bodies, no screams, and no dirty little feet poking out from under the white sheet that covered his son’s lifeless body. Indeed, this dream was different, it had come with a message.

  Conall shut his eyes tight, trying to erase the nightmare from his mind. He shoved his hands through his sweaty hair and cursed. “Holy hell!” Ann was there; he had felt her.

  He recalled her warm gentle hands caressing his chest, slowly making their way under the covers, where he grew aroused from the sweet torture. His hands found their way up her long legs straddling his hips. By the saints, they are soft.

  The fresh smell of rain wisped past his nose, awakening all of his senses. Silky strands of long hair tickled his cheek and her voice warmed his heart like a summer’s breeze. “Wake up, me darling.”

  This had to be a dream, yet the body spanning him felt so real. And her scent... God, her scent. Even though centuries had passed, that scent never did. Conall rubbed his hands up and down her soft thighs and opened his eyes. “Nay, ’tis a dream.”? In disbelief, he ran his hands through her golden locks. “Ann.”

  “Aye, me darling,” she said sweetly. His wife felt of flesh and blood; her flawless, white skin shimmered with a glow as he trailed his hands down her shoulders and cupped her breasts. “If this be a dream, I do no’ want to wake,” he whispered.

  Ann bent down and kissed his lips. Her lips were just as he remembered, full, soft and made for passionate kisses. Whispering in between kisses, Conall said, “I’ve missed ye, mo chridhe.”

  The beautiful woman sat up and smiled brightly down at her husband. “’Tis time, Conall.”

  “For what?” He didn’t want to waste time with useless chatter. He knew what he wanted to do. It was what he had longed to do since the day she was unfairly and brutally taken away from him. Claim her one last time.

  Conall pulled Ann down on top of him but was halted. “Nay, Conall, ye must listen to me. ’Tis time to move on and allow yerself to love again.”

  Another vision flashed through him. He was on bended knees, gathering up his family’s ashes, preparing for his pilgrimage to the holy land. Ann and Thomas, his wee Thomas, needed a proper burial away from the ruin of their home and the evil of men. He owed it to them. They deserved peace and their souls needed to be put to rest properly.

  Never allowing himself forgiveness for failing to protect his family, he roamed the earth. He was a shell of a man. With every step he took he mourned his family. Being immortal, Dragonkine warriors gave part of their immortality to their wives. They had eternity to be together. So he had thought.

  As he watched her smiling down over him, he remembered that long, daunting journey. It seemed as if it had happened only yesterday, not centuries ago. Even being a dragon, the road to the holy place was dangerous. It left many travelers meeting their maker sooner than they expected. Whether it was inner peace, to be forgiven for crimes, or seeking a cure for illness, the voyagers endured the crusade, seeking spiritual enlightenment.

  One night, on his way to the holy land, Conall had sought refuge at a nearby village tavern where he was greeted by an unruly group of local folk. Desperate to rob Conall of everything, the men began to beat him. After the first blow, the warrior discovered he could actually feel again. Blow by blow, his body absorbed each pounding fist as he stood stoic. He believed that this was his punishment for failing his wife.

  Bloodied and bruised, Conall stood in the middle of the dark, stale tavern with his body giving up when a man from out of the shadows came to his rescue. Conall had been one blow away from being knocked on his arse when his rescuer grabbed the bastard’s fist before it connected with his face. Bones shattered in the rogue’s hand as he screamed out in pain. The rest of the thieves scattered with one look at Conall’s rescuer.

  The man from the shadows looked Conall up and down and then shook his head in disgust. “I know who you are, lad. Come with me and you will find what you seek.”

  Conall wiped the blood from his lips. “Ye know nothing, auld man,” he bit back. He turned to the serving wench who was standing nearby. “Ale.”

  The stranger grinned and took the seat next to Conall. “Lad, you seek the holy land, this I know.” He motioned for the wench to fill his cup, too. “For what reason, ‘tis for you to keep. I’m only offering you our protection.”

  Conall laughed. Mortal men offering him, a Dragonkine, protection. This was ludicrous. He housed a dragon deep inside of him, for God’s sake. He was far more dangerous and capable of taking care of his own affairs. “Och, if ye know who I be, ye would know that I dinnae need yer protection.”

  “Aye, spoken like a true Highlander.” The man took a long pull of his freshly poured ale.

  The man who came from the shadows was beginning to irritate him. “Who are ye?”

  “Hugues de Payens.” He took another long swallow of ale. “I and my brethren,” he motioned over to a corner of the room, “offer you our protection in reaching the holy land. We are the Knights Templar.”

  It was like a cold hand reaching up and slapping him right upside the head. He had heard about the Templars and how they helped folks. They were brave knight-warriors, a wealthy military religious order.

  Although he was impressed by the mere appearance of the man, something was unsettling. How did Hugues know who he was?

  As if the man had read his thoughts, he began to explain. “It’s been written in the scrolls that a Dragonkine warrior would cross our path and become the ninth Templar. Conall, my friend, this is your next journey in life. Join us.”

  Skeptical, Conall sat silent for a while. True, he needed to fulfill his quest, yet could he trust these men? Without a doubt, with their help, his journey wouldn’t be as daunting compared to going alone. His wife and son needed to be laid to rest, and for that reason alone, he would join the Templars.

  Conall rubbed the tension from his neck. “Aye, I’ll join ye, but as soon as me quest is complete, I’m on me own. Understood?”

  The Templar rubbed his hands over his white-robed thighs and grinned. “Aye.” As the image of his wife came back into view, he recalled how much he’d changed. Before Ann, he’d been alone and angry, stranded in a human world without his Kine. King MacAlpin, king of the Scots, had slaughtered his people and destroyed his kingdom. He’d lost so much that he was positive the elders had damned him for eternity.

  Even though the king of Scots had left behind seven Dragonkine warriors to serve him, they had parted ways, broken and angry. The pain and loss was unbearable, which had led Conall down his path of destruction. He battled with rage and he didn’t care what side he fought on as long as he was killing humans.

  But Ann had changed everything. She’d brought light to his darkness. She was the air he breathed.

  Aye, there had been a time when life had been good. Alas, it had been no more than a blink of an eye.

  After his wife and son’s death, he didn’t want to slip back into the dark past. He had to move on. In honor of his late wife, for he knew Ann would be proud of him, he joined the Templars and fought for the greater good.

  But all good things come to an end for a damned dragon.

  Life had been good in France, until The Templars had become an economic threat to m
any kings. Conall had made it out of France just before the men he fought with were imprisoned for alleged crimes ranging from devil worship to homosexuality. The allegations burned Conall’s soul. These men were honest and courageous, and he loathed the fact that he couldn’t rescue them. One man, who had to keep his dragon secret, standing against the country of France, well, the odds were not in his favor. He’d had to flee to Scotland to avoid the same fate as his brethren.

  Ann interrupted his inner musings. “Conall, ye have been forgiven a long time ago. Ye need to find love again and become whole. Yer dragon needs peace, me love.”

  Conall wished it was that easy to forgive himself but he couldn’t. No matter how many times he’d tried to overcome the unbearable pain of losing his wife and son and the men who’d showed him a better life, he would never allow himself happiness, nor put another loved one in harm’s way as long as he lived. Which, for an immortal, would be a very long time.

  His beautiful wife took his head in her hands and looked into his eyes. “Do ye think it’s fair to the red-headed lass ye’ve been courting? Ye must do the right thing and make an honest woman of her.”

  He hadn’t quite thought about it like that. Keeping his and Effie’s passion-filled jaunts a secret was the only way he knew to keep her safe and protect her from his enemies. Not once had he thought of how Effie might feel.

  “I must go. Please heed me words and do the honorable thing, marry that lass.”

  When Conall looked back, her ghostly form was beginning to fade. Desperately, he tried to hold onto her, but his hands passed right through her disappearing body. “Tell Thomas that his da loves him verra much.” A tear slid from his eye as he saw Ann smile right before she crumbled into smoldering ash and vanished into the air like smoke.

  Now the warrior sat alone in his bedchamber, dazed and confused. The message had been firm. Marry Effie or let her go. He enjoyed the lass thoroughly. His dragon craved her relentlessly. But loving her could very well be the death of him.

  Sitting up, Conall ran his hands through his hair and exhaled in frustration. Mayhap after a warm bath and with food in his belly he would be able to make the right decision.