In the blink of an eye, she remembered even more.
How she had shifted a few times but promised Mama she would keep it hidden until her dragon was older and stronger. Then and only then would she attack her grandfather. Yet he took that chance away and stole her dragon first.
Then, as only a dragon could do, her memories rolled back further in time to the very moment she was born. The connection she and her twin sister had made when her younger sibling was swaddled and laid down beside her minutes later. Even then their little dragons knew exactly who the other was. But then they had simultaneously shared a womb, and no experience was more powerful for their kind.
“We’re running out of time,” her mother had whispered. “I’m growing weaker, and you need to get her out of here.”
Brand new into the world, Jessie stared up into her father’s eyes as he leaned over her. Suddenly she knew with absolute certainty that he was still alive out there somewhere. Someday she would meet him, and his love for her would be as strong then as it was right now. She could see it in his dragon eyes. Sad eyes. “Let me take them both. They’ll be stronger together. I will protect them.”
“You know that’s not possible,” her mother replied, standing beside him, strong though she had so recently birthed them. “I was only able to hide one of them from him. The other must stay here and be strong. She must follow the path meant for her.”
Jessie knew that ‘him’ could only be in reference to the man who pretended to be her grandfather. She also understood as she looked up into her parent’s eyes that she was the one who was meant to stay behind. She was the one who would have to be strong so that her sister could be safe.
It was also in those moments that she realized the sacrifice her mother had made. She used nearly all of her magic to hide their real father from the enemy then protected her children the best way she knew how. She forfeited her magic entirely, using the last of it so that the enemy would only ever know Jessie existed. And what real threat was but one child? As far as he knew she inherited her dragon blood from her grandfather. A dragon he fully intended to take from her anyway. And what of her magic? If her grandfather was no match for him how could she be?
Yet look at her now.
More of a threat than he ever realized.
A threat that would see his dark influence wiped out entirely. His days of hurting others was over. His pitiful weakness would no longer stain this country or anyone she cared about. So, harnessing a lifetime of repressed anger, she gave her dragon free rein and turned her considerable fury on all that was left of him.
Grant and Adlin began chanting as Jessie’s eyes hazed red and untouchable wrath filled her. Stripped of everything that had made him strong, the warlock staggered back but only so far before he hit a wall of Adlin’s making that trapped him in place. Meanwhile, Grant thickened the smoke all around them so that anything that might take place here would not be seen.
In that singular moment, all the years came rushing back. The sadness and repression. The awful life this curse had subjected her and her family to. All the damage it had caused for Bryce and his kin. Losing Darach for years. Fraser. And saddest of all, Kenna’s death.
Any flicker of misguided gratitude she might have felt toward this warlock was gone.
Only the cold, hard truth remained.
This warlock was the last hold the enemy had over her and Scotland.
As Jessie roared in outrage, familiar power filled her, and the warlock grew smaller. Ugly, twisted and terrified, he trembled in fear as she at long last embraced her dragon again. Now she would avenge so many. Now she would exact retribution for Bryce’s torture at the English encampment and his many near death experiences while time-traveling.
When her eyes went to Bryce, he nodded. Though he hadn’t shifted his dragon eyes flared with pride. “This is your kill, Jessie. End him, lass.”
Wrapped around the tip of her talon, her ring shined brightly as she lowered her head close to the warlock. She bared her teeth and narrowed her eyes as she spoke within its mind, her words seething and disgusted. “You are powerless over me without Bryce in you. He was all I ever cared about. May you rot in Hell with your creator.”
Then, for the first time in her life, she roared fire.
The warlock screamed in pain, twisting and writhing until it could no longer move. She kept on roaring until there was nothing left but ashes. As those ashes blew away on the wind, she realized not only Bryce was standing there but Sven. Both had kept her fire from incinerating the forest beyond.
When her eyes met Sven’s dragon eyes, the air pulsed and the symbol of the fiery dragon flared between them. As she shifted back and the symbol drifted away in a burst of sparks, she knew Scotland’s curse had been lifted, but Scandinavia’s prophecy had just begun.
One that she could tell by the look in Sven’s eyes he saw far more clearly now.
Death to Scotland had been part of Jessie’s curse.
Death to those who fly was part of her sister’s prophecy.
“My father,” Sven said softly, anger flaring in his eyes as they met Aðísla’s when she appeared. “And King Heidrek.”
“Are in dire trouble,” she replied. “And in need of a king to unite their people.”
“But they are king’s,” he murmured before his words trailed off and the turmoil in his eyes only grew.
“The curse has been lifted, and Scotland is safe.” Aðísla’s voice remained firm and her eyes strong as they held Sven’s. “Now it’s time to go home and make sure our people are safe as well.”
He nodded before his eyes returned to Jessie’s. “You have done well, ruler of dragons. I’m very impressed and proud to call you kin.”
“Thank you.” She worked at a smile, sad to see him go but understanding things much better now. Not necessarily the prophecy but the small part she played in it. “Emily will be safe at the house in Winter Harbor until...” she swallowed hard but remained strong, “until my sister arrives. Then my magic will lift, and hers will take over.”
Though she wasn’t entirely sure what she was protecting Emily from, she knew it possessed dragon blood. And based on the ominous words death to those who fly, trouble was most certainly on the horizon.
Sven clasped her shoulder gently. “You will meet your sister someday.” A knowing glint lit his eyes. “Perhaps sooner than you think.”
“I hope so,” she murmured. “Let me know the second she needs me, and I’ll be there. The second you and your people need me for that matter.”
He nodded as his eyes held hers for a moment longer before he turned to Bryce and bid him farewell.
“Wishing ye the verra best, my friend,” Bryce said. “Like Jessie said, we’ll be there for ye the moment ye need us, aye?”
Sven nodded again, grateful. “I will keep that in mind. Thank you.”
After everyone said their goodbyes, Sven and Aðísla left. She only prayed as she watched them fade away to travel back in time, that all went well. As it was, prophesies could be even trickier than curses.
Once they vanished, she became aware of a transparent couple standing a ways off in the woods. Her grandmother and by his dark, handsome gypsy looks, she would say her real grandfather. When his eyes locked with hers, warmth and pride filled her. The sort of warmth a child might feel when reflecting on a happy upbringing with a family that loved her. And the sort of pride a dragon might feel when their elder dragon was impressed by her.
“Goodbye,” she whispered, wiping away a tear as they smiled then faded into the afterlife. Like all of them, her grandfather was free at last to enjoy love.
“My lass,” Bryce murmured before he finally pulled her into his arms and kissed her. Not light and fleeting but passionately. Where she had always felt a rush of excitement in his arms, now it felt a thousand times stronger. Not just because of the ring igniting but because she was finally free of all darkness. Lighter in a way she had never felt before, she melted into him, beyond gratef
ul everything had gone the way they planned.
“Planned,” he murmured, as he pulled his lips away and narrowed his eyes at a very smug Adlin and Grant. “All three of you, then?”
“Aye.” Adlin beamed. “And ‘twas nice to finally have some control over the outcome of things!”
“Aye,” Grant agreed, grinning. “Verra nice, indeed.”
Bryce’s narrowed eyes returned to hers, though a small smile hovered on his lips. “How long have you three been planning this?”
She smiled. “Since around the time I summoned my grandmother.” Her eyes went from the arch-wizards to him. “We had to keep it from you in case the warlock was listening through his connection to you.”
“And the thoughts you had?” He looked at her curiously. “Those about missing the warlock?”
“All for his benefit,” she assured. “Pretty much from the moment Adlin said I needed to get my emotions under control, we were preparing to set him up.”
“I thought that was callous of him to say at the time.” Bryce kept considering her as he confirmed. “So everything you said and even thought was for my benefit in the hope the warlock was listening.”
She nodded as she picked up the little book. While she thought for sure it would vanish along with the curse, it remained. Yet it looked and felt different now. Just like her, it was lighter. Better.
“Its pages are now made from the old oak tree in front of the Colonial in New Hampshire,” she whispered in wonder before her eyes went to Grant and Adlin. “The tree remains alive and well and free from the curse now too.”
Like everything else, because it was so closely connected to the Brouns and MacLomains, the tree had suffered. That, as everyone knew, was seen clearly on Graham and Christina’s adventure when it nearly died in their time loop.
“’Tis good to hear the tree’s well.” Adlin smiled. “And that its magic remains with you via that book.”
She nodded as she eyed it again. It was hard to imagine the day had come that she cherished this book rather than hated it. But it had, and she did. There was nothing left of the enemy tarnishing it.
It was entirely hers now.
“So how did it happen?” Bryce persisted. “How did the ring finally shine?”
“I believe because of this book,” she said softly. “I took a chance and tried something.”
She explained how she had drawn the ring shining his eye color on the page after the one drawn of the warlock.
“I drew it ahead of time and only needed to put the final touch on it today,” she explained. “Then on the next page, I had just enough time to sketch an image of looking down on the warlock as though I was, indeed, a dragon.”
She grinned as she continued. “Everything we did yesterday summoning the warlock was a set up. Not only did we want to see what he was capable of, but we wanted to paint a false picture.” Jessie purposely looked drifty eyed for effect. “Naturally, I was impossibly drawn to him and let him know telepathically that I intended to be with him. That I had realized the error of my ways and would lead you to slaughter today if it meant becoming as strong as I once was.”
Her smile went from the arch-wizards back to him. “And they, of course, as powerful as they are, threw everything they had at him,” she mock pouted, “only to discover they just didn’t have what it took to defeat the last warlock.”
Bryce grinned. “Which gave it a false sense of security.”
“That’s right.” She met his grin. “So all I needed to do today was act as emotional and taken with him as possible, so he believed my weakness.” She shook her head. “He had only ever seen me unemotional, and in control, so it would make sense that I was angry that I had lost that. It made sense that I would want to be strong again.”
“’Twas all verra clever, lass.” Yet Bryce’s smile wavered as his brows drew together in distress. “And also verra risky.” He shook his head. “So many things could have gone wrong.” He gestured at her ring. “Namely that shine you manifested being false and not possessing the necessary power.”
“Like you said, it was a risk.” Her eyes held his. “But one I was willing to take if it meant saving Scotland...and freeing you.”
“Och, lass,” he whispered before he brushed his lips across hers again then eyed the ring. “And ‘tis real. The shine remains. You’re my one true love.” Pride lit his eyes as they returned to hers. “And the most bonny wee black dragon I’ve ever seen.”
She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. “Wee?” She stood up a little taller and notched her chin. “I was much taller than you.”
“Because I was still in human form.” He chuckled and kept her close. “When I’m a dragon I’m at least twice your size.”
Jessie was about to respond when Adlin interrupted. “Though I hate to disturb you, we’re running out of time.”
Jessie and Bryce looked at him as she said, “Running out of time?”
“Aye,” Grant exclaimed. “The moment has finally arrived to witness our last round of history.”
“Aye,” Adlin agreed. “The grand rout or should I say the Battle of Byland Moor is about to begin!”
Chapter Eighteen
BY THE TIME they returned, history had started to unfold precisely as it should but not before the others congratulated Bryce and Jessie. Not only for igniting their ring, but for defeating the last warlock and at long last, lifting the curse. Thanks to their mental connection, they had followed everything.
Bryce was still adjusting to how he felt now. How complete. It was strange living one’s whole life without realizing they were not at their best. That they were not all they should be. Now he felt it though. A new clarity and strength that had been lacking before. More than that? He now felt the magnitude of the intense connection he shared with Jessie. In some ways, it was as if she had been there all along, but he’d only just realized it.
Though he was desperate to be alone with her and further explore their intensified bond, now wasn’t the time. Too much was happening and that became clear when Sir James Douglas joined everyone. But not for long. Robert soon ordered James and Thomas Randolph along with six thousand moss-troopers and spearmen to directly assault the ridge next to Roulston Scar.
“He’s hoping the Earl of Richmond will call on his reserve forces to meet this threat,” Conall explained to Lindsay. Though she was the only one unfamiliar with the battle, Bryce noticed Milly and Jessie seemed to appreciate the history lesson as well.
He knew Jessie had witnessed several battles while with the warlocks so she could handle what she was about to see. The violence and massive death toll. Still, as they sat on a horse, he wrapped his arms around her and kept her close for support.
As forecasted, when the English watched the advance of the Scots out of the smoke, the Earl of Richmond did as Robert anticipated. He countered by sending fifteen thousand men down the slope to assault the inferior Scottish force.
Roars arose, and metal clashed as the battling began.
“Naturally, what the Earl of Richmond has not observed,” Conall continued, “is that the gully the Scots are advancing up from is verra narrow and constricted with steep slopes on each side.” He grinned. “This makes movement on horseback verra difficult.” He gestured at what was unfolding. “And see. The Earl’s finding out too late that he can only attack on a verra narrow front which the Scots are aptly defending by forming a schiltrom with their long spears.”
This, as they could very well see, turned the first English charge into a bloody mess of dead, dying and injured horses and men. The foul smell of blood, sweat, and excrement drifted on the chilly wind.
“And now the Earl of Richmond is sending down more men as the Bruce sends up his highlanders under Neil Campbell of Loch Awe and Robert MacGregor,” Conall said as the Scots proceeded to assault both flanks of the English position.
“The Scots are dressed far better for this,” Lindsay commented.
And they were.
The li
ghtly clad clansmen scaled both flanks driving the English back with their fierce attacks and Gàidhlig—Gaelic—war cries. Thus, they forced the Earl of Richmond to pull in all his picquets, or small units of soldiers, and guards to throw into the battle.
This left the alternative route unguarded.
“This is when King Robert will strike with force,” Bryce murmured as he squeezed Jessie’s hand. Like his cousins, it was hard to contain his excitement.
Everyone followed at a distance on horseback and watched as the Bruce made his move.
One he had been building toward for months.
Robert and his remaining moss-troopers and light cavalry made their way largely unseen, onto Shaws Moor. There in front of them lay, unprotected, the encampments of the Sassenach army. He formed his men into three arrowhead divisions, and with the trumpeters blasting out the charge he led his men stirrup to stirrup in a thundering gallop.
His Lion Rampant Banner flew in the hands of his standard bearer, Scrymgeour, as the Scots roared ‘A Bruce! A Bruce!’ Seconds later, they galloped out of the smoke and crashed through the English lines causing widespread panic and destruction.
“’Tis safe to say even a tightly disciplined army would have found it difficult to withstand that charge,” Adlin declared, impressed.
Everyone agreed wholeheartedly as the demoralized Sassenach deserted their posts and ran for their lives. As history had recorded it, the casualties Bruce’s moss-troopers suffered came from the arrows of the few English archers who stood their ground before being finished off.
No quarter was given, and Sassenach casualties were horrendous. At last, only the dead and the victorious Scots remained on the battlefield.
“’Tis a bloody fine sight,” Grant murmured as he and Adlin remembered all too well the slaughter at Berwick-on-Tweed. It had been the beginning of all this for them, and it did their hearts good to see yet more avengement for all the innocent Scottish lives lost since then. As it was, over seventeen thousand Scots had died that fateful day in Berwick then left by Longshanks to rot.
Avenged by a Highland Laird Page 24
