by Mary Morgan
“You have discovered this knowledge from the new religion?” Sarcasm laced Patrick’s question.
Adam kept silent, staring at the dark clouds looming in the distance.
Patrick let out a curse. “Did ye not say your road was filled with blood? There is no perfect belief.”
“Ye are wrong, Patrick,” he argued. “There is more to the new religion.”
“And yet, I say ye are wrong,” countered Patrick.
“Enough,” commanded Alex.
Moving away from the window, Adam refilled his mug and stood by the hearth. He would hear the rest of Alex’s account and then be gone. He wanted no part of this battle. He had grown weary of corruption, greed, and bloodshed. “Why would Lachlan attack the MacKays?”
Alex’s lip curled in disgust. “Why do any seek to further themselves? For power, Adam. To control the relics of the Dragon Knights. Ye are correct. ’Tis a strange place ye have returned to. Dark magic clouds the land. The Dragon Knights are united in their fight against Lachlan and those that follow the druid.”
“So the MacKays are back at Urquhart? They murder, yet they still walk their lands like naught happened. I had heard the talk but prayed it was folly. They were cursed and should have remained so.” Adam growled his words.
“Ye are so quick to judge, brother,” interjected Patrick. “Ye have not been here and do not ken what they have gone through. Does not your new religion speak of forgiveness?”
Adam started to utter a retort, but Patrick held up his hand. “Aye, I agree your loss was horrific. However, ye should also be angry with us. We did not want your marriage to the MacKay lass and warned ye against it. We hold ourselves responsible for Margaret MacKay’s death, as well.”
“Nae!” shouted Adam. “I will never forgive what they did to Meggie! I long to find a place where no one has heard the name, Dragon Knight.”
Alex let out a long sigh and leaned back in his chair. “I fear ye can never venture far without being reminded of those words.”
“Ye are mistaken,” he whispered. Moving to the table, Adam placed the mug down. As he turned to leave, Alex’s words stopped him cold.
“There is another Dragon Knight—one who at this verra moment walks a path of redemption. The MacKays were not the only ones.”
A prickling of unease slid down Adam’s back. His senses told him to flee his brother’s chambers. He wanted to hear no more. Freedom to the Isles beckoned him like a soothing siren. There was chaos and evil snaking around in the Highlands, and he wanted no part of their fight.
“This is not my battle, nor do I care that another Dragon Knight roams the land. I want no part of this madness. I will depart in two days.”
Alex stood and walked over to him. “Ye cannot escape this Dragon Knight.”
“Why? Is this knight some spirit who dwells in the mists? Surely, ye cannot believe I would fear another Dragon Knight. Is there a fifth brother?”
Shaking his head slowly, Alex clamped a hand on his shoulder and leveled Adam with a stare that chilled him to his bones. “There is no fifth MacKay. They did not ken there was another knight until this year. The Great Dragon who dwells in the loch revealed this message to Angus. I fear they did not take the news well in the beginning.”
Again, Adam’s mind screamed at him to flee. “Who?” His question came out as a growl.
“Ye, Adam, are the fifth Dragon Knight.”
Silence descended in the chamber, smothering him, and Adam found it difficult to breathe. Pushing away from his brother’s hold, he fled the room. His steps quickened as he descended the stairs, closing off the shouts from his brothers. He gave no care when he bumped into a serving lass causing her to drop her bundle, and he continued out the open doors of the castle. Ignoring all others, he made his way to the stables searching for his horse.
Darkness clouded his vision, and Adam rubbed at his eyes. Whistling for Ciar, he waited for the familiar nicker. Making his way to the back, he found his horse. Not saying anything, man and beast left the stables only to be confronted by his brothers.
“Get out of my way,” snarled Adam.
“There is much ye need to hear,” demanded Alex. “Come back inside.”
“Nae!” he shouted, shoving his brother out of the way. “I want none of this!”
“Ye cannae escape your destiny, Adam. The Fae chose you. Ye may not want it, but ’tis yours.”
“Destiny?” Adam’s laugh sounded bitter even to his ears. “I have none. And I want naught to do with the Fae!” Keeping his back to Alex, he saw the concern on Patrick’s face. Guilt tormented him once again, but he pushed those feelings aside. “Open the gates or I will force them open.”
Alex stepped aside and motioned for the guard to draw up the portcullis. Turning back around, he unsheathed his sword. “’Tis not safe without a weapon. I see yours is missing from your scabbard. Here, take mine.”
Adam waved off the gesture. “I will not take our father’s sword. It belongs with the laird.”
“Dinnae be a fool,” snapped Alex. Holding the blade out toward him, he waited.
He took in deep calming breaths. Reaching for the sword, he grasped it firmly. “I shall return.” Without saying anything else, he sheathed the sword and mounted his horse. They quickly departed through the gates, and Adam urged his steed toward the one place he had sought since his return to Scotland—the standing stones.
Even if Adam were blind, he would ken where they were. It had been Margaret’s haven during the last month of her life. She had been torn between two worlds. The MacKays and becoming his wife. Wife. The verra word conjured memories of their last moments together before the darkness descended. The vows he had formed in his mind, but never spoken.
In one swift blow, all their dreams—their future, had turned to ash. “All because of the MacKays! I curse ye all to Hell! I will never be one of ye—a Dragon Knight.”
Adam’s vision blurred and he blinked. Once again, darkness threatened to consume him. Since the moment he stepped on Scottish soil, he had fought against the dreary gloom plaguing his mind and body. At times when his anger surfaced, his sight would fade. He could only see the shadows and this frightened him. When the anger was contained, he found his sight restored.
Breathing slowly, Adam let Ciar set the pace and for many hours, man and beast climbed higher into the Highlands.
A soft mist started to fall, draping the trees in glistening droplets, and beyond them, the standing stones. Slowly, he brought Ciar to a halt and dismounted. Emotions filled his soul as he dropped the reins and stood at the entrance. The stones stood stark and solemn in the gray light as he made his way inside the circle.
Ghosts of the past whispered in his mind. “Are they not beautiful, Adam? They are Guardians of the Ancients. The Fae call them Keepers of the path.” Margaret traced a finger along the deep grooves within the stone.
He grabbed her hand, clutching it to his chest, for fear they would take his beloved away from him. “Nae. Dinnae touch the stones,” he whispered.
“Are ye afraid the Fae will take me?” she teased, placing her other hand on his cheek.
“They would not dare take ye from me,” he replied and silenced her next words with a smoldering kiss.
Rubbing a hand across his face, Adam fell to his knees, the pain of the memory so great. His hands dug into the ground, shaking with fury. “Why, why, why?” he shouted into the quiet stillness of the day. “She was not yours to take. She was mine to cherish—to live a life filled with love and children’s laughter.” Adam lifted his head and held up his hands. “I could have given her everything! Ye should have allowed me to die and saved her.”
Shaking his head, he looked back down at the muddied ground and froze. “Nae,” he muttered in a hoarse voice. “It cannae be.” His hand shook as he gently touched the round piece of metal glinting at him within the muck. Working the item free, Adam wiped off the grime and bits of grass. Tears blurred his vision as he held the ring up to the fa
lling mists. The verra ring, which was meant for Margaret. I never had the chance to place it on your finger, Meggie. He rubbed it like a cherished object.
He knew it was a foolish request, since he no longer believed in them, but in his heart, Meggie did, so he said the words for her. “Can ye not bring her back, Fae? If only to see her face one more time,” he uttered softly.
Bringing the ring to his lips, Adam placed a kiss on the red stone before tucking it away in his pouch, belted at his waist.
As the tortured knight knelt at the foot of the standing stones, Adam’s quiet, broken prayer whispered across the Highlands to another realm. And in that moment, when she heard his sorrowful plea, the Guardian granted him his request.
Chapter Three
“Be careful of the curses you spew, for they may take on the shape of a dragon.”
The pounding noise in his head would not cease. Adam wanted nothing but to drift away to the deep, dark slumber that called out to his mind and body. Images from his life flashed before him as he stood at the abyss of the unknown. Turning once, he caught a sliver of golden light and he raised his hand out to touch its warmth. Was Meggie there in the glow? He took a hesitant step forward, only to be forced back by the relentless pain, and he gasped trying to wake.
“Stop,” he uttered in a strangled voice. His bones ached as if they had been pulled apart. Groaning, Adam attempted to open his eyes. Someone or something was pushing his head against a stone. “Nae more!” Waving his hand about, he found the source of his trouble. Grasping the muzzle of his horse, he pushed Ciar away and rolled over.
Gradually, he sat back on his thighs and rubbed his eyes vigorously. Looking up, he managed to open them. The sun streamed down in a golden haze around the standing stones, and he shielded his eyes from the intense glare. Yet, an uneasy feeling slithered down his back. He did not recognize this place. The stones appeared different—older. Furthermore, the trees were massive, not young as before.
Adam stood slowly, his limbs shaking. His horse started to graze nearby, seemingly unaffected by their surroundings. Instinctively, he put his hand on his sword and moved forward cautiously. As he passed the largest standing stone, Adam touched the surface. Though weathered, the deep grooves were still there.
“Bloody magic,” he spat out. A wave of dizziness passed through him, and he snatched his hand back.
Moving forward, his steps continued to falter. Leaning against an old oak, Adam whistled for Ciar. The horse ambled slowly toward him. He gripped the reins and patted the warhorse gently. “We must flee this place my friend.”
Ciar gave a snort as if in understanding. As he mounted his horse, Adam peered around. This was not the place he entered earlier. Familiar landmarks were now gone. As he guided his mount along the way, Adam became confused. Once again, his vision blurred, and his hands shook.
Wiping a hand across his brow, he fought the queasiness. What the bloody hell is wrong with ye? Have ye gone soft? Gritting his teeth, he continued to move forward.
Becoming frustrated at the lack of direction, Adam heard a noise coming from ahead and halted his horse. Unsheathing his blade, he glanced in all directions. He could not make out the clamor as it increased, yet, it now came from the sky above him.
What he saw next left Adam speechless. A great silver dragon streaked across the blue sky. He blinked several times unsure if the beast could be real. Though the air was warm, cold sweat trickled down the back of his neck. However, his senses did not deceive him. The beastie was authentic. Adam continued to watch it slowly disappear from sight, and pondered if this was the mythical Great Dragon from the loch.
He shook his head. “Nae, it cannae be.”
Adam swallowed and nudged his horse forward. When they could travel no further, he dismounted to guide Ciar. Climbing up to the ridge, he glimpsed a dark river ahead, though it did not flow. As he approached, he could see that it was not a river, but some type of road. “What kind of magic is this? There is no road here.” He tapped the dark matter with his sword, testing its strength. Deeming it safe, he tugged on Ciar’s reins and moved across the road, giving it a passing glance over his shoulder.
Once again, he moved forward through the trees, no longer confident of the direction he was going. He stumbled over a tree root and slammed against a large pine. The dizziness returned in force, and he dropped his sword to grasp his head in his hands to stop the spinning. “Please Lord, anyone, take me from this place and back home.”
Leaning his head against the cool bark, he took in deep calming breaths. When the dizziness eased, Adam peered through the branches. He could make out the form of a massive castle. He knew of none in the area. Could the MacKays have built another? Was he on their land?
He shoved the foolish thoughts from his mind and retrieved his sword. Closer to the castle, Adam noticed around the monstrous dwelling no guards were posted. The wind blew across his face and lifted the leaves in a swirling mass around him. A falcon’s cry echoed from the trees, and he tensed, ready for an attack.
Adam gripped his sword with both hands and crept cautiously through the gate. Tiny pebbles crunched under his booted feet, but he kept his focus on the front door, expecting the enemy to appear at any moment. With each step bringing him closer, the blasted dizziness returned. He stumbled the last few remaining feet and pounded on the massive door.
His gut clenched and pain slammed into his head. “Bloody hell,” he muttered, trying to remain standing—gripping his sword so tight, the muscles strained in his hand. When no one responded, he pounded once again. “Open!” he bellowed.
This time, the door swung open, revealing a verra angry looking lass. “Do ye have to be so rude? I was on the ladder in the library.” She fisted her hands on her hips and glared at him.
“Sweet Mary, Mother of God, I have died and gone to Heaven,” uttered Adam as he slumped to the ground.
****
“Why won’t he wake, Archie? Perhaps we should send him to the hospital. I dinnae like the way he looks, and I’ve done all I can.”
Archie moved toward the bed and laid a hand across the man’s forehead. “He has no fever and seems to be resting comfortably. There are no wounds on his body, so perhaps he had one too many at the local pub.”
Meggie waved a hand down over his body. “Well, how do ye explain his clothing? Leather trews and a tunic? And his plaid needs cleaning. Is he doing a play?” She snickered and moved to the table. “And who wanders the land with a real sword?” Tracing a finger on the hilt, she marveled at the artistry. “’Tis a beauty,” she whispered.
“There are no plays at the local theatre, but I could check The Red Branch to inquire if he was seen there.”
Nodding slowly, she walked toward the giant slumbering on the bed. “Aye, then if he is pissed drunk, we can toss him out on his arse when he wakes.”
Archie laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Have you tried to reach out within his mind?”
Keeping silent, Meggie looked at the sleeping man. She hated to talk about her special healing capabilities—even with her dear friend. There were times when she doubted her own gift and felt foolish for attempting to heal anyone. She wanted nothing to do with the man who arrived at her front door, hours earlier, looking as if he had seen a ghost.
When she stole a quick glance at Archie McKibben, she knew the man would not leave until she answered his question. Taking a lock of her hair, she twirled it around her finger. “Aye, but ’tis too dark. I didn’t go any further inside his mind. There are…shadows.”
“And this bothers you? You’ve helped others, so why is he different?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Did I say he was different? Nae.” Tilting her chin up, she stared at Archie. “I believe he’s passed out from too much drink and does not need my healing. Serves him right if he wakes with a pounding headache.”
Archie arched a brow, but Meggie refused to say or do anything further for the sleeping intruder. At least she had given him the use
of a guest room. Turning her back to Archie, she gathered the cloth and basin of water.
“I’ll go place that call to The Red Branch,” Archie said quietly.
When the door closed, Meggie dropped the items back on the table. Clenching her fists, she walked back to the man lying on the bed. Her hand trembled as she reached out and brushed a lock of hair away from his brow.
“’Tis too long,” she whispered. A frown marred his features, and she was tempted to take her fingers and rub the worry lines away. Meggie had lied to Archie. She did not fear the shadows within the man’s mind. Nae, she feared the immediate attraction she had felt the moment she opened the door and saw him leaning against the stone pillar.
Raw, powerful, and sensual. Those thoughts slammed into her being, and she hated herself for having them. “Hurry and wake, so ye can be gone from my home. Ye dinnae belong here.”
She walked back to the table and once again, gathered the items. As she made her way to the door the man groaned, calling out her name.
“Sweet Brigid,” she muttered, almost spilling the water in the basin.
Throwing open the door, she fled down the corridor and didn’t stop until she reached the kitchen. By the time she entered, most of the water had sloshed out onto the floor and her clothes. Breathing heavily, Meggie placed the items down and grasped the sides of the table.
“What has frightened you, lass?” asked Ann.
Meggie swallowed the lump lodged in her throat. She didn’t want her friend to think her daft, but she did hear the man utter her name. Instead, she pointed to the pot on the stove. “What are ye fixing for supper?” She leaned in to take a look. “Lena should be returning this evening. Thank ye for coming over and helping out. I’m sure the men will be pleased with the supper.”
“Chicken stew, and don’t try to change the subject. You ran in here as if the hounds of hell were chasing you.” Wiping her hands on her apron, Ann reached out and touched Margaret’s forehead. “No fever, so tell me what has scared the wits out of you before I leave for home.”
Meggie shivered. “Nothing…just thought I heard something.”
