by Mary Morgan
“Are ye praying for light?” asked Graham.
Rory fought the urge to knock the man out, dump him over his shoulder, and magically transport them both out of the dismal cell. “Follow closely.”
Taking small, steady steps, Rory waved his hands over the ground, absorbing the moisture. He had no wish to have Graham slip and injure himself.
“Bloody hell,” hissed the man.
“Agreed, though I believe Hell is hotter.”
Graham snorted as they continued to move along the passageway. The area narrowed considerably and several times, they were forced to bend low, making it more difficult for them. When they approached the wall leading to the hall, Rory placed his hands along the stone edges.
“Is there another animal’s head?”
“Fortunately, I have never ventured down this path, so I cannot say,” Graham responded dryly.
Rory grumbled a curse and searched with his fingers and eyes. Frustration gnawed at him, so he whispered ancient words, and the wall opened a fraction. Light splintered through, and he diverted his sight to the right ledge and smiled. When he pressed both his hands on the raven’s head, the wall opened up fully. The passageway exited next to the massive hearth.
Both men remained rooted in the darkness while Rory scanned the hall. Tables, benches, and chairs had been tossed without regard. Food, drink, and broken pottery littered the ground, and the doors leading out left open. Yet, not one soul was present.
Rory cautiously made his way into the hall, continuing to sweep his gaze for any sound or movement. He glanced over his shoulder. “Let me check the outside corridor. Stay here.”
“I am not a meek lass,” Graham argued.
Clenching his jaw, he pointed to the exposed entrance they had emerged from only a few moments earlier. “If we close it now, we risk someone walking in here and witnessing our escape. I want to clear the way first.”
“Go, then.”
Rory ran swiftly to the entrance. He examined the corridors, taking note of the silence and then came upon two slain guards. Closing his eyes, he let his Fae senses search along the perimeter of the castle until he could go no farther. Rory stepped back inside and nodded to Graham to seal the passageway.
“Too quiet,” Graham commented as he walked past Rory and headed out of the castle.
Rory followed and surveyed the area. The guards were missing from their posts, and a chill of foreboding slipped through him. He brushed past Graham as he sprinted to the stables. When he entered, a cat hissed at him in passing. All the horses were in their stalls, including the one he had hoped was gone. Oberon.
Wiping a hand over his brow, he left the stables. Graham met him halfway. “What is wrong?”
“All the horses are accounted for.”
The color drained from Graham’s features. “Erina’s horse, too?”
“Aye! Would Erina venture without her horse to the woman’s home?”
A muscle twitched in Graham’s jaw. “Nae! The cottage is too far to go on foot. If they took a blade to two of my men, then I fear for anyone else who defied them.”
Rory stormed past him and entered the castle. Not caring who now heard them, he began shouting and opening doors. Taking the stone stairs three at a time, he continued searching out any living soul at Kileburn. Empty silence greeted him. His frustration, along with the dark shadows within his mind grew. He had thought her safe—far away.
He barely registered Graham’s shouting and shoved away the turmoil within his body and mind. After retracing his steps along the corridor, he ran down the stairs. He followed the sounds of voices beyond the kitchens. As he rounded the bend in the corridor, Rory came across one of the guards as he stumbled free from Kileburn’s cellar. Blood seeped from a wound to the man’s head, but he gave a weak smile to Rory in passing.
Graham was assisting one of the women, reassuring her that the threat of danger had passed.
“Did anyone witness Lady Erina leaving the castle?” Rory asked, trying to keep his voice calm.
Many shook their heads solemnly as they made their way out of the cellar.
“Not one soul?” He raked a hand through his hair. Someone tugged on his plaid, and Rory glanced down at the wee lass.
“I saw Lady Erina walking along the path to the herb cottage.”
Bending down on one knee, he took her hand in his. “Was this earlier in the morn?”
She shrugged. “Right before the bad men came.”
“Thank ye.” Rory placed a kiss across her knuckles and stood.
“The cottage is at the eastern end of the garden,” offered Graham. “Let me account for everyone and speak with my guards. Afterwards, I shall meet ye in the stables.”
He gave the man a curt nod and took off toward the herb cottage. His steps slowed as he approached the structure, and his hands shook, fearing what he would find inside the place. When he placed his hand on the door, thunder rolled in a deafening echo.
Paying no heed to the elements, he stormed inside the cottage.
His heart pounded furiously as he tried to control his emotions. As he took in his surroundings, he slowly made his way around the room. Several items were strewn across the floor, and the fire in the hearth had dwindled to embers. The scent of honey, herbs, and blood assaulted him, and Rory staggered. Must not be hers.
He clenched his jaw and lifted his palm outward bringing the scent inside him. There was only one person he could recognize from the blood, and he prayed with all his might that it was not Erina’s.
Immediately, relief coursed through him, and he leaned against the table. “Thank the Gods.” He was unable to determine whose blood it belonged to, but it did not belong to his beloved.
Making one final pass over the area, Rory then proceeded toward the stables. Before he entered the bailey, he snapped his fingers. His sword appeared magically belted at his side, along with a dirk secured to his back.
Bending down, he scooped up some dirt into his hand. “Help me to find Erina, Mother Danu. Lead a clear path for me to find her. Until I reach her, I beg ye to keep her safe from harm.” Standing, Rory leveled his gaze outward. “If ye are unable to do so, then turn your face from my wrath. For there is no one who can stop me, if any harm comes to the woman who holds my soul.”
Rory waited for two heartbeats and then tossed the dirt out into the air. “I am coming for ye, mo ghrá.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
“A tiny spark of hope can illuminate the Fae soul with light from a trillion stars.”
~Chronicles of the Fae
Regardless of the frigid, dark cell, sweat beaded across Erina’s brow. The place reeked of bodily fluids, and rats continued to scurry past her and Brother Michael as they sat on the cold floor. One torch flickered outside their prison, casting ominous shadows. They slithered across the stones, as if seeking to wrap their tendrils around her neck and relieving her of all air. Between the stench, darkness, and her unknown future, Erina found the walls closing in around her.
“I believe I am going to be ill,” she uttered in a weak voice, and turned away from Brother Michael. After heaving what little she had in her stomach, Erina leaned back against the stone wall. “Forgive me.”
Brother Michael placed a cool hand on her forehead. “I understand the foul smell is making ye queasy, but ye need to breathe. Taking in shallow breaths only increases the fear ye are holding back and will make ye weak.”
“’Tis vile.”
“Agreed. But ye are strong, Erina MacIntyre.”
“Aye, how could I ever forget I am a MacIntyre,” she uttered with mock severity. She wiped the spittle from her mouth on the back of her sleeve. Taking a deep breath in, she released it slowly. And then took in another.
“Good, lass,” Brother Michael encouraged and dropped his hand.
She drew her cloak more firmly around her. “How is your nose?”
He chuckled low. “’Tis broken. But it isn’t the first time.”
Surprise
d by his confession, she asked, “Someone has taken a fist to your face before?”
“Definitely. Once, by my older brother. Then there was the time when a traveler did not approve of my remarks on his wares. I merely pointed out to him that some of his items were not what he was presenting to the villagers. He was offering miracle ointments and tinctures to cleanse the body. They were nothing but water from a nearby stream and marsh grasses stuffed into goose fat.”
“How awful. Ye are perceptive.”
“I caught him earlier in the morn by the stream making his ointments. The man definitely was out to get his coin, even if it meant deceiving good people.”
Another rat squeaked past them, and Erina gritted her teeth. “How much longer are they going to keep us down here?” She huddled more against Brother Michael. “Usually I dinnae fear the small animals.”
He patted her hand. “Ye are anxious, and the darkness only makes them more menacing.”
“I ken,” she whispered, and placed her head on her knees. “I only want to end this. Meet my accusers. How have I wronged anyone?”
Erina longed for answers. What crime had she committed against another? When Brother Michael remained silent, she lifted her head to look at him. Fear clutched her heart, yet, she had to know the answer. “Do ye believe I am a witch?”
Sighing, he replied, “Nae, Erina, ye are not a witch. But in truth, ye walk a path that others will say is heathen. And for all accounts, I dinnae reckon any will listen to what I have to say. I dinnae ken this bishop and I have defended ye.”
Hurt infused her heart at having her friend involved with her predicament. “Ye should have remained silent.”
“Why? I merely defended a noble and good woman.”
“Your church would disagree.”
“There is only one which I follow. Our Lord Jesus Christ. He tended to many outcasts by taking meals with them to treating their ailments of the body and soul. I do his work, Erina. Remember my words.”
Glancing upward, she smiled. “Do ye ken there are certain heathens who call Jesus their druid?”
Brother Michael shifted and stretched out his legs. “I have heard this tale from travelers returning from their pilgrimages in the north. I find this…encouraging.”
Erina swallowed, and she glanced at the monk. “Do ye reckon your Jesus would have found me at fault?”
He angled his head toward her. “There is nothing to find fault in ye. The good ye do for others is a testament to your character. In truth, he already loves ye.”
“Ho…how do ye ken?” she stammered.
Brother Michael took her hand. “Because he loves us all. We are his children. His flock.”
Smiling, she nodded. “Since ye are on speaking terms with this Jesus,” she hesitated, and then continued, “will ye offer a prayer to him for me?”
“Och, Erina. He hears all prayers, even ones from ye.”
“Truly?” Her question echoed within their tiny prison. She was unable to fathom how his God would want to have anything to do with one who believed in the old Gods and Goddesses.
Her shoulders relaxed, and she leaned her head against the wall. Peace and calm entered her body, and for the first time since taken prisoner, Erina let herself drift. However, her respite was brief. The scraping of an outside door brought her fears back to the front. Brother Michael helped her to stand as they waited.
When the guard entered the light, Erina clutched a hand to her chest. The young man was the one who had assisted Erina and given her his horse. “Have they sent ye to bring us forth?”
The guard unlocked the prison door and stepped inside. After placing a finger over his mouth, he glanced over his shoulder and then returned his focus to them. “If ye want to live, keep your voices low. Aye, I am to escort ye to your trial, Lady Erina, though I dinnae agree with what they have planned and refuse to take part.”
Erina’s stomach lurched, but she quickly fought the rising panic inside her.
“What are they planning?” Brother Michael demanded tersely.
“She is accused of witchcraft and will be burned at the stake.”
She gasped. “I haven’t even had a trial.”
“There is nae time to argue. I am here to help ye. When we leave the main part of the dungeon, I will set Brother Michael free.” He turned his attention to the monk. “Ye must take a fist to me, so it looks like a skirmish happened.”
“I will not leave Lady Erina—”
“Aye, ye will.” She grabbed her friend’s arm. “Ye must go find help. They will not care about ye, but if I escaped, they would surely come swiftly and retrieve me.”
He groaned. “Erina…”
“I beg ye, please do this.”
“Lord help me,” he uttered softly.
“And say a prayer to him for me,” she added, and released her hold on Brother Michael.
She straightened and turned toward the guard. “I am ready.”
He gave a curt nod and gestured them forward.
As they steadily made their way up along the narrow corridor, moans from the other prisoners echoed around her. She shivered, wanting desperately to free them all. When the area opened, the guard pointed in the direction of another set of stairs on the right leading downward.
“This is wrong,” she protested softly and tugged on the man’s arm. “Why are they keeping people in the dungeon of a cathedral that is half in ruins?”
The guard cast her a sharp look. “The bishop would like to be recognized for his good in this country. He seeks to gain favor with Rome and hopefully to rebuild those that were destroyed by King Henry VIII.”
“Someone must put an end to this barbaric torture.”
“Agreed, but for now I must save ye. I will release the others later. Take this path, Brother Michael. It leads to an area used for rubbish. Ye will have to wade through the stench. Turn north and ye will come upon a path outside the cathedral. Be wary, often times, some of the guards take their wenches out by the trees. At least ye will have the cover of darkness, but dawn will be here soon.”
Brother Michael nodded. “I will be on alert.”
“Good. Now, hit me in the face.”
“God forgive me,” Brother Michael muttered and landed a fist to the man’s jaw. The guard staggered and fell to the ground. Shaking his head, he slowly made to stand.
“Again,” he demanded.
“By all the saints.” This time, the monk punched him in the stomach and then landed another blow to his face. He stumbled, but remained standing.
Erina placed a fist against her mouth to squelch her cries.
Blood oozed from a cut near his brow, and the guard blinked. Wiping his hand over the wound, he winched. “This should be sufficient.”
“’Tis already swelling,” Erina confirmed.
Brother Michael shook out his hand. “Pray forgive me. Nevertheless, I shall always remember your act of kindness.” He turned toward Erina. “May our Lord watch over and protect ye.” Making the sign of the cross in the air, he moved swiftly away.
“May the Goddess watch over ye,” she uttered softly in return.
“We must leave,” ordered the guard and placed a firm hand on her elbow.
Erina glanced sideways at him. “Before I take another step, ye will give me your name.”
He inclined his head, and his mouth twitched in humor. “Malcolm. Malcolm MacKay. May we now proceed?”
After taking her elbow once again, they moved silently along the passageway. Curious about her new friend, she asked, “Where do ye hail from, Malcolm?”
He glanced at her briefly. “The Great Glen, specifically, Aonach Castle.”
As they emerged outside, she drew her cloak more firmly around her shoulders. The rain had turned to light showers and for a moment, she wished for the skies to continue their deluge upon the land. Recalling her grandmother’s stories about the MacKays of Aonach, she said, “I have heard the tales of the MacKays and why they fled Urquhart.”
&n
bsp; Malcolm halted, giving her a sad smile. “Stories filled with magic, aye? Now ye understand why I must help ye. We, too, are going through troubled times.”
Erina shrugged out of his grasp, stunned by his declaration. “Then why are ye here? With them?”
“I came with the bishop from Arbroath Abbey. The place has significant meaning to me. One of my ancestors helped to build a portion of the abbey. I was unaware of the bishop’s plans until recently.” He rubbed a hand down the back of his neck. “I was on a pilgrimage of sorts. To forge the past and future.”
Her eyes grew wide. “Then the tales are true? The Dragon Knights do exist?”
“I stand before ye, a Dragon Knight, descended from Stephen MacKay. Though my powers are not as strong as my ancestor, I will do my best to assist ye. My vow to ye.”
Tears misted her eyes. “Ye must promise me, if this plan of yours does not end well, ye must flee. Ye cannot risk being exposed.”
Malcolm snorted in disgust. “Generation after generation of MacKays have suffered. Mine will be nae different. If I must die to save a life, then I will do so honorably. We shall have strength in numbers, if Brother Michael brings back aid.”
“Then let us finish this mockery of a trial,” stated Erina.
****
By the hounds! Where did they take her? The dizziness which plagued him weeks ago, now returned with a vengeance. The shadows mocked Rory, and he fought to banish them to the far reaches of his mind. As he scanned the area, he was unable to determine which direction they had taken Erina. The land refused to show him any sign, and his irritation grew with each hour.
He cast his gaze to the stars. “Give me something. Anything, Great Guardians of the Sky.”
Waiting patiently, he held his breath and clenched his jaw. Even the stars remained silent, and the great dragons that had passed and ascended into the stars refused to help him. He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to ward off the growing unrest within his soul, and let out a frustrated breath.
Bitterness and despair became his new companions. Regardless of the consequences, Rory would bend the wheel of time to prevent her abductors from taking her.
A force of power slammed into him, and he fought to remain standing. His horse whinnied in obvious fear.
