by Mary Morgan
“Of course. It remains your favorite, correct?”
“Aye. So ye sensed my arrival?” He produced a spoon and attempted to scoop out a portion, yet, his mother smacked his hand out of the way.
“Of course I did. Honestly, where are your manners, Rory? Go wash, change, and do so without the aid of magic.”
Feeling ten years old all over again, he banished the spoon, but not before placing a kiss on his mother’s cheek. Reaching for his satchel, he darted out of the kitchen and strode along the tree-lined passageway and up the crystal staircase. When he pushed open the door to his chamber, he paused. The room was not unlike the one he kept within the palace, including the polished amber floor. Except here, there were mementos of his childhood placed within the crevices of the trees and stones.
After he stripped free from his clothing, he stepped into his inner bathing chamber. Picking up a pine-scented soap, Rory walked downward over moss-covered stones to the waterfall flowing gently down the side of the hill. When the first drop of warm, soothing water touched his skin, he groaned. Letting his head drop forward, he allowed the water to glide over his body, and he closed his eyes. Moments passed and he stretched his shoulders.
Opening his eyes, Rory lathered his body and washed the grime from a battle he let cling to his skin for months. As he stepped out of the gentle mists and water, his mind became clear. His heart would always ache, but now he saw the path more clearly. Stepping back inside his chamber, he went to his armoire and took out a sleeveless tunic and dark trews. He dressed swiftly. Brushing his hair from his face with his hands, he stole a glance at the door and with a snap of his fingers vanished to the base of an ancient yew tree away from their home.
The place hummed with old energy. From those in his family who had gone before him. When a Fae passed over to the realm of Tir na Og, part of their ashes were always scattered on land sacred to the family. Approaching the tree, Rory placed his palm on the rough bark. The tree pulsed beneath his skin, and he acknowledged the wise spirit by bowing his head. After several moments, he crouched down at the base.
“When I sealed ye within, I had no desire to ever come upon ye in my lifetime. I was in error and misjudged. Open the land and wipe away the hatred I placed around the relic when I buried it centuries ago.”
The ground rumbled, and Rory stood. Light splintered around him, and the silver armband he had banished from his existence, now floated in the air before him. His fingers trembled when he reached for the item, and when his hand closed in around the armband, he sighed. Bringing it to his lips, he kissed the ancient family artifact. And with a wave of his hand, the armband became attached to his upper right arm.
The power of his ancestors flowed with intensity throughout his body—his blood, causing him to stagger. Their many voices traveled all around him, greeting him once again. Strength infused him, and he drew back. He placed his fist over his chest. “May my remaining days be spent in honoring what I have tossed so carelessly away. My oath as a Fae. My pledge as a Fenian Warrior.”
****
Kileburn Castle, December 1606
“Stop scratching, Lady Erina,” pleaded Larena. “Ye can only cause more harm to the skin.”
Erina glared at her, but snatched her hands away. “I used to adore winter, but now the bitter cold leaves my legs aching and itching.”
Larena placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Ye ken ’tis the scars.”
Erina gritted her teeth. She knew she shouldn’t complain, understanding it could be far worse. The fire had left its ugly mark on her legs and had hampered her in ways she had never known. After Graham and Brother Michael had returned with her to Kileburn, she had spent many months in horrible pain. Not only to her body, but her heart. And she couldn’t determine which one was worse. Both seemed to fight for dominion, almost crushing her with their weight.
When the fever from her burns kept her in its grip, she recalled the vivid dreams of the man—of the Fae she had loved and lost. How she yearned to be swept away in his arms, never to return to the land of the living. But fate was cruel. A dream was only a dream, and when the tide of sickness passed, Erina woke to agonizing pain within her soul.
For days, she refused to take any drink or food. The healing broth Larena made was left untouched, until one day she felt the whisper of his touch across her cheek. It was also the same day that a small bird entered into her chamber and refused to part through the window. Perching its tiny body on a ledge by the window, it kept her company with birdsong. Her spirits grew with each hour, and by the end of the day, Erina vowed to heal. Rory had given up everything to save her, so she would honor his memory and time together by living her life. When the next morning dawned, her feathered friend had departed.
“Would ye like me to fetch your salve?” Larena asked as she retrieved a basket of herbs off the table.
She smiled at the woman and shook her head. “If I require any, I will go fetch it myself. Ye are not my maid, and I am capable of walking. Though I do thank ye for offering.”
“Ye have come so far in healing since those first few months.”
Thane strolled over from the hearth to Erina and slumped down at her feet. “I had many to give me comfort during those dark days.” She brushed her fingers over the animal’s coarse coat, recalling how even her dog refused to leave her side. In an attempt to remove the dog from her chamber, many were met with fierce growls and snapping.
Larena chuckled as she proceeded to pull the herbs apart. “How many times did your brother read ye the tale of King Arthur?”
“Which version? I found myself questioning him when he professed the knights were all of Scottish descent and Arthur was kin to the great King Kenneth MacAlpin.” Erina lifted her legs away from her dog. “I swear if I never hear the story again, I shall be eternally grateful. Not only did he go into detail about their lineage, but he would deviate from the story and discuss the animals and weaponry.”
After wiping her hands on her smock, Larena patted her cheek. “He knew ye enjoyed the story, and wanted to see the smile return to your face. Furthermore, ye do realize some believe every great king has Scot’s blood flowing in their veins.”
“It was more laughter than smiles,” she snorted and stood. Leaning against the table, she stretched her legs. The pain would lessen come spring and warmer weather. For now, Erina would count the blessing she was able to walk, among the other bountiful ones in her life.
“When do ye leave us?”
Erina folded her arms over her chest. “Do the people still whisper tales within the corridors?”
Larena shrugged and went back to her herbs. “They never stop. And thank the Lord your brother banished those that brought harm to ye here at Kileburn.”
Reaching for a rosemary branch, Erina brought it in front of her face and inhaled its pungent odor. The herb always brought a smile to her face. “Early spring,” she responded. “Darren and a few other guards will accompany us on our journey north.”
“Aye, the isles will be a safer place for ye.”
Crestfallen, her smile quickly faded. Erina had no desire to leave her home or Kileburn. Graham and she had bonded more as a family during her time at the castle. The past fears of the stone fortress were replaced with healing and joyful memories. However, Graham judged it wiser to have her journey to a haven where her kin continued to believe in the old ways. Even though the bishop and Sinclair vanished months ago, her brother feared someone else could take their place and come after her.
Erina dropped the rosemary twig. “I fear I shall never return here.”
“Ye will be missed.” The woman’s eyes misted with unshed tears.
Choking back the emotions, Erina squeezed her hand. “Let us not dwell on my leaving. ’Tis not for many months.”
“Aye, aye.”
She stepped away and grabbed her cloak off a peg. Erina walked slowly out of the kitchen with Thane taking the lead. She left the castle through a side entrance and ambled a
long the herb garden. This was her daily ritual—a time of peace and solitude. As always, her steps led her beyond the garden and out near the river. Eventually, her gaze would travel outward, and she’d recall the day she spotted Rory standing in the river.
Her pulse skittered, and she placed a hand over her heart. “Sweet Goddess, I pray my love still lives. Can ye carry my words across the winds to his realm?” The biting cold snapped at Erina, tempting her to return inside to the warmth, but she would not relent. This was her only time to mourn—for one more touch, stolen kiss, or a glimpse of the man who would always hold her heart.
No matter the months or the years that might pass, Rory would always be with her. There were no regrets. She was determined to forge a new path. Her Fae lover had given everything for her to live and much more. Honoring the gift he had presented to her was her single focus.
Though it pained her, Erina crouched down. Placing her palm upon the hard, damp ground, she let her sorrow mixed with love pour out. “I will love ye until the stars fade from the night sky, my Fenian Warrior.”
A lone tear slipped down her cheek as she stood slowly, and Erina retreated to the castle.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“The veil of reality is often times clouded when a Fae is uncertain of his direction.”
~Chronicles of the Fae
Beads of sweat broke out along Rory’s brow with each blow of the hammer onto the anvil. He continued to pummel the metal, forging and coaxing the shape he desired. His focus stayed intent on the creation. His desire was to create a perfect sword. The energy hummed around him as he continued to strike blows to fashion a blade. No magic was required. Only his skilled hands and keen eyesight.
His mother was correct once again. Manual labor is always good for what ails you. It keeps you centered to the land. How he’d forgotten those words of wisdom. She had never criticized him when he returned home, especially on his use of the old language from the mortal realm. Her eyes withheld judgment, and her words encouraged him. Each day, he sought out something to do around the cottage for his mother. In a sense, this was Rory’s way of healing. He had yet to tell her fully about Erina, but he sensed she knew when one day she placed her hand on his chest, stating his heart required healing. He had no words to tell her otherwise. His love for Erina would always span his life, no matter where he traveled.
No other would he take to his bed. No other would ever claim his heart or soul. Rory had sealed it with Erina’s long ago.
Often times, in the quiet moments before dawn, Rory fought the urge to return to her time. Seek her out for reassurance all was well. But he was honor bound by an oath—one he had made when he sought to rescue Erina. This pledge was the only sliver of sanity that prevented him from breaking it and facing total banishment from the Brotherhood.
By the Gods, did he truly want to return to the Brotherhood? Uncertainty continued to plague him. Even the months spent at home hadn’t changed his initial thoughts. He longed for the freedom to venture away, but he was trapped with indecisions. One was his relationship with Conn. Would he be able to accept him fully as his leader? The burning rage he tried to contain had surfaced on more than one occasion. If it had not been for King Ansgar’s interference, she would have burned at the stake, and he would have suffered Erina’s death all over again.
Rory lifted the hammer high and with a curse, he sent it flying across the forge.
The power of another warrior brushed against him. He picked up the blade and doused it in a bucket of water. Lifting it up to the early morning light, he noted Conn’s reflection in back of him. As he gripped the partial blade more firmly, he waited for him to approach. The indecision to leave flickered for a brief moment, and then Conn took a step forward.
Rory dropped the blade on the anvil and turned around.
Conn gestured outward, noting the unfinished pieces of metal discarded in a side corner. “Is there a reason you have built this forge? Are you preparing to make weapons for an army?”
“Greetings, my prince.” Shifting his stance, Rory added, “Is there a purpose as to why ye have traveled to this remote part of the realm?”
Conn arched a brow in a display of disapproval. “There is no need to address me thusly. I wanted to seek you out—”
“I am not ready to return to the Brotherhood,” Rory interrupted and folded his arms over his chest. “Instead of traveling all this way, ye could have sent a message.”
Shaking his head, Conn fisted his hands on his hips. “When are you going to remove this barrier between us, Rory?”
“I do not know.”
Conn took a step forward. “Each of us has had to walk a path of injustices, Rory. You are blinded by yours.” Jabbing a finger into his chest, he continued, “You were the one to betray the Brotherhood after the first incident with Erina. You should have trusted us—your brothers! But you sealed everything away. Now what? You think you’re the only one of us who has suffered?”
“Ye have suffered? What do ye ken of the pain of loss?” Rory bellowed, shoving past Conn.
He stormed along the narrow path toward the stream. It took all of his control not to level a fist at the Fae prince. In truth, he deemed he would always find it difficult to be around someone he once considered a close friend. There were times he envied Conn’s control. Even when he and Liam approached the Fae about joining them in their quest to assist the Dragon Knights, Conn had remained steadfast and calm.
But the Fae standing nearby was not the same one he fought with many months ago. Something changed. He had said nothing about his reasons for claiming the seat of heir to the kingdom. In the past, Conn adamantly avowed he would never become king. Why the shift? What did he face in the Room of Reflection? Questions he never thought of, now unfolded within his mind.
A pair of swans glided silently over the water, and Rory envied their peacefulness. He wiped a hand down the back of his neck. Love is the greatest power.
“I have come to seek a favor.” Conn stood partially in the shadows of an oak tree. “It is important to both worlds, and I require your keen insight on this one.”
Rory released the breath he had been holding. He glanced sideways at him. “One condition.”
“Name it.”
“When I return, ye will answer all my questions.”
Conn’s mouth twitched in humor. “Done. There is much we need to discuss upon your return.”
“Good.” He started to move forward and paused. “My mother would greatly appreciate a visit from ye.”
“I would not dare take my leave without seeing her lovely face.”
Rory proceeded forward with Conn following alongside him. Both remained silent as they approached the cottage. His mother was bent near a patch of wild violets and humming a soft tune. Her face transformed into a radiant smile as they both entered the garden. She stood and brushed her hands on her smock.
“Sweet Goddess, it is good to see you grace my home, Prince Conn.” She held out her arms in welcome, and he swept her into an embrace.
“Please do not address me in that manner, Reena.” He drew back and kissed her hand.
Sunlight and mirth danced within her eyes. “Ahh…but you are worthy of the title, and I am honor bound.”
“It is one I’m having trouble adjusting to, so indulge me while I’m here, and do not call me thusly.”
“As you wish, Conn. Would you care for some apple fritters and a cup of ale? Or are you only here for a brief visit?” She turned her attention to Rory.
“I believe we both would enjoy a cup of ale and meal of your delicious fritters,” Rory stated and gave his mother a smile. “We will join ye after I speak with Conn first.”
“Excellent.” Reena beamed. “When you are through with your conversation, come into the kitchen.”
His mother retreated into the cottage, and Rory tuned to face Conn. “What is this favor ye seek?”
Conn frowned and rubbed a hand over his chin. “Have you sensed the shift with
in the youngest Dragon Knight?”
Leaning against a pillar, he nodded slowly. “Only recently. It’s a flicker of awareness, and I gather he is seeking knowledge. Does this bother ye?”
The prince gazed outward. “When I last visited, the young lad’s powers were growing at a tremendous speed, along with his height. Though part of him is human, the Fae side is progressing at a much stronger rate. Of all the Dragon Knights, James MacKay MacFhearguis is the strongest to have ever walked the land.”
“What are your concerns?”
Turning his attention back to him, Conn replied, “There is a darkness within his light. I must determine if he requires a guardian to help further his training and keep him focused.”
“And for protection?”
“It would depend on whom I’m protecting him from and since I am no longer his guardian, I must trust only the best Fenian Warrior to guide him.”
“Why send me?”
Sighing, Conn replied, “Because you, Liam, and I were the only ones who have met Jamie. I trust and value your insight. I sense he’ll be more amenable to those he considers friends.”
Rory bristled at the mention of his brother’s name. “Then I will prepare for the visit.”
Conn held out a hand to stop his movement. “I know there’s an unspoken question, but I am not permitted to gather any information regarding Liam. Furthermore, I am forbidden to go near him. I have tempted fate on more than one occasion with the Fae council.”
Rory glanced sharply at the entrance to the cottage, fearing his mother was nearby. “Why hasn’t he had a trial?”
“You better than anyone can fathom the reason. His crime for taking Aidan Kerrigan, another Fenian Warrior, through the Veil of Ages—one who had been stripped of his powers—is punishable by death.”
“Not if I can prevent it. Ye ken any one of us would have done what Aidan asked.”
“Agreed. But for now, I am ordered to stay away. My involvement with your trial brought the Fae council to my chambers at the Brotherhood. If not for the king, I judge they would have sought to strip me of my powers. In truth, they came to issue me a warning, but I shall covertly seek out how Liam fares. You must remain patient. My interference will only be tolerated so much from the council members.”
