by Mary Morgan
Her boss didn’t care for her suggestion.
For the moment, she would treasure the silence. Moving quietly down the room, she kept her gaze on the books and avoided the stares that peered back at her. There was something odd about the marble busts and their uncanny ability to follow her as she passed by. They may be mute, but they were no better than the living. Even the bust of Jonathan Swift eyed her with suspicion.
“And to think I enjoyed Gulliver’s Travels,” she whispered.
Shaking off the chill, Fiona kept moving. Turning the corner, she found the section she was looking for. Bending low, she narrowed her eyes, tilting her head to the side, instantly spying the tome she needed. “There you are.” She touched the spine briefly with her finger. “Classical Latin in the Fifth Century. You’d better be able to help.” She swiped a curl from her eyes and pulled out the book. Removing a cloth from her bag, she gently wrapped it and tucked it inside.
Taking one last look around, she stepped out of the library and through the side door.
Light from the first rays of dawn were spreading out in the sky. The morning waxed crisp for a summer day with no threat of rain on the horizon.
Walking past the college park, Fiona realized she would have to carve out some time with her favorite tree at lunch. Branches heavy with leaves blew gently at her in greeting. A bluebird hungry for its morning breakfast was oblivious to her passing.
Quiet, peaceful, devoid of anyone. As it should be.
Fiona heard his steps before he drew even with her. There was only one other person who would brave the early morning to get things done.
“Morning, Josh,” she greeted, keeping her pace.
Striding alongside, he handed her a cup. “Good morning, beautiful. Thought you could use a strong cup of tea.”
She narrowed her gaze at him as she took the cup. “Thanks, but save your flirting for Becca.”
“You wound me, Fiona. I wasn’t flirting, just stating a fact.” He took a sip of his coffee as she gave him an incredulous look. “So, did you find what you were looking for?” he asked, pointing to her messenger bag.
“Yep. Since my Latin is rusty and yours and Becca’s are far worse, this will help with the translation.” She shifted the weight of her bag as she moved along the path.
Josh shrugged. “Sorry, my expertise is Gaelic and Manx.”
“Don’t forget a dash of Welsh, too.”
“True.” He moved slightly ahead, shoving open the huge door into their building.
They ascended the stairs, entering a large room where stone slabs rested on tables under glass. Moving directly to the largest, she removed her bag and pulled out the book and a notepad.
“Good luck,” called Josh as he walked to his workspace near the back wall.
She held her cup in both hands and stared at the carvings on the slab through the glass. It was a recent find from the archeological dig in Navan near the hill of Tara. The combination of Latin and Ogham writing made the stone unique. “Will you give up your secrets to me?” she murmured while sipping her tea.
When she finished, Fiona opened the book and started reading. Every so often, she would write down notes and glance at the tablet. Translating the Ogham was the easy part. However, the Latin was proving to be difficult as if someone had added it as an afterthought. Squinting at the writing toward the bottom, she drew back.
A chill crept down her spine. It wasn’t all in Latin. Two words were in Gaelic.
“Strange,” she whispered, her breath fogging the glass. “Dragon Knight?” Rubbing her eyes, she stood and stretched out the kinks in her back.
“Going that well, huh?”
She jumped at the sound of Becca’s voice. “For the love of…”
Becca giggled. “Sorry, Fiona.” She glanced over her shoulder to peer at the stone. “Any closer in the translation?”
Fiona pointed to the Gaelic. “Odd I’m just seeing this now.”
“Dragon man? In Gaelic?”
“Dragon Knight,” she corrected.
“And the rest?”
“Still working on it.”
Becca patted her arm. “If anyone can do it, I know it will be you.” She moved past her heading toward Josh. “Then the fun part will be in finding the meaning behind the words.”
She continued to write down notes, guessing at a word or two in the translation. Mumbling to herself, Fiona flipped back through her notes. Hours passed and its meaning stayed hidden. Why would someone take the time to write about a Knight?
In Ireland?
In Latin and Ogham?
Her stomach growled.
Sighing, she dropped her notes and rubbed her eyes. The outdoors and food called to her.
Quickly leaving the building, she darted through the crowds and headed for her spot under the oak tree. Luckily for her, there was no one there. Leaning back against the trunk, she took solace in its warmth and closed her eyes. A light breeze touched her face making her relax even more.
“So this is where you escape to,” said the deep male voice disturbing her quiet thoughts.
Fiona didn’t even bother opening her eyes. Of all people, it would have to be him. “You’ve found my retreat, now go away, Rory MacGregor.”
The man laughed. “And here I brought you some dark chocolate with sea salt, as a token of my thanks for helping out the other day.”
She opened one eye noticing the bag he held. “How much?”
He plopped down next to her. “All for you, my lady.”
Taking the bag, she peeked inside. “Thank you.” Taking out a piece, she popped it into her mouth, savoring the richness.
“Nice place you have here. Quiet and sheltered from most people.”
Fiona glanced at the man. Strange as he was, she liked him. A pain in her ass some days, but overall, a really nice guy. She often thought he would make a wonderful professor at the university, but his interests were only in research and assisting the students. And extremely easy on the eyes. However, as gorgeous and striking as Rory MacGregor was, he reminded her more of the brother she never had.
Grabbing a sandwich from her bag, she offered half to him. “Avocado and swiss?”
“Don’t mind if I do.”
They sat in relative silence for some time. Birds gathered nearby, and Fiona pulled out her bag of seeds, tossing some outwards toward seeking beaks. Hello, my friends. Are you enjoying this beautiful weather?
Finishing the last bit of sandwich, Rory dusted off the crumbs from his jeans. “Having trouble with the latest translation?”
She frowned at him, snapping out of her conversation with her small friends. “Yes, and how did you know?”
He shrugged. “A guess. You forget I saw the tablet.”
“True.” She slowly turned her gaze back to the birds. “Have you heard of a Dragon Knight here in Ireland?”
“Past or present?”
She snorted. “The past.”
Rory held his hands up. “Hey, I thought you might be talking about some jousting tournament.”
“Those words on the tablet were in Gaelic.” She reached for another piece of chocolate.
“Hmmm…well, there’s a reference to a Dragon Knight. You might want to check out the mythology section.” Standing, Rory loomed over her. “What about the rest of the text?”
She blew out an exasperated breath. “Only that it mentions the monster will shed its skin, revealing the Dragon Knight within.”
He smiled. “It sounds like it’s only a story some bard conjured up.”
Fiona wasn’t convinced. “Really? Then why would they take the time to write it down?”
“There were a few bards not averse to writing down a good tale, or two.” He gave her a wink and turned to leave.
She watched his massive form wander down the lane, not totally convinced by his words. “There has to be another reason!” she shouted.
He waved to her over his shoulder, but kept walking away.
“So much f
or a quiet lunch.” She tossed out several more handfuls of seeds before gathering her bags. Enjoy your lunch, my feathered friends.
As she slowly walked back to work, she made a mental note to peruse the mythology section of the library, but later on in the week. For once there, she would be lost within their stories.
She smiled in anticipation. “A fascinating place to be.”
Chapter Four
“They say the Dragons first taught the Druids the art of Ogham.”
Fiona rubbed her temples, trying to ease the pain. After two restless nights, attempting to translate the tablet was becoming a headache. Fragments of the stone were faded or worse, chipped making the translation difficult. “Gibberish,” she muttered.
She glanced up, her mouth in a firm line. Just translate the damn thing! Quit worrying about the meaning. Let the professors fret over it. Ignoring her inner voice, she asked, “Where did you say they found this tablet, Becca?”
Becca tilted her head to the side in thought. “Near the dig outside of Navan. Why?”
“Anything else from that dig here?”
“Only pieces of pottery.”
“But what about the other tablets?” she asked pointing to the others.
“Those are from the excavation at Dunnyneill. And they’re completely different from that one.” Becca stood and walked over to one of tablets. “This one has Celtic crosses with inscriptions in Latin. Why it was located at a place considered a trading post in the twelfth century, is a question I would like answered.”
“Hmmm…”
“Don’t tell me you’re trying to decipher the meaning behind the translation? Again.”
Fiona frowned. “This one is different.”
Becca shook her head in obvious disbelief. “That’s what you always say with each one.”
She didn’t expect her co-worker to understand. Fiona knew what they all whispered behind her back. Strange. Loner. More concerned with the past than the present.
Becca took a step toward her. “Translate the tablet and move on.”
“You’re right. I should just focus on the translation,” Fiona lied, giving her a smile.
“Great!” Turning, she paused. “Why don’t you come out with Josh and me tonight? We’re going to the Temple Bar district. Food, drinks, and good music. Hey, you might find a man, too.”
She shuddered. So not what I need.
“Come on, Fiona. You haven’t been out in ages.” Becca waved her hand about in the air. “You need to take a break from all this. Heck, you might gain fresh insight after an exciting evening of fun.”
Perhaps Becca was right. Her brain was fried, so maybe a night off would help to see things clearly in the morning. She blew out a sigh. “Where are you going?”
Becca’s eyes lit up. “The Red Fox. Best music in town. You’ll love their Guinness stew, too.”
She doubted the Red Fox made one as well as her Nana. She would always add a bottle of Guinness to the stew and keep one for drinking. Fiona smiled at the memory. “All right.”
“Fantastic!”
“But I’m warning you. Don’t try and pair me with any man, or I’m leaving.”
Her friend’s shoulders slumped. “Honestly, Fiona, you haven’t had a date in over a year.”
“I don’t have time for men in my life. Besides, they only want one thing,” she muttered, turning back to her notes.
“Sex? Nothing wrong with that.”
Fiona gave her a look of warning.
“Gotcha. No date fixing. We’ll be there at seven.”
Fiona could hear her chuckling softly as she headed back to her table. Becca might be comfortable sleeping with any and all men who caught her eye, however, she wasn’t like her.
Maybe I won’t show up. She bit her lip knowing she would, if only for a few hours.
****
When Fiona entered her apartment, she hesitated at the entrance. The nightmare from two nights before hung in the air, tempting her to turn and run away.
Shaking her head slowly, she flicked on the lights. I’m stronger than this.
Dropping her stuff, she went into the bathroom. Stripping down, she pulled out a pair of black jeans and a cream-colored sweater. Dressing quickly, she looked at herself in the mirror. Blue eyes peered back at her, evidence of dark circles underneath. With her skin so pale, the shadows haunted her face. Digging around in a drawer, she pulled out a tube of concealer and tried to do some damage control. After applying lip-gloss, she ran her fingers through her short dark curls. Instead of tucking them behind her ears, she let them sweep to the side of her face to her chin.
“That’s about as good as it gets.”
Stepping into her boots, she grabbed her leather jacket and headed out the door.
The night air felt cool on her cheeks as Fiona walked toward the Temple Bar district. She didn’t even mind the crowds. Tonight she would simply enjoy herself. Becca was right. It had been ages since she had been out. Her time was consumed by her work, not that it was a bad thing. She loved her research, but allowed it to dominate her life.
The past was her present. But not tonight.
Waving to Becca across the crowds, she quickly joined her and Josh outside the entrance. “Hi there!”
“So glad you could join us, Fiona. I was a bit stunned when Becca told me you were coming,” Josh teased.
She didn’t bother to reply to the remark.
Becca grabbed her arm. “This will be good for you.” Tapping her finger lightly on Fiona’s forehead, she added, “It will take your mind off those musty tablets. The past is gone, so enjoy.”
“You’re right.” Again, Fiona lied. The past was gone. However, each new translation brought it fully alive for her. If only I could explain my excitement to you.
“Yet, there are those who feel a connection with the past,” interrupted Rory who walked up. He gave a nod to Josh, but kept his gaze on Fiona.
She arched a brow at him. So, perhaps someone does understand how I feel.
Becca smiled sweetly at Rory. “How nice to see you, Rory. I didn’t realize you would be here. Now hush before she starts thinking of her latest project. I practically had to twist her arm to get her to come here tonight.”
Moving away from the men, Becca propelled her into the pub.
The crush of people and the noise was overwhelming. Instantly, a young man took them to a booth toward the side of the pub. “Enjoy, Becca.”
“Always.”
“Connections?” asked Fiona.
“Of course. I dated him a couple of times. If you don’t mind, I’ll be right back. And no, I’m not setting you up.” She made a cross over her chest. “Promise.”
Fiona watched as her friend went and whispered something in the man’s ear. Becca giggled and then moved toward the back of the pub. “Some connections.”
Josh slid into the booth as Rory brought over a round of pints. No sooner did she take a sip from her beer, than Becca came back.
“Just put in an order for cheese fries and mushrooms,” she said, sliding in next to Josh.
Fiona sighed. “Those are the best!”
It wasn’t long before their food arrived. The waitress practically fell into Rory’s lap as she set the platter down on the table.
As soon as she left, Becca burst out laughing. “We can’t take Rory anywhere without the women going ga-ga over him.”
“Must be my fine Scottish eyes,” he drawled.
Becca snorted loudly.
Fiona rolled her eyes.
Rory placed a hand over his chest as if insulted. “Well, I can see two lasses here at the table immune to my charms.”
“Because they have brains,” interjected Josh.
“Now, I’m really insulted.”
Fiona laid a hand on Rory’s arm. “Don’t be. You are a gorgeous man—”
Before she could finish, he grabbed her fingers and placed a kiss across them. “Truly?”
She pulled back her hand. “If you’
d let me finish, I meant it as a sisterly compliment.”
Josh choked on his beer. “Told you.”
Rory burst out laughing. “That you did, my friend.”
Fiona sat back listening as the conversation turned toward music, each having a varied opinion. She let her gaze linger out among the crowded pub. Soon the musicians would be playing, making the atmosphere lively.
Feeling warm and relaxed, Fiona snapped back to attention when she heard Rory mention Navan. “What about it?”
Becca pointed a finger at her. “We are not discussing work, remember?”
“I only asked a question.” Fiona glared back at her.
“And to answer your question, I’m taking over the dig at Navan,” replied Rory.
Her mouth dropped open in shock. “That’s great. I didn’t realize this was something you wanted. I thought you wanted to pursue a position in administration, not babysitting a bunch of students.”
Rory took a sip of his beer. “I have a love affair with the past almost as much as you do, Fiona.”
Love affair? Fiona never thought of it as such. A passion, yes, but love affair? The past spoke to her. Her Nana called it a gift. Maybe you’re right, Rory. Perhaps that is why I can never relinquish an artifact until I’ve fully deciphered its meaning.
She blinked when Rory called out her name. “I’m sorry, what were you saying?”
“Would you care to come out to the dig tomorrow? I need a fresh pair of eyes. Besides, you could see where your tablet came from.”
The musicians had taken up their instruments and started to play an old Irish ballad, but she had no trouble hearing Rory’s words.
“I would love to!” she exclaimed, ignoring Becca’s protests.
Chapter Five
“To control one’s destiny ’tis foolish, for it will bind the person in chains upon a path of uncertainty.”
Alastair held his head in agony. If he could just move, he would pummel the person responsible for the constant pounding. With each thud of the hammer, blinding pain shot through his head. Finally the pounding subsided. Cracking open one eye, he took a look at his surroundings. Obviously, he was the only one still abed. Forcing himself to move, he threw off the fur wrap. The room spun around, and he closed his eyes briefly until the sensation passed. Opening them once more, he stood up.
